Saturday, December 31, 2016

New years

I awoke, fully clothed, on top of a bed that wasn’t mine in the Queen Anne neighborhood of Seattle. My shoes were tied, and the lights were glaring into my sleepy eyes. A bouquet of roses lay next to me on the bed, pieces of paper containing a positive message wrapped around each neck. The box of wine I bought for myself sat on the counter, laughing at me in our shared silence.
It was 3 in the morning on the first day of 2016 and I had slept through the new year. I had fully intended to walk down the few blocks towards the Seattle Center to watch “New Years at the needle”. I sighed and poured rest of my glass into the sink, swishing water until it ran clear. I refilled my glass with the tap, and began to remove the layers I had meticulously planned for the event of celebrating my new year solo. I found the ability to laugh at myself as I pulled someone else’s covers over myself, sleeping until the sun woke me up.
-
The last day of the year I awoke to Prince telling me exactly how he was going to party. A few messages came through my phone, one of whiched buzzed an "I'm sorry you have to work" at my concience. I was so excited to be able to wish so many different people a happy new year, and I dawned my clothes for the day. Every song that played over the speakers at work kept me dancing and laughing with the workers and frequent line-to-the-door patrons. As I biked home in the rain, I didn't care how wet I was getting to be.
-
I'm happy that I'm close to 4 months sober in a city that loved me from the day I rolled through it. I get to celebrate with new friends that are so happy to be getting to know me, and I them.
I'm so happy
I want to be here
I want to keep moving forward.

I love you. I hope you have a safe and happy new year, you glorious human.

Thursday, December 29, 2016

on the Lafitte greenway

bricks tumbled from the wall
crumbled on the ground
construction hats turned my way
telling me to give the wall a lot of space

this wall must come down for something new
give something else a chance, a part of me said
but the graffiti cried out to me
"what about us?"

I move forward
though it may strain to look back,
we must remember what we have come from
what we have gone through to get here.

Monday, December 26, 2016

what does home mean to me?

The thick mass of tangled branches lie against the temporary orange plastic fence, quite like the trees we keep as ornamemnts in our homes for a few days near the end of the year. A famillar smell hit me as I parked my bike awkwardly in line with the vehicles that would carry home full trees. for  their dressing, lighting, unwrapping, and timely disposal next to the plastic can once the festivities were over.

My cowboy boots squished in the mud as I slowly approached an attendant who was inclosed in a small box. The windows were open, but the heat fans were audible over her conversation with a paying customer. She turned to me quickly, asking what I needed before even making eye contact. I fumbled with my words as I slowly asked if there were any branches I could take, but she cut me off as I mentally noted my nervousness. "Take all the branches you need" her mouth moved as she forced her thumb in the direction of the trimmings. I wanted to inquire if she was too stressed by the season, but hesitated, and quickly thanked her as I moved towards the pile.

A bundle of branches repeditivly hit my back tire, loosly tied to a backpack my roomate has been letting me use. The zIppers have lost their pulls, and the cord used to secure loose loads has formed lumps. Stains splatter the bottom of the white pack, and I consider what a treat it is to have such a kind person in my life. He bought the backpack in 2005, like most of his other possessions after Katrina took all he had.

Pine needles began to litter the carpet as I tore branches apart,  tying them in a clumpy circle. I only had an old shoelace to secure it together, and I laughed when I imagined what an awkward shape this wreath would form without a base. I found myself closing my eyes, recalling a previous Christmas- lying under the tree, looking up through the branches at an array of different lights. 

On Christmas Eve, I disassembled the wreath. Plastic ornaments clinked together on their way back to the ziplock they were purchased from Goodwill in. As I sat down to respond to a text, my face met my hands with sobs. The wreath, still wrapped in beads thrown at me by a drunk girl in the french quarter, hung above me on the corner of the door frame. The scent of pine had died with the drying brambles, but It still felt like a little piece of home to me. 

Sunday, December 18, 2016

What say you

Chaos
The word to describe my current feelings towards myself
I feel like a hurricane
Maybe the south really is the place for me.
I feel like a whirlwind
The heat of desire mixing with the chill of loneliness
So comes the rain with the flood, and my screams.
I can't tell if I have a place
Though I know I have left many places
Searching for something more
(maybe, if I go just a little bit further...).
At least I know I won't find you here
It's only taken years of breaking my own heart to understand
No being can tame the weather
One can only brace, and accept.

Saturday, December 3, 2016

a haiku

here you are again
yearning for all the treasure
forgetting the hunt

Monday, November 28, 2016

I didn't see you today. Some days I feel exhausted, and I lie in bed hoping that when I open my eyes, you wont appear. Maybe if I hold my morning yoga pose longer, or pick my music just right, you wont come into view.
I didn't miss you, I barely even thought about you-and it was incredible. The weight on my chest that you put there was nearly gone. I'm not sure where it went, but I hope that it merely dissipated; I would hate to transfer that emotion on to somebody else in order to save myself.
Oftentimes I'm conflicted between missing you, hating you, and cherishing you. You've changed the way the world looks to me, and am able to open up to complete strangers. We find solace in our shared romance with you, and we smile and roll our eyes at certain thoughts, and shake our heads looking at the ground on other memories.
You can be so cruel to the unsuspecting, jumping around a corner and latching on so quickly. Why do you feel so heavy? Like a wool coat soaked by a torrential downpour, or a roof bending under a winter snow.
Though you may be crippling, confusing, and dark, you have changed the view of the world for many. You have taken lives and destroyed households, but in your wake, you have left the light on for others. The art you have inspired is countless and diverse, and one could argue you are a rival to love, death, and faith.
Despair, depression, my dearest darkness that has been called so many things, I did not miss you today. I fear, however, that you have missed me. I am sure you will soon be back, and each step I take will drag you like a shadow behind me.
But until then, I shall dance without you.
Good night.

Saturday, November 26, 2016

Stop focusing on what you don't have and focus on that which you do. Stop wanting, thinking and shoulding.
-
Lately the most I can write are journal entries. I'm starting small, and keeping it simple. I'm not going to revise these, I'm just going to get out what is bursting from inside me.
-
I am sitting at District Donuts in Lakeview. It's confusing, because you may think I'm near Seattle, when in reality, I'm on the outskirts of New Orleans. I'm waiting for my soon-to-be manager to walk through the doors and start my orientation. I was nearly late to the set time, but he was caught up, and is still on his way. I was able to get a chocolate milk donut and a tart lemonade. I'll be cashiering for this lovely company that is extremely community based and full of lively humans.
-
Two weeks ago, my Birthday Buddy sent me a box full of clothes from Tukwila. Some of the items were ones I had loaned her back in February. Two items that have quickly become my favorites (besides the glorious Thriller sweater my Possum Friend gave me) are a jean jacket and some glorious geanie pants. My Soul Sister also sent me a package of clothes I had left with her, and It's such an odd feeling to have a full wardrobe. I didn't believe others when they mentioned I lost weight, but no when I try on old clothes, I just sigh and nod.
-
I changed a flat tire on thanksgiving, and I now laugh at my annoyance. Comparing patching a tire inside a house with a floor pump, to the side of the highway after a long day and only a hand pump is worlds apart. Though it may difficult, it's worth looking past what I want and what I have. I want impenetrable tires, but i understand reality, and I have a warm house with a roof and all the supplies I need.
-
Keep changing your viewpoint. Question your moods and frame of mind. Love yourself more. Sleep well.
Jennise

Wednesday, November 9, 2016

There are so many ways we can become divided in this life. There are so many moments we are afraid and worried for what may happen in each minute of each day. The fear of the unknown can be far more crippling than the reality we may face.
Though it is easy to feel separated and scared right now, know you are not alone. You were never alone, you had so much help. Help isn't just a hand up when you're feeling down. Sometimes you need to be lower than you ever were before in order to see the changes you must make so you may not fall this deep ever again. Fear can be crippling. Sadness can make you a still body beneath sheets, wishing the bed could swallow you whole.
Remember that you are simply a human. Just one being on a spinning globe with over 7 billion others. You have made it passed obstacles and hurdles you never imagined, and there are still more to come.
Live each moment fully. Judge others openly and with a kind heart. We do not know what others have been through to make them the person they are today. Love others, love yourself, stay brave. Keep moving forward.

Wednesday, October 26, 2016

I'm still so much talk with not enough action
I can ride the length of this diverse nation
but I can't recall what I promised to others
In old cities that have never seen my face
A small token of this generation that desires to do it all-
and maybe I'm not so much a flawed person as I am confused
Trying to make better use of my time
As I mend my past and come to terms with my chaotic state of mind.
Maybe it's just a part of this life
It's just part of this age
But I cannot help but feel that no matter what I do
I will not find the voice to explain that I am real.
Well, actions are stronger than words, they say
and I've seen it proven in many ways
It's so hard to move past your fast moving lips
Your heart full of hope that you can ease the pain
Though you can write in eloquent phrases
You still get caught up in the words flowing out of your mouth
Reaching and grabbing but hands cannot catch
That which has already been given.
So here I lay in pieces on the floor
Tempting to get me back
I'm not trying to change the person I've become
I'm still searching for the things I lack.

