Dark, heavy, galloping crust from the streets of London. AGNOSY is back to present us with a ferocious beast of an album that can only be forged by the anger and frustration of living in today’s world. “When Daylight Reveals The Torture” aggressively attacks evils such the current rise of fascism and animal abuse. It intelligently and passionately touches on the Afrin invasion and the revolution in Rojava and shows nothing but utter disgust toward the arrogance of humankind’s lust for greed and power that will inevitably lead us down paths of war and environmental devastation.
While lyrically AGNOSY are much more politicly straight forward this time around than on previous releases, musically they have expanded on their sound to create a dark and moody atmosphere while at the same time staying crust as fuck. To say they know what they are doing would be an understatement from this band of vets whose members have played in HIATUS, HEALTH HAZARD, and BEGINNING OF THE END.
Long galloping intros are followed up by traditional d-beat, fierce solo’s are then meet with vicious vocals and pulverizing bass in a brilliant recording captured by Lewis Johns at The Ranch Production House and was mastered by Brad Boatright at Portland’s legendary Audiosiege. We then pressed on deluxe heavyweight 150-gram vinyl, printed on reverse board jackets, and included an 11in x 22in gatefold insert to bring you a high quality and truly epic record.
The legendary crust classic is now available once again!
Authorized and released in cooperation with MISERY, S.D.S., & MCR Japan & Remastered by Jack Butcher at Enormous Door Studio we are beyond proud to make one one the most rare and sought after crust records available once again.
Fuck the scavengers charging punks exuberant amounts of cash on ebay and discogs. We worked meticulously with both bands and with Jack at Enormous door to bring you an updated version that kicks major audio ass while maintaining the original authenticity.
Released on deluxe 150 gram vinyl. With an 11×11 inner sleeve. Black Paper Jacket. Reverse Board Jacket.
Earlier this year we re-issued this legendary LP and sold over 950 copies in just 4 short months. For this second pressing we pressed 490 copies on Krystal Clear & 485 on Grey Vinyl with Black Mist.
Stench crust the way it was meant to be played!
The UK crust scene of the 1980’s inspired band after band but no other band has ever reincarnated the sound of that time as well as SWORDWIELDER. Quite simply if you like crust, then this the album you have waited decades for.
Review by Craig Hayes from “Your Last Rites”… Swordwielder – System Overlord Heavyweight punk fanatics take note: System Overlord is a fucking triumph. The long-awaited sophomore album from Gothenburg stenchcore band Swordwielder is a brooding behemoth, constructed from the filthiest and heftiest strains of punk and metal. System Overlord shimmers with apocalyptic visions, and it’s overflowing with all the grim atmospherics and intimidating intensity that defines consummate crushing crust.
Too much hype? No way… And no apologies, either. Swordwielder deal in definitive stenchcore on System Overlord, and much like their full-length debut, 2013’s Grim Visions of Battle, the band’s latest release is a knockout. Swordwielder’s harsh, gruff and dark sound owes a significant debt to old school icons like Amebix, Axegrinder, Deviated Instinct, and Antisect, and they mix and mangle their influences and leave ’em to rot on the battlefield.
Plenty of hammering rage drives System Overlord tracks like “Violent Revolution,” “Savage Execution” and “Cyborgs,” and thundering epics like “Corrupt Future” and “Northern Lights” exhibit subtler strengths, mixing guttural growls and clean vocals with crashing percussion and dirge-laden riffs. Connoisseurs of corpse-dragging crust will love the brute-force belligerence of “Absolute Fear,” “Nuclear Winter,” and “Second Attack,” which rain down like merciless mortar barrages. As a rule, all of System Overlord‘s mammoth tracks chug and churn with grinding muscle, while reeking of squalor and decay.
Swordwielder exudes tightly coiled aggression from start to finish here—songs rise from the ashes of desolation, and resounding calls for action and resistance ring loud. If you’re a fan of heavy-hitters like Fatum, War//Plague, Carnage, Zygome, Cancer Spreading or (insert your favorite hefty crust crew here), System Overlord‘s trampling tempo and strapping sound are bound to appeal.
WILT combine old school metal and crust in a perfect hybrid that very few others have ever achieved. Prepare for a LP thats equal parts galloping d-beat crust reminiscent of bands like HELLSHOCK, and INSTINCT OF SURVIVAL, meets old school death metal in the vein of BOLT THROWER, MEMORIAM (old) SEPULTURA.
Here is a track from the upcoming LP
“Sermon for the Bootlickers”
Despite the inculcation of helplessness within each there remains great power. Ill at ease with such makes us ill. Learn to see the hand that feeds for what it is. You’ve been fooled if you think you’ve got no power. Refuse to be reduced to a consumer you’re a human being. Define yourself by more than wealth. Define yourself as a human. You don’t need what you’re being sold. Bend your knee to no authority but your own mind. You have the power to avoid the gilded trap. Avarice is what you’re conditioned for. Break the mold discover what’s really valuable to you.
Wed, July 12 Hanover / Germany / Confirmed Thu, July 13 Bremen Fri, July 14 Mulhem / Germany / Confirmed Sat, July 15 Gent, Belgium / CrustPicnic / Confirmed Sun, July 16 Paris / France or Amsterdam / Nederland July 18 North-East France or West Germany July 19 Freiburg / Germany TBC July 20 Winterthur / Switzerland Fri, July 21 Zurich / Switzerland Sat, July 22 Biel / Switzerland July 23 Lausanne or Geneva / Switzerland
July 24 Geneva / Switzerland or Grenoble france
July 25 Treviso (or Milano or Bologna or Verona) / Italy
July 26 Ljubljana Slovenia Confirmed
July 27 No Sanctuary chilling day
Fri, July 28 NoSanctuary Confirmed
Sat, July 29 NoSanctuary Confirmed
July 30 Ilirska Bistrica/Slovenia or Vienna/Austria or Budapest/Hungary.
July 31 Wiena / Austrai or Budapest or / Slovakia
August 1 Brno / Czech Republic.
August 2 Prague / Czech Republic
August 3 Finsterwalde / Germany TBC
Fri, August 4 Leipzig / Germany TBC
Sat, August 5 Berlin / Germany / confirmed
August 6 Dresden
August 7 Wroclaw / Poland
August 8 Warsaw / Poland
August 9 Poznan / Poland
August 10 Szczecin/Poland TBC
Fri, August 11 Rostock / confirmed
Sat, August 12 Hamburg TBC
Brace yourself for one of the most uncompromising hard hitting and politically outspoken records of this era. STORM OF SEDITION are an anti-civilization anarchist crust punk band based out of Victoria BC. Sharing members with the mighty ISKRA you can definitely expect some serious blackened crust, and yes a huge metal influence is prevalent however STORM OF SEDITION are a bit more reminiscent of bands like CONTRAVENE & NAUSEA. “Decivilize” brings a heavy anarcho punk dynamic to the table combined with over the top blackened crust grind thats littered with blistering solo’s, insanely powerful drumbeats, and thought productive lyrics that challenge our current state of human civilization. All in all this is an absolute monster of a release!
Comes with a 12 page booklet containing lyrics, notes, and song explanations.
STORM OF SEDITION WILL TOURING THE WEST COAST THIS SUMMER!!!
Keep you eye’s peeled for a list of tour dates soon!
Listen to the song “Disconnect” here…
Living a domesticated existence Starves people of meaning in their lives Everyone feels the void beneath the surface Of everyday activities and routines
Miserable, exploited, mass populations Feeding the industrial systems endless hunger Treated like machines, living beings Enslaved and kept passive in a technological noose
We live in these cages Made of concrete, glass, and steel A functioning human made hell Complete with natural scenery
Yet there is no community Deprived of connection with real people Technology perpetuates alienation But promises to connect us
And fill the void in our lives In constant need of escape and distraction From this fucking ugly world Technology creeping into our lives
Pop culture, pacifying shit Endless distractions to curb dissent A society of lonely domesticated beings Attempting social interaction behind a digital screen
Clinging to the feeling of connectedness Personalized profiles, mass communication tools Monitored and funded by pigs Spying on people, on movements While corporations profit off government control Microsoft, apple, fedbook Endless lists of corporations Infiltrating our everyday lives The NSA, the CSE Databases created from what you share Information for incrimination Millions of people on terrorist watch lists Technology’s a weapon used against us
Its function is to propel their ability To efficiently exploit us and the natural world While doing so capitalizing off selling us Gadgets to distract us from the lives we live and hate
Turn off that shit, enter the real world You are not connected You are alone staring into a fucking a screen
Get outside, meet with real people! Even if we use these tools We must never forget
Technology is a system created by and for those in power And it will only exist with Division of labor, exploitation, and death
Becoming connected through technology Is a sick fucking joke
PROFANE EXISTENCE RECORDS – PO BOX 647 – HUNTINGTON WV – 25711 – UNITED STATES
Everyone knows I’m not into veganism for health reasons. That’s just a bonus. So it’s time to take out that deep fryer. There is nothing better than good deep fried food. But it’s far from healthy. So eat in moderation and invite friends over to help. For those that abstain from beer you can also use soda water in this recipe.
