About a week ago Jackson and I were watching the sunset over the Atlantic Ocean from the bow of a Grady-White, just off the shores of a coastal Maine island. The air was cool — not summer night cool — but the crisp of fall — it felt like the end of a beautiful summer. It felt like time to leave.

And so we did, a day later we travelled to my home in N.H. and visited with my family and best friends who I hadn’t seen in a year(!).  The next day we boarded a red eye to Seattle, where my cousin Laura so graciously picked us up. 

In the past week, We’ve done all that, visited with Laura and Ben, and toured Bellingham, Washington with Jackson’s dad, Tom. Only a week? Crazy. 

Although we haven’t started our journey East yet, we’ve been lucky enough to go on some awesome rides. Ben showed us around Green Lake in Seattle (and let us borrow his bikes, thanks Ben!). Laura and Ben brought us through Seattle and we got to hang out with their pooches Remi, Theo and Jet. 

In Bellingham, we reunited with our bikes. Our time in Bellingham consisted of copious amounts of Komboucha, good food, packing, and some rides around the city, led by Tom. 

BONUS VIDEO!!! Our bike grease got in our lighters and made for some crazy stuff. Check it out: ​

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After picking up our bikes we went on a ride through Bellingham, the next day we biked to Lake Samish and through Padden Lake State Park where we saw old growth forests. I dubbed this ride the Breakfast Samish, because it ended in a massive breakfast. On Saturday we took a ride with some big hill climbs and many blackberries (Bike Grease and Blackberries). Although they’re invasive they make a great mid-ride snack. On Sunday Jackson went mountain biking at Galbraith Mountain while Tom and I went on a ride around Wiser Lake and through farm country. (A note on the hyperlinks: You can see all our rides in Bellingham through Tom’s Strava. We won’t be using Strava on our trip — more on that in another post — but we thought it’d be cool to check out these rides we did).

 

Today we took a very short ride to visit Tom and Jack’s friend and test out our fully loaded bikes! Our bags have been packed, repacked and packed one more time for good measure. Weighted bikes feel like animals, like a machine I’m merely the engine for. Going up hills takes much more effort, as does starting and stopping, but on flat and downhill sections the bike’s momentum can carry you far. It’s a different type of cycling that I’ve come to enjoy. A good sign, considering tomorrow we’ll eat a big breakfast and leave Bellingham headed towards Sedro-Wooley. 

Until next time! 

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P.S. Don’t forget you can see more picture updates on Instagram (linked on the side of this page). 

Throughout my journey across the U.S. and back I passed a lot of state lines, most with huge signs that said “Welcome to [state name here]” equip with parking lots and tourists pushing the air in front of their cameras indicating for their kids to move closer together for a photo. The sight became a regular occurrence on nine-hour drives and passerby never thought much of it. I never really wanted to stop to take any pictures with the signs, although I must admit the state signs in the Rocky Mountain states are far more impressive than those in New England. However, when I stopped to take a picture with the sign at the state line of Maine and New Hampshire (no parking lot here) I was a little surprised when every other car that drove by honked at me. For me, the gesture was a big “welcome home,” one I wouldn’t have wanted any other way.

As July Fourth approaches so does summer for most people. I’m amazed a whole month passed since I got on the road but for everyone else it doesn’t seem like much changed. The weather is still cool and all is still green with spring. But I’ve touched my feet on so many different types of soil and so many places. I drove approximately 9,800 miles in 30 days.

My home moved between friends, family, campgrounds and the back seat of my car. My constants became the warmth of my sleeping bag, the small notebook I wrote my thoughts and directions in, and whatever voices were always inside my head. Physically, I feel much less stressed and more comfortable in my body. The biggest changes I feel are in my thinking. Although I was constantly seeing beauty around me, my trip was a mostly an introspective experience. I wasn’t a giant party on wheels and I didn’t make a ton of friends, but that wasn’t my goal. My goal was to reflect and decompress from the ups and downs of college, and be confident in myself and my direction.

