Miles to Date: 272
May 9, 2015 – Cloudy, 55 degrees
I opened my eyes and greeted the domed skylight in the center of the yurt’s roof above me. Dozens of rafters splayed out of create this giant circle. The wind outside made the canvas roof pucker. I was cozy in my sleeping bag. My imagination spun at the thrill of adventure. I simultaneously felt far from home.
There is a consciousness to yurt living, Rose and Jeremy style. Jeremy set a fire in the wood stove. Rose chopped piles of fresh vegetables for a frittata. I took a bath in their deep tub. The long bath was luxurious, but like so much of conscious living, it would be time consuming on a daily basis. The yurt sits on a square concrete walkout basement, which creates odd foundation geometries were round meets square. Rose and Jeremy plan to move the yurt to another plot and construct a more conventional house; divided into rooms, including a bathroom with a shower.
Being round, the yurt invites interaction, which is well suited to Rose’s work. Two days ago she called me on the road. “Can I do a workshop Saturday morning based on your question?” I was planning a short travel day, so decided linger in Union and participate. Ten people gathered beneath the yurt’s dome and Rose led us through a series of explorations that touched on the individual and community, where we are today, where we’d like to be tomorrow, and how to get there. I must confess being a bit skeptic of group process exercises, but the morning was insightful and emotionally powerful.
When I rode away about one o’clock, I needed a few hours of solitude to process the intensity. The ride from Union to Belfast goes through beautiful countryside, forests and farms. The topography is hill after hill after hill. Long, low gear climbs followed by fast, all to quick, descents. I spent my mid-afternoon break at the Hope General Store with a Diet Coke and Whoopie Pie, a ridiculously sweet Maine staple.
The side of the rod was littered with fiddlehead ferns. I rolled into Belfast about 5 p.m. Belfast is a picturesque coastal town that has transitioned out of manufacturing with great spirit. I crossed the Passagasawakeag River on the high bridge on Route 1. Then I turned off the Atlantic Highway for one final time, and climbed the hill on opposite rise to spend the night with Jim Merkel, long-distance cyclist, environmental education, and author of Radical Simplicity, and his family.





























I’ve attended to all the messy details so many of us put off until tomorrow: my will, my medical proxy, my organ donor card. If I get taken out short and quick, the world might as well use what’s still valuable, and tidying up after me ought to be easy for those left behind. If I get taken out short and quick, find solace in knowing I quit the earth doing what I love.




major city (53%), Cambridge leaves the majors in the dust.


affed by T-shirted scientists keen explain the mysteries of sunspots and solar flares. People from 3 to 83 fixed their eyes into viewfinders to observe the wild choreography that was just another day on the sun. I arrived too late to take any of the tours offered, but wandered through ‘Ask an Astronomer’ hall, teeming with children and parents quizzing geeks about black holes and dark matter.

For off-bike wear I’m packing two black Technic shirts (EMS), one collared sun-protection shirt (Columbia) a pair of black microfiber paints (REI), a pair of microfiber shorts (Columbia), a swimsuit / yoga short (City Sports), three pairs of nylon underwear (Underarmour), a wool hat for cold days, a baseball hat to shade my noggin, and an ancient pair of scrubs (Yale-New Haven Medical Center laundry, but don’t report me on that). That’s it. Everything can be rinsed and hung to dry for the next day, except for scrubs and the socks. That’s why I need so many pairs.

hing fit! The plastic bags were too flimsy, so I got an assortment of mesh bags to help organize the bags. Now my only worry is, what did I forget?