the pictures to go along with the words…enjoy.
Big Sur, in colour
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Big Sur Unfurl
Due to flat tires and fast afternoons we didn’t reach Pfeiffer State Park in Big Sur till night had decidedly fallen. We blindly scarfed dinner with the other campground travelers and woke up in a forest. Again we were dwarfed by thick trees even this far south. The campground was beautiful and spacious and packed with characters. Klemens and Yelena, our friends from Austria, were there. Richie, a guy in saggy bike clothes was cycling around the world (hence the saggy bike clothes). Petrina had an around-the-world ticket and had just finished up a stint at an intentional community in Alaska. There was a couple from New Zealand who were spending their retirement bike touring. Nathan was a school teacher from the San Jose area who was biking the Pacific Coast route for the umpteenth time. Devon appeared from the campground woods in a suit vest, vintage Reeboks and a singular long dread. He was hitch-hiking cross country working on a documentary project exploring the modern definition of American kindness. There was also Josh who worked as a private body guard. Everyone kept asking him where they could purchase wood because he always dressed like a park ranger. Campfires were fun at Big Sur.
We decided to take a rest day for ourselves and unintentionally flew down a two mile descent to the beach. It was a lovely ride from forest to sand but the whole time we were dreading the ascent back up. Until we met some nice British boys who offered us their Lucky Charms cereal and rented “Explore” travel van whose advertising tag read, “The freedom to sleep around.” Despite the fact that they picked us up on the beach, offered us pedophilic cereal and touted a sexual innuendo on their vehicle they were gentlemen. They told jokes like, “Do you know velcro? What a rip-off” and the ride they gave us up the huge hill was more than appreciated. Especially because the next day we would climb yet another huger right at the start of the day- in the sun and without any warm up. But there was also Big Sur Bakery at its peak where we each ordered 2 pastries and a deep coffee. That in a word, was good.
The ride through Big Sur was a lot like the Oregon Coast, but hotter, windier, steeper and with more people in convertibles taking photos out the window with their digital cameras. It was nice though. The light was sharper than Oregon’s which made the water turquoise and the windy roads were fun to maneuver. We were under the impression that south of San Francisco would be overwhelming, crowded and buzzing with freeway traffic, but Big Sur was two-lane quiet with not a lot of roadside infrastructure to distract from the ocean views and sandstone cliffs.
We pulled into Kirk Creek campground with time to enjoy the last of the day. We camped besides two other female bike tourists, Sharon and Karen (our first and only other all female group encounter) in the quiet campsite. Before dinner we walked out to a beach and watched dolphins shyly pop up in the surf. Well, I’m certain there were dolphins but the other Birds say there weren’t. We were also all shotgun tired so I don’t trust either account, but it was a nice evening to be sure.
-Hose (aka José (aka Josie))
Strawberries, Artichokes and Clint Eastwood
We rolled out of Cost-a-Lotta KOA Kampground after an indulgent morning of saunaing and laundry, in other words, late. We were heading into Santa Cruz and reasoned when would we get another sauna included in our tent site payment. The problem was when we stopped for a long lunch and didn’t reach Santa Cruz till sunset where we got lost. Some dude yelled at us from his truck window that we needed to go back to school to learn to read a map. So when night fell and we pulled into camp some 10 miles south of town and Elkmother ate an eclair for dinner in her tent we couldn’t bring ourselves to back track into Santa Cruz the next day. Instead we plunged further to Monterey.
The terrain was changing. The collection of deep green that surrounds Santa Cruz was giving way to sprawling farms, large farms- massive strawberry farms in full harvest with workers crouched in bandannas and wide hats. We rode through Norteño and Mariarchi music playing from trucks hauling water jugs and the workers’ backpacks. The air was sweet with strawberry smell. I would have thought this an idyllic glimpse into California summer farming if I hadn’t been visiting the places we’ve been visiting and learning the things we’ve been learning.
