Does the road wind uphill all the way?

                        Yes, to the very end. 

                        Will the journey take the whole long day?

                        From morn to night, my friend.

                                                     Christina Rossetti

Bicycling.  I like it for the movement.  I don't know if­ it's poetry in motion, but it is poetry in me. The crank-set is ­the engine of my travels and the wheels turn with every stroke of­ my legs.  Each day is an experience of movement like the reels of­ a movie slowly unwinding into scenes of cities, people, mountains, or ­clouds gathering in the sky.

          I like moving slowly, under my own power, being inside this ­living motion picture.  No cameras are trained on me, no­ orchestra plays music, yet there are whole symphonies echoing­ from canyons, mountains and deserts.  Birds provide piccolos and­ flutes.  Thunder rocks the heavens with base.  The wind is a ­hundred violins singing in the trees--and lightning is a golden­ harp strung across the sky. 

          I ride through the day dazzled by nature's artistry.  I move ­at my own speed, savoring each unfolding vista--a river valley,­ rocky seashore, or a mountain range bearded with evergreens.  ­Animals, birds and insects add their special design to nature’s tapestry.  Sunsets and sunrises roll across the sky­ like avalanches of fire, taking my breath away and enhancing my ­spirituality and closeness to the universe.  Their beauty gives ­me much food for thought as I eat my simple meal by a campfire.

          And yet, there is another thing that would make this­ perfection more enjoyable. Man is a social animal, not meant to ­spend long intervals alone.  There is this conflict, this­ dichotomy between the self that sustains me and the adventure--­versus the person who loves home and hearth.  But then, there are ­never easy choices.  Yin and Yang govern us at every turn; there­ is the active wanderer or the passive stay-at-home person, and ­they wrestle at every turn of the wheels.

          Still, I must admit that almost anything is better if it is­ shared with another person.  Were it not true, it is unlikely ­humanity would exist.  Because we are animals born of the wilderness,­ struggle is our destiny.  Whether I grind up a steep mountain with ­panniers bulging and muscles straining, or coast easily down the­ other side, it’s constant quest.  But doing it alone presents a dilemma.   I would rather do this, and all things, with a­ friend. 

          Bicycle touring, like going to the movies, is more fun when­ shared with another person.  Who else are you going to nudge when­ the good guy jumps off a cliff in a harrowing escape from the­ villains?  Who else can you reach over for a handful of popcorn ­or sip his or her drink?  A friend or life-mate.  

          Friendship.  It's more important than panniers.  It's more ­important than what I own or what I carry.  Such companionship ­energizes me.  It comes from the natural chemistry of two people ­who enjoy each others' company. A friend is one who shares your­ spirit. You can be yourself because he or she makes no judgments ­upon your behavior, and likes you the way you are--and you like ­the way he or she is.  It's a mutual plateau of peacefulness that­ enhances the journey with laughter, trust, and affection--and­ shares its problems and joys.

          I've traveled many roads around this planet, many times ­alone.  I would rather have done it with someone, but I must face ­the fact that most men and women are not suited for being bicycle ­gypsies--their eyes are on a different prize. 

          I have witnessed amazing beauty, and incomparable ugliness. ­I have seen the horror of hundreds of miles of blackened rain ­forests and sunsets worth a million dollars in gold.  If I had­ that much, I would have given it up to share those experiences ­with a friend.

          How much delight can the armchair traveler or weekend ­tourist gain from a quick flight over the Grand Canyon, or a two-­hour exposure to the Great Wall of China?  There is no substitute ­for time, and that's the one thing a bicycle traveler has.  It is ­why I will be able to tell my grandchildren that I saw the rain­ forests being destroyed; walked for miles on the Great Wall while­ listening to the ancient dead who built it--and it is why I will­ go to my grave a satisfied man, for I will have done what so many­ people only dream about. 

          I think that is what drives me on, what causes me to punish ­my body when I work hard to earn the money for my adventures.  It ­may be why I have never married, preferring to put that off until­ a time when I feel I've seen as much of this planet as I am destined to see. I'm only going around once and want to see as ­much as I can.  I embrace the labor necessary to make that ­possible.  The planning is hard, the preparation is rigorous, and­ even the journey is maximum exertion--comparable to the pioneers­ with their Conestoga wagons crossing the plains.  It is—I ­admit--a mixture of heaven and hell, and while it may be a demon­ that drives me, it is the angels I see in the clouds above the ­Andes, and the presence of the Creator, the emerging creative force, everywhere the turning wheels of­ life take me.

          Bicycle traveling as a way of living creates many ­experiences "normal" people rarely enjoy.  It comes from moving­ out of the realm of routine security, into the unknown world of­ chance.  It is a bit frightening--yet exhilarating--something­ like leaving home for the first time as a teenager.  It takes ­courage to abandon the nest, to leave town, and break away from ­safe reference points.

