My time in Palestine ended with a ride from the Golan Heights in occupied Syria at the headwaters to the Jordan river down to the Red Sea at Eilat–400 km away. I cycled from the mountains to the Dead Sea and continued south through the Negev desert.
Start of Palestine Bikepacking Tour
End of Palestine Bikepacking Tour
Jordan Valley
Red Sea
Camping by the Dead Sea
Negev desert, 172 km to Eilat
Dam, Wadi Rum
Above Wadi Rum Camp
Wadi Mujib
The American Bedouin
Wadi Rum, Lawrence Spring
Petra Monetary
Moses Hess
Petra to Amman
Chicken Rock, Wadi Rum
Shisha
The Treasury
After Eilat, I crossed the border into Aqaba. I hopped a bus to Wadi Rum and traded some time for free lodging & food at a Bedouin camp. After 2 weeks, I hopped back on the saddle and rode up to Petra. I spent 2 days wandering Petra’s remains before continuing North. I felt that my legs were finally strong enough, so I decided to stick to the King’s highway in the mountains for the rest of my ride to Amman.
Where to begin? Should I start in the Sequoias–my time wandering through the largest trees in the world? Or stumbling into what felt like an unofficial rainbow gathering in Mendocino? Or Yellowstone, where I spent a week amongst the bears and elk–getting snowed-on and walking though basins where the earth’s crumbling crust gave way to pools of scalding-hot water?
I spent a week amongst the bears and elk — getting snowed-on and walking though basins where the earth’s crumbling crust gave way to pools of scalding-hot water
Alas, I’ll start with the present. At the time of writing, I find myself in Madison, Wisconsin. My preoccupation as of late is no longer my next backpacking trip through some US national park.
Casual Earth Steam
In less than a month, I’ll be boarding a plane one-way to the Middle East, and I don’t plan to come back to the US for over a year (closer to two).
Indeed, my current preoccupation is selling my car, getting back to NY, and finding some clever way to fit my folding bicycle into a checked bag that’ll go under the bike-fee radar for the German airline on my flight to Israel.
Thunderer Campsite in the morning
My last major stop was Yellowstone, and my what an adventure that was! For the record, if you visit Yellowstone in September, all the backpacking permit fees are waved. And there’s at least 3 campsites that are entirely accessible by bicycle. But, even if you just visit Yellowstone by car, it’s quite an experience. There’s fewer awe-inspiring vistas than other national parks, but looking across a low-lying basin with huge plumes of water vapor rising from patches of pools stretching out to the horizon offers a unique sort of inspiration in it’s own wright.
When I arrived to the San Francisco Bay Area, my friend thrust his copy of Kerouac’s Dharma Bums in my hand. “Read this” he said, “you’ll like it.”
Like Japhy did for Smith, I outfitted my friend, and we headed off into the smokey Sierras towards Matterhorn–to follow in Jack Kerouac’s footsteps.
After living out of a car and bumming around the States for the better part of a year, I soon found myself back in Berkeley–working in libraries by day and sleeping in my Prius micro-home at night–pouring through Kerouac’s description of SF and Berkeley from the 40s and 50s — 60 years before my present bumming around the same city.
Hoover Wilderness Stream
In Dharma Bums, Kerouac (Smith) describes his ascent of Mount Matterhorn (in the California Sierras), guided by their enlightened, outdoorsy friend Japhy.
My friend and I later made plans to go trekking together. It was his first overnight trek, and what better place to go than Yosemite? After all, that was where I’d gone on my first overnight trek a few years ago.
In the past few months, I cycled ~1,500 km through FL & GA, built a couple 3d printers in Missouri, summited the highest mountain in New Mexico, backpacked through Zion, saw the Grand Canyon for the first time, and became a humble guest of East Jesus in Slab City.
In the past few months, I cycled ~1,500 km through Florida, built a couple 3d printers in Missouri, summited the highest mountain in New Mexico, backpacked through Zion, saw the Grand Canyon for the first time, and became a humble guest of East Jesus in Slab City.
It’s been a while since I last wrote, but I finally have some downtime as I try to survive the 46 degree heat of Slab City in late June. When I crowdsourced info on the Slabs before I came, everyone’s response was pretty terse: “don’t go” they said, “you’ll be miserable”
It’s not often that I’m in the SW, and visiting Slab City has long been a dream of mine (coupled with the fact that the police have been harassing me in the past few weeks–I was quite ready for anarchy).
As for the desert’s summer heat: I’ve cycled through the entire width of Nevada in July, so I’m familiar with my body’s limits on heat. I figured I would be OK so long as I had sufficient water & shade.