The mono-cropping that these huge strawberry farms were utilizing isn’t exactly what Mother Nature had in mind when she planted the strawberry or, for that matter, any plant. Repeatedly planting a single crop season after season leeches nutrients from the soil. It’s a tremendous strain, not to mention the chemicals that are used to refurbish it and stave away weeds and bugs. And you can’t help but wonder what types of pay, benefits and conditions the migrant work used to harvest these massive crops garner. In the grocery store I’ve always been convinced more by price than by the proposed quality of organic. I’ve reasoned that organic is a privilege that I just can’t afford. And in truth organic doesn’t insure that it hasn’t been shipped halfway around the world in a plane that eats up fossil fuels and emits a staggering amount of atmospheric pollution. Nor does organic insure that the hands that picked it are working in suitable conditions. It’s a lot to think about in the produce aisle. So much so that I usually just cop out and choose the cheapest option.
But then it happened. We were coming up over a hill outside of Monterey and I thought I saw the waves of a lake bouncing the sunlight. Instead it was countless sheets of plastic covering soil that had been treated with chemical herbicides and pesticides. My stomach dropped. This is where my food comes from. A field that they have to cover in plastic so as not to poison the wildlife and people who may come in contact with it and since then I can’t eat a non-organic strawberry. I just can’t do it. The moment has yet to come, but I may now be one of those people who if offered a strawberry has to ask if it’s organic before I eat it and I usually eat anything, especially if it’s free. Biking through that strawberry field changed the way I eat. It also made me realize how stress-free farmer’s markets are. Instead of all the buzzing head chatter about sustainable food practice and your individual effect on the world and the things that Portlandia makes fun of you for, you get to eat kettle corn and chat to farmers about fruit.
That afternoon we ate our lunch in a schoolyard across from a giant artichoke in Castroville, the artichoke capital of the world. We were all pretty sobered by the crops, but we spotted some other touring bikes and made fast friends with a couple from Vienna, Austria, Klemens and Yelena.
Following off-highway bike paths and some friendly locals we rolled into Monterey. The terrain had changed again from sprawling farms to sand and eucaluptys and scraggly dry green. Our campsite was up an unexpected ginormous hill but it was home to something of an outdoor hostel- loads of bikers and around-the-world travelers. Our time in Monterey wasn’t too exciting though. We spent it in a coffee shop working on the blog and in a movie theatre, which, ya know, happens.
The next day we rode with our Austrian buddies past the Monterey Bay Aquarium and the turquoise water filled with seals and otters, through Cannery Row and got a small taste of touristy Monterey. We also road through Pebble Beach on a route called the 17 Mile Drive by white beaches and glassy blue water. The Ha(i)ley’s peed on the famous golf course there and we rode by Clint Eastwood’s house in Carmel. We were entering Southern California.
-Hose (aka José (aka Josie))
Interview with Bonnie Ora Sherk, Part I
Introducing a portion of the interview series with Sherk at her Living Library in San Fransisco. Additional videos are being edited and they will be posted soon! Please see Haley’s accompanying post below titled: “Meeting my Idol in Living Library”.
Coming up: we had the pleasure of witnessing a visit from Living Library alumni student Dante who had stopped by to visit Sherk that day. Dante was a member of the group of students who helped initialize the Living Library, and he tells us about the reverberating effects of this type of education. How inspiring! Stay posted.
– hailey gooch
Fast French Friends and the Black Bird Guitar Dumpster Dive
I’d like to quote Miss Gooch to begin this post. “I just love how, ya know, how every day is like a new day. Ya know? You just wake up, and it’s a new day!”. Indeed, we awoke to a new day. We were not in Frisco anymore. We were on the move again! It felt so good to be back on the bikes heading south. After a night-cloaked desent down Devil’s Pass, we found safe slumber in a cute and cozy bed’n’breakfast in Halfmoon Bay, about 40 miles south of San Francisco. Our place for the night also came equipped with two hilarious Swiss travellers who tried to teach us how to say various bike phrases in Swiss-German.
