So...we're cheating. In a pretty big way. When we arrived in Southern California, the first half of our Epic Bike Adventure complete (~1,500 miles!) we were faced with a big decision, one that would alter the scope of our trip forever. My mom offered us the use of her superfancy Roadtrek camper van! Because she is crazy, and so giving, and full of adventure, she suggested we take the van as far as we want, and just leave it somewhere where Alaskan Airlines flies. This was no easy decision. We hemmed and hawed about it for several days as we explored LA. We finally decided to take it, as there was no way we'd make it on bikes all the way to New Orleans with our timeframe, so we would have to seek out alternate transportation anyway.
So our bike trip has turned into a temporary road trip! We're still planning on leaving the van in Austin, Texas, where we will get back onto our bicycles and continue our Epic Bike Adventure all the way to New Orleans. It's a little embarrassing--there is a certain amount of pride involved with being a bicycle tourist. Now we are using fossil fuels and clogging up the atmosphere just like everyone else. And it's more expensive! But I've sucked up my pride and settled into the routine of road tripping. We're still stealth camping, and making our own food. And we're still seeing and experiencing amazing things:
From Orange County we drove all the way out to Joshua Tree National Park, a sparse whimsical landscape in the middle of the Mojave Desert. We hiked around the park, marveled at the plants and creatures that can make a home in such a dry land, and even met up with two old friends, Austin and Katie who happened to be working in J Tree the same day we arrived!
Then we drove all the way over to the Grand Canyon, which was truly Grand. We took out the trusty old bikes and biked around the whole South Rim, where regular cars are not allowed to go. It was like biking in Yellowstone, but with no cars! Here's an idea: let's shut down at the National Park major roads to cars! Shuttles and bicycles do the trick quite nicely for plain ol' sightseeing.
After the Grand Canyon, Ben and I decided to head through the Navajo and Hopi reservations on our way to Santa Fe, New Mexico. The landscape was beautiful--jutting cliffs and mesas painted impossible shades of pinks, purples and pale greens. High Desert. The population density was very low, and every "town" we came upon was really just a collection of a few spread out houses.
We stopped in Keams Canyon for some coffee. We stopped to hold the door open for a couple coming up the stairs behind us. The old woman was adorned in every way possible with turquoise and silver, a huge purple skirt draped like a bell around her legs. She was struggling a great deal to walk up the steps, supported by an old man. Everything about her was beautiful and ancient, she seemed to belong in a different time. They spoke in another language to each other, and barely acknowledged us as we awkwardly stood there, smiling a bit too much, holding the door open.
The reservation was beautiful, but also a little sad. I wanted to ask the Hopi whether they appreciated having their own land, their own nation, or if it felt like segregation. I wanted to support them and their culture in every way possible, but all I came up with was smiling too broadly, staring too much, and saying thank you over and over again. I wanted them to know I appreciated them letting us experience their country. But all words, looks, gestures fell short. So we just climbed back into the camper and drove away.
So our bike trip has turned into a temporary road trip! We're still planning on leaving the van in Austin, Texas, where we will get back onto our bicycles and continue our Epic Bike Adventure all the way to New Orleans. It's a little embarrassing--there is a certain amount of pride involved with being a bicycle tourist. Now we are using fossil fuels and clogging up the atmosphere just like everyone else. And it's more expensive! But I've sucked up my pride and settled into the routine of road tripping. We're still stealth camping, and making our own food. And we're still seeing and experiencing amazing things:
From Orange County we drove all the way out to Joshua Tree National Park, a sparse whimsical landscape in the middle of the Mojave Desert. We hiked around the park, marveled at the plants and creatures that can make a home in such a dry land, and even met up with two old friends, Austin and Katie who happened to be working in J Tree the same day we arrived!
Then we drove all the way over to the Grand Canyon, which was truly Grand. We took out the trusty old bikes and biked around the whole South Rim, where regular cars are not allowed to go. It was like biking in Yellowstone, but with no cars! Here's an idea: let's shut down at the National Park major roads to cars! Shuttles and bicycles do the trick quite nicely for plain ol' sightseeing.
After the Grand Canyon, Ben and I decided to head through the Navajo and Hopi reservations on our way to Santa Fe, New Mexico. The landscape was beautiful--jutting cliffs and mesas painted impossible shades of pinks, purples and pale greens. High Desert. The population density was very low, and every "town" we came upon was really just a collection of a few spread out houses.
We stopped in Keams Canyon for some coffee. We stopped to hold the door open for a couple coming up the stairs behind us. The old woman was adorned in every way possible with turquoise and silver, a huge purple skirt draped like a bell around her legs. She was struggling a great deal to walk up the steps, supported by an old man. Everything about her was beautiful and ancient, she seemed to belong in a different time. They spoke in another language to each other, and barely acknowledged us as we awkwardly stood there, smiling a bit too much, holding the door open.
The reservation was beautiful, but also a little sad. I wanted to ask the Hopi whether they appreciated having their own land, their own nation, or if it felt like segregation. I wanted to support them and their culture in every way possible, but all I came up with was smiling too broadly, staring too much, and saying thank you over and over again. I wanted them to know I appreciated them letting us experience their country. But all words, looks, gestures fell short. So we just climbed back into the camper and drove away.
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