On the Road Again... and Again... and Again.

That's the pattern in my life right now, traveling. Again and again. I am currently on a train to West Palm Beach to meet my sensitive drummer sailor friend Ben who I sailed with a couple of months ago. The one with the soon to be ex-quazi girlfriend. As soon as I arrived home from the retreat I got a text from him asking me to take a train to West Palm Beach where he would pick me up and I would accompany him to Key Weird (sailor lingo for Key West) to deliver a sailboat. Once there he would pay for all drinks, food and accommodations. Some may wonder why these sailors keep offering to pay for my trips to neat locations and no, I'm not sleeping with him. We're just friends. Sailors are just fun people and I guess they happen to like having me around. He also mentioned that he needed a party partner because he didn't want the Key Weirdians to hit on him.
It may seem strange that I accepted the offer, considering I just arrived home from a super spiritual health retreat and I must admit, my first instinct was to say no, be grounded, stay the spiritual course. But how can I resist an almost all expenses paid trip to the keys? I'm just not that spiritually evolved yet. And since I won't be settling down for at least another five or so years (per the advice of the vedic astrologer who also told me I would be able to give birth well into my forties - sweet!) - I can keep going. And going. And going. It's just what's in the cards for me right now. New places thrill me, and visiting old places that seem like home fill my soul.
So here I am, taking the AmTRIPPYtrack train to sunshine and blue water - two of my favorite things in the world. There is something to be said about trains. As WEIRD as they are - well - the trains themselves aren't weird - just the strangers who inhabit them. So anyway, as I was saying, as weird as they are - it's such a great way to travel. Yes it typically cost five times more than a flight and takes five times longer, but there is a sense of freedom that one feels while venturing the countryside by rail. I wish we had a system like Europe. And maybe a cart devoted to stretching - or a gym cart or something. Ooh! And a shower cart. OK, so there are some things lacking in the Amtrak system. Yes, your muscles do feel atrophied, like that of an eighty year old woman after a three day trip of immobility and truly terrible food, and we don't won't to talk about the smell. Lets leave that one out. BUT! The cool thing is that right now I am sitting in the dining car drinking a cup of coffee, my computer is plugged in and sitting on the table before me and as I'm writing to you, forests of pine and oak are flying by. Ok, and there's this really strange guy staring at me. He's kinda creeping me out. Ok, still staring. Annnnd I wish he'd stop.
Ok, so trains are weird. But I like them. Even though freak boy is still staring.

Or Maybe Not...

Maybe I won't go to South America. Let me know if you get tired of following my brain map around the world, but this is the evolution of my life right now. A constant bubbling of ideas that I myself can't quite keep up with. They come up so quickly and then just as quick they return to the place whence they came. I promise you! I have a really good reason for not going to South America. But let me start at the beginning, at least, the beginning of THIS particular part of the story.
I talked my mom into going to an ayurvedic retreat instead of the weird north carolina thing she wanted to go to. This turned out to be one of the best decisions of my life.
For those of you who don't know what Ayurveda is, it's the ancient indian system of medicine that yogis have been using for 5,000 years. And it's pretty powerful stuff. It is based on the five elements of fire, water, air, earth, and ether (whatever that means) and the therapist determines which constitution you are by feeling your pulse and basically checking you out. There are three Dosha types: Pitta which is fire and water, Vata which is air and ether, and Kapha which is earth and water. Pitta people tend to be firey, intelligent, irritable people (guess which one I am). Vata people are airheads, ungrounded, friendly, fast moving types, and Kapha people tend to be heavier, more grounded, slightly lazy people. They believe that imbalances in the body lead to disease, so besides determining what dosha you are, they also determine what your imbalances you have and recommend treatments and nutrition that will balance you out. They believe that opposites are balancing. So if you have a vata imbalance for instance, it's good to eat warming, grounding foods such as soups, and stay away from things like coffee or alcohol that exasperate the airiness in you (guess which imbalance I have).
Now, I am the type of person, in case you haven't noticed, that is constantly questioning EVERYTHING. I think I learned this in college, in the QUESTION EVERYTHING 101 class. So when I walk into a place like this, and the cheesy yoga music is playing through out the house, and you hear running water somewhere but... where the hell is it? And the people are talking as if, should they raise their voice, the walls may crumble around them, I say to myself, "Really? Is this for real?" and I feel a certain level of discomfort as my new agey-phobia sets in. Now, if I'M feeling this way my MOM has got to be like, "Oh god, what is this place? Where has my strange, yet intriguing daughter takin me?" The discomfort was seething from my mother's pores which put me even more on edge.
The first thing we did was a health consultation with the therapist, Richard Masla. He determined quickly from my obnoxiously sweaty hands and feet and my sharp, cunning wit that I was a pitta person. He also determined after two seconds of listening to my current state of affairs that I had a major vata imbalance and recommended that I see an Ayurvedic psychologist. There it is. That WORD. Psychologist. Just the sound of it sends the heeby jeebies (is that how you spell heeby jeebie?) through my veins. But since it was an ayurvedic psychologist who wouldn't be prescribing me any tiny chemical deposits to cover up and drown my soul, I agreed. But what I REALLY wanted was a reading from a vedic astrologer. Vedic astrologers are different than our western astrologers. In India, astrologers are considered highly spiritual people and are respected guides. They are not considered freaky floozies and they mostly lead very yogic lives. So I inquired within and sure enough there was one available and a meeting was scheduled.
After our consultation we had our first Ayurvedic lunch which was amazing. Ayurvedic food consist of fresh, organic vegetables and whole grains cooked to perfection with some staple spices such as ginger, garlic, cumin, and tumeric.
Once my food settled I went in for my first treatment. It was a full body massage with a hot oil specifically prepared from a 5,000 year old recipe which consisted of many herbs and oils. It was fantastic. They even put the oil in my hair and massaged my scalp.
Feeling super relaxed after the massage, and not having anything else to do, I settled in on the upper deck and did some reading and writing. At six o'clock was my first yoga class. The type of yoga they taught was much different than any I had ever experienced. It was in no way, shape, or form athletic which I totally needed, even if it wasn't what I totally wanted. The soul purpose of the yoga class was to settle the mind and relax the body. To calm and pacify. Most of the class was done on the ground. We got up at one point to do a couple balancing poses before settling back down into Savasana. This was a TOTALLY foreign concept to me. But I surrendered and let things be as they may.
For the next few days we followed roughly the same schedule. We woke in the morning for yoga, ate a light breakfast, went to our treatment, then to therapy sessions, then my favorite time of the day: lunch. We had the afternoons off until our six o'clock yoga class. Then my second favorite part of the day: dinner. To end the day my mom and I would watch a movie in my room and pass out.
You're probably wondering what any of this has to do with my canceling my trip to South America. Having time to relax and think about things got me wondering if traveling south was such a good idea. I started thinking about what I want to do with the next portion of my life. I started thinking about how happy I was during my yoga training. How nice it'd be to open a GOOD yoga studio in Jax Beach. One with an Ayurvedic therapy center and a vegetarian restaurant. Well, when I had my session with the astrologer he got a very worried look on his face about my trip to South America. He said it would be a very dangerous time for me to go there. He saw a stalker, or even rape in my charts. He also told me that training would be a great way to use my time right now. He was so right on about everything else he said about me that I figured I should listen to him. So the session confirmed the feelings that had been welling up through my newly found clarity. It seemed heading back to Los Angeles and continuing my yoga education was the best choice for me at this time. Yes, I am disappointed that my travels won't be leading me any place terribly new and exciting. But I have a feeling that if I work hard right now, it will lead to more exciting and adventurous things in the future.