So, our morning routine is pretty set by this point in our trip. We awake, fairly early, eat as soon as possible and as much as possible, take down our tents, put on our diaper shorts, apply our chamois cream, eat again, and get all our gear back on the bikes. Today’s morning had an interesting twist, though. A french twist, not to be confused with the hair-do made popular by business women in the 90-s. This French twist was much more fun than any hair-do, actually. Our morning routine was punctuated by confusing texts and accent laden phone conversations with Simon. Simon was the phone friendly partner of Hughes. You may be thinking….who under these stars, are Simon and Hughes. Good question.
If you can rewind with us Birds for a trip down memory lane, you will find four feathered females walking into the ‘R’ Bar in San Francisco to meet up with Hose’s brother and his girlfriend for her birthday bonanza. It was innocent. What was not innocent was two French-Canadian men at the bar still clad in bike spandex at 10:00pm. We of course had to talk bikes. There is a biker-bred friendship…a familial bond that exists which transforms strangers into comrades in mere minutes. This bond is made on the side of highways, in grocery stores, in campsites, and in this case, in a bar over tequila. Somewhere between stories of bike trips and dangerous shots, we had made a plan to ride south from San Francisco on Wednesday together with our two new French friends, Hughes and Simon.
So, here we are three days later, pedalling south towards our camp for the night at Pescadaro State Beach, about 40 miles south. The plan was that we would ride until the two fast Frenchies catch up to the heavy bikes of the Birds’. We rode into a parking lot to gather some picknick recources and I spotted a UPS store. Should I mail my guitar? Oh, it had been so out of tune and cumbersome on the bike, but I loved it so. Confused as usual, I ambled over to ask how much it would cost for UPS to mail my stringed lover to San Diego. $70 bones! Wholy cow! That just is not in the budget. Not even a little. So, I decided to go dumpster diving in the rear of the grocery store the other Birds were loitering in front of. You see, the high price was because UPS would have to build a custom box for my guitar. So, with meat smelling boxes in tow, I went back to the UPS store. I serenaded the Ha(i)leys one last time and went to work. Goocher and I spliced together three meat smelling boxes into one glorious taped up and disfigured safety sheath for Black Bird Guitar. It may not have been pretty, but it cost me a cool $14 bucks to get my guitar safely to San Diego for my arrival in a month. Well done, I do say.
But, what does this Black Bird Guitar have to do with anything? Well, it slowed us Birds down just enough to have a roadside meet-up with our two Fast French Friends. We decided we would picnick at the beach just a few miles south. We had waves, scrumptious mustard in our sandwiches and some refreshing white wine. Things were good. We chatted about family life and our bike adventures until it was time to ride. Along the ride, it was decided that instead of riding back to San Francisco as they had originally planned, the Fast French Friends would ride the rest of the way with us and stay at a nearby resort. Fun!
The ride ahead was absolutely gorgeous. Steep hills meant for hard climbs but fantastic screaming descents along the ocean. We rode and we rode until we found our turnoff to Pescadaro State Park. As we turned off the highway a woman yelled alarmingly at us out of her car. “THE BEST ARTICHOKE SOUP YOU’VE EVER HAD!!! THE BEST!! THREE MILES DOWN THE ROAD. THE BEST ARTICHOKE SOUP YOU WILL EVER HAVE!! YOU HAVE TO GO!! THREE MILES!!!!!. Wow. Looking back, I wish we would’ve had that soup. I never yell after having soup. It must be good. I don’t even think I’ve ever raised my voice even a notch after having soup. It must be good.
We biked toward the soup spot, which we all thought was quite close to both our camp site and also to the Fast French Resort. Biking happily along the country rode we came to a realization. Somehow mileages had been skewed and the Fast French Friends were to stay another 10 miles south at Camp Cost-A-Lot. What to do. Well, if we were going to have our much deserved post ride brew, we had better all bike another 10 sunset miles and stay at the same nest. So, off we went, four Birds with flags and 100 pound loads and two Fast French Friends with spandex and bikes so light we lifted them with our pinkies.
