Afterthoughts

The Scooter Sherpa Postcard

Finally Success...

My trip now is nothing but fragmented memories and pages full of weathered journal entries. In one sense, I'm relieved to be back home, yet my heart still yearns for the life of a traveling vagabond. This was indeed the journey of a lifetime; I rode directly into the fear of the unknown and willingly laid down my naked soul before the many uncertainties that stood before me. I faced my fears and worries, riding into them, inside them and around them; eventually coming out the other end more healed and hopeful.

This trip was about experiencing the country, letting go, and listening to my inner voice. It was about the isolation of the desert and sense of wonder that overcame me in the black hills. It was about the excitement and fear of crossing the Sierra Nevada's...about the inner solitude I felt as I fell asleep in my tent beneath the Moab arches...it was about the busyness and diversity of Chicago and San Francisco and the natural glory of Yosemite. It was about all of these things and more.

I can't forget to mention those times when the trip was frustrating and I wanted out. Those times when the rain, hail, wind and cold temperatures became too much and too unbearable. The four separate occasions when the gas tank cracked and I was stranded for days...my spirits were broken and I wanted to give up and throw in the hat...but there was always an angel just around the corner ready to help me pull myself up by my boot straps and press on. What would this trip have been without those hardships and frustrations? I suspect not nearly as worth it.

This adventure has helped uncover a deeper sense of clarity, faith and direction. I began the trip while wrestling with many questions that left me restless, doubtful and uneasy. I felt doomed to this endless cycle of confusion...almost resigning myself to the fact that life provided no real answers. The irony underlining this trip is that I still don't have any answers...I actually have fewer answers than I did when I started. But that's where the truth revealed to me is hidden. It's in the moment, in the mystery, in the act of just breathing in and out, free from fear and the need to control. I'm not trying to be mystical about this because I realize that truth is available to everyone. But truth is impossible to explain with mere words.

"The wind blows wherever it wants. Just as you can hear the wind but can't understand where it comes from or where it is going so you can't explain how people are born of the Spirit." John 3:8

It was all around me, however before the trip, I was just too busy, too worried, too distracted to notice it. I realize now that the answers are revealed only within an experience. The answers are not given in scientific proofs, religious dogmas, or accepted social knowledge; they are revealed only within the quiet places of our hearts. The problem was that much of my day to day life was too loud and too sensual...and I lost the ability to hear or see with my heart. I was overwhelmed with being useful, productive, relevant and successful. The Psalmist verse, "Be still and know that I am God" has taken on a entirely new dimension for me. Insightful men have once commented that there is a void only the Creator can fill and only when we come to Him empty handed is He able to completely fill that void. The reality of my life is that I have nothing to offer...not to this world and especially to God. Only in this place of loneliness, on the road, lost in the great vastness of this beautiful country, was my heart vulnerable enough, child-like enough, and broken enough to receive the spirit of truth.

Before departing, I had hoped that I would meet good people to help me along the way; God provided plenty. My means of transportation was not the fastest, best, or safest way to reach my destination, but it taught me perseverance, to live in the moment, and above all, the way of trust. The trip served as a metaphor for living; revealing that I need to constantly remind myself to relax and not worry about all the traffic passing me by...I will eventually get to where I am going in life. So what if I'm not there yet?....besides, I now realize that I don't want to be like the truck and car drivers anyway. They are only consumed with with getting to their final destination. As a result of the trip, I'm feeling more comfortable in my own skin, preferring to be just as I am, not as I think I should be....I am God's beloved scooter sherpa who is over-burdened with too much travel gear, slowly grinding his way across the continent of life, and at times broken down, lost, confused and helpless...but trusting that I'm never alone or too far from redemption and repair. As I grow older, I hope to take greater ownership of my scooter sherpa-ness, trust and enjoy the slow (and often painful) path I must sometimes travel, and quietly listen for the still small voice that tunes my spiritual ears and illuminates the path of my soul.

