A message from the finish line; dear blog followers, I am sitting in Marin County looking across the San Francisco Bay. I can see Angel Island, the thriving downtown and the Golden Gate Bridge (pictured here). It is 2 miles long and will take 10 minutes to cross. I've traveled 62 days, over 2400 miles and this adventure will be over in minutes. Stay posted as there will be more writing and images to follow when I return home and wrap up documentation.
On the last leg of our journey through Oregon, we stop in Brookings, 5 miles from the California border. I sit in the grass digging for material to write about while listening to a band performing at the American Music Festival hosted by the city. Kids pass on longboards, long haired women in their 50's dance in between the lawn chairs sprinkled across the hillside. The fog is finally starting to break. The music is well appreciated and an encore is easily attained. I ride back through Brookings to Harris Beach to set camp. Along the way I pick up a baguette with ham and a Samuel Smith Oatmeal Stout to have for dinner. I pitch the tent and walk to the beach where tourists are sparsely pocketed in groups along the shore. Rock formations rise from the ocean as the sun sets. Wind and water carve arches in the stone which look like portals to the sea. I snap some pictures and explore the tidal pools where starfish, green anemones, and hermit crabs make their home. It always fascinates me how intensely orange and purple some of the starfish become. I walk around a bend and find a trail up an embankment. I follow the trail and find a bench looking directly at the sunset as it sinks into the Pacific, I sit down and once again am amazed at the all the beauty I am passing through as I travel. [B. Bolen]
Northern California was entered 2 days ago as we bid farewell to an amazing trip down Oregon. Within the first few miles redwoods began appearing in the landscape. It makes me wonder if their location impacted the creation of the state lines. As many times as I have seen these giants, the groves of ancient forest still are as enchanting as they were when I first witnessed them 10 years ago. George and I decided to pedal far that day stopping for lunch in Crescent City. After lunch we climbed the coast 1200 feet into Redwood National Park. On top of the ridge we stopped to catch our breath and rest for a moment. The trees reached tall enough that the very tops of them were able to penetrate the thick fog that follows us down the coast. In virgin redwood forests much of the understory trees are choked eventually by the dense shade produced by the canopy of larger trees above. Moss and ferns thrive in these conditions and blanket the earth between the monolithic pillars of wood. The branches of redwood do not begin till hundreds of feet up in the air producing a open view through the forest and a space distinct to any other forests I have ever visited. At this time fog filled most the void as the setting sun pierced through at any given chance. It is beautiful yet eery. We descend the ridge along the coast. I stop to view the ocean for a moment and continue down to find George with a flat. We take 20 minutes to fix it and continue on our way to the mouth of the Klamuth river. I catch a glimpse of surfers for the first time since we began. Still looks difficult as I remember trying with my friend Devin a number of years ago. We pass through an Indian reservation and ascend a second ridge. This time the hill is really tiring and I am drenched with sweat as we reach the summit. We our rewarded for our efforts though. The next 7 miles of downhill riding was one of the most beautiful in my life. Deep in the forest the road winds downhill as ancient trees as wide my row house apartment close around us. At the bottom of the hill is our campground. Prairie Creek will be a good place to revisit one day. [B. Bolen]
A few thoughts as we near the 2,000 mile mark. The adventurer savors every pedal of the exhausting bicycle ride from Fairbanks to San Francisco. That is when he's not worried about logging trucks, black bear and violent weather. He avoided the dangerous traffic and pretty much all of his other concerns to successfully navigate the last 2,000 miles. All that lies ahead is the jagged Pacific coast of California. When he reaches San Fran, he will complete a line stretching from Fairbanks, AK to San Francisco, CA to Washington, DC. 'Try not to get too far ahead of yourself', I think to myself as I dream of a final destination circling the globe, 'Remember the trick you learned on your first long distance bicycle tour in Japan - focus only on each moment, and do the best you can.' [G. Makrinos]
Using social media to update and educate followers. The mission is not so much for glory as it is about raising awareness for the importance of taking an adventure and telling the story of the trip. One aspect of the story telling includes sharing the experience on this blog. After each 6 hour day's ride balanced on a shoulder often 1 foot wide and pedaling two wheels loaded with 100lbs of gear, I log into the blog or jot experiences in my moleskin sketchpad. These blog writings, posted photographs and narrated youtube videos open windows into the world of traveling by bicycle. They also let me record and remember the events that continue to shape my life so that I know I have had a direct impact on it's course. Documenting the travel is just as hard as the ride itself. The intense headwinds are the biggest hindrance on the road, howling at +25 miles per hour and kicking up dangerous dust. Back on the computer, coming up with a blog entry or photographic collage can often be just as challenging. I hope the followers are enjoying the effort. [G. Makrinos]
Day 8: Today we faced the wall. Since we started the trip we had tried to find a way around it, asking other cyclist if we knew they knew of an alternative route. A week in we had come to the realization that there was no other choice, that we would simply have to tackle it. Washington and Oregon are separated by the Columbia River which is connected by a 4.1 mile bridge. The bridge has small shoulders, crosswinds, 65 mile an hour traffic inches away and a huge summit. The bridge was designed to allow steamboats to pass underneath, and starting on the bridge I can see a virtual wall of a road in front of me. In the distance, with plenty of space between them I count twelve cars making the accent. I’m startled halfway up the peak by a van with bikes on the back, its horn is honking and I see arms waving, it’s the three girls from London. Today would be the last day we would see the girls, or Allen. Our paths had separated by noon. 38 miles today.