The First Stumble

Ok, so after making my first step I made my first stumble. I booked my ticket to Guatemala with all the enthusiasm of a person who has finally gathered the courage to go for something, to go for ANYTHING. Just something! And then as I was sitting back and picturing myself on the sandy beaches of guatemala, taking a weekend trip to El Salvador, or maybe even Costa Rica, handing them my passport at the border and...
"MY PASSPORT!? Where the hell is my passport?
"I last saw it in my bike bag which is currently en route from New York to Charleston, South Carolina in my friend Ben's big (FREE) truck. But I KNOW that I grabbed it on that sleepless morning upon leaving New York, didn't I? It must be in my back pack, OK, my suitcase, NO?! OK, it has to be in my bike bag. HAS TO BE! I don't loose things."
I called my friend Ben in New York and he searched the bag for me.
"NOOOOOOOOOOOO! It's NOT THERE!" I cried with dismay.
I tore my parent's house apart three times over looking for it. "Where in the hell could it be?"
I called every person I had contact with in the past few weeks. It was nowhere to be found.
I looked into an expediting service. I'm now scheduled to leave in a week. Over $300 to get a new one by then.
"NO! NO! NO! Ok, breathe in, slow and long. Exhale, ahhhhhhhh. Surrender to the Universe. Ahhhhh.
"Fuck this shit I want my passport! FUCK FUCK FUCK!"
I couldn't afford to spend $300 on a new passport! Especially since I had the feeling that it WOULD turn up somewhere eventually.
And at the same time my mother was REVELING in her victory. The first thing she always says upon hearing a new dream of mine is, "NO!" And yes, this does fuck with one's head, just a little bit. But by now I am use to it and it is to be expected. She was adamantly against my traveling to Guatemala. She was basically adamantly against ANYTHING that didn't involve me getting a job, getting married and having a child FOR HER.
This was a huge victory FOR HER.
This was when the bribes came. "You can put off the trip, I'll pay for you to change the ticket and we can discuss something ELSE for you to do. Wouldn't you rather go to France for a week? I'll buy you a Prius if you stay here. How about a condo by the beach?"
My, my, my the devil works in strange ways. "Let go your hold of my beautiful loving mother evil one!"
Her most successful solicitation was a week long mother/daughter retreat to North Carolina where we would transform ourselves mentally, physically and spiritually by learning how to "prepare delicious, healthy food and juices and enjoy exercise in the great outdoors and all this in JUST FIVE DAYS!"
"OK, I'll take your week long retreat and raise you one. If I do this, you have to do the Landmark Education Forum with me."
"Deal."
And there it was. I postponed my trip to Central and South America in order to (A) Obtain a passport, and (B) transform myself mentally, physically and spiritually in a matter of nine days (the Landmark Forum being four additional days of transformation). That can be done, right? I guess if I am to set out on such a big adventure I should do my best to get my reckless brain in working order.
I was further comforted in my decision upon receiving a phone call from Brock. He was slated to leave for Uruguay within the week. For those of you who are like, "Where the hell is Uruguay?" It is a tiny country south of Brazil and East of Argentina. Eco owns a house on the beach near the border of Brazil. He spoke with Eco and they both happily extended an invitation for me to join them there. They are turning one of the bedrooms in her house by the beach into a recording studio and their plan is to live simply, play happily, and be free for awhile while making music. So after my month or so of spanish lessons in Guatemala I will travel south through numerous countries, especially those with waves, practicing my spanish, on my own little adventurous odyssey. And I will eventually end up in Uruguay in a house by the beach with a drummer, a singer/guitarista, and a recording studio, and I will make more music.
"That's the plan and I'm sticking to it, Mom!"
Fuck, what else is this life for if it can't be lived?

The First Step

Ahh, finally some peace. PEACE. PEACE. PEACE. The one thing someone needs in times of trouble is PEACE. Just to hear the wind blow through the leaves is enough to put one's heart at rest.
I'm staying with my teenhood friend Liz in St Augustine. She lives in this quaint little hobbit house in the woods behind a castle across the street from the beach. And yes, I said CASTLE. She lives behind a castle. It's the only castle I've ever seen in Florida so if you're from the area you know exactly where to find me.
It's a green house. Warmed by fire, compost toilet, the hole deal and I love it. Half of the square footage is the wrap around screened in porch. The entire yard consists of passageways cleared through the trees, no grass, just passageways.
Already I feel better as I sit here in front of the fire I just made with cedar and look out the open door to the forest.
Maybe I'm not a city girl at all. Actually, I think I'm totally not. I find happiness comes so easy when I'm someplace peaceful and slow. Someplace TIMELESS. But when I'm in the city - I have to try so hard just to hold onto my sanity. I enjoy the culture, the busyness, the people, but to maintain a grasp on myself takes so much effort. When I was living in LA my perfect daily ritual for happiness was to surf, THEN do yoga, THEN go to work, and THEN - what time do you have left for music with a schedule like that? But I HAD to work. I HAD to pay the bills. I HAD to surf and I HAD to do yoga to keep myself happy in a world that was constantly trying to climb up some sort of social latter to some sort of heaven made of stars and botox. God, all that climbing. It was one of those things where you see everyone running for the hills and you eventually think to yourself, "Damn, should I run too?" I made it out alive but not with out some wounds. It's amazing what a year can do to you.
Yeah, so I'm officially NOT a city girl UNLESS it is (A) for a period of less than a month in the United States or (B) in a foreign country for lets say - maybe a year? Which brings me to my next topic of conversation.
I've finally made my first step toward... toward what? What am I walking towards? If only I knew. All I know is I just bought a ticket to Guatemala for a month. I found a spanish school there that is cheap and located on a black sand beach that is known as "Guatemala's most beautiful beach." Not to mention some of Guatemala's best surfing. I've been wanting to learn spanish ever since I moved to California and realized that it's the first language there. You may THINK California is run by actors like Arnold Swarzwhatever but you are so wrong. California is run by Mexicans. In fact, if they were to team up and go on strike for say, CITIZENSHIP, the whole place would shut down.
When I was slingin fish at Ocean Ave Seafood the whole kitchen was Mexican. At first I was a shy gringo unsure of how to communicate with them, and believing full heartedly that they had no interest in communicating with me. But soon we were the best of friends and they took me on as one of them. They even called me "Paesana" which meanst in less than so many words "fellow mexican." This was my first immersion into the spanish language and they took me on as an apt pupil. In fact, to make the restaurant job a little easier on my soul, instead of saying I was going to work I would say, "I'm going to my spanish lesson."
They taught me very useful phrases such as "Tu eres mi swano mexicana," (you are my mexican dream) and "Essez es mi estylo," which means "That's my style bitches." As useful as these phrases were, I was ready to hit the big leagues.
I found a program that is so insanely cheap. It's cheaper for me to stay there, attend twenty hours of spanish instruction, and eat three times per day than it is for me to pay rent just about anywhere. That's my kind of place.
So I'm going to chill out by the ocean for a month, possibly longer. Who knows, maybe I'll keep traveling south. Until it turns cold and then head north again.
Hasta la vista! (does that make sense?)

All or Nothing

It didn't take long for the newness of Florida to wear off and for my brain to go back to its usual questioning, "What's next?"
The reason it was asking this so fervently was because I found out that the Ginger NInjas wouldn't be touring again anytime soon. MAYBE in January. Maybe not at all. Maybe not with me. There were a lot of maybes happening in my life. So I spent a shit ton of money to end up right back where I started, once again. And (once again) my future was so wide open I could throw a stadium through the hole of it. This was pretty much the most wide open I'd ever found myself. There were a million things I could do of course, but which dream to run with?
What is it about us humans that makes us so uncomfortable with that wide openess. There was a time when I basked in it. Loved it. Wanted it to always be that way. But now I wanted some kind of security. Was it because of that dirty number thirty that'd crept up on me? I felt like I had aged ten years in two months.
These were the things going through my head as I laid awake not sleeping when all of a sudden an idea floated through the chaos: What if I just spent the next year fulfilling EVERY dream I'd ever continued to have? Lets see: Live in France, play music in London, meditate in India, learn spanish, surfing in Costa Rica, become a rock star, write a book. Those were the main ones. What would it take to do something like that? Probably more money than I had, but if I really, truly believed in this whole MANIFEST YOUR DESTINY thing, if THE SECRET was really out, I should be able to accomplish it all. I could take what money I had and go on the adventure of a lifetime with TRUST as my career. I should be totally fine, right? Somehow everything I needed would be provided at the right time and place, right? I could travel around the world on TRUST. The ultimate trust. Just me, my backpack, keyboard, computer and TRUST. It would be like the movie Into the Wild except I'd be living large in Europe (maybe not large) and totally appreciating human companionship and I DEFINITELY wouldn't die of starvation at the end. If anything I would gain a few pounds because this is an abundant universe. OK, so it would be nothing like Into the Wild, you're right. But WILD it would be.
I felt like just saying fuck it and traveling. Steppin out the door of comfort zone, USA with a pocket full of trust and heading out into the wide open Universe. There's so much out there and there is this thing in me that feels the need to see, be, and DO everything. It'd probably be much cheaper to go to a psychiatrist but why not just try going for it. It would be a lot more fun and it would probably put me in a far better place than any professional mind washer.
Of course I've pictured myself doing exactly what my parents have been begging me to do ever since I first quit my last real job: GET A JOB, like a real one - with benefits and a paycheck that comes once every two weeks. But something about this vision made my stomach hurl. Something inside me kept saying that I had so much more to give to the world by living the way I DO live. Like maybe if I kept exploring I'd stumble upon SOME gem SOMEwhere. Believe me when I tell you that it's not easy. I envy the people whose biggest worry is getting their kids to the soccer game on time while still putting a healthy meal on the table. The idea of really going for it scares the hell out of me. So much so that I was hesitant to put this blog out. If I did, would I actually have to go for it?
"What if I change my mind? Maybe no one will read it and I won't be held accountable to my own dreams."
All of these dreams, all of these questions, all of these things, had been weighing on me. My chest felt like at any moment it would hit the floor. Then all of the sudden, the clouds parted and the next step could be seen so clearly. Finish and release my second album. (Just ONE more album!) then travel the world promoting it. Duh.
(but don't be mad if I chicken out)

