Trip Log – Day 194 –Wickenburg, AZ to Sun City, AZ

Posted on November 16, 2015 by paulefallon

to Sun CityNovember 15, 2015 – Rain, 55 degrees

Miles Today: 38

Miles to Date: 10,029

States to Date: 26

I arrived in Sun City in the rain. Which only goes to proves that wherever I go in this country, the weather is off kilter. The ride was easy and uneventful, which is the best one can hope for on a day more akin to New England spring than Arizona autumn. No matter, because I arrived at my hosts’ safe and on time, took a warm shower, enjoyed a great meal and even better conversation, toasted surpassing my 10,000 mile mark, and watched the Arizona Cardinals snatch victory from the Seattle Seahawks. Sorry to be fickle Seattle; my allegiances move along with me.

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Profile Response: Rick Mangella, Franklin NC

Posted on November 16, 2015 by paulefallon

HWWLT Logo on yellow“The problem with your trip is that you are missing the hiker/biker culture.” Rick Mangella (alias at his request) tapped his unlit Marlboro against his hard pack on the table in St. Paul’s Episcopal Church hall in Crescent City, CA, where we were crashing for the night. He wanted a smoke, but was holding off. “There’s a whole world out there of people who sleep outdoors. We trade stuff, we live light.”

Rick’s a 25 year old man-child with a scrawny beard, tawny hair, freckles, a history of odd jobs and a drug bust felony. “I went to Florida for vacation and came back a felon.” He jokes about being arrested at age nineteen and asking the officers for a souvenir. They gave him a 911 first responder patch that he always carries with him. You’d be hard pressed to find a nicer felon than Rick.

Rick’s from Franklin, NC, a small town in the mountains near the Georgia border along the Appalachian Trial. ”No one cycles there; they all think I’m crazy.” He left his job cooking in an Italian Restaurant and headed to Alaska for the summer, where he worked in a canning factory in Petersburg. “They hire anyone who’s not a violent offender.” It took Rick nine days to greyhound and ferry from Franklin to Alaska. “I started at minimum wage, but got a dollar raise. The money’s not good but the hours are long. Sixteen hours a day, seven days a week. It adds up.” He made enough money to return to Bellingham, buy a used Schwinn and start cycling down the coast. “I was wearing jeans and construction boots. But when the rains came they were so uncomfortable.” Rick shows off the new sneakers he bought in Crescent City and his nylon shorts.

IMG_4103This was Rick’s second night at St. Paul’s. He was well versed in the protocol of the church hall renowned for sheltering cyclists riding the Pacific Coast. When I asked him out for a beer he replied, “Don’t bother; we can have beer here.” I gave him ten bucks, he returned with two six packs. “I don’t drink too much, but when I do, I drink fairly fast.” Two other cyclists joined us for the evening, a guy from Glasgow riding to San Francisco and another from Quebec going all the way to Mexico. They were each traveling more casually than me, though with more focus than Rick. And they each brought their own beer, so we had plenty to toast the folks in the AA meeting in the adjacent room.

Every so often Rick disappeared outside. He’s the only cyclist I’ve met who smokes. “I’d quit smoking, but then my legs would get tired.” He laughed, but I didn’t get it, so he explained that smoking made his lungs the weak link. Rick only travels 40 or 50 miles a day, less than any long distance cyclist I’ve met.

When Rick returned, he grabbed another beer and twiddled his next cigarette as long as his addiction allowed. “A guy left a bivouac tent in a campsite, so I took it. I thought I’d sell mine. Then I met this 65-year-old guy, Blue, whose been living off his bike for years. We traded my tent for some pot. I’ve had a hard time getting it since I left Washington.” I asked Rick if he wanted to live like Blue. “Since I’ve been cycling, I’ve met my own people. But to live like Blue, an alcoholic hobo, I don’t think so.”

IMG_4102Rick wants to travel to San Diego and then back to North Carolina. “I won’t make it that far. I’ll run out of money. Money just runs through me. I’ll probably get flat broke and then need to get a job for the bus fare. But I promised my sister I’d be home for her birthday, November 25.”

How will we live tomorrow?

“With a smile on my face.”