Day 9: The worst sign you can see on the ride is ‘Right lane ahead’. Those signs tell you that there is a climb around the bend, one that is so long and steep that it slows down the logging trucks enough that another lane had to be added to the road to keep traffic flowing. The elevation was listed at the gas station at the base of the hill and we climbed for over an hour, our forearms baking in the sun. When we all got to the peak we celebrated, we had risen in elevation over 800 feet, roughly the height of the Eiffel Tower. The celebration was short lived however; as we coasted down the hill, with our legs still burning from the last climb, we saw a sign on the side of the road; ‘Right lane ahead’... The second hill was more brutal, at every bend I hoped to see the summit, but again and again it was just another long steady climb. Leo was ahead of me, George and Brian were far behind. In the moments when the traffic died the only sounds I could hear were my heavy breathing and the mechanical noise of the peddles as I worked my way further up the hill. Finally, up ahead was the sign I was waiting for, ‘Right lane ends ahead’. Further than that I could see Leo waiting at the summit. Finishing the hill strong I calculated the elevation gain. 1250 feet, the height of the Empire States building. We waited for the others and coasted to a rest area where we camped for the night. 35 miles and 2 landmarks today.
Day 10: Today would be my last day of riding. We will rest in Portland for a day and then I will get on a plane and fly home. For the most part I rode alone, preferring the quiet, letting my thoughts settle. The mountains turned to hills, and then to rolling farmland filled with cheery trees, blueberry bushes and rows of corn. On a slow stretch, where the grass grows high next to the shoulder, I ride with one hand open above the grass, feeling the soft blades running between my fingers. Slowly the farmlands disappear and are replaced by houses, subdivisions and strip malls. The highway becomes congested, the speed limit increases, and it becomes hazardous for us to ride on 26 anymore. After one more climb, and its steep decent, we arrived in the heart of Portland. Winding through the city streets I took the lead until we arrived at our final destination, The Benson Hotel. After a brief discussion with the concierge we wheeled our bikes into the lobby. Surrounded by marble floors, Carrisian Walnut paneling, crystal chandeliers, and beautifully ornate plaster ceilings, we hauled our bikes onto the winding staircase for one final photo. My ride was over. Sadly. It was over. 45 miles.
Day 11: I’m sitting at gate E9 waiting for the overnight flight home. I packed the bike in a parking garage, had a final meal on Nob Hill, barely caught the shuttle and have checked my bags. Tomorrow I will land in Knoxville, take a shower, press my shirt and return to my cube with gray walls, recycled air and florescent lights. As I sit here, waiting for the plane, I am reminded of a wish that I made as a child. I had read Tom Sawyer and Huckleberry Finn and more than anything I remember wanting an adventurous life. Three decades later I have learned how to walk a second time, I have held political office, I have written published comic books, I have been skydiving, and twice I have almost drowned. I have married the love of my life, and then watched as she slipped through my fingers. I have moved a three story Victorian on the bed of a truck, I have been on television more times than I can remember, I have hiked the Himalayans, and I have travelled the country slowly by car. I have told myself that I could do something that I knew I couldn’t, and then I’ve done it anyway. I have two beautiful little girls, Isabella and Sophie, who are absolutely everything to me. I am a father... I’ve gotten my wish. I have had an adventurous life. With my right hand I reach down and rub the scars on my stomach. Life leaves scars. But scars are only ugly if you let them be. Life is what you make it. Life is beautiful. My life is beautiful. 0 miles today, 498 total. [S. Bolen]
About the places we are passing through. The morning fog that surrounds the tent and bicycle each day allows me to reflect on the journey behind and days ahead. Bottled visibility strengthens one's imagination to conjure what’s around the next bend. The road climbs and descends as forests young and old create a patchwork of patterns across the land. Mountains in the distance float on the horizon as their snowcapped peaks become the rugged identity of each city and place we stop in. The Pacific pounds the shore against steep rock faces jutting out of its surface and deposits sand inland on mile deep beaches and dunes. Chipped paint on wooden barns and splintered fishing docks speckle farmland and gray harbors. Cedar shakes and coastal mist drift through the air as wind from the northwest pushes and pulls us through each winding turn. The sun breaks the fog each day at noon and opens our eyes to unknown possibilities. [B. Bolen]
How many miles do you ride per day? 50, 75, 30...the answer to this question is different each day. Variations in weather, wind, road grade and surface conditions tend to bring our team of four riders to stop for rest and services every 10 or so miles. As the end of each day approaches, dinner and campsite locations decide when to stop. Leo calculated an average riding distance of 40 miles per day between Seattle and Eugene. We balance that goal between the most suitable moments our bodies and the bicycles care to meet the road. It's not a race out here when the travel is the destination. [G. Makrinos]
Staring up from a soft damp forest floor, I'm oblivious of time in the Coastal Ranges of Oregon. A 31-year old with a habit of getting lost in the woods, I find solitude here under the shade of redwood trees. I am traveling through this part of the world with others who share my fascination with the outdoors and moments like these bring us closer. Beyond the protected forests we balance the bikes and cut through fields of logged stumps and bare ground where wildflowers join us under a hot summer sun.
Their purple and yellow petals blow in the same tail wind we pedal to keep up with. Colorful wild berries of all varieties nurture our eyes and provide the wet tasty nourishment our bodies desire. When the time is right, the pop of an opening wine bottle stretches our already generous smiles from ear to ear.

