Yellow Tent Adventures

Kat and I took a break from the heat and humidity under a tree in northern Thailand. We laid our bikes down by the side of the road and dug through our panniers looking for snacks.

The tree was enormous and the base of its trunk was decorated with colorful ribbons of silk. A local art project perhaps?

Trees are often decorated in public places. Just recently an artist “yarn bombed” trees in Occidental Square in Seattle. It was whimsical fun.

In Thailand, we didn’t meet many foreign cyclists on the road (at least on the routes we pedaled), so we got wonderful reactions from motorists. But never honks. The people of Thailand are some of the most polite drivers on the planet.

So when we heard someone honk as they passed it startled us. Then the next car honked as well. And the next. And the next. Were our bikes too close to the road? But each car only honked once or twice. And the occupants were smiling. We smiled and waved back. For the next thirty minutes it was like being on a parade route. We waved at every car and every car celebrated our journey in Thailand with polite honking.

What was truly strange was that the honking never happened again. It took us at least a week to figure out that the motorists weren’t honking at us.

It was the tree. Or the spirits in the tree. We found someone who explained to us that it is common belief that spirits inhabit certain trees. These trees are often decorated with flowers, garlands, and ribbons.

It is considered good luck to honk once (or twice) as you slowly pass by a spirit tree.

Note: If a couple of touring cyclists are sitting under the shade of that tree, it is still good luck to honk. And it will make the cyclists feel special … at least until they learn a little bit more about Thai culture.

Originally posted on the Adventure Cycling Association’s blog.

There is something about those roadside mirrors … it’s hard not to stop and take your photo. You know the ones I mean. The big circular mirrors placed on the road so that motorists can get a view of traffic before they pull out or go around a blind corner? They are not that common in the U.S., but I’ve run into them (though not literally) around the world.

Why can’t I pass one without stopping and snapping a few shots? Maybe it’s the realization that after all the dreaming and scheming and planning, we are finally there. In some magical foreign place, filled with new sights and sounds and smells.

I always feel a bit silly trying to focus my camera on the mirror and getting it just right to include the background, our bikes, and us in the photo. But I always laugh and smile as I realize that I’m fortunate enough to have the time and health and good fortune to be able to travel this way.

So I’ll continue to snap these silly little portraits for as long as I am able.

Originally posted on the Adventure Cycling Association’s blog.

I always smile when I look at this photo. It was taken many years ago, but it feels like I snapped it yesterday.

It was early morning in India in the state of Himachal Pradesh. Lots of climbing, steep grades, and snow on the ground. I pedaled up to this tiny roadside store to buy a cup of hot chai to warm my hands and get my daily sugar rush.

The four girls in the photo were walking to school and stopped at the store as well. They all bought candy and quickly unwrapped the sweets and popped them in their mouths. I already had my camera out. As I was about to take their photo, some of the men outside began to joke with the girls that they shouldn’t be spending all their money on candy. Three of the girls are reacting to the teasing. But one of the girls looks right into my camera. Her gaze has intrigued me over the years.

Looking at this photo, I can feel the rock I was sitting on. I can smell the wood from the fire built to boil chai. And I can still hear the girls’ laughter.

Many a journey’s details are lost over time. But some travel memories never fade.

Originally posted on the Adventure Cycling Association’s blog.

One of my favorite moments of any bike trip comes when I’m not on my bike. It is that time after a long day’s ride. The tent is set up. The sun is getting low in the sky. There is nothing to do but observe the beauty around me and listen to the world as it winds down.

I’ve heard it said, “If you listen closely … you just might hear your priorities.”

Total bicycle and travel bliss.

Originally posted on the Adventure Cycling Association’s blog.

It is a Pavlovian response. The moment my feet hit the pedals and my legs start pumping … I want a cup of coffee and a treat. No wonder I am a world-class bicycle lingerer.

Donuts. Pastries. Cookies. Fudge. Croissants. Scones. If I didn’t ride a bicycle, I’d probably tip the scales at 600 lbs.

But that need also makes me a better traveler. It forces me to take more breaks and spend more time observing. Watching kids share a bubble tea in Thailand. Witnessing an old Turkish man place a sugar cube on his tongue before drinking his already sweetened coffee. Or, as in the photo above, watching men take a break from working on their coffee plantation in a cafe in rural Colombia.

These little moments stack the shelves of my collective travel memory. And the more I think of it, maybe it’s not the sweets that I’m addicted to, but the sweet encounters.

Originally posted on the Adventure Cycling Association’s blog.

I truly feel sorry for people who have only observed the world from the seat of a speeding car. It all becomes a blur … literally.

The pace of bicycle travel suites me. But even pedaling can propel you too quickly through your surroundings. To experience the intense beauty of nature, sometimes you’ve got to get off your bike and wallow in it.

While cycling around Crater Lake, my buddy Thomas and I came upon a huge field of dirt and rocks.

At least from a speeding car that’s all you’d have seen. Especially after the grand scenic views of the lake. But at bicycle speed you could still have missed the beauty. Just some flashes of color.