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Trip Log – Day 193 – Quartzite, AZ to Wickenburg, AZ

Posted on November 15, 2015 by paulefallon

to WickenburgNovember 14, 2015 – Sun, 70 degrees

Miles Today: 94

Miles to Date: 9,991

States to Date: 26

The distance was great but the road was smooth and oh, so straight. The sun was bright but not hot, the breeze benign. The rises steady, the falls gentle. The little towns harbored quirky Western charm. Except Aquila, which is too poor to enchant. Coyotes and quail, snakes and jackrabbits crossed my path. Cacti and thistle spread out for miles cottonwood and sage lined the washes.

By midafternoon my legs churned mechanically. My mind drifted from the pavement. I thought of everything and nothing. It’s a Lazy Afternoon spun in my head. The miles clicked by.

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Responses: How will we live tomorrow?

Posted on November 15, 2015 by paulefallon

HWWLT Logo on yellowHow will we live tomorrow?

“People have to realize that we have to be better stewards. It used to be you would look out for your own, your tribe. Now, that’s not enough. We have to pay attention to people beyond the mountain, beyond the ocean. We are all connected.”

Tom, 25-year Marine veteran, San Diego, CA

How will we live tomorrow?

“Society is getting greener. Look at all the Tesla’s in California.

“Our basic method of delivering necessities will become more interesting. The power grid will become more solarized.

“I am concerned about political polarization. We are going to need a crisis to end this stalemate. We will be irrelevant if we don’t come together. The Chinese can close our country any time they want to.

“I worry about our children. We are spoiling them too much. When my son turned sixteen I gave him a new pick-up truck. Stupidest thing I ever did. He never took care of it. He bought himself a motorcycle and he keeps it in pristine condition. That which is given is not appreciated.”

Scott Eaton, financial analyst, Mission Viejo, CA

How will we live tomorrow?

“Hopefully with another person in our life.”

Erin and Mike, expecting parents, Encinitas, CA

How will we live tomorrow?

“Sorry I can’t answer your question. It’s too confusing.”

John, day-trip cyclist, San Diego, CA

How will we live tomorrow?

“A project I worked on for a non-profit organization was to help people who lived in a mobile home park to buy the park and run it as a cooperative. Most everyone was excited about it, but there was a small group who wanted to stop it. I went door-to-door advocating for the project. The other group did as well. I was trying to help. The ringleader of the opposition put out apocalyptic views of the future. They eventually formed the group and the park is thriving. Some members refused to join. They pay higher rent as a result. I hope that we will live tomorrow making decisions that are in our best interests.”

Bruce Newman, housing advocate, Gold Coast, OR

How will we live tomorrow?

“When we watch the news and there is fire, we hear about what is lost, materially. We don’t hear about who is safe and what relationships are secure. That’s what I want to hear.”

Paul Hempel, AIDS activist, Gold Coast, OR

How will we live tomorrow?

“I have lived all over the world, but never lived in a place like Santa Barbara. Santa Barbara celebrates everything; our Spanish heritage, our Mexican heritage, and our American heritage; even our Chumash heritage. That’s why this is such a vital place, and will continue to be for so long.”

Linda Bentson, Docent, Old Mission Santa Barbara, Santa Barbara, CA

How will we live tomorrow?

“I choose not to make any assessment of how we are doing. I think it is foolish for any individual to evaluate the condition of the world.”

Helen Spencer, environmentalist, Portland, OR

How will we live tomorrow?

“God bless you.”

Gloria, Gloria’s Panaderia, San Ysidro, CA

How will we live tomorrow?

“We are trying. People are trying Look at politics. It sucks. But a lot of people are working on it. I’ve got solar and a Prius and an electric car. Look at LA – the auto capital of the world – it’s full of Prius’”

Mike Casey, roadside clean-up guy, Dulzura, CA

How will we live tomorrow?

“Family and love.”

Sharon Aiello, Red Box Supplier, Campos, CA

How will we live tomorrow?

“Take it as it comes.”

Lynn, Bartender at Lazy Lizard, Ocotillo, CA

How will we live tomorrow?

“My faith and my family are the most important things to me. That is how I’ll live tomorrow.”

