North to South

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© 2010 Moses Winterwind Zderic All stories and photographs are orginals done by Moses Winterwind Zderic. Thanks to all the freinds and family that halped with the trip and this book. I couldnt have done it with out you. Contact author at [email protected] for up and coming projects or questions. North to South North to South A book of photography and short stories by MosesWinterwind Zderic Zderic, Moses W. North to South, Olympia, Washington: Promise Land publishing, December 2010

description

This book is historical non-fiction based on a 2000 mile bicycle trip from the Northwest tip of washington to the US mexican border. The charactors are based on people i met along the way and their lives as the intersected with me.

Transcript of North to South

Page 1: North to South

© 2010 Moses Winterwind Zderic

All stories and photographs are orginals done by Moses

Winterwind Zderic.

Thanks to all the freinds and family that halped with the trip and

this book. I couldnt have done it with out you.

Contact author at [email protected] for up and

coming projects or questions.

North

to S

ou

th

North to SouthA book of photography and short stories by

MosesWinterwind Zderic Zderic, Moses W. North to South, Olympia, Washington:

Promise Land publishing, December 2010

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North

to S

ou

th

North to SouthA book of photography and short stories by

MosesWinterwind Zderic

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June 21st 2010, the day of the summer solstice, I was standing at the Northwest tip of Washington State, in a little town

called Neah Bay. Neah Bay is an Indian reservation that is run by the Makah tribe. That day, I stood at the edge of cliff

looking west; I was about to embark on a road trip unlike any other. I stood there and watched the dark rain clouds blow in

from the Pacific Ocean and listened to the waves rush in and crash against the rocks a hundred feet below me. That day was

the start of my adventure.

Earlier in June I packed all the necessary equipment on my bike. Camping gear, extra cloths and anything that could

help me get through the next 38 days of riding was included. I towed a single wheel bike trailer and on the rear rack of my

bike I carried two panniers. All together, I started riding with about 65 pounds of gear. In the panniers I also packed four

cameras, which included a 35 mm, Medium Format Holga, Digital SLR and a Super 8 movie camera. My goal was to

discover the West Coast in a different way.

My start place was the Northwest tip of Washington and my end point was the Southwest point of the U.S. Mexico

border. I embarked with no expectation and no real knowledge of what lay ahead for me. Daily I kept a journal of events,

people and distance traveled. Visually I captured the moments and the landscape from the side of the road. From North to

South I rode through the rainy logged hills of Washington State to Oregon. Through Oregon I followed the coast down

along the steep and windy cliffs, with long rolling crescent beaches and beautiful sand dunes. As I rode into Northern

California the air quickly came consumed with long days of cold fog rolling in from the Pacific Ocean. Then to avoid the

treacherous California Lost coast I headed inland to the dry and hot hills of Highway 101. Soon after, I headed back over the

hills and down to the cool ocean air. I headed south on Highway 1 and hugged the coastline the rest of the way as I began my

descent into the crowded busy streets of Southern California. Through the flat Southern California coast I was forced to steer

through pedestrians on crowded beach bike paths, until I arrived at the U.S. Mexican border on August 4th 2010. This book,

North to South, is a collection of images from my journey and short stories about the people I encountered on the way.

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I can still smell the air from that day and see the damp smooth black top as Nicolas and I descend around the corner. It is almost July and I’ve been on the road now for seven days. Nicolas, the French kid from Paris that I have been traveling with since yesterday, was leading us to our next destination. He is much faster than I am and generally throughout the day has kept a good 100 yards ahead. Nicolas is like a kid in candy land; I could see it in his eyes; he has a thirst for adventure. This was Nicolas’ second time in the States, the time before he’d visited a family friend in New York. This visit would be very different from his first.

Nicolas’ silver aluminum road bike is loaded with only the essentials: one change of clothes, a tent, sleeping bag and some cooking gear, that is it. He brought a helmet with him but I hardly saw it on his head. Most of the time it is tied to his panniers on the back of his bike. It is a big helmet and looks kind of like a snowboarding helmet; I could see why he didn’t want to wear it. He would tell me later that he brought it just to give his mother piece of mind and that he never really intended to wear it. A couple times he had me take pictures of him wearing it while he rode his bike, so he could send them back to his mother to keep her from worrying.

Sometimes I envy Nicolas for his lack of gear. Still trailing sluggishly behind I pedal faster to catch up to Nicolas. As I round the corner, Nicolas has already become a speck on the road ahead. The landscape quickly changes and the road becomes smooth and the lines freshly painted. The bright double yellow lines in the center of the road contrasts against

the dark, wet black top and make a trail to follow that seems to go in for miles.

On the right, the road borders the ocean and I can feel the cool brisk air on my face. On the other side of the road, all I can see is wetlands littered with fields of freshly green skunk cabbage. The smells from the ocean mix with the aroma from the skunk cabbage to create a pleasing sweet, salty smell that fills the air as I rush to catch up with Nicolas. In the distance, I can see white hills on either side of the road and Nicolas stopped between them waiting for me. “Giant piles of oyster shells,” Nicolas says in his thick French accent, as I stop next to him in the middle of the road. Seagulls circle the piles that are scattered all over the landscape, occasionally diving down and landing on the shells. Their gray and white feathers camouflage against the gray and white piles seeming to disappear as they land to pick leftovers off the shells.

