25-Sept: Confidence

In planning my trips, whether they be working as a nomad or going on an international solo holiday, I receive comments on how courageous I am for venturing out, especially on my own. My response is that it is more of a false confidence: A belief in oneself that you can do it no matter the challenge. There is a point where you just have to convince yourself that this (whatever it may be) is the option that you're taking.

To demonstrate: I'm currently exploring New Zealand, a country with a limited transit system and highways that are generally one lane in each direction (except for bridges which are primarily one lane total). I had wanted to save money and travel via public transport, but there would be many locations I couldn't travel and scheduling would be a pain. The only other option -- and thus the solution -- was to rent a car. Normally I'd have no worry about rental cars, but this is my first country to drive on the left. I watched driving patterns and made sure I understood the right of way, but it wasn't until I pulled out of the agency and onto the street that I tested myself. I've been licensed 15 years, but I was suddenly a new driver: inconsistent speed, not centering myself in my lane...a bit embarassing. What isn't embarrassing, however, is the fact that 2000km in, I haven't bumped anything and I haven't been honked at. Humorous items to note include:

     1) I accidentally turn on the wipers to signal turns
     2) I freaked out (a little) one night in a rural area because what I thought was a flat tire light was actually telling me my emergency brake was on
     3) I still can't center myself in the lane (getting better!)

Confidence can also be exercised by evaluating fears of the unknown and determining that there are no reasonable dangers to actually fear. I spent the night in Trounson Park Kauri Forest specifically for the opportunity to wander around the forest at night to see/hear kiwi, freshwater eels, glowworms, and weta: New Zealand's answer to the Jerusalem cricket. The trail was more or less a loop (scouted during daylight) and I had two red lights for night viewing and a backup flashlight, should the reds fail. The only endemic mammals in New Zealand are bats and the reptiles are small; therefore, there was nothing in the darkness that could eat me. That was a great factor to know because my red lights illuminated about three feet in front of me.

You know what, though? I briefly saw a kiwi next to me (briefly because we scared each other), I spotted an eel hovering around in the creek, and had multiple glowworm sightings. No wetas, but three out of four!

There were three German couples staying in the rain-soaked park with me. They had their camper vans and I my car. Who needs a van?!

 

I bounce around in my head the lines of confidence, trust, and belief. Are they related or even synonymous, depending on the situation? I trusted one pair with my lights so that they could exercise their exploratory nature in the face of a fear of the dark unknown. They saw more than I...

16-Sept: Rangitoto Island

This is my first time alone on a volcano. The top of a volcano, to be specific. How could I possibly know that I'm the only one here? Well, the last ferry leaves the island in twenty minutes and it's an hour hike to the dock. I'm the only one camping, so...

Just outside Waitemata harbor, not even a 30 minute boat ride from downtown Auckland, lies Rangitoto Island, the youngest (700 yrs old) volcano in the Auckland region. Unlike Motutapu, Rangitoto's older sister that is literally a hop, skip, and jump away, Rangitoto is seriously volcanic to experience. There's a small flat perimeter to the land, the trails of which are composed of ankle-rolling marbles of Hephaestus. Blackened rocks provide the landscape clear down to the shell-covered shore. Beyond the perimeter, however, the terrain climbs in a perfect cone: the ideal volcano shape that years of television have put in my head. I've already hiked many trails on this trip with a day pack, but this is my first with full gear (approx 45 pounds). And so, I venture off from the boat to test my body with the next challenge. Unlike the day-trippers who have two hours to go straight up and back, my only deadline is the sun, and I venture away from the pack. An hour and a half later, as I'm lumbering up an alternate face of the mountain, I hear the sound of the Explorer tractor tour coming down the hill. This is the first sign of life since I've left the boat and I realize that I've become part of the tour as passengers wave enthusiastically and take pictures of "The backpacker trekking uphill". I wave back, though not as enthusiastically...I'm a little tired. I return to my solitary role.