Sunday, October 23, 2016

Every step and push to propel myself forward this past year has brought me places I could have never imagined. Outside influences could see where I was going and what may come of it, but they were difficult to listen to. As I am experiencing new moments, I have a difficult time looking at it from the outside and feeling comfortable.
For about a week now, I have been a pedicab for the city of New Orleans. The feelings I have found for this are overwhelming as well as strongly calming at times. Yesterday I was able to take the cash I have made peddling across this town countless times, and hand it to my new roommates. for the first time in what feels like a long time, I have a dependable bed to call mine- mine for now.
There is beauty in the things I used to find chaos and fear in. Maybe from the outside it was obvious I would one day be here. I still find uncomfortable feelings in my stomach when others predict what may happen in my day to day routine. Some things still make me want to pack up and keep moving, and others make me want to settle down just a little more. 
I have faith I can accept the things I cannot change, and support those in my life without a judging tone. I will continue work on myself everyday. I will find comfort in my aching body. I acknowledge that I have a support system I can depend on as I give back.
Keep moving forward. Keep giving back.

Thursday, October 20, 2016

hello you beautiful creatures

Please accept my formal apology for my significant lack of writing as of late. I could use excuses such as "writers block", "I've been so busy", etc.


On Sept 27th 2016 at two p.m. central standard time, I reached the "end of the road". The sight of the Mighty Mississippi was out of reach, hidden behind a "no trespassing sign" and a water treatment plant. Though the sight wasn't as glorified as the mouth of the river, her soul welcomed me with open arms. 
I danced, I cried, I stuck a button on the sign and took pictures, and cried some more. Queen's "Don't Stop Me Now" was in my ears, and I snacked on the closest thing I had as a desert- a twinkie from who knows how long ago. 


That's the short version, the long version is much more enjoyable and incredible, but nearly impossible to put into text on a blog. I plan on writing more about this incredible journey whenever I can sit myself down.
I've decided to stay in New Orleans for as long as her gorgeous buildings, kind people, good food, and pot-holled streets will have me. I have picked up a job pedicabbing, and am depending on Miss Zippi to still get me around everywhere possible. It may be some time until I own a car again.

Thank you all for the support you have written, spoken, and thoughts you have sent. I could not have done this without each and every one of you cheering me from near, far, and helping me along the way. 
I love you all so dearly. I am dedicating more time to writing, and aim to post much more frequently than I have been.

May your days be cooling down but your hearts full of warmth.

Sunday, October 2, 2016

The talk of saints fall off their lips
In a city built on sin
Around every corner is a person to fear
The way you hold your glass makes it clear
You're not here for forgiveness
But strictly for love
And you'll rip through the fabric just to get above
But the chains around your ankles hold a different fate
You're an artist with your fragile soul on display
But you walk with your shoulders held back, square and taught
Putting up a front that you won't be bought
Hold onto your ideals and remember your name
In a city filled with "do not enter" or "one way"

Monday, September 19, 2016

Brain matter.

What are you worth to yourself?
I can't fully understand how others view me, or what they see when I enter their vision. I don't always see myself as the strong fighter I need to be, or understand why I can't be a soft pillow, awaiting someone's heavy head at the end of a long day.
After cycling through a small chunk of the south, I've found it difficult to be as hopeful as I was at the beginning of this trip. I'm so close to done, but still have so far to go. Each person that asks me what I'll do when I'm done, what my mother thinks, or why don't have a man only sends me deeper into a shell. I see them glare at my tattoos, and I smile as another brick is added to my defense wall. Somebody tells me how a husband, school, or kids would make my life more meaningful, and the fight to tell them off while still spreading peace and love continues.
I know what I need, and it's not these words that give no encouragement. If I simply ignore these people, what am I showing? What am I proving, or is that the point? There's nothing to prove, there's no one to help. It's only me, and myself alone that can make myself happy.
I don't believe that, because I know it isn't true. Every mile I have had support, Every comment and text and encouraging phonecall proves I'm not alone. There are many kinds of people in the world, and not all of them will be as loving as Maranda, or as kind as Cassie, or as supportive as my mother.
Some places are just not what they're cracked up to be. This is not my kind of place, but there are some people that want to help and support me wherever I go.  I've made so many friends, and may not see some of them ever again. I may not be back through here, but I'm here now. I can push through the mental block I have found myself in, I can take these next few hundred miles and find my happiness in the difficult mental, physical, or emotional hills. I've got this, and I can keep writing encouraging words when all I want to do is scream and cry and disappear.
Nothing great is ever easy. You don't owe them anything. You can keep moving forward. You are strong. Thank you for your hard work. I love you, and I want you to be happy.

Wednesday, September 14, 2016

Writing when I should be riding

The human mind can be a gracious gift. Sitting on a bus for hours on end, it's easy to find the imagination spinning to completely different locations, placing recognizable faces around every corner. When I feel too stuck in the reality of right now, it can be effortless to open a mental door and walk into a comfortable or uncomplicated daydream.
But with this gift, reality can become bothersome. I feel that one can slip into striving for moments of intense emotion when we aren't capable of having it at that moment. On the contrary, being on a bike in extreme heat for hours until I am in a safe location to stop, I find it more difficult to remove myself from reality. I can almost count the corn stalks and see the cracks in the dry earth as I plead for my legs to move a bit faster, yearning for the calm sway of my hammock.
Before travel, had fallen into a cycle of only striving for the beauty and the precisely over-emotional moments in life. Moments that should have brought me happiness or pleasure left me in a mental state of craving more. Conversation felt like arduous small talk, little moments of sharing a smile made me search for longer interactions, only to be disappointed by the reality of extended human connection.

I've been immersed in a constant state of ever-changing scenery and acquaintances due to travel. I was in Illinois on a road mostly tractors and local traffic used, and I couldn't even pronounce the next towns name. As I fumbled with my trail book, I searched for any sign of my next turn. I had read that there was no sign, but couldn't recall what the text said about landmark to guide me.
I had pulled off by some mailboxes, flipping through the book, shuffling through ripped out pages and not being able to find the context. A man on a seemingly tiny motorbike made his way around a patch of grass behind me. I turned to wait for a break in engine noise so I could inquire about the campgrounds. It was obvious to me he was working on the bike with how he was eyeing and listening to it.
His black button up, short sleeve shirt had a reoccurring print of full beer glasses, and his greying hair was still in the lack of a breeze as we chatted. A butterfly circled him and landed on his skin, yearning for the salt in his sweat. He had a joyously loud voice that made every thought easy to read as he talked. I found it easy to trust this stranger, who knew as much as myself with the location of the closest campsite.
John introduced me to his wife, Becky, who offered me more zucchini and cucumber that humanly possible to eat in one sitting. Her blonde hair was pulled back, bright eyes, and patience for her ever-joking, sometimes forgetfully excited counterpart. After a few bites of cucumber, I realized making the next campsite was far less exciting than listening to their interactions and watching the chickens and ducks they owned chase each other. They kindly agreed to let me stay, if I was okay with running errands with them.
Oquawka, Illinois, is a small town not unlike many that I roll through. It happened to be John's birthday, and his day consisted of more fun than work. He was on vacation from his train conducting job, and his errands drove us east to the bigger city of Galesburg. Before our errands, they took me to the gravesite of Norma Jean, an elephant that had been struck by lightning as the circus was rolling through town back in the 20's. We stopped at the gun range, the beer brewing store, the local grocer for berries to brew, and Lowes.  Though I was exhausted from the ride, I had a fun time as the passenger, watching the grey clouds threaten moister from safely inside a vehicle that moved ten times my bike pace. We had dinner at a pub that offered delicious burgers, as well as a great salad bar. I slept on their couch, across the mantle of their fireplace that held several different kinds of lava lamps. Saying goodbye in the morning, I rolled away with a few extra pounds of produce, their kind faces fading from view.
A few days down the road, I was passing fields of corn and soy when a cyclist passed me. After an hour or so on his return trip, he slowed and talked with me. After a few miles of conversation, he mentioned he worked for the railroad, and just so happened to know John. Greg has been training for cycling races, and was counting calories. He kindly took me to a buffet, where I enjoyed a few plates, apologising that he was only able to watch me. The conversation flowed, his interest in art and good movies similar to my own. We watched True Romance, and gushed (the gushing might have been one sided) about Richard Linklater's Before trilogy.
The details, when written down, don't feel as thick and amazing as when they were happening. I can easily compare it to wanting a rich meal when I can only afford dollar store tortillas. It's still satiating, but not as satisfying. The words I use may paint a picture in your mind, though I'm certain there is a lack in my communication.

Thank you for keeping up though I've been in a persistent writers block. Onward and upward, my dear.

Sunday, September 11, 2016

I am all that holds myself together
I am the glue and the breaks others cannot see
I can contain the feelings inside me
Though they were not put there thoughtlessly.