1 can/bottle (12 oz) – Beer (or Soda Water)
3 cups – all purpose flour
1 – Tablespoon – Nutritional Yeast
1 – teaspoon – Black Pepper
1/2 teaspoon – Garlic Powder
1/2 teaspoon – Chili Powder
1/4 teaspoon – Salt
(optional) – Spices of Choice
2-3 cups – Veggie Oil (for deep frying)
5 Large – Pickles (Sliced into Chips)
3 Large – Potatoes (Cut into Fries)
(optional) – Whatever else you feel like frying
Heat oil to 375º F in either a deep fryer or large saucepan.
Set aside 1 1/2 Cups of Flour into a Medium Bowl.
Whisk the remaining ‘Batter’ ingredients in a separate large bowl.
Dip the pickle chips/fries (or whatever you are deep frying) into the wet batter.
Coat it with the dry flour.
Fry for about 5 Mins.
Enjoy! Make yourself a sauce! My go to is a spicy mayo! Some Spoonfuls of Vegenaise and some squirts of Sriracha to taste. Invite your friends over! Play some games! Eat some food! Have fun!
Jordan Halliday is a long time vegan, animal activist and former movement prisoner. His passion for cooking & food grew from the necessity of having to make his own vegan meals as a child. Besides cooking Jordan is a web and graphic designer. He also hosts the radical radio show Which Side Podcast.
This series began as a project to celebrate good things and positive actions we, as punks are doing. For some it’s exercise, or meditation. Or giving up unhealthy behavior or addiction. I got in touch with Mya who is doing it all. She was kind enough to share her story in her own words. Here is Mya Wollf.
When I first saw this series on healthy punk living, I got really excited. Punk, radical sobriety, veganism and yoga totally saved my life, each in their own different way, and I feel that it’s really important to share our stories with each other, without judgment, in the hopes that we can use our experiences to help motivate one another to break free of the systems of oppression that hold us down. I want to add here that, in my opinion, the only way to do this is to act without judgment. There are so many amazing subcultures of punk that celebrate healthier, less oppressive ways to live, but if we keep judging others for not being like without first trying to understand how that individual person is being affected by external oppression, then we’re going to stay divided and powerless against the real systems of corruption. However, the more we can lead with love, the more we can find understanding, compassion and empathy for where others are at and THEN move forward unilaterally towards dismantling the oppressions that bind us all, the more freedom we’ll all find. But back to healthy living…..
I just want to take this time to give a round of thanks to the people who helped me make this trip possible. I want to thank Starmichael and Kenton Cycle Repair for all their help and support in getting my bike ready by offering me the parts, tools and education to make it happen. I want to thank my dear friend Lindsay for taking the time to read every single one of these entries, fixing punctuation errors and syntax, and giving me helpful advice all along the way. I want to thank my partner Helene for all the encouragement and support I received along the way even though she was terribly afraid (and somewhat convinced) that I wouldn’t make it home alive. I want to thank Profane Existence for asking me and giving me the opportunity to post my journal through their blog; which by extension motivated me to get my stuff together and make a real project out of this journal. Lastly, I want to thank everyone who read the entries of this journal as they were posted, there were a lot more of you than I would have expected!
This trip was a real challenge, and when folks ask me if I had a “good” experience the answer is always a complicated one. The tour was certainly enriching in many ways, but “good” is a very subjective word in this context because there were many times on this trip that I sincerely wanted to give up. The 3 days of the storm were really, really intense and I can’t compartmentalize that when I relive this experience. On the other end, I met a lot of really genuine people and saw one of the most beautiful coastlines in the world from my bicycle. Whether this trip can be solidly classified as good one or not, I wouldn’t trade the experience for anything in the world.
So, all I have left to say is thank you for taking the time to read about a small portion of my life. I appreciate the positive responses I’ve received so far. I look forward to my next adventure and I hope that you’re planning yours right now as well. Sometimes the most satisfying trips are the ones that are spur of the moment, somewhat reckless and ones that you are terribly unprepared for. Stay safe, but have fun. Always.
Take care my friends,
Mike XVX, August 10th, 2014
Sunday, June 29th, 2014
“Cause I’ve seen blue skies / through the tears in my eyes / and I realize… I’m going home” – The Rocky Horror Picture Show
Oh shit, I overslept! I think as I awake in the dense redwood forest. The canopy in here is so thick that it’s almost impossible to guess as to what time it is. Thankfully once I calm down I realize it’s not even 8 am yet, and I’m still on the schedule I set myself to hitch back to Portland today. I wanted to wake up and be out on the road no later than 9, and it’s still looking likely that I’ll be able to do just that. I pack my camp up and a more relaxed pace as my knee still has a slight twinge when it shifts from side to side. Walking and jogging doesn’t bother my knee at all, but any movement that recreates the motion of riding my bike sends a lightning bolt of pain up my left side. Really, really glad I don’t have to get back on my bike today, not sure that I’d even make it 20 miles on this knee.
After getting packed up I say goodbye to my redwood friend that I shared my campsite with, and took one last, crane-necked look at the top of this massive tree. I felt so very gracious to have been born on this planet in this moment. I hop on my bike and pedal across the campground, and the pain in my knee rises from a mild annoyance to an almost unbearable, searing bolt of pain driving north from my kneecap. The grimace on my face certainly would have scared off some children had there been any, but instead I roll past the check-in station and out onto Highway 99 where I’ll be trying my luck hitchhiking.
Last night by flashlight I made two signs out of old maps I had taken from the ranger station. I used a ballpoint pen to scribble on each sign “GRANTS PASS – IN A HURRY” and “PORTLAND”, respectively. The maps had writing on both sides to begin with, so in reality I wasn’t even sure that anyone would be able to read them. I flew my “GRANTS PASS” sign first, as I’m thinking it’s more likely that I’ll get a ride directly up the 99 to GP, and the “PORTLAND” sign might deter people from picking me up if they’re not going that far. I do my usual hitching routine; big smile, thumb out, passive stance and maintaining eye contact with the driver as they pass, as if to say “Yeah dude, I’m cool, don’t even worry about it.” Typically this works pretty well, but unfortunately I was unable to shave off my beard this morning, which can be a deterrent, as well as the sleeveless shirt that says “GO VEGAN!” on it. I didn’t bring any nice clothes (or scam-ouflage, if you will) along with me due to space issues, but I’m regretting it now as 20 cars pass me without slowing down. Every time a car zooms past me on the two lane highway, I look over my shoulder at the mountain lumbering behind. 80 miles and 2,200 ft of elevation I’ll have to climb if I can’t catch a ride up and over into Grants Pass. I cannot and will not do that today, it’s car ride or nothing.
A mere 10 minutes later a massive diesel truck towing a horse trailer passes me, and I see the woman driving mouth the words “Grant’s Pass?” silently behind the windshield. She then jerks the wheel to the right and comes to an abrupt halt on the shoulder. Without hesitation I grab my bike and jog over to her truck, as she climbs out and starts rearranging a bunch of stuff in the bed.
“Hey ,thanks for stopping!”
“Yeah of course! I saw you’re going to Grants Pass and I was like ‘Shit! I’m going there!’ Here, tie your bike down in the back, my horses won’t be too happy if you put your bike in their trailer, haha”
I remove my backpack off the front of the bike and hoist it vertically, panniers and all, 3 feet or so into the truck bed. I strain hard to keep everything balanced, as I don’t want to bang up the side of her truck after she so generously just stopped for me. I struggle and fight with the awkward weight until I get the bike settled in the center of the truck bed. She told me to tie it down, so I took one of my bungee chords and tied it securely from my bike frame to a ball joint in the floor, figuring if this mountain of empty cardboard soda boxes aren’t flying out the back of her truck than my bike should be fine. “Ummm…here let me tie up the wheel to this hook, it’s just… I know how I drive, you know?” “Oh yeah, sure” I say as she takes a nylon rope and threads it through my front wheel and securing it to one of the hooks on the edge of the truck bed. As she’s leaning forward to secure my bike, the back of her shirt lifts up, exposing a massive Desert Eagle handgun hanging out of the back of her pants. HOLY FUCK! I think upon seeing it. Followed by, She had to have shown that to me on purpose. Which I don’t blame her for, considering she’s out here picking up a stranger on a country road, and with 2 children as well I realize, as I glance into the cab. They’re both peaking at me through the back window and the little girl waves. Both she and her brother are maybe around 4 or 5 years old and they seem to be chatting about something.
After a couple minutes we get the bike secured to her satisfaction, and then we climb into the cab. “Sorry, just I know these roads so well that I drive kinda crazy on them.” I respond that it’s no worry, trying to suppress my concern of How crazy is it going to get?? As we’re pulling away from the entrance to the state park, I reach back and try to grab my seat belt but keep grasping air. I look over my shoulder to grab it just as a tiny, teacup sized hand grabs the buckle and slowly pushes it forward. I gently take it and look back to see the little girl smiling at me, and I smile and thank her. What a sweet kid. I find out the driver is named Sheron, and she’s about my height, with long brown hair and the slightest twang of a country accent. She used to live in Crescent City, but now lives out in Medford and is returning from a weekend visiting her parents. We make conversation pretty easily, and we find a common interest in animals and chat about our love for them for quite awhile. We also both enjoy traveling alone, and she tells me about all the places she wants to see now that she’s recently divorced. “My husband beat the shit out of me in front of my kids, so I left. Fuck him, I’m going to do things my way from now on,” she opens up to me. I typically find that people tend to tell me extremely personal things when I’m hitchhiking, partly because they’ll more than likely never see me again, but folks also tell me that I have a trusting face. I have no idea what a “trusting face” looks like though, so if you asked me I couldn’t say. I respond that I’m really sorry to hear that, that I’m glad she’s out now and her and the kids are safe, and then tell her a little bit about my childhood and how I was treated as well. Not to “one-up” her of course, but to let her know she’s not alone and there are plenty of people out there that choose not to continue the cycle of violence that their parents or significant others inflict on them. She seems to be a great mom, and her kids seem like sweethearts, and I tell her that. A bond starts to form between us, like so many other hitching situations I’ve been in, and I start to feel even more glad that she picked me up, and not just because I needed a ride.
All the while we’re flying up the 99, and she was not exaggerating about her driving style. She’s surpassing the speed limit a considerable amount, all the while towing a trailer filled with 2 horses and 3 baby calves. We’re passing these epic, picturesque landscapes,and now that I’m off my bike for the first time in a week I realize how little time I have now to take in all the sites that the Rogue River/Siskiyou Forest has to offer. The speed that we’re passing mile-markers now is fascinating to me and I feel like I’m riding in a car for the very first time. As we’re talking about cabins and our individual desires to build one out in the middle of the woods, away from civilization and any human being, we round a bend that brushes up along the river.As we’re taking the turn we spot 2 half-naked hippy guys, complete with dreadlocks, skinny frames and long beards standing in the emergency lane of the highway. The entire contents of their backpacks seemed to be emptied all over a car turnout as if it was the floor of their living room. We stop mid-conversation as we see one of them is standing there in only his undergarments, while the other, also only wearing undergarments, gently massages suntan lotion onto his back. Both of them were grinning like it was the greatest experience of their lives as an epic river roars behind them. I have just enough time to let out a laugh and think WHAT IN THE WORLD… as we fly past, the speed only giving us a second to take in everything we saw. Like a polaroid snapshot, that image will forever be burned into my mind, and I am thankful for that as it makes me laugh every time I think about it. Sheron, who’s used to living in the middle of nowhere, far away from anyone, was even more perplexed than I, and that made me laugh even harder. I suspected a slight hint of homophobia in Sheron’s reaction, but I decided to give her the benefit of the doubt and assume that she just thought it was a funny scene to come flying past. At the same time though I was tempted to alter a popular phrase I’ve seen on T-shirts and shout at her “Some hippies massage suntan lotion onto other hippies – GET OVER IT!” Obviously this wouldn’t have gone over well and she would have let me out of the truck back there with the hippy dudes, but in retrospect that actually would have been pretty rad.
In what seems like no time at all we reach Grants Pass, where Sheron will be transferring to a different highway back to her home in Medford. I thank her profusely as she helps me get my bike unlashed out of the truck bed, and I get another glimpse of that monster of a handgun she keeps in her waist band. I’d trust her with a gun over a cop any day though, I just want to have that noted. I’d even support her if she used it on that piece of shit ex-husband she told me about, but I don’t say that out loud as it’s not my place, plus what’d happen if I had said that and she ended up doing it? Or if I ended up writing it, like I am now…fuck. Whatever. We say our goodbyes, and both her kids start asking where I’m going and why I’m leaving. It’s sweet and sad and all at once I feel bad for them, as children are usually the ones who suffer and are affected the most by domestic violence. Often times their plight goes unnoticed as they’re prisoners in their own home. Outsiders were nearly powerless to help me when I was a young one, and I feel equally as powerless as I wave goodbye to them now, silently wishing them luck with their lives and also wishing that I could tell them it’s not their fault, and that they’ll grow up to be loving, gentle and wonderful people if that’s what they want. I say thank you again to Sheron and begin pushing my bike across the swelteringly hot parking lot of a hardware store, turning my front wheel to downtown Grants Pass and pushing on towards home.
Once again, I stop off at a McDonald’s on the outskirts of downtown to use their bathroom and their wifi. I posted an ad a couple days ago on Craigslist asking for a ride for my bicycle and I up to Portland, and so far I have a few responses. For those not familiar, the 5 is a heavily traveled freeway and my chances of getting picked up and driven straight home from here were much more likely than if I was still on the coast. I read over the emails I received: one ride seemed promising, but she’s not leaving till 5 pm, and it’s only 10 am now. I save that one for later. The next email has only one run-on sentence and it says “me and the boys headin to portland got room for u”. I don’t get a good feeling from this second one, mostly because it sounds like there will be too many people in this car for my bike to fit, but whatever gets me home will work. I text both of the numbers from the texting app on my ipod just to cover all my bases. I decide since I don’t have any immediate rides out of town that I might as well try to hitch out in the meantime, so I hop on my bike and follow signs to a 5 freeway onramp nearby.
Luckily this onramp is underneath an overpass, providing me with complete shade and protection from the intense heat this morning. It’s not even noon and it’s already nearing 100 degrees, there’s no way I’d last 20 minutes out here trying to find a ride if I had to stand directly in the sun. After about an hour I get passed by probably 80 cars or so, many of them not engaging me in the slightest, or giving me the “only going a little way” pinch-hand signal I’ve come to know over the years. Also, most of these cars are packed with people already so there’d be no room for me and my bike anyway, even if I took it apart. I decide to give myself another half hour, and if no one picks me up in that time than I’ll bike out to downtown Grants Pass and wait for my definite 5 pm ride from the woman with the mini-van who offered to take me. As I’m nearing the end of my efforts for now, I’m passed by a lipstick-red hatchback car driven by a woman probably in her 40’s. Across the windshield is a MASSIVE decal that just says “COUGAR” with flowers on either end. The sticker was so large that there’s no way it wouldn’t obstruct your vision, but that statement was just too important not to put out there I guess. Through giggles I utter under my breath “Right on lady, you get it!” as she passed.
I throw in the proverbial towel just before noon, mount my bike and start making my way toward downtown. It is unbearably hot, and I can actually feel myself getting sunburned. I thought that growing up in So Cal and surfing for most of my life would have prepared me for being in the sun day in and day out on this trip, but as I’m getting burned I realize “That’s not how skin works.” I feel like a dummy, but a bronzed one at that, as I coast past the strip malls. I eventually make it to downtown and stop off at the Safeway, in search of food and confrontations with the local riff raff. Sure enough I get both of those things within 10 minutes. I seat myself on a shaded curb in the parking lot and treat myself to a cold can of Amy’s chili, all the while being approached by a parade of questionable people, many of whom try to tell me just how MUCH Jesus loves me. “Uh huh,” I respond, not having the energy to spout anything overtly blasphemous this morning. Not-so-fun fact as well: the “Army of God” piece of shit who murdered Dr. George Tiller, a doctor who worked at a women’s clinic and provided abortions, was from here. So you can imagine my reticence about engaging anyone about the teachings of an abrahamic religion, regardless of how offensive that religion may be to me. The concern for my own life is only eclipsed by my concern to not be constantly bothered about the existence of a supernatural being, so for now I keep my mouth shut so I can relax. Thankfully I was eventually approached by a couple of odd folks who were not of the religious variety, so I got to have interesting conversations with them instead. We talked about bikes, how far you could ride on bikes, and canned chili, since these were the only things they could discern I was interested in. One guy did tell me about an organic tea house up the street though, so I decided that sitting in an air conditioned room with a warm tea and access to my email sounded like the perfect plan right now.
I biked the 2 blocks to the tea house (Grants Pass is a really, really small town) and on the way I passed a venue I’d played at not more than a month previous. I locked my bike up out front and dragged my bags inside with me, feeling the cool blast of air hit my scorched skin as I entered. Setting my bags aside I went up to order. I scanned the menu for a London Fog, or even a maté latte, but I settled for a chai (I’m a tea snob, deal with it). After I place my order she offers me 2% cow milk or hemp milk with my latte. This is how our conversation went after that:
“Do you have soy milk?”
“Oh yes, we do. But you know… I always discourage people from getting it, because soy is SOOOOOO bad for you!”
*trying my hardest not to roll my eyes*
“Well, I dunno, I’ve been vegan for 10 years and haven’t had any issues because of soy, so I’ll just have that.”
“Yeah, well I understand if you prefer it. I’m not supposed to have it cause I’m lactose intolerant.”
“Oh, you’re what?”
“I’m lactose intolerant, so my doctor told me I can’t eat soy.”
Perplexed and amused I wait for her to correct herself and realize that the key word here was “lactose.” Amazingly she doesn’t correct herself, and I then had to suppress laughter as I paid for my drink. It’s kind of fascinating that she works here, and also a bit scary. Maybe coffee places should ask “Do you know what lactose is?” before they hire people so they don’t accidentally kill anyone. Something to think about I guess.
