Since I'm currently writing a book about the first bike trip, this text will be condensing 10 of the most grueling and illuminating months of riding into one html page. This will be expanded in time; but for the moment it will have to do.
We sold as much as we could in yard sales and left on October 1st of '81. The day we left, it was pouring and my load swayed something awful. We decided to stay at a friend's house for the night, and on the 2nd, were officially on our own. The autumn leaves followed us all the way through the Poconos and by Halloween, we arrived at my brother's house in Pennsylvania.
Since the winter was creeping up on us fast, Thanksgiving found us at a friend's house, Mike, in Johnson City, Tennessee. After celebrating with them we faced the big leap into the unknown. 4000 miles lay ahead, and not one person did we know.
By Christmas, the temperature had dropped below zero and we were lucky enough to be asked to stay at the house of a tree planter in Georgia. In that next week the thermometer maintained a constant below-zero level and the radio would talk of -40 wind chill factors.
By the time my birthday arrived, the weather had soared to above a hundred. We had reached the very tip of Texas. We camped for three weeks at Laguna Heights near Brownsville along the bay.
This drawing was done while we were camped at our blue lagoon. The shoreline, sculptured into grotesque shapes by the pounding waves, lay as backdrop to two Berlandier's Tortoise shells which lay on the driftwood plank seat I'd constructed. Next to them, the coyote skull lies silently.
The travel coffee cup kept liquids from spilling when we were inside the tent.