OK, so yeah, as far as my blog goes I’m just now entering North Dakota but in real life here I am in Saratoga, California at the time of this writing. Don’t worry… my readers will get a chance to hear about hanging with the organic grain farmers and the herd of buffaloes (or was it buffalo herders on the organic grain farm?), about the mini high school reunion in Calgary, and how my life course changed for the better in North Dakota. This is, however, another one of those things like my Snake River rescue that I just have to share in the moment.

Before my mother passed away she made it clear to my sister, Catarina, and me that her wish was to make her final resting place in North Adams, Massachusetts and it was our honor to see that through. The idea of “home” and what that concept encompasses were a part of a value system that I shared with my mother and this particular element is as uncomplicated and true as the age old adage of “home is where the heart is.” Her heart was in the Berkshires and that’s where she shared the joy of her life with her friends and family that had the privilege of enjoying her proximity. It was neither implicit birthright nor the inherent beauty of Berkshire County, but my mother’s love and the love and respect of my close friends that made me call North Adams my home. The people that know me best know that “home” has always been kind of a tough concept for me to pin down in a geographical sense. What I’m learning on the road is that my home is where it has always been- in that part of me that I share with all of you whom I love.

The west coast phase of my ride has been something I’ve been looking forward to for some time. With the exception of my current host, Bill, it has been about 14 years since I left my close circle of friends in Northern California but I have held my dearest compadres close to my heart throughout our separation, always trusting that our reunion would prove the bonds of true friendship are endowed with longevity. I was right place my trust in those relationships and I can’t say that I have renewed faith in my friendships because I never lost faith in the first place.

There has been more than one occasion in my life when someone, upon learning a bit of my personal history, has actually felt a little sorry for me “never really having a place to call home.” The only thing sad about my story is that in my weaker moments I have actually bought into that line of reasoning and felt a little sorry for myself. The truth is that I have been blessed with many homes over the course of my life because I have been blessed with so many caring people with whom I share mutual admiration. I have many people to thank for making my journey the best of my life but at this moment I want to express my gratitude to my west coast posse of Bill, Susan, CJ, Ian, and Eleanor for welcoming me back into their lives and providing me with the kind of hospitality that seriously recharges my spiritual and muscular batteries. A sense of belonging is the gift my friends bestow that can’t be measured by measures of hospitality and my personal gratitude is too personal for general consumption. I would, however, just like to mention a few mentionables about my core cadre of companions.

Bill and Jenn:

Home cooked gai ka prow and chicken rendang in the same meal- I mean really, Jenn? What the eff? Are you trying to set the bar so high that any future meal I may have will fall miserably short of my expectations? Bill, I’d say she’s way out of your league but I’d risk losing my only friend who verily understands (and appreciates) my predilection for obsessive vacation planning. It was one of the greatest honors of mine to share your wedding celebration in Italy and your taking the time to visit me in North Adams was a gesture my mother never forgot. You’ve been my friend through thick and thin and I promise never to take for granted the generosity with which you consistently treat the world.

Susan and Colleen:

To Susan, my friend of over 30 years and a person with whom I’ve shared a lifetime of friendship from afar: My visit with you and Colleen in Portland is what started my whole west coast reunion. We began our journey together as teenage friends on the opposite side of the globe and it fills my heart and blows my mind simultaneously to observe and feel the reality of a connection that continues to grow like an unseen force between thriving plants with leaves gently brushing one another at irregular intervals.

Eleanor:

Just being in the space of good Ju-Ju that you’ve created in your home was what I needed most when I arrived in Sonoma County. Being around you again after all these years simply just felt right to my body and soul. The serenity of your home and your naturally nurturing spirit made it impossible to maintain the state of denial I had reached with my physical condition but made it easy for me to listen to my body and enter a healing and rejuvenation phase. The truth is that I needed to slow down a little, rebuild some tissue, and prepare myself to reconnect with the good things and people of my life in the Bay Area. Thank you for helping me ease into this transition.

CJ:

I dunno much about art but I do know what I like so whatever it is you do that makes me believe that you love me to death- please- don’t stop doing it. Even if you don’t love me as much as you make feel like you do, just let me go on believing that you do. I mean, if it’s not too much trouble, just allow me to drop your name at every opportunity and say, “yeah, she really does care a great deal for me” and promise never to burst my bubble by revealing to me your actual feelings if in fact you merely tolerate my presence.

