“Give the world outside a point of entry. It’ll give back to you.”
That lyric stuck in my soul the first time I heard it in Larry Murante’s title song of his album Point of Entry.
Music is an incredible force, and each listener interprets what they hear in their own way. Words can be heard and quickly forgotten, but put them to music, and they will most likely be with you forever.
I know for a fact that Larry didn’t set out to write a bicycle travel tune. But that is exactly what it is for me. My “point of entry” is my bicycle. It allows me to be more engaged, more vulnerable, and more in touch with the world around me.
With that in mind, listen to the tune with added images, and you may agree that this is one of the most beautiful bicycle travel songs ever written.
Note: Larry will be performing this song live at my presentation, Come to Your Senses: A Celebration of Bicycle Travel at Seattle’s REI Flagship on Tuesday, Feb 7th at 7pm. Advance tickets at: Brown Paper Tickets
What is the perfect gift? Ask a hundred people, and you’ll get a hundred different answers. But when you give one, or receive one — you know it.
I received one of those gifts thirty years ago. I still carry it with me today.
The summer of 1981 was magical for me. I’d pedaled across the U.S. with my best buddy Thomas. The sense of accomplishment was amazing. My connection to the world around me had never been so raw and wonderful.
But coming home after an adventure can be a tough transition. I’d taken a quarter off from the junior college I was attending. I’d been taking general education courses with no particular focus (Astronomy, Geology, English Comp, Theater, Business Math, etc.)
On my bike trip, I knew exactly (well, almost) where I was going. In life … I was lost. Too many options, and none of them was presenting itself as my future major, let alone my future.
I was talking with my mom. I babbled about my frustrations, and lack of any focus.
She looked me in the eye and said, “I want you to know something. Whether you become a biologist, or an actor, or a teacher … or whether you put a pack on your back and wander the world for the rest of your life … I want you to know that I consider you a success.”
That was it. In twenty seconds, my mom had given me the perfect gift. It was as if she had given me a magical gift certificate. I didn’t have to worry about what I did. I just needed to fill in the gift card with whatever my heart desired.
Little did my mother know how literally I’d take her words. Though I’ve used panniers instead of a pack.
And it hasn’t all been bicycle travel. I’ve driven trucks, acted on stage, waited tables, fought forest fires, written columns, and tried many other pursuits.
But no matter what I’ve done, I’ve always known that in the heart of one of the most important people in my life, I’ve been a success.
It’s the time of year when holiday tunes are playing everywhere. But sometimes when you are traveling far away from home in another culture, hearing a Christmas carol or familiar song can be a wonderful reminder of home … or not.
We were cycling in Northern Thailand during Christmas. We pedaled into a small town northwest of Chiang Mai. I heard a familiar tune. Jingle Bells. It wasn’t Bing Crosby or Nat King Cole singing. It was one of those little Christmas trees with blinking lights and a chip that plays a loop of holiday favorites.
As we got closer, we realized that the storefront window was filled with these things … all competing with each other.
Before you listen to the clip below, I’m going to give you fair warning that this is an earworm for me. There is something about the obnoxious sound quality and the hideous way that Jingle Bells transitions to Santa Claus is Coming to Town that haunts me to this day. I can’t hear Jingle Bells without this version playing in the background of my mind.
If you do listen, you’ll hear a couple of motor scooters go by and you’ll also hear Silent Night from another cheap plastic tree competing with Jingle Bells.
Not all the sounds of travel are pleasant ones. Unfortunately, this one has stuck with me.
If you have listened to the audio file and want something more pleasing to bring you back into the holiday spirit, you can check out my post from last year. It is a medley of tunes I recorded in Seville, Spain.
If bread is the Staff of Life, it is also, at the very least, the Kickstand of Cycling. It holds you up and keeps you from falling over. I love this carbolicious treat.