Monday, September 5, 2016

When the time comes for you to take your last breath
I hope you go with a smile on your face
May your regrets be overshadowed
By the moments that made you breathe in deep.
I hope that as the sun arose and filled you with hope
The movements you made propelled you forward
And your mind aligned with the soul you possess.
As you move onward, accept the changes
Like the Autumn welcomes the colors of leaves
And maybe when you feel the cold chill of winter
Your memories of summer will fill you with warmth.

Saturday, August 27, 2016

So you got caught with a flat

Well, how 'bout that?

Flop, flop, flop

That would be the sound of a flat tire. I was just entering the town of Lake Providence, Louisiana, thinking "I could keep going". My break line my tire found had other plans.
I looked around to see if I was near anything besides corn and cotton, to see the Cotton Museum about twenty yards away.
One of their picnic tables was conveniently shaded from the brutal August sun. I had pulled my tire off, and was pressing the patch on when a voice called over to me. "We've got a tour goin' honey, if you want to join at the end of the line." I looked down at my blackened hands, noting I need to clean my chain soon.
The Cotton Museum has old buildings taken off of local plantations, including a church, Gin, and shacks used as homes and stores. I was looking at an old iron when someone besides me said "you're probably too young to remember one of these." There were about 25 retired couples all wearing red vests and matching Louisiana state shaped bola ties with their names on them. As the tour progressed and more people asked what I was doing, they asked if I could stay after to share my journey with them.
While looking at the repainted cotton gin, one lady came up and requested that I join them for lunch. "My name is Janece" she said, and I sputtered back my surprise as I spelt my name to her, not hiding my excitement about meeting someone else with my name.
Lunch was at a restaurant called The Dock, where we ate local seafood and they took turns asking me the usual questions I get from kind strangers. Most of the group headed 25 miles west to their campground. Janece and Louie, her husband, drove me back to the museum with another couple from their group. After some help getting my tire back on, we exchanged numbers and hugs, and my heart was blessed a few times.
I went in the office to ask about camping, and spent a few hours out of the hot sun talking with Barbara and Katherine about the town. Barbara is about four foot ten and full of laughter. "When you get this age, you don't care all too much about being sophisticated no more."
She called all around town asking if anyone might have two trees I could use, since this 80 mile stretch of trail has all but nothing. "This town ain't all that safe" Katherine told me as Barbara called the preacher, priest, and sheriff's detective "and lots of us is old people who are well set in our ways". Katherine's laugh could fill a room, and I left with stomach pains from how contagious it was. Barbara got an old of a woman named Geneva, who let me stay in her RV campground in Transylvania, 6 miles south.

In the morning I stopped at the gas station, and filled my tire back up to 85 psi, which I've been at for the past 2 months. I refilled my water where Olivia, the owner of the quaint little Farm House Store, traded me a sausage patty for some stories. I was aiming to get on the road as early as possible to beat the heat, but couldn't get away from the surprised people that wanted to get my number and hear more from me.
I was out at my bike and pulling away when the familiar flopping noise came again from my tire. As the music from Rocky Horror Picture Show looped in my head, I pulled off the inner tube to find an inch long split. I pulled out my already-patched-twice spare and worked it on, only to find it wouldn't hold air.
The hole ended up being right next to the valve stem, a pretty impossible spot to fix. As I talked with the firestone employees, Percy took it upon himself to be the hero for the day.
"I will fix this tire" he repeated, after the 4th patch didn't work. He ended up pulling a tube off his bike, when Olivia's husband offered to drive out of town to pick up a new tube for me.
In writing this, I'm still in Transylvania, awaiting the tube from the kind stranger that wants to help a traveler. I hope to make it to Vicksburg tonight, where I'll have to take tomorrow off. I have a package at the post office, and I'll be aiming to get it early Monday, in hopes for an early start.

Things don't always go exactly as planned, but it always works itself out in the end. Let's see where today takes us.

Thursday, August 25, 2016

Sonder

We don't always get to see every detail. The world isn't full of vague background characters, and continuous shots of breathtaking views.
We are all flawed human beings, and that's what I love most about us. Maybe we won't experience the movie dramatized version of perfection, or the complete happiness we felt as children. We as people work so hard to achieve so little, and for a long time, I hated that. I fought with the fact that love isn't always the storybook you read countless times. Love comes in so many different forms, and can't be shared like a picture. Trying to explain how I feel about one person won't be understood fully, because they have such a different view.
Families aren't perfect, and I am aware I'm not the only one to tell you that. Siblings grow up, parents divorce, and so many tiny things can happen to pull people and change them.
My parents divorced when I was 12. My brother was 10 and my sister 14, if my memory serves correctly. Each of us felt confusion and grief, but it wasn't the same form shared between us. Each of us took it differently; we grew and changed in our own ways.
We could sit and decipher who handled it how and why, but that's not the point I'm aiming to make. We were all sitting in that same living room, and we all cried. We grew up in the same house, with the same parent's, and we shared so much. We grew, and we dispersed, and we ran.Those few minutes the living room were just a small fraction of my life, but it is one of the moments that make me who I am today.
As I meet more people along this journey, I realize how many little moments make up each and every person. We are so complex, and we use such simple explanations for ourselves.
I want to forever feel this excitement when I hear about each person's moments. Some days I'm so tired, and I fall asleep before I hear the story. Some days, the people I meet don't want to share.
We have so much to offer and learn from one another, and it both terrifies and excites me. I hope I can always love these strangers, and accept the parts of us that make us who we are.

Thursday, August 18, 2016

Losing and gaining

I can't tell you exactly where or when I misplaced my extra micro usb cable, sunglasses, or unused write in the rain journal. However, I can tell you how I did misplace two of the most used items I own.

I woke up on the pews of the baptist church in Tiptonville, TN. The rain had been coming down in a steady stream for the last few days. This southern storm doesn't look like it's dissipating anytime soon, and I'll only be riding deeper into it. After a prayer from the preachers wife for my safety, I started following the MRT book directions south.
The street signs that tell me where to go for the MRT have aged in Tennessee, and it's easy to miss their faded green arrows. I was in Ridgely when I looked down to see my tire find a groove in the poorly paved concrete- and before I knew it I was on my back cursing at the sky.
"Are you okay?" a feminine voice with a mid-south accent called to me. Besides my pride of not falling off my bike for 1500 miles, only my elbow was scraped and my thigh bruised. I was offered to dry off, but I felt it was a waste of a perfectly clean towel on an extremely wet day. After some quick maintenance on my front tire, I went to the Family Dollar and bought some AAA batteries for my headlamp. In leu of a light on my bike, I turn my headlamp to flash and strap it around my helmet for those speeding past me on grey days.
My ride down 181 was a mix of wet, bumpy, and humid. The rain kept on, and through my drop-speckled glasses I kept an eye on my mirror to wave and thank drivers who gave me as much room as they could.
Looking further south, there wasn't another town for over 40 miles. I had only gone 26 miles, but my shoes were full, my water-resistant pants and jacket had thrown in the towel, and my conscience was screaming at my pride to give up and ask for help already. I passed the I155 ramp, which I knew I wasn't legally allowed on (or insane enough to attempt on even the driest of days). I thought about waiting for a truck to stop and help me across to Missouri, where there were more towns heading south. A mile down the road, I gave in, and made my way back to the ramp.
I didn't count the amount of people that drove past my thumb and hopeful smile during those 20 minutes, but I was determined to win the help of strangers no matter how long it took. I was already soaked, what's another 5 minutes of rain going to do?
The pair that stopped for me were fumigators for the crop fields in Arkansas, Tennessee, and Missouri. I asked for help across the 155 bridge to the next small town, so I could sit, rest, and decide the fate of my day. Watching them shove my bike in the back of their truck was stressful, so I took a breath and climbed in the cab.
"We're dropping you in Osceola" Larry's thick accent slurred at me while he changed lanes around the long-haul truck drivers. I usually put up a fight about pedaling every mile I can, but with the persistent storm, I took a deep breath and accepted the 60 mile ride.
"How many days are we saving you on time?" Devon asked with a smile. He was younger than Larry by at least 30 years, and had spent some time up in Seattle. "At least two." I responded, asking for a pen to mark my directions. "Maybe I can come back and make up those miles" I told Devon, who shook his head and told me to buy a motorcycle. I asked for them to excuse me as I peeled off my wet socks, ankle brace, and thoroughly soaked rain pants. My bike shorts were far from dry, but I had no choice but to keep them on until I was stopped for the night.
After about an hour of small talk, they pulled off the road and unpacked my rig from the truck. "Did you make sure you didn't forget anything?" Devon kindly asked. I had the blatant opportunity to check, but I smiled and told him I was sure.
As I tossed my shoes in the trailer, I searched for my ankle wrap. I closed my eyes hard as I remembered taking it off in the truck. I looked up to see no one around me, and no way to get ahold of the kind men that helped me jump further south. I shook my head as I added one more thing to my mental list of lost items.
As I was securing my helmet, I gasped and felt for the little beacon of light that I use to stay safe. My headlamp, which I use nightly, was safe and warm in the back seat of Larry's work truck. I felt my shoulders sink, but had no choice. I got back on my bike, and started pedaling forward towards the signs for 61 south.