I can see the bright yellow lines end and what looks like a town in the distance. Riding with one hand on the handlebars and one on my hip I lead us into town, Nicolas follows close behind. The streets are empty and all the buildings look closed and boarded up. “It’s a ghost town,” I say riding in the middle of the street. “It’s going to get dark soon, I think we should find camp,” I say turning back to Nicolas riding behind me.

At camp, Nicolas and I start to unpack our bikes. From town to the campground there was still no one to be seen.

Part one: The French Kid

Kneel to me Neil and The French kid

Part two: Neil

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I remember seeing what looked like a grocery store a little further up. I wanted to get camp set up and then go get food and other supplies needed for the evening. Nicolas sits at the table at our campground as I set up my tent in the corner, Out of the shadows of the trees a short stocky figure appears, stumbling toward us. A man that looked weathered by the sun, hands filled, gets closer to our camp, tripping over his feet and almost spilling the tall can of Mickey’s he holds close to his mouth. The man walks up to Nicolas still sitting at the picnic table and sets his can of beer and the rest of the contents of his hands down on the bench. “What’s your name?” The man says abruptly with a glazed look on his face. The words barely make sense as the man tries to speak. As I continue to get camp set up, Nicolas and the man sit across from each other at the table. The man raises his voice and says, “My name is Neil Oberstake and it is a ‘mistake’ to mess with an Oberstake!” “What’s going on here?” I ask, as I approach Nicolas and the man sitting at the table. The man looks up startled, wide-eyed, like he didn’t see me standing there. The man quickly stands almost falling over and grabs the hood of my sweatshirt, then pulls it over my face as he pushes me away. “Hey! Hey! I yell muffled from underneath the hood of sweatshirt. I wrestle to get my hood up away from my face and when I do the man stands there with a knife; blade pointed directly at me. The man pauses as he regains his balance and sits back down staring intensely into Nicolas’ eyes. It seems like the man had it out for Nicolas as soon as he walked up.

Nicolas sits at the picnic table bench across from Neil. His eyes locked in with Neil’s eyes, holding, trying not to be the first to break contact or blink, so not to show weakness. The sun begins to fade behind the tall trees that surround the campsite and the mist around us turns from transparent to glowing gold. The remnants of a storm that recently passed scatters the forest floor all around us and Nicolas and Neil remain in intense contact with each other. Neil’s hand grips tightly around Nicolas’ wrist to show just how powerful he is. Nicolas sits there with his fists clenched, eyes still connected waiting for a chance to escape Neil’s tight mental and physical grasp. Between them the knife rest, blade deeply imbedded into the weather-faded wooden picnic table.

“Kneel to me,” Neil says with a toothless grin on his face. “My name is Neil, now, kneel to me!” Neil says aggressively as he reaches for the blade between them. Neil’s jaw clenches and his nostrils flare as he pulls the knife out of the table. Again Neil repeats “KNEEL!” then stabs the blade into the table in front of Nicolas’ face, pulling it out almost immediately. “TO!” he says stabbing close to the same spot. “ME!” he says stabbing the knife a third time into the table this time leaving it there. Neil stares with bloodshot eyes. His one tooth stands alone in his mouth with a drunken gaze on his face, waiting for a reaction from Nicolas. Nicolas just sits there in silence, his whole body clenched and ready to protect himself. Neil leans back and lets go of his tight grip around the knife handle,

Part Three: Neil and Nicolas

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slaps his hand on the table and throws his head back and starts to chuckle into the air.

All I can do is just stand there waiting to help Nicolas if I need to. Nicolas still sits held down by Neil’s grasp with a flushed worried look on his face. Neil seems to not notice me anymore standing there, his attention focused on Nicolas. “Where are you from?” Nicolas asks trying to calm Neil down. “I from here! “ Neil replies, “Now kneel to me!” Finishing off his tall can and slamming it on the table Neil looks back up at Nicolas with fire in his eyes as if Nicolas owed him something. Nicolas, with his hand under the table, signals me to go find someone. I don’t want to leave Nicolas by himself with Neil but something needs to happen. I slowly fade into the shadows cautiously as not to startle Neil. I grab my bike and start peddling away from them towards the desolate town, looking back occasionally to see that everything’s alright until they fade into the shadows and I can’t see them sitting at the table anymore.

As I return alone, Neil and Nicolas are standing there next to the table face to face. I approach on my bike. Neil turns away from Nicolas and starts to stumble back to the shadows where he came from.

“What happened?” I asked Nicolas as I approached him. “Lets get out of here before he comes back.” Nicolas replies. Nicolas and I gather our things and quickly pedal out of town, not looking back as we pass by the piles of oyster shells. I still don’t know exactly what happened between that man and Nicolas, all I know is that the man’s name is Neil Oberstake.

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Tom Dollar growing up was never the center of attention; he stayed to himself and hardly was noticed. At school and in class he played dumb and never spoke up even though he knew all the answers. He was built small from toes to neck with a large head that rested on a frail long skinny neck, with a hairline that lined up with his ears. At the age of ten he was brushing his thin, gentle, fair hair from back to front to make up for his fast receding hairline. His dark deep-set eyes lay tightly close together in his skull. His nose, then lips rested closely balanced between his eyes. The whites that surrounded Tom’s pupils contrasted against the dark grey circles that encompassed his eyes making the whites glow like a constant illuminated phosphorescence on a dark summer night. By the age of 13 he walked with a limp and a cane due to one leg not growing evenly with the other. His small build met abruptly with his basketball shaped head, it seemed as though his body would never catch up. Sometimes when he walked he would resemble that Jesus bobble head glued to the dash of your car. Most of the time people would leave him alone and he would sit in the corner calmly observing the sounds that filled the air and analyzing it’s beauty.

