Archive for July, 2007
Gratitude and the end of Wanderlust
Dearest wanderlustians,
The time has finally come – the next time I post, I will be back (briefly) in San Francisco, three and a half months and more than 4,500 miles after I left. I thought about riding around in circles so I could hit 5,000, but then that seemed silly. To give you some perspective on how long ago I left, remember the Virginia Tech massacre? I left the day after that happened. That was a long time ago, folks.
There is a lot I want to process and reflect on, threads of ideas that I will pull together into some sort of coherent picture of what I’ve learned and done on this trip. That can be done at any time, though, and what I want to do before the trip ends is say thank you. Although for the vast majority of this trip I’ve been by myself, I have hardly been alone. I am inestimably grateful to all the people – all of you – who have helped me through this amazing adventure.
Thank you to everyone who has been reading about my trip, commenting, and sending encouragement. To Carol and Robert, for inspiring the idea of wanderlusting across the country and your unflagging support, love, and encouragement. To Elizabeth, for being literally the best co-conspirator a woman could ask for. You inspire me, make me think about things in new and exciting ways, and the world is just fun when we’re together. To Benny, and Jeff for taking care of my cats, sending me postcards, and being there whenever I need you. To Jez, for your creativity and support with this website, and working through all my problems with patience.
To Katie, for being more than my sister – for being my best friend, my support, my source of strength when I’m feeling down, for worrying and caring. To my parents, for inspiring me to have amazing adventures and encouraging me to seize life with both hands and squeeze the fun out of it. To my whole family, which is pretty much the best family I could ask for. I feel immensely grateful to be lucky enough to be related to you.
To my community in San Francisco and in no particular order – Benny and Jeff, the bus stop house, and chiefly Justin, Jeremy, Molly, Becky, and Kate, Jane, Liz, Eve, Nicole, Penny, Darcy, Laura, Whitney, Dana, Jen, Justine, Shayna, Charley, Katy, Patrick, Elizabeth, Liam, Sakura, Toni, Nicki, Carlina, Makenna, Sandra, Kim, Royce, Emily, Caroline, Jon, Ronnie, Crystal, Jeffy, Beth, Mara, B-love, Izzy, Mikel, Baron, Lisa, Feliz, Nicole, Cindy, Tara, Daphne, Jake, Destiny, Lupe, the fabulous staff at the ACLU, the board members of Alice and ACCESS, and the rest of the people who made up the tapestry of my life in the city. Your support made this trip possible, and y’all made my life a brilliant chaotic mess of fun.
This trip also would not have been possible without all the people who donated money to keep my tummy full, and I am eternally grateful and slightly astounded that so many people gave me their hard earned money so that I could have this adventure. So to Good Vibrations, especially, and Luke, Dana, Jeannie, Patrick, Natalia, Katy and Charley, Carol and Robert, Connie, Dick, Ronnie, Debbie, Patty, Stella, Justine, Tracy, Lydia, Emily, Ky and the Guse family, Caroline, Jon, Carlina, Beth, Mom and Dad, and my Grammie, thank you for believing in my journey and helping me along the way.
And then, there is the trip itself. I’m not sure if I’m going to be able to do this, but I’m going to give it a try. Apologies in advance to the people I will forget. I’m sure as I’m riding today, I’ll remember more people, so expect edits to this entry.
From the top, then – my utmost gratitude to Lydia and Rebekah, for hosting me in New York City, to Cathy and Don, for being incredible relatives and storing my stuff, buying me rain jackets, and launching me off on wanderlust with love and care. To Elizabeth and everyone at Hi Tops for providing a new and welcome vision of sex education. To Nan and John, for hosting me and challenging my ideas about polyamory and what it means to be happy. To Katie, for the amazing conversation and my own wing. To Stacy, for letting me use your room in New Haven while you were gone, and to Caity for being inspired to bring Femsex to Yale.
