In the summer of 2013 a friend, Cocoon, who had been living a couple months on my couch in my tiny studio apartment in Venice beach was going to the national rainbow gathering. He had been telling me of these so-called ‘rainbow gatherings’ for the duration of our time together. I actually had no intention of going to the gathering at first. Ironically, all the other people around me were saying they were gonna go and I was the only one who ended up going. The national rainbow gathering in the U.S. is always the first week of July (the only rainbow gathering that doesn’t follow the lunar cycle) and in 2013 it was set to be in the state of Montana. My lease was up in June and I found out in May that my management company was going to raise my rent by $100. I already worked like a mule to sustain my little $900 box, and now they wanted to charge me $1000. “Adios,” is what I told them. I took my security deposit back, and now I had time and money on my hands. Like I said, when the time came, nobody from the neighborhood ended up going, and aside from Cocoon I was the only one planning to go. Funny how life works sometimes. Cocoon had already left on his travels, and thankfully a cosmic homegirl, Tiana, joined me last minute.
(Tiana and I on our way to Montana. Photos by Tiana)
Me and Tiana had a fun trip getting to Montana. We were walking into the unknown together and for me it would turn out to be a transformative journey that changed my life forever. The gathering was in a forrest in the ‘big-hole basin’ near the town of Jackson, Montana. Jackson, the nearest town, was roughly 15 miles from the gathering. Jackson is a one street town that doesn’t even have a gas station.
(Where the gathering was. Photo from google image search)
Two cross state buses, and two hitch rides later we arrived in the forrest to find a small city of 10,000 people camping in the woods. I was blown away. It took me over 3 days to explore the vicinity of the temporary rainbow city, and by the end of the week I was still very much piecing together all that I had experienced.
(Making a fire at our camp at the Montana gathering. Photo by Tiana)
It was much more than I had expected in all possible ways, and nothing like I had imagined. Funnily I never even spent time with my friend Cocoon who guided me there. I saw him on my second day briefly, and then on the last day of the gathering as he was on his way out. A hello and a goodbye was all. Tiana left near the final day as well. The gathering ended but I felt that I couldn’t go. There were too many unanswered questions and too much more I wanted to learn about this movement. I stayed for the cleanup phase after the gathering ended. Things got a lot more close and personal as the big masses left, and the people who stayed to clean seemed to really be the spiritual warriors.
Few camps stayed up to focalize the cleanup. One of which was the ‘information camp’ where a large public info board existed. One of the largest and most colorful signs on the info board bared a message exclaiming: “Caravan to the World Rainbow Gathering!” Right before leaving for the gathering I had read the book ‘The Alchemist” by Paulo Coelho. In the book the protagonist joins a caravan across the Sahara which leads him to realizing his personal destiny.The synchronicity was obvious but there was one problem; The world gathering was in British Colombia, Canada and I was traveling without my passport. Beside the campfire one night I expressed my disappointment to a group of family about the fact that I couldn’t go. One brother in the circle sparked my hopes though. He informed us that he had attended the vision counsels of the caravan, and that he had informed them of a road that enters Canada in the middle of the forrest where there is no immigration. He assured us that he personally knew this road and that he had traveled it before. He also told us that many people in the caravan were also traveling without passports. A native brother, Nigel, was siting next to me that night and we decided to hit the road together to chase after of the caravan.
The sign said that the caravan was leaving from the town of Missoula, Montana and we had roughly a week to get there. We slept on the streets, walked until we couldn’t bare it anymore, we hitched four different rides, and 300 miles later we made it to Missoula the day before the caravan was heading out. We found them in the central park of Missoula just as they were prepping the final vision counsel before hitting the road. It was a large group of about twenty people. Fifteen or so were on bikes, three or four were hitchhiking, and two were driving support vehicles with food and supplies. It was apparent that the heart of the group was the bikers, and that would obviously be the most epic way to go. I stayed for the vision counsel meanwhile Nigel told me that he had friends in Missoula, and that he was going to go check if they could lend him some bikes.
The vision counsel ended and Nigel never showed up that night. The next morning I saw the caravan hit the road and I found myself sitting at a homeless shelter in Missoula Montana all alone wondering what in the world I was doing. Finally, around noon Nigel showed up sweaty and full of anxiety. He rushed me outside where I saw that he had a brand new shiny bike. He told me that he didn’t have time to explain, and he urged me to hop on the handle bar of the bike. He rode me to the other side of town and stopped near a ditch. He jumped into the ditch where pulled out another shiny bike. All I could wonder was, “where on earth did you get these bikes?!” Nigel replied impatiently, “ I stole them and I’m not gonna give them back, you wanna go or not?!” He did have a point. Even if it wasn’t the most honest one.