Fernando Desardon, County of Yuma Health Inspector, Yuma, AZ

 

 

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Trip Log – Day 192 –Yuma, AZ to Quartzite, AZ

Posted on November 14, 2015 by paulefallon

to QuartziteNovember 13, 2015 – Sun, 70 degrees

Miles Today: 76

Miles to Date: 9,897

States to Date: 26

There is no way to champion the wind. It must be accommodated and respected. Seventy-five miles with a moderate grade through gorgeous desert could be pleasant. But when you’re facing the prevailing wind the entire day, all you can do is plan for a slow-go and endure.

IMG_5249Fortunately I planned well. I was up before down. My couchsurfing host Michael made the most exquisite breakfast. I was on the road by seven, before the sun peaked over the mountains. The only malady I’ve had this trip has been a persistent scratchy throat, the result of so much air rushing through me. I try to ride with my mouth closed, but my throat is still coarse at the end of each day. This morning, after two days in the desert, my scratchy throat turned into a full-blown cold despite ten hours sleep. I had runny nose, clogged head, and whisper voice. Fortunately, it wasn’t flu – no achy legs – so I pedaled off.

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The light breeze from the north turned into a steady wind by nine and a flag stiffening current by ten. The invisible force came at me strong and consistent, but I kept moving. I hit the halfway point at noon and sat for ten minutes on gravel in the sun, downing a bottle of water and finishing off a bag of trail mix. Ten miles further on I came upon the day’s only services – a seasonal burger and ice cream stand. I enjoyed my first date shake and rested with the proprietor, a man of many stories. Feeling the sun begin to descend, I pulled myself away for the final thirty miles.

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I reached Quartzite at five. Surely one of the oddest places I have been. Quartzite’s a tiny town along Interstate 10, but in winter the population swells to a hundred thousand with snowbirds who camp inexpensively. In Yuma, a place to park your RV for a winter month costs several hundred dollars, which includes the social center, shuffleboard, and a pool. Folks park their RV’s in the desert around Quartzite for an entire season for $125. They aren’t connected to anything. Freelancers refuel generators and empty sewer connections. You make whatever community you want. Closer to the freeway, RV’s sit on paved lots, like a drive-in theater, with posts for electricity. No trees, no green; just a field of concrete for motor homes.

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Quartzite is just coming alive this time of year. Portable buildings and big tents will become hardware stores, vape shops, even gun permit stores. Snowbirds flock south, Quartzite swells, and next spring it will contract again.

IMG_5268I stopped at Love’ Country Store before heading to my Super 8 for the night. The place has absolutely nothing country about it, but it’s a fascinating view of Interstate America. Traveling families, gangs of guys, homeless people in cluttered cars. I decided to celebrate my success in navigating the wind, and soothe my scratchy throat, with an ice cream dinner.  Excellent choice.

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Profile Response: Dave Salmon, Pelican Bay Prison, Crescent City, CA

Posted on November 14, 2015 by paulefallon

HWWLT Logo on yellowPelican Bay Prison’s massive white blocks cannot be disguised by the slender pines that surround it. It has no sign; it doesn’t need one. Any passerby understands that the State of California is locking up evildoers in this remote corner. Everyone nudges the accelerator pedal and moves on.

Dave Salmon, the sole social worker for 2500 inmates, explained that the high security facility was built in the 1980’s as a response to gang infiltration of the prison system. It was located here, remote from cities and gang influence, and designed to minimize prisoner interaction. Most of the facility is divided into secure housing units (SHU). Prisoners spend 22 hours a day in solitude and have 90 minutes of exercise.

images“The prisoners filed a lawsuit that the organization of Pelican Bay itself constitutes cruel and unusual punishment.” A settlement was reached the week before I spoke with Dave. As a result, some things at Pelican Bay will change. “Now, men are assigned to Pelican Bay based on gang affiliation. That’s no longer a justifiable reason. Prisoners can only be in long term solitary based on behavior.” There will also be increased exercise and social time.