In my discussions with people about my trip, many like to ask me superlative questions; what’s my favorite place I’ve visited, what was the best moment, the place I’d like to live the most, the hardest challenge. If I learned anything on this trip it comes down to three ideas:

1. Rely on yourself—you are enough.

2. Nothing is better or worse than anything else. It’s only a matter of perspective.

3. The main obstacle between you and doing what you know will make you happy is yourself.

Besides this, I don’t have the answers to superlative questions. Yet, I am an observer so I’ll tell what I figured out so far. I don’t want to sound preachy. These are just lessons I’ve learned along the way, each backed by a story.

A General Sense of Things: 

• Following set journeys, trails or paths are good for paying reverence—be able to make your own adventure. Don’t feel stuck to your original plan.
• Letting go of schedule is hard. Really hard if you’re me. Focusing on what is around at each moment, even on the road, helped me practice reducing my worry about what’s next.
• It is easy to remove facial loneliness with a cell phone. But it’s harder to cure the deeper loneliness the phone creates.
• Be comfortable being with yourself.
• Being alone doesn’t have to mean being lonely.
• Shut up. Listen.
• Let choice liberate, not paralyze, you.
• Sometimes you have to drive into the lightening storm at 10 p.m. in the rain up a mountain. You’ll be okay.
• Think best case scenarios not worst.
• Take mostly memories not things.
• Give yourself permission to be who you are.
• Take the road that has less cars on it.
• When you go to places that have songs written about them, listen to those songs. (Example listen to Sufjan Stevens’ “Come On Feel The Illinois,” when driving in Illinois, esp. listen to his song “Chicago” in Chicago).
• Keep reminders of home.
• Let buffalo eat the grass at your campsite.
• Listen to good podcasts.
• Follow written directions, maps and your own intelligence to get you where you’re going.
• Laugh at yourself.

I may not be traveling as far physically in the next few months but my adventures won’t stop here. The effect of going against the grain, being alone or exploring doesn’t require months or miles of driving, it doesn’t even require new states, just your willingness to look in a different way. The impact is obtained by looking inside, not out.

Despite my road trip being over, I still intend on having adventures and writing about them on this blog. Thank you for following me this far. There’s more to come!

DMW

On Wednesday morning I woke up to the sunrise exploding through some remnant clouds over Deadman’s Basin, a lake in the middle-of-no-where Wyoming. A side note, I used to refer to parts of Maine as the “middle-of-no-where” after driving through Wyoming, my standards changed. I woke up to a rabbit hopping around my campsite. So many moments on during my trip made me say a Lou Mrozism to myself “Holy dash.” It does feels good to be chasing sunrises, not sunsets again though. I went through my body-weight workout and made some oatmeal. The rest of the day I spent driving through prairies, ranches, wind farms and small towns whose biggest attraction was a grain elevator feet from the main road. I stopped at the infamous Wall Drug general store.

For someone who spent the last week (more or less) in nature and secluded from typical consumerism, my end-of-the-day journey was a rude awakening. I find the place hard to describe. The Wikipedia page helps a little, but it is essentially a giant tacky mecca of “Wild West” tourist consumerism. I quickly left to Sage Creek (free!) Campground in a secluded section of Badland’s National Park. Along the way I saw buffalo, prairie dogs and owls.

I got to the campsite, which sits in a small valley, as the sun was setting. I set up my tent and started preparing dinner when one of the buffalo I saw on the way to the site came sauntering down the road to the campground. If you’ve never seen a buffalo before, they are big. Bigger than I imagined they would be. They move robotically, like the people who created the dinosaurs in the Disney World Jurassic Park ride also decided to make a prairie version. But I can’t deny the animal’s strength and wisdom.

Anyways, after using the campground sign as a scratching post, the buffalo made his way to my campsite where he ate some grass (not my salad) and used the picnic table as another scratching post. He made himself at home and stayed until it was dark, 45 minutes or so, and moseyed on his way after a few rounds of coyote howls.

As I was watching the animal I first thought about what it must have been like when tens of thousands buffalo roamed the plains and reigned over the grasslands. Much of my time on my trip has been spent wondering what this place we call the United States was like when it was America and only Native people lived among these vast places, not over them. I know I’ve said it before but I’ve been practicing my own smallness. The second thought process I had was just how thankful I am. I’m grateful that I worked hard, so I could make this trip happen financially, but also that I allowed myself to take it—to turn off everyday life for a month. I’m grateful everyday, but especially this day I felt so lucky to be a part of all of this, a small spec moving, virtually silently, through a boundless expanses that we are lucky are still protected.