I use the bathroom to take what is known amongst us traveler kids as a “sink shower” to remove some of the smell that seems to be emanating from me. I have another rock in my shoe, and upon removing it I realize that it’s actually in my sock. I remove both of my socks just in case and realize my tan line makes it look like I’m still wearing them. What a fun few weeks it’ll be getting rid of all the weirdly untanned areas I’m going to have from sleeveless shirts, bike shorts and ankle socks. As I’m finishing I see that I got a few more emails, and a couple texts on my ipod app. I get a text from the woman with the mini-van saying she’ll be in GP around 5:30, and also another text from the run-on sentence guy that just says “hey man can u meet at sharis in 20 minutes.” Shari’s is a chain not unlike Denny’s that’s popular in the Northwest, but I have no fucking idea where this place is in Grants Pass. I text back “Do you have room for both my bike and myself?” and he responds a few minutes later with “yeah maybe if we take it apart.” Fuck that. Not biking to who knows where for a “maybe.” I text back thanks but I’ve already got a ride out of town and return to my seat and my tea. Fifteen minutes later I get an email from someone asking if I’ve left town yet, and I immediately write back that I’m still here. He says he’s leaving town in 10 minutes and if I still wanted a ride I could come along. I text him back that I definitely would, and tell him to meet me back at the Safeway. He agrees and I take my time finishing my tea, as it’ll take me all of 2 minutes to get back over there.
I leave the tea house and make my way back across town, now wearing my rain shell to protect my tender shoulders from the sun. It makes for a hotter ride but at least I can’t feel my flesh being baked by the sun anymore. I hop off my bike just as a guy my age and a bit shorter than me approaches me across the parking lot. “Neal?” I ask and he nods and we shake hands. We walk over to his car, which is a tiny Honda Civic and I ask if he’s sure my bike will fit if we take it apart, since his trunk is completely full. We decide to just give it a try, and I go to work on my bike, removing both of the wheels. I tell him we should put my sweater down on the seat so the chain and the chain ring don’t get grease all over his upholstery, but he tells me his car has “lived through a lot” and it’ll be fine. I’m not sure he realizes how difficult it is to clean this shit off, but if that’s what he wants, then I’ll oblige. We finally wedge the frame in and get everything settled, hop in the car and head out of the parking lot. He tells me he’s out here visiting a friend and that he just watched a documentary about Craigslist rides and was interested in trying it out. “Lucky for me” I say, as we pull up to a gas station.
I ask Neal how much he wants for gas, and he kinda gives me a “Whatever is fine” answer, making this whole interaction all the much more awkward. Money exchanges are always a bit uncomfortable, especially when it comes to Craigslist rides. I offer him $15, because in reality that’s all I have in cash and he says that’s fine. His car is small and probably gets decent mileage, but we’re still over 4 hours and 250 miles from Portland, so I think the amount I offered is still a bit on the low end. Either way he seems satisfied, so it all gets sorted and we continue on our way. It’s a dream to roll the windows down and have fresh air blowing in my face, and I’m glad to be entering the last leg of my journey. We make great time up the 5, until we come almost screeching to a halt in the middle of nowhere as we approach a wall of traffic. We’re moving at a crawling pace for almost 3 hours, and we have no idea what the holdup is. I keep looking over to the emergency lane and think about how much farther I could have gone by now if I had been biking. The worst part about being stuck in traffic is Neal’s complaints about the heat, the traffic, the lack of A/C in his car, the heat, the traffic, the heat etc., etc. to a point where I almost tell him to shut up. He’s a nice guy but right now he’s getting on my nerves big time, as I’m also in the same car, experiencing the same discomfort but not blabbing on about it. He then pulls off the freeway to try and find an “alternate route” on his phone, even though I assure him we’re going through a pass and there won’t be any frontage roads that’ll take us north. He pulls over anyway, and finds a route his phone suggests that requires us to backtrack nearly 30 miles, not including the distance it’ll take us to get to a moving section of the 5 from this side route. He almost takes this route till I put my foot down and tell him to get back on the freeway, as it’ll probably clear up soon anyway since we’ve been on it for hours. I’m exhausted and not in the mood to be driving in circles out in the middle of nowhere, and I’m sure this comes across as he gets back on the 5 again. A half hour later the freeway opens up, and we realize all this traffic built up because we were reduced to a single lane for seemingly no reason. No workers, no road machines; just cones directing us to a single lane. Super worth it, obviously.
Eventually we roll into Eugene, and Neal says he wants to stop and grab some food in town. I unenthusiastically agree because I don’t care for Eugene, but he’s the driver and I’m sensitive to the fact that he wants to stop and eat. We pull over near the University of Oregon and he walks into a Subway while I hang in the parking lot. As he’s leaving with his sandwich he asks if I want anything, and I say no thanks and that I actually gave him my last $15. He then says, in a very fatherly manner (even though we’re probably the same age), “Well… we can’t have you going hungry, you sure you don’t want anything?” I thank him again and decline, not wanting to feel like I’m taking advantage of him. Plus, my thoughts were of nothing but Thai food from the restaurant down the street from my house, and I didn’t want to spoil my appetite for that. After scarfing down his dripping sandwich we get back on the freeway, and a short drive later we finally enter Multnomah County and eventually Portland’s city limits. I instruct him on how to get to my house off the freeway, and most importantly how to get back on the freeway after he drops me off. Portland is a notoriously difficult city to locate a freeway onramp in so I’m very meticulous with my instructions. As we’re driving past a park near my street, I see two of my housemates having a picnic, and from the looks of it they’re having a romantic time as the sun set behind them. I try to roll down my window in time to scream “PERVERTS!!!!” but it’s too late. Finally Neal pulls up in front of my house and I drag all my belongings to my front door, realizing as I’m removing my bike frame that there’s a HUGE grease mark on his backseat. He sees it too and just kinda shrugs. Sorry dude,I tried to warn you!
I say goodbye to Neal and finally walk through the threshold of my front door, immediately ordering take out at the Thai place and I then walk down the street to pick it up. Slumping down on the couch I celebrate a successful trip with Pad Thai and Thai ice tea while I stare blankly at the wall and listen to music. The lack of human conversation is a nice shift from having to make pleasantries while riding in a car with people all day. I think Depeche Mode wrote a song about “enjoying the silence” maybe? Haha. Anyway, it’s good to be home and now I finally have time to sit and reflect on my trip.
The reality of me being back home takes a while to sit in, I still constantly feel like I’m in bike tour mode. I keep mentally taking stock of how much water I have with me, identifying locations of power outlets in rooms, and dreaming of flat and level ground to pitch my tent on. I have to keep reminding myself that I’m sleeping in my own bed tonight, but that’s going to take some time to get used to. I saw a lot on this trip, and in the future when people ask if I had a good first bike tour it will be a complicated answer. In a lot of ways this trip was extremely difficult, and I felt that both my physical and mental strength were pushed to their respective limits. I wanted to cut corners a few times on this trip, and if I had the resources to do so I might have; but ultimately not having the best equipment or having money to fall back on makes for a more interesting story. The 3 days of the storm were by far the toughest, and magnified the difficulty of the ride and the loneliness that only nighttime can bring. On the other end, this trip was filled with amazing experiences, kind and interesting people and some of the most beautiful views I’ve ever had the privilege of seeing. The Oregon Coast is without a doubt one of the most gorgeous places I have ever traveled to, and I fantasize about building a treehouse at the edge of a cliff and living out the rest of my life along the shoreline.
As time passes, I’m sure the coast will grow in mysticism for me as nostalgia sets in, but I think this journal will help keep me grounded in reality. I’ll be counting the days till I can return, though. The next tour I’ll plan will now be one of experience, and not of experimentation like this one. I’ll learn from my mistakes, be better prepared and ultimately make a longer trip; maybe even all the way down to Mexico. It took me a long time to set my life and creative projects aside to make this trip happen, and now that I have, I realize what I’ve been missing. I waited too long for other people to be ready to take this trip with me, so I threw down the gauntlet and challenged myself to do it alone, and I’m so very glad that I did. I want to thank you for taking the time to read my thoughts and ramblings, because if it wasn’t for the encouragement of my friends, the motivation to keep such a log would not be there. I want to again thank Starmichael and Kenton Cycle Repair for all their help with getting my bike ready for this trip as well, punks stick together!
I want to reiterate how lucky I am to be alive and to be surrounded by so many thoughtful and caring people, and how gracious I feel for opportunities that I’ve had to see what I’ve seen and do what I’ve done. It’s easy to forget that sometimes, and it’s adventures like this one that help to remind me that life is worth living. Tonight is my final entry for this trip, and I wish you all the best summer you could possibly have, whether that be on a bicycle or not. Take care of yourselves and each other. See you out in the world, my friends.
Matt Sidney is an artist from Victoria, B.C. Canada. His drawings are powerful, dark and unsettling. They give the viewer a disturbed, though unspecified gasp of revulsion. We felt that finding out what makes someone that creates such imagery tick was too much to pass up. This interview was conducted by Karl online.