If you could picture the six of us on our sunset ride, gliding breezily past eucylyptus forrests, words might come to mind like ‘relaxed’ or ‘calm’. If this was part of a Choose Your Own Adventure book, this would be one story direction. The six bikers rode happily fulfilled by their day’s ride into camp for a hearty meal and a solid slumber. That is not the direction our story took, however. Instead, our story-line brings to mind words like ‘hot-tub’, ‘beer’, ‘wine’, ‘fire’, ‘sauna’, ‘sleep deprivation’, and ‘laughing-until-your-guts-hurt’. Needless to say we had a blast. We were all reminded again of how often we meet and spend time with amazing, hilarious, and generous people on the road. All by happenstance and all welcomed with open Bird arms..er wings.
The next morning we were again living Goocher’s dream of ‘a new day’ as we gathered ourselves for our southbound journey of glory. Stay with us as we pedal into our next adventure and next friendship…
Lots of love to the road, our bikes, and our readers,
Elkmother.
>>>>>..<<<<<
Meeting My Idol in A Living Library
I first learned about Bonnie Ora Sherk at the WACK! show at the Vancouver Art Gallery in..2008. There was a display on her work Crossroads Community or The Farm as it came to be known; a 6 year long performance sculpture from 1974 to 1980 on seven acres of land adjacent to a freeway interchange outside of San Francisco. I got excited. The Farm was a large scale interactive, community engaging art piece, with a working garden, education programs for kids, a theatre, visiting artists, animals…the whole shebang. And it was a project that would lay the groundwork for the work Bonnie Sherk is currently doing in San Francisco (and New York) with the Living Libraries. Anyways, the Farm got me thinkin….It was so inspiring to learn about an Artist working with ideas of ecology and community, and our relationships to our/the environment; ideas that I had been gravitating to and not sure what to do with or how to work through. Her work was the catalyst to my realization that a community garden could be a work of Art, that an artistic practice could encompass more than material objects that come out of a studio, that art could be an experience, an event, an entity. There are many artists working in this way, but it was the Farm and Bonnie Sherk that opened my eyes to it.
Through my two remaining years of art school I probably wrote about two papers and gave at least one presentation on Bonnie Sherk, and the Farm and the metaphor of the Living Libraries.
So you may be asking….A Living Library? whats that about?
“A Living Library (A.L.L.) with diverse sectors of community, incorporates local resources, and transforms them to become vibrant, content-rich, ecological learning landscapes; each Branch linked to another”.
The Living Libraries are essentially community gardens designed with intention and purpose for the communities they are constructed in, taking into account the resources of the community: human, ecological, technological, cultural and aesthetic, the history of the area, and what the community needs for the future. A Living Library = ALL. The libraries are connected to school grounds and are linked to the curriculum. The idea being learning happens in the garden, the Library; math, geography, science, language arts can all be learned hands on and experientialy. There are four branches so far, three in San Fran and one in New York, and the goal being to link the living libraries locally and globally through virtual gateways some day. There is so much that can be said about the Living Libraries, the vision is so conceptually rich and inspiring. (Please visit alivinglibrary.org and the blog for more information.)
