bike tour | Profane Existence

Tuesday, June 24th, 2014

“And me, yes I, do I want to burn? / Is there something I can learn? / Do I need a business man to promote my angle? / Can I resist the carrots that fame and fortune dangle?” – CRASS

Woke up again around 8 am this morning and felt pretty dang good about it as well. I got my things together at a more relaxed pace than usual, partly because I wanted to enjoy the morning and partly because I wanted to give Zach and Dan a chance to pack up in time if they were still interested in riding down to Lincoln City together. I went over to check on them to see if they were thinking of heading out soon, and immediately knew the answer when I saw that their camp was still almost fully constructed, haha. They said they’d probably catch up to me in Lincoln City, the next major town over and that I should just head out if I’m ready. We were the last two groups left at the camp, everyone having left a few minutes before I had woken up. The idea of being the last person here by myself while everyone else moved on was an extremely depressing thought, so I decided to press on. I wished both of them luck on the first hill of the day, which was literally just outside the park grounds according to our maps, and headed out of the park.

I rode past the ranger station and took a right onto the bypass I took out here that runs as an alternate to Highway 101. The air was heavy with mist this morning, not quite raining, but not dry either, so I put on my rain jacket but stayed in my shorts. I’ve never been a pants guy, and I like to feel my legs unencumbered by heavy fabric as often as possible. This proved fruitful as I was immediately sweating profusely within minutes of climbing the cape, and only would have eventually ripped off my rain pants out of anger and discomfort. This hill is as bad, if not worse, than what the map warned me it would be, and first thing right out of the park did not make it any easier. A few miles up the cape I pass one of the groups from our camp the night before, I greet them with a good morning and push on. Not 10 minutes later I pass the second group from our camp, and then as I finally near the summit about a half hour later I pass the third and final group. At the risk of sounding like a bike jock, it was refreshing to be passing these lycra clad, professional looking bike tourists on my 35 year old Schwinn strapped with heavily worn panniers. I guess I can be a bit competitive sometimes, but mostly it’s just about showing folks it’s not the money (or in this case, the gear) that gets you up the mountain. It takes heart, and unfortunately a lot of rich fools don’t have that. Punks in the front!

After passing the summit I descended into a long valley, guarded by tall trees on either side, and quickly built up speed on this chewed up old road. All at once I came soaring out of the woods as the tree line abruptly ended on either side of me, and the view opened up to sand dunes that stretched over the horizon in all directions. Out of the sand dunes grew a sparse forest of Doug Firs, trunks buried under several feet of earth, creating an extremely odd effect, almost like something out of a science fiction film. I immediately blurt out “WOOOWWWWW” as I come sailing down the hill as I’m just so overwhelmed by what I’m seeing and can’t contain my reaction. If a bear saw me fly past in this moment I’m sure he would have been extremely confused as to what was going on, who I was talking to, and how I was moving so quickly. I am so freaking lucky to live on this planet I thought to myself. And it’s true, I really am lucky. For all the things life has thrown at me there are many things I am so thankful to have seen and experienced, this being one of them.

As I begin my climb out of the valley several miles later, I find it increasingly more difficult to pedal and begin to feel every little groove and bump in the road as I’m coasting along. At first I think it’s the road itself that’s just rough, but as I look at my back tire I realize I’m losing air. It was probably punctured earlier in the day or last night and is now slowly leaking. Fuck. First flat of the trip. Thankfully I’m prepared, as I brought along the appropriate tools and some extra tubes I bought at Kenton Cycle Repair, so I remove my bags and get to work. I flip my bike, remove my wheel, let the remaining air out of the tube, and run my tire lever across the side of the wheel to pop the tire off. It comes off in a snap, and I give it a look for a few minutes to make sure there aren’t any gaping holes in the rubber. It looks good, so I rifle through my pannier to get out an extra tube and toss the popped one back into my bag. For future reference, old tubes are great for making bungee chords, bracelets and many other things since they’re so durable. Soon after I begin work on my back tire, an Australian guy I’ve never seen before comes riding up and let’s out a long, drawn out “BUMMERRRRR” when he sees what I’m up to. He then asks if I need to borrow an extra tube or a pump, but I thank him and tell him I’ve got it covered. He then wishes me luck, throws a “have fun!” over his shoulder and is off on his way. After another 10 minutes or so I get everything set up properly, pump up my tire with the handpump I brought and put my bags back on. The handpump is pretty cheap so I don’t get my tire as inflated as I’d like, but this is good enough for now. Feeling satisfied and accomplished I continue on.