P/E: How/when did you get into drawing? What led you to your specific medium?
Matt: I drew constantly, just for my own satisfaction. I never showed it to anyone. never did a full piece until 2 years ago. No one within the punk scene or my friends knew i did art until i put some drawings up in Copy Curse (artshow/ punk show) and Mark from Six Brew Batha saw it, I’ve known him for a bit, and he asked if i wanted to do something for them. which ended up being their 7″ with Suffering Mind. which got my step in the door. I’ve always liked using pen, its very controllable. I’ve always just liked lines. prefect disgusting lines. Nic Blinko is my biggest inspiration. which is very obvious to those who know his work. Stephen Gammell, his work too. Any great painters, I always liked looking at their sketches more so, just for the rough sketchy lines. I’ve always liked stuff that was ambiguous and disturbing. Stuff that makes you uncomfortable. Music, art film. So naturally most everything i do is dark looking. I’d like to be able to use it in a more political way. I love what Gord Hill has done with his comics. and other work. And Tomi Ungerer’s political posters in the 70s were so harsh and packed a punch i would love to do something like that. but in a more political context.
P/E: What do you see as the function or role of visual art in punk? Is it as integral as music?
Matt: It for sure has its part to play. I feel most people appreciate good album artwork, and for me, and I’m sure other artists who listen to punk or just music in general, it solidifies classic albums. Axegrinder’s Rise Of The Serpent Men, Napalm Death Scum, Bolthrower In Battle There Is No Law, Deviated Instinct Rock and Roll Conformity, even Miles Davis Bitches Brew. It’s for sure something that if you are unfamiliar with the band, will grab youre attention. but most certainly not as integral as the music itself. A great album is a great album no matter the cover art.
P/E: How long does it take to complete a piece and what do you think technology’s impact has been on art? Kind of a broad question I know.
Matt: It depends on the piece. I do alot of work in a small amount of time. The longest it’s taken was about 24 hours, and spread over a few days, but that was pen and ink and it was much larger then what I usually do. My normal size ink drawings take about 5 hours. On technology, like most everything there are positives and negatives. I personally am not a fan of digital artwork, i just feel it looks so clean and hollow. Though technology also allows me to make several cheap prints for people to have, or to be able to sharpen it up and fix it, to be used for album covers and what not. Technology, yes, is a broad term. For sure destroying the art of film, which has never been an area I’ve wanted to explore but i do appreciate good films. and directors who had to have a team of artists to physically create things.
P/E: I guess more specifically I am referring to the position artists are put into in relation to the new album formats ie digital vs physical.
Matt: Yeah not a fan of digital. I myself would never use a computer to create art.
P/E: But the growing obsolescence of material physical albums and the growing dominance of iTunes and the like, where will an artist fit in?
Matt: Mostly the punk scene. Almost everyone puts out physical copies. Either a tape or 7″ or a 12″. I prefer a physical copy without a doubt. Like i know for my band, we are going to put out a demo just online for free, and once we get material we are comfortable with we will release a physical copy.
P/E: So what is next for Matt Sidney?
Matt: Not entirely sure. I’m thinking about starting a new house with some people. Hopefully to be used as a political/ venue/ arts collective.
Cooking a good Vegan meal is really fucking easy, yet often people seem completely confused as to what to do to make a Vegan meal. When you are new to anything it can be baffling, even though once you know your way around it will seem so stupidly simple. So here is some simple advice that I hope will help you out so that you don’t have to feel stupid, whether you are a new Vegan, or if you have friends or family who are Vegan and you want to have them over for dinner. Or perhaps that cute boy who you want to impress with the Animal Liberation Front back patch
Start Simple – Most Vegan meals follow this basic format: Choose 4 or 5 vegetables, chop/prep them, boil, fry or bake them, add spices or sauce. There is really nothing difficult about that. Often simpler is better.
You Don’t Need Processed Specialty Items – Stores are full of all kinds of over packaged and over priced “Veggie” items such as fake meats, cheeses, and dairy alternatives. The simple reality is that most Vegans don’t eat that much of this stuff, and if they do it is only now and then. You don’t need it. Stick to vegetables, fruits, grains, nuts, and legumes and you will be better off than with some heavily processed fake meat wrapped in plastic.
Be Open To New Foods – Often when someone is considering going Vegan people will think that it means you are cutting stuff out of your diet and being restrictive, yet in reality the opposite is what normally occurs. There are tons of foods you may have never heard of that are totally worth trying, such as Chia Seeds, Nutritional Yeast, Quinoa, Hemp Hearts, etc. Experiment with them, be open. There is nothing weird about these foods, most have been eaten by people around the world for thousands of years before the word Vegan was even coined. They are only new to a boring western diet.
Use A Recipe or Ask A Vegan – Especially when baking, it is good to use a vegan recipe at first rather than trying to modify a non-vegan recipe. That’s because baking is all about formulas; mix your dry ingredients, add your fats & sugars, then mix in liquids. But if you don’t understand what certain ingredients do on a chemical level, you may find the baking doesn’t come out quite how you were expecting. For example, in a omnivorous diet recipe, eggs work as a binder. You can easily replace the eggs with other binding ingredients, such as bananas, apple sauce, or boiled flax seeds; however, you may find your baking seems dry or doughy. This is because eggs don’t just bind the ingredients together, they also cause a chemical reaction with other ingredients such as baking powder. If you don’t use eggs, the baking powder won’t respond like normal and your cake might seem heavy. Most vegan recipes compensate for this by adding other ingredients that replicate the reaction that animal proteins usually create – such as adding an acid like vinegar or lemon juice which will cause the baking powder to react as it would with milk or eggs. My recomendation is to either use an already Vegan recipe if you are just starting out, or ask a Vegan for advice. Guess what, most Vegans know how to cook Vegan food.
You Already Know How to Cook Vegan, You Just Didn’t Realize It Till Now – Thats’ right, and here’s why. Pretty much everyone on the face of this earth already eats Vegan foods every single day; they just don’t think of them as “Vegan Food.” Think about it; ever ate falafle? Pakoras? Dahl? Hummus? How about beans and rice? A fruit salad? A Veggie wrap? Bean salad? Corn on the cob? Or pasta with tomato sauce? A pear? Bananas? Grapefruit? Guess what, all these foods are typically Vegan (unless you are doing something really fucking weird with that grapefruit). You don’t need to do anything fancy, stick to what you know. Mashed potatos can be done vegan super simple too, just use olive oil instead of butter. Or the most basic of all deserts, an apple crumble. You can make home made granola or oatmeal Vegan super easilly, all fruit smoothies, etc. This is so easy I am going to stop talking right now.
“You can’t put your arm around a memory, don’t try” – Johnny Thunders
I rose at 9 am to the freezing air blowing through the valley. It FINALLY stopped raining at least, and the sun is peaking out of the clouds high up above Humbug Mountain. My usual morning grogginess has now elevated to include blurred vision and severe disorientation as I stumble out of camp to take a quick shower. As I return to my tent, Dan offers me his old biking gloves since they’ve worn down considerably and he ended up buying a new pair. I answer in the affirmative and he balls them up and tosses them over the thorn bush separating our camps. I thank him profusely, as I’m looking forward to doing away with the dull ache in my left palm that has plagued me for days.
I leave the camp in a good mood after I say my goodbyes to folks, and upon exiting the park Tristan catches up with me and we bike together for the first hour or so. We chat about Australia and I tell him about my travels out there, and he tells me about his life in British Columbia now. My knee is killing me this morning as the cold air is not doing my joints any favors. I bite my lip and press on, hoping that once I get warmed up it’ll become more bearable. If this wasn’t my last big ride, I would have stopped to rest it for a couple days for fear of causing damage, but since I’m almost at the finish line I press on. I stop at the top of a hill to remove my rain shell, as cumbersome and unnecessary as it’s become in the now direct sunlight, and Tristan continues on as I wave him goodbye. He mentions that he might stay at Jedediah Smith State Park where I’ll be tonight, even though it’s a few miles off of the 101.
It was an easy 20 miles to Gold Beach, as odd as it must be to read “easy 20 miles” when referring to cycling, but once you get into the rhythm of your bike tour this is how things start to seem. There was little to no headwind all day, and the terrain was bearable with amazing views of the coast (as usual). I ended up making great time, so I lingered in Gold Beach a bit longer than I normally would have. As I’m crossing town I spot the holy grail of bike tour stops – a used bookstore, complete with a teahouse AND free wifi. Better yet, I walk in and I see my buddy Tristan reading and catching up on emails as well! This was my greatest find of the day and I bask in its glory for an hour and a half while I chat with Tristan and enjoy my tea. The barista is super friendly and accommodating about my freakish-vegan-“how do you live??” dietary needs and this also warms me up inside. After Tristan heads on, I linger for about 45 minutes longer, transitioning from “I don’t want to get up right now” to “I want to stay here forever” before I finally force myself to move on.