Daily log by rider Sean Bolen


Day 1: Rode 43 miles by 10:30 yesterday, but then we ran out of money and they kicked us off the bus... We started our ride 30 miles East of Port Angeles and peddled 58.7 miles to Lake Crescent in Olympic National Park. Using a shirt as a pillow I slept on a pile of gravel, and after the ride it was some of the best sleep I've ever had.

Day 2: I woke up under the moss covered alder of the Olympic National Park. The first two miles were at a steep incline, but then just occasional hills and valleys. The wildflowers grow on the side of the rode and as I ride through daisies, blue bells, sorrel and poppies I feel as though I am riding through an impressionist painting.

Day 3: Started the morning riding through the fog under a hemlock canopy. We rode 22 miles through Forks and up the mountain to the turnoff from 101. From there it was a treacherous downhill slope for miles through the Hoh Rainforest. 44 miles today and 46 tomorrow, but we have to retrace our steps back to 101 to climb the mountain that we came down. For the first time I am doubting whether I can make the miles tomorrow.

Day 4: I woke up to the sound of the Hoh River flowing behind the tent. Nearby there were moss covered spruce, the moss hanging down in beards three or four feet long. I had dreaded this morning, worrying about climbing the ridge at mile 18. Over breakfast we discussed the hill, how we might have to push the bikes up. The ride was quiet as the miles ticked by, stopping a few times to take pictures of the Hoh river valley. At mile 16 I was reminded of why I wanted to go on this ride, to prove to myself that after three surgeries this year that I was better, that I wasn’t broken. With that in mind I locked my shoes in, peddled faster and committed myself to climbing the hill that I knew I physically couldn’t climb. There is a great reward in knowing that you won’t give up… And there is an even greater reward in completing the impossible. 44 miles today.