Monday, August 8, 2016

Inspired by the Dubuque botanical gardens

We planted seeds with the words on our tongues
Our hands and knees in soil
We watered the small, but growing leaves
And dreamed of their blooming flowers.
Walking the garden day and night
We would stop to thin the weeds
Watching the bees and butterflies circle
Stems bending in the breeze.
Here you stand, bloomed at last
Your pedals open to the sun
But mine have fallen off and seeded
For the next autumn to come.
Different flowers, but still the same dirt
We shared and spread and grew
And the birds came in and picked us apart
Scattering what we knew.
How we grew apart is uncertain
We could sit and account all the reasons
We both found love for the sun and the earth
We just thrive in different seasons.

Monday, August 1, 2016

Written in Quincy, Illinois

Fresh cut grass sticks to my toes
as I wander through the grounds
Pumping the water from the well mostly used on those
Who have passed ten, twenty, one hundred years or more
I wonder if their stones are still visited by people who loved them well.
I lie in the grass and sing old songs
And wonder if they would care to hear
My tone deaf voice ringing through their long-decayed ears.
The ashes that you buried here don't stay untouched forever
The stones will weather, change color and shape.
All we turn into is mother, beloved, or brother
Some names and dates with a simple line
Hoping God will see we long to be divine.
But the tomb you built will crumble or sit alone and suffer
The same fate as you when blood was pumping through your veins
The phrase "not forgotten" covered in grass and stains.
But we all win the prize of the same exact fate
Whether were scattered, or buried, or shot into space
So don't let someone's poetry about our simple human ways
Bring you stress or worry when you are breathing still to this day.
Something I love about people is we're all so unique
While also connected though we may speak
About others in dark and dreary light
The thing about human compassion is it doesn't go down without a fight.
There's always somebody there to help you feel alive
To live the life you were given until the day you die
Because we don't know if it will be tomorrow or further down the line
If we're only living in fear of death, will we ever really thrive?
So walk through graveyards and write the thoughts that come to mind,
Or go to work but don't let your life be a damper
Because your time is precious like a baby's beating heart
So please, for your sake, pull life apart
At the seams and resew it in a fashion that will fit
So you can keep working through the dirt and the grit.

Saturday, July 30, 2016

Written in Dallas on april 20th

The city lights you put here
Did you realize they would yellow with time?
What about this building you erected
You knew maintenance would cost a pretty dime.
The trees controlled by landscapers
Their branches dent your cars
Water used to cool off in this heat
Will never be solid enough to call it ours.
This city was built to house an army
One which fights for green
Then home again after the busy workday
To dream of simple Sundays.
Is this cycle a battle worth fighting
Who is on the winning end?
Can dreaming of better resources
Be the way to win the game?

Thursday, July 28, 2016

Iowa!

When I was in Boise, I went to check in at a homeless shelter. As I walked through the doors, the smiling teen told me she would take my weapons, and lock them away. My backpack would be put away in a locker for the night. She would have to take my cell phone, check my arms for track marks, my hair for lice, and I would have to shake my bra to show I wasn't hiding any drugs.
I don't have the feeling of complete panic overtake me often. My gut felt frozen. Is this how it is? Is this how we treat those on the street? Is there a chance this place could do worse for me than good?
I sputtered some words to the sweet girl that reminded me of my sister's friend Kimberly. Curly hair, braces, round cheeks.  I turned and left so fast, fighting back the fear that had overtaken me. I may not have a home, but that doesn't mean I'm a junkie. I may not own a shower, but I am not that dirty.

Last night, I had a warmshowers host that didn't get back to me. In a mix of realizing I needed new tires, to get a job in order to buy the tires, and also find a place to stay, I was trying to remain calm.
The small town I ended my 45 mile day in has a homeless shelter in the old YMCA.
"I'm looking for a place to sleep tonight" I told the receptionist, who asked if I was aware it was a shelter. He slowly walked me through the steps of an interview, background check, and kindly asked to lock up my weapons for the night. Lights out at ten and on at 5:30, I got to shower, and wash the stench out of my stained clothes.
I didn't have the panic rise in my gut, but I did have the shelter kitten Bootsie to snuggle with.

The bike shop in town didn't open until 9, but i had to replace my tire no matter what. Killing time was a mix of writing and dozing off on a park bench in the quickly rising heat.
"Where are you travelling to?" an older gentleman with a police hat on cheerfully woke me from a doze. "You make us look so lazy! We're retired though. We only do about ten miles a day". He chatted on, making it easy to mirror his smile. They wished me luck and headed down the trail.
As I talked myself into heading to the bike shop, I was about to cross paths with them again
"Watch this girl go! She's heading to the Gulf of Mexico!" he yelled through cupped hands, getting five people to clap for me as I peddled past them. "Thank you" I giggled, spreading my smile to other morning walkers and joggers along the riverside park

I happen to be in Iowa during the week of The Register's Annual Great Bicycle Ride Across Iowa. I have heard the cyclist count is over 10,000 for this years RAGBRAI, which ends saturday in the town I'm currently in.
One of the owners of the bike shop, Jean Harper, kindly sold me the tire. In trying to save money I was only going to buy one, but on closer inspection realised the good tire wasn't far behind the nearly destroyed one. I changed the tire in the shade by her display window, and was using my hand pump when she said I could use their hose. She also offered me a place to fill my water, use the bathroom, and gave me a map of Iowa.

While we were looking at the map, more people poured into the shop with flat tires. "You're going to have to wait 'til ten, everyone is on RAGBRAI" she informed them. A man walked in she knew, and he offered help on the directions in comparison to the book I've been following.
"I'm going to show her where 91 starts" he shouted to his wife, as he offered to drive me in his van to the intersection. I learned that Muscatine used to be a button manufacture. We passed Monsanto, many cornfields, a large distillery for vodka, and nuclear power plants that use the river for energy. The road was a bit intimidating. Shoulders aren't consistent in Iowa, and the heat of the day was steadily rising, already causing me to sweat.
After turning around, we noticed an MRT sign, the first I've seen in over 200 miles. We followed it to find it almost paralleled the highway, but was less frequently used. I felt more at peace with this route for this section of trail, and thanked him as I learned about him and his wife.

We got back to the bike shop, where I made the decision to buy the other tire and extra tube. When the mechanic heard what I was doing, he said "so you heard about this RAGBRAI thing and was like 'pansies, I'm riding the whole length of rhe country!'"
After friendly banter, I asked about cheap food, to which he pointed across the street. I walked in and asked about a lunch special, where they pointed to the buffet.
I was in deep contemplation of a late start, or staying in town to try and find work for a day. I was also concentrating on ignoring the fox news channel, as I looked up to see the wife (who's name I never learned or embarrassingly quickly forgot) of the man who drove me around. She smiled as she set down my prescription glasses on the table in front of me, taking a second to push my nose like a button. As she left, I think I got a "thank you" out of my laughter.

So here I am at the library. I have asked about jobs online, to the host, and the shelter. It seems like there isn't much gig work in this factory town. I do have a place to stay with the warmshowers host tonight, where I'm hoping to get a good night's sleep before I force an early start. I have about 100 miles left of Iowa before I'm in Missouri!

Thanks for following, I really appreciate the texts, emails, and kind thoughts sent my way. I hope you have a great week!

Find the beauty in this world ❤

Tuesday, July 26, 2016

Lost and found

(or how my maternal grandfather would be proud)

I've had this amazing cycle of losing things and gaining things as I travel downstream. I strongly believe I have only what I need, so when I lose things it's for a reason.
My first day on the trail, I miraculously didn't lose anything, but I did find something. I noticed something black and shiny on the side of the road, and after picking it with up my garbage Grabber I realized it was a roll of 5 unused black trash bags. One has held my backpack, one my food, and one my sleeping arrangements when it rains.

I found a really nice bungee in a ditch a few weeks in. Before I was gifted a new cart, it was used to keep my rain cover down. The other day I made friends with two cylcers looping from Madison to the twin cities. Their camp was up a massive hill, and these legs have a hard time pulling 80 lbs of counterweight behind me.
A very nice man on a motorcycle stopped and offered to tug me up a hill with his bungee. The first attempt, the bungee sprang off my bike and shattered his break lights and cover. I apologized profusely, but he was not deterred! Second try was a charm, and he pulled me the second half of the killer hill to my new friends. He told me to not fret about the light, and I gave him the bungee as a "thank you/I'm so sorry" gift.

