You’ll never guess where I am at this very moment, which would be Thursday evening a little after eight. Get ready; I am sitting at a picnic table, right next to the tent Michael and I, mostly Michael, set up at the state park in Detroit. Other than a beautiful moon, the only light is coming off this screen. I am still wearing all my motorcycle gear, minus the helmet and gloves, because it is a bit cold. I can barely see the metal cup, containing a very fine pinot noir, Dusky Goose. Michael has been building an incredibly elaborate tasting room, etc. for the vineyard. We are likely drinking a stolen bottle of Dusky Goose.

Usually, I have been writing from the comfort of a bedroom, whether cottage or motel. The fact is, the majority of my time is spent outdoors on the bike. Now, at least we can get to talk while I am upright and outside. I want to write a little bit tonight and more, early in the morning. We get to end our day together under the moon and start it up again with the early sun.

My today started up in a very unusual way. As you know, I was at the Bend-Sunriver RV Campground, around 18 miles south of Bend. After getting my belongings secured, I rolled over to the office to return my key. Moving wooden arms, rising and falling on cue, control the entrance and exit. I pulled up to the exit and it went up. As I was slowly moving ahead, the wooden arm came down on my helmet and broke in half. It felt like something fell from the sky and landed squarely on my protective device. I wasn’t sure to take it as a good sign or an omen of misfortune for the coming day.

We connected up in Bend, not before my getting lost yet again. The plan was to stop in Sisters and have some excellent ice cream, which we did. The town felt a little plastic and movie set to me, which was not what I was expecting. I thought it would be more Kauai and less Maui.

The ride from Sisters to our present location, goes over some incredible land, on par with Yosemite, but so different. Yosemite is filled with big rock gods, powerful fists, punched right through the earth. After San Francisco, most of my time has been spent at elevations of at least 4,000 ft., with kind of a high desert feel. I could see and feel the difference as we began descending from Sisters to the other Motown, the one with trees and streams galore, all now looking very anemic. The landscape gets much more lush as you drop closer to the ground, the belly of Mother Earth.

Now, we are back where we started, sitting in the dark, on a picnic table. Michael walked off somewhere and I have this awful habit of having to write to you before any days ends. Every day has been amazing, right to this moment, now over an hour since I started talking to you. I love breathing the big air in places like this.

It is time to stop and lay on the ground.

Good morning. It was pretty damn cold last night. I got into the tent wearing all my clothes, including my leather jacket. I am still in the same outfit, a fashion faux pas. I creeped out of the tent and walked down to the dry lakebed to meditate. I know I mentioned before that Detroit Lake is way down, partially due to the drought in this part of the country and due to it being part of a dam system, providing power to the growing population. When the morning sun goes behind the sporadic cloud cover, the temperature must drop twenty degrees. I have to stop typing and zcross my arms in front of my chest to keep warm. The sun just came out again, so I can continue.

Once I figure out how to upload this story with some photos, it will be time to organize and get going. I am off to the coast from here. I am still trying not to get ahead of myself on this journey. I work on staying fully engaged in the day, leaving tomorrow where it belongs.