The Next Chapter (Continued From The Gifts of My Journey)
Portland, Oregon – September 2019
One more month is nearing its end. It is Autumn in the Northern Hemisphere. I suddenly notice trees turning half-red here and there. At this time last year, I was in Jackson, Wyoming, witnessing an aspect of nature that is foreign back home in Southern California.
People at older stages in life usually confess to their concerns and resistance to entering into the “dating world”. But there is something very special about starting a relationship later in life, in one’s forties or fifties (which might get even better with time). Despite being more wounded and perhaps cynical after ended relationships, provided that both have done deep inner work, there is a joy of being authentic, vulnerable and bold that outweighs those concerns. That is what is happening to us.
Telling the story of my life to a new person is like planning the arc of a novel: how much do I tell, how soon? What is wise to divulge? I settle on just being real.
She crosses my mind all the time, and there is an impulse to write her a little note here and there, to express the desire to connect, to update her about what I’m doing, how I’m feeling, how I miss her. Our last FaceTime call, which ended at 3:00 a.m. this morning, lasted five hours. Personal record, even for someone often so hungry for connection.
The weather has changed many times today already. The heavy clouds and sunny patches give way to a pale gray sky, thunders and a sudden drizzle. Lightning strikes northwest of here, and three seconds later I hear its thundering roar. The thundering continues, and I laugh at the prospect of riding in the rain tonight for dinner at Kris and Nathan Fant’s house. As Kris herself had told me before, when she moved to the Pacific Northwest from California and started riding, she had explained to herself that “this is what people here do: they just ride in the rain.”
Roughlock Resort, Monticello, Utah – October 2019
As she and I spend more and more time together, FaceTiming daily, we are reminded of our physical distance and our frustration grows. (You will appreciate the fact that we have been falling in love with one another, while not even knowing the scent of each other's skin). After many conversations that addressed the practicality of her being a mother, her hesitation to meet a “technical stranger” (her words), the fact that I am on a long, open-ended journey some 1,000 miles (1.600 km) away from her, she comes up with the plan to drive to a mid-way location for our meeting. And we finally set it for the following weekend, eleven days away.
I am thrilled as I feel the roots of our love deepening, reaching for and wrapping themselves in every aspect of my inner and outer life, squeezing both joy and fear out. I have always longed for the level of reciprocity that we have experienced since our first talks. Our stance of deal-breaker resolve against one-sidedness shows itself in the avidness and curiosity that we have for one another, in our mutual ability to take responsibility when either one, or both, have caused a conflict. And in the life-changing vulnerability that allows us to remain open and to be taught by one another during challenging moments in ways that heal fear and shame, and usher in further intimacy and trust.
I am scared at the speed with which this is all unfolding. It’s only been a few weeks, although our experience of time falls outside its regular temporality. Hours have felt like minutes, weeks like months. Could it be possible that I am deluded, and this is all a very beautifully-wrapped projection of my innermost desires? What do I know that is real?
Thus far, this relationship has brought me peace, serenity, and a newfound lightness. Because of her values, priorities and healthy habits, even before meeting her in person, I have already changed some of my ways. The proof is in the pudding of the sweets and sodas that I no longer consume. I have more energy than I did before; I feel stronger and more alive. I eat less and I laugh more.
With the openness and the inexistent pre-planning of my journey, at times I feel the pressure of what I “should” do next, where I should go. (Sometimes there is freedom in having no choice…) I dwell in the discomfort of “shoulds” for a while and finally remember, for the millionth time, that wisdom, and freedom, lie in following inner guidance, not shoulds. I settle on Joshua Tree as the destination for our meeting. Simple, beautiful and close to her, given her time constraints. It is about four hours from Ojai, where we both live, ten to fourteen from where I am in Utah, depending on the route I take after leaving Monticello. I would like to see the Valley of the Gods this time around since I didn’t last year when I rode through Moki Dugway. And Zion. But part of me just wants to rush to Joshua Tree and wait for her arrival. I’ll camp there the night before we’re due to meet on Friday at the house that I booked on Airbnb.
This is the new turn of Inward Ride and I welcome it.
Wednesday comes, and two days before our meeting, I leave Roughlock Resort and head south. I ride through the mythical Valley of the Gods for the first time, pass Monument Valley, in Arizona and reach Lake Powell late in the afternoon. The beauty of the landscape that I am traversing is undoubtedly a visual feast, but there is something, too, to the crossing, alone, of these vast and quiet expanses of land.
By nighttime, I’m in Kanab, back in Utah, where I’d booked an inexpensive hotel. Riding into town toward a life-saving Mexican restaurant (I am from Brazil and need the comfort of rice and beans at frequent intervals), I just miss a deer crossing the road a couple of yards in front of me. At the restaurant, I am told by a deer hunter and outfitter that the region I’m in has the highest population of deer in the country.
Some 30 miles (48 km) from the East entrance to Zion National Park, I wake up to one of the most eventful and exciting days of my life. I have posted about each installment of this day on Instagram, so I will be brief here. It included the stunning landscapes of Zion, the intense headwinds with billowing dust clouds on Interstate 15 going through Las Vegas, the sighting of what looked like an “alien lighting tower” (The Ivanpah Solar Electric Generating System), the balmy and mystical ride through the Mojave Desert, the first time dropping the bike since the beginning of this journey by the Kelso Sand Dunes, nearly running out of gas in the desert, and finally getting to a gas station exhausted and grateful as a stranger takes upon himself to find me a last-minute, affordable hotel in Twentynine Palms.
From Motel 6, I FaceTime with her once more before our first meeting as a couple, tomorrow, in Joshua Tree.
At Lake Powell, in Page, Arizona, on my way to our meeting. ©Ciro Coelho/InwardRide.com