Floridays

Florida welcomed me with open arms. I was praying for rain. Some might find this strange, but LA is overwhelmingly dry. In fact I'm pretty sure in the year point two I lived there I gained some permanent aging wrinkles that would not have showed up for AT LEAST another five years had I stayed in Florida. You're asking what this has to do with rain. I'll tell you. Florida is wet. It's humid. It's hot. I love Florida. It keeps your skin young and your spirit on edge, in a good way. The summer storms throw you into a unavoidable solitude. Something everyone needs but can never give themselves. There's always something you are obligated to do. ALWAYS. And if there isn't, you'll make something up. But when it rains its like a spanish siesta. And when the thunder rolls it shakes your walls and your soul. This is why I was praying for rain. Soul shaking solitude.
My prayers were answered.
My flight landed to the sound of pitter patter on the windows. I was never so thankful to see gray skies. My friend Andy picked me up from the airport and we headed for the beach (he lives a block from the Atlantic). The perfect place for me to RAIN it in and reflect. I'm staying with him for three reasons: 1-He's one of my favorite people on this entire earth, 2-My parents are going through a divorce and think I'm their marriage counselor and 3-He lives a block from the beach, duh.
The next morning I woke to beautiful sunny skies. I immediately put on my bathing suit and walked to the beach, Andy's longboard in hand. Another thing I love about Florida: It's October and I'm surfing very comfortably without a wetsuit. Ahhhh! I love moments spent in the Atlantic. There's nothing like it. The sea is full of so much passion which doesn't necessarily make for the best waves, but it makes for beauty.
The waves were about two feet and I couldn't get out. Yes, that's right. I couldn't get out. It is always a humbling experience to spend a day in the Atlantic. I lovingly call it the white water tread mill. Now, if I had tried REALLY hard and incurred shoulder muscle trauma, I could've gotten out. But I was going more for the relaxing day at the beach vibe, so I remained the white water warrior. Whatever. I enjoyed my time in the water and that's all that matters.
After my hard core white water surf session I laid in one of my favorite spots on earth: the spot where the water meets the land. You lay there and the water rushes up against you flooding you, wrapping you up in its cold, energizing arms. I was laying on top of the board with my eyes closed, in a dream state. At one point one of those higher than normal tides rushed in and engulfed me. I opened my eyes and before they were able to adjust I saw the most beautiful sight. The ocean was this electric light blue and the sky was too. And the white was extra bright. the sand was that perfect color that is so much different than blue but somehow made to stand beside and beneath it. The entire earth within my range of vision was reflecting the sun's light in the most magnificent and glorious manor. Everything was brighter and at the same time softer. It brought a smile across my face that stretched to the deepest parts of my soul. As I was sitting there soaking up the view some guy on a bike rode by, turned around and said, "Hey! Girl! You make the perfect surf photo, I wish I had my camera."
I pictured myself at that moment and agreed. About the camera part. It would've been nice to have a photo of that moment.
Soon after I walked back to Andy's and soon after THAT the rain clouds poured in once again and once again I was so thankful. There was a list of things I had compiled in my head to fill the afternoon, but since I was on bicycle none of them could be done. I was so sad.
Yeah right.
The one thing I did get done before the rain began to soothe my soul into oblivion was buy some fruit, nuts and yogurt from the local health food store. I came back and made the most amazing smoothie and just as I sat down to drink/eat it the rains came down from the heavens, bringing the heavens to me. Andy's apartment is that perfect little beach place with a wooden porch the same size as the apartment itself. I opened all the doors and some of the windows and just sat there feeling and listening to the rain and thanking god for the moment. I even texted Andy a one liner, "I'm in heaven."
Sometimes you just need that day where nothing really happens but life itself. It is crucial for the soul's survival. The Florida rainstorms give you that chance. It sends you into this silent place. Everything shuts up but the sound of water and earth. Then there's the occasional outburst of electricity. Your soul melts and nothing really matters. You're just right there in it.

From Bike Star to Boat Star

As slowly as my bike tour began, it's end came rather quick. I shouldn't say end. There were still numerous countries to visit by bike. I was lured away on a major detour by the chance to full fill a lifelong dream of saltwater and sails. Yes, that's right. My professional sailor friend, Tim who picked me up hitch hiking offered to take me sailing. I was so excited! I left the group (who I think may have been a little jealous of my plans) and rode my bike down to Bristol where I sat and drank espresso as I waited for Tim to come and pick me up. He eventually arrived around 3:00 or so and made all the usual loving jests at my crazy biking lifestyle. We packed up the bike and headed for Newport, Rhode Island where we'd be staying the night. When I made plans to go sailing it totally made since because I thought we'd be sailing out of Newport. The rest of the group was heading to Boston and then we were to meet up on Saturday in New Hampshire. New Hampshire is far enough away from Newport as it is, but we weren't sailing out of Newport. We were sailing out of Rye, New York.
OH.
As we set sail out of the Yacht Club (yeah, a yacht club - my life is lived in polar opposite extremes) I got a view of the beautiful NYC skyline and had an overwhelming feeling of going backwards. How in the hell did I get all the way back where I started? The real guilt set in when I realized that I would probably not meet back up with my new family until Florida. I've been having a really hard time with this, but I couldn't find another solution that made since.
The group was heading to Montreal in a week and I could not legally accompany them for reasons I don't care to mention here. As open as I am, I'm just not gonna go there. So once I realized that I definitely couldn't join them to Montreal, and having a free ride back to New York, I decided to take the easiest route. If I were to make Timmy drive me all the way back to New Hampshire, I would then have to turn around a week later and get a train back to the city when they crossed the border.
So there I was, sitting at a Bed and Breakfast in Greenwich, CT which is the nation's richest zip code while my fellow bikers were hanging out at some super cool musician's collective in Boston. Where did I go wrong? One choice to take a few days of yuppiness ended my North East tour. As I sat there in that Bed and Breakfast in the yuppy town full of European hunting clothes shops and Mazarati dealers, I wished that I were sleeping on the dirty floor of some musician's apartment. I realized that this yuppy shit was boring. Never again would I leave my fellow riders for the dark side.
Now, as you know by now I'm a little dramatic in my writings. I like to make jokes. In no way shape or form is hanging out with my friend Tim the dark side. He's awesome. In fact, we enjoyed making fun of all the rich people he works for. I'm thankful for this experience and especially thankful for the opportunity to go sailing. It was really a beautiful experience. We sailed out of Rye and into Long Island Sound and the weather was PERFECT. Tim's bestfriend, Ben and his soon to be EXquazigirlfriend accompanied us. This made for some interesting dynamics. Thirty minutes into the trip we were three bottles of wine down with six more to go. This is when we realized that we were going to get totally SHIPfaced. Yes, I am a dork. By the time we made it across the sound we were six bottles deep and the sun was beginning to set. We moored the boat at some other yacht club and watched the sun go down. Then we went into the cab, ate cheese and bread and polished off the other three bottles of wine while playing "spoons." Whoever lost a hand had to shot gun a beer which I hadn't done since high school and which probably took things a little over the top. We proceeded to have a dance party on the deck as loudly as possible so that if anyone was sleeping they were definitely not anymore because what's a party without waking up and pissing off a bunch of yachters?
Our enthusiasm for drinking eventually fizzled away when Emma, Ben's soon to be EXquazigirlfriend, got mad, seriously mad, because she lost spoons and Tim fell asleep sitting up beer in hand. This was the moment where I put down the last half full glass of wine I was nursing and went to sleep. The next morning I woke up way too early, had some coffee and cheese, and went back to sleep. When I woke up again at a much more decent hour like 1 PM we set sail even though Ben was still in between napping and puking over the side of the boat. After we set sail I went to the front of the boat and took my second nap of the day because I realized there's not a whole lot else you can do on a sailboat.
I woke up again an hour later feeling worse than I did before the nap. Soon Ben came to life just before we pulled back into the yacht club from which we came. We made the necessary arrangements for the boat then headed for the Bed and Breakfast in Connecticut.
This was when the guilt really set in. This was where my longing to be back on the bike with my new family really started to overwhelm me. This was where I wished I had a better attitude about things in general. This was where I got on the internet and found out that there was a Landmark Forum beginning the next day in NYC. I've heard that they are life changing. And since my bike tour wouldn't be doing anymore life changing for the moment, what better way to use my time off than a little bit of attitude adjusting? Unfortunately, registration was already closed. I tried to weasel my way in but to no avail. The attitude adjusting would have to come later.
Whenever and where ever it took place, it had to happen. It needed to happen because I didn't feel OK about the things I was doing and I didn't know why. Nothing was ever good enough for myself. This started happening when I realized that my dreams weren't coming true and all of my confidence was set on those dreams of what I thought I would some day be. Believe it or not, I am an eternal optimist. I still believe that I can accomplish these dreams - mainly the dream of finally making a name for myself in the music industry. I still believed I could do this - but not with the current attitude that had come creeping into my way of thinking.
To make matters worse the supposed flea attack I experienced in Providence had evolved into a full blown explosion of poison oak in THE one place you don't want poison oak. And it spread all down my legs.
I was in a sensitive place and I didn't know how to work my way out of it. My insides were screaming for change and my outsides were begging to be scratched. My ego was unhappy with the progress I was making in my career. The real zinger: I knew the mental dialogue that needed to take place. I knew I needed to tell myself that (A) - this whole idea of success was just an american bred psychosis that I should do my best to heal, and (B) - Don't fucking scratch it! I knew all of this, but knowing didn't dampen the desire for success nor scratching. Both were deep rooted in my soul. I wanted it. What do you do when you have a desire so deep inside your heart that no self help book can talk you out of? There was only one answer that came to mind: You go out and get it... and scratch it. I scratched it. I scratched it all. I couldn't help it. It felt so good. In fact, if I ever have children and that moment comes when they ask me what an orgasm is, I will tell them that it is like scratching a really bad itch.
Thankfully this was exactly what I was doing.
All of the anxiety wore off with the physical, mental and spiritual hangover I had incurred from the week's overdose of red wine. Within a few days of being back in New York I was confident that I had made the right decision in all matters of my being (except the scratching) and promised myself that the next time I had a really bad hangover, I wouldn't lock myself in a Bed and Breakfast and ponder my life's worth. I would go... maybe do some shopping, or see a movie. You know, something that wouldn't drive me crazy.
Yeah.
The scratching was a different story. At one point I managed to go an entire day of throbbing itchiness with out scratching... UNTIL I GOT IN THE SHOWER. Upon feeling the hot water beat itself directly into the most terribly affected areas I literally had to brace myself on the tile wall as I groaned with pleasure. I couldn't take it anymore. I went crazy. Obviously this did not help at all. After a total of ten days of trying to talk myself out of scratching and failing miserably, I finally went to the doctor. He gave me steroids and some weird creamy stuff and by the end of the day it became bearable to live in my skin again.