Uphill, uphill...I suppose I shouldn't expect otherwise from a volcano climb, eh? As I check the map, I see that I'm nearing a forested boardwalk that circles the rim. What the map doesn't state is that the boardwalk is essentially a really long set of wooden stairs! Know what's more difficult than working your way up a slope with a heavy pack? Stairs! My body is beginning to dislike my plan, but I'm optimistic for the upcoming view. I can tell through the canopy that there's clear blue sky, which should make for a nice shot of Auckland across the water. Here's what caught me off-guard: As I was scaling the northern side of the mount, I wouldn't be able to see the city until I crested. Through a break in the trees, I suddenly had a clear view of the eastern half of the island...and Motutapu next to it. Motutapu, with her lush, green, rolling hills presenting themselves with such contrast to the darkened treetops of Rangitoto and the milky blue waters around: This would be my home for the night! Oh, did I not mention that? One reason people don't camp here much is because it's a minimum six-mile hike from the ferry to the camp. You literally land on one island and have to make it to the far coast of the other. My destination having breathed energy back into me, I carried on to the summit. What's to say about the summit? I rewarded myself with a muffin procured from the ferry.

I enjoyed the top briefly, but reminded myself that I now had less than three hours to descend a volcano and cross Motutapu before sundown. Reaching the edge of Rangitoto, I was truly surprised to see that it took only a ten foot causeway to link the islands. With time constraints in mind, I took the shortest path across, being gravel roads through farmland. Now, I don't know if it's because I'm inexperienced working my way through free range cattle or if they were odd because of island fever, but this is how it played out: The road cuts through the pasture. Up ahead, there are a few cows standing in the road. I don't know if they'll move as I approach or stand firm like the donkey in the road that held me hostage back in '08, but I'm racing the light here. Sure enough, they don't like me walking towards them and they run in the opposite direction as I near. Easy enough, I think to myself...

I hear hoofsteps behind me. There are a few cattle that seem slightly interested in following me. Ah well, they keep their distance and we're all happy. I keep walking and I still hear them behind me. I turn around to see magnitudes more making their way to my trail. Here's the thing: When I face them, they freeze. It's like I won't see them if they're not moving. I think I saw this in Jurassic Park and at least a few video games. Sure enough, I continue walking and they follow me, my herd continuing to grow. Each time I face them, they stop. Some look away. I really wanted to hear one do the "I'm not doing anything" whistle you make when you're actually doing something. I have to admit that I was both cracking up AND freaking out by this. I accelerated my pace and left for greener pastures (not really -- they were all majestically green). I made it to the campsite with light to spare and had my pick of 190 sites, which, because it was completely unmarked, was a large meadow between the hills and the shore. Ferry price ($23 return) aside, I paid five dollars to have an entire oceanfront campground on an island to myself. The weather report called for likely showers and chilly temps overnight, so I had carried multiple thermal layers and rain gear. However, the orientation of the bay blocked the wind and I slept in shorts. It's good to be prepared, but savor the times you don't need it!

I slept to the sounds of waves and the calls of tropical birds while basking in the light of a near-full moon. Five dollars...

7-Sept: Melbourne or "24 hours in Australia"

The grassy hill acts as an apron for the Victoria State Library. It catches the crumbs of visitors too tired from their studies to make it to the sidewalk. There is also the splatter from the street: passers-by, baked in the intense sun, and craving a place to recline and recharge. I am of the former.

I have just borne witness to the armored suit of Ned Kelly, Irish champion of the poor in this region, and this absorption of history -- as well as another overnight flight -- has left me with eyes slowly closing. I have just 24 hours in Australia, but is there something more important for me to do then rest?

I close my eyes, listening to the sonic stew that this locale provides: overlapping multilingual conversations of those around, chimes of passing trolleys, the enigmatic calls of the birds (the seagulls sounded like crows and a crow sounded like a duck)...and the busker in symphony blacks not ten meters from me, serenading the world with his contrabass.

Is there something more important than this?

3-Sept: en route to Shanghai

There's a point on a 12 hour, all daylight, international date line-crossing flight that the exhausted mind wanders more than usual. Only allowing a few hours of sleep the night before -- courtesy of the ne'er-do-well duo of procrastination and last-minute packing -- adds to the psychological walkabout. You open the shade: It's blindingly bright and all you see is blue. You close the shade: All is dark because the flight crew is tacitly letting us know that we should be sleeping. So I check our location again. The plane icon on the screen, sure enough, is surrounded by solid blue. There's an issue with the route map program and, in trying to come to a conclusion of how we should go from point A to point B, we've fallen between dimensions:

The route just in front of the avatar -- my means of being aloft and not adrift -- has become asymptotic. It seems that just as my travel has become irrational, so should my thoughts.