I knew Bonnie Sherk was based in San Francisco and that we would definatly be passing through SF on our way down the coast..which meant..I could potentially, actually meet THE Bonnie Sherk and see the living libraries in the flesh, or chlorophyll…
It’s a strange experience to meet one’s idol. You would think it would be like the buildup of anticipation to Christmas or your birthday when you are little. But I just got really nervous, had a terrible stomach ache and tried to avoid thinking about the whole situation entirely. Like I have struggled with writing this blog post and procrastinated to the extent that we are over a month behind in entries, I put off contacting Bonnie to see if we could actually come visit. As I said I knew from about October 2010 that it would be rad to visit, but I put off sending the intial “Hi I’m with the Birds on Bikes…yada yada..can we come visit??” email until about a month into the trip. In a coffee shop in Gold Beach, Oregon, we had taken over, with about 5 minutes left to closing, I finally shot off a description of what we were doing, roughly when we thought we would be in SF and a plea for a moment of her time. Bonnie Sherk herself responded almost instantly, with a “Sure! no problem, call me when you are close”. omg. Bonnie Sherk said we could come visit and now I had her phone number. But now I had to call her. I have a small, somewhat manageable phobia of making phone calls. Strangers I struggle with, but my idol? oh gawd. I put the phone call off for about a week, until it was absolutely necessary verging on ridiculous, and we might miss our chance. Finally when we were at Hilde and Jimmy’s, the day before we would be catching the ferry over to SF, with shaky fingers, blushing cheeks and sweat pouring I picked up the phone and called Bonnie. She answered right away with cordial briskness. I introduced myself. She didn’t remember me. I explained, did the Birds on Bikes shpeel. She kind of remembered. blah blah blah, awkard phone conversation later, Bonnie Sherk invited us to a work day the following week. There was to be a work volunteer event at the OMI/Excelsior Living Library and Think Park with employees from SalesForce (some sort of computer software design company, I never got a definitive description when I asked the Sales Force folks) as well as classes with the day care in the afternoon, and the youth interns would be there too. Bonnie suggested rather than interviewing just her, we should come to the work party and see the garden in full swing.
We decided to take a bus to the work party, rather than bike, because we weren’t familiar with the bikes routes and the San Francisco hills intimidated us. Also the living library was in southern San Francisco close to Daly City, and… we were hungover. The night before we had met up with Josie’s brother, Pancho for his girlfriend’s birthday at the R Bar. That was when we met the infamous Quebecois guys (more on them to come), who fed us too many tequila shots and turned our quiet night of an innocent birthday beer to shmammered-dom. Needless to say we woke up the next morning with boozy burps and our feather askew. With a quick greasy muffin and a dirty coffee from the hotel’s continental breakfast, we gathered our gear, tried to make ourselves look presentable in our cleanest, dirty clothes and went to catch the bus. The ride took about an hour. It was interesting to see the city change as we rode from the touristy area we were staying on Lombard St. through downtown, the mission district, into residential neighbourhoods, and away from the money and traffic. It was nice to see a new, realer side of SF away from where the tourist maps suggest you visit. We weren’t quite sure how to find to garden from our bus stop, except the general direction to walk in, a street name and to look for a garden, but when we saw a daycare and then a gate with a hand painted sign, with hand prints and bright sloppy colours, bark mulch, flowers and a woven tee-pee in the distance, we knew we were in the right place.
We passed through the gate and what we learned later was the upper garden and saw a few people congregating by some picnic tables. We were on time, even a little early (a feat for the birds), so we wandered over to them to see if they knew what was going on..Then we saw her. She was wearing a wide brimmed hat over her long black hair, orange sunglasses, a turquoise sweater, and bright pink lipstick. She bustled over to us with her purse hanging off one shoulder and a bundle of weeds in her other hand. Bonnie exclaimed you must be the Birds! We said yes, and bumbling and bumping into each other we quickly said hello and introduced ourselves. She told us to head down to the lower garden, that we would be starting down there, and that she wanted to introduce everyone and the living library before we got started. And then as quick as she appeared she was gone, off to tend to a last minute something I guess before everyone arrived. So that was Bonnie. Not the momentous, warm greeting I had hoped for, but we had just arrived and she was in the middle of something, we would have lots more time to bond I figured. We wandered out of another gate onto the tree lined sidewalk and around down to the lower garden. It was a small area, nestled between concrete walls and buildings, and chain link fences but it was an oasis; an overgrown, explosively blooming garden with lavender, mint, apple trees, rose bushes, lilies, onions, native shrubs, all packed together with stepping stone paths winding through the beds. It looked like lovingly designed chaos. It looked amazing.
