“There are tree spirits watching over you,” a psychic from India, Bhavana, recently revealed to me, as she told me that meeting me has helped to rekindle her reading abilities. I met Bhavana at the Green Festival. After spending a day and a half indoors and away from the sunshine, I’d decided to take Giuseppe, whom I’d met inside, up on his offer for tea, served fresh from his Free Tea Party short bus parked just outside the San Francisco Concourse, home to this year’s Green Festival.

Giuseppe gave me a simple seat above the sidewalk as I arrived to the tea bus, and after a couple of sips into his chamomile delight, Bhavana suddenly appeared and took a seat across from me. As had been the case with what had seemed to be the majority of “new” people I’d met and talked to at the Green Festival, Bhavana seemed familiar to me– despite the fact that I’d never met her before the tea bus. We easily struck up a conversation that extended on and on as we must have spent at least an hour seated across from one another.

I’m not sure exactly who or what has been watching over me– if anyone/anything– but given the wealth of outstanding daily experiences I’ve encountered over the course of the two months I’ve spent walking from Washington State to San Francisco, a story of guidance, protection, and love from above is easy to believe.

I walked across the Golden Gate Bridge on Sunday, November 22, 2009– two months after leaving Vancouver, Washington– having hiked some 750 miles from point VW to point GG.

Every day of the way I’ve met and talked to extraordinary people. (People that I may have considered “ordinary” at some other time in life are all extraordinary now.) I often feel that compared to where I was in life six years ago, a month’s worth of quality-of-life richness from then is topped with a single day’s adventure journey now.

People have been showing their brightest and best sides, fully restoring my once-questioned hope and faith in the good-nature potential of humanity. In the nine weeks between my Day 1 departure and my crossing of the Golden Gate Bridge, I’ve spent only a week in my tent. I’ve otherwise been given shelter, and usually food, by countless kindhearted souls who are willing to help me make this pilgrimage an all-sides success. Also, without ever once asking, more people than I can keep track of have stuffed cash contributions into my pockets to help see that all of my various needs are taken care of. They know this is by no means a fundraising walk, and even after only talking to me for a minute or two, they still wish to somehow take part in helping me out. I resisted the cash at first, but having found that many people I’m meeting honestly want to feel like they’re contributing to the effort, and knowing what it’s like to contribute to such “causes” myself, I’ve decided to allow it. Consequently, having tallied my small budget after arriving here to San Francisco, I’ve found that even after purchasing plenty of food, signs, reflective gear, and other necessary equipment along the way, I haven’t lost a dollar of my budget over the course of the entire nine weeks– I’m pretty much exactly at a break-even status with my Day 1 budget. I’m still prepared to bankrupt myself (if need be) to see this walk through– but what a blessing to find that food, shelter, and other assistance has helped propel me forward– despite not having set up any such link from the website.

The extraordinary people I’m meeting and places I’m seeing are experiences I couldn’t imagine having missed out on. As is the case when we make any challenging new change in life– be it committing to getting in better shape, moving on from a destructive atmosphere, or working toward a new personal goal– when we walk the path it doesn’t take long before we just have to take a quick glimpse back and quickly feel an enormous rush of gratitude to ourselves for listening to that golden voice of intuition within, answering the calling, and moving forward.

Life on the road is full of surprises– sometimes a new adventure around every turn, it seems. Many of these surprises sneak up on you like the unexpected smell of the most delicious pie in a nearby oven. Getting soaked in a sudden rainstorm isn’t one of the highlights– but I’ve been learning to laugh through the pain of the hard times as well, as I learn to understand their role in the greater scheme.

The hard times offer not only lessons and opportunities for growth, but they bring a much greater sense of general optimism and gratitude after you make it through them. For example, I remember a stinky night’s stay indoors a few towns back. I knew I wasn’t enthusiastic enough about the place I where I was invited to stay. So, I simply stepped outside into the cold, dark night for a few minutes, remembered the colder nights crammed into the little bivy tent, and felt so much more appreciative when I returned to the warm, cozy hosting home for the evening. And what a great night’s sleep came of it!