To Steve and Jackie, for showing me an idyllic version of Providence, to Vanessa, Anne, and Meghan, for carrying the Femsex banner at Brown. To Karina and Andrew for taking care of me in Boston, to Meghara, for showing me the different sides of Boston via sex ed classes, and to Brian, for putting me in touch with your community throughout New York. To Sarah Cunningham, for connecting me to delightful people in Albany and Syracuse. To Noa, Vanessa, and the rest of the Harvard femsexies, for inviting me in and making me feel like part of your community. To the staff at Good Vibes in Boston for carrying the sex positive torch onward.
To Marion and Hugh Stoddard, for an evening in Groton and teaching me that age really is relative, and that endless, boundless curiousity is truly the fountain of youth. To Andria and Jordan, for hosting me in Amherst, and to Ellen, Azi, and the rest of the staff at CLPP in Hampshire.
To Analisa, Maria, Andy, and everyone else at Casa Tierra Comun, for taking me in and showing me what community can really mean. And especially thanks to Andy for the camelbak, which took me through many scorching days in the high Wyoming desert. Muchisimas gracias a todos ustedes, con todo mi corazon.
To Travis, for stopping me on the way into Albany and making my day by inviting me to craft night, and to Corinne and Billy, for the incredible conversations, ridiculous costumes, naked calendars, and love. To Billy for writing an amazing book, and for inspiring my thoughts in whole new directions. To everyone at the Albany Free School and the Family Life Center for showing me that we can change the way we teach our children.
My deepest thanks to Blue, for sharing with me your vision and thoughts about Planned Parenthood, to the teen health educators there for being amazing activists (even if you don’t see if that way). To the staff at Family Planning Advocates of New York State, for your shared vision and incredible commitment to advocating for policy change in New York. And especially for the hot pink boa.
To the Bread and Roses collective in Syracuse, and Jessica, Lindsay, and Kim, for inviting me into your beautiful home and sharing food, laughter, and fire dancing with me. To Betty and Rachel at Planned Parenthood, for sharing your stories. To Sally Wagner, for educating me about Mattilda Joselyn Gage and making me think about who writes our histories.
To Don and Ari, for sharing your home and showing me the stars. To Natasha and Molly for sharing your vision of sex education. To Greg and Delilah for dinner and community.
Utmost gratitude and thanks also to Mark and Debby Epstein, for launching me down the Delaware with a full tummy, to Joe Naughton for letting me pitch a tent on your lawn, to Vince and Diane, for welcoming me back into the place I was born. To Sheryl, for hosting me in Philadelphia. To Irit and Tara, for teaching me about different ways to view advocacy and the connections between sexuality and spirituality. To everyone at PP of Southeastern Pennsylvania for inspiring me with your education programs, especially sex ed year round. To BEBASHI, for providing perspective on advocacy and access to health care in the African American community. To Jackie at the Choice Hotline, for making me think about how we provide information and who gets access to it.
Thanks to Amy Marlow, for a comfortable bed and delicious biscotti and tea. To Amber and Josh, for welcoming me into your home and community in Baltimore. To Jacque and Laura, for sharing your vision and inviting me to the International Drag King Extravaganza. To Ann, for riding pell mell around the city and the mon-key. To Jodie for sharing your love of Baltimore with me, even if you couldn’t share in person.
To Natalie and Wes in DC, for the cool place to rest my head, and my cousin Sarah for being an awesome cousin and host. Holla! To Bill, at SEICUS, and Ricci and Ann at Woodhull, for helping shape my ideas about sexuality and how it relates to the rest of our culture.
My gratitude to Choice USA, for honoring me with your recognition, and for all the wonderful work you do. To Rebecca for supporting my trip and providing me with contacts around the country. To Gloria, for being, still and indubitably, a fierce and fabulous warrior who inspires me to think about what I want to do in the next fifty years. To Debbie and Ray, for supporting me and welcoming me into your refuge in Virginia. To Roy and Ann, for coming and celebrating with me.