Today marks the end of the longest truly solo part of my trip. Although before now I’ve been mostly alone, I stayed with friends and family along my journey, which was good company and part of the reason for this trip to begin with. However, since Sunday morning I’ve been alone alone, staying in my tent and stumbling on words when I have to talk to someone for the first time in 10 days. I bet to half of you this sounds awful. For me forgetting I have speech, at least momentarily, is gratifying, making me a better observer.

I’ve always been a “listener” but when you effectively turn off your voice for five days your listening skills only manifest in themselves, the powers of observation become your mode of communication. You hear the way people treat each other, the beliefs people have about the earth and religion, the way land can speak to you. You hear the grass break under the jaw of a buffalo and they rain is a relaxing song to fall asleep to.

I appreciate all the support and interest so many of you took in this trip. In less than a week I’ll be back home. I can’t believe a whole month has passed but I know this won’t be the last time I’m out on the road.

Until my next post here are some more pictures:

We all know the Robert Frost poem-turned-mantra, “The Road Not Taken,” where Frost concludes: “Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, and I— I took the one less travelled by, and that has made all the difference.” We love to ascribe to the deeper meaning of the poem and put it as a senior yearbook quote to show that we are different. Pause, remove the metaphor. How often do we actually take the physical road less travelled?

Does it make a difference? I think so.

Turning off my GPS has been a gradual lesson in driving confidence. Believe it or not the U.S. and state governments do a pretty good job labeling roads if you pay attention. Starting off on my journey and navigating through cities pushed me towards using my GPS as a guide to my next stop, but somewhere in the south western U.S. near the Grand Canyon I was heading towards a campsite that didn’t have an address. I stopped paying attention to the GPS and needed to start using maps. Yes, paper ones.

For a while I used my own written directions and then had the GPS on as back up. But I was frustrated with the constant “ETA” feature which made me feel rushed to get to certain locations when my time of arrival was pushed back minute by minute. Following my own schedule on a month-long trip took some time to adjust to.

Turning off my GPS was the best decision I could have made getting towards moving the way I wanted to.

For the past week or so I followed California Rte. 1 up the coast and the Pacific Highway (Rte. 101) once I was out of California. If you’re unfamiliar, the route follows up the entire west coast. Picture beaches and crystal blue ocean to the west, the winding road in front of you, and hills or mountains directly to the east—nice to look at.

My final push to cut the GPS came when I jumped off Rte. 101 in northern California to drive down “Avenue of Giants.” The name sounded interesting and by powers of deduction I was hoping it might lead me to some big Redwoods, which it did. I followed through unfazed by my travel time. I listened to “Transatlanticism” by Death Cab for Cutie and it the ancient trees relaxed me. The sun whispering between car-sized trunks and the tiny sliver of sky above the road created an alternate reality if only for a few hours.

I made it so far north in Washington I’m almost in Canada. Every time I get a little worried I might be off track or lost, I get small reminders I’m okay. In the Redwoods I saw a Sugarloaf sticker and met a park ranger from Brunswick, Maine. If I had followed my GPS I would have missed the Redwoods and these reminders of home.

I’ve learned a lot from turning off my GPS such as:

-I’m more confident using maps and my own general sense of direction.

-I’m more aware of my surroundings.

-I’m able to take advantage of many sights or activities I wouldn’t have seen on the major freeway.

-I’ve been able to reduce my dependance on time-structured and centric days.

-I’ve also learned to be more playful and take chances. Sing loudly, moo at cows when I drive by them, and laugh at myself.

In the past week I’ve been in Santa Barbara, San Fransisco, the Oregon coast, Forks, Washington, Olympic National Forest, everywhere in between and I’m currently in Bellingham, Washington.

Cue Laura Marling singing, “I’m going back east where I belong.”

I’m making some stops along the way but essentially I’m headed home at this point. I can’t believe three weeks have passed since I left Maine.

A quick shout out to my Dad on Father’s Day. Love you!

Now, some pictures of the past week: