A low-tech ecological bike tour of the world, by Charles Brigham
I left Windsworth on a Tuesday afternoon, after packing up, accepting Caroline’s offer of a cantelope, Nairn’s organic oat n fruit biscuits, and organic peanut butter to take away, and helping with the sheep one last time. The sun was shining, and the local Cornish metaphysical weather forecast called for heat and security. (more…)
It was your average Caribbean afternoon: bikini heat and rustling palm tree shade, crystal azure water lapping at white sand beaches, and the waves glistening and winking gaily in the sun, carried from ocean horizons as far as the eye could see.
We were leaving the island, setting sail for Europe. (more…)
The boat’s name is Asteroid. She’s a 68-foot Van Dam cruising ketch, custom built in Holland in 1986. She’s strong, safe, and easy to operate. She’s a million-dollar luxury motor-sailer, registered in the Caiman Islands, giving her a real off-shore-account black market feeling, though I’m pretty sure everything is legit. (more…)
I sat there, in front of a small campfire just off the road in Northern Florida, beating the crap out of myself mentally. I seared my eyes in that fire, as darkness pressed in on all sides. (more…)
SOUTH CAROLINA
In Myrtle Beach, South Carolina(a super affluent area), I was sitting outside the public library having lunch, when a grey-haired woman in running spandex stopped to talk. She asked the usual questions about my bike tour, and then asked one I’d never heard before: “How are you doing physically?” (more…)
VIRGINIA BEACH and CAROLINA
It was like leaving home, after eight weeks in Norfolk. I stayed up late packing, organizing, and staring groggily at internet maps. In the morning I stumbled to Fair Grounds for one last momentous cup of joe, and to meet my good friend Berry one momentous last time. I gave Diana, my barrista, a goodbye hug and gave her a collage I had made, and Berry and I took some photos for posterity. He gave me an apple, and orange, a crystal(“Bury it in the ground for three days, to attune it to yourself. You’ll know what it’s for then.”), and a copy of Khalil Gibran’s “The Prophet,” complete with an uplifting personal dedication. No rough goodbyes there; Berry’s nothing but solid.
I got all the gear together, and Cheryl helped me carry it downstairs to my awaiting steed. Nathan was asleep but I woke him up to shake his hand. I hugged Jason goodbye, but I missed saying goodbye to crazy Mark Loi, the most chauvinist feminist I’ve ever met. Must’ve taken his hangover to his army job at the crack of dawn, as usual. (more…)
Ah, my soul sighs – back on the road. I left Richmond on a chilly November day, after a few weeks of downtime, ready to hit the docks in Norfolk to find a freighter or sailboat that I can hitch a ride with. I was so ready to be back on the road (more…)
man on a journey
two wheels bear his spirit East
every day new
–Noah Cox, my homie in Portland.
I love Wisconsin; watershed or driftless, whitewashed or budding green; its landscapes have always felt like home. Its people – neighbors all, be they progressive and liberally raised, or traditionally bred in the red neck of the woods. Prime bicycling country. I’ve always lived in Wisconsin, and I’ve always really lived in Wisconsin. I hope to live there again some day.
But right now, I live on the road, in the woods wherever I’m found. And the states I live in – they sure aren’t Wisconsin. Not bad, just different. I’m actually glad to leave for a while; they say it’s good to see what other states have to offer. Get a new perspective.
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The world tour has begun.
No time for fear. Honesty and reality, mixed with a whittling down of that less exciting chaff that surrounds the diverse gems of travelling, be they shiny or subtle. My life is strange on the road, and though even my “every-day” experiences are unusual by former standards, I cannot write about them all. I’ve pared it down, for your sakes and mine, but still retain a record of other items of interest, to be documented as they amass. (more…)
Somewhere in the last year, sometime amidst the craziness that is my regular life, my subconscious slid across a nebulous threshold, and on my behalf it decided: I would travel soon. It began as little pecks on the inside of my skull; hints of this wisp, this not-put-in-words-yet, this leap. The idea scratched to get out in the dark moments: when I was struck with loneliness, when I experienced loss, or when I examined the skeletal shadows of my life.