Craig, a name you probably know since he helped me consistently for 3 weeks straight, gave me more than I can ever repay him for. Endless bike help, places to stay, food and good entertainment... The list goes on.
As I pulled into a small town, the weather was getting brutal, and there was no where to camp. I was in such a sour mood, but he was pretty close because he was working on someone's house. He's constantly fixing things, my bike being one of them. He came and met me 25 miles north of where he offered for me to stay for the weekend. The next day, I got to bike sans trailer for my makeup miles, and on the way found a really nice, almost new cinch strap. I wound it around the frame, and presented it to him at the point where the Mississippi river trail splits. I know it was not the most amazing gift to show my appreciation, but I felt so happy being able to exchange something.

A few nights ago I left my phone charger at my warmshowers host's house. I woke up and was ready earlier than usual, and was racing to get out while I still had the energy. I almost left my sandals, but he noticed before I walked out the door, thankfully.
I was pulling onto highway 52 when I realized my charger was 4 miles and a hill behind me. As I turned a corner, the sun was glaring in my eyes and I wasn't about to remove my helmet for my floppy sunhat. I came across a seemingly clean looking baseball cap in the grass, and thought "what are the odds?" It fit perfectly under my helmet, while also keeping the sun off my face.

While I'm aware I find too much joy in usable trash, I also find the joy in picking up discarded items and bringing them to the next garbage can. Somebody's got to pick up all this trash...

Find joy in the little things

Sunday, July 24, 2016

Fact vs fiction

I've always found it easier in a library to wander towards the fiction isles. Bright books with winding stories of romance and adventure intrigued me starting at a young age. It was too boring to read the honest stories about people's lives, no matter how spectacular the person.
Why would I learn about Theodore Roosevelt's rise to power if I could read about Dragons that loved humans? What's the point in following the story of the mightiest river in the united states if just seven books away I could fall in love with Merlin and hear about his struggles?
So here I sit, in a library at a college campus. I'm taking as many notes as I can about the past month of my life, and nothing has been made up. It's all real, the layers of sweat, bug repellant, and sunscreen. I don't have wings to take me the 40 miles a day I aim for. I don't have a sweet romanic man that is waiting for my letters. I have real, honest people that I have met that want to hear about my progress. What used to be stories that come out of my mouth are reality, and I'm madly in love with every word.
I now want to sit in a library and read biographies and histories about those who struggled to help change the world. There is no embarrassment in wanting to escape for a few days to a different land.  The fanciful places that used to be my everything still exist in my mind, and I hope they never leave. I still need a shire to see beauty in a skyscraper. There's no shame in gazing into a barn, wondering if the farmboy would become a pirate in hopes of finding his lost love.
So I tell myself to keep writing, and let this adventure become what it will. Maybe one day it will sit on a shelf and help someone out of their comfort zone and into the wild world that's full of amazing people and beautiful stories.

Travel on.

Friday, July 22, 2016

Potosi, Wisconsin

I focus on my breath as I try to pull my cart up another winding hill in Wisconsin. The cornfields surrounding me have been the focus of my silly songs that I make up as I go to not count the minutes or rotations of my wheels. I look down at my hands as my nails come into focus. They are getting longer, I realise, as they dig into my palms.
I'm pulling into a bar in Potosi when an older couple asks about my bike. We have a short chat and I head to the tap. I realize as I order my second beer that I shouldn't be spending what little money I have on liquid that does little to help my progress. My new years resolution was to not purchase any alcohol for myself, or sugary sweets. I sigh as I contemplate my dinner of the remaining cherry jam Craig gave me. I have the ends of the bread to eat, which have somehow become my favorite part of the bread.
My cell service has ceased for the most part, but wifi is helpful for sending messages to those who are keeping track of me. I look at google maps to find public land to hang a hammock on. The large plots of land that were abundant in Minnesota have quickly disappeared, but I spot a graveyard. The birds-eye view gives me an idea of two trees that seem like they would be perfect to hold my hammock.
I meet the couple again in the museum of the brewhouse, learning that Curt and Kristi are both teachers. I get asked for what wont be the last time what I am going to do for school. Curt tells me that when he was going to college, northern Wisconsin was short on teachers. The schools would pay half the tuition if you were going for a teaching degree. What really hit me was the tuition the students had to cover was $150, which has greatly increased over the 40 years since then.
I took a deep breath and said "I have an odd question", which I asked if they had two trees I could hang a hammock in for two days. A heat wave with highs of 115 is sweeping through, and the last thing I need is to make myself sick pushing hard through the weather. They were very kind, and helped me fit my little rig into their car.
They offered the option of hanging my hammock, sleeping in the workshop, one of their grown daughters rooms, or the tree house. A bed is such a sweet feeling after the miles of repetitive leg movements and terrible posture.
They built the house in the early 70's, and it's consistently been called The Shire, which fits just perfectly into the feeling of the all-wood home filled with plants, hand spun wool, and pottery.
I joined Kristi to the local campus library, where I'm borrowing wifi and air conditioning to catch up on some writing.

Thank you for keeping up with my not-always-consistent posts. Who knows what the days will bring, but they have been nothing short of magical thus far. Stay safe, trust in others, keep your heart open, and trust your gut.

Thursday, July 21, 2016

Written next to pool #9

Don't you get it, don't you see
You're exactly where you're supposed to be
This life of structure and order is meant
To keep you here until you're bent
On changing your ways and setting things right
You'll stay up through the sleepless nights
With dreams of handguns and riots in the streets
How are we supposed to keep
Our feet on the ground when the earth throws us violently
I miss the days when you were surrounding me
Like a spider web, draped in iridescent colors
But now I'm here to realize we're going to
Suffer and struggle through what we call progress
In fear that we might digress
If we don't move forward and fight for our lives
As the days that I could call others mine
Fade behind hours of sweat and pain
Because what I've become is not a pawn
In your game if life and your game of defeat
Cower now with your retreat
I forgive you for not believing in me
But a girl never forgets being seen as weak.

Friday, July 15, 2016

From my hopeful heart to yours

I woke up on an air mattress in Minneapolis. Walking down stairs, I was offered breakfast by my host, a simple orange juice with wheaties and a banana. It filled my stomach, and I filled my water bladder to get back on the road.
Bruce was kind. A stranger I met over couchsurfing.com, he cycled to the place I was staying in southern Minneapolis so we could convoy back to his place. He's been retired for a few years now; he was previously a librarian for the majority of the time I've been alive. He cycles and scuba dives and takes trips to see things that are new to his eyes.
It was 17 miles from Kristen (my previous host) to his place, and I was going at a steady 7 miles an hour. The weight from my cart and my tired body fought up hills and against wind.
When we arrived, he made me a sandwich with Portobello mushrooms, avocado, and onion. I can still taste the mustard he used, and I'm still thankful for every bite.
Leaving his neighborhood, I was lost countless times, and pulled up my phone map more times than I would like to admit. I don't have mountains and an ocean to tell me the cardinal directions way out here.
I peddled up to a stop light as a van was being pushed out of the intersection. Kick-standing my bike, I ran to the back and helped these strangers roll into a lot, shouting good luck to them as I jogged back to Miss Zippi.
Miles later, Minneapolis was disappearing behind me as St. Paul was coming into view. I followed a bike path next to the highway that lead me to an un-marked intersection that I couldn't locate on my directions.
After many loops of checking google maps, my MRT book map, and spinning in circles, a car pulled up behind me. A woman got out and helped me get my bearings, telling me that if I kept on the same road it would intersect with the others on my MRT directions. Her name is Anne, and she told me she was about to embark on an adventure as well. Her daughter Paige is half of an all woman team who is paddling the Yukon river, and Anne is driving the car in support.
"Do you need anything? Maybe money or food?" she asked.
"I have peanut butter and protein powder" I laughed, and she offered to meet me with snacks from her house.
She met me with bananas, almonds, juice, lunch meat and more. She also handed me two bent paddle beers, a company that is sponsoring the team. The thankfulness I felt as I ate that roast beef on a curb was deep and warming.
That night, after over 50 miles of repetitive leg movements, I found myself in a town called Hastings. I was looking for a place to hang my hammock, but most of my surroundings were wetlands with big "no trespassing" signs. I circled back through the neighborhood, where I met a rowdy group barbecuing and enjoying a few drinks.
I've never had a hard time walking up and introducing myself to strangers. After meeting puppies, eating food, and talking about my travels, Gary "the hammer" Holmgren told me he had a cabin that traveler's stop at often.
His home is a cabin over 100 years old, with a cave that was pick-axed into the sandstone. Originally, it was used to hold gun powder when the natives and soldier's were at ends. When the prohibition was in effect, a hole was drilled up the hill. A pipe was placed so bootleggers could smuggle moonshine into the cave. The pipe would feed into barrels, which would later be smuggled onto barges and brought up towards the cities.
Hammer is a kind mannered man who walked me around his house, showing me the little treasures he's collected over his life. Neon beer signs, autographs, pictures of his family, and antique weapons.
After a rough childhood of foster homes and standing up to bullies, he was put into the military. As life continued, he fought in the golden gloves, was a fireman, and traveled the world for boxing tournament's. He was a first responder to a woman collapsing, who he later realised was his estranged mother. He showed me newspaper clippings and photographs of his boxing days. He was inducted into the Minnesota hall of fame years ago, and his pictures of knock-outs were bright snapshots of his earlier life.
He showed me a book his daughter made him, scrap booked online, showing how much she adored and was proud of her dad. His smile as he talked about her and his son was so warm. The stories and tales rolled on, and I listened to them all.
In the morning, he made me coffee and an amazing breakfast, as he used to own a restaurant in Prescott, WI. After showing me how to properly stand to throw a punch, and telling me the best places to hit an attacker, he dropped me off not far from his old restaurant. I locked my trailer back to my bike, and started what would be the most hills I've encountered yet.