With a tinge of uncertainty and lot of adrenaline we peddled off into the horizon after the rainbow caravan. We chased them for four days until one morning, as had happened almost all the other days, Nigel was nowhere to be found. I had slept on the shore of flathead lake that night, and I was awoken by a park ranger who informed me that I couldn’t camp there. He was semi-reasonable though and he told me that if I got out of my sleeping bag it wouldn’t be considered ‘camping.’ He proceeded to inform me that by all means I could ‘take a nap’ by the lake shore. I got out of my sleeping bag and dozed off again. The next time I was awoken was by none other then Eli, a rainbow brother from the caravan. Excitedly, I jumped up to greet him. He pointed a few meters down the lake where the caravan was hanging out.
I soon found out that I had ran into the slow half of the caravan, and that the other half was a town or two north of us. Finally I had caught up to them, but my road partner Nigel was nowhere to be found. We waited half the day for Nigel to appear but the group was anxious to get moving. I never saw Nigel again. It took us a few days to catch up to the others who had set up camp in the town of Kalispell. On those few days we were hosted by a fanatical yet remarkably open minded Jesus worshiper, attended a Native American Pow-wow, ate hundreds of delicious cherries from the side of the road, and peddled through some beautiful country.
Eventually we caught up to the other half of the caravan who had been waiting at a great camping spot by a river. The guys that had been waiting were ready to move so the following day we hit to road towards the town of Whitefish, and beyond.
(Riding with the rainbow caravan. Photo by Michael)
In the last town before entering the forrest we were hosted by a family who ran into us at a super market. They were so impressed by our outfit that they offered us lodging in their home. We had been given a huge box of brown bananas by the supermarket and we put them to good use by making tons of banana cake! Literally we made between 20-30 cakes and the whole time we spent at the families house we all had infinite banana cake. It was wonderful.
When we got moving again our paved road days were over. The fifteen cyclists in the caravan went into the forrest together, and the first day all of us made it. We camped beside a huge river. The next day we were off again. The road condition deteriorated to the point where we were literally riding on what felt like a bumpy washboard up and down hills. After a few miles down this road members of the group had had enough. We took a break by an icy turquoise river where half the caravan decided to turn back. The only ones who remained either didn’t have passports and/or were the most adventurous of the pack. Eight of us charged into the forrest on the washboard roads. Eventually, to our deep gratitude, the washboard conditions smoothed out. Riding on dirt roads never felt so nice.
It took us two more riding days to get within striking distance of the border. Since we were crossing illegally, or as we liked to call it ‘naturally,’ we went to sleep really early that night. The next morning we were up before the sun on our way to the border. We decided that it was best to go in small groups. A brother Brian and I were the first to go. Indeed there was a road that led to Canada, and all that stopped us from crossing was a big sign that read something like, “DO NOT CROSS! INTERNATIONAL BORDER!” On bicycles it was easy to slip passed the car gate. Once on the other side it was like we had fire on our heels. We must have peddled twenty miles before we even looked back. We crossed a beautiful river, and decided to hide the bikes and make a little fire from where we could keep an eye on the bridge. A couple hours later the rest of the group arrived. They informed us that two brothers had fallen back. Skyler had crashed on a steep downhill and his bike was damaged beyond repair, and Nico awoke to find out that the spokes on his rear wheel were snapping.
We were in Canada and now there were six of us: Chelsea, Brettashley, Travis, Bryan, Michael, and I. It was almost hard to believe, but when we ran into an older couple driving an SUV with Alberta plates, reality started sinking in. Their quirky Canadian accents were also remarkably different and confirmed that we really were out of the U.S.A. We rode to the point of exhaustion that day, and I remember grudgingly pushing myself way beyond my comfort zone. Just when I was about to throw a hissy fit, one of the brothers, Michael, found a camping spot that was beyond words. He must have sensed it because he convinced all of us to follow him across a shallow river, under huge tree trunks, to an island in the river. I was almost at the point of cursing him until I realized that we had found a little slice of paradise.
(Our camp in a slice of paradise in the B.C. wilderness. Photos by Michael)
We spent a couple days there. It took us two more days of riding to get out of the forrest. In those days we saw a black bear, a baby grizzly bear, we ate more huckleberries than we could fit in our stomachs, and so much more that this long story would be much longer!