To Emily, for your support of my trip and being a fabulous host in Bloomington, and to Melissa, for the drive to Chicago and the conversation. To Catherine, Jenny, and everyone at the Kinsey Institute for teaching me about the scientific side of sexuality, and to Debby, for sharing with me your research and perspective.
To Dimitra, for opening your home to Elizabeth and me in Chicago, and for connecting us to interesting people throughout the city. To Soo Ji, Jack, Searah, and Carolyn, for sharing your work and your visions of what being sex-positive means (and special thanks to Searah and Early to Bed for the movies…) To the women of Sistersong, for challenging my beliefs and ideas about advocacy, race, and privilege. To Jocelyn Elders, for being just absolutely amazing. To the women of Sistas on the Rise, for teaching me to think differently about teen pregnancy. To Manny, for the couch and the beer…
My gratitude to Karen and Mike, for hosting us in Kenosha and showing us your town, and to Jenny, for connecting us, sight unseen. To Emily, for welcoming us into your brand spanking new house in Milwaukee. To Jacquie, M’lissa, and Rick, for the warm food and warmer welcomes in Madison. To Rick for my super fantastic lightweight soda can stove. To Carmen, Keri, and Erin, for sharing your passion and your efforts to organize in Madison. To Kristen for the ladies lawn party and a place to sleep in Viroqua, and giving me an excuse to wear the pink boa. And for the mint julep fountain.
Thanks also to James and Laurel, for taking me in in Decorah, Iowa, and to Laurel for the care package and the floss. To Nelva and Leroy for the hospitality in Boyden and the stories of childhood.
To Marcia, Phil, and James, for taking me in and making me feel like part of the family. To Ky, especially, for driving me clear across South Dakota and being an amazing ally and friend. To Ellen, for showing me the Native American Women’s Health Resource Center, to Sharon, for your vision and passion in running the center, and to Germaine, for teaching me about the importance of language in culture.
To Kate Looby and everyone at Planned Parenthood, for your commitment and vision in the face of adversity. To Nathan, for your persective on political organizing and priorities. To Jane Murphy, for being a West River organizing goddess and connecting me with interesting people, and for the pasta salad. To Erin and Melanie for the karaoke. To the Murrays for a beautiful place to stay in Rapid City. To the couple who gave me a ride out of the campground and rescued me from a tornado – thank you.
My gratitude to Jo Nugent, for the mint on my pillow and the conversation, and for launching me into the wilds of Wyoming. To the staff at the Aberdeen Area Tribal Health Council for reminding me that everything is connected. To all the people who shared beer and conversations with me at campgrounds down the long solitary road.
To Ben, for keeping me company through Montana and reminding me why I both love and hate 18 year old boys. To Keith, for the raft ride and the bliss of a pillow after two weeks on the road. To Molly, for the most interesting train ride I’ve ever had.
To Kristin, Chris, and everyone at the Meridian house for a lovely place to stay. To Inga, for writing and then giving me the exact book that I needed in my life, and for being a fierce and uncompromising teller of truth. To Kati for the guidance through the city and the DIY bike repairing, and to everyone at the Bean and Bagel for the coffee and the bagels. To Liezl and Anne, for teaching me about the power of networking.
To Momoko, for picking us up in Astoria and magically fitting our bikes in your car, and for putting us up (and putting up with us). To Judith, for telling us your story and teaching me about balance and the need for all kinds of approaches.
Utmost gratitude to Lee, for riding out and blocking the wind for me, and to you and Nancy and Jane for the welcome, the delicious food, the newspapers, and the conversation. To Will and Celeste, Mike and Susan, Heather, Lea, and everyone else in the glorious tribe that’s winding its way down the coast by bicycle.
To Nancy, for being my final, lovely, gracious host, and for the play, the conversation, and the care and feeding.