Tom sat in his plain tightly organized room, with white buffed walls without even a tack mark anywhere, after his first day of high school. He sat pondering the empty sounds that resonate off each blank wall. His bed was just a pile of blankets stacked neatly in the corner of the room, with more blankets tightly tucked into them, like an untouched cocoon. Tom’s room was lonely; it was filled with the images of his imagination, nothing more, no toys, no books and no clutter anywhere. No chairs even, Tom just sat there on the shagged

carpet, cross-legged with his shorter leg tucked securely under his larger, longer leg. With Tom’s eyes shut he sat there, trying to pay close attention to the walls breathing, focusing on their echoes and the muffled sound of his mother moving in her room. The rustling sound filtered through the walls of the apartment, echoing and ricocheting off each wall until the noise reached his ears and then faded into nothing. He tried to ignore the sounds of chaos outside his door and focus on the sounds that are most important and beautiful to him. For Tom, even silence had a sound. His right hand picked at the shagged, speckled blue carpet, picking pieces of it into his delicate pointy fingertips. Making a soft velcro sound as the air filled between the carpet and the concrete underneath. Then the dready shags between his gentle fingertips break away from the carpet and the carpet floats slowly back down to meet the concrete floor, Tom listened intently to the air being pushed through the carpet. The slightest of sounds make tears swell up into his eyes. A silent joy flooded his body in the form of tingles that start in his chest and spread outward till the tips of his toes and fingers were enthralled with the softness of the sound from the shagged carpet.

This is what Tom did everyday after school he tried to find the silence in his day of chaos and noise. This room and this moment, where Tom sat and picked at the shagged carpet, was where it all began. For his life to come Tom would try to recreate that moment where the storm stands still and he would try find a way to control the sounds and echoes to a perfect tone.

Tom Dollar And The Bunny WomanPart One: Tom

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Tom lived with his mother in the small tightly packed quarters of a city apartment building. Tom’s mother worked nights as a bartender in a small dive bar in the outskirts of the city limits. She would get home around 4 in the morning and would sleep mostly through the day. They hardly saw each other and at times Tom preferred the quiet, silent space to come home to.

His mother Dianna Jane Stola was born into a Polish, Mexican family in the mid west. She grew up with very little on a small piece of land her father owned. Dia lived there with her 4 younger sisters and her father. Her life was very simple then, in the little cottage they lived in. The cottage hardly had enough space for the six of them and one night while her father and sisters slept Dia felt it was time to leave home. Dia remembers that night, it was the last time she would see her family. Soon after she left she found work as a bartender and would settle into a house. The same tightly packed apartment where she lived with Tom.

Unlike Tom’s room the rest of the apartment had newspapers stacked to the ceiling, books, shoes, blankets, dishes everywhere, all stacked very neatly in each tiny nook of the small apartment. Every corner, shelf and table was used to hold doodads, trinkets, collectibles or any other useless consumer item that Dia could get her hands on. Dia was one of the first of people that today we call hoarders, you might say she was the started the trend. Dia could hide behind her things and she filled her emptiness with objects. As a result she never brought anyone into her home. Her home empty of social interaction, in a way this was her solitude, inanimate objects filled her space. Dia seemed not to mind having to

crawl over piles through her house.Tom avoided the space outside his room and most of the

time he would only leave the solitude of his den when absolutely necessary. The tranquil depth of his spotless, organized room was his only escape. As Tom sat there in him room, as still as the stacks of boxes outside his bedroom door he could hear the rustle of his mother stirring in bed. He knew that soon she would be awake and he would have to move from his spot on the shagged carpet and greet her while she drank her coffee and inhaled cigarette after cigarette.

“Theoadorable!” his mom yelled from the hallway as she stumbled from the bedroom to the kitchen, sounding winded and as though a truck had just ran over her lungs. “Are you home from school?” her raspy voice yelled from the kitchen. This is the way she always sounded even in the short times she tried to quite smoking. Tom called it A.V.D. Automated Vocal Disorder. He didn’t know if it was a real disorder but he thought if it wasn’t then it should be. When Dia spoke she couldn’t control the volume of her voice and she always had a winy scratchy tone that sounded like a broken foghorn.

Tom’s given name was Theodore, his mom used called him “Theodorable”. Of course Dia didn’t know what he went by at school.

“Theodore” she yelled again, her voice sounded a little softer this time as cigarette smoke billowed out of her mouth. She gave off a wheeze then a cough at the end in her efforts for a final exhale.

Tom still sat cross-legged in the solitude of his room and

Part two: Dia

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listened to his mother’s voice move slowly through the cluttered hallway to his door. He listened to the delay from the kitchen and the filtered sounds of her voice that had to travel through the hallway before getting to him. Her voice filled a silent void between them, and then emptied into a brief moment of silence. Tom sat there taking in that silence as he held his breath not wanting to break the moment.

Click, click, and click the silence never lasted long enough for Tom it was always interrupted by another sound. The sound of the lighter his mom used to light another cigarette shattered his short silent moment.

