Memoirous

 I read an interesting article at the Atlantic that sort of capsulated the West Coast feel, the vibe I picked up in Oregon. I’ve been struggling to find the right words to describe how light and airy it felt out there compared to the Midwest—while at the same time discerning what made it less appealing in some ways. There was a social consciousness that was very affirming, but also meant that I felt guilty a lot of the time because the homeless encampments which were ubiquitous, those living on the margins were so prevalent—it was inescapable. Just like my work in Chicago, the reason I never carried money was because I was compelled to give it away to those asking for it at the train station, in parking lots, etc. The poor was ALWAYS with me, really. On the West Coast is the added factor of meth. Sometimes people were totally out of their minds, dancing for hours and because it was anything goes, there was rarely intervention. The mindset was NOT to call the police. There was ...

There was a relief to be in a van heading back toward Uptown and my apartment building along the lakefront. I’d retrieved my 2 bikes and checked-luggage and, after cramming it all in the mini-van thought to myself: Oh my God how am I going to move with 100x this amount of stuff in a mini-van? You see, I refused to acknowledge I had stuff. I’d flown to Eugene in December with a bike and a suitcase and was still subconsciously suspended within that model. Except now, I had 2 bikes and a whale of stuff to transport. Change of plans. Let’s just say once I went to my storage unit, I saw the light. I’d need a truck   So for the past 5 days I’ve been on a treadmill of packing, meeting up with old friends, appointments with bank, haircut, etc. Oh, and plus my Zoom class for Story Studio . I was packing more than just stuff, I was packing life into these 5 days left here in Chicago. On Saturday I had a full day of storage unit, meeting up with Rian, the friend who came out to see ...

I left Eugene Sept 13 th via Flix Bus. For $22 I got a tix to Seattle. By the time I de-boarded I was the last person on the bus. The driver was pointing out landmarks like a tour guide. My one and only time in Seattle. My long-time (not old!) friends were there to pick me up and take me to their home in Sammamish. It was still light out and I got a chance to see the Sound, the lake, the mountains, that eerie spiked fir trees enshrouded in wisps of low clouds Twin Peaks vibe. I was ready for pie! There were family meals, walking the children to the bus stop in the morning, lots and lots of talking. By day 2 I was afraid I was going horse or else caught Covid on the long bus ride. I will post pics from day hike up to Snoqualmie Twin Falls. Then on bike one day Snoqualmie Valley Trail and the next Sammamish River Trail. Pictures do not tell the whole story. Behind the beauty of the area was the beauty of this family and all the times we’ve shared in the past, and hopefully going int...

 I left Eugene September 13 th . I left my heart. How can I tell it all, the emotions, the hard good byes? Yet, at the same time, the affirmation. It was so in contrast to how I left Chicago for the West Coast the end of December. I blame the pandemic. The fear. I’m no denier, a contagious virus was raging and people were understandably afraid, but it didn’t need to be so isolating. It shut down people, their abilities to reason, in the sense of kindness. The part of us that extends itself beyond—a smile, a moment to stop and say hello, holding a door for someone. Answering a question. The fear of the unknown was so overwhelming that it too became a pandemic. Contributing to public behavior. We see it even now in the number of incidents were folks act out on planes, other forms of mass transit, in grocery stores, etc. Fear is not an excuse, just my underlying theory on why so many people are acting crazy. Thus, leaving Eugene I was so struck by the number of folks who cam...

Today is the DAY! It just so happens it is the same morning they decided to lift the bridges for the sailboats to leave the lakefront harbors for winter quarters/storage. Ahhh, Chicago. As I began packing I had a grand plan. To start with books and then go one section at a time. Easy. Except I wanted to sort them into keep, toss, donate, give away for a sale, see if Grace wants. AWK! It became unsustainable. The books alone took a couple of days. Then there were last minute visits to squeeze in. It became very apparent that I needed to be intentional with the packing, stay on task (stop taking bike rides!), and give up the sort. So I threw out my filters and just began filling boxes. Good because I got it all done by today/bad because I am taking way more than I thought I would be. And, it’s a jumble   All my strategizing went out the window—I just needed to go. So just as I posted before leaving for Eugene, here once again, is Jane riding away.

It’s crunch time. I haven’t been able to take the last week off at work, but over my two official days off, I crammed in life. Packing. Doing crafts. One last run. One last coast ride. I kept thinking as I left the house at dawn that this is crazy. I should be packing MORE. I should be doing little things to get ready. I should stay and have a slow back porch breakfast, but I was at the bus stop at 7:15 a.m. for the Lane Link shuttle to the coast. The driver is starting to recognize me—as well as the other passengers, riders to the casino in Florence. This time I caught another bus to Yachats, a cute little tourist coastal town. It had that beachcomber souvenir vibe. After getting off the bus at 11:30, I began to slowly make my way down the coast. I wanted to savor the sea, salty breeze, and fog rolling in off the ocean. I turned on my taillight and had on a safety vest. I wasn’t taking any chances. I didn’t want to die before moving to Michigan. The fog wafted over the road ...

 Things are slowly winding up here. Sad, and yet exciting. It’s been hard to sleep. Every time I close my eyes, I think of what I need to pack, who to say goodbye to, things to return before leaving. My last day of work according to the calendar was yesterday, but, again, real-life has imposed itself and I agreed to help out because my boss’s daughter is about to deliver. An ultrasound confirmed what was thought to be a big baby as now twins. This has thrown a wrench—hahaha, bicycle pun—into plans. Monday morning my roommate and his girlfriend took me out to breakfast. We were celebrating a visit from his sister as well as a birthday, plus my going-away. So it was fun, full of stories and laughter. Before packing up my camping stuff, I need to decide if I might work in one more coast ride and camp-out. I hate to say goodbye to the Pacific Northwest.