Though I always try to line up my nightly accommodations in advance, most often via the Couchsurfing website, I frequently am unable to succeed in finding a host when entering a more sparsely populated area. Consequently, there have been many days where I’ve hit the road on a paved path through many sticks, and been absolutely unaware of where exactly I’ll be spending the night. Such a scenario was a bit intimidating to me at first. But, with a determined, see-it-through attitude, I’ve made it through some initially “questionable” scenarios, and have learned to simply approach such days with optimism, trusting that “something will work out…” even if that means that I’m finding a hidden patch of ground amidst the vineyards for the night (my latest “almost-scenario,” the day I reached Cloverdale). There are fun stories to report from many such days so far (Junction City, Rice Hill, Myrtle Creek, Oregon I-5 Exit 82 rest area, Crescent City, Stafford, Redway/Garberville, Laytonville, Willits, and Cloverdale…), most of which are stories I have yet to catch up on…

It will take a few days before I really start making serious progress south of the Bay Area. Though the body is eager to hit the road, intuition tells me to stay calm: give the feet a bit more rest first. I trusted intuition’s advice when it directed me to rest my injured left foot the month before the walk began, and despite the body’s urgings at the time to continue to push forward with training, listening to the golden voice within paid off super well. That voice is again telling me to take it easy and rest up for a few days. Despite leisure walking here on the east side of the Bay, where I’m currently resting, it’s been nearly a week since I last made progress on my actual route south, and my body (feet) feels sooo much better with this rest. After a few more days, it will be time to hit the road again.

I look forward to the road ahead. I’m carrying a lighter load in the backpack, traveling for now without the camping gear, which I’ve left with a fabulous friend (Erin) back in Santa Rosa. I’ll make it all the way to about Santa Cruz before I have to reload the gear for the continued hike south, to LA.

While the realm of that which I don’t know is still much greater than that which I do know, I’ll soon be pushing forward again on this pilgrimage– welcoming the companionship and assistance of the sun, the wind, the water, the trees, and the countless extraordinary souls I’ve been encountering along the way. I don’t know what all to expect as I proceed south toward LA, but I face the road ahead with optimism and enthusiasm– confident that whatever comes of this next chapter– inspiration will spread, and I too will learn and grow in the process.

As Powell’s is the biggest bookstore in the country, I know that I sometimes only need to wander in there, poke around a bit, and walk out with the right book– quite often a title I’d never heard of before walking in. Such was the case when I was seeking messages for the soulful traveler.
I spent hours checking out books in the travel writing section, the Americana section, and many of the aisles between the two before deciding on the one I wanted: The Art of Pilgrimage, by Phil Cousineau. I saw multiple used copies for sale alongside the new, giving me a first clue that this was a widely-read, still popular classic. And though I know that I’m not to judge a book by its cover, I must say that I did find Cousineau’s jacket appealing. Quickly perusing the table of contents, and hopping around every few seconds to randomly selected sections of all chapters, I could feel The Art of Pilgrimage calling me to its pages. I selected one of the used copies to carry home with me– as used not only halves the price– it adds character!
The Art of Pilgrimage entered my life just weeks before the Walk began, and I ended up not even finding time to read the forward of the book before leaving. That said, I still carried the book with me. By the time I’d made it to Salem, and still had yet to break into it, I made the painfully difficult decision to simply leave it behind, with family– as I could tell that I wouldn’t be finding the proper time/mood occasion to be diving into it anytime soon.
I decided I’d simply look for it in libraries and bookstores along the way– reading a chapter or even just a few pages at a time, progressing unpredictably through the book as I made progress into my pilgrimage. I’ve thought about the book many times since; I’ve looked for it in a number of libraries and bookstores, when time has afforded me, yet no one has had it– till yesterday.
Yesterday I awoke in Berkeley for the first time, guest at the home of long-time friends from Vancouver, Josh and Miranda. Josh & Miranda dropped me off yesterday afternoon in Central Alameda, per my request to not be driven all the way back to my aunt’s place (I needed to get some walking in!). It took us about a half mile to find the perfect place to the side of the road to drop me off, and isn’t it funny how coincidences work, I found myself only a block away from the yet-to-be-searched-for Alameda library– which I walked right into on my way back to Park Street– the main city thoroughfare.
Immediately searching for The Art of Pilgrimage, I finally found it! The Alameda Library is the first place so far this trip that I’d found it!! I can’t even describe how thrilled I was…
Sniffing it out by call number and opening up to the forward, I found myself amazed to read that the forward of the book came from the same place I began my day: Berkeley!
As I began to soak up the richness of just the opening score of pages (I only made it through the forward and the author’s introduction yesterday), I began getting a taste of why I’d selected this book, and why it has been on my mind from the beginning of the trip– despite having officially read none of it.
I’m headed back to the library tonight, to continue into chapter 1: The Calling. Have answered a calling to begin my current pilgrimage, you can only imagine my optimism toward what I’m about to read…