(Picking huckleberries on the side of the road. Photo by Michael)
(Riding in the wild in B.C. Canada. Photo by Michael)
We eventually made it out of the forrest and reconnected to other half of the caravan in a small B.C. town. It took us maybe another week or two to make it to Nelson. Nelson was near where the gathering was going to be but there were some complications with the location. The original spot was going to be in the Slocan valley near the town of Winlaw. It was poorly chosen though since it was so close to a community, and quickly the hippies were kicked out of the forrest by the mounties (Canadian police). A lady who lived in the Slocan valley offered her large property to the rainbow family to make the gathering there. Even though she had a beautiful land along the Slocan river which was virtually untouched, some hardcore rainbows refused her offer because it’s not ‘rainbow tradition’ to do gatherings on private land. This group traveled across the province all the way to Vancouver Island where they started another gathering there. The fortunes had it that there were two world gatherings that year.
The gathering at the ladies land went forth and so did the one on the island. The caravan split almost in half as some of the group hitchhiked over a thousand miles to the island while others stayed back. I was part of the group that stayed back. I stayed in the Slocan valley gathering until just passed the full moon.
(Slocan valley gathering. Photos by Lily)
(Morning after the full moon. I didn't sleep that night)
A few nights after the full moon I was talking to a Quebecois sister who was driving her van to Vancouver. A brother from the caravan J.R. and I hopped in the ride. Soon later I was on the pacific coast. I attended the end of the Vancouver Island gathering which was on the shores of Kennedy lake. Appropriately the gathering was on ‘rainbow beach.’ Afterwards the hippies invaded the city of Victoria where we set up camp on the shores of the pacific.
(Hippies invade Victoria. Photos from facebook)
It seemed that the caravan which had evolved (some new riders and others who left) would continue. The day we were set to leave Victoria my stolen bike was stolen from me. There was a homeless shelter where members of the caravan gathered most mornings for breakfast. Upset, I went to the shelter and as I was expressing to some brothers how my bike had been stolen an old Quebecois ex-hells angel overheard me. The ragged man who had befriended us during our time there told me that he had a solution for me. I followed him a few blocks as he limped down the city streets to a set of crappy looking bikes chained to a light post. He assured me that he puts old accessories on good frames so that thieves wont want to steal them. After he changed the saddle, helped me put on new tires, and replaced the chain, the bike looked worthy of the trip. It was a steel frame Bianchi mountain bike with a cool BMX style wide handle bar frame, big peddles, and a strong feel. The friendly man only charged me $10 for the bike and like that I was ready to roll again.
That night the nine or ten of us rode off together with uncertainty as to where our destination was. The idea was to ride south to the U.S. and eventually California. Trouble was we were on an island, some of us didn’t have passports, and others were in Canada illegally. We rode that night to a town where we heard there were large marinas. The idea was to try to find a boater to give us a little lift across the bay. It was a nice dream but the next day it just didn’t seem realistic trying to find a boater to transport fifteen hippies with bicycles illegally into the U.S.
(Our short lived caravan back to the States. Photo from facebook)
After some failed marina scouts we all joined together for a vision counsel. Half the group decided that they were simply going to go to the U.S via the ferry/immigration, and the other half decided that we were going to continue looking for boats. Out of all the members of the original caravan I was the only one who stayed back to look for clandestine boats. All the others who stayed back were Quebecois who either didn’t have passports or for whatever reason couldn’t enter the U.S. We bid farewell to the others and off a tip from somebody we headed towards the town of Sydney to catch a ferry to Salt Spring island where we heard rumors of pirate boaters who lived for free in the bay.
I ended up spending about two weeks on the awesome little island of Salt Spring. We lived off of dumpster diving, the food bank, and asking restaurants for food. We had a sweet camping spot above the town of Ganges with an birds eye view of town and the bay. We indeed met the pirate boaters who evade rent and live off of charity. None of them however were keen on illegally transporting us to the U.S. After about two weeks of homeless life on Salt Spring reality was starting to get blurry. I knew I had to move soon and the boat search was a waiting game I wasn’t so sure I could withstand anymore.
Online I connected with a sister, Krista, who I’d met at the gathering. She was in Victoria and she told me that she had a bike and wanted to join the caravan. I bid my friends goodbye Gabriel, Julie, Charlie & Kyle, and I headed out to meet up with Krista. Luckily for me Krista is a U.S. citizen and with both of our bikes it was easy for me to fabricate a story to the immigration officials saying that I 'lost my passport while camping.' I had my California I.D. on hand. The immigration lady didn’t like it but she waved me through with a furrowed brow. A ferry dropped us off on San Juan Island and I was safely back in ‘Murika.