Day 5: The ride started with us being flagged down by Glenn he was touring the same route as us and we had discussed with him the night before our agenda for the day. The ferry had quit running, and if Geoff had not informed us of that we would have ridden an additional 20 miles to get around the bay. We changed our route and started our journey. Along the way we met Allan who informed us where we should camp, and briefly bumped into three young women from London who were on the same ride. That night, after 44 miles, we sat around a campfire talking with Alan, Woody, Lizzy, and Buffy while sipping B&B and drinking red wine. It would be Woody’s birthday tomorrow, and she was saying that the campfire was perfect for marshmallows. 54 miles today.

Day 6: We stopped a few miles down the rode and I picked up three things that I needed and one that I didn’t. The ride was relatively easy, and we had increased our pace to meet up with George in Hoquiam. Rolling into town we spotted the bike shop where he was getting repairs, and pulling in front of the store, Woody, who we had met the night before, stepped out in front of me. “I have something for you,” I said. And with her looking confused I reached into my bag for the marshmallows I purchased that morning. “Happy Birthday Woody,” and I handed her the marshmallows. 55 miles today. And the four of us toasted marshmallows that night with Allan and the girls.

Day 7: There are long stretches of road today. Crossing a bridge I look down at a sea otter playing in the brackish water. Swallows circle overhead catching mosquitoes and gnats in the air. On a quiet slow turn I spot a herd of fifty elk to our left, the bulls beginning to get their horns. For miles we circle the tidelands exposed by the receding water. I see a father and son walking through the silt. The son carrying a rake over his shoulder and his father a bucket of freshly caught clams. Hills turn to humps. Minutes turn to miles. And this ride will always be with me.
Publicity about our trip. GO HOKIES. Virginia Tech, the University where George, Brian and Leo met and completed their masters degrees in architecture, and where George and Leo are currently employed as adjunct faculty of computer applications has recognized our story and helped spread awareness on it's news website. Read the article here, http://www.ncr.vt.edu/highlights/

Reunited with my notebook.

My journal travel companion is a notepad gifted by a beloved friend. Roughly the size of a passport it's blank beige pages are bound between two almost leather-like covers. At the end of each day, this trip from Alaska to California is well documented with notes and sketches. The entries are invaluable to me as it is a trace of my experience and the tool with which I compose the web blog. The notepad also important as it contains the quantity of each day's endmileage covered. You can imagine the shock when I realized this notebook was missing from my front handlebar bag. A fellow cycle tourist who was traveling some distance behind me caught up and claimed he had seen a 'passport looking wallet' on the road's shoulder. That was all I needed to hear. Without hesitation I re-traced my route 20km back as a last resort. I found no trace of the notebook. These instances have a way of getting one down, but I took the occasion calmly. Another cost of the tour I thought. Little did I know. Two days later I came across two sisters who I had met in Prince George. They were bicycling across Canada on the same route as I. 'George!', said the one with the green Surly steel frame, 'Hey, did you loose your notebook?!' Yes, thank you and may good karma guide your way across Canada I wished the two sisters. With the notebook back in hand, I write to you now this entry of good news.

What do you eat on a typical riding day?

You are what you eat and while cycle touring, one of the singular aspects of attention is paid to diet. I find that I feel and perform better with a responsible understanding of the needs of my body. Here is what I expect to consume on a 60 mile day;

8:30 Breakfast, 0 miles: 3 egg omelet, 2 slices wheat toast, 1 serving hash brown potatos, 2 glasses water, 2 cups coffee, 2 fish oil supplements.
12:00 Brunch, 20 miles: 1 banana, 1 orange, 1 clif bar, 2 glucosamine supplements.
15:30 Late Lunch, 40 miles: 1 banana, 1 orange, 1 Snickers, pretzels.
18:00 Dinner, 60 miles: 1 salad, 1 lasagna, desert and beer

About the bike gear I come to rely on.

This is the bike I have come to rely on. I trust and invest in my bicycle for a safe and comfortable trip. At the center of the ride is a steel frame Soma (in Greek, Soma means body). The model is called 'Groove'. The Cross-Max Titanium wheel set and Specialized Kevlar tires engage the road with not a single flat tire, ever. Braking, shifting and drivetrain components are Shimano XTR. Held to the frame by 2 Old Man Mountain aluminum rack systems are 4 Ortlieb dry bags to carry the gear. Each bag serves a purpose; front left, food/ supplies, front right; sleeping bag, rear right; clothing, rear left, laptop and electronics. My MacBook Pro travel companion is the instrument with which I compose the digital narrative of writings, video and photographic means. To best relay the places I am experiencing, I document the ride with my computer and find that the limit is my imagination. Time to travel by bicycle and document by computer is the balance I am looking for out here.

