Note that while I believe bike life has prepared me for quarantine life, bike touring is not the same as quarantine. Going on a bike tour now is irresponsible. It is a good way to add more stress to already stressed communities. The consequences of an otherwise simple injury or minor illness could be dire. Please just stay put and make an adventure out of that.
Every morning I wake up in the cold. I want to stay in bed longer but I really need to pee so I roll out of my hammock and stumble around in the dark. I curl back up in my still warm hammock and drift off…
The sun blinds me. My eyes aren’t even open yet but I can feel the sun glaring at me shouting Get out of bed you lazy bum. My stomach agrees with the sun so I roll out of my hammock into the cold for the second time today, dig through my food stash, and make myself a bowl of cold oatmeal.
I’ll read for awhile, maybe do some yoga, likely have a second breakfast. Eventually I will need to move so I’ll pack up my things and hit the road. I never know what I’ll see. I’ve been looking for whales along the coast each day but have yet to spot one. I don’t see many people. There are a few on the streets but they keep to themselves. There are some folks out on the beaches when I stop but they stay far away from me. I haven’t been close enough to another person for them to notice that I haven’t showered in a week.
I’ll read some more, maybe go for a swim. Going for a swim sounds great but means that I’ll have to sit and shiver on the beach until I’m warm enough to get back on my bike and continue my adventure. Most days it’s worth the discomfort.
After a few days my stockpile of food needs to be replenished so I head to the market which looks like it hasn’t been stocked in weeks. The shelves are empty save for a few odd cans. I wonder why those cans were left. I leave them since I really don’t want botulism poisoning. I pick up some produce and milk. It’ll be another few dinners of cold soaked couscous and veggies, and breakfasts of cold oatmeal.
I get lonely but there aren’t any places to go meet friendly locals around here. No bars, no restaurants, no saunas, no playgrounds filled with mothers desperate for adult conversation. When I do encounter someone they walk away from me.
Modern technology is great. When my spirits are low I can call a loving friend. Still, I like to minimize my use of it. I want to feel this place as it is. I sit, listen, watch, smell, hear each place I go. Each day it feels different. Sometimes it’s the weather, sometimes it’s the energy. Whatever the cause, this place feels a little different each time I go out.
Each day I have to think about my life after this journey. Where will I go to school? What will I study? I have to train for events I have planned months from now that I don’t know if I can participate in. I don’t even know whether I’ll be able to buy my groceries tomorrow, how am I supposed to figure out how I’m going to spend the next few years of my life?
As I’m dealing with my third existential crisis this week, a friend calls. I made beouf bourginon for dinner and I have lots leftover. Come by and pick some up. You can’t eat cold couscous again. He teases me about eating the same basic meals over and over but this behavior is also the reason he is convinced I’ll survive this quarantine in better mental health than most people.
When the shelter-in-place order was announced on 16 March 2020 I knew I would be okay. I have tons of dry goods at home, running water, and an internet connection. The only immediate difference between 15 March and 16 March was that as of 16 March I no longer had to wear pants.
My time on the bike has prepared me well. I know that I can go for months without human touch. I have developed plenty of coping techniques to quiet an anxious mind. I am capable of eating the same two meals for weeks at a time.
I am safe here. I won’t go hungry anytime soon. I have enough books to keep me busy for weeks so even if Netflix crashes and the internet goes out, I won’t have to deal with my own thoughts for a long time.
This time last year I was sitting in my house all day, telling myself that I’d clean it and sell extra stuff but not bothering to follow through. I’d ride my bike to the beach for a midday swim, then come back home and make myself dinner because all my friends have important jobs and were too busy to hang out. I’d go for a long walk and talk on the phone with an out of town friend.
I’m doing the same thing now, the only difference being that I don’t have a choice this time. Next time you start to feel sorry for yourself about how you can’t go on a bike trip right now, just think of all the things you do on tour and do them at home. Sleep on the floor, turn off the heat, eat the same dry goods for every meal, and don’t shower. It’s just like being on the road.