Upon doing a training ride on San Juan island Krista realized that she wasn’t quite ready for the bike life. I now had a decision to make; Leave the bike or continue solo after the caravan? Bike travel was the best thing that had happened to me since the rainbow gathering which was the best thing that had happened to me in a long time. For the first time I hit the road solo. First I had to take a ferry off of San Juan Island. My solo journeys on bike commenced in the town of Anacortes Washington. I had a couple of smooth riding days until just passed the town of Marysville where a blackberry bush popped one of my tires. At this stage in my bike life I was very inexperienced and didn’t travel with a patches, spare tubes, or even a pump. The next day I walked towards my destination, Everett, hoping that someone would pick me up. It didn’t happen and I ended up pushing my bike the whole 20+ miles there.
I arrived in the grungy city of Everett in the evening and the first thing I did was head for the bus stop to catch a ride to Seattle. I had to make up some time and I also have an old friend, Helen, who lives there. Helen told me that she’d host me when I went through. I arrived in the big city just before dark and I found the nearest pay phone to call Helen. She answered the phone but she was dismayed to find out that I hadn’t seen her last message she'd sent me online. Apparently a last minute errand came up and she couldn’t host me that night.
All of a sudden I was all alone with just over $10 in my pocket in one of the biggest cities in the U.S., I had nowhere to go, and darkness was falling. It was an emergency so I called my father to see if there was anyway he could help me. Whatever the case was he couldn’t send me money, and he suggested that I find a hostel where he could wire money to. Normally I’d be fine finding a place to crash in a park or hidden away somewhere, but in a city like Seattle this seemed like a grim prospect. I tried a couple of hostels and they all said no. I pushed my bike around the looming city at night looking for a place I could bust a sneak sleep. There were too many crackheads around and nowhere seemed safe. Eventually I spotted another hostel in the China town district, and decided to give them a try. Luckily, the friendly clerk behind the desk agreed to my unorthodox payment method, and we phoned my father. That night I felt like a proper tourist with my own bed and all! The next day I met up with Helen at a coffee shop. We exchanged stories of how our lives had changed since we’d last seen each other in the rooms of young people’s A.A meetings in L.A. I spent the next couple of days at her apartment.
During that time I found out that two members of the caravan were not too far ahead of me. They were posted in the town of Olympia, and the next day I took off to meet up with them. Brettashley and Jonthan had split from the other caravaners and were sort of on a little honeymoon. I joined them as the third wheel but it didn’t bother me because it was nice to be rolling again with family. They were staying with a warmshowers host Jonathan, and that was my first warmshowers experience. We stayed a couple of days there, and for reasons I don’t remember we decided to find craigslist rideshares to Portland. We found two different rides and the next day we met up in Portland where we stayed at another warmshowers house. While at the warmshowers house two other touring cyclists from Alberta showed up, Lee and Michael. Lee and Michael were on a serious tour all the way to South America. They arrived after us and left before us.
I started feeling like the love birds were on their own trajectory and it didn’t seem like they were ready to move any time soon. We started feeling pressure from our warmshowers host to move. I remember one of those days being confused and unsure about what to do next, and I went to the salvation army to buy a new jacket. Not only did I find a cool hoodie but it also gave me my answer. It was a ‘cycle oregon’ hoodie, and I knew that if I bought that hoodie I’d have to cycle Oregon. The next morning I took off solo to peddle my first full state. I ended up peddling from Portland Oregon all the way to Arcata California. Arcata is where several of the caravan members had ended up. Some of the caravaners were natives to Arcata and others were there because it was trim season. I figured I’d hang around and see if I could find some work cutting weed. I was in the ‘emerald triangle’ after all. Many people chasing the ‘green rush’ camp out in the woods around Arcata, and after running into one of the caravaners, Justin, he showed me to his camping spot. Nothing like camping in the redwoods.
I spent a couple of weeks camping in the Arcata forrest and I never got any work. I did however connect with many members of the caravan and other rainbow family who were around there at that time. It was nice seeing Michael and Chelsea, two of the six who I had crossed into Canada with. I was out of money, I didn’t want to ask my dad for more, it didn’t seem like I was gonna get any work around there, and frankly I was getting a bit tired of the homeless life. A couple days after halloween I took off with my last $20 down the California coast. I rode the first day to Eureka where I camped in the park. The next day, as I was peddling off, an SUV slowed down next to me on the highway. A voice exclaimed, “Hey you want a ride?!” This seemed like a God sent at that moment, so I jumped in the ride.
