Day 1 was incredible. I started at Goat Rock State Beach and had a number of friends and family there to see me dip my tires in the Pacific. I scooped up some Pacific water to transport with me and dump in the Atlantic when I reach it (hopefully I don't carry over any West Coast bacteria).
The start was a pretty rough climb but we all made it. Joel and Brent rode from Santa Rosa to meet us, then rode back so they had over 70 miles! Pat rode with us from the beach to Monte Rio and then back, and we swooped up my sister Nat in Forestville.
A lovely jaunt through west Sonoma County brought us to Russian River Brewing Co. where a number of other friends met up and we proceeded to eat and drink from 3-7:30! One fantastic aspect to biking is I'm able to then devour 4 delicious beers (Blind Pig IPA, Sanctification, Russian River Porter, and Pliny the Elder) plus half a large pizza. After filling our bellies we finished the 3 miles to Spring Lake and camped with s'mores and Jiffy Pop!
It was truly amazing to have friends, family, and loved ones come out to support me in the onset of this journey. I look forward to seeing a few along the way but most will be out of sight until Fall.
Thinking about Trevor leaving on his bike trip to talke a "Grand Tour" it reminded me of a poem david Whyte had recited at one of his gatherings at Mt Madonna. The Poem he recited was by Patrick Kavanagh called "The Self-Slaved". That's where I heard the term "The Grand Tour" It was an English or possibly European custom to travel around as a young man, calling it "The Grand Tour".
ReplyDeleteAnyway, thinking it appropriate for the day I read the poem at Trevor's send-off along with a piece by Carol's blog "Uncategorized"
I wish him well on his "Grand Tour"
Dad
find your spirit
The biggest source of addiction and illness is the lack of intimacy with one’s spirit, or soul.
Having access to this part of ourselves is nurtured in our creative mind. When was the last time you felt tied to imagination in that glorious, open way of childhood?
Too soon in life, our imaginings are discounted, seen as unnecessary or silly, and we suppress this very essential passage to the creations of spirit. Society certainly encourages us to march blindly into the “norms” of our times. We can easily lose our original thoughts as we try to fit in. I think one reason some of us enjoy watching children so much is that they show us that hidden world of expression and play that we shoved down deep inside of us.
Some of us have jobs that require creative thought or we problem solve from this more expansive part of our brain,…but when was the last time you lay on your back to watch clouds pass overhead and let your mind wander? What were the dreams you had when you were eight years old? Do you incorporate that self into your world now?
Do we even see our surroundings once we get used to them? Question the color on the wall? The arrangement of trinkets which mark our passage through space and time? Do we dare diverge in our thinking as we observe the world around us?
What is the dream for your self at this point in time? Is it more simplicity? Maybe an adventure? Perhaps it’s been a while since you met a new person who could help you feel your edges?
It’s too easy to lose the visionary inside of ourselves. Maybe finding a way to nurture that self will lead to a more fully realized and unique being that we are all capable of. In doing so, it may help all of us heal the parts of us longing to be expressed,…and we can forgive all the ways we let ourselves be made small in our journeys.
After all,…there really is only one you,….or one me,….and if it is not expressed in this place and time in all its potential,….that is a real shame. Dare to be all that you are, and see how much joy it can bring!
Posted in Uncategorized on March 21st, 2010 by carol – Be the first to comment
Poem: Patrick Kavanagh: The Self-Slaved
Me I will throw away.
Me sufficient for the day
The sticky self that clings
Adhesions on the wings
To love and adventure,
To go on the grand tour
A man must be free
From self-necessity
See over there
A created splendour
Made by one individual
From things residual
With all the various
Qualities hilarious
Of what
Hitherto was not:
A November mood
As by one man understood;
Familiar, an old custom
Leaves falling, a white frosting
Bringing a sanguine dream
A new beginning with an old theme
Throw away thy sloth
Self, carry off my wrath
With its self-righteous
Satirising blotches.
No self, no self-exposure
The weakness of the proser
But undefeatable
By means of the beatable
I will have love, have love
From anything made of
And a life with a shapely form
With gaiety and charm
And capable of receiving
With grace the grace of living
And wild moments too
Self when freed from you.
Prometheus calls me: Son,
We’ll both go off together
In this delightful weather