The trip has given me the opportunity to detach myself from a few old, bad habits. When I got drenched in that vicious storm inside the grand canyon and all my electronics were ruined, I instinctually began to huff and puff, complain to myself, and grow bitter. But as the days rolled on, I received the hidden blessings of not checking my email, using google maps, surfing the web or even calling someone to let them know I was okay. I was, at least for a little while, free from these things. When I got home, after buying a new phone, I decided to drop my data plan and email capability. Now, when we talk, I'll be able to look you in the eyes, really listen to what you are saying, and hopefully give you my full, undivided attention. My knee-jerk reaction to constantly checking my email, texts, missed calls, etc. will hopefully subside as I shed my half man, half machine robo-cop persona and return to my full humanity.

Prior to leaving for the trip, I began reading a secular book about the Jewish Sabbath. The ancient Hebrews regarded the Sabbath with the highest regard... after all, "Thou shall keep the Sabbath Holy" is one of the Ten Commandments. Our Creator "rested" after forming the Universe and insists that we too, formed in His likeness, take special days, months, and even years of rest. Today's culture demands the opposite. It's all about productivity. No wonder all of us are over-stressed, over-worked, and over-tired! We haven't heeded our Creator's wise advice. The trip has brought me back to a place of balance between work and rest. From now on, I plan to intentionally set aside several days per month and go out into the wilderness to camp, hike, bike and howl at the moon.

Well....that's about it. My scooter trip is finished but the journey still continues. Seeing the country and experiencing its sights, sounds, and smells up close and personal has been an unforgettable adventure. I hope to have many more adventures like this throughout my lifetime. But most of all, I'll always see the scooter trip as a life giving, breakthrough experience...one that has brought me closer to a quiet center, renewed my faith, and strengthened my intimacy with God. Undoubtedly, there will be seasons in my life when I will again be tired, over-burdened and weary....they come to us all...but when that happens, I already trust that I will receive all I need to overcome.

This concludes the Scooter Sherpa blog. Thanks for reading :)

For picture slide show with music showing the trip highlights, go to:

(the music may not be working temporarily because Youtube muted it due to copyright issues...I'm attempting to do an audio swap)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6CsL9AtP2xo

As postcard will be sent to your address. If you haven't provided me an address please do so in the comments section. Thanks.

God Bless & take care

Ernie

The Finish Line

North side of the Golden Gate Bridge

The Pickle-less Mr. Pickles Sandwich Shop

"The Rock" - Alcatraz

In the foothills, north of SF

Golden Gate

The Scoot and the Golden Gate

A view of the Pacific

Making it official

The cliche shoes by the ocean shot

I just want to be BIG....your wish has been granted

Being a guy, my eyes unconsciously gravitated to this 1930's 25 cent peep show...

unfortunately what they called XXX back then we call MTV today.

I just had to do the tourist thing

Sea Lions at Fisherman's Wharf

Saint Francisco of Assisi

Scary, I almost do this sea lion thing too well....

Cousins Earl and Laurie - great tour guides

Touring the many Spanish influenced churches

Delores Mission graveyard

The ultimate missionary: Juinpero Serra

with the bald head, I kind of resemble a monk

Delores Mission Church

San Fran Morning

My new favorite town in the US, Sausalito

Sausalito

Into wine country

Wine taste testing at the Sebastiani Winery, Sonoma

When your by yourself and tipsy, you'll meet friends...guaranteed

Finishing off the last three glasses

Translated, "When a glass of wine invites a second, the wine is good."

Northern most Mission located in Sonoma

Tightly grown rows of grapes

A warm silhouette of history's greatest hero

View from Lombard St., SF

Why can't philly have more trollies?

The First and Last Chance Bar - Oakland, CA - Jack London's pub & stomping ground

(notice that the bar is completely slanted down from the 1906 earthquake)

Jack's hang out

Jack London: A wild man and pure American adventurist (and drunkard)

The highlight of my trip, the family: left to right

Me, Memom (Aunt Diana), Dante, Adam, Pepop (Uncle Earl), Olivia, Earl Jr.

...and so many many more of them not pictured....