I have been listening to the news and hearing snippets of what is happening in Nice, Dallas, Minneapolis, Baton Rouge, Istanbul, and other tragic moments around the globe. To quote Amanda Palmer- "everything is relative and everyone's related". The world is an absolutely terrifying place sometimes, but that does not mean we should hide and be afraid.
Know what you believe in. If you can't handle what's going on in the world, I encourage you to take your stand.
I've vulnerably put myself out there for the world to dissect. The kindness and compassion I have been shown is nothing short of amazing. The experiences I have had these past few months have kindly taken me apart. The view I have of the world is changing, and the people in it that I surround myself with are the reason why. Even on the road, in a strange new place, there is good. Give blood, help a stranger, write a poem and fearlessly post it for others to scrutinise. Take your comfort zone and bring it to new levels. Look at what you want the world to be, and help form it.
I love you. I want what is best for you. I want you to be happy.
Keep moving forward.

Monday, July 11, 2016

Flat tires and high hopes

Bend in the River Park in Rice, Minnesota, was a beautiful way to start my morning. I was up and on my bike before 8, and I was so excited to make progress. As I pulled out of the lower parking area, I noticed the drag from the right cart wheel.
"I've never fixed a flat before" I remember thinking as I looked up and down the long stretch of road. It was too early for people, so turned back into the lot and grabbed my tools.
I pried the rubber off pretty easily, the dry rot and cracks made it pretty malleable. I pulled out the inner tube looked as thoroughly as I could. After inflating it, but still not finding the hole, I thought back to spending time in Virginia.
I was helping Julio replace a water heater when he told me to put soapy water on the hose to find a leak. He mentioned putting the hose underwater if it were smaller.
I grabbed the pump, tossed the hose over my shoulder, and made my way through the trails, down to the canoe launch along the mighty Mississippi River. I fought the spiderwebs and early morning mosquitoes to the rivers edge, where I submerged the simple piece of rubber that's helping me along my journey. I laughed when the bubbles reviled the flaw that had caused the delay in my morning.
Walking back to my bike and trailer that I left along the fence,I thought back to when Ben in Texas was saying how great it would be to travel on bike instead of foot. I was so stubborn in my want to go exactly the way I wanted, I'm fully aware how much I didn't believe him. I remember how strong it felt to prove him wrong, that I could walk this trail and not use wheels. I looked at the pump in my hand and said to it "he was right". Though there was no response, I felt the tension in my shoulders lift. He wasn't trying to be right, he was trying to help.
I sat in the gravel and removed my tire repair kit that was a last-minute buy at the Lake Itasca bike shop. The instructions were minimalistic, and I bit my lip thinking of what to do.
A car I thought was empty made it's way from the back corner of the lot towards where I was contemplating my repair. I looked up to see stickers with symbols I recognized, and smiled as I waved. The eye contact was short, and the tires spun gravel as the car zipped out of my sight.
"I can do this" I heard my voice say, and in a matter of a minute had the inner tube back in it's home, full of air and holding weight.
I looked down at the black marks covering my hands. A Clear Vision of my dad popped into my head, him standing in the garage, wiping his hands on dirty grease rags. I visualized him his fingers clean, blowing his nose on the towel, and tossing it in a bucket. He always makes silly noises when he does things like this, similar to a "hi-yah", and it always makes me happy.
Back on the bike, back onto the trail, I looked at the map and saw the next 7 miles would not have a shoulder. I took a deep breath and felt my feet start moving.
I can keep moving. I can do this. I'm not alone.

Tuesday, July 5, 2016

state of mind


Today, I went looking for an item in my cart and realized it was no longer there. I searched everywhere, in places I knew I had never put it hoping that maybe it would show up.

This weekend, a person I met in Bemidji on my first night of the trail took me in and helped me work on my bike. He showed me his lake cabin, boated me around, and worked with his neighbor on a trailer hitch that will no longer pull on my axel. I went and celebrated the long holiday weekend with his really nice family. I met his niece-in-law who adamantly persisted that I write a non-fiction book about my current lifestyle. I had an over-the-top weekend, full of good food and fun.

This morning, I was miserable. The one little thing that I wanted was gone. Where did I drop it?

I was standing feet away from the most amazing thing I have ever seen. A force of life that has fed and housed and is never still. I was in Aitkin, Minnesota, where I crowded the night before with townspeople at a carnival to watch bright explosions fill the sky.

But that thing. Now it's gone. Did it drop out of my cart into the car as we transported it back north for the weekend? Did it drop on the side of the road as I bumped along 3 miles of gravel? A raccoon took my food the second night we were at the lake. Did he steal it?

I sighed. I packed up my hammock, ate some breakfast, and walked the riverbank. I couldn't get it off my mind, but there was no way to double back two car hours north to search the cabin. I couldn't check the car that was now almost equidistant south. I could only do one thing.

Keep moving forward

With every rotation of my wheels, I left the town with bright lights and home-made desserts. I kept going, and ticked off my miles as I turned left or right.

8.7 miles on 4th st.

4.7 miles on CR 30.

3.8 miles on cr 31.

I found myself thinking about my mood this morning. I had received so much this last weekend. Food, a place to sleep, laughter, hugs, smiles and well wishes. But all I could think of this morning was how upset I was for losing a small plastic item. "It's just a thing" I heard myself tell the miles of road in front of me. "I can keep moving without it."

I can, and I am.

It's not about where you are, or what has happened around you, it always comes back to what is inside. I could dwell on that item until I find a place to buy another one. I could lament and shake my head every mile I go- but what good would it do?

We don't have control over much. We can't control the weather, or the people that we meet, or the kindness of strangers. All we have control over is ourselves. We have to find happiness in what we have, no matter how small or messy it looks. I don’t want to be a person that dwells on the little thing that I no longer have. I want to cherish what I have and move forward with full force. We are what we choose to be.

Be happy. Keep moving forward.

 

Friday, July 1, 2016

Struggling

"Just give me pavement"
I can't tell you how many times I said that.
"Please, just get me off this gravel."
I had two options. 6.8 miles of gravel road, or 9 of paved, smooth, perfect highway.
I forgot to mention, that highway doesn't have a shoulder. I didn't know that until I was a mile into HWY 169. Three separate people told me to take it, but I didn't know to ask about my personal space away from speeding semi's.
So I turned right onto a road that from google maps looked like it could be paved. I was wrong.
Foot after foot I bumped along, stopping what felt like every three feet. I was making excuses to alleviate the feeling rushing through my body. "I should eat. When was the last time I peed? Will those horses let me touch them? Time to drink water"
I know those were separate thoughts and deserve their own quotations, but they all muddled together as I shook like a bobble head on a dashboard.
The horses didn't let me touch them, but they stared at me while I asked where the pavement started. I lost count of how many times I stopped.
"I have to get to Aitkin" I mumbled as I looked at the miles of sky. I turned around to look at the highway I left behind. I shook my head, and reminded myself It's a holiday weekend.
I'm trying to save phone battery, since I left my battery pack on the train in Dallas. I finally gave in and pulled out headphones. Amanda Palmer's voice over came me in waves as I fumbled to grip the handlebars. She told me about her loss of her best friend, her fears surrounding her baby, and all of her flaws. I kept moving, song after song.
Then it hit- Pavement. And I exhaled. It was less than 4 miles of gravel, but it felt like purgatory.
I know I have so many more rough roads  to handle. I know it wont be all fun and strawberry picking. I went 4 miles yesterday without a rear break because my tire wont stay centered. But I made it.
It got down to 40 degrees last night. I just got rid of my long sleeve because I figured I was past cold nights. This wont be the last time I'm wrong.
I can do this. I love you.

