Breathe In

Reflections from 2,000 miles on a Bike

Breathe in . . .

Breathe out . . .

When is the air in you different from that outside?

When does the water you drink become two-thirds of who you are?

38 trillion bacteria: digestion cognition action;

they outnumber our own cells

performing functions that keep us alive

We pilot bodies made of elements forged in aweful celestial explosions

We think of ourselves as wholly distinct beings

Able to exist as we are,

no external input needed

Breathe in . . .

The universe is a single string

All we are:

Its loops, kinks, frayed strands

“The greatest illusion is . . . of separation.

Things you think are separate and different

are actually one and the same”

The Sun, in truth, one of our gods

each of us carry its spark

My skin is bronzed by its embrace

Sol bears witness to my hours of labored breathing

In a neighborhood it ordered

shield from world ending masses

By its nature making our planet possible

it blinds, roasts, warms, and guides me

with drops of energy that bathe the Earth

Breathe out . . .

I ask it

Are you not a being beyond our comprehension?

the stars, our DNA, the earth, the internet

We describe quantify qualify their being,

But we can never understand them as they truly are,

unable to approach the scale of their existence

We peer through the smallest of slits to harness their powers

Breathe in . . .

Breathe out . . .

These musings occupy my mind, Boston to Austin

Two thousand miles on a bike

I time the rotation of the pedals to the cadence of my breath

Passing fields wave hello with a million bladed fingers

wild grasses, stalks of wheat, flower heads

beckon in the wind: We’ve been expecting you

our family told us to look out for you

Their swaying mesmerizes

A midwesterner said open fields are the closest

they can imagine the ocean in the absence of water

the fields draw your eyes in

Rest in my sway of green and gold

I pedal through farmland, cities,

tan sand and red clay,

trying to discover my country

Brutal ugliness; littered trash everywhere

Abandoned developments and forests ravaged by industry

Where is the love and pride for these lands?

Painful sounds; solitudes and songs stolen

drivers lay into their horns, oblivious to their part

in all they hate about driving

Wretched odors; petty trucks rev their engines,

dousing me in dark diesel fumes

Twenty miles along the Mississippi, the mighty vein

I am left with a splitting headache

For Louisiana, lifetimes near the plants

along the river means much more

Stress and danger –so many corpses

I count 40 pieces of roadkill in an hour one morning

Snakes turned inside out

tanned into leather by tires and sun

Armadillos, little armored ones,

their shattered shells couldn’t save them

Not even birds fly away fast enough

I am startled by the front half of a dog

its entrails spill out where it was cleaved in two

Natives of this land, common cultural heritage,

struck down as they moved in their own home

Constant reminders of the risks I undertake

Breathe in . . .

Breathe out . . .

This brutality builds in beautiful patterns

Painful climbs over bridges reward my efforts with vistas

I fly over waters that once took hours, days, detours to cross

Winding overpasses stacked and layered

steal my breath away,

What limits our collective power?

In all this constructed chaos,

Nature still breaks through

I did not expect to see a butterfly flap delicate wings

dancing round a semi

Or for fields to explode into colors

renditions of this land past

What did these places look like before us?

What migrations, storms, cycles did these flowers paint?

The absurdity of this wonder,

So far from home on a bike

Sets a pendulum to swing

In

homesickness

adventure

fear

discovery

threat

freedom

Out

My tears flow in grief and joy

Bike Musings

Mon 3-4/Tues 3-5. Recouping with a high school roommate, Philly

While climbing hills

• If I stood up to power through like I usually do, instead of shifting down, I would not have made it past rhode island. Not every obstacle can be blown through at full force, especially not when more are certain to come. Take time, don’t hurt yourself, appreciate the progress

When looking at my speed

• I could have covered these distances so much faster without all this weight –but then how would I have survived the nights or fueled these efforts?

• Dropping “baggage” can make you lighter, move through life more freely, but some of that baggage is essential to survival; some of it makes you who you are. 

