Home again

I’ve made it back to Boulder Colorado, the place I left when I started this journey. The view was beautiful as I crested over the final hill. The town nestled in against the foothills of the Rockies. Columns of rain caught on the wind swirled to the earth in the north. Shafts of sunlight broke through the clouds igniting patches of green flora and red soil. The scene was world class, a place worth returning to. As I biked into town I stopped at a favorite water fountain, rolled past restaurants I’ve eaten at, following bike paths I knew, recieved knowing nods of camaraderie from homeless men. To be somewhere familiar, it feels like a luxury, it feels like home.

Getting here from Europe took me biking through New York City, Philadelphia, Pittsburgh, Chicago and Denver. I didn’t bike between all of them. I didn’t have it in me to cross the great plains, I’ve done it before. Instead I took the train out of Pittsburgh after spending a few weeks celebrating with my family. They were glad to have me back. Everyone seems glad to have me back. It is time to be still for a while.

The journey lasted a long time. Only now that I am finished am I able to take in the immensity of it. While I was out there I took it one day at a time. It never seemed so big. In actuality the whole trip from Portugal back to here took me 999 days in which I pedaled 38,000 miles (61,000 km). I watched Polaris, the north star, slowly drop day by day over the northern horizon and the southern cross rise high above me. I circled the earth going east, arriving back where I started having seen one more sunset compared to everyone I left behind. I circled the earth a second time going west, arriving back here even on the sunset count. In New Zealand I crossed an antipode from where I was in Portugal, literally the farthest place on earth I could have gone. I set foot on 6 continents and 41 countries. I met so many wonderful people. I smiled and said hello to most every person I saw, tens of thousands of individuals. An Australian named my bike Miles. It held up in the way that an ax does that gets the handle replaced and later the head. Only the frame itself lasted the duration. I slept in my hammock about 800 times, I wore one out completely. My hammock certainly became my home on the road, a private space to tuck into at night. The goal at the outset was simply to ride my bike and sleep in my hammock. I turned it into a lifestyle. Hammockeering at its finest.

To all those who followed along I thank you. I am honored to be an inspiration, or a curiosity, both are fine by me. To all that gave me a helping hand along the way, it is you that made the trip possible. The kindness of strangers is truly the overarching theme of this journey. I’ll spend the rest of my life paying it forward, I've already started. That will be the journey that never ends. 

 New York City 

 New Jersey bike path 

 A flower for you

 This my dad on the steam. 

 Another flower for you. 

 Pittsburgh 

Celibrating with my sisters. 

 Chicago 

Back to Colorado! 

Each point on this map is a place that I've slept. 

Back to Europe

I spent two easy weeks in Europe eating amazing pastries, fancy cheeses, dense breads and bratwurst. I was so glad for good food. Cologne Germany was my start. I really liked that city. There were so many bikes around that people didn't bother locking them to anything. Bike lanes followed nearly every road and through a ring of parks circling the city. The Rhine river cut the town in two. An impressive Cathedral towered over downtown. It felt good to be in Europe.

I followed bike paths across Germany. They were spread out like a maze along my whole route. I was so excited to find them, paved and following old railroad grades, that I would frequently ride them even if they didn't go in the direction I was trying to get. They were sirens to my wheels. I couldn't help but follow them through the quiet fields and forests, windmills swinging lazily above, or along pleasant tree lined canals. When I got to the end I would check where I was then get back on track headed south.

From Cologne I went to Zurich. That is where I finished this second round in Europe. To get there I passed from Germany into the Netherlands, Belgium, Luxembourg, France and into Switzerland. In France I took a picture of myself in front of the border sign for a second time. I was wearing my raincoat and rain pants, same as three years ago. Three years on, I've changed, my outfit hasn't. I'm repeating countries now. I take it as a sure sign it is time to find a place to be still. Switzerland is the 41st country I've visited and I think will be my last new one for now. I've got a flight to New York City. I'm making my way home. 