          The first time I found myself 1,000 miles from home, with my­ life dependent on a simple metal frame, panniers holding all my ­possessions and two rubber tires, I wept.  I am sure much of it ­was from loneliness, amplified by a 100-mile day.    A strange ­ache throbbed in my mind.  All my friends lay behind me, secure­ in their homes, enjoying dinner and watching a show on­ television.  Here I was on a cold mountaintop, with the wind ­moaning through my bicycle spokes, unpacking my tent and sleeping ­bag.  There wasn't another soul within a hundred miles.  I was­ alone, a solitary man on a solitary journey.  Damn right I missed­ home!  At that moment I would have given all I owned for the ­sound of a human voice, and the sight, coming through the dusk, ­of another human being.  That's when the tears poured down my­ cheeks.

          With my heart heavy as an anvil, I pulled my food pack out ­of my panniers, along with my stove, and began cooking dinner.  ­Somehow, the act of working, of taking care of needs, became like­ a balm soothing my soul.  Just then, a silvery moon peeped above ­the distant mountain, as the sky turned cobalt blue.  It was like­ all the golden chariot wheels of creation paraded across the ­sky--elevating my mood.

          I listened to the song of the escaping steam, to the birds ­chirping and the whispering wind, and looked up, as the starlight ­sky became the ceiling of my kitchen.  Then I half-shouted, "For ­God's sake man, get real!  This is living life.  Accept it and­ quit feeling sorry for yourself.  Enjoy it, damn it!"

          I have been lonely since, but never like that--and always,­ the thrill of being on a bicycle, miles and miles into a strange­ land, overcame any melancholy moments I had upon remembering­ friends and home.

          It's never been simple, but it does get easier.  As a ­departure date creeps up on me, waves of tension grip my stomach. ­A strange ache throbs in my mind:  Do I really want this?  But ­the greater stimulations of the world touch my soul, and I'm off­ on another grand exploration.  Who knows, they may even last a­ lifetime. 

Once in Australia's Outback to my incredulous­ disbelief, I met Bob and Sarah Wilson in their late 70's. They too, were bicycling around the world, and I was overwhelmed by ­their courage--until they laughingly assured me that it was fun,­ a wondrous adventure they had dreamed of as they raised their­ children and now, they were free of obligations.  "We'll be on ­tour till we die," vowed Sarah.  I believe they will and may good ­fortune be with them.

          In preparing for a journey, my mind changes to a traveling ­mode.  If I'm going alone, it gears up for the loneliness I will­ experience.  But with each adventure into the unknown, I­ encountered others like myself.  They are out there--and it's ­always a joy to be with them.  We meet as equals, no questions­ asked--so a lot of BS is quickly dispensed with.

          Our mutual reference points are places we've been and the­ places we're headed for--discussions no others can understand ­unless they have escaped their daily orbits and flung themselves ­into this supreme adventure.  Meeting others of like persuasion­ is one of the great joys of traveling adventure's highway.  I met ­John Brown, an Aussie on the Princess Highway south of Sydney­ that way.

          "Where you from, mate?" he asked, after we shook hands.

          "Colorado, USA."

          "Nice push-bike."

          "It's a pretty good ride and really dependable."

          "That's good," he said. "This'n's been a bit of a booger, ­but it's held up pretty well considering I rode across Europe and­ my country with it."

          We've ridden together since and have become close friends.

          Traveling through different cultures, I have gained­ perspective on my own country. One of America's saddest­ afflictions, as I see it, is the possessions that have made us materially rich, but spiritually poor.  Think about it.  When ­have you ever read or heard that wealth made great men, made ­historical heroes, or created men of courage and vision?  My ­reading in religion, philosophy, and novels by great writers has ­shown me that it is the pioneering spirit that builds nations, ­and a lack of it that breaks them down.  We see it everywhere in­ the destruction of our planet and in rampant overpopulation.  

Living today is even more frustrating.  We own so many ­possessions, but we can't buy love or friendship, so we starve to death in the lonely vacancies of our hearts. 

Yet, we make our ­choices, and too often they are big cars, status homes, and more ­excess. 

Curiously, our homes are poorly designed energy-wasters. ­The Indians of the plains had the best home, the tipi, warm in ­the winter and cool in the summer.  Its cone-shaped design ­remains one of the greatest architectural marvels, considering it ­came from a "primitive" source.

          Those who bicycle tour understand how little is needed for­ comfort and survival. Once, high in the Andes, I pedaled through­ a blizzard and was on the verge of freezing to death.  It wasn't ­a fine mansion with a huge fireplace that saved me.  It was a­ simple tent, known since the dawn of time.  When mankind first­ discovered how to take animals and cure their skins, he also­ discovered what nature had given the beasts of the field, would­ also keep him warm and dry.  It's a simple equation--but it ­escapes most of us.  Tipis were made of buffalo hides.  Animal­ skins made beds.  No plastics need apply.

          Each of us makes choices in our lives, and  I am a prisoner of my wanderlust.  I would love to have a sweetheart go with me on ­every world journey. But I know that is a forlorn hope--so I go ­myself.  Something drives me to see another sunset, or one more ­mountain range, even if I must see it in solitude.  But in the ­final analysis I long for someone to share the journey--someone­ to accompany me down the byroads of my soul.

          Wendell Berny wrote: "The world cannot be discovered by a ­journey of miles, no matter how long, but only by a spiritual­ journey, a journey of one inch, very arduous, humbling and ­joyful, by which we arrive at the ground at our feet, and learn­ to be at home."

          My home is the world.  I'd prefer sharing it with someone.