Bicycling beyond the Divide: Two Journeys into the West by Daryl Farmer

By Daryl Farmer

On a trip began two decades previous, Daryl Farmer, a twenty-year-old two-time collage dropout, did what misplaced males have so usually performed during this kingdom: he headed west. two decades later and seventy kilos heavier, with the yellowing journals from that transformative five-thousand-mile bicycle trek in his pack, Farmer got down to retrace his course. this is often his tale of pursuing that far away summer time and that far away dream of domestic, the place house is unending area, a roof of huge sky, and a mattress of dry earth. Just because the years altered the fellow, so, too, have they altered the West, and Farmer’s moment trip provides a different viewpoint on those changes—as good as on what lasts. even if stuck in a Colorado storm from snow or braving a Yellowstone herd of bison, kayaking with orcas in Puget Sound, buying and selling Ninja strikes with a homeless guy in San Francisco, or getting the lowdown on extraterrestrial beings on Nevada’s Extraterrestrial street, Farmer charts a relocating panorama of individuals and locations. this can be the West the place the flora and fauna and private personality are inextricably associated, and the place one man’s journey into the previous and current takes us to the guts of that ever-evolving connection. (20080306)

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I could climb other mountains. Or climb down canyons. Or fly to the moon. Or sit down and watch the clouds. There were many other choices. In all of our talk about the value of freedom how rare is it we ever fully explore all of its possibilities? I thought back to my education up to that point, how all the best teachers had always been the ones who asked me to consider possibilities, to think in new ways, to travel, to consider the lives of others. ” In his book The Heart of Man, Fromm writes, “The necrophilous person is driven by the desire to transform the organic into the inorganic, to approach life mechanically, as if all living persons were things.

It would be the highest point, elevation-wise, of my journey. The wind continued to blow cold, and I felt mildly light-headed. To the mountains humans have always come, seeking wisdom, solace, peace. In The Satanic Verses, Salmon Rushdie’s novel about the forces of good and evil, the character Alleluia Cone says that mountains are “where the truth went . . ” It is not only the physical beauty of the mountains that move him but the power they evoke. ” Hoosier Pass, admittedly, was not the Himalayas.

But the church stood quiet. Across the road and up a block a sign said: liquor. In the West, aside from the prohibition experiment, booze and re34 Outlaws, Antelope, Prairie Dogs, and Sage ligion had a long-standing and cordial, if not outright friendly, relationship. ” Sunday, and the church was closed, you found the next best thing. I walked across the street. ” asked the woman behind the register. She was pushing fifty, slightly plump, with brown hair. I hadn’t talked to or seen anyone else for hours, and even though I’d seen her behind the register when I walked in, her voice startled me.

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