Taken while stopping to pee. Not a bad view, huh?

After a long while of cycling through some incredibly beautiful forests, and almost taking some wrong turns here and there thanks to many confusing signs, I roll through Pacific City. This town is quickly proving to be one of my favorites on the coast so far, as it’s a tiny little surfing community with massive rock formations just off shore. Hulking monoliths loom in the morning haze, as it was still very damp at this point in the day, creating an extremely ominous and awe-inspiring sight. Surfers unpack their surfboards down on the shore and zip up their wetsuits in preparation for what looks like a pretty awesome swell. I intended on stopping to take a photograph of the beach, but the haze was so thick that any photo I could have taken would just turn out to look like a wall of grey fog. I scratched the idea and continued on, making another mental note as this is a town that I would love to revisit again sometime soon.

A short ride brought me to the southern edge of Pacific City, still maneuvering on a series of scenic roads parallel to Highway 101 that my map and all the “coastal bike route” signs advised me to take. Arriving on the last stretch of road before connecting again with 101 I’m stopped at a bridge by a construction flagger. He tells me that unfortunately the road is being repaved and torn up pretty badly for the next several miles. He added that he let a couple cyclists go past about an hour ago and they biked a few miles up the road only to be turned around and sent back. They then had to ride back into Pacific City to take a detour that adds about 6 miles to the days route. I was soaked all the way through, and I probably looked pretty pathetic, because he then told me to stand under a tree on the side of the bridge while he radios the construction crew. He says something inaudible into his walkie-talkie, and gets a crackled response back that was amazingly even more difficult to understand than the initial question. He waves me back over to where he’s standing and tells me that they’re going to allow me to squeeze through the bulldozers on my bike to save me some time. It would be dangerous and the road was rough, but that it was doable if I was willing to risk it. I said I definitely would and thanked him profusely as he sent me on my way with a huge smile; followed by a “have a great trip!”. There’s has to be a reason as to why people in this part of the state are so nice, and I think I’ll attribute it to the fact that they live in such a beautiful place.

I bike for about a 1/4 mile on the extremely rough road which is stripped all the way down to the gravel, thankfully the dirt was packed heavily enough that I could still ride on it without my wheels sinking in. It was slow going because of all the massive potholes and patches of gravel, but I made progress regardless. After a short period of time I look up and see that a pilot car is driving down the road and intercepts me in a dramatic fashion. At first I think he’s going to stop me and turn me away, but instead he busts a u-turn once I reach him and he begins to escort me up the hill with his lights flashing and his “PILOT CAR – FOLLOW ME” sign welcoming me on the back of his SUV. I couldn’t believe it! They sent down this pilot car meant for other motor vehicles to lead me safely through this road construction! Pretty soon we start passing bulldozers, steamrollers and other massive machines; all of the workers smiling at me, waving, giving me a thumbs up and wishing me luck on my day’s ride. Everybody seems so happy and excited and all at once I feel like an astronaut coming home from space and being driven in a ticker tape parade in the back of a convertible. I wave back in a diplomatic fashion and shout “thanks!” more times than I can remember with what must have been a very toothy smile; all the while stifling laughter as best I could.