Party Like a Bike Star

The Union of the Fearless

After a few days of hard riding and still another 55 miles to be done by nightfall, Eco and I decided to hitch hike.
HITCH HIKE.
I have one experience hitch hiking and it wasn't a good one. A friend and I hitch hiked up the Hana coast on Maui and were picked up by a hippy crack head who drove the canyons like she was on Disney World's Space Mountain. When I made it to my destination alive I promised myself I would never do it again.
I heard Eco mention hitch hiking numerous times through out the trip and thought to myself, "Hell no. I am not a hitch hiker." All it took was four days of hard riding and rushing to play gigs for that notion to fly out the door.
Of course it didn't take long for two chicks to get a ride, even in Connecticut. However, our new friend Chip could only give us a ride eight miles down the road to the next town which was Colchester. Oddly enough a good friend of mine, Tim was heading South on I-95 which was only fifteen minutes away from where we were dropped off. Tim is a professional sailor and was on his way to New York to deliver gear for the next race. I knew he was somewhere in the north east and texted to ask where.
He was there in twenty minutes and gave us a ride straight to our fancy hotel room at the Holiday Inn (ROCKSTAR) in New London. He and I headed to Chili's for Margaritas and I was officially SO STOKED that I hitch hiked. I now had the rest of the day to chill out before our gig at Connecticut College at 10 PM.
That night at the gig we had our first official melt down as a group. Brock told everyone he was leaving to go back to Melbourne the next day because he wasn't inspired by the music. Everyone else was tired from that day's ride (apparently it was a lot of uphill) and Kipchoge informed everyone that we had only a day and a half to make it to Providence which was about sixty miles. Everyone was pretty disheartened because it was already 1 AM and we hadn't even gotten back to the hotel room yet. I told him that I just wanted the opportunity to get enough sleep so that I would be able to ride hard the next day. We made a plan to leave the next morning at 11.
I went back to the hotel room and went straight to bed. The next morning everyone fell apart. Brock decided to stay with the band but wanted to ride the entire day by himself. Kipchoge was the only other person that wanted to ride. The rest of us decided to take the train which was $30 and would get us to Providence in fifty minutes. That sounded like a dream come true to me. We decided to use our new found time wisely and eat a HUGE breakfast. We all sat down together except for Brock who went to a table across the restaurant and sat by himself.
I ordered a cup of coffee AND a bloody mary, some eggs florentine AND blueberry pancakes to share with the table. After Brock's breakfast alone he decided that he had enough alone time and was now ready to re-integrate into the group and ride the train with us. We all rode to the train station and got our tickets. We had the bright idea of rolling our bikes up to the tracks and hoping they would just allow us to get on the train with them. After waiting for the train for over an hour our hopes were slashed as we watched the train pull out to Providence without us. It was a smaller train that had no room for the bikes. We refunded our tickets and headed to the ferry to see if there were any to Providence.
There weren't.
We were starting to get desperate. I called the only rental car service in New London and they didn't allow one way rentals. I called Uhaul and they had no trucks left. We literally tried everything. By this time Eco was set on hitch hiking. I really didn't want to try my luck at it a second time in two days. I searched for any possible solution. It was the first time in my life that I had ever been stranded with no one to call to come save me. I ran through my list of contacts across the nation and couldn't think of a single person I knew in the area.
Hitch hiking, again. I was not happy about this. I didn't feel nearly as confident about it this time which made me feel even worse. But it was my only option. We biked up to the on ramp for I-95 and decided to go in two groups. Sammy and Cara would go to together and Eco, Brock and I would be the other group. Sammy and Cara decided to hitch in what Eco said was "a really bad spot." The three of us continued on up the road a bit to try and find a "better spot." Ten minutes later I saw a black pick up pull over and Eco and Brock told me I should hop in with them. At this point I was so desperate to get to Providence that I didn't care how it happened or with who. I pictured myself beating some hick's ass if he tried anything. I got to the pick up and he barely had enough room for a third bike and biker but we managed to squeeze it in. To my heart's dismay he could only take us across the border to Rhode Island, which meant we'd have to hitch hike AGAIN. He was a really sweet guy and I was thankful to have such great luck with this hitch hiking crap. He dropped us off at a Mcdonald's and once again our thumbs were back in action. Not ten minutes went by before another truck pulled over. He asked where we were going. I told him Providence and we were willing to pay him. He told us he'd take us all the way there. I was so relieved. I don't think my heart could've handled being stranded one more time that day.
I got into the back of his pick up and saw a bible. Never in my life had I been so happy to see a bible. It turned out he was the pastor of his church and lived six miles down the road from where he had picked us up. He had just come from Providence and was now going all the way back there to drop us off. We were thanking our lucky stars for sending such great people our way.
Not only were we lucky to find rides but also to find great people to stay with. When we were dropped off to our new location in Providence we thought it would be some one who knew someone in the band. This wasn't the case. They responded to a craig's list add that one of our crew posted. They opened their doors to complete strangers.
I now live in this wide open universe of TRUST. There is this entire culture of people, a union of the fearless. It's like the Lord of the Rings where the hobbits travel from town to town and camp or stay in some stranger's house. This is my life now.
Our new Providence home was a three story, three unit house that was run as a collective and had anarchy posters all over it. There was nothing archaic about the way the house was run EXCEPT for the litter box which just happened to be in the room I was staying in. The cat that lived in that room had problems getting the shit IN the box, so there were turds on the floor.
It smelled.
Bad.
Very bad.
I had a hard time sleeping in there. It got even harder when I woke up the next morning to find itchy bumps on my groin and legs. I thought I was a victim of a flea infestation. That night I laid awake the entire night scratching my groin and holding a shirt over my nose to block out the smell. All I could think about was how much I hated cats and could not understand why anyone would want an animal that not only cares NOTHING about you but also pisses and shits INSIDE your house. Then it takes it little pissy shitty paws and spreads the fecal particles all over your furniture.
As thankful as I was for our new friends, I was just as thankful to be heading to Barrington the next day. We had a short ride of sixteen miles on a beautiful bike path. When we got to the prep school we'd be playing at the next morning they offered to feed us dinner in their school cafeteria.
I thought to myself "Great, microwave cardboard pizza. Yum."
Low and behold, they had their own chef who prepared a thanksgiving style feast for us! It was some of the most amazing food I'd had on the entire tour. Mashed potatoes with the red skins still on, vegetarian cranberry stuffing, turkey, gravy, TOFU! It was amazing.
Not only was the food great but the next morning I played my favorite show yet. I saved my new electronic song, Tunnel Vision for last. Everyone in the audience started clapping to the beat and a few of them even gave me a standing ovation.
After the show I went into the cafeteria for another fabulous feast. As I was eating my veggie burger with Sammy and Eco a few kids strolled over and asked for our autographs. Within minutes their was a crowd of kids on us like flies on shit. Raving fans were waving paper napkins at us. Ok, so maybe it was only like ten or fifteen kids. But still! I felt like I had made it!