In theory, men are transferred from SHU to a recovery hub for three to five years before release, to provide more interaction and better opportunities to get a GED or job training. Despite these efforts to prepare men to reenter the world; almost two-thirds of California inmates return to prison within three years of discharge.

images-1Prior to discharge, inmates meet twice with Dave. About three weeks before release, Dave determines what public benefits the former prisoner may receive. They meet again, a few days before freedom, to confirm benefits and issue a state ID. “Released prisoners receive $200 and an ID and have to report to the parole office in the county of their last legal residence within 48 hours. About 2/3 of the men have a place to go. The rest are mentally ill or have no family where they have to do parole.” There’s a mechanism for transferring parole to another county, but it’s complicated, particularly for men who are already struggling to navigate the system. “A mentally ill prisoner was paroled to Oakland after twenty years in prison. His family was in Fresno. He spent most of his $200 just getting to Oakland. How was he supposed to function there?”

I asked Dave why he does this work. “If you want to see the most broken people in our society, start in the mental health ward of a prison. Somebody needed to be in my position. I thought I could make a difference.”

How will we live tomorrow?

“Things are really changing in California. Parole is working better. We’re using the carrot more than the stick. We’re putting more money into prevention. It’s better to shape lives before guys go to prison. Last fall California passed Proposition 47; the third strike conviction can be a misdemeanor instead of a felony if it’s not violent. That will help thin our prison population.”

 

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Trip Log – Day 191 – Brawley, CA to Yuma, AZ

Posted on November 13, 2015 by paulefallon

to YumaNovember 12, 2015 – Sun, 70 degrees

Miles Today: 86

Miles to Date: 9,821

States to Date: 25

California must allocate highway funds from north to south, as there seems to be no money left for paving near the border. Or perhaps, after being in California for a whopping fifty days, the state simply didn’t want to let me go, so the asphalt uprooted all over the place in protest. Regardless, I bumped along farm roads to get out of the Imperial Valley, careened over cracks in Old Highway 80 where it acts as frontage road for Interstate 8, and bounced on a terrible shoulder along the freeway when the frontage road disappeared.

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Despite lousy roads, everything else was great. I had a nice tail wind in the morning, and a manageable cross breeze when the wind picked up and shifted. I am enthralled by the surreal desert landscape. The kids riding buggies over the dunes looked like little bugs climbing about the massive sand hills. The channels from the Colorado River are such deep blue against the tawny land. There’s much more water here than the parts of California fed by the Sierras. All that rain I witnessed in Colorado got here before me.

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IMG_5244I was happy to get Yuma, not only for the better roads, but because its time for me to move to a new state. Some differences are immediately apparent. Arizona is much less expensive than California, from gasoline to real estate. Yuma is also more transient. Whether fixed homes (sitting 2” off the dirt on thin slabs), modular houses, mobile homes or RV parks, many people call Yuma home only a few months a year. Some snowbirds had already tickled in, but most will not roost until January.

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Trip Log – Day 190 – Ocotillo, CA to Brawley, CA

Posted on November 12, 2015 by paulefallon

to BrawleyNovember 11, 2015 – Sun, 70 degrees

Miles Today: 41

Miles to Date: 9,735

States to Date: 25

My first day in the desert. Eleven hours sleep last night; pot of coffee courtesy Ocotillo Motel; breakfast burrito courtesy The Red Feather; gentle breeze and gorgeous day courtesy whatever God you favor. Everything was perfect, except the lousy pavement on the side road alternative to Interstate 8. Then again, the minor annoyance helps us appreciate the perfection of everything else.

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IMG_5222The Imperial Valley is full of hay farms. Most of it is exported to Chia and the Middle East. Some say it is due to Colorado River water regulations. Others say its because the land is too contaminated to grow crops for US consumption. Either way, it’s bizarre that we’re irrigating the desert to grow hay to ship halfway around the world.

IMG_5225The Imperial Valley is the lowest place in the USA, well below sea level. Everything from here is uphill.

IMG_5219The fields are full of birds. Dozens of snowy egret feast upon mown hay. At sunset, whole flocks rise out of the fields and fly in graceful formation overhead.

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Profile Response: Hope and Dave Salmon, Crescent City, CA

Posted on November 12, 2015 by paulefallon

HWWLT Logo on yellow“Every winter we talked about moving from Alaska to the Lower 48. But you can’t move in the winter. Then summer came and we were captivated by Alaska all over again.” Hope and Dave Salmon have lived in a number of places, mostly in the West. They raised their four children in Alaska in a large suburban house. Dave is a social worker. In 2012 he left the State of Alaska penal system for a US State Department position in South Sudan. Hope stayed behind with their youngest daughter, a high school senior. While Dave was away, Hope finally made the move to California. They went to Redding first, and eventually settled outside of Crescent City.