Thursday, June 30, 2016

Imagine the grim Reaper standing next to you. He's exactly how you have always imagined, and you know this is the end. He reaches out to touch you, but you ask for just one more day.
What would you do with the last 24 hours of your life? Would you get ahold of that person you haven't talk to in years, to say that you're sorry and that you forgive them? Would you hold the person that you love the most and give them words to remember you by? What if you didn't have that one more day?
After months of relying on strangers and traveling blindly, riding on main highways in car or bike...My mortality is pretty obvious to me at this point. I know that there's the chance that I could be done with this journey any minute.
You call me morbid, but I would call me honest. I can't change the things that I've done in my past, but I can change how my future looks like, and. I have to start with right now. I have to work everyday to make my life one that I think is worth remembering.
When I was down in Texas, I helped with for a very kind of girl that I never met.I got to know her mother and her mother's supportive group of friends through a really trying time. Things will never be the same for her family, she passed away unexpectedly at a very young age close to mine. At the memorial service, they used items from her life to hold onto and look at while they talked about her and played music in her memory.
It's pretty easy for me to replace that girls name with mine. Replace her crying mother with my own. What if that was me? Would I be happy with the life that I've lived, and the items they hold on to? Would they know I lived life to the fullest I could?
Who you are is who you show the world, and what you show the world is based off of the person you have become. Your happiness with yourself is up to you. You can no longer blame you parents, or your upbringing, or the job that you hate. Remove all those things from your life, do you really think you would be that different of a person?
When I was ride sharing around the country, I was still the same person I was back in Seattle, Washington. I went back for the holidays only to realize nothing had changed. I wanted things to be different, but they were the same. Leaving the situation and coming back wasn't what was going to fix it- It was changing me. Took me more than 6 months of immersed travel to come to the realization that its me who needs to change.
Do yourself a favor. Look at your life, and take a deep breath, and really look. Are you where you want to be? How can you get to where you desire? What can you do to make yourself the person that you want to be? Look at your life like a painting. Would you frame the painting on the wall and hanging placard next to it? If your life were a movie, would you proudly put your name under "director", and smile when others came to see it. What if your life was a tattoo, would you proudly show it on your arm for all to see, or hide it and say, "I need a touch-up."
Scrutinize your life, scrutinize yourself. You are who you surround yourself with, you are what you do and how you do it. Love your life and love yourself. Do this for you and find pride in it.

Tuesday, June 28, 2016

Messy

People are complicated. We mostly mean to help you along the way
But sometimes words can slip out or get stuck in, and feelings can get hurt
Because we may all speak the same language
But what we say and what we mean can be two different things.
We may hang our heads or stand square and state our ideals
We may pray or sing or take a long walk
But we mostly mean well
And it's hard to mix us all together and have the outcome look smooth
Some ingredients may mix, or clump and spoil
And I could tell you how to bake a perfect bread
But my recipe will vary from yours
And maybe they'll be different loafs
But we can still find sustenance when shared together.

We're simple and complex in the strangest ways
It's easy to look at someone and judge what they've been through or where they are from
But we don't know the little details
The moments that fill them with uncontrollable emotion and wondrous thought
We only know our own feelings caused by other people and other moments
We're not clean, and we're far from tidy
But some of us know how to recycle the feelings given by others
And some horde and steal and beg
And some days I fear I'm that person
Then I remember Nicole telling me that paying it forward isn't instant, it's when you can
And I'll keep moving
And I can replenish the goodness
While still avoiding words like "owe"
Because we're all just a mess
I'm only the writing you see and the pictures I post
But I'm so much more
And you may see me as less
But I see a universe of possibilities in you
And I want to show you the love I have for you
Because it's endless and careful and engulfing
And i only want the best for you

Our choices are what made us who we have become
And we might not realize in the hustle of the every day bustle
But were always able to grow and change and become something new
But it's so easy to fall in line and forget our dreams
And then we look in the mirror and lust for other peoples ideals
And sit behind the screens and say "I should have gone"
Then make the same decisions next time.
People are difficult
And I would love to see the world from your eyes
To pick apart what you mean and how you learned to say it
With loving tender fingers that will put it all back together when I'm done
I want you to regret less and I want you to love more.
May we always have the childish demeanor to look up on something new with awe
And accept it for what it is.

Monday, June 27, 2016

My first three days of rhe MRT

6-25 was my Mississippi river trail. I got a relaxed start with Dianne, a beautiful soul with smile lines and sweet demeanour. She helped me with a place to stay the night before, and drove me to the Itasca bike shop.
I was able to talk to Jessie Locke, an amazing woman who has only been positive, supportive, and helpful. At the headwaters, there is a webcam pointing at the River start point. I was able to call her as she watched me pace back and forth while excitedly chatting about the trip at hand. She even got a pretty funny picture even though it's really blurry.
I began to pedal around 3 o'clock, where I left the park and headed north, following the river as it winds.
Minnesota is an absolutely beautiful state. The lush, green forest roll for miles. The wild flowers are in bloom right now, adding such a nice splash of color as I go.
I pedaled for about 35 miles, following the little green signs that let me know I was on the MRT. I stopped in Bemidji around 9:30, forgetting that it was a Saturday, and that all the campgrounds were going to be full. I went to a little bar called hot toddies, where I ate breakfast for dinner, and talked with some really kind people. The conversation started when the bartender mentioned that she really liked my hi-rez vest, stating she wanted to wear one to work. I had totally forgotten that it was on, only focusing on the food on my plate and the soreness in my legs.
I found myself in a friendly conversation with the gentleman sitting next to me, who were curious about my journey. Craig, a kind man who I found easy to trust, helped me with a place to stay for the night at an empty cabin not a far ride from the MRT route. He was easy to talk with, and very kindly help me with some of the issues on my bike. I had the seat really low, and a lot of nuts and screws loose, adding difficulty to the long miles that I was trekking. He even stopped to bring me breakfast the day that I left the cabin, and got me in contact with Harold, a retired college professor who spends his Summers along Lake Winnibigoshish, fishing and enjoying life. They shared hamburgers and beer with me the night of the 26th, and campfire to roast marshmallows upon.
Waking up today, June 27th, I realized the soreness in my body. My hips are feeling stiff, and my ankle is noticeably twingey.  Harold graciously offered to let me stay for a little bit longer, so I'll be here for one more night to rest and catch up on writing. This lake is a breathtaking 15 miles across, and I'm thankful I wasn't crazy enough to canoe the 'sippi.
Speaking of crazy, if you're interested following a brave man with a kind smile and adventurous spirit, check out travelingafro.com. James is canoeing the entirety of the Mississippi River! He started a few weeks before I did, but he's definitely traveling at a different pace, as the River winds and has portage's and dams to cross. I've been following it his updates, and I wish him the best along his journey. We may even be able to meet up for a day to exchange river stories and explore a small town.
The next town over that I should be reaching is Deer Creek, and then Grand Rapids by Wednesday. My pace has been roughly 30 miles a day, and I haven't been timing it really. I take breaks often, and whenever I take a break I make sure I drink lots of fluids and eat protein and fat.
I'm so thankful for this bed I'm laying right now. The world takes us to strange places, it's hard to tell where you'll end up. It's so nice to know that there are people that present themselves in a form of a stranger, but they are kind and they're helpful. There are people that pay it forward, there are people that only want the best for you. There are amazing humans everywhere that you go.
Continuous thank you so much to everyone who has helped me along this path. I'm incredibly blown away every single day I look back and see so many people that continue to help me and make my day and journey a wonderful one. For the friends that I've had for years, to the parents that raised me, to people that have known me for a handful of hours, thank you so much.
I've found myself saying thank you a lot lately, and I don't want it to I feel like it's loosing meaning with use. It means so much. Everything that you have done, or said, it has helped me to continue to become a better person. I hope to do the same for you, and to treat you with the love and respect that you've given me.
Live well, love hard, find happiness.


My new friend Harold at Lake Winnibigoshish

The continuously helpful and extremely kind Craig!

James French (travelingafro.com) on his first day of his Mississippi River canoe trip


Sunday, June 26, 2016

Kindness

Labeling people into groups can be easy. We find the things that make them connected with others and stop there. It's hard to dip below the basic questions that barely skim the surface.
As I keep moving. I get more and more amazed with how many people want to help and support my journey. Some of these people know me so little, but they love and trust so openly.
I keep wanting to write about the people I've connected with in separate blogs, and I hope to as I find more time.
This post is about Bagley, Minnesota.
If you are driving US HWY 2 west through northern Minnesota, you'll probably miss it before you realise it had passed. Two bars, a bakery, two groceries and a post office. When looking at that list, it's easy to see why most people wouldn't think to stop except for gas.
I knew I wanted to make a pilgrimage of the Mississippi River Trail, so I posted on wwoof.org that I was hoping for a place up north to help work on a farm for a little. Bernis at the Honeyberry Farm responded to me and asked me to join them for a few weeks, and amazingly enough I found a ride all the way from Shreveport Louisiana up to Cass Lake, where she kindly picked me up. She showed me Bemidji, the closest city, and shared delicious elderberry juice, rhubarb bread and jam.
On the farm, I got to take care of farm animals, weed, help with shipping, and plant so many fruit trees. Honeyberries are new to the US, Bernis and Jim proudly import them and sell commercially. They also have a u-pick, which is hopfully picking as the summer warms up.
Honeyberries have a lot of similarities as blueberries, except for they are more tart. They are delicious, and phenomenal in baked goods or Jam.
Bernis kindly took me to town multiple times to meet so many lovely people. I met Dianne, whose smile brightened the entire day, and her stories were completely enthralling. She has such a lovely little farm with cows, chickens, and the most beautiful little dog named Glory. The happiness that woman exuded was moving.
I met Jeff and Angie, who have a huge list of Critters, and wonderful life advice I'm honored I got to hear. I got to show them Repo! The Genetic Opera, and I'm so pleased they love it. They were so kind and caring, and complete crack-ups. Angie can take anything from the dump and make it look as if it was made on etsy.
Kathy Steiner biked from Iowa to Canada in a week. She did that when she was in her late sixties. I have no words for how amazing that is. Her husband Leonard can talk your ear off, and you'll love every minute of it. He was so kind to gift me a bike to start this trail!
Sam and Caren Smith own Itasca sports,  without them, I wouldn't have been able to get moving. They have a great shop at Itasca state park, and I know I'll be back. The service they give is far above average, and their happiness is contagious.
Ron and Twylla (sp?) Help bring together the cutest little Cowboy Church I'll probably ever see. They find happiness singing, and playing instruments for others. The smiles in their eyes are consistent and warming to be around
The thing is with this blog post, you might look at it and only see names. It's hard to describe exactly what these people gave me. I was gifted some amazing things, like a bike, a helmet, places to stay, something to carry my stuff in, and other generous donations, but they gave me so much more. They gave me so much hope in the world around me. I looked at them and realized that they weren't just people. They're so much more than people, they're extraordinary human beings. Each have so many different stories and reasons that make them who they are.

