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The Last Post

Gentle readers, after more than 200 posts, 13,500 miles, 4.5 months, and 9,500 photographs, it’s time to close the chapter on this adventure, set down the book, and prepare to write another. As of now, all blogging is being posted on http://byshaw1.blogspot.com, and some of the more interesting work has been improved and posted to my website: www.byshaw.com.

As always, thank you all for reading. Your enthusiasm has fueled mine. The journey is not over in the least. In fact, it has only just begun. Stay tuned for more!

Copyright © 2009, Ben Shaw
All Rights Reserved
www.byshaw.com

I Am Not Crazy

I had the thrill today of enduring a psychological evaluation for the purpose of a job application. And come to find out, I’m not crazy, at least by their standards. And the thing is, their standards are somewhat strange. But I’m getting ahead of myself here.

About eight months ago, I applied to a nearby metropolitan police department as an officer. In fact, I applied to several. I was shot down for all of them, save one, and I assumed that it was only a matter of time before they, too, politely showed me the door.

Yet amazingly, they did not. After nearly eight months of little to no interaction, I was contacted and told that the next phase would be the scheduling of a psychological evaluation. Somehow, which still remains a mystery to me, I passed the initial testing, the physical fitness test, and even the polygraph examination. Amazing.

The idea, I assume, is that the police force not knowingly hire somebody who is convinced that he sees talking bats that invite him to tea every afternoon. We all know bats don’t ever sit upright, so there’s no way they could drink anything from a cup. And somehow, despite years of military service, some rather inane behavior as a teenager, and rather insane behavior as a young adult, I landed a psych eval.

I scheduled the meeting and firmly resolved that if I were to be deemed too crazy to be a cop, I would immediately march to the local VA office and inform them that I am evidently crazy and see what they have to say. Perhaps unfortunately, I was denied this self-satisfying little excursion.

The shrink talks more than I do. If I was being evaluated on my listening skills (or at least pretend listening skills), I think I would have scored high. I patiently sat there, hands folded in my lap, and listened to the trained professional tell me about his extensive gun collection, his daughter’s guns, his hunting trips, and his thirty foot sailboat that he only took out a few times this past year. Very interesting stuff. Maybe I was being evaluated for my eye contact. It’s hard to say.

Then there were the perfunctory questions about my character, my strongest aspects and my weakest, my drug history and my proclivities to get drunk and steal underwear off of strangers’ clotheslines. I presume I answered these appropriately. But the final phase was decidedly strange. A 570-point true/false questionnaire that somehow is used to gauge my sanity. The questions are hilarious, and repetitive.

True or false:

I hate my parents. False
Sometimes I just feel like I’m going to break down. False
I love my father. True
I hate my mother. False
I love my mother. True
I like to read sports magazines. False
I like to read science magazines. True
The only part of the newspaper worth reading is the comics. True
I hate people. False
Somebody is hypnotizing me and controlling me. False
I am possessed by demons. False.
I deserve absolute condemnation for all my sins. False.
Sometimes I want to just hide and never talk to people. False.
I wish I was born a girl. False.
I believe most people deserve what’s coming to them. True
I want to be a journalist. True
I always read the editorial section of the paper. False.
I am being followed. False.
I hear voices and see people nobody else notices. False.
Sometimes I just need to hit somebody. False.
I like to fix a door latch. True.
If I was an artist, I would paint flowers. True.
I am completely afraid of water. False.
I am afraid of dirt. False.
I have a “full” feeling in my head and sinuses most of the time. False.
I think I am useless. False.
I want to run away. False.
I think most people will break the law to get ahead. True.
I hate my parents. False.

And so it went for 570 questions. I probably answered some of them wrong, but according to the shrink that speaks more than he listens, I’m normal, hirable, and fit for duty.

After close analysis of these Freudian-style questions, I have reached one conclusion. If I wish to be deemed crazy, I must tell people the following:

I wish I was born a very naughty female door latch who is not being mind-controlled by demons and who does not consider herself a colossal failure.

In some ways I’m somewhat disappointed to be deemed “sane.” I no longer have any excuse. What a pity. But at least I’m fit to carry a gun, a club, handcuffs, a Taser, and have my word taken above the average citizen’s.

What the hell do door latches have to do with sanity?