Another beautiful 26 miles and I find myself in Brookings, OR – home of the trench coat lady. It definitely has a “southern Oregon” feel to it as I roll into town. As I’m on the northern outskirts of town I pass the South Coast Lumber Company with a sign welcoming me to Brookings. I found it unfortunate that they didn’t add a tagline of “Please enjoy the surrounding forests while you can, as we are actively destroying them.” Maybe they have a suggestions box I can drop a note in next time I come through?
The first interaction I witness while arriving in downtown was a man in a roadwork van have a shouting match with a woman at a fruit stand. I couldn’t make out what they were yelling at first, but as I passed I heard her yell, “BECAUSE I DON’T DO BUSINESS LIKE THAT. THAT’S WHY!” as he responded with, “YEAH BUT BILL DOES!” which was met with “YEAH WELL BILL AIN’T HERE.” I let the battle of “Brooking’s Fruit Stand” rage on as I continued down main street.
Once again I found a McDonald’s, stole their wifi to find vegan options in town and then treated myself to the third restaurant meal of my trip. It’s funny considering that I kept telling myself “one and only one meal out” before the trip started, but this Thai place looked too good to pass up. Plus, I’m worth it! As I’m using the bathroom at the restaurant I noticed some graffiti on the wall claiming that “Bam Margera was here” in 2007 complete with that stupid heartagram symbol. First of all, Bam, you spelled “wuz” wrong. Second, I doubt this was actually you anyway, and even if it was who would care that you ate here? I don’t know, maybe people do. I constantly underestimate the absurdity of celebrity worship in this country, and I pleasantly have been able to avoid much of it by not having steady access to internet on this trip.
Brookings, like most Southern Oregon towns, is patriotic to the point of discomfort for me. I mean, Nationalism is shitty to begin with, but there’s a weird biblical air to some of the stuff I’ve seen in town. I passed a motel that had a marquis out front reading “The patriots blood is the seed of the freedoms tree [sic]” which turned my stomach in a weird way. What the fuck does that even mean? I think. As I’m rolling past, I remember that the 4th of July is coming up in the next few days, explaining the existence of all the firework stands and tattered american flags. I’m filled with a huge sense of urgency to get home before the nightmare known as the 4th of July descends upon the campgrounds across the Pacific Northwest. “Celebrate a place you just happened to be born in that’s divided by invisible and arbitrary borders by blowing things up and scaring wildlife!” What a great way to celebrate the birth of a nation! (Do I even need to say that this last statement is laden with sarcasm?)
I make my way through and out of Brookings, the last town in Oregon, and finally fulfill my destiny by biking over the California border! A wave of emotion washes over me as I spot the “Welcome to California” sign on the horizon, and in that moment I found it so difficult to believe that I’ve ridden this junky 70’s Scwhinn nearly 400 miles across the state of Oregon. Nothing like the feeling of success that only an overly-ambitious and terribly under-prepared adventure can bring. I stop and take about a dozen photos, trying to time my iPodto take photos of me casually leaning against the sign post, and failing miserably in getting a decent picture. Right on the other side of the border I stop to use the bathroom at a gas station in the parking lot of a casino. I find out they have free wifi so I’m quick to post on my social media accounts that I made it to California, and that I now am officially beginning my journey back home. It feels like the end of an era, and yet I’m still very, very far from home.
I breeze through several eery small towns and follow the signs advertising the alternate Pacific Coast bike route. Most of these routes don’t take me anywhere near the coast, and instead I find myself cycling through sweltering farm land. At one point I pass a field of cows just as one of them begins to sit down. As she settles in I yell out to her “Yeah that’s right! Take a load off, my friend! Take 5!” only to realize right after I’m done shouting that the house next door is full of people and has all of its windows down. Leaving no way that they didn’t hear the weirdo on the bike shouting at a group of cows. Fuck it. My loyalty is to the cows.
A few miles past what is now referred to in my mind as “Cow City,” I’m making my way through more farmland and approach a small farmhouse on the edge of a field. Suddenly a small terrier comes running across the backyard barking at me as I get closer. Just as I begin to think “Oh, there’s a fence there, it’ll be fine”, this dog LEAPS through a jagged whole in the chain link fence and charges straight for me! I SLAM on my breaks and almost skid to a stop, missing him with my front tire by inches. Only really missing him because I turned my wheel to the side just in time as he bolted toward me. As I struggle to get a hold of my heavy and awkward bike, he begins darting back and forth, nipping at my feet as he does so. Seconds later a man in a pickup truck pulls alongside me and laughingly says “Oh, that’s Charlie. Just tell him to go home.” and pulls away without a word more. I start to sternly say “GO HOME, CHARLIE!” as he darts back and forth in front of me and gets shockingly close to biting my front wheel. Soon I hear a little girl in the field yelling at him as well, demanding he go home and yelling “BAD DOG!” He refuses to back down, so I try to just pedal off and once again he lunges and out of fear of running him over I stop. The girl storms out of the house and scolds him, and he finally retreats a few paces back from me. I see my moment and take off. He almost pursues me for a second and then gives up as he’s repeatedly told “BAD DOG!” by the girl and picked up and placed back in the yard. That dog was willing to stop me from passing that house if his life depended on it!
Down the road I pass Pelican Bay State Prison, which is weirdly part of this “scenic alternate route” that these signs are leading me down. I figure though that if you’re going to tour the U.S., you might as well see all the prisons, considering that there’s such a huge percentage of people incarcerated in this country. Prison is just about as American as apple pie and lifted trucks after all. A few miles later I meet a couple of goats hanging out in someone’s front yard on leashes, and then the world seems alright again.
I am now in officially uncharted territory. Well, uncharted in the sense that I didn’t print out maps for Northern California, so I honestly don’t know where the heck I am and how far I am from Crescent City. I’m supposed to transfer over to Highway 99 a few miles before I even pass through the town, and I get the sneaking suspicion that I’ve overshot it as the day stretches on. An hour after my first feeling of “Oh shit I’m lost” I enter the city limits of Crescent City. Cursing myself, my bike and anything and anyone else I can blame for this debacle I pull over in the parking lot of a motel to try and pull up a map on my Ipod. As I’m checking the map I realize I overshot my turnoff by about 10 miles, which feels like an insane amount after biking for around 75 miles today already. Angered but not deterred, I finally find a road nearby that’s a straight shot to Highway 99, and the campground that’s listed is just a few miles past that. I make my way across Crescent City, and realize as I cruise that it’s a pretty rough place. I pass run down trailer parks replete with fighting and screaming residents, garbage all over the roads and giant monster trucks roaring past me. I also bike past abandoned factories and mills out on this rural road, a sure sign of lost jobs and economic disparity. Some areas of this town remind me a lot of Detroit, but probably in the next few decades a lot of cities will grow to resemble Detroit as well (I love Detroit though, just need to clarify that).
Amazingly the map I downloaded is still up on my Ipod when I stop to check how much farther I have to go. Unfortunately, the map claims that there should be a campground where I’m standing, but all I see are more goats. I’m now on the rim of the Jedediah Smith State Forest, but no signs indicate a campground anywhere. I’m almost panicked as I’m rounding 80 miles and can’t seem to find my home for the night. I make it to the junction for Highway 99 and decide to stop at a small apartment building to ask for directions.
As I roll into the lot I see a big group of guys replacing a tire on a Ford Bronco, and decide not to bother them (plus the added unease of approaching a huge group of dudes to ask for directions), I pull up alongside a guy sitting on his porch. I ask him if he knows where the campground is, and he doesn’t look up. I ask again, and again no response. I ask again, and this time he finally sees me and says “Uhh…what?” I ask a 4th time and he again says “What?” The 5th time I’m about to give up, just as he starts to sputter something out, because I look past him into the apartment and realize how sketchy this whole scene is. I see people inside rustling around, looking FREAKED out that I’m standing near their doorway, and finally a woman rail-thin with gnarly scratches all over her face and eyes bugging out comes out and asks what I want. I repeat what I’m looking for and she finally calms down, “OH, yeah that’s like 20 miles up the mountain” as she points toward the 99. “Oh fuck, are you serious? 20 miles?” I say. “Yeah, yeah. It’s way up there man. It’s almost all the way at the top of the mountain. I can’t believe you’re riding up there.” FUCK! WHY?!
I start to pull out of the parking lot to take on this stupid and seemingly unnecessary challenge when all the guys fixing the Bronco tire stand up and face me. There’s probably 8 of them, many of them sporting gang tattoos on their faces, and there’s an awkward silence for a few moments. One of them then asks “Where you trying to go, fool?” I answer and they all immediately brighten up as one of the bigger guys, with probably the most facial tattoos, responds in a jovial and warm manner, “Oh yeah man! That’s just right up there! Shit, you’re biking up that mountain?” I respond yes and they all let out a collective sigh, and he responds with “Damn, be careful on that road, homie. There’s no bike lane and people drive like dicks. It’s fucked up.” I agree and tell them I’ve already biked like 80 miles today and I just wanted to sleep, they all seemed pretty impressed and told me that it sucks I have so much farther to go. As I’m about to leave, a skinny guy with droopy eyes asks, “Hey though, you got any trees?” Assuming he meant weed (or “marijuana” for the layperson) I let out an awkward and drawn out, “Uhhhhhhhhhh. No.” and we all have a good laugh. I thank the gentlemen and hop back on my bike, them shouting encouragement toward me as I begin my trek up the hill. Making friends everywhere I go, I guess. What a day.