Ron and Twylla

Dianne, and one of her goofy chickens

Bernis and I the day I got to Bemidji

Bernis and I were having a lovely chat when a chipmonk wandered in

Angie, a little slice of Portland who helped me feel a little closer to home


The world is made up of 7 billion of us.  There are so many beautiful, wonderful, helpful people out there, but it's easy to look at them and not see the potential that they have. I've been guilty of it, and this has definitely open my eyes to the realization that a small town is not just a small town. It's a community, and I was so so lucky to find my way into this one. There are so many amazing people out there that will blow you away. People are complicated, people are simple, and people can be beautiful.

Monday, June 20, 2016

What you've done has made you who you are
But you are not what you've done.

Life is full of lessons, but I'm not the first person to put those words together. Sometimes lessons are confusing and hard, and sometimes they're easy as pie. I have a hard time sitting in a classroom being told what my lesson will be, but out here I can roam the real world and find something that will change my life forever.
Not all lessons are immediate. Some lessons will take weeks, some many years, some lifetimes. I met somebody who showed me all my flaws. He never meant to, and I don't think he realizes how much he taught me, and all I can tell him is "thank you".
And I'm ready to be a new person. I'm ready to accept my old flaws and my old ways and put them in a box. The box woll never be shut, it'll never be ignored, it will always be there. That toy that you loved as a kid is still lost in the ground somewhere, maybe the paint has faded and the features a little less detailed, but it's still there. You're still the people that you used to be, you've just accepted them and moved forward and become someone new.
You are all of your miss-steps
You are all the things that you thought you could get rid of
You are messy and you are beautiful
You're not broken
You're not wrong
You're just difficult.
You are a hard lesson. You are bloody knees from running too fast when you were excited.
The feeling of butterflies in my stomach used to be a friend. I used to thrive on it, I used to think that it was the only way to make a decision. If I wasn't feeling that, then I wasn't feeling anything. But now I realize how naive I was.
I was chasing a feeling, not something tangible. I was confusing myself with beautiful dreams, and not caring about the reality.
Reality can be beautiful
It can be really hard to accept that the things that you see around you are what you are meant to see
Maybe you noticed a little bit more or little bit less or your focus isn't where other people's is
But you need to be aware of one thing
You are not a mistake
You are not seeing the wrong thing
You are not learning the wrong lessons or loving the wrong people
You can shift your perspective, you can learn from all those sleepless nights and the forced poetry you wrote about them. You're not wrong, you're just unsure
You're just uncomfortable by the mess that you left, and sometimes you can't go back and clean it up. You made this bed, and they say that you have to sleep in it, but you can remove the sheets.
You can watch them circle in the wash, blending their shapes together and rinsing away what used to be.
You can remake the bed, and the sheets might be the same, but they're cleaner and feel nice against your skin.
You don't have to be your own enemy, you don't have to beat yourself up and close your eyes tight when the mirror looks back at you.
You can be your own friend.
Love yourself.

Saturday, June 18, 2016

You are not alone

When I write these blogs, pronouns like you and I are used often. I've noticed some confusion, and I do get questions about who they are directed towards or about.  A lot of times I'm writing to you, the reader, or writing to myself. I like to go back and read my writing and see it from a different angle. I'm constantly writing letters to my future self. I also like to skip names, incase the brutal emotion I rawly post is a bit much towards one person.
I'm currently house sitting, and am finding myself in lots of silence and low-key days. I'll get half way through a day, then realize I'm feeling lonely.
If you were to ask younger Jennise what her biggest fear is, she would have said being alone. I'm really a social person, and I have trouble embracing that it's just part of who I have always been.

Sometimes, in desperation, really dark times or really confusing moments, you may feel alone... But you're not. Everyone that you have met is still with you. That song stuck in your head? That was written by somebody, and produced by somebody, and loved by many. You are not alone, because that memory your mother or your friend that is no longer with you, or very far away, is still there. They touched you, they made you smile, they gave you the shirt that you're wearing.
I got a letter today from a friend in Texas, she drew a circle on a piece of paper filled with words. "My finger literally touched this spot riiiight here", and touching it made me feel close to her. I felt like I was holding a bit of her in my hand, though it's been weeks since I've seen her. I'm not alone, because Camille will always be with me wherever I go. I'll be able to hold on to the letter that she hand-wrote on the back of a "10 dumb things I gotta do" list. I'm not alone, even when I'm walking down a road with no soul in sight. I'm not alone, because when my laces were close to destroyed, Rich sent me new ones. When she wanted to help me along this journey, Jessie bought me this jacket. Nicole gave me this shirt the last time I was in Denver. When I ripped my thigh on a fence wrangling ducks, Angie gave me these pants. Sarah gave me a Journal that's almost full of my thoughts and expierices and worries.
It's not just the things that I own that make me not alone, that's not what I'm trying to get at. What I'm trying to say is, these people really wanted to make an impact on me. I have so little things in my backpack, but most of them have been touched or given by those who care for me. It's incredible, and it means that I have not been alone at one point in time, so I'm not alone now. You're reading this blog, which gives me the strength to know that you care or you're curious or you're becoming inspired.
I can't count how many people have helped me with rides, places to lay my head, extremely well-thought-out advice, and well wishes. Countless strangers on busses and trains start conversations with me, and nine times out of ten we part ways with smiles and clearer thoughts.

There are some times in depression or desperation or confusion where we do feel alone. Maybe we've been cooped up in the house too long, or at the same job for too long, or had something terrible happen and somebody is not giving us support. The list of how you started feeling this is endless. Maybe you have clinical depression, maybe you're going through a break up, maybe you've always felt alone in a crowded room.
 There are 7 billion people on this planet, there is at least one person out there that wants to give you the support that they think you deserve. It could be just one, a dozen, maybe it's hundreds or thousands or more. Find that song that you love, that movie that makes you laugh or cry, that book that feels like a friend when yours can't talk to you. Keep moving forward, because there are people out there. I don't just mean behind this screen, open your door, and open your heart.

A lot of people worry for safety in this day and age. I can only say I am as safe as humanly possible for myself. Yes, I have a small arsenal of weapons (thank you Allison, Rachel, and Dad) but I haven't used one in self defense in these past months. Almost every single person I meet voices worry for my safety. If that doesn't make you realize that we're all in this together, I'm not sure what does. I've met hundreds of people all ranging in size and shape and color and age, and they all just want me to be safe.
As we know all too well, there are terrible people in this world that want to cause harm. We can't let that hold us in doors and bar us from living. I met a woman who ownes of thrift shop in a small town. She told me "I hate people,I don't think I could do what you're doing", so she stays where she is comfortable.
Did not write this blog when I first left, I wrote it right now. The trust I have has been built up overtime. I only trusted my close group of friends and family, but nobody else. Day after day, week after week, I'm coming into contact with humans that really want to affect me positively. They could tear me down and steal my stuff and leave me out in the cold. I have been given help, I've been giving hugs, I've been given food and clothing and shelter. The amount of advice and positive wishes that are thrown my way amaze me.  A lot of people really do wish you well. Sometimes I've only known these people for a few minutes, but I trust them because I haven't had a reason not to.

If we really want it, we can make this world a beautiful place. We can send love and good energy and positive vibes. We could send letters, new underwear (thanks Mom!), or teach new skills or advice as we go. Everything is revolving, what you give comes back to you, and there's no reason to put out negative energy if you see it as recycling.
Stay safe, and be careful, but also find the comfort to trust and love, and possibly be fearless. Start small, smile at a stranger, share a conversation in line with someone you've never seen before. If you look for it, it's there. The happiness and the love and the support is there. You have to trust yourself and you have to trust the universe.
I love you and I want only the best for you.
Thank you for your time.