Start in Key WestFinish in Atlanta
Before I left Prescott Valley, AZ en-route to California, I spent a few hours dumpster diving for water containers. I was quick to find a bunch of ~1L plastic soda bottles, but I wanted something bigger. Behind an ihop & a taco bell I found what I was looking for: used 20L vegetable oil carboys. I got two of them anticipating a ~1 week stay in the Slabs. I washed them out very well with soap & water, and I filled them (and a dozen or so other 0.5-4L bottles) to the brim with clean, potable water.
As for shade: I didn’t have much in the way of providing decent shade. I could have bought a tarp, but I decided to go the interdependent route; there’s plenty of full-time Slabbers who have plenty semi-permanent structures for shade. I learned that there was an Internet Cafe in the Slabs, and figured–if nothing else–I could probably bring gifts to the Slabbers in exchange for their shade and internet. But what would a Slabber value?
I drove to Taos. Unfortunately, I was unable to find anyone to let me ram their tires full of earth without me paying them…so I ended up leaving town–climbing to the top of the highest mountain peak in New Mexico on my way out.
I came across the East Jesus website (a nonprofit artist community that actually owns their land in the Slabs). The website literally had a section listing their needs. After some consideration, I went to the hardware store to buy peat moss and duct tape. And then I took a trip to the liquor store to buy their cheapest 1.75 L bottle of whiskey ($14!).
Observation Point, Zion
When I arrived to East Jesus the next day, my peat moss, duct tape, and whiskey were very well received. As I chatted with the resident summer artist over (cold!) water & whiskey, I got a ton of useful information about life in Slab City. And–as the sun was setting while I was looking for a space in the Slabs to call my own, my friend at East Jesus intercepted me and offered to let me set up in Kaos camp at East Jesus 😀
Grand Canyon
I’m full of gratitude as I sit on this old couch under shade by big box fan, sipping my refrigerated water surrounded by a dense display of artwork, much of which is heavily accented by empty bullet casings and nitros canisters.
But how did I get here?
After completing my bicycle ride to Atlanta, I spent about a month visiting family and improving the livability of my Prius.
After a 20-odd hour greyhound down to Key West, FL, I unfolded my Brompton, strapped on my gear (a 50L backpack & big ortlieb front pannier), and began my next cycling journey: a mildly-circuitous, ~1,500 km from Key West, FL to Atlanta, GA.
last month I was squinting to see the road through the flurries of snow as I drove my salt-covered Prius down the east coast…Now I’m dipping my toes in the warm ocean in Key West
Just last month I was squinting to see the road through the flurries of snow as I drove my salt-covered Prius down the east coast of the US. I planned to take my time, but I was eager to get out of the snow.
Escaping NYC WinterSmathers Beach
Now I found myself basked in sunshine–dipping my toes in the warm, gorgeous salt waters of Smathers Beach.
My one-night host in Florida worked at a sea kayak joint, and they graciously gifted me time on a kayak to wander the calm, shallow waters of Key West. After a few hours of getting lost in the mangroves on my way out of town, I hit the road and took my time over the next few days cycling from Key to Key until I finally crossed the last bridge into mainland Florida.
I’ve spent the past couple weeks with family in South Florida, but tomorrow I’ll be back on the saddle. Tomorrow I’ll be cycling through Parkland and along State Road 827 (locally known as Browns Farm Road) through the Everglades up to Lake Okeechobee. Google Street View doesn’t cover 20km of the road (it ends abruptly at a barrier in the Loxahatchee Road Boat Ramp parking lot), but it does appear to be intact and available to non-motorized vehicles. Here’s to hoping all the bridges visible in the grainy satellite imagery are still intact!
A couple of weeks ago, I found myself on an unfamiliar bicycle–winding through cars on the streets of São Paulo, Brazil. As we went over a narrow bridge, my couch surfing host shouted back at me, “watch out for the motorcycles!” They were splitting the lanes too, and a force to be avoided.
Cycling São Paulo
I arrived to Southern Brazil after Argentina and Uruguay. After a couple weeks in Buenos Aires, I hopped a bus up to Montevideo, Uruguay–where I spent a week. As quickly as I fell in love with the people, the culture, the herbs, and the Fainá, I was off NB again. I had 2 days to bus 2,000 km up to Rio de Janeiro. There was no bus that went the entire distance, and bus companies in Brazil require Brazilian IDs to purchase tickets online. So I bought a ticket to Pelotas and crossed my fingers. When I arrived, the bus to Rio was sold-out, but I just bought a ticket North, and–after a few transfers–I reached a station in Florianópolis with a straight-shot to Rio.
