Point of Entry

“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.

Originally posted on the Adventure Cycling Association’s blog.

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.

Thanks, Mom.

Merry Christmas.

Originally posted on the Adventure Cycling Association’s blog.

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!

Originally posted on the Adventure Cycling Association’s blog.

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.

Originally posted on the Adventure Cycling Association’s blog.

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.

Now, that’s sweet!

Originally posted on the Adventure Cycling Association’s blog.

The photos below link to those posts. If you see a photo that intrigues you … click on it. It will take you on a little mini-adventure. You could find yourself on the dramatic coast of Portugal or up in the highlands of Lesotho. You could end up listening to a impromptu violin concert or the final seconds of a rugby match. And you just might find yourself dreaming of your own travels.

When you do travel, I’d suggest you do it by bike. But that’s not necessary. Even if it’s been decades since you’ve pedaled a bike, I’d bet you could still find beauty and inspiration buried in these links. Browse, click and travel. Enjoy!

I realize the short “video” might have had a certain entertainment value, but probably fell far short of convincing the viewer that they should hop on a bike and tour there.

I now present “Countdown Redux”. Twenty-one images that should whet your traveler’s appetite and have you dreaming of your own bike trip through Portugal or somewhere, anywhere on this incredible planet.

Originally posted on the Adventure Cycling Association’s blog.

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.

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.

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.