Exhaustion sets in. Dehydration is probably building as well. The flight attendant has just walked up each aisle spraying perfume every three seats. My environment has been poisoned and my head aches. Poisoned environment...am I partly responsible for that?! Not the perfume, of course, as I'm more of an au naturel guy, but I'm considering all this flying. We complain about having limited travel availability: I've been trying to map my way to somewhat rural areas which take hours by car, but days by bus/train, if even an option. My transpacific flight, however, goes twice a day, no matter what, and I feel guilty being part of a one-third full jumbo jet wastefully burning oil products for 12 hours. The upside? Everyone can stretch out! Silver lining, huh? I put the thought aside as I check the scenery outside. After blinding everyone in a five seat radius by opening (and quickly shutting) the blind, I decide to not repeat that before arrival.

The headache, the fatigue are going anywhere but away and I know that I'm heading to an eventual destination with no lodging arranged. Eight hour layover in Shanghai to pull another stretch without sleep. I'm tempted to stay in the airport and sleep, but that's a waste of an opportunity to introduce myself to China, even for a few hours. I'm dreading the idea of carrying a pack and I'm looking forward to the two-week mark where I'll have a rental car to move my gear. Looking forward to to staying in a country for more than a couple days...

I'm trying to finish my fifth movie of the trip when the arrival film interrupts. Each passenger is broadcast instructions on performing close-quarters tai chi. It is entertaining watching arms stretching above many of the seats. This acted as a reminder:

Just breathe, stretch, and relax,

Opening yourself up.

Make the most of each trip.

It will be remarkable no matter what.

The end of the sawdust road

This note goes to all those that have somehow been part of my last three years. To the one that encouraged me to follow my wanderlust without hesitation. To those who have raised me to venture with unending support and without fear. To the gentleman who saw potential in a guy who needed a shave and a haircut and to the woman who took that potential to the next level. To those that I've loved, befriended, or merely coexisted with and to those with whom I have lived, traveled, celebrated, suffered, failed, and succeeded.

Thank you. The tour is over.

There is a sadness that comes when you discover the answer to the question many of our kind have: How do you get off this ride? Well, since the Evel Knievel costume never arrived and I have zero motorcycle experience, the flaming hoop jump was out of the question. Alas, no, the carousel has spun too fast, we rode the scrambler without our harnesses, and – purely through centrifugal force – I have been included in the group thrown from the ride.

I left the “normal” lifestyle in California nearly 3.5 years ago without a clue of into what I was heading. My car was loaded nearly to the ceiling and the suspension was unhappy with me. When sleeping in the car during travels, I had to sit up. I have much less property now, not due to loss, but due to the realization of what is necessary. I'm essentially down to a duffel bag, a backpack, and a bicycle in my car. Look around and ask yourself exactly what is needed.

Property isn't what should be used to evaluate the success of an opportunity. Consider the memories of what I've been through. I originally left because I wanted to live outside of California at some point in my life. I've lived/worked in twenty-one places since then and by the time I make it back to the West coast, I'll have traveled through 48 states. I've lived with four other people in a studio apartment. I've lived with eight others in a house. I've slept on floors next to my friends, my coworkers. We have had our moments of suffering and our chances to support.

This world teaches us a factor to interpersonal relationships that I never found working in offices. Early on, in my second city, I realized the family attitude that touring provides. You can spend years sharing an office with your coworkers and consider them friends, but this was something quicker...something stronger. Some of those I've toured with have become big brothers and little sisters. We have gone through every unforeseeable circumstance together. When one of us was down, someone helped to pick him up. As a follower, I carried everything I owned with me in my car: a legitimate circus turtle. In transiting between Houston and Cincinnati, I was to meet some coworkers in New Orleans for a night of celebration. I was in backcountry Louisiana when a car ricocheted into mine, totaling my vehicle. The tow truck driver, unaware of my living situation, told me to take everything I wanted out of the vehicle before he towed it. I had no response beyond, "I'd like it all, that's my life in there." I posted an update to Facebook to alert my friends that I wouldn't make it to New Orleans. Shortly after, one of my supervisors, someone who had supported me from the beginning, called me to confirm what town I was in. "I've booked the last room in the only hotel in that town so you don't need to worry about where you're sleeping tonight." This was unsolicited and reimbursement was never requested. Others called to offer transportation to the next city for either my belongings or for my body. An immediate outpouring of support demonstrated our family. A coworker's loss of his vehicle soon after would offer another chance for us to help out. We had "Real World"-style houses where we discovered things we didn't want to find and found ways to amuse ourselves during forced days off. We improvised holidays together: Thanksgiving feasts cooked for us at the circus, potluck Christmas with lottery ticket-filled stockings, bowling for Halloween instead of dressing up. This wasn't a job.