“Don’t get too caught up in dates or deadlines and end up hurrying through the walk. Take time to experience the country and the people in it and enjoy yourself. Be open to the experiences that may put you behind schedule but be exactly what you set out for in the first place.”
These are the words of Skip Potts, who began walking across America a year before I did, from Boston. Having finished his walk in June of this year, Skip is now making a documentary about people who have walked long distances. He caught up with me in Eugene, and after interviewing me, he passed on those words of wisdom… which have been on my mind ever since.
“By walking across America, you must really be getting a chance to see the country…” are words I‘ve heard many times. In one respect, they are certainly true. I could have driven the 750 miles I’ve walked from Vancouver, WA, to San Francisco within two long days– and seen still seen many beautiful sights along the way– but instead I spent two months walking the distance. And by walking these 750 miles, I’ve seen slices of the Pacific NW from many perspectives I would have otherwise never experienced. That said, I also feel that in many ways, the Walk has been going by fast. Within just the first few days of walking, I’d begun seeing many parts of Oregon that were always within an hour’s driving distance, but that I’d never known existed– for example, the Canby Ferry, which crosses a pretty and peaceful portion of the Willamette Riverevery few minutes, running along a cable extended above the water, is something I’d never heard of before the Walk brought me to it.
The blisters that grounded me for days in Roseburg came to be a blessing in disguise, as I ended up not only learning more about greater Roseburg from Paul Singleton and family, who hosted me, but also finding it to be a very fun and fascinating experience to simply spend some days with Paul and his seven kids. Staying with Scott, a second Roseburg host, only further enriched the local adventure before the feet were ready to continue on. Had it not been for those debilitating blisters in Roseburg, I would have simply arrived one evening and left the next morning– without truly taking any time to experience either the people or the place– a common case for me as I’ve made my way south.
The story of a richer, greater experience repeatedly became the case as my progress slowed while passing through Canyonville, the California border, Leggett, Ukiah, the Green Festival, etc.
Having crossed the Golden Gate Bridge, I’m now allowing several days for my feet to feel as ready as the rest of my body to push on further. Due to a “Go! Go! Go!” attitude, I wasn’t really noticing the accumulating foot pain. However, when I quickly kicked my feet away from the therapeutic hands of Lindsay, a licensed massage therapist in Ukiah, we both could tell that my feet were in need of healing time. I had well over a hundred miles to walk before reaching San Francisco from Ukiah– and plans for some extended rest and recuperation days in the Bay Area began forming immediately.
So, here I sit in the Bay Area, at my Aunt Ellen’s apartment in Alameda (an island accessible from Oakland). I crossed the Golden Gate Bridge last Sunday (11/22), continued walking to the southern end of SF the following day, and I’ve been here at my aunt’s ever since. And once again, as I get to know Ellen much better than I’ve ever known her, I find that spending time in destinations along the way is an unfathomably valuable investment.
My feet are still sore, but they feel noticeably better than they did on the day I last walked the route (I’ve walked a good few miles in Alameda since; it‘s hard to slow down completely).
I’ll likely remain here in the Bay Area for at least another week, spending time with Ellen as well as visiting many other friends who have given me a variety of invitations to spend time with them. Ultra-sore feet can be a source of frustration, especially when this beautiful sunny weather makes for the best days on the road. But I’ve been learning to see my status–whatever it may be– as a blessing: through thick and thin, incredibly great things have been happening since the Walk began, often unexpectedly, and I’m simply to appreciate and make the best of this stationary experience and opportunity while it lasts. So far, the Bay stay has proven itself necessary, valuable, refreshing, and fun– and I have at least another week to go here.
This brings me to the overall timing of the trip: Skip’s sage words advised me not to get caught up in dates or deadlines, and nearly two months later, I feel I have a much better understanding of just what he was telling me, and why. So, in heeding Skip’s advice, I hereby am no longer committing myself to reaching the White House on exactly Friday, June 18, 2010. I’m also going to re-adjust the aim of my pace to an average of between 20km and 20m daily– a more universal message to a world almost exclusively on the metric system. Though I’m sure to walk many more 20-mile days, a 20km pace will definitely allow me more time to experience and inspire–my stated goal– as I cross this great nation.
I may reach the White House in 365 days– or perhaps in 400 days. To be honest, the exact date of my arrival isn’t a major concern to me right now. Intuition is clearly guiding me toward prioritizing the experiencing and inspiring of America (in any little way I can) over racing to reach a self-imposed deadline. Allowing for more time as I cross this country on foot will surely allow me to do a much fuller job of practicing what I preach– namely: ENJOY THE WALK!