I found out within the next couple of hours that the two teenagers who were driving the truck had stolen it from their aunt who was out of town. They had essentially $0 which is why they picked me up. They were driving erratically and didn’t have drivers licenses. Realizing the critical situation I was in all I could do was to be an agent of the light. I helped give them some consciousness about the gravity of their situation doing my best to pass them that message in a language that they’d respect. I also helped them with gas money, and despite the adrenaline filled ride they got me all the way to Fairfax California.
Fairfax is near where my mother lived on her first trip to the United States, and it’s where I have the nearest thing to blood relatives. Tereka and Richard Howard-Gibbons are friends of my parents since before I was born and I had planned to spend time with them all along the way. I arrived in Fairfax pretty late in the night, and since I hadn’t seen either of them since I was a teenager I felt like it would be best to make my appearance in the day time. I slept in the park that night and the next day I went to their house to say hello. Tereka greeted me in her wild and excitable way. The Howard-Gibbons opened their home to me, and I would spend the next several months there.
The only conditions that they had for me was that I kept the space clean, didn’t bring over strangers, and either went to school or worked while I was there. It was more than fair. I had a roof over my head, food in the fridge, and a loving family.I didn’t know exactly what I was going to get into during my time there, and I imagined that I could delve into activism since I was in one of the most ‘liberal’ parts of the state. I got two jobs within my first few weeks; One as a barista at a gourmet supermarket, and one as a server at a Brazilian Pizzeria. In the meantime I looked for ways that I could jump into some activism. It seemed like most of the activity was happening in/around Oakland which was quite a ways from Fairfax. During one of my trips to ‘the city’ (San Francisco) my bike was stolen. It seemed like my bike karma had gone full circle. My stolen bike was stolen, and then my following bike was stolen. I may have been karmically balanced but now I needed a new bike.
Luckily for me Richard is a bike mechanic and he had a spare bike I could borrow. Around this time I also found out about an awesome bike shop in the neighboring town of San Anselmo. The shop is none other than The Bicycle Works.
(The Bicycle Works. Photo from their facebook page)
The bicycle works is a sweet bike community center started by young guy named Jelani. Jelani has a vision of converting car drivers to electric bikes, and also creating a space where people can come and work on their own bikes as well as build their own bike with a huge inventory of used parts. I started doing volunteer work at the bicycle works on my spare time. In exchange I received $10 an hour credit towards their used bike inventory as well as full use of the workshop. My existence in Fairfax had been relatively lonely until I started volunteering at the bicycle works. In fact, the folks at the bicycle works were my first friends my age that I made in town. Things were starting to pick up for me but I still had no idea of my next move.
Upon talking to Richard one night the idea of peddling a bike to South America arose. Richard had ridden a bicycle from Northern California all the way to Baja California back in the 70’s, and talking to him was the first spark of my idea to peddle south. Online I had been following the two cyclists, Lee and Michael, who I’d met back in Portland. Their bike trip all through Mexico and into Central America was very inspirational. Several of the rainbow family I had met in my travels were at the time traveling through Latin America. My caravan brother Michael had hitchhiked down to Costa Rica, and he was living at a permanent rainbow community called the rainbow crystal land. It was as if I didn’t have to think much.
My path was becoming clearer and clearer by the day. Two very inspirational books I had read back to back had mentioned another book called the ‘Iching,’ and so I sought out this book. I found a copy of the Iching at a spiritual book store and bought it without any idea of what it actually was. The Iching is a divinations book that tells one the future. I asked the book if I should peddle my bicycle down to South America, and it’s response was something like, “You are considering a very perilous and grand mission. If you take this mission upon yourself you will attain many fortunes and you will be protected. However, you are not ready yet and need to consolidate your forces.” In retrospect I know that there could not have been a better message for me at that time.
I took this message to heart and I ran with it 100%. With the help of Jelani, Richard, Brett, and others I built my current bike at the bicycle works; La Bomba Diggidad:
A couple months later I had a top notch bike, mechanic skills under my belt, all the supplies for bike travel, almost $3000 of money I had saved up. I asked the Iching if the time was right to hit the road. This time the oracle told me something like, “You are on the right track. Do not look back and ride the current with all your forces.” I heeded this message and it gave me lots of mental strength on my first few days riding down the California coast. Mentally some of the most challenging days of my bike travel were my first days out of Fairfax. I sang rainbow songs, meditated, and broke many barriers in my mind. I think part of it was that my destination was so far that it was like a mental mountain weighing on my psyche. Also I left Northern Cali with an insane amount of weight.
The rest of the story you can read/watch in the beginning of my blog. ;)
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