Eventually we get to a section of road that’s just pure sand, so I hop off my bike and jog alongside the pilot car to keep up with. The pilot car slams on his breaks so abruptly that I almost run straight into the bumper. He then rolled down his window and tells me that we can take our time as I’m the only person he’s escorting for now. As I walk alongside the car he asks me where I’m from and where I’m going, seeming genuinely interested in why I was motivated to bike such a long distance by myself. I chat with him until we get to a rideable section of the road and I jump back on my bike. Soon the gravel eases off and gives way to a single paved lane, and eventually that spills out to the end of the construction zone where a huge number of cars has piled up. I wave to the pilot car and yell a final thank you as loud as I can, and smirk at the puzzled faces I pass who sit staring at me, mouths agape . Yeah, they sent that car down just for me. Deal with it.

A few miles later I found myself back on the 101 heading south once again, and after an hour I approach another “coastal bike route” sign pointing me down a side road to the left. It’s a beaten up old road that’s just labeled as “Old Hwy 101”, but I decide to trust these signs as they’ve never given me reason to otherwise up till this point. I don’t see any indication of this turn off on my map, but after looking at the hill that lay directly ahead of me on my original route I decide to head in this alternate direction. It takes me about an hour and a half before I start to feel like maybe this wasn’t such a good decision, and I realize it’s too late to make any reasonable alterations. I hadn’t seen any sign indicating how far I was from anything or where I was since I had got on this road, and this steady climb that is increasingly becoming more and more steep with every mile is not instilling me with much faith that I’m heading the right way. Pretty soon I put the few houses that are on this road behind me and I find myself once again in yet another State Forest climbing a massive hill. At this point I feel nearly hysterical in my suspicions that I just biked who knows how many miles in the wrong direction and that I’ll have to backtrack all the way to where I turned off the main 101 and waste hours of my time. I hop off my bike briefly to check my ipod, as I thought I remembered it had a compass in it somewhere. I had no idea if it would actually work without internet access, but as I studied it and walked in circles it seemed to keep consistent in telling me that I was in fact heading roughly south-ish. I hopped back on my bike and slowly began sauntering up this hill again, realizing I must have climbed at least 1,000 feet at this point. My frustration then manifesting itself into a shouting of curses out into the woods “FUCK. I’M FUCKING LOST. WHERE THE FUCK AM I. THIS SUCKS. DAMN IT.” for a good 10 minutes. Just as soon as I ceased my shouting I spotted a truck full of firewood coming around a bend up ahead. I hopped off my bike and waved my arms to signal I wanted him to stop. He pulls up and both him and the dog riding shotgun in the truck cab peer out at me. I ask if this is the correct way to get to Lincoln City. He assures me that it is, and then proceeds to give a very detailed and unnecessary history of “old highway 101” and that when they built the new freeway over the mountain that it wasn’t as scenic as this road is. After patiently hearing him out I thanked him and continued on, graciously accepting his good news. Graciously enough that I listened to the whole story I deemed as “information that will never prove useful over the course of my life”. But hey, I’m a storyteller as well, and chances are you’ll place this journal in that same category.

When that stressful section of highway behind me, I eventually reach Lincoln City. It is a welcoming sight; a pleasant vision on the horizon. I’ve played shows out here a few years back and I have a lot of good memories from that time. This is also home to my favorite skate park in the entire world, so for you skaters out there be sure to take note of that. I rolled up to the first coffee shop I see in town, called “Beach Town Coffee”, and order a soy chai after a series of questions to figure out if the chai mix was in fact vegan. The young woman behind the counter remarked at how sweaty I was with a laugh, and then asked me where I biked from. I told her Portland and she went on to give a series of excited “good for you!”s and “You should be proud, man!”. Dang, people here are so friendly! I then find a table in the corner and send out my routine “I’m not dead” emails and relax with my tea while I catch my breath and try to stem the heavy sweat that’s pouring out of me. After catching up on correspondence, I stand to pack my things and leave when the owner of the café comes over to say hello. At first I’m a bit taken aback since he didn’t look too friendly when I first came in, but he asks to see my map so I take it out and show him. He points to a small section of Highway 101 just south of town and tells me there’s an alternate route through the cape that actually takes me under the Highway and saves me from biking up a huge and extremely dangerous hill. Apparently all the local people who commute by bicycle know to avoid it and encourage others to do the same. He then, like the barista, started to shower me with overly encouraging “you should be proud!”s and told me I’m a good guy for doing this trip and making it happen on my own. I would have never known about this alternate route if I hadn’t chatted with this guy, so I keep a mental note to try and converse with folks in towns to pick up other helpful tips like this one. Plus, it’s so easy to talk to people out here, on account of them being so nice.