The first OFFICIAL days of riding

This is really hard. REALLY HARD. I imagined it being REALLY REALLY hard. This is even harder than I imagined. Seriously.
The first real ride happened last Sunday night. Saturday night we played this awesome party in upstate New York. A bunch of local farmers gathered for a weekend of workshops on anything from bee farming to rabbit roasting. So many amazing people were there.
Since the party was way out of our way we had to get rides there and then secure another ride the next morning to a spot where we would start our ACTUAL bike tour. Severeign, the party host recruited a truck to take us there. A beautiful, green eyed sweet heart of a man named Matt was the driver of the truck. I talked to him quite a bit the night before and was SO HAPPY to find out that he would be one of the drivers. I made sure that my stuff ended up in his truck. And since he had a single cab he could only fit two others beside himself. I sat in the middle. OH YEAH. The other driver was Kipchoge's mom. We all had quite a time downsizing our bags and getting our loads together. I managed to once and for all get rid of anything and everything that wouldn't fit into just one dry bag. My keyboard was so overwhelmingly heavy that I had no choice but to send my beloved computer and recording gear back to Manhattan. It was a moment of anxiety parting with it. I was so close to grabbing it out of the car. Another hard parting experience was with my blue jeans. This is the first time in my life where I haven't had a bad ass pair of blue jeans handy. I had to make a decision between my grey diesel jeans which truly are awesome and my blue jeans. I threw the blue jeans in the exit bag which was already in our friend Greg's car. Then I went back over to my bag and stood there staring at my grey jeans, imagining all the shirts I would wear with them. Then I switched them out with the blue jeans. Then I switched them again and asked Greg to hurry up and leave before I switched again because I was starting to worry about myself.
We finally got the bikes loaded up and I finally got to sit REALLY close to the beautiful man named Matt who, the more he talked, became more and more beautiful. He is an industrial designer for a firm called Ecosystems in NYC.
This man was so sweet. He drove us hours out of the way, all the way to Massachusetts and then all the way back to the city that night because he had to work the next morning. When we finally got to the random spot that Kipchoge chose - RANDOMLY - we un packed the bikes and then packed them. I was scared. For the whole drive up there I felt like a person on death row walking towards their doom. I felt that final moment closing in on me. I know this is really dramatic but seriously, this is how I felt. I was especially feeling anxiety because this would be a night ride. Why are all my first rides at night? WHY!!
Matt and I played frisbee for awhile while we waited for the rest of the crew to finish packing. When it was finally time to say goodbye I gave him a big hug and told him that I enjoyed sitting bitch with him. He said, "It's always good to have a nice bitch." So adorable. So freakin adorable. Days later he facebooked me and wrote only one line, "The ride back wasn't the same without my bitch."
I replied with only one line, "Maybe I can be your bitch again someday."
I would love that.
But at that moment, it was time to ride. The first few pedals were way worse than I ever expected them to be. Brock had taken my loaded bike for a spin to check the weight and put it on the easiest gear. Our first ride was downhill and my load kept wobbling all over the place and I couldn't even pedal once without falling over. Already the group was gone and I was left there flailing like a fish out of water. Kipchoge, Jared and Brock came back to help me out. Jared ended up having to push me like my dad pushed me the first time I ever rode without training wheels. FINALLY I got going but I didn't know which buttons changed which gears and still my load was wobbling from side to side causing my bike to lose control. I kept jumping off and freakin out. On the train ride to upstate my xtracycle had come off. I asked Kipchoge if this may have happened again. He quickly looked at it and said no. I would soon find out that he is famous for acting like you're CRAZY for thinking something is wrong with your bike and then totally overlooking the fact that something IS actually wrong.
So I kept riding... and falling... and riding... and falling. Finally we came to a huge hill and Jared stayed behind with me to encourage me to keep pedaling. He thought something sexual was happening on my bike from the constant heavy panting interspersed with "OH FUCK, OH FUCK, OH FUCK."
It was hard. I was sweating like a pig and had to quit and walk my bike often. Every time I stopped pedaling my bike fell over. Finally after pedaling up one hill as far as I possibly could and falling over I looked down at my bike to see that the xtracycle had in fact come off on one side. This was ten miles of wobbling craziness later. I cursed Kipchoge's name in a loving manor. Jared eventually came back to help and reattached the xtracycle for me and GUESS WHAT!! I could actually ride the bike! I could pedal without wobbling and falling over! I could charge the downhills without laying on the brakes like a little p#$$y! I was starting to feel better about myself.
At some point Eco's xtracycle also came off and she crashed pretty badly. I am sorry to say that I heard the "OH SHIT! OH FUCK!" followed by the sound of crashing and I kept going. Yes, I am the lame ass that kept going. This was before my xtracycle was reattached and I was still wobbling all over the road and I was afraid that if I stopped I too would crash and fall. I didn't hear any car screaching or sounds of pain. If I had, I definitely would have stopped, I SWEAR!!
A car soon pulled me over to tell me that my fellow rider had crashed.
"Oh really?"
I felt like an asshole.
I asked if she was alright and they said she was fine.
Thank god.
THANK GOD.
I kept going until I caught up with Dave, Cara and Jared. We waited for the rest of the crew for awhile and finally Sammy showed up and reported that Eco was in fact totally fine and Kipchoge was fixing her bike. We eventually decided to keep riding until midnight at which point we would find a camping spot. I rode up one last hill around midnight and my legs finally gave out half way and I fell over because my arms were too tired to hold the bike up anymore. I told my friends I was done.
DONE!
Luckily I fell right by a perfect camping spot down the hill along some rushing river. We set up our tents and went swimming. It felt so amazing. It was cold as... the opposite of hell, I guess? I welcomed it. I wrapped my hands around a rock on the bottom so I wouldn't be swept away by the current and fully submerged myself. I enjoyed every moment of the cool water flowing through my hair and sweeaping away the nights grease and road dirt. I felt fully renewed.
Soon after we got word from the rest of the crew that they were camping by the turn off that we SHOULD have taken a few miles back and uphill.
Awesome.
Something to look forward to in the morning.
I returned to my tent and soon found that I really can't sleep after a lot of exercise. Especially when I know I have to wake up super early and get a lot MORE exercise. I laid awake for hours listening to things moving outside of my tent and visualizing some huge creepy animal pouncing on my tent and eating me alive. I soon realized that THIS was DEFINITELY not going to help me sleep AT ALL. I finally got my ipod out and wondered why I hadn't done that hours ago. I listened to Ray LaMontagne's "Be Here Now." That song moves me. It did the trick. I finally fell asleep.
The next morning Cara woke me up at 7:15. I literally got about three hours of sleep. I knew this would be a long day. We packed our bikes and rode to meet the rest of the crew. We went to a small diner and at a HUGE breakfast. We looked at a map and were happy to see that we made it fifteen miles the night before. Only thirty more to go today. But these thirty miles had to be done by 5 PM because we were scheduled to play at Hampshire College. We asked the lady what a good route would be. She told us to take some road that would be a little up a gradual hill and then once we got to another road it would be all downhill to our destination.
That bitch.
That lady was a bitch.
Actually, she was nice. But totally a bitch because once we got up that "gradual" hill and turned onto the "downhill" road we faced the hugest hill yet that went on for what seemed like forever.
I almost cried.
I really almost cried. I had to get off my bike and push it up the hill until I was too tired to do that, then I'd pedal literally 20 feet and stop again. It took me FOREVER to get up the hill. The others had LONG passed me. Finally Cara (the other new rider) also passed me. I knew Kipchoge was waiting behind me. As I stood there I could feel his eyes burning into me. I finally turned around to look at him and sure enough the look on his face said "Give me a f#ckin break and get on your bike and pedal."
I tried. And failed. And walked. And tried. And failed.
Finally hours later I reached the top where there was a local produce store and the rest of the crew was waiting for me. We rested and ate peaches and I thanked God that the hill was over.
We continued on and for the rest of the day it was up and down. By the last five miles I was beginning to feel things inside of myself that I did not want to own. Dark things. Dark, dark things. I was tired and the last bit was all up hill. A gradual hill, but nonetheless up hill. I was pissed. I was tired. I was hungry because we hadn't eaten lunch. This is the worst combination of circumstances for those around me. This is where I become a mega grouch.