We gathered in the far back corner by a table with a plate of brownies and a massive bowl of almonds and raisins on it, and a small awkward group of adults, the SalesForce crew we discovered. Bonnie sauntered down the path to the group, gave us the a-ok to film and called the group to attention. She gave an articulate and concise description of the Living Libraries, explaining the idea of ALL, and with maps and drawings showed us how she and her team had transformed the area and all its vacant concrete since 1998 into the lush and thriving garden it is today. Bonnie introduced the three other teachers in attendance Susan, Aaron and Elyse who later told us stories of how she had biked for 5 years across Europe and the middle east in her youth. I found myself awestruck again by how this project lets us meet such rad people. Bonnie explained what was on the agenda for today sifting compst, diggin holes and weedin, and then facilitated splitting us all up between the different tasks, SalesForce peeps, youth interns, and the Birds, so we could see the diversity and connection making magic of the Living Library at work. The Birds were put on weeding duty. We grabbed some gloves followed Bonnie to the beds that needed the most work, watched her demo, and then set to work as she flitted off…
Cool. So there I was. Standing in a Living Library, with pink gloves on, and a spade in one hand. As for our interview, or having any kind of one on one time with Ms. Sherk, I had no idea. She seemed to have the ball in her court. I was slightly intimidated really. No that’s an understatement. I could barely utter a word to Bonnie, I was so intimidated, and she seemed to hold a powerful presence, kind and friendly, but like this afternoon was going to proceed on her terms. So I focused on weeding and soaking in the connection making transformative energy of the garden by trying to make small talk with my fellow weeders. About an hour later a class began with a group of preschool aged kids. Aaron warned us they were coming down into the garden and asked for willing volunteers to team up with the kids. Like a herd of floppy puppies the children bounded into the garden. Aaron refreshed the class on what weeds were and how to pull them up and then he divvied up the group of kids to the waiting adults. Lauren and I got two buddies each. We searched for suitable weeds and I quizzed them on how they felt about gardening. It was such an amazing sight to see. Kids bounding around, teenagers and adults gently encouraging and mentoring. The children were safe in the garden, encouraged to stay on task but allowed to drift through the plants and as they got tired, or bored or needed to pee, they all ended up migrating back up to the upper garden to play in the dirt or help with the chaos that was happening up there, with hole diggin’ and bean planting, or simply to go back to the playground. I appreciated the loose fluidity of the afternoon; the relaxed trust in the group of volunteers and children to work together to get the job done, and the respect for the kids short attention spans. I escorted one of my little buddies to the upper garden, and to see where the source of gleeful screams were coming from. A patch of dirt, water and shovels in hand, and some newly planted bean seedlings and the kids were stoked…Reno was in the middle of it, beaming in the kids excited energy. I wandered back down to return to my other buddy and bumped into Bonnie Sherk. She was pruning a tree on the sidewalk. She asked how it was going and when we would like to have that interview. I stumbled over my words and said we were ready when she was. She said she was busy now and how about a little later, towards the end of the work day, we could have a chat in the garden, and then she went back to her work. It was vague, but she was going to sit down with us and then I would get to pick her brain and bask in her awesomeness.
As the kids and SalesForce volunteers started heading out, a young man, in his early twenties, appeared at the gate asking for Bonnie. We told him she was around and to come on in. It turns out this young man’s name was Dante and that he went to the elementary school and high school attached to the garden. He was one of the original kids involved in the school programs and he helped plant some of the trees that were big and tall now. Dante was working as a security guard at the middle school down the street, but he had aspirations to be a teacher. He was going to involved in a garden project over there and for the past few weeks he had been popping by to find Bonnie and reconnect with her. Bonnie was overjoyed to see Dante. She got him to sit down with us and film them talking about the transformation of the living library and how it effected him. She offered him a job and reveled in the joy of how things come fulls circle. Then we had a brief exchange with Bonnie. She was comfortable and very articulate in front of the camera, but she dominated the ‘interview’ between her and Dante and between her and us. It was enlightening and inspiring, but I didn’t get to ask her any of the questions I had hoped to.