Copyright © 2008, Ben Shaw
All Rights Reserved

The Final Chapter

Having now been home now for a few days, I have begun the lengthy process of mulling over the past seventeen weeks of travel, what I’ve learned, and more specifically, what I wish to write down and share with others. In truth, I could probably write about it indefinitely, though I don’t feel this would be appropriate, worthwhile, or do justice to some really interesting experiences. I remain somewhat overwhelmed with ideas, horribly disorganized, and unable to articulate what I really want to say. Much has happened. I’m also going to try not to write too much and repeat what I wrote some time ago. If you want details about good days, read what has already been written. The same applies for bad days, for there were plenty of those, too. There is no reason to rehash what I have already discussed, though I’m certain there are considerable grounds for improvement in the writing itself.

Nevertheless, a few general remarks are in order. Call them the final chapter, if you will.

In referring back to my initial posts, primarily the first, I see in my own writing a degree of desperation, though noticeably laced with hope. I meant what I wrote, and it’s fairly evident that it was composed in grief, woundedness, and a degree of uncertainty. This has changed. So has the writing. In fact, I have changed, too. I like to think for the better.

So let’s go back to the beginning for just a moment. Until mid-year, I was engaged and well on my way to settling down into married life, a career, and whatever other things follow it – normalcy, children, a regular job, and so forth. Yet dreams and expectations of this were instantaneously snuffed out when the relationship ended. There is no point in rehashing the details of that. A quick referral to that writing will reveal my despair, confusion, and hurt.

As much as I wanted to wallow about in self-pity and languish, dwelling on what once was in shall never more be, I realized that it would accomplish nothing. I had a decidedly bad taste in my mouth about a number of things, including Virginia itself. There were too many awkward questions, too many places I no longer wished to visit, and even people I just didn’t want to see. I needed some time elsewhere. What better way than to embark on something I’ve always wanted to do – a coast-to-coast tour of the United States? But on a motorcycle, an added thrill, challenge, and enormous risk that, thanks be to God, I have survived in one piece.

So at any rate, with modest preparation and a lot of “unplanning,” I set out, hoping to hop from place to place catching up with family and maybe a few friends. Indeed this happened, as did many other things.

Where I went is largely unimportant. WHO I met, however, is infinitely important. I met people. Before this, however, some observations about the places.

I remain amazed with this country. First off, it is vast, diverse, and in many ways a different planet from one local region to the next. High deserts, low deserts, temperate rainforests, more deserts, monolithic peaks and cold, isolated valleys. Almost every place was beautiful in its own right. I took photographs of everything. 9,500 of them, in fact.

Though while in the Grand Canyon I could see for more than 100 miles in one direction, and at least 85 miles in Mesa Verde (CO), visibility was generally limited. If I make the modest estimate that I had visibility for ½ mile to either side of a road, I have seen approximately 13,500 square miles. That is less than 2/5 of one percent of the area of this country. I guess I saw remarkably little. With fifty states in the union, I started from or rode through merely fourteen. That’s a little more than a quarter of them. I may have seen a great deal, but it’s a drop in the bucket in a country as enormous as the United States. But what I saw I mostly liked. It’s a lovely place, and if you don’t like the weather in one area, either wait five minutes, or go somewhere else. Every climate can be found here.

I am amazed with the beauty of the desert, which many find lifeless, oppressively hot, and barren. But I found life there, and beauty. I enjoyed the rolling hills of the Appalachians, too, more “home” than any other place, despite the fact they’re now bare, windy, and getting their first layer of snow for the winter. I found life and beauty on rocky hillsides amid dying grass and endless miles of pasture. But I found people everywhere.

If I ambitiously claim that I have spoken with 1000 people, I have still only conversed with less than 3/100,000 of one percent of the population of this country. While I have no great interest (and certainly no ability) to meet them all, this is still startlingly few. 13,500 miles traveled, and a few nice people met. I will leave it at that. But I enjoyed meeting them all.

When I left, I was uncertain if I would make this trip in full. If the weather would uncooperative, if the motorcycle would break down, if I would go broke, or if I’d lose interest in what I was doing. In fact, all these things happened. But a wise friend pointed out to me that life itself isn’t at all predictable, so why should I expect this undertaking to be so. Just go, he suggested. Just like Abram. God told him to, “Go to the land where I will show you.” The order, “go” far preceded the “were” on his journey. It took Abram years to get there, too, and he made innumerable mistakes along the way. Sounds like a metaphor for life, doesn’t it? I can’t predict the trip; I just need to go. Nor can I predict life, but I still need to live it. Languishing in Virginia was accomplishing nothing.

I will spare you all the drudgery of repeating where I went, since I have already written about it – at length. It’s all there to be read. Not a single post was removed.

I have found that I have a second home in eastern Oklahoma, which was unexpected, fun, and a place to which I fully intend to return shortly. I have family there I had never met, a few others I had not seen in years, and a number of neighbors with whom I had great conversations, breakfasts, lunches and dinners.