My legs were done. I had never pedaled this far before in my life and especially never with a huge load. I had one of the heaviest loads in the group. By the time I got to the gig no one really wanted to look at me because of the nasty scowl on my face.
Like I said, there were DARK things going on inside me.
We literally had to get off the bike, set up and play. I was close to not playing and Kipchoge said that it was fine if I didn't want to. I went to the bathroom which was down two flights of stairs and changed. I bathed with a wet towel and waddled back up the two flights of stairs. I felt at any moment my legs would collapse beneath me. I was able to at least scrounge up enough mental will to get myself to play. And I actually sounded decent. I couldn't believe it.
I only played three songs then let the Ninjas take over.
I was so over it. I grabbed a blanket and my journal and found a spot away from everyone. I wrote about all of the horrible things I was thinking. I didn't like anyone, I didn't want to talk to anyone and I HATED myself for not having a better attitude about everything. I also wrote about the fact that I knew these evil, dark thoughts weren't truth. It wasn't me. It was just some kind of nasty energy making it's way out of my soul and back to the horrid place it came from.
The next morning this horrible, dark energy literally did take it's exodus from my body in the form of menstruation.
I felt like getting down on my knees and praying thanks to the heavens that it really wasn't my fault that I had turned into a dark, evil bitch. It was hormones.
Oh thank the lord it would be over soon!!
Thank you!!
Oh... wait.
I have to ride today and I know any minute now the cramps will sink their claws into my ovaries. I took a preemptive strike in the form of aleve. There was no way I was going to let myself feel any other pain than what I felt in my ass and thighs.
We were scheduled to play at a co-op about five miles away. I didn't know how I was going to make it. My legs were tired. I asked Cara how she felt on day three. She said it was one of the hardest days for her.
"Great."
This is the day when I was truly surprised by the strength and adaptability of my own body. The first five minutes I was hurting, then all of the sudden something weird happened. I was passing everyone. And it didn't hurt like hell. I was even taking Kipchoge on the hills. Soon I was up with Samantha who is the fastest rider of the group. We stopped at a turn and looked behind and everyone else was way far behind me. I was confused. Just yesterday I couldn't even keep up with the group on a flat bike path and all of the sudden today I was passing them on hills. I thought for sure that wouldn't last. We got to the gig and everyone commented on how I had just kicked ass. I made an excuse for it, "It was only five miles and there weren't any big hills."
Then after the gig we had to ride ten miles to the our new friend, Audree's winery. Again, I kicked ass. What the hell? I was passing everyone. I was even ahead of Sammy for awhile until we got to a HUGE hill that I was determined to make my way up with out stopping. That's where she passed me with her calm, cool, happy self. I continued to pant and pray my way up the hill. I was thanking god for my strength all the way up the hill. Jared finally passed me. I could see the end in sight. I was still in my second gear and my legs couldn't do it any longer. I had to change to the first gear at which point I lost my balance and fell over. I didn't make it. I didn't care. I picked my bike up and walked the rest of the way up the hill and then continued on. I still beat almost everyone there and couldn't believe it. What had happened to me?
We went inside the barn we were to sleep in and there was a fire lit and numerous bottles of wine laid out for us. We were beyond stoked! I went straight for the shower. I couldn't wait to shave my legs. I was so excited.
The immediate buzzkill came when Kipchoge followed me into the bathroom to tell me that we would be waking up at 5:30 in the morning to ride forty miles. You could see the smile drop from my face to the floor as he crushed it with his foot like a finshed cigarette butt. It was already 11 PM and he was basically telling me that even if I went to sleep RIGHT THEN I wouldn't get seven hours of sleep.
THIS made me VERY unhappy.
He told me "not to party too hard."
I once again cursed his name without saying it out loud. I took my shower and we did some yoga. Then drank and talked for awhile. I tried to go to sleep but everyone talked and talked... and talked... and talked. My mood got worse and worse as my chance for sleep trickled away like an hour glass turned upside down.
Finally crystabitch came back. I went in the other room and was sure to grab my sleeping bag with a jerk so that everyone knew I was pissed. Mainly it was Bill I was pissed at. Bill is the 50+ hippy cling on who found us on the AmTRIPPYtrack trip from Denver to New York and has been following us to gigs in his daughter's car ever since. He sets up his congas in the back so no one can hear him because he's not very good. Nobody has the heart to tell him to stop following us everywhere because he's actually a very nice man, just little crazy. So in my opinion and most other's, he shouldn't have even been there but was the one that was keeping everyone awake.
I managed to continue NOT sleeping until 5:30 AM when Kipchoge told me it was time to get up and I told him, "I didn't sleep at all."
If you ever want to see evil in it's most primal form, wake me up before the sun comes up. Go on, I dare you. And especially when it's cold outside. Oh man, you are in for it.
I sat by the fire drinking coffee and scowling at those around me. I asked Hippy-cling-on-Bill to carry my keyboard in his car because there was no way I would be able to keep up with everyone in the state I was in. I then told Kipchoge that I felt I needed to just ride with Bill to the next gig. He looked at me like I was a total slacker and said whatever I chose to do to just do it because everyone was waiting on me.
THIS really pissed me off. If there is any one thing I can say for myself it is that I am a fast packer and almost always on the bike waiting for everyone else. (The next morning I felt like bringing this up when we were all on our bikes waiting for Kipchoge, but I'm trying to be mature about things these days.)
I packed my things and took off on my bike. Kipchoge had already left to hit up a library and everyone else was dickin around as usual. Once again I got to the destination long before anybody else and continued to be in the lead for the rest of the day. I couldn't believe how fast my body acclimated to the bike lifestyle. I had gotten no sleep and I was passing people on the hills. Granted, there were no BIG hills and I didn't have my keyboard, but still, I was gettin it and I felt great about it.
At one point in the day we decided to take a brake. Hippy-cling-on-Bill also decided to take a brake from the hard driving he's been doing and said, "Man, I really gotta get a bike. I can't keep following you guys in this car, it's killing me." A few us looked at each other and said everything in the silence that lurked between our eyes.
Eco's dog, Hoku, was getting tired of being carried around in her side bag so she gave him to Bill to take in the car. We rode forty miles back down to Connecticut and where Bill was waiting for us at a strip club. We found him at "Kahoot's" and sat on the blanket he had laid out for us and ate the enormous pizza he had also thoughtfully acquired for us. In his afternoon of waiting he made friends with Gia, a brazilian stripper who was kind enough to let him use her cell phone and who also especially wanted to meet Brock. The group had mixed feelings about being at a strip club, in fact, the only person who was really excited about it was Brock. Bill had set up a private dance for him. I thought about not going in but couldn't resist the temptation to meet Gia and get a visual of Brock during his private dance. WE all went in except for Dave and Cara. After approximately three minutes of watching the stripper shake her ass in Brock's face I went back outside. The others remained inside for another five minutes and then soon followed. Brock jokingly got out his handkerchief and made for a private spot where he could take care of business.
We still had some riding to do to find a camp spot so we set out. Hippy-cling-on-Bill was sad to find that we were on a bike path and there would be no way for him to meet up with us at the camp site. As nice as he was, none of us shared his sentiment.
I was so happy to finally be at the camp spot. I put up my tent in a perfect spot full of poison ivy or oak or something and crawled in never to return to the outside world until the morning. I asked Kipchoge through the closed door of my tent world if we could sleep in a little the next day. He said "No, we've got sixty miles to do tomorrow. We need to wake up at 6:00 AM." It was now 8 PM and we had just finished a good 12 hours of riding. I called my mom and her answering machine picked up. The sounds of her voice brought tears to my eyes and soon I was crying silently so the group wouldn't hear my sobs. I longed for the comfort of my family. I was tired and there was no end to the long grueling days in sight. I was aware and happy about the fact that my body did so well physically that day. This brought me comfort. But the long days were unfortunately wearing on my mental health. The lack of sleep was getting to me. Fortunately this enabled me to quickly fall sleep. But not before I heard Kipchoge pass the torch of "the waker" to Brock. Brock immediately told the camp that we would ride out at 9:00 AM. This brought some comfort to my weary mind. I slept twelve hours that night and the next morning I woke up a much happier person. Especially when I found out that I would barely have to ride at all that day.

The Whirlwind...

