This is really the end

My bike is gone now.  I shipped it away in a big cardboard box with almost all of my belongings, save my fiddle, and some clothes.  Just like going to the Florence waterline, my last moments of my bike-trip-with-a-bike found me carrying Grandpa, this time wrapped up snug in a box and down roads instead of sand.  Physically it was just as difficult, symbolically just as potent.

The last time we'd be together, Grandpa and I, until New England

In many ways I am taking a more confusing route to go home than I did coming here in the first place.  I will leave Eureka tomorrow morning around 5am via a rideshare, and so as not to bore you with details, after: 6 days, two groups of relatives, three airplanes and a Subaru, I will be back in Nelson, NH.  I already feel the jet lag and carsickness creeping up on me.  And of course, I will not be getting a good night's sleep tonight because our host in Eureka is taking us to a blues dancing place.

The trip down the coast was worth it and I wish I could continue onward with Chelsea.  We have had incredible moments on trail, both biking and exploring towns and beaches.  We've biked through a redwood forest at night, massive trunks emerging from the shadows and darkness like freighters before a rowboat, then disappearing behind us like a half-remembered dream.  We spent half a day in a church, baking and cooking up a storm.  We've had long and hard discussions about the vegan lifestyle.  I've explored many deserted, hard-to-reach beaches with an unfortunate lack of shells- they make up for that with incredible views and lack of tourists.

A dryad in her tree

A happy wood nymph

I am writing this last blog post from Eureka, CA at a WarmShower host's house.  I went 5954 miles.

This is my last post.  I have had loads of fun writing this blog and I have loved hearing back from so many people, via letters, email, facebook, packages, phone calls, and even just the feeling you get when you know someone you like is reading your blog.  Like a really fuzzy cat walking across your bed when you're under the covers.  Soon I'll be back on the right coast and I look forward to seeing so many of your faces again.  Until then, stay warm.

Love,

Oliver