The same applies for California (and Utah), where I was quickly adopted by family I had never before seen, and may never see again. Regardless, they fed me, sheltered me, and one surrogate family even gave me a job for a short time. It saved me. I am deeply indebted to them all.

But along the entire trip, I met absolute strangers who were similarly friendly, hospitable and kind, and they provided me with free meals, couches, guest rooms, and most importantly, their friendship. I hope to keep up with a number of them.

One observation about people sticks out prominently, however. It is that they are frequently lonely. For many, if not most of them, life hasn’t worked out as they anticipated it would, relationships have failed, and they themselves may have failed, too. I heard many a sad sigh, hinting that the wounds of the past, the difficulties, financial woes, and even the struggles of the day-to-day make getting up some mornings a monumental struggle. Discontent is common, whether articulated or not. I can relate to a LOT of it.

I observed more drunks than I’ve seen in college, watched dozens bitterly stagger home alone, and even those that don’t are back at the bar the next night looking for somebody else. He, or She, wasn’t what they were looking for. I can relate to this, too.

One woman struggled to her feet, a man she had just met holding her up. She looked at a few of us still sitting at the bar. “We’re going to go now. He’s going to lay on top of me for a little while and then I’ll pass out. It’s better than sleeping alone.” He was good enough. I, too, have made such relational concessions.

I met a number of women who had been left by their husbands, boyfriends and fiancés, and a few men who had endured the same. Some were still married and looking.

I’ve learned that veterans are everywhere, which is pretty neat. Being one myself, they’re easy to strike up a conversation with. We can share memories and frustrations, and reminisce about a time in our lives which invokes the fondest of memories yet frequently aggravates the deepest of wounds. A patriotic nobility standing tall and alone in a field of loss, nightmares, and at times impenetrable grief. They will never be the same for it, and neither shall I. But we will keep flying the flag, salute as we watched it raised, and choke back tears when they play the National Anthem. Many paid dearly for it, and we remember.

I am amazed at who felt comfortable talking to me along this trip. I am astounded at how many friendly people willingly and happily share their fortune and ambitions. Utter strangers with whom I had only marginal commonalities, sometimes as general as we both are adults and have two legs. Yet they were frequently extremely honest, open, and blunt about their lives, their thoughts, and their many disappointments. I was able to share a few of mine, too. Not everybody was unhappy, but almost everybody was looking for something – though they perhaps did not know what. In many ways, so was I.

People are lonely. And in truth, so also am I. I’m not a keen and disconnected observer on the sidelines; I’m in the thick of it. I, too have problems, shortcomings, unmet expectations, and a host of uncertainties.

With embarrassing frequency, my loneliness dictated my actions, speech, and even the direction I went. It was deeply-rooted, at times pervasive, and cunning. I failed to make the best of numerous conversations.

In many ways, it bears every sign of being an addiction. The small moral or character concessions I make for myself and extend to others, the ignoring of the fact that fleeting encounters won’t somehow satisfy some deeper longing, and the unfortunate fact that I’m probably going to try it anyway. And thus, I turn my back on God and relationship for which I truly thirst, and try something, really anything else.

It is an addiction and I am powerless over it, but God is not. And it only bears the image of an addiction when it is pursued in the wrong direction. We were all created for relationship.

To put it bluntly, there is a God-shaped hole in my soul and nobody and no thing can properly fill it save Him. I have picked many poisons. Affluence, the pursuit of wealth, the pursuit of unfulfilling relationships, and so on. None will satisfy the longing.

But it’s more than a longing. It’s usually a dull ache that at times crescendos into a throbbing pain – I am alone and I’m very aware of it. But this hunger, at least for the moment, has its benefits. I am fasting.

When Christians fast, the idea is that every pang of physical hunger reminds them of just what and who they are truly hungering for. God. The same applies to my hunger for the resolution of my loneliness. Every stab that reminds me that I’m alone is a stab that reorients me to God. Invite HIM to go with me, to adventure with me, to ride with me, and to meet people with me, and the rest, I sincerely believe, will take care of itself in its proper timing. This is relationship that takes all primacy.

Self flagellation accomplishes nothing, since it suggests that I am a hopelessly awful person and can do no good, but that is a lie. God is in me, and He is good. Therefore, I can do good, for I am created on His image and I have invited Him with me. We are all imperfect people pursuing imperfect relationships with other imperfect people. But God pursues every imperfect one of us, and that, too, is good.