Cousin Tommy and his lover

Me, Earl, and some dude that had a really rough night

Out eating Korean BBQ with the family

The day I arrived, Aunt D. and Uncle E. wanted to take the scooter out for a spin

Pepop (Uncle Earl) and I

After I filled up on gas in Oakdale, I pulled over at Mr. Pickle's Sandwich Shop....I haven't had a pickle in a long time, and there was pickle-man waving me over to taste his delicious pickles...to me, a turkey sandwich and a top-of-the-line pickle sounded like a great dinner, so I pulled over and walked inside this world-renowned famous pickle and sandwich shop. I said, "Hello, I'd like to have a turkey sandwich, with swiss cheese on rye bread and...hmmmm....there are so many choices of pickles on your menu....so many different flavors....I'll take the garlic pickle please..." This 15 year old girl interjects, " Sorry, we are out of garlic pickles..." I said, "In that case, I'll take the jewish pickle or polish pickle...either one is fine. She said, " Uhhhhhh...see the thing is that we are out of pickles...all the pickles, well, they're gone." I began to laugh out loud, " You mean, you have a poor man dressed up in an embarrassing life sized pickle costume, waving in cars to eat at Mr. Pickles, and you don't even have any pickles!?" "That's correct, " she said in a serious tone. "Pigs may fly, hell might freeze over, but I thought Mr. Pickle would surely have some pickles!" I jokingly exclaimed. The owner then came out from the back of the kitchen and took over for the girl...I guess I was too much for her. So I ordered my turkey sandwich without pickles and walked over to the Starbucks next door to eat it and figure out where I was going to stay that night.

As soon as I sat down, a man sitting next to me starting asking me questions about my scooter. He was obviously a Harley-Davidson rider...he had the Harley logo shirt, wore aviator sun glasses, black leather boots, tight jeans, and sported a sweet duster, wyatt earp-style mustachio. I thought to myself, "Uh no, not another Harley-Davidson guy who thinks he's the cat's meow when it comes to all things two wheeled and motorized" From the things he was saying, I could just feel his sense of arrogance...I rode a wimpy 150 cc scooter and he rode a 1200 cc Fat Boy....therefore, not only was he a lot better than me, but he also had the bike to back up everything he believed....by they way, I met a lot of kind hearted and hip motorcyclist along the way...but because the few schlep-rocks I met happened to be Harley riders, I'm forever turned off to buying a Harley...it seems to me that some riders buy Harley-Davidsons to boost their low self-esteem...that's my theory and I'm sticking too it. Anyway, I told him that I was planning on finding a campsite near Oakdale and riding into San Francisco in the morning...he began to tell me that getting to San Fran was really easy and (if I was a real motorcyclist) I could get there that night. He began to convince me that I could make the 120 mile ride in the dark and arrive in San Francisco by 10 at night. Let me just tell you I didn't have a smart phone (it was destroyed in the rain/hail storm) or a detailed map of California...just US state maps showing major primary roads and a few secondary roads. Why I decided to ride att night without a good map or clear directions, I don't know, but it was a dumb decision. Going off a chicken scratched list of directions on a starbuck's napkin, I decided to begin the trek to San Francisco at 7:30 at night.