That is my life right now. Every morning I wake up in a panic thinking of the things I need to do and trying to go back to sleep to escape them. I'm in New York right now and I typically only last a few days in this place before my mind, body and spirit goes to shit. It's not necessarily the place itself, it's the crowd I hang with. My best friend to be exact. SOOOO much fun. One of the most fun people on earth. But boy, is it HARD to keep up with him. ESPECIALLY during fashion week. He's a photographer and gets onto the list for all the cool parties. Last night, for example, I FELT cool. I felt SO COOL! He got us on the list for a private party where MGMT played. It's the kind of party where everyone stands around looking at everyone else because everyone looks so cool. That's the fashion world.
Back to MGMT. I LOVE MGMT! They are one of my favorite bands right now. The last few weeks I was in LA I listened to them a lot, especially while packing or getting rid of things. They made me feel so inspired to just get up and go. To just leave it all behind for a life more lived.
Since it was a private party it was very intimate. Maybe only a couple hundred people, very beautiful people. We were in the front row and there weren't any raging teens pushing elbows into our backs. It was so nice. AND there was free Belvedere vodka. I texted Jared to tell him that I felt like I had made it. He texted me back and said, "You have. And you will."
I love it when he says things like that.
So back to my morning panic attacks. They are happening because I'm about to leave for the ACTUAL bike tour. Everyone else has already left. Except for Kipchoge and I. Kipchoge is flying in from mexico tonight HOPEFULLY with the love of his life, Eco whom he flew down to Mexico to retrieve and live happily ever after with. None of us know if he has succeeded yet because he won't tell us how it's going. We're hoping for the best.
There are a couple of reasons why I haven't left yet. One is that I am TOTALLY dragging my heels like a little diva bitch. I don't know what is wrong with me. I guess I've really walked too far down that comfortable path. Soon I won't have a choice. Soon I will be totally knocked off my little comfy trail of "wanna-be-rockstar blvd" and dragged through the road puddles of dirt and grease and I think this is scaring me. So I'm hanging onto every last minute of my "wanna-be-rockstar" life. My best friend's beautiful, huge, comfortable brooklyn loft, the nice dinners out, my hair dryer... wow. LIsten to me. These are things I never used to care about. It makes me wonder at which point I became a dumb ass.
Thankfully there is ONE legitimate reason that I am still here in my best friend's beautiful, huge, comfortable loft. I'm waiting for a keyboard case that one of our sponsors (TKL) is sending me. I really don't want to leave without my keyboard. I've been coming up with some pretty cool things and I feel like it's definitely where my music is heading. But then I sing a song like "Own Way" and Jared tells me THAT is my voice. So pretty much these days I am confused about where my music is going. There are so many different types of music that I love, and so many different types of music I want to perform. Shit. There's so many different types of careers I want to have! This world is sometimes just too much for me to handle. How can I choose one job? One genre? One guy (just kidding - I actually would LOVE to choose just one guy. Hey! Are you out there anywhere?) But as far as everything else goes - I love so many things and just don't see how I can narrow it down to just one ANYTHING (except a guy -I do want just one guy who also can't narrow it down to just one thing except a girl - me :)
So that's where I'm at with music right now. So confused. Worried about being marketable. But maybe I shouldn't worry about that at all. The record industry is dying a slow and painful death. Do I even need to be marketable anymore? Or can I just express the truth that comes through me musically. To LIVE like that, that would be happiness, right? Not worrying about whether or not your expression - whatever it may be - is accepted. If I'm feeling blue I sing the blues. If I'm feeling high I write a happy electronic song. Does it really have to be JUST ONE?

My Initiation and Then Some...

Saturday was our first official day of the tour. We got started late because Kipchoge had to fix a few things on the bus. We didn't get going until 3 p.m. and were expected to be playing by 8 in yosemite. Needless to say that wasn't the case. As far as we knew the plan was to drive down to the river. There was a lot of excitement to be on the bus going to our first gig which was at the after party for the Cherry Creek kayak race. At one point Kipchoge yelled "Get ready for the next adventure!" and we all started hooping and hollering and Brock and Jared wrestled (don't ask).
As the sun started setting Kipchoge once again yelled for us to get our head lamps out because it was getting dark. I thought to myself "I wonder why he doesn't just use the dome light?" But I got it out anyway because basically you do whatever Kipchoge says to do. Once the sun had set Kipchoge finally enlightened us on HIS plan. We were to park the bus at the end of the pavement and ride the bikes down to the river valley. This came as a huge surprise to all of us. None of us expected to be riding. I was scared. First of all, why didn't he tell us earlier? Like maybe at any point in the 4 hour drive when there was sun light? I needed to go through all my things and pack a light travel bag. Jared told me that I didn't need anything. Just the sleeping bag and thermorest. Whatever! I managed to gather a few things: tooth brush, jacket, camera, chapstick, floss, etc. into my chico bag as Kipchoge told us the details of the ride. One mile uphill and five miles downhill on gravel road in the pitch black dark of night. The only kind of bike I've ever ridden is a beach cruiser and now THIS was to be my first experience riding a mountain bike? Luckily Kipchoge didn't pack my bike with too much stuff. Brock sat on the back of the bike so I could practice riding around with a load. I was floundering. It wasn't looking good.
Surprisingly I caught on quick though. We headed out up the hill and shortly I was feeling like I needed to get off my bike and walk. But that just wasn't acceptable. At one point someone called my name and I gladly stopped and waited for them. However, when it was time to ride again I couldn't get going up the hill without falling over. Jared had to push the bike for me to get going. I felt like I was nine again and my father was pushing me along, trying to teach me to ride with out training wheels (yes, it took me THAT long to learn how to ride a bike with out training wheels, shut up).
As I unknowingly neared the top of the hill I began to express to Jared and Kipchoge that I was definitely not going to make it to the top. Kipchoge told me that my gear was to high. I lowered it and lowered it and lowered it as far as I possibly could. As the burning in my legs got to the point where it was absolutely unbearable and just as I was about to hop off my bike the road flattened out. I was happy. Then started the downhill. I don't know if you've ever tried biking down a mountain on a gravel road with a loaded bike in the pitch black darkness but I definitely don't recommend it, especially as a training run.
As I'm trying to figure out how I'm going to survive this trip without gravel rocks stuck into every inch of my face and hands I hear Kipchoge exclaim, "Straight into the fire! For some reason this is how everyone's first ride is."
"Great. That's just great."
I was laying on the brakes pretty hard as Jared continually gave me pointers on how not to crash and burn. As we rounded a bend we heard the creepiest growl that I've ever experienced and saw huge eyes glowing. We saw an animal moving toward us . "Oh shit! It's huge. It's a mountain lion! It's going to tear us apart. "
As I was shitting my pants and squealing like a pig bitch, Jared took control of the situation. He stopped riding and put himself between the ferocious animal and I and yelled for me to pass on the outside. I made my run praying that the savage predator would go for Jared instead of me. Just kidding. But seriously, even in my moment of despair I made a mental note of Jared's chivalry. I rode as fast as I possibly could not wanting to look back and see my precious dear friend being torn apart by the mountain lion.
Suddenly I hear laughter. I look back and Mayo (my dog) comes running up wagging his tail. My new friend OBO had been assigned to walking my dog down the mountain because there weren't enough bikes. He thought it'd be funny to freak the new girl out. So the ferocious animal was none other than my sweet little innocent dog (unless you're a chicken - then he's not so sweet).
With death narrowly averted I continued the downward spiral of gravel rock mountain road. For a moment I was keeping up with the front two riders - Kipchoge (the leader of the pack) and Dante (crazy awesome know it all engineer bike mechanic can literally fix anything guy). Of course, in my newness I soon fell behind but took comfort in knowing that Jared and Brock were right behind me. Or were they?
"Wait a minute, I see nothing behind me... or in front of me. All I can see is the pitch black Sierra Nevada darkness that extends 3 ft beyond my shitty little head lamp. Oh god. I'm freakin out. Oh god, there's glowing eyes in the bushes. Oh god, how steep is that cliff I almost ran off of. HEYYYYYYYYYYYY!! WAIT!! Jared! Brock!! Kipchoge!! Hey!! Wait!!"
No one answered back. The bike floundered underneath me and thankfully I was able to jump off before it hit the ground. I picked the bike up and took a minute to look around. Surely if I stopped and REALLY looked around I'd see someone's lights ahead of or behind me.
"No. OH GOD. I'm all alone and it's fucking dark and scary out here. What the fuck was I thinking of coming on this tour. I wish I were in LA. I want to go home. I can't go home. I don't have a home anymore. I don't even have a car. FUCK! It's dark out here. I can't see shit. If I leave now after only one day everybody is gonna think I'm such an idiot."
By now I'm speeding down the mountain. The idea of falling has become much better than getting eaten by the glowing eyes in the bushes. My brakes are soon forgotten. After about a half hour of these rants in my head interspersed with "HEYYYY! WAIT!!" I finally see the distant blue glow of Kipchoge's bicycle "down glow." I catch up to them and say "Thank you!" They were confused.
"For what?"
"For waiting," I said.
"Oh," Kipchoge answers, "We weren't waiting. Dante had some problems with his lights."
"Oh." And silence. "I was yelling for you guys to wait."
"Oh," and silence.
We got back on the bikes and I am all about keeping up with them at this point. I don't care if I fall. Bring it on! I don't care if I get a piece of gravel permanently lodged in my eyeball, I am not getting left out here in the dark alone EVER AGAIN!
Soon we reach the base, "Thank god, we've made it. Oh thank the lord. Thank you!" My hands are soar from leaning on the handle bars and my brain is wore out from freaking out. The three of us ride into camp (Jared and Brock are still nowhere to be found) and immediately everyone starts yelling and cheering. We stop in the center of the camp and people crowd around us, literally giving us a standing ovation. Nobody could believe that we actually biked down that path on mountain bikes in the middle of the night (it was midnight by the time we arrived). Kipchoge tells them all "This is her first time on a mountain bike and she made it down the mountain!" Everybody yells and screams and claps. Man did I feel good. This new sense of strength and coolness spread over my body like melted butter on a corn cob.
As the crowd dispersed I heard someone say "You don't even have to play music, you're already a bad ass!"
I think to myself, "Dude, THIS is awesome."
I felt like a bad ass.
Escaping mountain lions and facing the cold dark night alone was so worth it!
I was officially on the tour.
For good.