It wasn’t until I got off my bike and onto my belly (I was already sweaty and dirty, anyway) that I experienced the beauty of this place. Among the dirt and rocks were thousands of tiny wildflowers. Little explosions of color. In this mountain climate the flowers were tiny, most barely reaching more than a couple of inches above the dry earth. Yet up close their beauty rivaled that of anything we’d encountered on our trip.

While some prefer fast and furious … I prefer low and slow.

Originally posted on the Adventure Cycling Association’s blog.

The world has gone digital. Albums became CDs, which became MP3s. Books have been digitized. Even mine has. Many cyclists prefer to use their GPS than having to carry paper maps.

But just as I love the look of an album cover and the smell of a printed book, I adore maps. Physical maps. Maps that fold and sometimes tear. Maps that wear the dirt and grease smudges of adventurous travels. Maps of places I dream to travel that I can pin up on my wall. Every trip I’ve ever taken has begun with my gazing at a map.

But of all the maps I have (and I have boxes full of them), I do have a favorite. It is no bigger than three by four inches. It was drawn for me by a man I met on the road in South Africa. He was trying to describe which route I should take. I kept getting confused with his instructions. He pointed to my small notebook and asked for a pen.

After a couple of minutes he handed it back to me. A little piece of art with the information I needed. There was me on my bike, the town I should sleep in, and the way to the Tugela Valley.

But that was many years ago. Today, no matter where I travel, a local is more likely to pull me inside to their computer and bring up Google maps than to draw one in my notebook. That’s pretty amazing.

But I still miss the feel of a map.

Originally posted on the Adventure Cycling Association’s blog.

I live in the insanely beautiful Pacific Northwest. Due to our cloudy skies and somewhat damp weather (even in July), the color pallet can be quite muted — dark greens, blues, and greys.

So when I travel, I am drawn to the opposite. The rich and vibrant, almost electric colors that you will find on the houses in Cuba, in the shops in Bangkok, and in the markets in India.

The photo above was taken in a small mountain town in Colombia. We were looking for a place to park our bikes at the guest house and stumbled across this scene. It looked as if a cement truck filled with paint had backed up and unleashed a river of pigment.

The simple household items — brooms, dustpan, and hose — were elevated to art on this wall. The already bright blue hose was now painfully blue in contrast to its backdrop. The brooms appeared to have magical qualities. Perhaps we could ride them out of town instead of our bikes? The red spattered drain suggested that fresh paint was sprayed on nightly (probably with the bright blue hose) after everyone was asleep.

If I close my eyes I have a hard time remembering what the rest of the guest house looked like, or even the town. But I will always remember the wall.

Originally posted on the Adventure Cycling Association’s blog.

We always talk about bicycle travel. But what about bicycle lingering?

Bicycle lingering is that ability to stop forward motion, pause, and soak up what is around you.

Cafes. Ice cream parlors. Roadside restaurants. City parks. Riverside picnic tables. They all call out for you to park your bike and linger.

I am amazed at how many bike travelers hop on their bikes for a day’s ride and rarely stop. Sure, they might stop to fix a flat or to take off a jacket, or to pause to look at their map. But “lingering” isn’t in their vocabulary. They zoom to their next destination and check into a hotel or campsite.

What’s the hurry? As far as I know there is no podium to stand on at the end of a day of bike travel.

Unlike a bicycle race, I believe it is more likely for the participant who arrives last at the end of a day’s ride, to have reaped the most rewards.

Learn the art of lingering and you will be a better traveler for it.

Originally posted on the Adventure Cycling Association’s blog.

Thirty years ago I left Seaside, Oregon with my buddy Thomas to cycle across America. July 2, 1981. Almost 11,000 days have passed since we dipped our rear tires in the Pacific Ocean. Hard to believe. In some ways it really does feel like it was yesterday.

In this photo we are wearing gym shorts, cotton t-shirts, and no sun screen.

The shirts are matching. On the back is printed, “East Coast or Bust!” Our friend had them printed up for us. But due to an unfortunate choice of font, they read to most people as “Easy Coasy or Busy!”

We had meant to train … but didn’t. We had an extremely limited budget. I had a total of $400, most of which I’d attained by selling my ’64 Pontiac Tempest. We had purchased these incredibly cheap tires and learned that “you get what you pay for” when they wore out within the first five hundred miles.

In our panniers were cotton sweats, cotton sweatshirts, cotton socks, and no rain gear. We had the first set of maps (that’s all we could afford) from Bikecentennial (now the Adventure Cycling Association).

Many people would say we were ill-prepared, and they’d be right. Perhaps we should have postponed our trip. Waited until we got our gear and plans and routes just right. But then maybe that delay would have led to more delay and changes of life and finally apathy toward the dream trip.

And thirty years later I would be thinking, “What if I’d …?”

But we did. I did. And I have been forever grateful for it.

Happy Anniversary to everyone who has ever begun a trip of a lifetime.

Originally posted on the Adventure Cycling Association’s blog.