I believe that good art is merely that which makes me stop and take a second look. 

Tanzania

I've crossed Tanzania, stopping just a day away from Kenya, a day away from Kilimanjaro. It is the furthest I could make it in Africa. Tanzania had presented difficulties from a lack of food and water. No one was starving, it was more of just an extreme lack of ingredients. I could get tomatoes and fried bread regularly but not much else. The days were hot and wet, the road muddy, sometimes sandy, tetse flies came and went in swarms. I suppose it was a fitting way to finish Africa. The challenge I am always a looking for.

Despite the difficulty I didn't miss the stunning beauty. In the south I climbed steeply for an afternoon, the first time since Lesotho. The road followed along the rim of a mountain range that rose sharply from the plains. Ancient volcanoes, now cold, dotted the landscape below. Storms rolled through breaking up the sunshine. Every afternoon school children would cheer and chase me as they walked home from school. In the north more volcanoes appeared, large cones standing individually, rising a mile or more into the sky. They appeared slowly out of a persistent haze, then linger on the horizon for days as I circled around them. I stopped in Maasai communities. I complimented their many cattle and felt a little embarrassed to admit that I don't own any cattle myself. As part of their circumcision ritual some of the boys had intricate patterns of white dots and lines painted on their faces. The look was striking and beautiful, the paint shined brilliantly in the sunlight against their dark skin. They wore feathers in headbands and black clothing while all the other Maasai wore red. I saw very young boys herding cows too. The boys were maybe 4 years old and the cows were all babies too. It was funny and cute.

I am heading back to Europe now. I am in search of good food and lots of it.

 A flower for you. 

 African highway. 

 That is my tiny bike on the left. 

Mount Meru 

Zambia

Zambia had the distinction of being entirely pleasant and, by the end, exceeding dull. I've finally lost my patients for roads so straight and flat. There wasn't even any wind to push me one way or another. I peddled in a tepid sea of still air, clouds blooming on the horizon in every direction.

Before the smooth road passing friendly little villages got the better of me I visited Victoria Falls, one of the largest waterfalls in the world. Recent rain had them flowing at full volume. The roar was intense and the spray coming up from below rained down in an endless shower, turning the walking paths into streams. The falls were so wide and the resulting mist so thick that I never saw to the far end of them. From every view rainbows cast about dancing in the froth. It was magnificent. I also visited the Kundalila falls. I suspect no one but the locals have ever heard of them, but they were spectacular in their own right.

The road north was dotted with tiny villages selling tomatoes, potatoes and on one day only, watermelons. I filled my water at the town wells and took my turn pumping for anyone else there. Many people spoke some English. The children would call out “How are you!” as I passed. “Fine!” was the response they were looking for and invariably was their reply whenever I turned the question back at them. I did a lot of racing in Zambia. Because the road was well paved and with a wide shoulder many people had bicycles. Any young man I caught up with would match my pace. It was never spoken but there was no way they were going to let me bike away from them. I would try to though. On their rusty single speeds with soft tires and sometimes carrying passengers on the rear rack, their wife and baby perhaps, they would keep up with me. I was never able to pull away from anyone. After 20 minutes, more or less depending on where they were going, they would pull off without a word and I, breathless with burning thighs, would relax my pace until the next challenger appeared.

I followed the highway for more than 1000 kilometers. On both sides of the road the grass was beaten back by men with a sort of bent machete, like a large grapefruit knife or a sharpened golf club. That is a corridor of grass, 8 meters wide, 1000 kilometers long, being mowed with sharpen golf clubs. As surely as I thought it strange for them to be doing that they thought it strange for me to be biking so far. I suppose neither of us were wrong. 

Victoria Falls. 

  

 A flower for you. 

Kundalila falls. 

I found this insect in my nightmare. 

Bringing coal home for cooking. 

 The road to Kundalila falls

I had to find a place to camp when it was dark one night. Turns out I was in a graveyard.