15 Jun, 2011
California means a lot different things to different people. For some, it is a land of incessant sunshine where Hollywood icons stroll the streets en route to the latest scandal or maybe the governor’s mansion– or both. For others, it is a bastion of hedonism where liberal ideals spring up like weeds. Some think of the state’s unparalleled natural beauty and outdoor activities as evidenced in the majesty of Half Dome, the desolation of Death Valley, the mystery of Joshua Tree, the wildness of the Big Sur coastline, and the grandeur of the redwoods. There’s the Golden Gate, Tahoe, LA, and whole lot more. For me, the primary elements of California are those most abundant in the central part of the state: bright orange and yellow poppies growing in the foxtails; rolling hills covered with light yellow grass and sparse live oak trees tickled by fog from the ocean in the morning then beaten dry by the afternoon sun; red-tailed hawks screaming out into a silent valley; verdant fields being worked by hands with bent backs to deliver food to our tables; cattle grazing while oil rigs pump in the distance. This is the backbone of California. This is my childhood home.
Over the past week, I biked from Santa Barbara to Salinas. This region of California is the setting for many of my earliest memories. I spent the first 12 years of my life between Salinas and Monterey. After a few years in Carmel, I headed south to Santa Barbara for boarding school. My father’s family–Claassens and Franklins–are considered pioneers of the Paso Robles area. As I biked this stretch of central California, I pedaled through canyons where my great grandparents drove cattle. My parents instilled in me a deep appreciation for the region’s back roads, many of which I have been driving all of my life. On the bicycle, I discovered that the roads I considered small are major thoroughfares to many. I also got the chance to explore some very small roads that I would have left unexplored in a car. Such is the glory of the bicycle.
The cycling went surprisingly well. I ended up doing over 60 miles a day, which exceeded my intended parameters of 40-60mi throughout this trip. On my way to Solvang, I ended up with 72 miles for the day after 65 the previous day and the knowledge that a hilly 60+ awaited me the next morning. Despite the numbers, the riding has been great. Lest you mistake my enthusiasm for lack of effort, consider the difficulty of pedaling a fully loaded bicycle into 12 mph head winds when you average 13 mph– on a good day. Such is the life of a touring cyclist in central CA. However, gracias a Dios, I have yet to injure myself or hit the wall. I came very close to “bonking” on a 5 mile climb through a narrow canyon 45 miles into my ride to Paso Robles. Luckily, I took a dip in a cold stream and returned to the bike refreshed.
This week, I’ve visited churches all across the denominational spectrum: Lutheran, Evangelical missionary non-denominational, Catholic, UCC, and Presbyterian.
As you have undoubtedly noticed, there is so much to report in these weekly blogs that some of the best parts will go unreported. However, I hope to provide a sampling of the week’s adventures and pass on the general spirit of adventure. Of course, there’s always more to say. Although this post might seem removed from the overall carbon element, consider the following pictures as another part of central California scenery:
Home is a curious notion. While the feelings we associate with a particular place are extraordinarily strong, it is also worth noting the value of being at home wherever we are. I aspire to both recognize my deep connection to the land and ecosystem in which I live and seek the comfort of being connected to all things in all that I do. This latter goal requires living into the person that I am and “being at home in my own skin”–as the cliche goes. Bringing the Carbon Sabbath to the region of my childhood memories has done that for me. Yes– some folks question the urgency of the related issues or legitimacy of my means. But the resulting dialogue has proved worthwhile.
All over Salinas, there are signs, murals, and museums commemorating the work of John Steinbeck. Despite his legendary status, Steinbeck was not easily accepted in this community because he wrote about issues that made people face problems that they would rather avoid. He did so in such a way that his work resonated with people all around the world facing other forms of hardship. Such is the success of the compassionate heart.
Until next week, when we meet again
more compassionate than we thought possible.