Last winter Hope and Dave bought a two-acre parcel with three structures and dozens of fruit trees for $75,000, less than three miles from Dave’s job. Dave explained, “The man who lived here died. The property sat vacant for five years. When we bought it, we didn’t know where anything was – the well, the septic. We’ve had to figure it out as we went along.” Hope added, “We didn’t know if we could live in the house, it was in such bad shape. But we worked on it for a few months and moved in this past June.”

IMG_4052Hope and Dave are still living amidst construction as Dave insulates the walls, replaces windows and installs a new roof. They are also enjoying the bounty of their property – Hope made delicious squash soup from their garden.

What struck me about Hope and Dave’s transition from large house to small, landscaped property to working property, was that they do it with little fanfare. They didn’t talk about simplifying their life – they just did it. They bought a house without a mortgage, they grow food on their land, they are living in confusion while they repair, over time, a property that had fallen into disuse.

IMG_4050Dave recalled a conversation he had with his daughter’s boyfriend. “He said not everyone has the luxury of two acres of land. Most people live in cities and we have to find ways to be sustainable in cities.”

It’s a valid point, but Hope and Dave are not holding out their live as a model for all. They are simply living it, wit a much smaller footprint than they did previously. When I compare their modest yet productive two acres with most houses on two acres I see across the United States – mini-estates with ornamental landscapes and lawns maintained by riding mowers – I think they are on to something good.

How will we live tomorrow?

“This is basically how I grew up. Living in a small house, growing our own food, consuming less.” Hope Salmon

“We will live more simply out of necessity because we’ve depleted most of our resources. We can’t keep up our first world habits. We need a third way.” Dave Salmon

 

 

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Trip Log – Day 189 – Spring Valley, CA to Ocotillo, CA

Posted on November 11, 2015 by paulefallon

to OcotilloNovember 10, 2015 – Cloudy, 55 degrees

Miles Today: 79

Miles to Date: 9,694

States to Date: 25

Bicycle touring is ripe with contrast. I rose with the sun and breakfasted on Greek yogurt with fresh blackberries and excellent coffee with my host Matthew. The sun shimmered off the Pacific Ocean and San Diego skyline when we rode away from his spacious hillside home. By sunset I was grinding the final kernels from a bag of microwave popcorn in my concrete block room at the Ocotillo Motel, the only guest in the four-room compound set in the middle of a dusty trailer park. The Red Feather general store was already closed for the day and it was too early to go to the Lazy Lizard Saloon.

IMG_5197In between, I made the physical and psychic shift from coast to inland, a shift aided by favorable tailwinds and the excitement of turning the second corner of my journey. I’m heading east! The ride was a series of big climbs, over 6,600 vertical feet, with small dips until the end, when I had to join Interstate 8 for a harrowing eight-mile descent. As I moved east, the close-cropped hills began sprouting boulders. Then the mix of soil and rock equalized. By the time I reached the western edge of the Imperial Valley, the mountains were literally gigantic piles of rock.

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IMG_5200California 94 is a superb road with fun twists and great views despite the clouds and chill. I figure it’s so well maintained for security reasons: there’s little traffic except for Border Patrol and Sherriff vehicles. It’s quiet except for the helicopter’s tracking the corridor overhead. I stayed off I-8 as long as possible by taking Old Highway 80 through Jacumba, a remnant place within a stones throw of Mexico bypassed by the freeway. I took a break and contemplated the wall. When it comes to nations, I don’t agree with my fellow New Englander Robert Frost that good fences make good neighbors. This fence inhibits our ability to be good neighbors. It may be an obstacle to immigration, but it is not a solution.

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Dinner at the Lazy Lizard (home of the Testicle Festival) was a low-culinary experience worth remembering: microwaved sandwiches and soft pretzels. The food hardly mattered since I got to wash it down with Shock Top on draft. I was the last customer when I left at seven p.m. Walking back to the Ocotillo Motel, the night was pitch black, except for magnificent stars.

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