Nor does regret accomplish anything, since it suggests I live in shame, and I do not. I have made mistakes, yet so has everybody. God loves me nevertheless, pursues me nevertheless, and thus I live in forgiveness. I understand grace just a little better now, and want to understand it more. I may be just as much a bozo as the next guy, but I have hope, and I also have no fear. There is no fear in perfect love, and I am perfectly loved.

What is perhaps the most profound truth I have learned (at least to me), is that God does not pursue or even honor perfection. Nor are we even being groomed for perfection. The reality is that no such thing exists. He honors pursuit of Him. I am also not a problem to be fixed, but in His eyes a creation to be pursued. There’s great hope in this.

As for what comes next on my rather bizarre life, good question. When I was speaking before a church in Keota, Oklahoma, one man raised his hand. “So do you ever intend to reenter the work force and contribute to society again?” Clearly I do, but not just yet.

Work, I have determined, is essential, but when I have the luxury of being picky, I should take full advantage of it. Since I am not starving, I will not pursue a job in desperation for sustenance. Since I am not penniless, nor will I pursue a job solely for the money. I will get by with my current frugality, wisely save/spend what I have, and work when I feel like it. And while I will not have a regular job for now, I will still help others when they need it. It’s good to work. It makes me more appreciative of what I have.

But perhaps more importantly, a career position right now would effectively eliminate my opportunity for further travel, adventuring, and wayward photography. At the moment, it would be confining – and without cause. If I need to work, I will, but for now I do not need to worry about it. Finding a career and working because it’s “the right thing to do” is faulty. I have no reason to settle down into a career apart from most people thinking that, at 28, I should be. This expectation is more social norm than individually appropriate. When the time is right, I will do it. I am making an effort to excise myself from others’ expectations. They are not my audience. As a wise man once told me, “pay mind to no man.”

Nevertheless, this is not a popular decision. I remember being in Joshua Tree, California and a man asked me, “so, Ben, what do you do?” I told him nothing, which baffled him, and also quickly shortened future conversations. The standard icebreaker did not apply. What? Somebody who doesn’t work? What DOES he do?

It depends on who you ask. One of my sisters called me a professional hobo. Along the way I’ve heard Biker Ben, Night rider, Easy Rider, Rebel, Leather Boy, and Dumbass. I prefer accomplished mooch.

What do I do? I write. And for the moment, travel around to so particularly interesting places and meet some good people. I write – about the people, the places, calamities, and stories I hear. I enjoy the stories the most. What am I doing? What I enjoy, and hopefully honing my skills as a writer. I am following my heart.

Are my eggs all in this one basket? Not really. I’m putting them all in one pocket.

When my travels are solely for my own entertainment, it is definitely time to stop. A lengthy motorcycle trip across the country would have been supremely self-centered were it not for the fact that I wrote about it, in essence to bring others with me. When I cease bringing others, I have crossed the line into wandering. While not all who wander are lost, most are. The point is that I need and want to keep writing. If I should lose interest in it, I need to stop.

I was reading an interview the other day of a small, little known musician struggling to make ends meet. He admitted that he determined long ago that it would be difficult. “I realize that I’ve got to place music just because you love it,” he said. I just have to keep writing, just because I love it.

But not only is this a quest for writing practice, it is simultaneously an endeavor to meet new people, to hear their stories, to genuinely care about them, and ideally give testimony to the hope that is within me. For I, too, am lonely, and I, too, have my share of problems. But I still have hope and excitement for the future, and find enjoyment in the present. If my relationship with God is so important, it will be contagious, and I’ll HAVE to share it with others. Maybe they, too will find joy in being pursued by the sacred romancer – the perfect date.

I think that one of the more beneficial aspects of meeting such a diverse group of people is that no longer do I wish to talk about myself so much, but about the other great people that I met. There were many. Veterans, single mothers, ex-strippers, ex-convicts, traveling wig salesmen, lots of bikers, homeless people, hippies, hitchhikers, famers, migrant workers, refugees, Scientologists, writers, ecologists, Baptists, bartenders and social workers, alcoholics and coke-heads. Save for a near-mugging in a bathroom in Tennessee, I enjoyed them all, and they are all worth knowing. I love this country, and have found it to be full of great people who have graced me with their friendships, candor, and stories. I have been honored to, in some small way, introduce America to Americans. I met people everywhere and was startled to find that truly cared about them. I still pray for many of them, and I believe that others do, too. Perhaps to some now, America isn’t an expansive country full of bustling cities, but a land full of interesting, hopeful, struggling people who we genuinely wish well.