I begin my last and final ascent of the day, up into the massive California redwoods. It’s still daylight out, but upon entering the state forest it’s soon blacked out, leaving me debating whether I should have put my bike lights on. The two lane highway is not well traveled at this hour, but the people who do travel down it do not drive in a courteous manner and I find myself yelling, swearing and spitting at RV’s and other cars as they fly past me. In what seems like no time at all I begin seeing signs for the state park campground, totally quashing the original estimation given to me by the folks at the apartment building that it was “20 miles up at the top of the mountain.” I’m thankful that they’re wrong, and I pull into the state park sore, tired, aching and slightly lonely. I pull up to the ranger kiosk, and wait a good 30 seconds before the woman sitting with her back to me realizes I’m there. The redness in her eyes and slow manner of her speech leads me to believe that she’s been “doing some pot” during working hours. I pay her the typical $5 for the hiker/biker site and then ask her if any other bikes came in today. She says no, that there was only 1 person out at the hiker/biker area, and I immediately felt bummed that I won’t be seeing Tristan or any of the other people I’ve met on this trip tonight.
I pull into the grounds, and I pick a site that borders up against a massive old growth redwood tree. It must have been at least 50 feet tall, I couldn’t see the top as the glare from the sun was too much to bear. Speaking of bears, apparently one had been spotted at camp recently so I’m advised to keep all my food in the “bear box” in my campground. Normally I don’t bother and just sleep with food in my tent, but this time I lock it in there as I’m instructed. I get my tent set up and walk the 1/4 mile to the showers on a small path through the woods. Upon arrival I realize that the showers cost $1 for 10 minutes, which is an insult compared to the FREE showers that the Oregon State campgrounds offer you. THIS IS WHY I LEFT YOU CALIFORNIA! I think, as I storm out of the bathroom. I pass some kids tossing a frisbee around on my way back and I awkwardly have to walk through the middle of their game to get past. An uncomfortable moment passes as I interrupt their fun and they all silently stare at me as I shuffle down the path. FUCKING DEAL WITH IT!
^Sharing my campground with this fella
I get back to camp and the loneliness of the silent grounds hits me hard. Having shared campgrounds with mostly the same people every night on this trip, it feels odd to be on my own once again. I’m tempted to build a fire, goof around and swim in the nearby river, but with no one to hang out with I end up just climbing into my tent instead and continue reading my Stephen King book. Today was my last day on my bike, and tomorrow begins my hitchhiking journey home. I was originally going to bike up the 99 to Grants Pass, but I’m rapidly running out of time and I definitely have run out of energy. The 80 miles and 2,000+ ft climb to GP to link up with the 5 does not sound like a fun time to me right now, so I’m going to throw myself upon the mercy of the hitchhiking gods. Once I get to Grants Pass I’ll begin a search for a rideshare on Craigslist, and failing that I’ll find an onramp to hitch off of and hope that someone who stops will have room for my bike. As proud as I am of finishing this ride, I have to remind myself that I’m not done yet, and that tomorrow could still be potentially the hardest day I’ve seen this week. It’s still a 5 and a 1/2 hour drive back to Portland, and I could get lucky and get a ride all the way home in one go or I could be stuck on the side of the road all day and never catch one. We’ll see how it goes in the morning, but the 95 mile ride today took a lot out of me and now it’s time to sleep. Thanks for reading, friends. Wish me luck tomorrow.
Imagine a community center that had shows, art spaces had hella delish vegan grub, served java AND was punk friendly! Those first things exist in multiple places, but that last one can be hard to find. Co-organizers of this project Erika & Jess have both been organizing community events for over 10 years. Always striving to find alternative all ages DIY spaces has not always proven to be the easiest task, they intend to bring a permanent community space to Toronto with a focus on live music, community art, vegan comfort food & a damn fine cup of coffee.
D-Beatstro will function on the surface as simply a café and art space, which provides food security and fair employment opportunities for marginalized folks.. However there will be a focus on cultivating a culture of community through socially conscious artists, performers, movies and speakers.
Erika and Jess have launched a kisckstarter campaign to get this project off the ground, if you can kick down that would be great, if you got one started yourself that would be even better.
“Do you remember the good old days before the Ghost Town?” – The Specials
It’s still storming. I woke to the wind howling and the rain falling steadily in the primeval forest. I decide not to push my luck of not being discovered by continuing to stay out here any longer, so I pack my camp quickly and push my bike up and over the hill back toward the campground. I try my hardest to hit a happy medium of “making little noise as possible” and still “looking like I’m supposed to be doing this”. On approaching the back end of my original campsite, I see the older guy in the neighboring plot setting up a fire. He glances at me and quickly turns away, leaving me to infer that he knew what I was up to and wanted to show he didn’t give a shit that I slept out in the woods (G-code). I mentally high five him as as I push my bike through the campground and walk it over to the central bathroom. Feeling confident I’m in the clear, I take my time brushing my teeth and cleaning up before the days ride. I considered showering, but not having a towel on this trip would mean I’d spend the entire day soaking wet from the beginning, and having a forecast for rain all day would also negate any personal hygiene stuff anyway. I scratch that idea and press on, backtracking the 2 miles to the fork I took to get out to this campground from the town of Charleston yesterday.
The fork I return to is a turnoff for a road called “Seven Devils”, which if you think the name sounds ominous you should see the rapid succession of drops and climbs in elevation over this scenic bypass. This is another questionable alternate route my map tells me about, and once again I debate the safety of a less travelled but more hilly road to the busier 101 that has potentially less climbs. I decide to stick with Seven Devils since I already rode out here. As I’m standing on the side of the road looking at my map, I glance up and see a fence at the end of a driveway across the street that has “NO CHRISTINAS!” spray painted in huge bright neon-pink across the front. Baffled and extremely curious about this, I bike across the street to take a photo when I look up and make eye contact with 3 very gruff looking individuals standing on the other side of the fence. They all give me a death stare as I raise my camera phone. Well, maybe it’s not worth taking a photo of, even though I’m tempted to assure these people that my name is in fact NOT Christina and that I’m cool. Moments later I pass a banner that advertises a business as now being open on “Whensdays”, displaying a spelling error that sickens me in a way that only the sound of nails on a chalkboard can do. What is it with this town? How can you pay $100 for a banner and somehow no one stops you to point out that mistake? Fuck this, I’m out.
Seven Devils road is the most irritating section of road I’ve ever had the misfortune of getting to know. I spend a half hour climbing a huge hill, only to be flying down the other side and abruptly climbing another hill of equal size moments later. What’s worse, it’s still storming out, with a debilitating headwind and a fog so thick that I can barely see past the first few rows of trees in the forest. If there is a beautiful view to be seen here it’s lost on me, and that only adds to the frustration. What seems like hours later I finally reach the end of Seven Devils, cursing it’s name and vowing revenge. You just made a new enemy, road.
I roll through the town of Bandon, passing a bike shop on my right while first entering town, and debate stopping to true my back wheel once again. As usual I decide it’s not worth it and press on, in search of tea and wifi. Eventually I land at a place called Brewed Awakenings and order a tea from the stoned-seeming surfer kid at the counter. The owner is also present but she is not very friendly, proving once again that the farther south you go on the Oregon Coast the less people give a shit about you and why you’re passing through. After I take my seat the “Hey, I’m not dead” – “Cool, thanks for letting me know” comes and goes once again; so I finish my tea and head on my way. A side route takes me along the coast in Bandon and I have the pleasure of once again seeing some breathtaking and utterly amazing rock formations. I’ve said this before, but it’s the only way I can describe is like something out of a science fiction movie because it’s difficult to comprehend how nature could create such a dramatic landscape. I then think of Star Trek and in a knee-jerk reaction I blurt out “NERDS!” as I’m taking in this view. My housemate and a few other friends love the tv series “Star Trek”, and I jokingly call them nerds only because I don’t understand the appeal of the show. I’m thankful no one is near by as I blurt this out either, as traveling alone for this many days has kind of numbed my self-awareness and my ability to gauge my social surroundings before I start talking to myself. Well, whatever. I have no one to impress really. P.S. Star Trek is for nerds!