To Cari, for being a deep and true friend, and for connecting me with places to stay throughout the country. Also for popping up in various cities and making me feel like I was home again.
To all the nameless people across the country who have encouraged me, fed me, made me laugh, and fueled my desire to see more of the country. To the woman I met five years ago on a solo bike tour who encouraged me to get on my bike and go. To the moon, for being constantly on the watch.
This trip has changed my life in countless and innumerable ways, only some of which are visible to me at present. I am truly, deeply, incredibly grateful to each of you, and all of the people named herein, for being part of my journey. If there were more words to say thank you, I would use them…but given the limitations of our language, I will simply say thank you, for being who you are in my life, and for being part of my world.
Y’all rock.
Now, I’m hopping on my bike, for the third to last time. Here’s to community, to friends, and to glorious tailwinds.
my love affair with the department of transportation
I realized that although I’ve talked about it a lot, I haven’t yet written about my love for the people who make our highways and roads, who put up signs who tell us where to go. I feel like we’re friends, like I know them – their ways of seeing the world, their hopes and fears, although they always give me slightly skeptical looks when I greet them like old friends.
Firstly there are the signs. One thing I like about America, we let each state come up with its own road signs. While in Wisconsin their signs say “Speed Zone Ahead” in California its “45 mph zone ahead.” I have to say, I think California wins this one – what is a speed zone, exactly? But in the best sign contest, there is no competition for the signs in Massachusetts – when entering a town, there are often signs that say “Thickly Settled”. Um, what? Really, we’re still settlers? Doesn’t that seem like the most bizarre way to announce that you’re coming into a town? Then there’s the signs throughout Oregon that said: “Warning: Primitive road. No warning signs” which Elizabeth kept wanting to edit to add: “After this one”.
And then there are the rocks. Sometimes there are fallen rocks, sometimes there are just rocks. Sometimes there is a slide area ahead and sometimes there are just rock slides. On thing you gotta give them, they like variety, those departments of transportation. My question re. fallen rocks is always, how do they know rock has fallen? Doesn’t it seem kind of counterintuitive to put up signs announcing that an event has taken place if you’re not sure it actually has?
Which reminds me of my other favorite signs, in South Dakota, which evidently mark the locations in which people have died. It’s a double sided sign – both sides have a big X above the text X marks the spot. On one side, the sign says Drive Safely – but on the other side the sign says Why Die?, which seems SO morbid to me. I get the sentiment, but what if someone feeling vaguely suicidal sees the sign? I can just imagine them saying to themselves ‘Well, I can think of LOTS of reasons to die’ and then driving off the road, necessitating another X marks the spot sign and starting a vicious cycle.
My other obsession regarding Departments of Transportation is highway adoption. Have you ever wondered how, exactly, one goes about adopting a highway? Let me tell you, I have. Lots. Contrary to what I bet a lot of you are thinking right now, there is NOT a phone number written on the signs. Anywhere. I’ve been in over 20 states, and they all have Adopt-A-Highway programs, and I haven’t seen a single sign with a number to call. There are also TOTALLY random people who adopt highways – “Nate and Emily” or “the Strausen family” in addition to the Rotary Clubs etc. Which leads me to the following conclusions- either all these people are really civic minded and of their own volition, called up the DOT and asked to adopt a highway – or, there’s someone whose job it is to get people to adopt highway segments. Now, I asked a Caltrans worker about it today, and he claimed that it’s just a bunch of civic minded people out there. I find this really hard to believe. I feel like there must be some person in the Caltrans PR department who sends out highway adoption solicitations.
My question for you, dear readers is this: have any of YOU ever adopted a highway? If so, how did you do it? Did you have to clean it yourself, or could you just donate money for someone else to clean it? Do you get in trouble if you don’t clean it? Help me end the highway adoption mystery! No fair googling. I want only real experiences.