Soon it was time to go, our memory cards were maxed, and we could barely see straight from a day in the sun and mostly empty tummy’s. Bonnie told us she was excited we had come and got to witness the garden full of action and that impromptu reunion with her and Dante and that we should send her the footage so she could put it on the blog. We all gave her hugs and thanked her for her time, trying to have a sincere moment, and then Susan appeared with a question and she was off to tend to other things. And that was it. Looking back on the footage we have of that day, it was a pretty magical experience. The project of the Living Libraries is impressive and still so inspiring to me it makes the hair on my arms rise. It’s just our encounter with Bonnie Sherk that was not what I expected or hoped it to be. She is a powerful woman. I think I’ve been struggling with writing this post because I wasn’t quite sure how to say that it was difficult meeting her. Not warm and fuzzy and a sincere connection making experience like we have had with so many other amazing people on this trip. But we met her, in her style. And I think what I can take away from that experience is that like so many other people we have met through this project, Bonnie Sherk was inspired, she had a vision and not being an expert she gulped, rolled up her sleeves and jumped in. Maybe what happened is I went to the Living Library that day expecting to meet my idol and I left having met just a pretty incredible person.
– Haley (the curly one)
J’aime Monter Mon Vélo
I do love to ride my bike. I have been thinking a great deal about the immeasurable pleasure I experience whilst propelling myself through the world. This tour enables me ample time to ponder long and strange avenues of thought, all from the saddle of my steed. I imagine the motion of the body, though it is not walking, could hold the same characteristics of peripatetics. While biking, the body’s movement welcomes new ideas and thought processes to develop and emerge.
One such idea sprouted on a much-anticipated ride for The Birds and I. We were finally heading south again, away from the energy and excitement of the big city lights that make San Francisco so alluring; we were heading south again on our bikes. I was feeling oh-so-good that I started thinking about how everyone must feel oh-so-good, while on a pedal-powered steed of his or her own. My mind couldn’t help but extrapolate my feelings of pedal bliss, to the realm of world peace. Now, this may seem naïve and idealistic, probably because it is, but I am comfortable with that.
I do believe that biking could be a tool or mechanism to alleviate much of the negativity in the world. A smile cannot be stopped when someone hops on a bike and a smile every day means improved and sustained emotional health. It can improve and maintain physical health. Biking also has the power to reconnect people and communities by simply being open in the world. Cycling also has the ability to contribute to local and rural economies by purchasing food from markets and café’s along the biker’s route. Instead of oil as a fuel, biker’s need food, human produced help (directions), water, and food. So, not only is a biker negotiating herself geographically without the use of oil, she is also contributing to the local food economy which she is biking in or through. Now, here’s where the extrapolation comes in. What if everyone biked? I don’t mean 10 minutes on Saturdays. I mean all the time or even 90% of the time!
We would have to slow down, quite literally, as the average bicycle speed is around 14km’s an hour. I believe we would be happier and healthier. Possibly flight travel would decline, and people would travel in a smaller radius of their place of habitation. This would contribute to local economy while also reducing the need to use oil for travel with flights and cars. People might be happier, distance may gain respect again, and physical health would be integrated into our lives instead of slotted into hour sessions at the gym.
I’ll wrap up my love letter to bikes with this: If world leaders had to ride their bikes to meetings, would their motivation to secure international oil fields seem like a good idea still? I think not.
Love,
Elkmother.
San Fran Vacation
After our tipsy fiesta with Hilde we parked our bikes on the ferry and quickly rushed to the bar for another round of beers. As we sat closer to the sunshine and sped past Alcatraz and into Fishermans Warf, we discussed the sudden realization that we were finally on “vacation”. Vacation and Trip seemed to mean two different things. A Trip being an escape mechanism, a means of navigating between two points. While Vacation would involve remaining fixed among sunshine, beers and Birdchat. At any rate, we were already speeding quickly into the urban landscape of San Fransisco, and we were pumped.