As a kid, homemade bread was not in my universe. Bread was something that came in brightly colored cellophane packages from the grocery store. Bread was white, processed, and guaranteed to build my body in a dozen ways. The stuff was so spongy, you could pretend to play a sliced loaf like an accordion. My friends and I used to remove the crusts, and see how many slices we could jam into our mouths at once. I believe my personal record was seventeen.
I’m not sure I truly learned to love bread until I became a bike traveler. I discovered that bread could be chewy and nutty, savory and spicy, hard and crusty (in a good way), or flat and crispy.
There have been so many memorable loafs. But one loaf rises above them all.
It came out of a wood-fired stove/oven in a small village in Turkey.
We had pedaled up into the mountains a couple of days’ ride from Istanbul. The temperature dropped faster than we climbed. We had to walk our bikes through drifts of snow. We debated on whether we had the winter gear to survive the night in our tent. But a couple invited us into their house, gave us their own bed to sleep in, and fed us one of the top-ten best meals I’ve eaten on this planet.
This was a meal that included freshly caught trout, baked with garlic and cheese! But the star of the meal was the loaf of bread. When our host opened her oven I gasped. This loaf was enormous. It was laughably huge. It could feed a village.
Its sheer size made it memorable, but the taste, that glorious nutty, chewy, crusty, yeasty, warm goodness, made our tongues dance and spontaneous grins break out on our faces.
You know, it’s hard to chew and grin at the same time.
It was and remains the ultimate loaf.
Perhaps we should be honest and declare ourselves bread seekers who use bicycles to travel from one loaf to the next.
Do we eat to cycle or cycle to eat?
I’m not sure. But it brings me great joy to understand that the very treasure we seek is also the fuel that propels us onward!
The cold November rains have come and my mind drifts off to warmer places on the planet. While we are slamming into winter here in the U.S., New Zealand is sliding into summer.
If you have the pleasure of taking a bike trip in New Zealand, don’t miss the cathedral. While I know there are beautiful churches in Christchurch and Auckland, I’m referring to one made by Mother Nature.
Cathedral Cove is on the Coromandel Peninsula, east of Auckland. As I recall, you’ll have to park your bike and hike out to this cove with its grand arch. It is a protected marine reserve popular with divers and snorkelers.
After a visit, you can get on your bike and pedal out to Hot Water Beach, where thermal activity under the sand provides a great opportunity to dig your own hot tub. Borrow a shovel (unless you are already carrying one on your bike. Really? You are?) and dig a hole in the sand when the tide is low. The water will be too hot to sit in, so you’ll mix it with seawater.
The trick is you’ll have to also build your own little sand wall to keep too much of the cold ocean water from spilling into your hot sand hot tub. It’s hard work. But you won’t mind because you’ll remember that back at home it’s snowing or raining or clear and thirty below.
I was there nineteen years ago. Normally I wouldn’t lend out specific travel advice that is nearly two decades old. But unlike restaurants or lodging options, which can drastically change from year to year, Mother Nature is pretty consistently awesome!
I received word from the Society of American Travel Writers that I’ve won a silver Lowell Thomas Award for my audio commentaries from Spain and Portugal that ran on KUOW’s Weekday. My bicycle commentaries and interviews have been aired on Steve Scher’s show since 1994. Without a strong and vibrant public radio station in Seattle, my travel musings would never have reached an audience.
The gold award went to Rick Steves for his radio broadcasts. I’m in good company in more ways than one, since Rick has begun to use some of my audio pieces in his show Travel with Rick Steves which is heard on radio stations across the country.
Links to the commentaries that were submitted for the award are below.
You may notice that the sound is not always “studio” quality. The commentaries were written, recorded and edited on the road. It is a challenge to find places to record when you are on a bike trip. Wind, rain and noises. Lot’s of noises. When you are trying to record a piece about an experience in downtown Salamanca, Spain, the sounds of sheep and cowbells don’t cut it. And, of course, when you are trying to voice a commentary about an experience in the country, that’s when the traffic sounds are always the loudest.
My thanks to the Society of American Travel Writers for the award, to KUOW for the opportunity, and one more thank you. The most important one. To my life and travel partner, Kat — a yellow tent and an adventure are always better shared.
When you read the word “crowded” what images come to mind? How about “crowded room” or “crowded bar” or “crowded bus”?
A couple of definitions I ran across were, “close to capacity” and “uncomfortably close together.”
But what is “capacity” and what is “uncomfortable”?
Let’s take the situation of putting your bike on the bus. Where I live in Seattle, the bike racks on the buses hold three bikes. A bus driver is not allowed to let you bring your bike on board. So the capacity is three. End of story.
In many countries around the world, the capacity of public transportation is whatever will fit inside, on top of, strapped onto, hanging off of the vehicle. The bus is at capacity only when the driver screams and waves his arms “Enough!” or when the bus literally topples over. You think I’m kidding? It happens.
If you say “crowded train” to someone who lives in India or Japan, their mental image will be far different than that of someone who lives in the United States or Canada.
One of the many things I love about travel is that it constantly tweaks our own language. Each one of my bicycle journeys has redefined certain words: beautiful, ugly, loud, serene, rich, poor, fair, unfair, tragedy, happiness.
I remember getting onto a bus in Guatemala. The driver wouldn’t leave until all the seats were filled. Then he kept picking up people along the route. His helper, who collected the fares, walked on top of the backs of the seats to get around (being small was a requirement for this position). Before each stop I thought, “This bus is full.” And then two or three more people would get on. I began to wonder if there was actually enough oxygen for us all to breathe.
When is a bus crowded? When is a highway busy? When is a road steep? When is a pannier full?
The answers to those questions (and so many others) are defined and influenced by our wanderings on this incredible planet.
Last week ribbons were cut and speeches were made at the opening of the new segment of the Mountains-to-Sound Trail. Any additional trail miles that provide needed access for bikes and pedestrians is cause for celebration. Except that the Mountains-to-Sound Trail now officially ends at a blind corner of a very steep hill.
Holgate, which rises to and descends from Beacon Hill, is legendary on this side of the city. It is the type of road that even some seasoned cyclists choose to avoid. If you are descending it from the top of Beacon Hill, you can easily hit 40mph without a single pedal stroke. You just take the lane and fly. The road crosses I-5, and at this point as a cyclist, you need to be hyper-aware as you dump out onto the left lane of traffic. Cars turning from Airport Way S are speeding to make the light at 6th Ave S. Many motorists like to make a left hand turn across your path as they exit the Office Depot. And the road surface is a photo op for the “repave our streets” campaign.
On the way up Holgate you are in a narrow lane with a high curb on your right as you climb over I-5. The thought that a car clipping you could send you catapulting onto the freeway is enough to have many cyclists choose to ride on the left hand sidewalk and then cross over at the blind corner as the sidewalk ends. Sounds fun, doesn’t it?
Can you imagine parents riding their bikes along with their two young kids tackling any or all of this? It sounds rather nightmarish.
And yet it is a possibility. The Mountains-to-Sound Trail is a separated recreational path. The type of trail that is desirable for riders and walkers who aren’t comfortable in traffic. The recently opened extension expands the trail from 12th Ave S to Holgate. The path is a delight and offers beautiful vistas of downtown Seattle. I had a hard time wiping the grin off my face the first time I rode it.
My grin faded at Holgate. The sign simply reads, “End. Mt. to Sound Trail” That’s it. No more information.
The trail ends at the blind corner of Holgate and Beacon Ave S
What is the family with their two kids going to do? They’ll look at the option of crossing the road at the blind intersection and climbing the steep hill to their left. But what’s up there? They don’t know, because they are visiting from Spokane or Missoula and they don’t know that at the top is the business district of Beacon Hill with a light rail station, bus connections, stores, restaurants, a library, and a huge park. No, to them it’s just a big scary hill to destinations unknown.