I weighed my options here in town for how I wanted to spend my time and money. I had 2 options here, which were either to stop at a repair shop and get my back wheel trued, or eat to thai food at a place on the other end of town that I found online. I could only really afford one, so I decided that since my back wheel wasn’t rubbing on my brake and affecting my riding at all that I’d treat myself to a hot meal. I biked over and locked up my bike to a fence just outside the window of where I chose to sit. I ravenously ate a plate of phad thai with tofu and a thai iced tea with coconut milk; the combination of those two things being closest to heaven that anyone can ever get (it not being real place after all). While I was enjoying my food I took notice of a group of punk-ish looking kids getting out of a street racing car in front of the restaurant. There were 6 of them, and all at once their conversation stopped as they turned to my bike and started to check out my spoke cards. I have two spoke cards in my front wheel from the Red and Black Café back in Portland, which is an all vegan, worker owned and run coffee shop. The spoke cards are a picture of Bruce Springsteen with a circle A on the back of his denim jacket, and text that reads “the only Boss we listen to”. They all started giggling and got on their knees to check it out, which was fine. What was not fine was when a woman with dreads pulled one of the cards out of my spokes, stood up and started to walk away with it. All at once I saw RED. Immediately I dropped my food, stomped out the door and confronted all six of them.

“Hey, are you stealing my spoke card?”

“Uhhhh.. well… no I was just trying to read what it says”

“That’s bullshit cause you were walking off with it. Even if you were just trying to read it I don’t know any of y’all and you’re out here touching my bike, which is not ok.”

“Geeze, well… sorry.”

“Just don’t touch people’s bikes. People tend to be sensitive about being robbed, you know.”

“Ok…. sorry.”

I snatched my card back and watched all six of them trudge off. I momentarily felt like a dick about it, but then I remembered “wait, no, they were about to steal my shit and then tried to make ME feel guilty about it.” C’mon punks, get your shit together. There are better people out there to steal from, after all.

After I finished most of my wonderful meal, and pack up the rest of it for later, I thank the proprietor and go to unlock my bike out front. As I started to get everything in order I was forced to bend over in an awkward fashion to unlock the frame from the wooden fence. As I’m leaning over I hear two women walk behind me in the midst of a conversation, and I felt something solidly brush up against my ass. Furious, and thinking “what fucking now” I spin around expecting it to be one of them who touched me, “what the fuck is it this town all of a sudden?!?”. To my surprise and embarrassment I realize that neither of them touched me, but what brushed up against me was the curious nose of a gigantic great dane who awkward lumbered past. After I faced him he then proceeded to lick my arm in his goofy way while the two women coaxed him along and apologized. I let out a small laugh and gave him an ear scratch before he sauntered off. What a day this is shaping up to be.