Foz do Iguaçu
It was a bit intimidating stepping onto the street out of the bus station when I finally arrived (well, after chasing down my bus–banging on the side to let me re-board; I had forgotten my jacket in the seat pocket). Brazil, and Rio especially, is known for both violent crimes and petty theft–both on behalf of the poor and the police. This is a country with vast resources–one of the most powerful emerging economies in the world–yet there is still massive class disparity and corruption. In fact, the streets were still tagged with spraypaint condemning the political coup 5 months earlier that saw the ousting of Dilma Rousseff (from the Workers’ Party).
After a week in Buenos Aires, my injuries sustained by 10 days of backpacking in Patagonia have mostly healed. I initially only intended the 123 km circut at Torres del Paine National Park in Southern Chile to take 7 days, but complications with rangers, a blizzard, and increasing pain in my ankles, feet, and–worst of all–my knees slowed my journey; fortunately I over-packed food.
my only ticket or reservation included this one-way plane ticket from Santiago de Chile to Punta Arenas–the furthest south I’ve ever been.
After 3 weeks in Santiago de Chile, with a brief weekend visit to Valpariso and Maintencillo to visit friends, I woke on Saturday–the first day of my 2 week vacation–at 05:30 to catch a plane to Punta Arenas. I had a rough sketch of plans from the time my plane arrived in this southern Chilean town until the time I was to arrive in Buenos Aires 2 weeks later, but my only ticket or reservation included this one-way plane ticket from Santiago de Chile to Punta Arenas–the furthest south I’ve ever been.
Patagonia Pack Damage
I arrived to the airport with a overly-stuffed backpack full of instant, no-heat, vegan, dehydrated trail food (couscous, instant potatoes, raisins, mixed nuts, tortillas, peanut butter, oil, and various soup & spice packets). My pack was bulging with two gigantic ever-running holes on the critical sides along the main zipper. My couchsurfing host amazingly had a half meter of webbing to give me just before graciously driving me to the airport, but I hadn’t time to sew my pack before the flight. I hastily pulled out my ~50ft of paracord, and tightly bound the pack with the entire length. I waited in line with all the other backpackers headed for Patagonia, sacrificed a lighter to the airport security, and boarded my plane.
Torres Del Paine
After my arrival to the Punta Arenas airport, I searched for a bus to get to Puerta Natales–the gateway town a short 3 hour bus ride from the Torres Del Paine National Park. The information desk told me the inter-city busses picked up at the airport, but required tickets purchased in advance. I awaited one of these busses a few hours later, standing in a line with backpackers more prepared than I. When a bus arrived and my neighbors presented their pre-printed tickets, I asked the bus driver in my broken spanish if I could pay for the ride now. There was no issue; I was told to get on the bus. Moreover, I somehow blended-in with the group, as the ticket man walking up & down the isle demanding ticket proof never approached me.
Torres Del Paine Entrance
After a sleepy ride on the bus with more comfortable chairs than the plane, we arrived to Puerto Natales’ main bus station. I previously searched for the cheapest hostel online, and walked there with my fingers crossed. They had a 13.000 CLP bed in a mixed dorm, and offered cheap luggage store during the trek for 1.000 CLP. I separated my items, leaving my electronics and some superfluous clothes & toiletries behind. I spent the rest of the night sewing long patches of webbing to pack’s critical rips. I ate dinner and went to bed early.
The next morning, I had a fast breakfast, grabbed my webbing-patched pack, and was on the bus to Torres Del Paine by 07:30. The scenery was mostly the same–Patagonia is mostly large, empty fields with cows–with only the occasional mountains & glaciers, to which I intended to immerse myself in shortly.
we had to ford a river…I stubbornly didn’t want to remove my boots, so I decided to jump…While I was able to jump to the sandbar without issue, I did so immediately after I had thrown my backpack directly into the water
We arrived, stood in line, paid for entry, and watched a bilingual video about the rules of the park. Their biggest concern was wild fires, as careless tourists from Czech Republic & Israel have tragically burned down nearly 500,000 hectares in 1985, 2005, and 2011. Personally, I didn’t even have a stove. Everything I had could be rehydrated cold–though I would never do this again where the water source is glacier melt and the temperature is regularly less than 10 degrees!
We awoke to the sound of a marmot under our mini-van shelter atop Hatcher Pass. It was my last weekend in Alaska, and S wanted to take me outside the Anchorage bowl–where I’ve been living the past month. We ate breakfast as we gazed upon the snow-capped mountains in the distance, then grabbed our packs and climbed up to the ridgeline, stopping to appreciate the fine view of Mount Denali–the highest peak in North America.
