Beautiful by Bike - by Kellie Morris

Beauty can manifest itself in so many different ways. I am a city gal: I was born in Los Angeles and have lived here all my life.  I have lived in the South Bay most of my life.   Most of the beautiful things I have appreciated are manmade.  I can appreciate the beauty of a well-designed building.  I can appreciate the beauty of a sleek car or a well-designed freeway intersection that sucks you in and effortlessly spits you out with no change in your speed.  I can appreciate a pedicure that lasts three weeks (don’t look too closely!) with no touchups.

On May 17, 2012 I set out on an Epic Journey to ride my recumbent trike across the United States with two other cyclists. We met in Bar Harbor Maine and intended to ride west to Washington State.   

This adventure would be an extreme departure for me: I am a city gal who had camped once but now would camp most nights for three months.  After several weeks of camping I can see the beauty of camping: setting up a puzzle work of cloth and poles and stakes that becomes a mini temporary house that protects you from the harsh elements for a few hours as you slumber.  There is beauty in a down sleeping bag that reflects your own body heat to keep you as warm as a baby cradled on your mom’s arms.  There is beauty in opening your bags of foods, throwing it in one pot, applying heat and producing an edible (and often tasty) meal.  There is beauty in relaxing after a good meal and taking in all that surrounds you: sights, smells and sounds of nature.

During my ride through Maine, New Hampshire and Vermont, I had a companion that rode along with me: water! There seemed to be running water in the form of a stream, a creek, a lake, a river or a trickle down rocks along the road for the majority of the miles I road in these states.  It was a welcoming comforting sound that I missed when we road into New York. 

The irony of communing with nature is that, even in the city, nature is all around you. But nature is only a whisper to the roar of civilization.  I’ll give you an example: the birds start singing and calling and warbling when the sun rises. They are nature’s alarm clock.  But birds in the city also make this racket. I never heard it because my ears were tuned to the alarm clock I had set. 

I saw beautiful sights as I rode but what remains with me is the beauty of the people I met during my ride. There was the police officer, who we never met but only talked to on the phone, who let us camp in the city park because we were too hot and too exhausted and could not ride the additional 20 miles to the campground we planned to use.  There was the group at the VFW who let us camp behind their post.  There were two Warm Showers host families who warmly welcomed us into their homes. There was the bike shop owner who crammed the three of us and all our gear into his van and drove us five miles in a cold downpour to a hotel. There was the fellow who drove my trailer to the top of a challenging mountain pass I was climbing in a cold rain and dropped it off with my companions. There were the health care workers who took care of my needs before asking about my insurance.  There was the bike mechanic who replaced my shift cable free and said his payment was in knowing that I would be able to have an enjoyable ride the next day.

My journey ended after three weeks of riding due to some health issues. I have an autoimmune disease that leaves me with a compromised immune system. I received a few bug bites that quickly became infected.  It became clear to me that though my spirit was ready to conquer that three month trip; my body wasn’t up to the challenge. I learned an important lesson the day I decided to fly home: you have to know when your journey is over.

Southeast Asia by Katie Taylor

I didn't look beautiful when I woke up.  I saw the sun rising from my riverfront bungalow and felt drawn to action without preparation.  Look at those pinks spread across the Mekong river!  I must chase the light fast enough to draw it into the marrow of my bones. Each day I spend traveling in Southeast Asia, I seek moments that I'll remember forever. And here I am on Don Khon island in Southern Laos, watching the sun rise over my right shoulder.

I hopped on a rented city bicycle and set off towards the horizon.  I didn't have a destination but East, toward the blossoming morning.  The only main road veered north, so I followed its bumpy unpaved route until I found a trail headed towards the sunrise.  The tiny wheel sized road took me through a rundown Buddhist temple with saffron monk robes drying in the morning breeze.  I could barely marvel the experience before I found myself staring at a stream overlooking the sunrise by dried rice fields.  Look at that view. 

I followed my beloved trail south with the sunrise on my left and a small village on my right.  Sticky rice wafted over the warming morning air.  Children giggled in the path and shouted "Sabaidee!" as I crossed.  I smiled at an old man rocking in a hammock.  I waved at a woman wading into the river to wash up.  I felt blessed to venture through the waking village by bicycle.  My pedals moved slow enough to make eye contact and feel involved, but fast enough to avoid intruding. 

Past the village, trees gathered close around me until I found myself in the jungle.  I couldn't believe how easy it was to explore.  A quick right and left led me to a rickety bamboo bridge.  I briefly parked my bicycle to cross and stumbled across a magnificent waterfall on the other side.  Alone, I watched the bright daylight spread over Mekong rapids and beaches. 

Back on my bicycle and back into the jungle, I forded tiny stream crossings and bumpy trails.  A giant ox blinked at me while I slowly maneuvered around his hind legs.  Then, I heard childish laughter through the trees ahead.  A eight year old girl scaled up up up to knock jackfruit out of the branches while her young friends watched.  They were fascinated by me and spoke the only English word they knew - "hello."  We mimed a conversation and took pictures with each other amongst more giggles.  I felt blessed they let me into their lives for a moment. 

The bicycle moves at a human speed.  Strong legs, big smiles, and a quick wave invites others to participate with you unlike in any other vehicle.  In Cambodia, students would pedal harder to catch up and pepper me with the four questions they knew in English.  "Hello!  What is your name? Where are you from? How old are you?  Are you married?" 

I went through Thailand, Laos, Cambodia and Vietnam through a myriad of transportation options.  But I never felt more alive than when I was rattling down a rural road on an old Chinese bicycle waving at all I passed by & whom passed me. 

Now I'm back in Long Beach and I grin at the multitudes trying out their bicycles.  They're leaving their cars behind and experiencing the human condition, however briefly. They're participating in a community accessible only at the human level - other people smiling and waving with joy for the sunny day.  Try that out behind car windows; it's impossible to say "Sabaidee" or "Sues dei" at the people you came to visit.  Instead, hop on that bicycle and practice your beautiful smile on each person you encounter. 

You never know what beauty you'll see by bike.

Katie