I drove west through mid-sized towns for 25 or so miles until I came to a stretch of farmland without any clear signs or street lights. My compass was showing that I've been heading west in the right direction the entire time, however, I didn't recognize any of the road names I listed on my chicken scratched napkin, so I turned around and started riding back....from there, I'm not really sure what happened but I was lost. It was dark, there were a ton of dead ends and roads that would go west for a while then turn south or north putting me of course. I rode on a dead end country road that intersected with I-5, which eventually will lead into SF. I decided to hop on the highway even though I knew it wouldn't be the safest thing to do....I was tired and frustrated and just wanted to get there. I previously rode on interstate highways a few times on my trip, however, it was always during the day when I was clearly visible to traffic. I was a bit more fearful to ride at night...my right turning signal light was broken, my gear covered much of back break light, and the speed limit was 75 mph....I could only reach 55-60 mph on a flat surface. If there were any climbs or hills, I could drop to speeds as low as 45 mph. I dueled the decision out in my mind and decided to take a chance. I got on the highway and just as I predicted, traffic that should have been going at 75 mph was at 85 mph. I was really nervous...I could feel my temple's pulse throbbing against inside of my helmet, my palms were sweating heavily inside my gloves and my heart could have bursted through the kevlar jacket if I hadn't started to take deep breaths to calm myself down. There was a semi that drove right up to me...he was so close, I could feel the mac-truck dog emblem chomping at the back of my neck. He then proceeded to high beam me and honk his horn. I thought, "this dude is going to kill me in 3, 2, 1......" He then suddenly swerved out of the my lane and went around me, probably cursing obscenities and raising hell, but my eyes stayed straight on the road ahead of me. I drove around 15 miles on I-5 and decided that I had too much torture for one night. I got off a random exit and decided to ditch plan B to arrive in SF that night and go back to plan A - get a place to sleep and ride there in the morning.

I ended up driving another 30 miles in circles until I reached the town of Stockton, CA - a grimy city dotted with old factory buildings and sketchy neighborhoods. Because it was so late at night, I decided to forgo getting a campsite and just get a motel for the night. The next morning I carefully mapped out my route to San Francisco and arrived at my Aunt Diana's and Uncle Earl's house in Alameda (an cozy island directly east of SF across the bay) about mid-day.

I couldn't have received a better welcoming...As soon as I pulled up to their house, Aunt Diana opened the front door of their late 19th century victorian house and immediately embraced me with a deep hug...she looked me directly in the eyes and said "We're so proud of you!" I then began to walk towards Uncle Earl who stood back in the front door entranceway...I stretched out my hand for the customary man-to-man handshake, but he ignored my glib gesture, pulled me close, then embraced me with sincere affection and said, "We love you." I've only met Aunt Diana a few times before as I child and I never met Uncle Earl before, but their love for me was real and genuine. I would get many more hugs and "I love you's " throughout the week...they truly made me feel at home and loved.

For the next week, I stayed with Aunt Diana and Uncle Earl in Alameda. I met most of their children and grandchildren (my cousins)....we shared big dinners, interesting conversations and many laughs. I have to say to re-uniting with my west coast family became the highlight of my trip...the continent was beautiful, the mountains amazed me, the desert stirred my imagination, and endless roads allowed me move into the center of my being....however, being loved by your own tops it all. They are truly one of the most interesting, amazing, and loving people I have ever met....it doesn't surprise me at all that we are related! :)

The next few days, I made trips to the north side of the Golden Gate bridge and down to the Pacific Ocean to take my final I-made-it pictures ( I can't believe I actually made it!) Through out the week, my cousin's Earl and Laurie drove me around San Fran and Oakland so show me the sounds, smells, and sights. San Francisco is a beautiful city and culturally diverse...the bay area is definitely a place I could hang my hat for a while and call home. I made several day trips to surrounding areas including Sonoma/Napa Valley, San Rafael, Sausalito, and the University of Cal at Berkley. All were charming and interesting in their own, unique way.

I wrapped up the week by crating and shipping back the scooter with the help of the San Francisco Scooter Shop. After 29 days of hard riding and 7 days of sight seeing and reuniting with my family, it was becoming time to fly back home to Philly. I had mixed feelings about returning home...in one sense I was exhausted and ready to get back to my girlfriend, work and reality but on the other hand, I had say goodbye to adventure, freedom, and the daily thrill of stepping out into the unknown.

Coming home was bitter-sweet...the trip has forever changed me. ....

My finals thoughts and feelings about the trip will be on the next, final blog.

PS To all the Rivard's....Thank you for making my stay in San Fran so special. I love you all and hope to be with you again soon.

Yosemite Valley

Yosemite Valley, El Captian on left

Close up of El Capitan

The valley and I

Making my way down into the valley

Don't fall off the side!

Notice the waterfall in the background

All smiles....