Threading the Inside Passage/ Southeast Alaska by Ferry.

Outside my 12-inch diameter cabin window, the Alaska ferry threads it's way along an Alaskan coastline whose distance is greater then the coastlines of all the lower 48 states combined. This perspective from water reveals an enchanting land of glaciers, lush forests, fjords, peaceful communities and abundance of marine wildlife. I celebrate the completion of the 480 mile Alaska ride aboard the Kennicott Ferry in good health and spirits. Nine grueling days on the road brings an appetite for comfortable travel in order to let the mind and body rest. For three days the ferry will traverse the pristine waters of the Pacific Northwest from Whittier, Alaska to Prince Rupert, British Colombia via Yakutat, Juneau (the Capital of Alaska) and Ketchikan- places otherwise unreachable by road.

The evolution of a bicycle traveler.

This is my fourth bicycle tour measuring more then 2,000 miles. Each ride has taught me lessons about the balance between carrying too much gear and having just enough stuff to travel comfortably. As far as clothes are concerned, a good rule of thumb is to try to wash once per week. Three sets of riding clothes can last 2-3 days each. While off the bike, two sets of clothes are sufficient. In addition I carry waterproof rain gear, gloves and hat for colder conditions. When it comes time to camp, I am carrying a lightweight 2-man tent to keep me and my gear dry in the event of rain. An inflatable sleeping pad provides a soft surface and thermal buffer from the cold ground. A down fabric sleeping bag keeps me warm up to -20'C. All this gear and more is carried in 4 waterproof pannier bags. Bicycle touring is an art form perfected with each attempt.

Cycling Jasper/ Banff National Parks

I can imagine myself staying here for a very long time. A small town on the crossroads of two Canadian National Parks, Jasper is the North entry of what is regarded by many cyclists as the most beautiful road in the world. I have met Dutch, Japanese and Spanish tourists who have come from across the world to see this road. From Jasper, I follow two lanes of asphalt meandering somewhere between heaven and Earth en route to Lake Louise. I am excited to to find a place where nature still exists as the explorers first discovered. Here, sublime mountains rise to +10,000ft. Upon them hang crystal blue glaciers balanced between sharp rock mountain passes. As they melt, cold waters of the most recent rain join to flow into creeks and rivers of uncharted canyons. I would not have made a point to visit had my sister's father-in-law not spoken so highly of this place. Something told me I had to experience it while I was in the neighborhood. Having been here, I can now echo Simbetheros' words; Jasper, Alberta Canada is like living a dream.

A blog post from Icefield Centre at Sunwapta Pass, Elevation +6,000ft

Dear friends and family, I am writing to notify you that the bicycle and I are in great shape and spirits here in Jasper/Banff National Parks, Canada. Internet access is difficult to come by as it can be days between services and amenities such as running water and electricity. Here I have found an extraordinary place whose beauty remains untouched from the days when native peoples first inhabited the mountains. On July 1st I am planning to be back in Jasper town center for my 31st birthday and to celebrate Canada's Independence Day. I expect to make a significant update to the blog photos and videos at that time as I can't wait to share with you my experience in this magical place. God Bless.

Q: You must be rich? A: Yes, this experience is priceless.

I am often asked how I manage to afford this third long distance bicycle tour. Life takes creative accounting, and cycle touring is an inexpensive way to travel I reply. A two month leave without pay requires a bit of financial planning around 10 months of annual salary. I work two jobs; one as an intern architect and second as adjunct faculty at Virginia Tech. In addition, two gigs with my band provides extra pocket change each month. I also pursue freelance graphic and web design work and put my condo up for rent when I am away. A tourist in Denali said, 'You must be rich'. I replied, 'Yes, this experience is priceless'. I later came to estimate that her 2 week Alaska 'Cruise America' RV will likely cost more for the rental and fuel then my 2 month tour by bicycle. For the record, to put a number on it, a safe cost estimate for bicycle touring is approximately one dollar per mile.

Alaskan hospitality.