I hosted S as a couchsurfer in my temporary “apartment” in Anchorage, but we initially met in an online form; we were both searching for a travel companion to split the cost on a ship from Anchorage, AK to Vancouver, BC.
Mikey stands on an mountain in Alaska on McHugh Peak overlooking the ocean
3 months ago, S left her office job in Zürich, flew to Vancouver, and bought a mini-van named Bourbon. Living in Bourbon, she drove through BC, Alberta, Saskatchewan, the Yukon, and west into Alaska. I hosted her a few times when she passed south through Anchorage down to Homer, then again West to Valdez. Our last weekend in Alaska, we took one last trip outside Anchorage before she sold Bourbon
After climbing down from the ridgeline above Hatcher’s Pass, we drove through the valley down a long gravel road to the Reed Lakes trailhead. 4 miles and much climbing later, we arrived at the most pristine, glacier-fed lake I’ve ever seen. A local told us it’s the best lake in Alaska, and that the glacier that fed this lake (just over the ridgleine) was called “bomber glacier”, as a crashlanded (world war 2?) bomber plane could be found atop the glacier. If we had more time, gear, and food, it would make a glorious multi-day weekend hike to Bomber Glacier–perhaps for my next visit to Alaska.
I’ve been living with my friend in the SF Bay Area for the past month. I’m writing this from a cozy, finished room in the corner of a large, leaky warehouse hosting a datacenter and massive library of books in Richmond, CA. The building is owned by a nonprofit library that digitizes books and makes them available online, and my friend has become something of its caretaker while in school.
Big Basin Redwoods State Park
Last weekend, on my friend’s Spring Break, I went on my first bicycle tour in over a year. From the Bay Area, we took a train down to San Luis Obispo, and started riding ~300 miles along highway 1, through Big Sur, back to San Francisco. It was a trying journey–both physically & emotionally, but also really really really beautiful. And I needed the Vitamin D. But I could have been spared the Poison Oak and sunburn…
The SF Bay Area is always a great place to be. It was great to spend time with Friends & Family I hadn’t seen since I moved from Berkeley to travel the world over a year ago. I’d like to stay longer, but there’s still so much of the world to see. The weather is getting warmer, and Canada is calling!
Mikey Pacific Ocean Cliff
J + Ocean Cliff
Welcome to Big Sur
Tour w J
San Francisco 249 Miles
San Luis Obispo
California Amtrak
Saturday morning I plan to wake up at the crack of dawn, load up my bicycle, and ride ~80 miles to Sacramento before Sunday evening. I’ll spend a week staying with a new friend in Sacramento, then I’ll be going up to Eugene, where I’ll be staying with a friend at the Lost Valley Eco Village.
A trip to India is not complete without a visit to the Golden Temple in Amritsar, Punjab.
Admiring the Golden Temple in Amritsar, India.
This mecca for the Sikh faith is an ideal representation of compassion, hospitality, and socialism. Though it’s comparing apples & oranges, I found the Golden Temple to be somewhere between 10-100x a better visit than the Taj Mahal.
This immaculate white-marble square surrounds a massive, sacred, holy-water-filled tank. The pilgrims come here to bathe in the holy water, in which fish swim happily (the Sikh are pure vegetarians). At the center of the tank is a beautiful Golden Temple. All are welcome to visit the Golden Temple, and the square is open on 4 sides 24/7. The friendly spear-and-sword-armed guards only require you to follow a few simple, respectful rules: don’t bring socks or footwear in the square & cover your head.
You can also sleep for free in the complex, in Air-Conditioned quarters. They serve free food & tea constantly throughout the day & night (Langar). And there’s a free museum to learn about the history and theology of Sikhism.
I spent 2 glorious days in Amritsar, most of which was spent reading in the square, admiring the Golden Temple and the utopian atmosphere.
Golden Temple in Amritsar, India.
Full Moon over the Golden Temple at night
Golden Temple at night
I also went to Jallianwala Bagh, the site of the 1919 massacre where British troops–without warning–fired upon men, women, and children; killing over a thousand. I was shocked to find many Indians taking smiling selfies in front of the still-standing bullet-hole-filled walls. For the first time in my 3-month stay in India, I denied requests to selfies.
And I briefly visited the Wagah Pakistani border and left with an intense desire to cross to bear witness to the culture of the more tranquil Pakistanis.
My last night in Amritsar, I caught the midnight train back to Delhi for a cheap flight back to Bangalore.