I was once chewed out by a Traumatic Brain Injury center director for riding a motorcycle. Most of the center’s patients are bike accident victims with varying degrees of speech and motor impediment. More than once I was mocked for my chaps, which were described as “ass-less.” Of course they are. If they weren’t, they’d be pants. They looked silly, but they kept me warm. Out of everybody I met, two people asked me for a ride.

In Merced, California, I almost dumped the bike at three miles an hour on loose dirt. A month later I almost did it in soft sand – on the same farm. In Silver City, New Mexico I hit gravel as I braked on a road and came close to losing control. Adrenalin, I’ve found, warms you up pretty quickly. The closest I came to a genuine, deadly wreck, is when I was almost plowed over by a church van that ran a red light. That was just a few days ago in Christiansburg, Virginia. There were close calls, but it has been worth the risk.

I am home now, but not content to dawdle here, because I am also at home all across this country. I can’t decide if this makes me omnihomeless or omniresidential. I will spend a great Christmas with my family, catch up with a few friends, sing with my little sisters in church fairly soon, and be on my way again. God has given me an interest in someone besides myself, that will take me elsewhere, at least for now.

Yet no matter where I wind up landing, wandering or breaking down, there is one truth that I knew all along but only recently began to partially understand. Regardless of its merit to few and its absurdity to most, my life is henceforth dedicated to the avid pursuit of Jesus. I will go, I will invite Him, I will invite others, too, and together we I will cling to the hem of His garment, for there is no other enduring hope.

It’s a beautiful country, really, and difficult to describe briefly. It’s not perfect by any means, but full of beautiful wilderness, bustling cities, and friendly people. It’s not perfect; it’s savory. It is home, and it is good.Copyright © 2008, Ben Shaw
All Rights Reserved

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To those who may be still checking this site for posts, hang in there. The final chapter in this particular journey is in the works. I am still writing. Always writing. Stay tuned!

I Left My Pants As Collateral

While I am home and this journey technically at its end, I will save my more lengthy musings about the trip as a whole for a later date. I still have some things I wish to ponder, some brief encounters I want to recall further, conversations to check, old posts to read, and even notes to browse. When these are done, I will begin my “final thoughts.” You may expect it later this week.

For now, however, I will give some hints as to the next adventure and lay out what few plans I have made.

First, though, I am home. I arrived here, to an empty house, at about 1PM. Four months and one week of travel are officially over and I’m back with family, whom I have missed dearly. I hopped off the bike, kissed the filthy ground, kissed the bike, and went to find the dog. Amazingly, he remembers me. I wonder if Uncle Caesar’s dog will when I go back.

The remainder of this week is devoted to catching up with people, replying to the scores of e-mails I have neglected, making various appointments and plans, and Christmas shopping. I’m already running late.

An hour after I returned home, my littlest sister stopped by to say hello. In truth, I am honored that she took the time to do this. It was great to see her. She looks older now. More grown up. Maybe it’s longer hair, I don’t know. But she’s a woman now, that’s for certain, not just my little sister.

I have since also spent time with my mother and father, always a pleasure, and hope to be doing much more of this in the near future, and throughout Christmas and New Years (eve). It is good to be home. My clothes needed washing.

On August 18th, while I was still in Oklahoma, the following conversation took place on the comments section of the blog:

Naomi R. Sutton said…
I am having fun reading of your adventures and wishing I were on the road as well… although my purpose here at the moment is sure. I really wish the lady on the porch had let you photograph her, this is one I would have liked to see. Continue on this adventure and do not forget the reason for which you ride… There are great things ahead for you Ben!
Uncle Caesar, in the future if Ben is not available I house sit as well and would welcome a journey out West:)

Uncle Caesar said…
Ten four Naomi. It is always good to have another resource. Ben may not always be available. He was a Godsend this time. You don’t need a reason to visit. Just visit.

Now nearly four months later, I presented Uncle Caesar the opportunity to eat his hat, or hold true to his word. Naomi, amazingly, has some free time in early January. Much to my delight (and Naomi’s), Uncle Caesar and Auntie C are still very keen on visitors, even if they’re random and have never been met before. “We’re old, Ben,” he told me. Any infusion of youth, energy, and adventuresome spirits is welcome. No hat eating.

And so, at the beginning of 2009, while most people are still sleeping off their hangovers, trying to determine where they are and where they might find their cars, Naomi and I will be returning to Keota, Oklahoma. She has a break in her study and work schedule, juggled some meetings, received permission to miss a few more, and we’re headed out to the mountain. There we will remain for a week or so, finding whatever trouble we can get into with Uncle Caesar and Auntie C, exploring places I’ve missed, hanging out with the Gossip Society, and traipsing about exploring. No plans have been made, and I don’t want to ruin anything by making anything. We, with the assistance of the creative, artistic, humorous and clever Auntie C and Uncle Caesar, will find plenty to do. On top of the mountain, it can be as busy as you wish it to be. If you want something to happen, something will. If you prefer to not set foot outside the house one day, you can be assured of a quiet day. Unless, of course, calamity strikes and hilarity ensues. There’s a whole shelf of chemicals to spray in our ears.