Ian:

Blah blah … best friends … bullshit, bullshit … always been there … more bullshit, etc, etc. Most importantly- if there is anything bad about me that you’ve never told CJ then please keep it to yourself.

What’s next?

Today I am heading south to Carmel Valley to visit my lifelong friend, Randy, and to be reunited with a very special someone who is making a long journey of her own just to be with me. The anticipation and excitement is driving me nuts, I’ve got a tire puncture to fix, I’m still digesting the two pounds of Thai food I consumed on Wednesday, El Niño is on a rampage, worlds are about to collide in the best way possible, I’m jobless, homeless and homefull, and it’s a good day to be Robear.

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So there I was- in “downtown” Greenbush, Minnesota, population 717, out of the saddle, walking around with my cell phone doodlebugging for a free WiFi signal. “Ridesperate” is what I call this particular state of being in which I often find myself these days; ridiculous and desperate- like those times when I’m racing the setting sun while bobbing in and out of the bushes looking for a concealed patch of dirt to set up camp for the night or catching a glimpse of that metallic blue wrapper on the side of the road and wondering if maybe it actually does contain a yummy, unblemished Rice Crispy treat- now that’s truly ridesperate.

It’s about 7:30 pm, the streets of Greenbush are deserted, and I’m moving deliberately in a serpentine search pattern with my gaze locked on my stupid smartphone like Mr. Spock divining dilithium deposits with a tricorder. You ever just get that feeling that you’re not alone? Sure enough, when I get my head out of my phone long enough, I realize there is a friendly looking guy with a bike standing nearby, patiently waiting to greet me.

A word about patience when bike touring, what the Universe has in store for you, and meeting people in general:

You meet a lot of people on the road. And, yes, you do have the same conversation a lot- basically, “where ya headed, where d’ya come from, etc?” Sometimes after a long day in the saddle you may find your patience running thin and it is all too easy to be a little dismissive when it comes to meeting people and making polite conversation. You must, I repeat “must,” not give in to that sort of laziness. The simple truth is that by choosing this mode of travel you are doing something kind of cool and folks are naturally going to be interested. The other thing is… you never know whom you are going to meet.

…back to Minnesota

So this was one of those long days, it was getting dark, I was tired and I had just spent hours earlier getting my chops busted by customs officers. It is times like these when one is thankful for taking their own advice and putting things in perspective enough to notice, “here’s a cool dude named Hans who wants to help you find the campsite a mile out of town and hook you up with a spare inner tube.” “Follow me,” says he, and off we go.

The first thing you notice about Hans is that he’s a big guy. The second thing you notice is that the man can ride a bike. As we’re heading to the campground I have to tap into my reserves just to stay on his rear wheel even though he’s riding a single-speed cruiser bike. I checked out the camp but in the end decided just to accept the hospitality of a couch at Hans’ place. I think the overriding factor was that I just needed to hang out with this guy and figure out why he’s such a badass in the saddle.

It all becomes clear…

Upon entering Hans’ home I immediately notice several bikes, some rideable, others in various stages of buildout / repair. Now I get it. Not only is he a bike guy- he’s pretty much the bike guy of this neck of Minnesota. Had some dinner, talked a bit, and it was only then that I learned that Hans is a former international road racer (ok, now I understand how he rides so darn fast). I guess it was only after I proved myself worthy that he showed me his most prized bicycle, an all wooden frame, custom built Renovo, one of only two of its kind on the planet.

I ended up staying another day in Greenbush and also had the honor of meeting Hans’ son on the second evening. He and I have stayed in contact over my ride and it was through his cycling world connections that angels came to my rescue in Idaho. I look foward to our lasting association and wish him all the best on his upcoming cycle tour from the southern tip of South America to Colombia.

Parting comment:

When I arrived in Greenbush I hadn’t shaved since Thunder Bay and my last haircut had been in the month of May. At this point had already arranged to stay in North Dakota with my next host, Stephanie. Having a weird bicycle guy sleeping on your couch can be scary enough at times so out of respect for my future host I thought it better that I look more human than mini-sasquatch. Hans consented to breaking out the clippers and doing his best to shear the mop off my head and make me look somewhat presentable. It wasn’t until later that I would realize what hidden talent he possessed as a hair stylist.

All aboard… Next stop… Bottineau, North Dakota … and the beauty of the prairies I had never known.

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