West Coast

Out of high school, I went to Hollywood, became homeless, and lived on the road by bicycle from Southern California to Oregon, Idaho, Spokane, Seattle, and south along the coast to San Francisco before my bike broke and I hitchhiked to Newport, Oregon and came into Corvallis. Now, I'm here and have been for a year and a half. What it seemed to be – my time in Corvallis – was for communal restoration and the improvement through each other by God. It was a wild ride and will continue to be through what's left until September (two year reunion of being here) when I take to the coast with my cat Marilyn and ride south to Hollywood where I will pursue a career in cinema.

I spent the most of this morning reading the blog of a woman cyclist that I met on the coast of Oregon and rode with for a couple days before we split ways from each other. Beyond that nostalgia are memories coupled with spring coming on and the scents that take me to places I had been on the road. When the scent of flowers blooms in the heat of spring and life around heats up: I simmer with adventure for the coastal trip I had. Walking through a thick of pines is the reminder of golden light pools scattered on coniferous trees around my campsite in past. 

In my writing, I feel like Meriwether Lewis. Sometimes I lose interest and would pursue creativity in other ways. That's fine. Being unproductive is worst of all. In preparation by forethought: I excite over maps, savings, bikes, dreams, and the freedom my spirit needs in venture. Being in community for this while was what part of me needed, but my spirit desires a journey of its own just the same.