What is most pleasing to me about this next “leg” is that I enjoy travel companions. Throughout my 13,500 mile ride to California and back, none have traveled with me in physical presence, but only in spirit. While that has been great, this will be even better. Additionally, two people who would have never heard of each other were it not for the fact they were reading the same silly blog now get to meet and delight in each other’s company. This I will relish. Uncle Caesar, Auntie C, here’s Naomi. Naomi, meet the Oklahoman side of my family – or just the beginnings of them. And then I step back. People who had only met in the electron-universe of the internet now get to meet in person. I can think of a number of sappy remarks involving circles and unbroken chains. I will share none of them.

Throughout this trip I have reached the conclusion (and also been directly told more than once), that I am a flake. One couch surfer looked at me squarely, merely 5 minutes after meeting me: “Ben, tell everybody you’re a flake.” So I did. The point is that I tend to forget things abruptly, show up late, change my route and omit various stops, announce that I’m visiting somebody and promptly never call them again, etc. I forget things, and plans change. But the trip in January isn’t open to debate. The schedule has been made, no plans made (that’s the thrill of it), and we’re locked in.

To help assure my aunt and uncle of my guaranteed return, I left some rather
cherished items at their home – a couple books, some scorpions, and pants. They are my collateral. I will definitely come back for the pants, since I rather like them. My little sister bought them for me. Leave no pants behind. I also want the scorpions, too.

Whereas I truly forgot to put on pants before I departed on this trip (quite a foreshadowing to future flaky behavior), I have now voluntarily left them behind.
Naomi is, egad, a genuine photographer, so you can expect good pictures to ensue. They won’t be mine. My lens is undergoing repairs and shall probably not be accompanying me on this little voyage. Naomi also writes, by the way, so expect great things. Again, not from me.

What is important is that the trip is continuing. Not in a desperate attempt to prolong something that has long ago lost its merit, but taking on new shape into something better, something different, and something equally (if not more) exciting.

Soooooo, does anybody else have a few days of free time? I’ve seen a lot of nice places that I’d like to see again. Anyone care to join? Cause I’m still going. And Uncle Caesar has my pants.

Copyright © 2008, Ben Shaw
All Rights Reserved

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I am HOME! More to come later today.

Inching Closer

Since I am thoroughly warmed, well-fed, and in good company, I am taking the time today to give a more detailed update than I “texted” yesterday.

As of about 8PM eastern (I’m back in that time zone now), I am at the home of my old college roommate and his wife in Christiansburg, VA. For some reason, he still enjoys seeing me. Amazing. They warmed me, fed me, and we watched some TV on the 60 inch projector screen in the theater room. This is life if you work hard and do normal things. I’m somewhat envious.

At any rate, it was not terribly warm today, but the rain did hold out altogether, so I was just cold, not both cold and wet. I set out from eastern Nashville and rode across their skinny state all the way into Bristol, VA, and then onto Christiansburg. This is home, really. One of many. I was down here for two years at Virginia Tech, explored the area extensively, but no longer recognize it. There are new developments and shopping centers everywhere, and I don’t actually think I’ve taken the correct exit ONCE since I graduated in 2001. As usual, I ended up wandering downtown to get myself back where I wanted to be. This is nothing new to my visiting the Blacksburg/Christiansburg area, but I do find it somewhat frustrating that the most lost I become of the entire trip is actually in my own back yard and former area of residence. The roads keep changing, I swear it.

I rode most of the way through eastern Tennessee with snow visible in the shady areas to either side of the highway, and the occasional bank of icicles. The roads, much to be great relief, were dry, and the air temperature was balmy at about 46 degrees. I lived.

It started looking like home in eastern Tennessee, and started smelling like home in southern Virginia. Scrubby, bare hardwoods on the roadsides, grass on every open piece of ground, no cactus or sand anywhere. Grey and brown rocks have replaced the red ones of the southwest, and the air smells of wet leaves and woodsmoke. It’s winter here, and I would be wise to remember this. In the winter it’s not exactly lovely here, but it’s home, so I’m rather fond of it. I missed fall altogether here.