A short time later I roll through Lincoln Beach, just south of Lincoln City, and realize I need to fill up my water and decide I could use some fruit as well. Eating fresh fruit on this trip is the most enjoyable I can ever remember having it. Every time I stop and eat a nectarine or a peach it’s like the best thing I’ve ever tasted in my life. I ride through the parking lot of a small strip mall and stop at a market to get my supplies. As I’m exiting the building a guy with cut off jean shorts sitting against the wall a few feet from my bike looks over at me. He’s next to what I assume is his hand-painted Volkswagen bus. I say hello to him and he then offers me some swedish fish he’s enjoying. I’m pretty sure those are vegan, but I don’t know because I’m not a huge candy fan [pause for dramatic gasp], and I’m not what some would call a “junk-food vegan” [pause for boos], but mostly just the thought of eating candy in the middle of my ride today does not sound like a good idea [pause for ‘that sounds reasonable’]. I thank him and decline, and we both dip into the conversation people out here seem to have a lot that I’ll refer to as “where you going and where you been”. A few moments later a group of burly guys all dressed in hot pink shorts walk out of the market and they all pile into the bus together. He then wishes me well on my trip and as they’re leaving the parking lot he lets out an epic wolf howl and throws a fist up in the air for me as they tear off. I throw one back and think “yeah, I still got it! “. As I’m lashing up my bike to continue on my way, a dude on a child-sized Schwinn with a banana seat and ape-hanger bars rolls right up to me and starts chatting. “Fuck, if I stop and talk to everyone I’m never going to get to California.” I’ve been told I look approachable, the reasons for which are beyond me. There are times when I hate that I look friendly and think “oh please don’t stop and talk to me”; this being one of those cases. He’s wearing one of those cabbie style hats and a shirt from a bar that says “I went Balls Out at Grass Land”, complete with a drawing of a tiger laying on his back, splayed, displaying his garbage for all the world to see. “How do you have the guts to leave the house wearing that?” I think. He starts in right away with the “where you going, where you been” routine and when I mention I just came down from Tillamook he starts to sniff the air. “Well, I can’t smell it!” he says with a laugh. That sentiment I can agree with, at least. Then he continues on by saying how excited he is for tourist season to be here, and that he knows the REAL reason as to why I’m out on the coast this time of year, with a not-so-sly wink. I consciously don’t ask him what he’s talking about, so he continues on anyway by talking about all the “female German tourists” out here, and that they always come in TWOS, if I know what he means *wink wink*. I start to think that he has a very specific story he wants me to ask about, and I am not taking this idiot’s bait. “Cool, thanks. Have a good day” which really means “fuck off, man. leave me alone”. I managed to escape out onto the highway before another sketchy word could be uttered.

Soon enough I reach the turnoff for the route called “Otter Crest Loop”, which is what the owner of that cafe was telling me about. I hang a slight right to follow the signs and head through a small neighborhood and eventually underneath an overpass for the 101. The uphill climb is daunting, but at one point when I catch a glimpse of the 101 and how much higher it takes you I silently thank that man profusely for sharing this information with me. I even have my own little bike lane on this road, and the only car lane has shrunk to a single lane that I have yet to see a car on. I’m all alone on this little road the entire time, which is a welcome break from the heavy traffic on the highway today. Plus this little loop mostly follows the cliff side, and the views here are spectacular. Again I find myself gasping out loud as I turn corners and catch views of the dramatic and massive rock formations just offshore, as well as the turbulent surf slamming into the rocks 100 feet below me. What a world we live in!

I finally reach the pinnacle of this hill and find myself in a parking lot, but as to what it’s a parking lot for I have no idea. All of a sudden I hear a voice yelling at me in a southern accent: “Hey! Hey you!”. I look over and an elderly man is crossing the parking lot on foot and heads in my direction. “Go check out the view from that building! It’s amazing!”. “Uh, ok!” I respond and bike through the parking lot past him and find a tiny building called “The Cape Foulweather Lookout”. I leave my bike teetering against a bench in the grass out front and walk in. There were a bunch of park rangers hanging out and chatting inside, and they all fell silent as soon as I walked through the threshold. “Oh, uh, some guy just told me to come in and check out the view…” One of them immediately pipes up “yeah, absolutely! it’s right there if you want to give it a look”. I walk through the gift shop into a small backroom and gaze out the window, and I am definitely not disappointed that I took that southern fellas advice and stopped here. The view shows the cliff dropping away just past the property line of the house and opens up to yet another picturesque view of Oregon’s rugged coastline. After getting my fill, I grab a couple postcards for friends from the giftshop and as I’m paying the cashier tells me that I’m lucky, that they were only about 2 minutes away from closing before I came in. I say I hope I didn’t hold her up and she said that it was perfect timing on my part. As I’m leaving the building a group of people walked down the steps toward the entrance, and to their dismay the door slams shut behind me just as I left. Another baffled look from strangers and another moment of feeling special!

I learned from the postcards I bought that this building is over 75 years old and that during WWII it was used as a lookout for enemy ships and subs. It also, amazingly, survived the countless storms that battered this coast since 1937. One of the postcards was an old black and white photo of the lookout with a zeppelin flying past in the background. Apparently there’s a hanger for blimps and zeppelins just north of here in Tillamook where these used to fly out of and were used as scouts during the war. I’m a bit of a history nerd I suppose so I find this extremely interesting. You probably don’t though, so moving on!

After reaching the end of the Otter Crest Loop, I rolled into Beverly Beach State Park later that evening, it being my home for the night. I saw no sign of the Seattle guys all day and wondered if they were already here when I coasted down the hill past the ranger station. I eventually find the hiker/biker area, even though it’s not clearly marked on the park map, and it seemed to be just a grassy field with a barbecue pit in the middle. I didn’t think this could be the place, but I decided to hang around and rest here regardless if it was or not. There was only one other person there when I arrive, a guy in the corner of the camp with his tent tucked away in the trees. I set my tent up just on the edge of a strip of forest which looked like it could have been filmed for an epic scene in Lord of the Rings. I referred to it silently as “hobbit’s hollow” as I set up my camp. Eventually the guy from the corner came over to chat with me and I greeted him. He was an older guy named Larry, possibly in his 60’s, biking down the coast solo, like me. He told me he was a gold prospector by profession, and that he was going down to Coo’s Bay to find his fortune. He said he knew where all the gold was and was going to head down there and make his millions. Then he followed up with that by telling me he’d been at this campsite for 3 days. Wait, you know where gold is, and you’re hanging out at this campsite doing nothing for 3 days. Why aren’t you down there digging it all up, getting rich and then coming back here after you make your money? Why wait?. I realized though that trying to analyze this would be like rationalizing the irrational, as much as I’d like to think otherwise there is not much left in the world to prospect and dig up in search of a fortune lying in wait. I ended my conversation with him on the pretense of “dinner” and went back to my tent. Shortly afterward all of the groups from the last campground rode in at a staggered pace, looking ragged. I found out a lot of them didn’t know about this secret Otter Crest Loop that spared you at least an hour of biking and a lot of effort as well. Among the people coming in were the Seattle guys, Zach and Dan. I jested that they didn’t catch me and I hadn’t seen them all day, but it turned out Zach got a flat right out of the park and had to stop and change his tube. I said that was a bummer and we caught up about how our days went. They mentioned that when they get to Coo’s Bay they’re going to rent quads to ride around out on the oregon sand dunes. Quads, we agreed, was another thing that we all collectively made fun of until we all actually tried one, and realized “wow, this actually really, really fun”.

Eventually I got up and decided to take a look around the park, since this state park borders the ocean just like the one from last night. I walked down a path past the visitors center and through another section of campground, and it brought me to a tunnel with a small stream leading under the Highway 101 bridge and out onto the sand. The stream was heavily choked with massive pieces of driftwood, some of them even tree-sized. I went for a short walk along the sand, but the fog began to roll in thick and fast, and soon I couldn’t see more than 10 feet ahead of me while I aimlessly wandered down the huge stretch of sand. I decided I wasn’t in the mood to get lost on a strange beach, so I ended up heading back in the general direction I came from and eventually found the tunnel again back into camp.

On the walk back to my tent I had lyrics for a new song pop into my head, and I wrote them down in my ipod. I used my imagination to try and envision what the guitar parts would sound like as well, and I tried to write this out, but all I ended up writing were things like “bum da dum daaaah, browwww” and decided that future me would read it and be like “what the fuck was I thinking?”. I finished the lyrics in about 5 minutes and decided I’d work the rest out later when I got home.

I arrived back at camp, grabbed my backpack and then walked down from the hiker/biker site on a snaked and steep path to the showers. Once again I had what seemed like the greatest, most fulfilling shower of my life, and I tried my best not to exclaim “oh, yeaaaaaaah” (akin to the kool-aid guy) when I was in there. At this campground the showers are all in their own private and individual rooms, and as I was showering I heard some kids causing a ruckus right outside my door. I thought for a minute that they were just playing tag or something, but as I left the shower I noticed that they had written on the ground with an old piece of charcoal from a fire pit. The message that they left me read: “Hi Mr. Taco”. My immediate reaction was: “how do they know I love tacos?” and was followed by severe confusion. Later, as I walked back to my camp, I saw a little boy in the road writing another message in charcoal and then sprinting off upon finishing. As I arrived I saw that this message read: “you stink mr. taco”. I laughed and continued on up the path to my tent. If this last message was truly about me I have no rebuttal, I do stink, and often. Punx!

After an unceremonious goodnight to folks I climbed into my tent and prepared my bedding. Another day down, and several more to go. It’s finally starting to feel like I’m making real progress on my ride, and I’m thankful I’m not feeling it in my knees yet. Common complaints I hear from friends of mine who have done bike tours almost always mention some sort of joint pain, particularly in their knees. My final wish for the day, though, is to encourage you to start prepping for your own bike tour, if only for a weekend trip. It’s an experience unlike any other, and I’m willing to bet you won’t look back on your life later and be like “Wow, I really regret riding my bike through all those beautiful places”. There are so many amazing things to be seen out in the world, and I maintain that those things are better seen from bicycles. Goodnight my friends.

damn right I like the life I live,

Mike XVX

Introduction:

Here is the first entry to a journal that I kept when I attempted to ride my bike across the state of Oregon. Over the next 10 nights I’ll be posting a new entry from this trip on the Profane Existence blog. This was originally meant to be a zine (just meant for a few friends to enjoy), but at the request of others I’ve decided to share it with a larger audience. I feel incredibly honored and grateful that PE asked me to post it here, as they’re a publication that I’ve looked up to since I was a young punk.

I want to state first that this journal is in no way a “how to” manual on how to do a bike tour. You’ll notice that I did this trip without a helmet, a cell phone or an itinerary to leave with someone in case I went missing so they’d know where to search for me. If you have the means to attain these things, please do so! Be safe out there and look out for your friends! I was lucky my lack of safety gear or a way to reach folks didn’t prove to be fatal, so please don’t follow my example in that respect and take chances that you don’t need to.

I’ve tried to capture this experience as accurately and as honestly as I possibly can. I’ve omitted some small details here and there, mostly for space reasons, but I’ve documented every significant event that happened along this ride. I think that the entries explain themselves well enough, so I won’t go into much detail about what you’ll read here. I appreciate you taking the time to check this out and I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. I would say as much as I enjoyed living it, but that unfortunately isn’t possible. I want to incentivize you to go out and create your own adventure, and I hope that in some small way this journal helps. There are a lot of amazing things out there just waiting to be experienced, and some times all it takes to make it happen is a 30 year old bicycle, a backpack and an overly ambitious attitude. Stay curious and inquisitive, my friends. Sometimes it’s the only thing that helps me feel truly alive.

Mike XVX, August 1st, 2014

The legendary crust classic is now available once again!

We are happy to announce our next new release

WILT – “Self Titled”

Here is a track from the upcoming LP

“Sermon for the Bootlickers”

Tag: bike tour

0 Tonight We Ride! Entry #5

1 Tonight We Ride! Intro & entry #1