Know what to cut and what to keep. 

When judging routes

• I may be biking this country alone, but these trails, paths, routes, and cycleways were fought for and planned by decades of cyclists, outdoors people, activists, and legislators. This “solo” trip is only possible through the support of thousands of unseen, unnamed hands, much like most of society. 

• I owe much to friends, family, to the people living their lives where I get water, buy food, use bathrooms, for making this possible. 

What’s easy to notice

• I set out on this trip into winds. Southern winds blasted my face, making hill climbs harder and stealing my speed on descent. I cursed it a few times, begged it to let up for a moment, and went deaf from its roar

• But I only noticed the wind when it was antagonistic. Partially because it mostly blew in from the front, but the few times it blew on my back, I did not notice it. I only gave a soft thanks after coasting for ninety minutes, wondering why this stretch was so easy. 

Fri 3-22. Just south of the Alabama Florida border, near Graceville

Reflections

Stayed in my tent most of the day, avoiding rain. It didn’t hit my area, but soaked west/south of here, so not worth riding in that direction. The reprieve for my thighs and ass is good. 

⅓ of the way to San diego. Seeing the distance from here to Boston on a map is surreal. I know I did it, I can vividly recall almost every day, but somehow the miles feel like dreams. On day 9 in Baltimore, I had to stop myself from calling it off, hopping on a plane back home. Paring back the trip helped, as did meeting the people I have. The eclipse is less than 2.5 weeks away, Less than 1,000 miles to Austin. Feeling well conditioned gives confidence I can pull it off. The setting sun and orange tinted clouds over my last stretch in Georgia reinvigorated me, reminded me of the “why” of this trip. 

Reasons one takes a trip like this

• Adventure

• A test of will, drive, mental strength, physical fitness

• Looking for growth, to learn

• Seeking some form of radical change; to self and the world

I’ve felt stunted, like I have not progressed. I have done things. Like graduating from undergrad last year. But I’ve felt static since I was a teen.  

Became a citizen in August 2023. I could have done it 5 years ago, but resisted the idea of becoming “American”. What does that even mean; in a nation of 350 million that sabotages itself and its people for narrowly defined gains, that can’t honestly reflect on its history and impact on the world? I finally went through with it because the bureaucracy & tenuousness of permanent residency wasn’t worth the effort of renewing. 

I figured I needed to define being an american for myself. Part of this trip is a search/construction of an american identity I can claim.

So many of us barely get to see this country. Some people essentially never leave their towns. Those who do travel frequently probably bypass most of the country in favor of the “best” other regions and states have to offer: hotels, resorts, places inaccessible to locals . . . . 

I choose the direction of this trip, but what I see and where I ride through is up to what’s “safest” for a bike. 

It’s not at all like living somewhere, but 1, 2, 300 miles through a state grows into its own kind of intimacy: a desire to protect, invest, and improve the places you ride through for the people you glimpse in passing. 

Taking space on these roads frightens me; plentiful roadkill constantly reminds me that my life is not entirely in my own hands. Plenty of assholes have angrily honked as they blow past, pathetic people gas me with their exhaust, but I also see, and appreciate, the head nods and waves, the light beeps of encouragement, and the wide berth cautious drivers grant me. Multiple strangers–now friends– have let me crash at theirs, given me hot meals, let me do laundry. 

Kindness to a stranger. Small gestures of support. At the bare minimum not intentionally worsening someone’s day. These are aspects of an American identity I can proudly claim

Embarking on a solo journey an act of self-exploration.

testing the hard-wired parts against the unpredictable reality of the open road, seeing who i am when stripped of context, safety nets, or familiar routines.

I am slightly insane, there's no way a “normal” person willingly takes something like this on.  What might seem bizarre—the desire for solitude, the urge to endure—is part of who i am. my way of answering lingering questions about who ive become as a result of both innate resilience and the experiences that demanded it.