I continue along the rim of the ocean on this side route, seeing a handful of the most luxurious abandoned houses I have ever laid eyes on. One of them was literally on the rim of the cliff with an ocean view, a big “NO TRESPASSING” sign taped to the front door. I make a mental note of it’s location, in case I ever care to open a yuppie-style squat in the near future. A few minutes later I’m back on the 101 and fighting against the headwind once again, giving me, again, the mental image of pedaling through thick mud. As I enter the countryside the light moisture in the air gives way to heavy rains that pound me so hard that I have difficulty seeing my surroundings. It’s unbelievable how hard it’s coming down, so I decide to pull over at a convenience store I spot about a mile up. As I get closer I see a sign advertising something called “Jo-Jos” and “homemade mustard”. Curious about both I pull into the parking lot and set my bike against the ice fridge out front. Upon entering the store I realize “Jo-Jos” are in actuality just potato wedges with a weird name. Excited at the prospect of eating warm vegan food (and only for 99 cents!) I buy a small tray of them and when asked if I want regular mustard or the homemade mustard I of course say “homemade, please”. As I’m enjoying them under an awning out front I get several friendly nods and hellos from the locals who are making their rounds. The potatoes are burnt to perfection and this house-made mustard is packed with sugar and has the consistency of playdough. So all you wealthy fools who brag about eating fresh made pasta at some lavish coastal resort near the Mediterranean, or eating fresh baguettes and drinking wine in some parisian cafe, just remember that I got something pretty rad going on too. I got fried potatoes to eat in the pouring rain in some small, random town in Southern Oregon, so you all can bite me.
A few miles up the road I come across what looks to be an abandoned elementary school. I give it a double take when I realize, and see that the playground is now buried under 6 ft tall weeds and the building itself is shut up with boards. Never missing an opportunity to explore abandoned places I bike over to check it out. The building itself looks empty, minus a sketchy looking mattress leaning precariously against one of the school windows. I snap a few photos and continue on down the road, only to find an abandoned highschool a little more than a mile away. This school had an epic whale mural painted on the outside, which somehow made the whole building look even spookier. The facilities were locked up tighter than the elementary school, and entering the grounds would require me to lock up my bike and scale the fence, a lot more effort than I was willing to exert. I another mental note of the location to return to later and continue on my way.
More wind, more rain, more struggling with massive hill climbs. Every day I consider my “hardest day” always seems to be outdone by the following one. I feel numb, both emotionally and physically, and I just trudge along up the highway because that’s what I’ve always done and what life has seemed to sentence me to always do. This my existence now, I just have to accept it. I take a few breaks at some beautiful rivers and streams along the way, so mentally and physically exhausted that I forget to even take photographs of the things I see. They’ll live in my memory forever, but unfortunately for you you’ll have to go see them for yourself, which maybe isn’t so bad.
I stagger into Port Orford in the late afternoon, my left knee starting to ache a bit. I’ve been fortunate enough to have good knee health for almost all of this trip, due in part to the glucosamine and MSM I routinely take every morning, but eventually the strain catches up with you. I did absolutely no “training” in preparation for this trip and the result is a typical one. I coast through town and stop at a pizza place, the only business that seems to be open at 5:30 pm on a friday evening, oddly enough. At the end of the road I can faintly make out huge letters painted in the road on a slight incline. The 8 foot letters spell out “VIEW OCEAN” with an arrow pointing South into a neighborhood. Instinctively I laugh and say out loud “OKAY.” in a robotic voice, again glad no one was near enough to hear me laughing and talking to myself. I enter the pizza place and once again order tea and routinely request the wifi password for the hundredth time in my life. One thing I love about small towns is you go to cafes that sell nearly every food you can imagine. This place has espresso, burritos, pizza, milkshakes and homemade beef jerky – something for everyone apparently. I ask the cashier how far Humbug Mountain is from here, and like most of the people I’ve met out in the country she relates the distance as how long it takes to drive there in a car. I have to mentally calculate how far a “10 minute drive” would be for me on my bike, and she’s shocked when I tell her I intend to ride out there. She says “it’s probably like, 10 miles or something!” and her distress is only eased when I tell her that I biked down from Portland and she replies “Oh, well, never mind then”. She then adds “it’s also really windy today though”. Well, duh.
As I leave the pizza place I’m tempted to explore this town more thoroughly despite running low on time. As I’m biking across it I see only 3 other people, and all the businesses are shuttered tight for the evening. So bizarre that a town shuts down at this hour on a weekend. I was hoping to find some of the town’s youth to get their perspective on growing up here, as they’re usually the most reliable and honest source of information about what their town is like, but this place is pretty much a ghost town. I eventually find a parking lot with a gorgeous view of “Battle Rock”, a formation just off the coast, and a little placard explaining the history of the town. Apparently, Port Orford is the oldest town on the Oregon Coast, first “discovered” by European colonists in 1851. Amazingly, the history on this placard is pretty honest about the fact that this “discovery” threatened to existence of the Tututni people who originally inhabited the area. The original colonists were attacked and driven out by the Que-to-mah tribe, who pushed them farther North. The colonists then returned later on with more people to “secure” the settlement. The only part of the placard that omitted what some may consider “key” information is that “securing the settlement” meant murdering and driving out the indigenous people in the area, contributing to the genocide of Native Americans already in progress across the continent. But you know, accurate historical accounts are overrated, right?
I continue on and notice that the shoreline is now beginning to get that distinct “Northern California” feel to it and I know then that I’m nearing the end of my trip. Eventually I roll into Humbug Mountain State Park and as usual a wave of relief and satisfaction washes over me. I bike the few miles down the side road, find the check in station (that thankfully allows you to pay with a credit card) and start filling out my camp information. As I’m filling out my card two guys pull up on bikes and I say hello and point in the general direction of the hiker/biker sites since it’s not listed on the map. I immediately like them as one of them points to the “BEER SUCKS XXX DRINK WATER” patch on my hat and says “right on man! I fully agree!”. We strike up a conversation and it turns out that they’re both from Portland, but they both have been living in San Diego for the past several years. They talk like typical so cal surfer guys and it makes me feel a bit homesick. There names are Tanner and Steven, and we walk back up to the hiker/biker area where I see folks who now feel like old friends. Tristan, the Australian guy who’s riding solo, is in the camp across from me, and tells me that he had a hell of a day with 2 flats and a broken bike pump that he had to replace back up in Bandon. A half hour later both Zach and Dan roll into camp as well and it’s good to see them once again also. I meet a Brazilian couple who’s been bike touring for a solid year all over the world, and I’m embarrassed to admit how short my trip is in comparison.
I set up my camp and decide that I needed a fire this evening. I bought a box of minute-rice a few days ago and I’m really, really sick of having to carry it around. It having rained constantly the past 3 days has restricted me from cooking, but I’m not going to let the light rain this evening stop me again. I start collecting the left-behind but very wet firewood across our respective camps, inviting anyone to warm by the fire later, and decide to buy one of the “starters” from the camp host for a dollar. They’re essentially little hockey pucks made out of cedar dust and wax, but they burn intensely hot for a long time and can light pretty much anything. I walk over there and realize I don’t have enough change, so I ask for some from a couple eating sandwiches in a regular camping area and they give me 50 cents. I thank them and head back to my camp after buying the starter, starving and eagerly wanting to eat and end this day. I get the fire going and break out my cookware. Tonight’s dinner is rice, chana masala and bombay potatoes out of my last 2 Tasty Bite packets that I brought along. Tristan comes over to toast a bagel and pretty soon both Steven and Tanner walk over to hang out at the fire as well. We all share stories from our trips and Steven and Tanner both have hilarious ones. They tell me about a day they were at a laundromat in Brookings, OR where a woman in a trenchcoat with a really intense gaze tried to convince both of them to come home with her. These kids are both probably in their early 20’s and were understandably freaked out by this encounter, which they laughed about when they confessed this part of the story. They also told us about a night they spent on the sand in Northern California, which they thought to be legally allowed. They picked a spot hidden between some cliffs on a secluded section of beach, and awoke the next morning to a coastguard helicopter hovering just 50 ft above their camp. Freaking out, they packed up their stuff and managed to run down the sand and off the beach with their bikes as the helicopter landed on the shore! We all howled with laughter at that, and both Tristan and I promised them both that we’d be careful and watch out for the woman in the trenchcoat when we got to Brookings.
The fire begins to die out, normally a signal that the party’s over. I say goodnight to everyone, adding to Steven and Tanner that I hoped to see them around Portland when I got back. I truly meant it, they were both super nice guys. I also said goodnight to Dan and Zach, who had a long night of drying their wet clothes by the fire ahead of them. They bought an entire cart of firewood to do so, and by the size of it it looked as if they were going to be up all night. I laid down in my tent, curled up in my sleeping bag and continued on with my Stephen King book. Even though it’s still raining, life is starting to feel ok again, and my mind drifts to my day in Brookings tomorrow. I originally was going to stop just south of Brookings for the night, rounding out a decent ride, but looking at the map it saddened me to think that I’d be that close to the California border and not continue on. I decided that I was going to go for it tomorrow and try and get to a state park just outside of Crescent City called Jedediah Smith, since that was also on highway 99 which I’ll be transferring to. This would make almost a 100 mile day, which would be my longest since the trip started, but I feel confident that I can make it happen. It will potentially be my last day riding, so even if my knee gives me trouble again I’ll be able to stay off it while I hitch back to Portland. Chances are also that this will be my last night with all the people I’ve come to know on this trip as well, since the state park I’ll be staying at is a few miles off the route that everyone else will be taking farther south. I’m sad, excited and enthusiastic all at once as I think about accomplishing the goal I set for myself tomorrow. Now I must sleep, as tomorrow will be the longest day yet and is filled with unknown pitfalls and challenges. Sleep well my friends, I’ll be seeing you soon.