“I brought something home for you” Dia yelled again breaking the silence.

Tom knew it was time to get up and hobble through the maze outside his bedroom door; he leaned forward uncrossing his legs and grabbed his cane. He pushed up struggling to gain balance, his giant head weighed heavy on his shoulders. He toke his time approaching his bedroom door turning the knob gently and opening the door with caution. Looking back as he stepped out into the chaos, Tom reached his frail weak hand to the light switch; he sighed and prepared himself for his mountainous trek through the apartment hallway to the kitchen where his mother was. He stumbled through the over grown collection of items that cluttered the small apartment building. Toms longer leg got caught every once and while on the boxes of books or cloths stacked high to the ceiling. He had to break his foot free with the bottom rubber part of his cane losing balance at times. The smell of burning tobacco gets closer to his nose as he steered himself closer to the kitchen entrance. Smoke billowed

out of the doorways Tom watched it move through the light coming in from the window and took one more long clean breath of air and turned the corner cane first to face the source of the smoke. Dia stood there with one hand leaning palm out against the cutting board in the middle of the room; the other hand pinched a cigarette butt as she pulled it out of her mouth. She smiled as she saw Tom’s face come through the door and emerge from the shadows. Her faded yellow teeth that lay evenly apart; about a pinky width between each one matched her olive skin that glistened in the afternoon light. Dia stood there waiting for her water to boil for coffee, trying to get every last pull off her cigarette that was already burning into the filter. The ashtray pilled high with butts, it rested uneven next to her right palm that was leaned against the floating cutting board in the middle of the kitchen. Dia finally gave up on the burning cigarette butt in her hand and laid it to rest on the over flowing ashtray next to her. The smoldering ashtray released a cloud of smoke and mixed with the afternoon light that shined through the kitchen window and filled the space between Tom and Dia.

“I got something for you sweetie” Dia said as she turned and grabbed the whistling teakettle off the burner behind her. Tom just stood quietly watching and listening to each ambient noise caused by his mothers awakening routine. Tom put all the weight on his cane and stepped forward dragging one foot in front of the other into the cloud of smoke rising from the ashtray. He waddled to the closes chair, eyes still on his mother moving around the kitchen and hooked his cane on the back of the chair then flopped his awkward body into it.

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“What is it?” Tom asked with a soft gentle voice. “It’s by the front door. Let me go get it.” Dia said with a smile on her face.

Dia stepped out the kitchen door smoke followed closely behind her and disappeared into the cluttered.

Tom listened to his mother work her way through the tightly packed hall brushing up against the boxes and the inconsistency of her step as she moved over the clutter. He hears the rustle of a plastic bag as she gripped it in her hands and slowly started her hike back through the piles to the kitchen. The crunching of the bag got closer and closer until Dia emerges out of the shadows of the hallway and into the thick cloudy light of kitchen. In her hands Dia clenched a black plastic bag sealed at the top with duct tape. Dia set the bag on the counter. The bag still wet from raindrops. She reached over and grabbed a dirty kitchen knife from the sink. Tom watched and waited as she sliced the silver duct tape from the bag and reached in. With her left hand she carefully grabbed the contents of the black bag and slowly began to reveal it. Her long skinny wilted hands held on tightly to the stem of a beat up guitar as she pulled off the rest of the bag. Holding it in her hands she walked it over to Tom and set it on his lap. Half the strings were missing, dents and holes everywhere, the stem rested crooked on the body of the guitar. Looking as though any sudden movement the guitar would crumble into a thousand pieces. The guitar resembled Tom in a way. Tom sat there with the guitar resting in his lap running his fingertips over all the imperfections, all the bumps, the scraps, and the light spots where the frets were missing. The guitar not even close to being playable, though

Tom and his mother both saw the potential. Tom was intrigued at what sounds could come out of it.

I

Much of Tom’s life between that day and now where are paths cross is a mystery. Tom invited me into is life and the short time that we shared together his story becomes a part of my story and my story a part of his. Tom and I cross paths much later in his life. When I knew him, he looked used and wrinkled, a faded man imploding back into himself. Though when I met Tom in that bar in the small coastal town in Oregon his eyes were still filled with a youthful gaze despite his wilted appearance.

The rain is not letting up. I scourer my surroundings on my descent into Lincoln city for a place to pull over and rest my sore soaked through body. My rain gear no longer protects me from the heavy down poor. My feet slush around in my socks that are sloshing around in my shoes. My whole body pruned from riding in the rain all day. The rain seems inescapable today so I duck into the first place I see. I jump off my bike in a hurry almost falling in front the door of this grungy dive bar placed neatly on the corner at the beginning of town. My heavy overloaded bike slips and slides on the wet concrete as I struggle to push it to the front window and lean it gently against the window seal. The window tinted with a reflective gold tint. I can’t see in through the window, but just my soaked reflection dripping and glistening with water. I

Part Three: Tom the Bunny Woman and Me

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grab the door, shaking the water off like a wet dog that just got a bath. My hands are shaking, my body cold and uncomfortable, I twist the door handle and get a rush of warm air and the sound of chattering and laughing that replaces the sound of the rain outside. A warm place filled with all sorts of people just like me, escaping from the heavy summer rains.

