Stop off at Home

On line journals abound. I haven't really kept a journal, at least while at home and not exploring a foriegn land, ever. But thinking in writing is healing, soothing. And I am beginning to like it.

I am stopping off this weekend, at home, briefly to feed and love the feline, put in 18 hours for the man, and to catch some good z's in my memory foam matress. I love it how my love of travel near and far helps keep home fresh, rewarding, comfy and well, like home. The racing is pure adrenaline, trying, grueling and humbling. I am just touching home really between visits to great people whom I love and admire. Showering and laundering between start lines and finish lines, between meals and mistakes, between hugs and heriones, between hours lost and wisdom gained.

And at home as on the road lately, I am meeting great people - not nearly as often as I meet idiots. But one passionate, intelligent, insightful human can make up for hundreds of their drugged out, burnt out, worn out, stretched out bretheren. Along with newbees, I am learning to appreciate and admire people long in my life for reasons that before I was too busy to see.

I once wrote, after 9 months in SE Asia mind you (without a bike), that the back roads of Sonoma County were "home." I have never felt more at home than I did in July of 1997, riding out the Russian River Valley. I got home after almost 3 days of travel across the Pacific and first thing in the morning, I put my bike together and rode out to Forestville. What a name for a town! Deserving too, if ya like redwoods and firs.

And now, for the first time, I have a new home, SLO. The trees aren't as tall or green, and the roads aren't as varied or lost. But this place feels like home. Climbing up on Bishop's peak and watching the sunset over Morro Bay and the moon rise over Reservior Canyon is a nice way to end a day, start a night. I bet you'll be with someone you like.