Beautiful River below

Western Sierra Foothills leaving Yosemite

One of the best rides of the trip in these "hills" that

we call mountains back east.

Bamboo-like grasses

Dead Giant Sequoia

Redwoods/Sequoias

Mariposa Grove, Giant Sequoias

A friend from CT that I met on the trails

Front View of El Capitan

Valley River

Valley River

Meadow surrounded by granite cliffs

Off beaten hike to lower Yosemite falls

Yosemite Falls

Hiking

View of upper Yosemite Falls

Lower Yosemite Falls

Mule Deer

Coyote probably looking for some food near my campsite

Ride down into the valley

"In God's wildness lies the hope of the world—the great fresh unblighted, unredeemed wilderness. The galling harness of civilization drops off, wounds heal and we are aware."

"Yosemite is by far the grandest of all the special temples of Nature I was ever permitted to enter"

- Writings of Naturalist and Yosemite preservationist, John Muir

I wasn't prepared for the magnitude and immense beauty of Yosemite Valley. I've seen all the pictures and watched the documentaries, however , they hadn't prepared me for this face-to-face almost mind bending encounter. As I made my way through dense thickets of pine trees and flora, the lookout views of the valley came into sight...I was stunned by the size of valley's granite cliffs, the many towering waterfalls (some close to 2,500 ft high), and the crystal blue-green river that serenely flowed between. In all my explorations, I have never come across a place so beautiful, perfect, and peaceful...it was almost a religious experience. My mouth must have been wide open as I winded down through the valley's twists and turns...at one point I was so entranced that I almost forgot to turn with the curvature of the road...I slammed on the breaks last second before hurling myself off the side of valley walls. From that point on I decided to take extended glances only when I pulled over and got off the bike.

I made my way into the valley and village areas. The air was still quite cool and brisk and made for a great, slow ride. The Yosemite highlands were mostly remote, but to my dismay the valley villages were bustling camping towns...a sort of a refugee camp-type setting with hundreds and hundreds of tents pitched in designated areas. On the one hand, its nice to have all the amenities of a developed national park....there were many restaurants, stores, groceries and public bathrooms with paved paths to easily accessible trail heads. The downside is that if your looking to be alone in solitude and really experience nature in tranquility, it's quite impossible within the valley. The more rustic camping sites were located in the high country approximately 30 miles away, and I didn't feel like riding back up and out of the valley to reach them...besides, I was starving by this time and there was a mexican taco stand calling out my name.

Finding a spot to camp was a daunting task. All the camping signs read, "Registration Needed"...so began my search to find a village office to make a reservation. The signs to register a campsite brought me to a parking lot..and from there there were more inconspicuous and confusing signs that suggested I had to trek another 2 miles along paved walkways to where the offices were located. The frustrating thing was that I drove through a couple of campgrounds that were half empty, so why would I need a reservation? Anyway, as soon as I got off my scooter and started to make my way towards the walkway, I bumped into a couple from Jersey. We began talking and they said that they were also frustrated and confused about the camping situation, however, they just got back from the offices and were told that reservations were not needed...they told me it was okay to just go find a plot and set-up camp anywhere inside the valley. I decided to get back on my scooter and do just that...I still felt a bit uncertain because signs throughout the valley clearly showed that reservations were needed, but on the other hand, I was tired and didn't feel like dealing with crowds of people, walking another 2 miles, and waiting in line for who knows how long.

After a quick bite of Mexican, I went to the grocery store and bought the nighttime camping essentials...Yosemite brand IPA beer and a stack of dried-out wood. I set up camp inside Curry Village's north pine camping site. This was day 27 of my trip, and it was the first time I made a bona fide fire (I never had the time to make a fire in the past and my one and only attempt on day one failed). While resting on my rolled up sleeping bag, chugging back a beer, and staring into the flames and glowing embers, I took a deep breath of relief and relaxation. I thought to myself, "The trip will be complete in just a few days...then its back to society, responsibility, traffic jams, and endless busyness...I much rather just stay out here..." Then I dozed off....

