Cycling Iowa with a 1979er

The last two weeks, I've spent reorienting myself with the U.S. and my family in rural Iowa, which is reminiscent of Germany and North Dakota in its quietude and simple beauty. Riding through the sherbet-lit landscape, I pump and glide and feel alive, yet in an alternate universe. Transitioning is as strange as travel itself- waking up unsure of surroundings and not knowing what's next. Anxiety rears its head, but I calm it down by hopping on my wheels and breathing deeply.

I make lists and check things off. Search the internet for jobs, not finding much out there, expanding my searches to more and more states, at the same time thankful for this time with my family and friends. I've barely written since returning, not for lack of thoughts, but mostly to allow myself some time to settle.

Riding the Bicycle Trail

Location: North Liberty & Coralville, IA (semi-suburbs of Iowa City)

In case you're thinking of cycling like a bat out of hell...

All I can figure is Iowa must have extra 20MPH speed limit signs sitting around, because they don't mark the trails (or roads) properly otherwise (so you lose the bike trail all the time at T-intersections). Iowa is a bit speed camera crazy, so next time out, I'm gonna see if they speed camera cyclists too. I wouldn't be surprised.

The bicycle is at least as old as my sister Carrie. That makes me happy.

I found this on Craig's List and didn't notice until I was riding around that it was a "World Tourist" which makes me like her even better.

I've never owned a Schwinn before. It's kind of fun. And I like recycling by buying used things.

Just off the bicycle trail. Every night here the sky enchants before it blacks for the night.

Kosovo day trip. Returning to long-term travel.

I awoke early with the sun, and my hostel is still silent except for a quiet hum of appliances and cars passing outside. Sitting on the couch with my cowboy coffee, the sun highlights my hair through the window. I relish this solitude. Today I'm off to Ohrid, which is south from Skopje, still in Macedonia.

This trip is like coming home. Home to the world, where I have time for strange people and strange places, where I see new things, where I speak two languages, where time is not so essential. My days in the clinic feel like a distant memory, in a place where often time and space stood still. Since I've previously done long-term travel, it's easy to relax into my new-old life. It feels comfortable, like an old shoe. I know what to do.

Travel is my nature. I'm grateful to be set free in the world. To be without a schedule. To have no constraints. To rely on the kindness of strangers. To watch. To tell the story of who I am with my whole heart.

KOSOVO:

Kosovo is still a country-in-repair, but interesting and diverse, in a more extreme way than Macedonia (ok so I prefer Macedonia). It feels very developing, but the people were nice, and many spoke English or German so getting around was no problem.

I wondered where they get these old ghetto buses, but then I realised probably from nicer countries' leftovers.

This old man (he is sleeping, not dead, even though he looks like it!) bought me an orange drink and shared his Twix. He was from Bosnia. We did not share any languages but it was ok.

Pristina is Kosovo's capitol. This is the main pedestrian way, which felt fairly modern, but then side streets were still crumbling.

The town is infected with NATO and American forces, but they like us there. So it is ok, even good to be American.

Yugoslav-era hotels here are not recommended, even if they say 5 stars. It is a hoax!

After hearing a saxophone wafting, I saw the Audio Lab, and was happy.



Here is a street cafe overlooking rubbish.

I grew up in Minot, ND where the town slogan was, "Why not Minot?" I used to spend a lot of time thinking of all the reasons why not. I am not sure that "Why not" is the best slogan.

The first time I have seen a street of this name, I think.

And a statue of Bill in a foreign country. Funny as.

I took this to remind people: a small thing you can do is to hang your laundry out- and your clothes smell so good, not burnt out of the dryer... Just a thought. I've been doing this for about six years now. It is a nice small thing.

Where am I?

Blue smoke goes drifting by into the deep blue sky. My memories of home will never die.

It's Pixie Williams on the radio. A New Zealand folk singer.

I feel for a moment that I've slipped back in time.

The next song is also weird and unknown - how tutors and gods aren't supposed to feel the trees and dance around the world. Or so we think. In the end they are dancing and seeing all the world. I'm not sure what sort of odd run this station is on. Each song that comes on is as different as it could be from the previous one.

I had no idea where I was when I woke up this morning. (Again.) For almost six months, this has been a common first thought of the day. It's is one of the odd bits of travel. Different houses, hostels, beds every night. Maybe I like the confusion.