The best stop between Fairbanks and Whittier is a wood cabin lodge about 20 miles south of Anchorage called The Indian House. I will never forget the time I spent here playing guitar with the house band and camping in a teepee. The party began as soon as I entered to meet John, a 39 year old Alaska driller and frequent patron who was sat across the bar with intricate sleeve tattoos stretched down both arms. Between him and I, Jeff eared the regard as the best bartender between here and Fairbanks. I ask for an order of Jeff's Special, 'A medley of vegetables and Alaska shrimp over brown rice' and my stomach thanked me. A conversation unfolded about Ryan's new .45 handgun. He was checking with John about maintenance. 'Well, first of all you want to make sure it's unloaded', John said. He's a big boy fed on bear and beer. The boys went out back to inspect the new toy and I was left at the bar alone while the Lakers and Celtics play in the playoffs. The sun doesn't completely set up here so I cant really say what time I finally fell asleep in the teepee.

About fellow cyclists.

I crossed paths with a grand total of 5 cyclists in Alaska. The most pleasant encounter during this lonely stretch was a tall, gentle natured Canadian named Kim. South of Cantwell, we immediately struck up a conversation about road conditions and concerns such as services, camp, food and water supplies. Meeting fellow riders who can sympathize with the grueling demands of cycle touring can offer a welcome break to the thunderstorm drenched cold morning ride. Kim was cheerful, outgoing and easy to talk to- a stark difference from the locals who commonly regard persons like me from 'the lower 48' as a ter'ist rather then tourist.

When nature calls.

Much of Alaska is off the grid, meaning there is no power or running water - thus few indoor bathrooms. Seated on a stool beside me, a native Alaskan is reminiscing about the innovations brought by the white man. 'Most were good, but we had trouble understanding why white man poop in his house!' Believe me, after long wild stretches of road, a clean bathroom can stand out like an oasis in a desert. I will leave Alaska with a greater appreciation for heading indoors when nature calls.

Brown Bear at Broad Pass.

Near the 3,400' elevation Broad Pass, I made my first contact with a Brown Bear and two cubs feeding about 200 meters West of the road. Our temperaments were calm and I felt a kinship to them as we shared a break of afternoon sunshine making it's first appearance following two days of storms. The air over the pass was so calm this day yet I felt unnoticed. Close enough to observe and comfortable enough to stop, I snap a few photographs of the cubs and take note of yet another experience.

Denali National Park and Mt. McKinley

Nestled deep in the Alaska Range is Mount McKinley, the tallest mountain in the Americas rising to 20,320 feet. The first settlers making their way into the interior of Alaska encountered the native Athabaskans who named the peak 'Denali', meaning 'The Tall One'. On the approach, I remember eagerly hoping each snow capped peak would be Denali and learned that there is no mistaking it when you see it. Within the heart of Denali park now my lungs enjoy breathing some of the cleanest air in the world.

First Entry: Alaska's Route 3 South

100 miles out of Fairbanks, the highway begins to climb into the Alaska Range. With each pedal I draw closer to the summits of the highest mountain range in North America. In abundance is precisely what I am seeking; the grip of the wilderness, the allure of adventurous activity, the privilege to wander. But I entertain no illusions; the Alaska wild is not for dreamers . The 420 miles from Fairbanks to Whittier harbors more then it's share of bear, caribou, moose and I spotted my first grey wolf today. Wolves are social animals, traveling in packs of up to 30. Today we were alone. Strapped to my handlebar just beside my brake lever is a canister of bear mace. Aside from the bicycle's hum of kevlar tires on this smooth paved shoulder, a vast silence reigns over the land. The low Kantishna plain surrenders to me Alaska's Route 3- The George Parks Highway. Mile 63, Day 1, June 7, 2010. Nenana, AK.


Thoughts about blog and cycle touring

For the third consecutive year, I've devoted my summers to life on the road by bicycle. The freedom and simple beauty of such travel is too good to pass up. I have crossed the United States and Europe discovering an intense young man with a streak of stubbornness and allure to live dreams and tell stories about them. Now at a healthy 31 years of age, a superabundance of energy sends me pedaling into Alaska's rugged edge of society to seek conversation with the wild. Through the blog, writings, photos and maps I hope to document my travels respectively in an effort to teach by example, the necessity of living out one's beliefs. Longing to account with clarity the inevitable reflection of the larger subject of Alaska, I've temporarily traded my comfortable life on the East Coast to explore footloose and free the inner country of our souls. God Bless America. Mile 134, Day 2, June 9, 2010, Denali, AK.