“This is where we live now!”
Our daily, if not hourly, proclamation became more of a mantra than a statement of fact. Said as a reassurance, it enabled us to build a shield of comfort between us and our Trump supporting, ATV driving, country music blasting neighbors at a BLM camping area in Arizona. Said with a question mark, it preceded our entry and ultimate takeover of the homes of friends and strangers across the desert west granting us access to laundry machines, showers, and cooking facilities. At our quieter and more remote campsites, we screamed it loudly into the night sky, proclaiming our place in the universe as one that held meaning. It grounded us and gave us purpose in the moments we were feeling the most lost and untethered.
Home is a confusing topic when you live on a bicycle. I felt many things on this three month journey, but I rarely felt anxious unless I was away from my bicycle. The bicycle, with all our camping gear, food, extra layers, notebooks, teaching supplies, held not only our housing, protection, and general security, but it held the key to our freedom. With our bikes we could move freely about without leaning on any other humans so long as we were stocked with food and water. Basic needs met, bikes were traveling homes that enabled us to feel comfort everywhere we went. Any BLM land, RV park, Warm Showers host’s backyard, or slightly sketchy motel was more than tolerable because we had our fully loaded bikes. With the knowledge that our bikes could sustain us we could more fully immerse in our situation and live presently in each moment.
That presence of mind also contributed quite a bit to our feelings of home. While we did spend a lot of time planning ahead, it was much more day to day focused than we often are in our “normal” lives. Rather than planning weeks or months out, we were planning days and sometimes hours at a time. Life on the road is so subject to change that all you can do is plan for the best and expect almost anything else to happen. This uncertainty contributed, I believe, to our ability to live in the present moment much more than usual. Living in the present and constantly addressing basic needs evokes a more primitive lifestyle. This primitive awakening deeply connected us to each other, to each place we landed, and to the people who invariably wanted to take care of us in those places.
I feel so grateful for this declaration of home even when it was said stubbornly, begrudgingly, or resentfully. I am grateful that we felt home everywhere we went because that feeling created an aura of welcoming around us that invited others in. When others came into our home they told us amazing stories about the river with hardly any prompting. Students felt our welcoming aura and heartily debated with us about invasive species, bike lanes, and how to save a dying river ecosystem. People shared secret camping spots, went out of their way to bring us water and snacks, and cheered us on from the safety of their cars. We stayed with a couple in Yuma who cooked us Thanksgiving dinner and then gave us space to just relax before crossing the border. Too many wonderful things happened in Mexico to recount in this post, but above all, we were treated like family in a place where we could barely communicate with our hosts. There was so much magic throughout our three month adventure, and this was all made possible because we brought the feeling of home with us everywhere we went.
-Leah Weisman