I am a mere 150 miles (almost exactly) from my front doorstep, and look forward to being home at a reasonable time tomorrow – BEFORE it begins to rain (as is forecasted in the afternoon). Having been at this now for four months and six days, it’s high time to end it gracefully and begin thinking about the next step. After, of course, spending some much anticipated time with my family and a few friends in the Virginia area. I’ve missed them, and am actually excited about seeing some of them tomorrow, and the remainder sometime between now and Christmas. I also have a fair bit of Christmas shopping to do, since I’ve done virtually nothing about it yet.

I am not tired of riding the motorcycle (amazingly, and thankfully), but I am tired of being cold most of the day, so it will be nice to park it for a time and switch to the car, which is equipped with such clever contraptions as doors, windows, and a roof. What a novel idea. I hope it starts, and I hope I still remember how to drive it. I’m optimistic.

This is a good time to be reaching home, considering that two major winter weather “events” are headed in this direction. Additionally, my gear, my clothes, my equipment and perhaps even my physical fitness have begun to reach the end of their life spans, or at least start to break down and fail on a more frequent basis. My camera bag has a huge hole in the interior divider, so my gear always migrates as I ride, making the once-easy matter of digging out the camera now an ordeal of fishing through cords, cases and sundry junk, which invariably spills onto the ground. The bike is filthy, and in dire need of TLC, which I will begin when I darn well feel like it. My helmet interior needs repairs, and all three pairs of my gloves need to be retired or replaced on account of being ripped, or suffering loosening stitching. My other helmet also needs some attention. My chaps are covered in bug guts and the knees are worn thin (this I noticed LOTS on the coldest days). Even my leather jacket needs some repairs. I’m rough on zippers. My tent zippers need work, and the tent needs cleaning. My gear bag is starting to burst at the seams from four months of cinching it down absurdly tight with cargo straps, and the bungee cords aren’t terribly elastic anymore. I have to keep stretching them more and more each day. One pair of riding glasses is scratched beyond hope, and the other pair has developed some annoying scratches in the viewing fields, as well as an earpiece that tends to swivel and ram into the side of my head. And, of course, my primary camera lens is broken and needs to be returned to a repair facility – again. The point is that now is a good time to retool.

It’s time to spend some time with my family and be marginally productive once again – for a few weeks, and then head out again. The where(s) and when(s) will be announced fairly soon – at least the first where and when.

So tomorrow I will see my family, which is going to be great. I’ve missed them, and I think that we’ve grown much closer together in my absence. As they say, absence does make the heart grow fonder. I’m just hopeful that PRESENCE doesn’t make the heart forget this sentiment. They’re my family and I love them all dearly. The last thing I want to be is a pain while I’m home. I’ll try to be on my best behavior, not eat too much, or leave any guns lying around the house in the flowerpots. This has been a problem in the past. There is a new bed waiting for me.

As I have mentioned before and wish to reiterate, I will continue to write on daily or near-daily basis. Posting times will be necessarily random to accommodate whatever schedule and routine develop in the next few days, but I will post nevertheless. There is still much to say/write, at least in my opinion.

But there will be time to write it all down when I get home. For now, I just need to get home. Virginia itself is close to home, but HOME is 150 miles northeast of here. That I will see tomorrow, along with the big dumb dog that I’ve missed. I will not have seen him in exactly 17 weeks. Or the family, of course. But very soon…

In the past two days, I have traversed more than 900 miles through four different states. My ears are still ringing from the constant din of wind buffeting my helmet and exhaust pipes alerting everybody to my presence. I have burned more than 26 gallons of petrol, frozen and thawed repeatedly, been wished happy holidays once, Merry Christmas twice, and been waved at by a number of children in cars. I always wave back, much to the horror of their parents, who are no doubt praying that their child never gets a motorcycle of his or her own. They’re dangerous, silly, and influence people to buy an abundance of leather, patches, and silly riding gear.

I have yet to ride in a kilt or with a cape, or both at the same time. These I will save for another day.

Coming tomorrow: “I Left My Pants As Collateral.”

(Think what you will about that, but don’t get too ambitious with any wild ideas).

Copyright © 2008, Ben Shaw
All Rights Reserved

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Okay. I have made it to the far side (east) of Nashville, TN. I was certainly cold, but I made it. I have warmem back up, cleaned up, and built myself a nest in bed. I am a mere 5 hours from Virginia. Hopefully the rain will hold out. Good night.

