Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
the sound of my chain in its orbit: Is it gritty and grinding? Does it need oil? I pay atten-
tion to the keening in my thighs, the strain in my quadriceps and hammies and glutes as
I pump uphill or into the wind: Should I slow my stroke? Gear down? Gear up? I keep
tabs on my fuel level and hydration; cycling when you're hungry or thirsty is an agony.
I monitor my progress, watching my odometer/speed gauge/clock for info and entertain-
ment as though it were a television set, checking on mileage, the distance to the next
turn or the next town, the hours until I rest for the night. None of this amounts to think-
ing so much as release from thought.
The point is that big thoughts don't happen on the bike. The contemplation
stuff—that will mostly happen at night. Though maybe not; then I'll be packing and
unpacking, seeking and eating a substantial dinner, planning the next day's route, ob-
sessively tracking the weather.
No, biking across the country for the second time is a thing I'm doing to have import-
ant things to think about afterward.
Tuesday, July 19, Astoria, Oregon
The novelist Richard Ford was a teacher of mine long ago, and among the things he said
that I've remembered is that a novel has no place in the world except the one it makes
for itself. In fact, I stole the thought from him when I began my first cross-country trip
in 1993.
“Novelists will say that one reason their work is so agonizing is that no one out there
is waiting for what they do; they have to create their own welcome in the world,” I wrote
then.
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Then I added, “A cross-country bicyclist feels the same way.”
I'm not a novelist and this isn't a novel (though I'd argue that because I'm generating
the plot as I go along, not as the writer but as the main character, it amounts to
something pretty similar). In any case the parallels between riding and writing are actu-
ally substantial; it seems so, at least, for someone engaged in both of them.
Like a writer beginning a book, a cyclist has a long way to go before he can envision
the end. Both push off in a specified direction with hope and uncertainty. Both make
wrong turns, both are prone to whimsy, serendipity, and sudden inspiration. Both come
up with ideas they didn't know they had and encounter surprising characters who
change the course of things. Trying to effect and negotiate a compelling path from begin-
ning to end, both confront potential disaster, succumb to misleading optimism, experi-
ence hubris and self-doubt, anguish and delight. Indeed, sitting down to begin a piece
of writing and climbing aboard a bicycle to begin a long journey are both daunting pro-
spects, equally likely to induce procrastination. I know something about that, too.