With anticipation of my birthday, July 22nd, The Gooch family had graciously offered to reserve a hotel room for 4 nights. Entering the pier, we shoved half dranken beers on our bikes and directed our fully loaded paniers to the Westin on Market Street. We stalled at stop lights and received wide-eyes stares from tourists inside their cars. We eventually rolled our tredded tires into the Westin valet parking, and with Snicker bar wrappers spilling at the seams and flourescent flags scarring the nouveau wallpaper, we checked into room 2012. Immediatley, we were terrified of the sensor latent candy bars, yet fascinated with the white robes in the closet. We ordered two more of those, laughed, lounged and discussed where we should direct our time. That evening the neighbourhood of North Beach tempted us with dessert and coffee and the City Lights bookstore expended our energy. We entered a Psychic’s temple and then 10 minutes later we shamefully exited feeling completely ripped off. Our generalized predictions of our future busted our budget for the night.
The next day I turned 26 and my Birds made it real. We started the day with white robes, mimosas and coffee and then we went out for brunch in the Haight district. We shopped at thrift stores and then had fresh Italian for dinner. I struggled to connect on skype with all 5 of my family members in different places (6 including my brothers fiance’!), then hurried up to room 2012 for a pre-drinking dance party. We dressed up our faces for the first time in months, put on paper party hats and Bird maskes, and then hit the town. Elbow Room in the Mission became our destination where a live band jammin saxophones and trumpets kept us dancing motown funk all night. Lauren’s friend Yohaun from the Bay area joined us, as well as our “wife” Danielle and her friend who we met in Port Townsend awhile back. At the end of the night, with a sideways party hat, I walked up the bar to order a drink and realized it would be the first drink I bought all night. I told the bartender this and he then gave me a free shot. The night was perfect.
The next day we drowned in our hangover at Delores Park with Josie’s brother Pancho and his friend Ryan. Slip n’ Slide in the park, flourescent banana hammocks, live music and clouds of marijuana entertained us. It was my imagined “typical” San Fran Saturday morning. Pancho, who is a student chef at the Culinary Institute of America took us to a lovely restuarant called “Nopalito” which serves authentic Mexican food. Our plates were licked clean as usual while the boys took theirs to go. We were so proud!
The following day we enjoyed live opera in Yerba Buena park, had lunch at the tea house, then went to the SFMOMA. We were renewed with the contemporary arena of artists. How I missed this!! The quiet inspiration of a contemporary art museum is fascinating.The Bourgeouis, the Rothko, and the Morandi were striking, in addition to many more. It was enlightening to be reminded of my pursuit of Art, and similarly that this bike trip itself is fuelled by the pursuit of curiosity, the mysterious, the incentive to wonder. This Trip’s investigation of “how one lives” is not only measured by sustainability but also creativity.
During the following days, we saw Harry Potter, ate midnight pizza and Hilde and Jimmy’s son Bobby took us out for a lovely lunch and guided us into a safe part of town for another nights accomodation. The more time we spent in San Fransisco, the more we became aware that we were rotating the same two t-shirts and two pair of long johns, while other city dwellers seemed conscious and specific of their attire. Towards the end of 7 days we missed biking. The transience of getting up and leaving, the grit of our sleeping bags and the rhythm of tire tread was more our pace. Although we fell in love with San Fransisco (our fixed Vacation in the city), we missed our Trip. Feeling lucky to alternate between the two, we headed South for Part 2. But not until we met artist Bonnie Sherk and our two 40 something Quebecoius friends…
Much love,
Goocher*
We Birds Have Landed!
We did it. We tagged it and turned around. Ok, we got a little/alot lost within the 10mile radius of the border, but we arrived at 9pm as sweaty, hungry and delirious as we should have been. We also managed to pick up a boyd named Dave who patiently cruised with us and busted a dance move when necessary.
Our epic finale and the remainder of our Odyssey is to come. In between the beach and the beers, we plan to post the rest of the trip before we all depart back to Canada. Our paniers may lay to rest, but our project continues to evolve. Please stay posted, the best is to come. Bird love.x
We rise at Daybreak!..ish..
We saw the Trip in Monterey, and this clip really resonated with us, perhaps because our conversations often go something like this. Enjoy.
Birds on Bikes 