What It Do, Y’all

A productive day here on the reservation, what with some moderately involved construction projects, some hammering, and lots of mess. I, of course, was responsible for creating the mess. It’s my forte. I may do the work, but I’m not cleaning up. By the time I’m finished with the project, I lack the interest or motivation to pick up. I’d sooner pushbroom all the tools into a corner until some later date. Or indefinitely. Today I just made the mess and managed to weedle out of cleaning it up. I coated furniture, electronics, a floor, and several other important things with debris. I’m particularly proud of myself.

Yet as productive as today may have been, there is limited time for celebration. We will be again on the move soon. After extensive research of the weather channel, watching the news, looking at radar maps, and checking forecasts over a 1000 mile path, I have determined that there is but one narrow window in which I can make a bee-line for home. That window opens tomorrow, and the second it opens, it begins quickly shutting.

There are at least two rather large weather patterns moving through this area, as well as the southeast (into which I include the Commonwealth). They will be preceded by a brief period of unseasonably warmth, followed by precipitation which may very well devolve to ice, high winds, snow, and sleet. They are already on the way, and expected to begin wreaking havoc on Sunday, mostly with inklings of precipitation that increase in likelihood, volume, and frequency for the next several days. This initial rain is also accompanied by rapidly-plummeting temperatures. So I will be truly running.

The idea is this: for once, get an early start on the road. In part I have avoided doing this because of morning temperatures, but I have also not done this because I spend my mornings writing, being lazy, and slowly returning to a state of consciousness. That process has been expedited of late with my ever-improving health.

Nevertheless, my uncle is convinced I still have it, whatever it is. Could be walking pneumonia, bronchitis, galloping consumption, or herpagonasyphilitisaids. Perhaps a unique combination of all of them. But I’m on the mend, and improving daily.

I will leave early tomorrow, hopefully even more well than I am tonight, get on the road, and begin a determined effort to make it to I have no idea where. As far east as possible. I am will not be stopping for attractions, not pulling over to chat on the phone, eat nice diner meals, or even taking back roads. I will ride on the highway, stay on the highway, and refuel at the closest location to the exit ramp. Then I will stretch a second, relax the pained muscles of my posterior, and get back at it. The further I make it tomorrow, the more likely it will be that I arrive in Virginia before the snows, rains, volcanoes and seven plagues hit. The old song, “I’ll be home for Christmas” doesn’t really roll off the tongue if you throw in a “maybe.” So I’ll just say I’ll be home.

If for some reason this plan should meet with failure, I will consider the following from the warm confines of a hotel room: I may rent a van, strap in the motorcycle in back, and head home. If I am very close, I will suffer through it and get home. If I am very far, I will get home regardless. If I do this, I will be embarrassed to tell anybody about it, so I’d much prefer success. Let us hope and pray for it. Oh yeah, and safety, too.

Presuming all goes according to plan, I will have a great Christmas with my family. Then I will get on the road again.

Ben, you’re a lunatic.

Wait, I’ll be in a car.

You’re still strange.

I will probably be heading back to Oklahoma for a few days, just to continue being a nuisance, getting good food, and maybe even help out with whatever projects demand attention at the time. I can be handy, I’m told. But usually I’m not.

The biggest reason for this trip is that I may have the opportunity to introduce a friend of mine to Uncle Caesar and Auntie C. This friend could use a break from reality and the stress of school, work and responsibility, so what better way to escape than disappear to the hills of eastern Oklahoma, hide out in Indian country, and avoid normal life. Life can be slow up here, yes, but the slowest of days can change to the most fantastic of experiences, or also the greatest of calamities. Just see yesterday’s post.

What is neat about this opportunity is that people who would have otherwise never met have heard mention of each other on the blog or seen each other’s comments. Now they get to meet, and take part physically in an adventure that they have thus far only experienced in spirit. I think it would be great, though it’s still unknown it if this will work out.

A good question was raised today to me: what will I do about the blog whilst home. The answer is what I have done throughout this trip. Write. I may have to amend the title about crossing the continent on a motorcycle, but some things will remain unchanged. I’m still GOING, and I’m still inviting Jesus to come along.

There will probably come a time when “going” doesn’t necessarily indicate physical travel, but that’s fine, and also appropriate. But for now, while I have the freedom of time, the luxury of a moderate financial independence, and the blessing of scores of people who for some reason support me, I will take the opportunity. And in so doing, I will continue to meet amazing people, see some particularly grand places, and hear some great stories. But the greatest of this will be the people. I departed on this trip expecting to hear a few good stories and see some amazing views, but I have instead met amazing people. That has made all the difference. And for now, it will certainly continue…

Pray for clear, sunny skies, and a maniacal hankering in my soul to ride a zillion miles a day in the middle of December.

Copyright © 2008, Ben Shaw
All Rights Reserved