Then they’ll look down the hill and think, “The Sound is that way.” They’ll opt to walk their bikes down the sidewalk because the hill is steep and their kids are scared. This is good. Because that sidewalk ends in a flight of stairs. To their credit, SDOT has posted a sign regarding this about 200 feet before impact.
Don't speed down the sidewalk!
Now our visiting family is stuck. Because to continue forward means having to lift their bikes onto a narrow road with speeding traffic and “take the lane, kids.” Beyond this dangerous move there is no signage letting them know that they are three blocks away from the bike path that runs parallel to light rail.
But I’m guessing at this point our family will opt to turn around and push their bikes back up the sidewalk. The kids will be crying and Mom and Dad will think, “This is unsafe and crazy.” They will finally reach the trail and backtrack from whence they came.
What the family doesn’t know is that the Mountains-to-Sound Trail will eventually be completed. There will be a switchback trail that crosses under the freeway and connects to the bike trail and light rail station at Royal Brougham. But construction of that section isn’t even scheduled yet … so it’s years away.
In the meantime, information needs to be posted that gives everyone an option. Experienced city traffic cyclists can take a right at Holgate and shoot into the Sodo District or take a cautious left and climb to the Beacon Hill business district. Others can backtrack and follow the bike route signs to downtown, or be routed that way to begin with.
The dangerous conditions at the blind curve where Holgate becomes Beacon Ave S need to be addressed. This is now more important than ever! This is one of the few accessible routes up to Beacon Hill and it should be made safe for everyone.
The Mountain-to-Sound Trail extension is great! It will be better when it is finished (South Seattle’s missing link?). But until then, we need signage that explains the current conditions, and improvements that give everyone safe options. Without them, the ride doesn’t end well.
In a little town in Northern Romania, two boys laughed as they wheeled up and down the street. I’m sure they would have been pedaling bikes if they’d had them. They didn’t. But they had a wheelbarrow. It had a metal wheel that squeaked so loud you’d swear a 700-pound hamster was exercising in its cage. They took turns pushing each other around. The smaller boy had quite a difficult time pushing his larger friend up the hill, which only made them laugh harder.
No doubt the ride would have been smoother if their wheelbarrow was equipped with a shock and a top-of-the-line long distance touring tire. No blisters on their hands if they had custom gel gloves. And they could have mapped their progress up and down the street if they had a GPS-enhanced wheelbarrow-ometer. They didn’t.
Their smiles challenge me. Okay Mr. Traveler, can you have as much fun as we do?
We are assaulted with so many choices and upgrade options. How can you proceed until you get the ultimate touring bike? The best digital camera? The lightest tent? The perfect panniers or tricked-out trailer?
Sometimes it’s good to be reminded that you are way ahead if you simply have a bike.
Go out and pedal with as much joy as two boys sharing a wheelbarrow. I double dare you.
They are gifts of the road. Nature’s snacks ripened just for you. Their aromas fill the hot summer’s breezes and the late fall’s chill. Roadside trees, far from any home or farm, display these treats more beautifully than any row of sweets in a candy shop. They must have been planted for the benefit of touring cyclists. Why else would their heavily laden branches lean over the road?
Apples in eastern Washington. Tree tomatoes (tomate de arbol) in Colombia. Mangoes in Thailand. Figs. We love figs! You can smell them a half mile away when the wind is just right and they are oozing with flavor.
The fruit that won our hearts in Portugal was the persimmon. Eat it too early and your mouth will pucker up in disgust. But catch this fruit at its peak and the jelly-like interior is a decadent dessert.
So enamored were we with the persimmon, that we planted one in our yard in Seattle. It will be years before it bears fruit; and, due to our cool summers, the taste will probably never match those we slurped in southern Portugal.
But ten years from now, I’ll pick a persimmon and bite into the gooey flesh … and my mind will fly across the ocean and remember a bicycle journey.