As I shed my soaking rain gear I peer through the crowds of people looking for a place to sit. This is where I see Tom for the first time, he sits, cane at side nestled in the corner at the end of the bar with beer in hand, his eyes glazed over. Tom looks up as he takes a sip of his beer our eyes connect and I start walking towards him to fill the only empty seat in the bar right next to his. Tom looks back down at the bar as he rests his pint down back to the cardboard coaster. He sits there looking down moving his pint in circles until I get to the chair. I seem to interrupt his concentration. “Is someone sitting here?” I ask with a scratchy voice, clearing my throat at the end. Tom breaks the gaze on his beer, turns his head and makes eye contact with me, pauses and then very softly say’s “please,” as he moves his hand over, palm up and points at the chair. Tom turns back to his beer, lifting and finishing it in one solid quick pour into his mouth. Tom signals to the bartender for another pint lifting and pointing his glass towards him. “Before I have to go home to the wife” Toms says. Tom waits intently and watches the bartenders as he pours another beer for Tom. Tom’s eyes don’t leave the bar tender until the pint safely makes it to him.

Tom looks over at me “I’m Tom, Tom Dollar” he say’s and then looks back down at his beer. “William” I say,

putting my hand out to shake his hand. Tom looks over out of the corner of his eye at my hand and then looks back at his beer as he lifts his glass to his lips, rejecting my gesture. There’s a moment of silence before Tom speaks again. His eyes still gaze at his beer in front of him as he gently say’s “I build guitars.” Unable to hear him over the muffled sounds of the other bar patrons conversations I ask “you build what?” Toms turns to me his eyes wide and says “Guitars!” “I build guitars! Want to see?” then turns back to his beer. “ Sure” “what kind of guitars?” I ask hesitating at my question.

“The kind you can play! You know, any kind the kind that makes sounds.” Tom says with small grin on his face. “Want to see?” Tom says again. “Sure!” I repeat myself expecting him to pull a picture or phone out to show me.

There’s a long pause in our words and Tom finally turns to me and unexpectedly asks, “Where are you staying tonight?”

“Not sure” I say clearing my throat as I answer Tom.“I’ll have to run it by the little woman, but why don’t you stay with us. If you want that is?” Tom says with a little smile at the end.

Tom reaches up behind the bar and grabs a napkin and pen and proceeds to draw a detailed map of Lincoln city and directions to his house. Tom quickly gulps the last of his beer, turns to his cane resting against the wall grabs it and gracefully pops out of the bar stool and lands two feet down. I sit there contemplating his map trying to make sense of it.

Toms turns to the door and starts to make his push

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towards his car parked right out front in the handicap space. Cane and left foot forward he takes his first step then stops and turns to me and says “nice to see you William. Maybe see ya later, good luck.” Tom turns before I can say anything and disappears into the crowd of people that surrounded us.

II

No where else to go and curious about Tom Dollar, I find my self waiting, standing outside of a very unfamiliar neighborhood looking down at the napkin with Toms directions on it. The napkin, now getting soggy and the lines that signify roads bleed into Toms map with each raindrop. The only words that I can see on the napkin are “the pink house in the middle”. I stand here getting wet from the rain fall and quickly losing day light waiting for a sign to tell what house it is. I look up from the map around me and laugh “ their all pink in this light and where’s the middle” I say to my self. The map now useless, it turns to mush in my pruned wet hands. About to give up, I thought to my self “I might as well start knocking on doors”. I close my eyes holding my bike tightly in one hand. Enny, meeny, miny, moe I point at the houses in the long row of houses that all look the same. I wheel my bike to a black top paved drive way in front of me and lay it down in the middle trying to balance the bike on the rear panniers. Hesitantly, I walk toward the door and up the light baby blue steps that had paint peeling off them, to reveal the rotting wood underneath. The door propped open as if they were expecting me. I’m faced with a screen door and a dark very uninviting view into the house. Before I can

reach my hand to knock, from within the darkness I hear a voice. “William you made It.” the voice says, still not able to see a figure, just the glowing of a TV. Silence fills the air; then again a voice projects to me “William, please come in.” I move the screen from my path and move cautiously into the black void of space. Waiting for the voice again to direct me into the house. Immediately as my eyes adjust to the dark lit house I am faced with obstacles. Little black pellets, hundreds perhaps thousands of little black pellets scattered all over the white carpet. It’s impossible to avoid them, kicking and stepping on them as I move further into the house. My eyes finally adjust and out of the shadows and flickering blue light radiating for the television I see Tom reclined back in his chair with a topped off beer resting in his hands, his cane sits next to him between the arm of the chair and his left hip.

“Do you want a beer?” Tom asks out of the shadows, still not able to see the details of his face. “Sure I’d love one.”

I find a pathway through the mess. Stuff everywhere piled high cloths blankets no end to the chaos. Tom’s shuffles up out of the reclined chair, popping it back up right using his cane to stand. “This is my wife” pointing to the pile of blankets and cloths on the couch next to him as he stands up as straight as he can, turns and heads down the pathway towards the kitchen. It takes me a second but out of the shadows a face appears, her body camouflaged under a children’s blanket with the repeating face of Dora the explorer. “Hi” the blended figure on the couch says softly as she looks up from the television to make eye contact. Her right hand is gently stroking a speckled Dalmatian like fur ball that lay nestled between her chin and shoulder and her