The other sort of suspicious thing is that in Oregon, section of highway were adopted by the Clallam County Sheriff’s Chain Gang, which had to be a joke.
But I did find out how they make rumble strips – there is actually a rumble strip machine that has a cylindrical grinder on the bottom to grind out evenly spaced divots in the asphalt. I want to drive a rumble strip machine.
My other big question is, who does all the writing on the road to indicate where signs should be placed, and is there a penmanship test? Do they make everyone submit handwriting samples and then pick the best in the crew? I know it’s not that easy to write with spray paint, yet all of the writing I see, (you know, where they write things like Road Work Ahead on the shoulder to indicate where the sign should go) is SO neat. Way neater than I could ever do.
If any of you actually know anyone who works for a department of transportation who can answer my questions, you get extra special bonus points.
So to all the workers who spend extra time smoothing down those bumps, widening that shoulder, and thinking up those signs, I salute you. Thanks for keeping me entertained.
And so, and in conclusion…
As I approach the end of my trip, I’m starting to think about the big questions – what does this all mean? How will I take this experience and use it after the journey is over? Having talked to so many people about sexuality and reproductive health care, what conclusions will I draw about our culture, about us?
Sometimes it feels like books are put into our lives for a reason, like the universe is saying “THIS is something you need to read right now.” Last Tuesday at the biker hobo camp in Sunset Bay State Park, I met a woman named Heather from Sasketchwan (I love Canadians in general, I think…) who told me I had to read Ishmael, by Daniel Quinn. So on Sunday I’m scoping out my aunt and uncle’s bookshelves, and lo and behold, there’s Ishmael. The premise of the book is that there’s a gorilla, Ishmael, who teaches a man how to save the world. You have to read it for that to make sense, but it’s a really interesting book. It basically breaks people down into two types- leavers and takers. The takers believe that the world belongs to them, and that they have a divine call to master everything on the earth. The leavers believe that they belong to the world, and they are what are commonly referred to as “primitive cultures” – the people who haven’t yet been civilized. What was most interesting to me was the conversations about our cultural mythology – what stories are we enacting? What shared myths do we use to explain ourselves to each other?
Being on the road and out in the world these past few months and talking to people from around the country I’ve become more and more aware of these shared premises, the mythology we learn from the time we’re small, and I came to a realization about how our mythology affects the way our culture thinks about and talks about sexuality.
One of the great myths of our country, the story we’re acting out, is this idea that man must, and will, dominate the earth. How do we do that? By expanding our population! In America this idea of our “manifest destiny” to multiply and fill the vast emptiness of our country is everywhere. Population growth is progress, and population decline is a sign of failure. We produce more food more effectively in order to feed more people and expand until there is nowhere left to expand to. This story, it must be noted, is written by and for white people. People of color are not included in the story, although it impacts everyone who lives in America, and in the world.
In this story, recreational sex – that is, any sex that does not lead to procreation, is a waste of time. Furthermore, the idea that women would choose not to have children, and take contraceptives and have abortions to prevent having children when they don’t want them, directly threatens the story. How on earth is man to dominate the world if (white) women stop having babies?
It seems to me that this story explains a whole lot about the way we look at sexuality in general and how race has created tension within the movement. I had written more about the racial dynamics within the reproductive justice movement and how the dominant story impacts them, but it didn’t say what I meant and so I took it out. I’ll think about this more and come up with a more articulate version of my thoughts.
I know I’m certainly not the first person to think about reproductive justice in the context of our broader cultural myths and rules, but I don’t know that I’ve read or talked to anyone who has written about this particular manifestation. I find that reading what other people think helps me clarify my thoughts and articulate them better. Reading recommendations are always appreciated.
I’m full of ideas, these days, about the world and my place in it. I’m currently located in Garberville, which brings me back to old hazy days. I’ve been sitting pretty on a tailwind that I hope will bring me all the way back to the ocean.