 I finished Philosophy for Polar Explorers by Erling Kagge. So much of what he wrote is about the everday everybody—not just those ascending Everest or seeking the Pole. Of course as a long-distance cyclist I can find myself in many of his messages. Yes, I’m not fast, I’m not breaking world records, nor am I the first. I’m just a solo trekker of a certain age—who people tell me is brave. I don’t always feel that way. For instance: as a writer it is much tougher than you think to come back to a project where you have failed and try to revive it, or to tell yourself you might have to let this one go. To face the blank page. A bigger Pole is to create with words something out of nothing, to translate that feeling or concept you harbor in your head into words, words that have an impact upon a reader. There are times I find this impossible—and yet I keep trying. Writing is like being a polar explorer. It is about facing your fears, the absurdity of the task, and being present anyw...

My last meditation provoked by reading Philosophy for Polar Explorers by Erling Kagge is about routine. I completely tore up the pages of my life in Chicago, nearly 40 years there, to fly out to Eugene with a bicycle and a suitcase to “start over.” Yet, once again, I began to build routine. We are creatures of habit. I imagine Neanderthals lounging around in caves bored, but also satisfied that for a brief moment they do not have to run from dinosaurs or whatever danger was right outside their stone walls. We all take comfort in a set list that is settled and gives a familiar feeling of structure. It’s why I cycle. Yes, it is easy to feel like a machine, part of the cogs on the freewheel, a link in the chain, so to speak. But, I never had to question my existence or what to do that day: I woke up to pedal, I ate to pedal, I slept to wake up and pedal. It was about getting from A to B. It was that easy. So in Eugene, embarking on my new life I established a routine. Tea, stretch...

Philosophy for Polar Explorers Erling Kagge Pantheon (November 17, 2020) As I mentioned in an earlier post I’ve been reading a small contemplative book titled Philosophy for Polar Explorers by Norwegian adventurist Erling Kagge. In one short chapter is a meditation on happiness—and how it isn’t always relative   to circumstances. How we can be happy with nothing and terribly miserable in the midst of plenty. It’s like reading a fable of the rich and poor. We can be rich and at the same time poor in spirit. What brings happiness? I’m constantly amazed at the turn my life has taken. While cycling last year from Chicago to the Pacific, eventually to see my daughter in Oregon I had no idea I’d move to Eugene. At one point while camping at Cascade Lock I was joined by 2 PCT thru-hikers. The older gentleman shared that he and his wife looked after their grandson. I told him my daughter was expecting my first grandchild—a boy. He immediately said, So you will be relocating. I re...

 Well, thank you Universe! Thank you God! After my exercise in listing what it was I wanted in accommodation in Michigan (click on link )—I got an answer. I wrote that post on a Thursday late morning. A few hours went by and I checked Craigslist. What I found at the top, just landed there, was exactly what I’d described. A professor at MSU who often travels (3 weeks out of a month) was looking for a roommate not just to cut expenses but sort of look after things. We called and chatted that evening. By Friday lunchtime I was the forerunner candidate. By evening I was her choice. How does one write about the synchronicity, the coincidence of just this: an answer to prayer. I put it out there. So next steps are a job and actually getting there—all things will come to those who wait, and seek.

 I got out early today as there are heat warnings up across the Pacific Northwest. Temps over 100 degrees are predicted. (Remember not many houses have AC.) I rode my bike along the Willamette River bike path. I saw— A man sitting in the midst a gaggle of white geese along the shore A woman eating blackberries straight from the bush. I stopped at a bush where last year Grace and I feasted on berries, and where she claims she got a rash. Today the berries though black were not plump, coated in dust and cobwebby. We haven’t had rain since the second week in June. The grass is brown and the river slugs along, much lower than years past. A haze hangs in the sky, perhaps, affected by the myriad of fires burning in the south and northern California.   Stopping, even for a second, I am drenched in sweat.

 An Unveiling I wish I knew what I didn’t       know up ahead, curving around the bend, straining into the wind, the pavement breaks abruptly, the hillside dropping down down to a ravine. No guard rails and little margin for error into fear, suspense.   We can be anxious for good and bad, everything is unnerving waiting for the other shoe to drop.   Cloud shadows sweep over the sand; the tide is going out, yet there is no end to the rushing of waves, washing over the rocks.   When the fog lifts I see the coast and the lighthouse drumming out a signal “Take Care.” In the distance is the        light.

Highway 101, Florence to Heceta Lighthouse 24 miles RT As I’m beginning the process of unplugging from Eugene ( see earlier posts ), I know more and more I’m going to miss this magical place. Yesterday, I took the Lane Link from Eugene to Florence for $5. How easy! Aside from having to be at a corner at 7:32 a.m. it is simple and quick. I retrieved my bike from the front of the shuttle and began rising up the coast at 9:15 a.m. I tried to recruit a cycling companion, but she backed out. I’m of two minds—my usual state of affairs—yes, it is scary to embark on any new thing, and Hwy 101 can be twisty-turny and traffic-heavy. But you don’t know until you do. You see, you can always turn around and come back. There’s no harm in trying. So I started off alone, with trepidation. Aside from my acquaintance pulling out, my daughter gets worried when I undertake these rides. To be fair, it’s not like I haven’t fallen or gotten into pickles. Again, we don’t know until we go. But, I left wi...