I finally got booted off the freeway. Walking from the south end of Petaluma to Novato, I entered 101, where I walked against traffic down the freeway. At first, all was fine– it was the normal not-the-most-pleasurable freeway walking experience, filled with the smog and cacophony of countless cars whizzing by at high speed. But just after 2pm, as northbound traffic out of San Francisco began to thicken, I found myself walking on the shoulder, against three lanes of slow-moving vehicles. As the minutes progressed, the vehicles were only moving at parking lot speed, and then everything became a lot more fun than it ever has been along the freeway. Amidst the boredom of their daily commute home, drivers were noticing me, with large numbers of them honking and waving to the man with the WALKING ACROSS AMERICA signs. Of all the different surfaces I’ve walked (neighborhood streets, central city arterials, highways, freeways, and occasionally a bike bath or train tracks), the freeway has always been the least hospitable in people terms. But the traffic jam turned it into the most hospitable of all roadside experiences. I did get a couple of angry gestures from not-so-happy male motorists, but there were many hundreds of honks and waves of support to compare to the tiny handful of hecklers.
I would come to learn that the small handful of hecklers also called the police on me. After I’d made into the Novato city limits via the freeway, and was almost to the first exit, a California Highway Patrol car suddenly emerged from the then parking lot of three northbound 101 lanes. Barreling toward me, I could tell that I was about to have my first “run-in” with California police. As he swiftly closed in to my position, he had his door open for the last hundred or so feet of path to me– the way cops approach a situation when they’re ready to jump out and “take care of business.” “Chip” (I’ll call him; I didn’t get his first name) stopped and hopped up out of his patrol car, approaching me with a look of determination on his face. I immediately grabbed one of the handy photo ID business cards I carry (thanks Brian!), ready to introduce myself and explain what I’m doing.
“I don’t want to know what your cause is” were roughly his opening words– I don’t remember the words as exactly as I remembered his irritated introductory mood. “We’re getting calls about you– 911 calls– you’re backing up the whole freeway!” he tells me, as he gestures to the endless swarm of cars lined up behind him.
“I caused this!!???” I never would have guessed such a thing. I’d figured it was simply rush-hour traffic coming out of San Francisco. But then I noticed that as I was walking against traffic, cars in front of me were slow; once past me, they were moving much more quickly. It amazes me what a simply man with a sign on the side of a busy road can accomplish.
“You can’t walk on the freeway,” Chip tells me, as a scintilla of curiosity begins to emerge from him: “where did you start?”
“I began in Washington State. I’m walking across America to Washington, DC– all the way to the White House. I’m coming south through California as winter approaches, and I can’t be caught in Minnesota in the dead of winter.”
“Really!?” By now, Chip’s opening mood of irritation seems to have almost completely faded. Having recognized that I’ve alread made it this far on foot, he now appears to be rather impressed. Still a law enforcement officer though, he warns me that by walking on the freeway, another officer may cite me. (He obviously wasn’t about to exercise his power to do so :^)
“Where are you going tonight?”
“I’m being hosted tonight in the Bel Marin Keys. People are hosting me in many communities along the way. Tomorrow I’ll be in San Rafael. I really didn’t want to break any laws, and I apologize for this. What’s the best way for me to (legally) get from here to the Bel Marin Keys?”
Chip’s demeanor quickly transitioned to thoughtful as he started explaining what he felt would be the quickest, safest, best– and legal– way for me to reach the Bel Marin Keys.
“Good Luck to You! I wish you well!”
Though I’ve spoken to many cops along the way, the situation is typically that I see them parked along the roadside; I approach them, introduce myself and what I’m doing, and they’ve only ever been helpful to me. The angry 911 calls and then subsequent wait through a parking lot to find me obviously brought Chip to me with a different mentality. Still– I’d consider it a positive ending to what started out as an unsure beginning. There was another way to reach Novato from Petaluma, off the freeway, but it would have added many more miles, and I was hoping not to have avoided it. I did avoid it, and now won’t need the freeway again as I make my way into San Francisco.
Good Times!