Tap, Tap Tap...Tap, Tap, Tap..."Excuse me sir, you're in our site...sorry, sir, this is our site..." I woke up to see a young, pretty woman standing over me and her van's high beams shinning directly into my eyes...at first, still not fully awake, I thought that the lights were the pearly gates and the pretty woman was an angel, but after I regained consciousness, I realized that I must have fallen asleep and my slumber was abruptly disturbed. I quickly popped up and said, "Sorry, I don't understand..." She said, "We reserved site# 150 four months ago, and you are in it..." "Shit!" I thought to myself, "This is the last time I listen to Jersey folk!"

Noticing that the van was customized for a handicapped person, I immediately said, "Oh, I'm really sorry, I'll move my things, just give me about 10 minutes or so." I quickly began to drag all of my things - tent, bags, scooter, etc - across the forest floor about 20-30 yards away from the campsite. I squeezed into a small space between an RV and tent, on the border of two designated camping spots, hoping no one would mind my late night intrusion. They proceeded to make a u-turn and pull into the now coveted spot # 150. At first I was a little perturbed...because the Jersey folk fed me B.S., because I ate it up instead of going with my gut, and because I was being asked to move all my things at 12:00 mid-night....however, the woman and her handicapped boyfriend/husband were really nice...and I felt a strong sense of compassion for her boyfriend/husband...It must be so frustrating to be in this beautiful wilderness and not be able to get out of a wheelchair to experience it like the rest of us. As I crawled back into my tent, he hollered out across the woods, "Thanks dude! I hope you have a great night's sleep!" I yelled back, " No problem. You all have a good night's rest too!" All my frustration left me and I fell asleep.

The next morning while getting coffee, I discovered that all the sites were actually booked about 3-4 months in advance...there were no open and free spots available that weekend, and typically on a Friday night many people drive in from the western cities and arrive quite late. I unknowingly stole a spot for the night.

That day I drove 30 miles south to hike inside the Mariposa Grove...where the Giant Redwood Sequoias thrive...I then exited Yosemite from the south entrance, and began my descent into the western Sierra Nevada foothills into the central valley farmlands. The foothills are great for riding...there are twisting, winding roads where speeds top off at 30 mph. Once again, I had to be vigilant and alert because there were many roads without side guards that switchbacked along cliffs dropping off hundreds of feet. On one occasion, a mule deer darted out in front of me and then abruptly stopped at the shoulder's edge. Freaked out and scared, he then quickly ran back into the forest...if he decided to run across the entire road, I would have surely hit him...probably ending both my life and his. In my mind, I imagined what the accident scene would have looked like to the arriving ETM's....blood and body parts everywhere, both deer and man, scooter shrapnel would dot the road's painted lines, and finally my severed head would have been discovered beside the road's shoulder, where amazingly during impact, the deer's antlers would have become fused into the top of my head, creating an entirely new species called the Manalope. The ETM's would think, "That's too bad, we never got to see the Manalope run in the wild..."

Because the trip was coming to an end, I decided to use up my two (1) gallon reserve tanks. I thought if I started to get low on gas, there would surely be gas stations every 50 miles or so between Yosemite and the next town...well I was wrong. I drove 170 miles on my final two reserve tanks. I passed one gas station in this little country town called Chinese Camp but they were out of gas. I thought my reserves would get me to Oakdale, CA but I knew it was going to be close. As soon as I saw the city limits entrance sign for Oakdale, my scooter died...I heard a Put Put Put followed by a final gasp for life then I quickly rolled to a stop...the tank was completely drained and there were no gas stations in sight. I ended up pushing my scooter about two miles up a steep hill until I arrived at a highway intersection where I thankfully found a Valero gas station. As I pushed my sweaty self and the scooter into the station, an old man walking by jokingly asked me, "What's the brand name of your moped? Runs-only-when-you-push-it?" He chuckled to himself then sped off. Although I was frustrated, I quickly regained my optimism, thinking that it was a good thing I ran out of gas...After all, I needed one running-out-of-gas experience to solidify the trip. It was just one more of the many set-backs yet good story telling experiences of the trip.