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left hand is tucked tightly under the ball. She takes a break from petting the creature in her arms and reaches up to shake my hand. “Hi William.” she say’s “nice to meet you, I’m Linda Dollar and this is Splatter.” Some eyes and a nose appear out of the fir ball and look up at me, then nuzzles its way back in between Linda’s shoulder and chin. “Excuse his mess on the floor, its almost impossible to house train these things.” Linda say’s looking back over at the television with a very subdued almost medicated expression on her face. “Please sit down,” Linda says as she pushes books and DVD cases off the couch with her feet. The DVDs and books land on the white, pellet speckled floor next to more DVDs and books. Linda is still wedged into the corner of the couch, rapped tightly under the blanket with Splatter still cuddling her neck. I hesitantly sit brushing Splatter pellets from the couch. Linda’s attention and eyes enthralled in the muted images being projected on the television while she intently pets Splatter in her arms. I wait in the dark room on the couch with Linda and Splatter for Tom to return from his journey to the kitchen. Finally, emerging for the shadows through the stuff, the junk and the clutter Tom comes carrying my beer in one hand and balancing himself with his cane in the other, squishing pellets into the carpet with the base of it. I can hardly tell what’s important and what’s garbage. As he hands the beer to me it spills all over the books, cloths, blankets and DVDs that Linda just brushed to the floor. Before I can take a sip, Toms back reclining with beer in hand. The television still muted, silent awkwardness fills the space between the moving images on the screen and us. I didn’t realize at that moment that this silence was

magical for Tom. Wheel of fortune pops up on the screen and Linda quickly grabs the remote wedged under her thigh and hurries to press the mute button. Now the whole space is consumed with the blare of the television. I didn’t realize people watched this show still. I can here Tom sigh, and I look over to him, sitting with eyes closed, chest contracting as he releases another breath. His moment of silence is over.

“Grab your beer William, I want to show you something,” Tom says with wide eyes as he pushes him self up out of his chair with his cane. With beer in hand I struggle to rise up out of the grasp of the couch and rush to catch up with Tom as he disappears into the shadowy maze of clutter. Tom stops half way through the hallway pauses and turns towards a stack of boxes. Not paying attention I almost run into the back of him. Tom turns to me, we are so close that I can smell the stench of booze run off his lips as he speaks. “Grab that box, move over there!” pointing down at a box that rested in front of the hallway closet door. Tom opens the door to piles of more stuff stacked almost to the ceiling. The closet light flickers on, boxes stacked high and more stuff wedged between the cracks. At the top inches from the closet light, a guitar rests on the boxes untouched and glowing. “Pick it up.” Tom tells me. “Pull it down,” he says as I hesitate to reach up to grab it.

“This is the first guitar that I ever fixed, the first, I ever built” Tom explains. Play it,” he say’s as his eyes get bigger the whites around his pupils glow in the backlit silhouette of his body. Amongst the clutter I find a place to sit, guitar in hands I strum the only two cords I know. I look up to see Toms eyes shut, bliss expression on face breathing softly to

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the sounds of the guitar until it leaves and all we can hear is the muffled sound of the television in the background. His eyes open abruptly, Tom turns and pushes off with his cane going deeper into the clutter and says with his back turned as he walks away “follow me” and disappears behind a stack of boxes. I follow slowly, working my way around the stacks of stuff. Tom disappears behind a door. All I can see is the glow of the light coming from room at the base of the door. I walk straight towards the light hoping not to trip or step on anything. I open the door, being blinded by the light and the smell of freshly milled wood fills the air as my eyes adjust to the abrupt change. Toms stands there staring down, the door closes behind me. “You hear that” Toms says as he still stares down at what looks like the pieces of a guitar waiting to be assembled. I shake my head and mumble “no.” “Exactly!” Tom says looking up at me. Nothing, not even the sound of the television or the rain coming down outside. We stand there in silence, this space so very different form the rest of the house. Just Tom’s tools and materials he needs to build his own sound and a bed that is tightly packed in the corner. Everything is neatly in its place. “I’m tired” Toms says with droopy eyes and a boozed look on his face. Turning to the bed in the corner, Tom stumbles over to it with out his cane, barely making it and sits down flopping one leg up on to the bed. He leans back, his head hits the pillow one foot still flat on the floor and whispers “thanks” as he fades away leaving me standing there in the silence. Behind me I can hear Linda open the door and she stands in the hallway. Splatter still nested in her arms. I look over to her standing over me, her eyes dry and red from watching TV. “Come on William, I’ll

show you to your room.” She says while she rubs her right eye with the inside of her palm. Linda turns, setting Splatter on the floor and walks into the darkness. I follow closely behind shutting the light off and closing the door behind me. I step into the darkness of the hallway with Splatter at my feet waiting for me to go first.Working my way back through the hallway I follow Linda through the shadows. I watch her callused filthy heels as they grind tiny black rabbit pellets into the carpet. Step by step heel first then he foot flat, right foot then left foot. She seems not to mind the pellets. Splatter still at my feet staying close herding me like a sheep dog. The three of us quietly work are way through the maze of clutter until we come to a door. Linda pauses then grabs the handle, struggling to open the door from the pile of cloths at the base of it. Linda finally pries the door open and Splatter takes lead through it into the room. I could see a bed under stacks of boxes. Linda and I clear the boxes off the bed revealing more pellets scattered all over it. Linda walks over to the corner of the room and grabs one of those Swiffer sweeper push vacuums, hands it to me and says “for the pellets.” Linda turns and heads to the door. “Good night, William” she says closing the door, leaving me and Splatter alone. Splatter hardly left my side the rest of the night. The next morning I did not see Tom or Linda Dollar just their Dalmatian bunny Splatter that slept at the foot of the bed. Splatter followed me closely as I gathered my things. I loaded my gear back on my bike, said goodbye to Splatter and continued on my journey south.

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Plummeted by extravagant weather I find myself ducking

into the nearest shelter. Jeans soaked from riding my bike

through puddles; I try to find somewhere warm and dry to rest

my sore, worn body. The cold hurts my bones, my jeans so wet

the water begins to leak into my socks, making me even more

miserable. As I swing my foot over my seat, I jump off my bike

to a running stop the rain around me subsides; then stops.

The blue-trimmed building directly in front of me pokes its

vibrant colors out from the grim, gray sky rolling in behind it.

With my mind drifting off in all directions my eyes can't stay

away from the blues and reds radiating by this building.

Lightning blows up behind the building, illuminating the colors

even more. Gray, dark skies rumble around the illuminating

aura as if they were going to consume the whole structure.

Meanwhile on the other side of the street the sun perches bright

on some full-bodied clouds, the sky so big, it is like looking into

a desolate field of grass, un-mowed and dry blowing in the wind.

It looks like one moving part that goes on for a hundred miles.

My fingertips are raw from chewing on them. I don't feel

nervous, but I still keep gnawing even though there is nothing

left to chew. I would bite off anything my tongue and mouth

could find. Could have been down to the bone. I wouldn’t have

noticed.

My brain is mush from scanning and analyzing the past.

Mumbling voices chatter in the background, so careless and so

free.

Despite what’s happening around me my eyes draw closer and

closer up to the buildings' attractive colors. Soon, forgetting my

thoughts, my mind follows uncontrollably. My thoughts keep

trying to explain the simplicity of life. It could be as simple as

the colors of a building.

My eyes drift, exploring my surroundings. The yellow curb at

my feet begins to show its true colors as the sun on the other

side of the street shows its strength even more. The dark recently

wetted cement on either side of the curb contrasts with the

yellows, which were so radiantly painted. The smells of the fresh

rain that just fell upon the warm concrete drift up through my

nose tantalizing the hairs, reminding me of the past even more.

Watching the contrast of the color on the ground my eyes float

back to the building as the sun moves its energy towards it. The

colors of life move so quickly that the mind's eye cannot

comprehend the power of life it gives.

These thoughts happened so quickly, within seconds or a mili-

second. A blink of an eye is all it is, but it will take a lifetime to

describe.

Colors of life

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Orcas Island-Port Townsend

Trip distance 43.02 miles

Trip time 5 hrs 0 min. 46 sec.

Avg. speed 8.58 MPH

Max speed 31.5 MPH

Neah bay (NW tip of U.S.-Forks Hotel

Trip distance 53.09 miles

Trip time 5 hrs 50 min. 16 sec.

Avg. Speed 9.09 MPH

Max Speed 31.79 MPH

Forks-South Beach Campground

Trip distance 38.15 miles

Trip time 3 hrs 43 min 32 sec

Avg. speed 10.24 MPH

Max speed 31.79 MPH

South Beach Campground-Lake Quinault State

Park

Trip distance 35.00 miles

Trip time 3 hrs. 30 min. 33 sec.

Avg. speed 10.50 MPH

Max speed 32.14 MPH

Lake Quinault State Park-Twin Harbors State

Park

Trip distance 64.74

Trip time 5 hrs 50 min 21 sec

Avg. speed 11.08 MPH

Max speed 32.09 MPH

Twin Harbors State Park-KOA Bay City

campground

Trip distance 54.24 miles

Trip time 4 hrs 56 min 42 sec

Avg. speed 10.96 MPH

Max speed 29.16 MPH

KOA Bay City Campground-Fort Stevens State

Park (Astoria Oregon)

Trip distance 54.76 miles

Trip time 4 hrs 56 min 07 sec

Avg. speed 11.56 MPH

Max speed 33.01 MPH

Daily riding log

Washinton

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Fort Stevens State Park-Nehalem Bay State Park

Trip distance 45.98 miles

Trip time 4 hrs 25 min 37 sec

Avg. speed 10.38 MPH

Max speed 37.74 MPH

Nehalem Bay State Park- The Mar Inn Motel Tillamook

OR

Trip distance 31.12 miles

Trip time 3 hrs 15 min 06 sec

Avg. speed 9.57 MPH

Max speed 25.35 MPH

The Mar Inn Motel Tillamook OR-Lincoln City MR.

Tom Dollars house

Trip distance 55.95 miles

Trip time 5 hrs 31 min 01 sec

Avg. speed 10.14 MPH

Max speed 33.68

Lincoln City, Tom Dollars house-Campground outside

Yachats

Trip distance 54.04 miles

Trip time 4 hrs 55 min 30 sec

Avg. speed 11.58 MPH

Max speed 31.21 MPH

Campground outside Yachats-?

Trip distance 54.00 miles

Trip time 4 hrs 52 min 35 sec

Avg. speed 11.07 MPH

Max speed 35.34 MPH

? - Buddle State park

Trip distance 52.77 miles

Trip time 4 hrs 34 min 47 sec

Avg. speed 11.52 MPH

Max speed 37.02 MPH

Buddle State park-Humbug Mountain State park

Trip distance 41.99 miles

Trip time 3 hrs 34 min 38 sec

Avg. speed 11.73 MPH

Max speed 36.67 MPH

Humbug Mountain State-Harris Beach State Park

Trip distance 54.34 miles

Trip time 5 hrs 19 min 09 sec.

