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Often when I sit on the toilet I am struck with a clear understanding of the cyclical nature of life. As I struggle there, gripping the toilet seat red-faced, the realization wafts its way up to me that I will no longer be experiencing what I am currently experiencing and I know that, without pause it would seem, I will be back on the toilet again and another day will have passed and all that came in-between will have faded. I understand, in those moments at least, that all the activities I participate in on a daily basis come and go: I will be in my bed again eventually going to sleep and I will be in my bed again eventually waking up, and I will be eating breakfast, and waiting on line, and paying bills, and riding my bicycle, and drinking my water, and eating my Sharkies; it neither lasts forever nor ever truly ends. Life, as I know it then, is a foolish circle.

During the two days of travel after leaving Crater Lake I was never more aware than at that time of where I was and where I wasn’t and all I clung to was the thought of where I might be eventually. My greatest weakness, my greatest flaw, is that I usually feel I should be somewhere else, with someone else, doing something else. Not that I have ever had anything in particular in mind; not that I have ever had any idea of what is better or best for me in that moment; just that what I am doing never seems special enough to warrant its continuation. I pedaled along the roads of Southern Oregon and into the Northern region of California not wishing I was somewhere else — I had passed that stage — but, rather, thinking towards the future. I was not living in the moment those two days; I was concerned only with how I might arrange my life to have #6 in it again as soon as possible. But that last bond of anxiety and tension between the love triangle that was our trip, my lips, and the now notorious #6 was finally broken in Crescent City.

After a short morning ride through fog and a fascinating forest of redwoods, we arrived in Crescent City and headed to a library and then to a Family Planning Community Center where I worked the internet airwaves and the travel websites and every electronic means of communication possible in order to solidify the following arrangement: Ben and I would be arriving in San Francisco nearly two weeks earlier than planned; Ben had decided he would go back to his lovely lady on the East Coast and, upon arrival, they would go on a bike-touring trip together in the Green Mountains of Vermont (he is incorrigible, I know, but I have accepted this and tried to move on). The day after Ben would leave me in San Francisco I would fly to Los Angeles to meet another traveling and nomadic friend of mine and then, after a day or two in the Hollywood Hills, I would fly from Los Angeles directly to Seattle to rendezvous with #6 for four whole days of us and only us. No job; no bike trip; no best friends; just #6 and me at the end of my journey; at the end of my tale. Just the two of us. That was the plan.

After much emailing, phoning, and surfing, it was all settled. I had tickets; Ben had tickets; the money had exchanged pockets; condoms had been offered by the Family Planners; people had been notified; hands had been shook; plans had been made. We were free to enjoy the rest of our trip; the last weight of desire was lifted from my shoulders. For the rest of the day I floated around Crescent City on a bike that wasn’t weighted with gear and with a heart that wasn’t weighted with fear. I would see her again. I had a deadline, a plane ticket, a date to meet her, and in-between Crescent City and the moment I would hold her in my arms in the Seattle/Tacoma airport (in that strangest of strange cities) I could enjoy all that Ben and I would experience.

I was ready to go bike touring. And with that admission, God himself sent us a little sign that He approved of our decision and that we were free to enjoy ourselves and eat eggs again.

DAMON: We passed another gentleman today who was also doing a cross-country trip from Olympia, WA down to San Francisco. The most amusing thing about it though is that as we passed him he says:

“Well, I’ve been going strong but I’ve got to see a doctor tomorrow, I already have an appointment.”

We asked him what was wrong and he said that he was having a problem with his Achilles’ Tendon. And what’s even funnier is that it is his left Achilles’ Tendon. Will wonders never cease? Onward, upward, forward we go. Over and out.

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