Descending the California Coast south on 101, Ukiah is where wine country begins. The wineries start just north of the city limits, where the rugged redwood terrain of the north opens up to a relieving valley of vineyards. Somewhat relieving in comparison to the last few small town hops, Ukiah is the largest population center south of Eureka, and I already had contacts lined up for a stay here.
I stayed two nights here with Lindsay and Rob, a thirtysomething bro and sis duo whom I met through Liz– a recent new friend made a few days ago while walking 101 south of Laytonville. Lindsay is a multi-talented, high tempo ball of energy who leads a very progressive lifestyle, successfully has a hundred things going on at once, and always seems ready to take on more. She accompanied me Monday (09-NOV-09) through Ukiah, and took much camera footage along the way. One of her many activities is producing video for the local Public Access TV station– all that Ukiah has for local news. Lindsay also scored us a free dinner at Ukiah Brewing Company and Restaurant, the nation’s first certified Organic Brewpub. Following the dinner was a free movie– Where the Wild Things Are– again compliments of Lindsay’s persuasive magic. She encouraged me to contact Ukiah Natural Foods for some donated groceries on the way out of town. I did so via e-mail later Monday evening, and received a call that a $30 gift certificate was waiting for me there, compliments of the store manager, the following morning. Lindsay said she may wish to serve as something of a part-time press agent for this Walk. I’m very optimistic about this possibility, and we’ll see what comes of it. (Link to Lindsay’s site.)
After a necessarily slow start, socializing lots on the way out of Ukiah, meeting and walking with great new people in the process, I nearly reached Hopland Tuesday evening, and Couchsurfing host Jeff, a local real estate appraiser who lives off the grid in the hills outside of town, picked me up at the fire station off 101 and brought me back for a great dinner and place to stay for the evening.
Another great day down; another great day to come…