Avg. speed 10.21 MPH

Max speed 36.00 MPH

Oregon

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Harris Beach State Park OR-Mill Creek campground CA

Trip distance 39.54 miles

Trip time 3 hrs 47 min 08 sec

Avg. speed 10.34 MPH

Max speed 36.33 MPH

Mill creek campground-clam beach campground Arcata California

Trip distance 60.7 miles

Trip time 5hrs 29 min 08 sec.

Avg. speed 11.37 MPH

Max speed 36.33 MPH

Clam beach campground Arcata CA- Burlington campground

Trip distance 73.21 miles

Trip time 6 hrs 36 min 45 sec

Avg. speed 11.30 MPH

Max speed 38.56 MPH

Burlington campground- Standish-hickey campground

Trip distance 46.54 miles

Trip time 4 hrs 50 min. 24 sec

Avg. speed 9.61 MPH

Max speed 35.02 MPH

Standish-hickey campground- Casper Inn

Trip distance 54.58 miles

Trip time 4 hrs 58 min. 10 sec.

Avg. speed 11.06 MPH

Max speed 35.34 MPH

Casper Inn- Manchester state park

Trip distance 39.73 miles

Trip time 4 hrs 11 min. 45 sec.

Avg. speed 9.46 MPH

Max speed 32.09 MPH

Manchester state park-116 hwy/ hwy 1 split to Guerneville (Ravens house)

Trip distance 59.56 miles

Trip time 4 hrs 43 min. 39 sec.

Avg. speed 12.50 MPH

Max speed 40.50 MPH

Bodega dunes- Samuel P. Taylor State Park

Trip distance 47.76 miles

Trip time 4 hrs 34 min 27 sec

Avg. speed 10.44 MPH

Max speed 34.71 MPH

Samuel P. Taylor State Park- Half Moon bay State Park

Trip distance 62.93 Miles

Trip time 6 hrs 10 min. 43 sec

Avg. speed 10.18 MPH

Max speed 33.68 MPH

Half Moon bay State Park- Santa Cruz (Jamie Jones house)

Trip distance 51.90 miles

Trip time 4 hrs 34 min. 39 sec

Avg. speed 11.33 MPH

Max speed 35.66 MPH

Santa Cruz (Jamie Jones house)- vets memorial state park Monterey

Trip distance 52.45 miles

Trip time 4 hrs 49 min 27 sec.

Avg. speed 10.87 MPH

Max speed 29.58 MPH

Northern California

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Vets memorial state park Monterey- Pfeiffer Big Sur state park

Trip distance 46.81 miles

Trip time 4 hrs 18 min. 0 sec

Avg. speed 10.88 MPH

Max speed 35.66 MPH

Pfeiffer Big Sur state park- hotel in San Simeon

Trip distance 69.93 Miles

Trip time 5 hrs 54 min. 08 sec

Avg. speed 11.84 MPH

Max speed 35.02 MPH

Hotel in San Simeon-Oceano campground

Trip distance 58.61 miles

Trip time 4 hrs 18 min. 45 sec.

Avg. speed 13.59 MPH

Max speed 38.11 MPH

Oceano campground-Gaviota State Beach

Trip distance 69.34 miles

Trip time 5 hrs 47 min. 43 sec.

Avg. speed 11.94 MPH

Max speed 40.50 MPH

Gaviota state beach- Carpentaria State Beach

Trip distance 48.89 miles

Trip time 3 hrs 52 min 45 sec

Avgas speed 12.60 MPH

Max speed 28.31 MPH

Carpentaria State Beach-Sycamore Canyon

Trip distance 49.60 Miles

Trip time 3hrs 47 min 14 sec

Avgas speed 13.70 MPH

Max speed 33.35 MPH

Sycamore canyon- Sarah Horwitz house L.A.

Trip distance 39.27 miles

Trip time 3 hrs 16 min. 18 sec.

Avg. speed 12.77 MPH

Max speed 32.40 MPH

Sarah Horwitz house L.A.- Doheny State Beach

Trip distance 87.80 miles

Trip time 6 hrs 52 min. 23 sec

Avg. speed 12.77 MPH

Max speed 32.40 MPH

Doheny State Beach- San Elijo State Beach

Trip distance 43.25 miles

Trip time 3 hrs 41 min. 58 sec

Avg. speed 11.69 MPH

Max speed 25.23 MPH

San Elijo State beach-Downtown San Diego

Trip distance 34.09 miles

Trip time 3 hrs 2 min 13 sec.

Avg. speed 12.45 MPH

Max speed 25.09 MPH

Downtown San Diego- Tijuana, Mexico

Trip distance 36.04 Miles

Trip time 3 hrs 45 min 13 sec

Avg. speed 10.70 MPH

Max speed 26.90 MPH

Tijuana, Mexico- Imperial Beach/Chula vista (U.S. Mexico

border S.W. corner)

Trip distance 24.80 Miles

Trip time 2 hrs 20 min 3 sec.

Avg. speed 10.50 MPH

Max speed 25.60 MPH

Southern California

Total distance: 1930.52 miles

Total time: 183 hrs 39 min 35 sec

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