OMD Travelogue | Day 127

[x_section style=”margin: 0px 0px 0px 0px; padding: 45px 0px 45px 0px; “][x_row inner_container=”true” marginless_columns=”false” bg_color=”” style=”margin: 0px auto 0px auto; padding: 0px 0px 0px 0px; “][x_column bg_color=”” type=”1/1″ style=”padding: 0px 0px 0px 0px; “][x_text]Winding along the packed dirt road, we pass truck after truck. Groups congregating at each small pull off. Dogs pace anxiously wishing to get the day started. The men pull on bright orange caps, organize gear, look up briefly at the rumble of the bike. Do a double take when they see sidecar. Laugh, wave, shake their heads when they see the sidecar passenger. Not what they expected to see along this national forest back road.

Back on the highway, we weave through an explosion of color. Vibrant patches of orange, yellow and red vying for attention. I pull off regularly to snap a few photos, let faster cars file past. Needing an office, I look up nearby coffee shops.

It takes a bit of research to find a suitable option. Having spent a lot of time in coffee shops across the country, I have rather specific and strict standards.

As a nanny of twins in Seattle, I’d put one in the front pouch, one in the back and hoof it around town for an afternoon field trip. The shop near Green Lake had marginal coffee and even worse food, but their gated play area was a sanity saver on rainy days. Cafe Bambino made a tasty chai and was in easy walking distance. Between the cafe and the books, Ravenna Third Place could consume an entire day.

In San Diego, I’d calculate time differences with clients around the world, send emails, design and build websites. The shop in Hillcrest invariably led to odd encounters with strangers – life story monologues, impromptu serenades, random gift-giving. Entertaining, but not very conducive to work. The Lazy Hummingbird had delightful drinks, a bright atmosphere and fun people, but no bathroom. A bit of a deal breaker when downing steamy drinks all day. Newbreak had a wall of tea, was in walking distance to the dog beach and easily accessible from circus school. Obvious winner.

If I ever end up living in Spruce Pine, you can bet I’ll spend much of my time at The Fox and the Fig. Delicious coffee, lovely people, sweet and savory homemade treats, strong wifi, front patio dog parking. The full deal.

After traveling Alaska with his band and living in cities throughout the south, Aaron and his wife have returned home to raise their kids near family. I’ve got some ideas to expand here. To add more. Music, movie screenings, events. That sort of thing. Kinda what I’ve done in the past, but a more grownup version. I nod. Pretty sure that’s what we’re all doing. Building off what came before. Aiming for a newer, evolved version each time.

Work complete for the day, I wave goodbye. Walk Bay briefly and start the load up process. I look up as Aaron walks out. Hands me a small bag full of salted-caramel apple muffin. I know what it’s like to be on the road, hope you’ll take this as a gift from us. I thank him. Gratefully store the muffin away, certain it will be a much loved treat after a chilly evening of riding.

Looking at the map, I choose small, random roads. Not aiming for a certain destination, just hoping to soak up some country atmosphere. Late afternoon sun, streams through the trees. Scatters light across the twisting pavement. Highlights the ancient barns. Sets farmland fields on fire.

Pumping gas, I look up as two men and a boy approach. Ask about what we’re doing. Thrilled with the adventure, they laugh.
Can we get a picture?
Of course. And here, take a post card, too.
Well, you’ve got to sign it. Make it out to, Jake, he says grinning at the boy.
Pictures taken they prepare to leave. Pulling out his wallet, he hands me a 20.
I really think more people, especially young people, need to go out and have an adventure. I want to support that. This will help keep your tank full.
I shake his hand. Look him in the eye. Thank you.

Tucking the cash next to the muffin, I smile. There’s something special about this adventure, its mass appeal to people of varying backgrounds and locales.

I never would’ve imagined I’d accept gifts from strangers like this. But in some odd way it feels fair. Not like a hand-out, but an equal exchange, an opportunity to invest in the core idea of adventure. A token of support in exchange for a seat on a grand journey. The gifts make them a part of Operation Moto Dog, integral to the mission. The support keeps me motivated to continue, buoys my spirits and envelopes me in the warmth of community across the continent.

Sun lowering, I head to find a forest home. Collar pulled tight against the cold, I wind up the dirt road. Ponder how I can best repay the continual stream of kindness. I take this growing karmic debt seriously, consider it my job to come up with a way to fully use OMD to inspire others and share this infinite goodness of humanity. I don’t have a concrete answer yet, but, luckily, the best ideas tend come on the open road. And there’s plenty of that ahead.

127 days down. Many to come.

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