I’ll be back in San Francisco on Sunday, and anyone who’s interested is invited to join me for a victory bike ride from the Ferry Building to somewhere fun. I’ll be on the 2:20 PM ferry, so that would be an excellent time to meet me if you’d like to see just how big my calves have gotten.
killer trees, invisible hills, and still I ride
Well, I made it back to Cali, almost three months to the day from the first day of my trip, when I rolled out of Princeton, New Jersey fresh faced and nervous about what was to come. And now, I am less than 300 miles from San Francisco, and I’ll be swinging languidly down the coast all week long, thinking about home. The weather report says that the winds are shifting and should be out of the north/northwest this week, so I’m keeping my fingers crossed.
This week was incredibly challenging. There were 10-20 mph headwinds pretty much nonstop all week long. On Wednesday after I left Bandon (and posted the last post) I was in a foul mood. My knee hurt, the hills were steep, and the wind was about making me cry. I talked about it later with some fellow riders – that is, why exactly headwinds are so terrible. It’s my theory that on a bike, travelling so seamlessly through nature, in the world, it feels like the universe should be on my side, should be smiling benevolently down at my efforts. The wind in my face, pushing me backwards is like a slap in the face from someone I thought loved me, like a kick in the pants from my best friend.
So I’m riding along, utterly miserable, and I remembered how proud I’d been just a few weeks earlier that I could do anything – that I was at home on my bike and no hills were too big for me to conquer, no distance too long. I thought to myself, well, if I can do anything, surely that must extend to riding into a headwind. After all- it’s not, in fact, going to kill me. So I screwed a smile on my face, turned off my music, and began reciting poetry at the top of my lungs – all the poems and half songs I’ve memorized throughout the years – the Walrus and the Carpenter, the beginning of the Raven, old melodramatic poems I wrote in college, Edna St. Vincent Millay. And slowly, the miles went by, and it began to seem, well, not so bad as it had earlier that day. It took a serious shift in perspective to go from expectations of cool lackadaiscal days of riding to constantly challenging invisible hills, but I did it. It really does feel like constantly riding up an invisible hill. If you’ve ever ridden all day into a headwind, you know what I’m talking about. If you haven’t, I don’t recommend it.
Yesterday my fabulous uncle Lee rode out from Arcata to meet me, so for the last 30 miles I stuck to his back wheel like glue and let him break the wind for me. It’s pretty amazing how much easier it is to ride when there’s someone in front of you setting the pace. Only 270 miles back to San Francisco and I have a whole week to do it in, so I’ll have lots of time to play in the redwoods.
In which I get my comeuppance from the universe
One of the compelling reasons for doing this trip in the order in which I did it (East to West) was that on the Pacific Coast, the winds, they say, are always out of the north. So I’m in Portland, saying things like “sheesh. 700 miles? Piece of cake. It’s going to be tailwinds and blue skies from here on out.”
For the last three nights, it’s rained. Hard. Rained like my tent is starting to get suspicious mildewy looking patches.
For the past three days, there has been an unrelenting headwind. Really, positively, indubitably windy. All. Day. Long. For the record, I just checked weather.com and the winds are out of the southwest at 20 mph, with gusts up to 29. Not joking, y’all.
Which I guess is what I deserve for getting cocky. Last night, though, was lovely. I cruised into Sunset Bay State Park and what looked like a hobo encampment – brightly colored clothes fluttering off clotheslines and skinny disheveled bikers happily puttering around camp. Such a collection of people – parents on vacation while their kids are at camp, two other women on their own, one from Sasketchwan, one from Moab, Utah, and groups of retirees for whom biking all day is their idea of a good time.
I hit 4,000 miles yesterday, which felt pretty damn good, let me tell you. I’m going to laze my way down the coast, given the wind, but I am planning to ride into San Francisco on the 29th (which conveniently coincides with my fourth and last full moon of the trip).
More details will have to wait for a non-time-restricted computer.