So many opportunities to explore, here and abroad. So many friends that I've made across the states and internationally, through Cirque and Couchsurfing, that it's hard to decide where to drive and who to visit. So many good decisions that have helped support the concept of living in the moment and so many regrettable choices to have learned from. So many natural disasters...

I don't know what's next. I don't know where I'm going in ten days. That's fine though. I'll catch you on the next tour.

How to make the summer hotter? Go to the desert!

My air conditioning works somewhat -- as those who have helped transport my car back and forth across the continent can attest -- and I'm dripping before making it out of Glendale. There is a fear, there has been in fact, considering that I've toyed with the idea of driving into Mexico times before. The State Department, with all its advisories, paints the picture that Americans driving in Mexico will be carjacked, robbed, or, at the very least, pulled over by a corrupt police officer looking for a bribe. I felt like it was going to be safer walking around this country than driving. Human interference aside, I must note that I was also determined to go on a desert road-trip in the middle of summer, so fears also presented themselves relating to flat tires, mechanical failure, dehydration, etc. One can only be so prepared before going into battle, however, and my 14 liters of water and I set off on a southbound route.


Any of my trips would be extremely different depending on it being solo or partnered. I've found that the more I do with people, the fewer photos I take and the less my inspired writing occurs. This is not to fault company, as I have plenty of lovely memories with those around, but it grows apparent that I work on a different pacing and perhaps a riskier approach to things when only my life is on the line. I would not have expected many to go along with my "I think I'll take a side route of 70 km on somewhat developed roads with the heater on full blast and the windows down", but it makes for good times!


Quick items of note:

• Lewis Prison: I imagine being in prison sucks. I would guess it is significantly worse being in prison in the middle of the desert.
• Military jets were cruising over me a few times at roughly 80-100' altitude. They must have lost their keys or something for them to be looking at the ground that closely.

Enrique. What's there to say about a man who starts by advertising sunset cruises but quickly segues into pharmaceuticals, non-pharmaceuticals, and company of the female sort? He was really friendly and gave me lots of good information about the region. First pimp experience: Nice guy (even though I wasn't a customer)


And here I am. A new country. A new body of water to dip my toes into. It's all the same water, technically, as the molecules drift their way along their global trek. You might notice that I don't have any ocean sunset shots from this trip. I floated my way offshore a couple hundred yards and opted to relax. Whiles the images were beautiful, it is important to remove yourself from behind the lens (or whatever metaphorical comfort spot fits you) once in a while. I truly relaxed out there, floating on my back, arms crossed behind my head as if I were lying on my bed. Again, I thought about fears, primarily of the unknown or unseen. I know that many would question my safety out there, worrying about the predators of the sea. Similar questions arose on my first scuba night dive. "Aren't you worried about what you can't see?" It's the same during the day, for my eyes only see what is in front of me. If something gets me  from behind or beneath (as this situation would have been)...well, these things happen. I can't live in a manner that I avoid experiences because of the maybe. An outboard motor dragging a banana boat breaks my concentration. Like a sea otter, I continue floating on my back, watching the clouds change colors as the sun drops on the water. 


There was a point I wished I had my camera. Not for the sun, as I have more than enough ocean sunset shots, but for the lighting on the water. This unique vantage point kept the purples, oranges, and dark blues reflecting on the water's surface much longer than I've seen from land, and the glow on my hands and toes as they breached, creating ripples through the surface, is an image I won't soon forget.


I stayed floating there until the stars came out above me.

You never know

Four months ago, my plan was to spend Christmas in London and New Year's in Barcelona.

On September 28, I changed my plans and declared, "Nothing is to be regretted."

And here I find myself on the eve of Christmas spending the holiday not with the people of England, but with the people of multiple cities and states instead. I spent the last couple months working in San Francisco with Canadians and Trinidadians, with Russians and Mongolians, with Portlanders and Cincinnatians. Sure, this isn't where I thought I'd be back in August, but I've continued to make friends from areas unexplored, I've continued to make memories with those close to me, and I've even managed to make a little money instead of spending it all on hostels and foreign delicacies.

New people have entered my life and old friends are soon leaving me. These are moments that would not have been part of my story had I continued walking.

I'd say that's reason enough to be merry.
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On a side note, I still have a valid ticket from London to Barcelona on Dec 27 and a return flight from Barcelona to SF on Jan 6, so if anyone
1) wants to pay for me to fly over there, or
2) has a fake pasport with my name on it and wants to do a little short-notice traveling,
hit me up.