We set up our pedal powered stage and I played my set first. I only played four songs since we were literally four hours late. Everyone loved it. Of course they did. They were waisted. Still, it felt great to be appreciated.
After my set OBO went on. This guy is freakin awesome. He's this tall, lanky Irish American red headed dread headed hippy folk rock star with a read straw hat and Abe Lincoln beard who sings about special K while beat boxing these crazy little rhythms.
As he was doing his thing I went to take care of some very important business - food. Food. Food. Food.
Beep beep beep there it is. On that picnic table. I made a sandwich and sat down. A few people made their way over to me to give me their respects and what not. Soon a cute boy sat down next to me and we started bantering.
We talked about a lot of different things. How he's currently in law school, where we're each from, etc. He told me that this race was THE biggest Kayak race on the west coast. I joked around and asked him if he won.
He said with a very serious face, "Yes."
"Wow. Cool."
We proceeded to dance, take shots of tequila, make fun of each other, and all of the flirty things you do when you meet a cute one. At one point we were talking to another of the kayakers and my new friend slipped away for a minute. The "other guy" proceeded to tell me, "Dude, Charley is so humble but you have no idea, he is one of, if not THE top Kayaker in the world. He's even got his own clothing line."
At this point there's one word streaming through my alcohol ridden mind, "Hot."
An hour later we're making out by the river. "Hot." However, five minutes later Charley was passed out on the ground, beer still in hand.
"Well, that was fun. I think I'll make my way back up to the party."

The Ginger Ninjas were well into their late night set by now and everyone was dancing and having a great time. After they finished Jared and I decided to walk down to the river. We made our way down, stepping over Charley and making the usual comments of beauty and wonder. We sat on the rocks for awhile taking it in. Then we decided that we should definitely sleep down there. Thankfully at some point Charley woke up and made his way to some other spot. We went up and got our thermo rests and sleeping bags and made our beds in the sand.
I think to myself, "This just keeps getting better. Sleeping under the stars, and now by a rushing river that is singing us to sleep. Ahhhh" a sigh of gratitude and peace.
Just then I heard a wrestling in the bushes and Kipchoge's voice yelling down at us, "Hey! Mayo is chasing skunks! Put him on a leash!"
"Haaaggghhhh," a sigh of "Fuck."
I get mayo and he smells like shit. Not only does he smell like shit, but I now have to sleep with him leashed to me and smelling like shit.
But still, if that's the worst thing I gotta deal with, I'll take it.

The next morning I woke up with a bottle of BBQ sauce in my face.
Kipchoge said, "Here, this'll get the skunk off of Mayo."
I put on my bathing suit and we go for a swim in the river. I bathed Mayo in BBQ sauce ("ok?") and myself not in BBQ sauce and we headed up the river bank to the main camping area. (No, the BBQ sauce doesn't work). Everyone was busy packing up and I thankfully manage to secure a ride up the mountain. There is no freakin way I'm ridin up that shit, HELL no!
I made it back to the bus long before everyone else and enjoyed some chill time napping on a blanket outside on the ground. Eventually everyone made it back and we spent most of the afternoon arranging the bus and waiting in the heat and dirtiness of dry northern California for Kipchoge to once again "fix the bus." We finally get going around three or so and make our way through beautiful Yosemite. And man is it beautiful.

I recommended that we stop at the next big hole of water and we did. I can't remember what the name of the lake was but it was awesome. We swam and cleaned the dirt and sweat from the afternoon's labor off. I have found that these types of experiences, involving cool water and no dirt on my skin, are crucial to my happiness and will have to be sought out daily whenever there are no showers within 400 miles.

We spent the entire night and next day driving. Well, Kipchoge and Jared spent the entire night and next day driving. I spent the entire night and next day somewhere between sleeping and being jostled around by Milly to the point where my brain didn't know exactly what was happening anymore. Brock spent the entire night and next day somewhere between sleeping and tripping on "way too much" LSD. Yeah. That's Brock. Made for some great entertainment.


By the time we arrived in Denver it was probably 10 PM or so. I have no idea because all I did was lift my head as Jared slipped into the bus bed beside me and I asked, "Where are we?"
He said, "Denver."
I laid my head back down on my pillow and passed the * out.

Day 2 of the Tour...

It's day 2 of the tour and already my life has changed forever. Something has been given back to me. Something I used to have but strayed from for a very long time. All of the things I missed about my teenage years are now my everyday life. I'm touring the country in a school bus. I used to day dream of doing that when I was a teenager. And now here I am, with out even thinking about it or remembering that I once had that dream, here I am. I'm back in the woods! Sleeping under the stars every night. This is what has changed - already - forever: I will never give this up again. This is a scary feeling but also liberating. Scary because i have no idea what else I will be doing, what my life is going to look like. Liberating because I will never be stuck in the bump and grind EVER again. I can't believe I made it back here! I didn't expect this. How could I have forgotten that THIS is who I am. I am not an LA woman at all. I am a woman that loves to sleep under the stars. My senior quote keeps running through my head, "Sleep in the stars, don't you cry, dry your eyes on the wind." The girl that chose that quote (grateful dead) was a happy, grounded girl. She's back. Thank god! She's back. I feel like I went on a 10 year side trip in the shape of a circle. Maybe that's why at 30 I still feel 21. LA and the life I've lead even before that seem like an ancient memory, or a dream that never actually happened. I've just woken up. I'm still that young teenager that knows exactly what she wants. Who has an unshakable foundation of morality and hope. It seems like it would be impossible to ever be unhappy living like this. That's part of the freedom I feel. I will never have to play the game. I will never have to try and keep up with the crowd. I will never have to climb the latter of societal success. THIS is the way to live. At least for me.

Day 1 of My Tour...

My friend Lauren drove me up to Sacramento in the car that I just sold her. We met one of the girls who will be touring with us, Samantha. She picked me up and drove me to North San Juan where the boys were camping out. We drive in and immediately I see the big bus. Her name is Milly. She's not painted in tie dye thank god. In fact she's actually got a really cool paint job. A scene from one of my favorite Japanese paintings is painted on the side - the one with the wave. I give all the boys huge hugs and then we get right into stripping down my belongings. I felt a little like Marlo Morgan in Mutant Message from Down Under. The part where the tribe takes all of her belongings, including the clothes they had just instructed her to take off, and threw them in the fire. Then they start walking. This is what's happening to me on a much smaller scale. This is my walk about.

We spent the rest of the evening cleaning out and organizing the bus. Then we went straight for the beer and pizza. We walked down to a little joint just a few blocks away. And typical of Jared and I, we drank just about every type of alcohol available. We are the queen and king of mixing.
Our buzz was on and we headed home. We proceeded to have a dance party in the bus.
Brock was the DJ playing hip hop and shaking his ass. It was a perfect initiation for me. At about 1 AM Jared came up with the bright idea to go get one more shot of whiskey from the Brass Rail. So we ran almost all the way there and made it just in time. We had our shot of wild turkey with a beer chaser and headed home to sleep in the stars. Jared laid a blanket on the ground for the three of us to share.
Brock laid down ass in the air next to me and got Mayo excited. Mayo literally humped him and Jared and I lost it. We continued to joke and carry on for awhile before finally falling asleep.

This is so much what I've been wanting! I feel like I have a family. These guys are my family. They are my brothers. It's always been my dream to travel with like minded musicians who I feel close to, who are family to me, and making a difference in the world in some way, shape or form. I even remember having a day dream of traveling cross country in a school bus back in my school days. And now my dreams are coming true, one by one, little by little. YAY!