Crossing Imaginary Borders

Leaving Jackson

We woke up in our comfy camper and decided to take the route north right beside the Grand Tetons and what an exhilarating ride it was. When we arrived in the Teton Village tourist trap, I talked Alex and Iris into stopping for a soy chai and as a result we later had to ride through a massive hail storm that swept over the mountains. Soy chai spawns another adventure! It was the first real storm I had to ride in, but I only broke out half my rain gear (my jacket) because it was muddy on a dirt road that connected us up to the bike path and the fierce hail was hurrying me along. Once we got to the bike path it stopped raining and we enjoyed the most scenic view of the Tetons ever, taking multiple pictures. It was a grand rush to see the snow-topped peaks and the amazing ice trickle water falls flowing down their rocky faces. These mountains are majestic because they have no foothills and they just shoot straight into the sky OM-ing in the creative delight of being.

We rode hard after that and had the misfortune of encountering a dirt road for ten miles but it was downhill, so that made it easier. As usual, the last five miles of the ride were the hardest as intense headwinds came sweeping down hard and pounded us in the face when we were in the stretches between the trees. I kept yelling back to Alex and Iris (yes, with my new lighter load I can sometimes take the lead!) "Just make it to the trees!" The wind was even more fierce because it carried giant gaseous clouds of pollen which I thought were dust, but found out later were pollen. The road ached upward and we burned our legs to the last point of muscle exertion to reach Colter Bay, where we found a pleasant camp site (for $14) with a table and fire pit. We quickly set up our tents and headed over to the laundry and showers area, too tired to build a fire. I gladly paid $3.75 for a long hot shower and then we headed oer to the cafe to eat chips and salsa and surf the net and recharge devices. My Droid phone started acting wonky but I thought it would work itself out, but it never did and I lost a lot of good pics after that.

The next morning I shot up early, packed up my tent and rode over to the breakfast buffet to enjoy fresh fruit, hot oatmeal with soy milk, and granola with soy milk, in addition to numerous hot teas of various minty, orange-spice, and fruity blends all for $8. Alex and Iris slept in and missed the buffet. The night before, when we rode our bikes through the dark searching for our allotted campsite labeled "I" we encountered a fellow cyclist named Tony who had come all the way from Minnesota. He was in his third year of college and craved a grand adventure being an Aries and all. He decided to join us for dinner that night and breakfast and became our new traveling companion. He was fast on his bike and immediately took the lead, matching his Sun Sign, the Aries warrior pioneer striking forward. Turns out Tony is real smart having majored in Chemistry and completed Calculus four with Differential Equations, which coincidently was as far as I went in the higher mathematics. He reminded me of my friend Greg, the Catholic Prophet from Key West, with his mystical blue eyes and angular face. We had lots of conversations at camp the next night about life the universe and string theories and dark matter.

That night I heard from my good friend and spiritual brother Peter that Christina was flying out to Colorado to collect my Pathfinder so she could sell it. I had a dream that she missed me so bad that she came driving up through Wyoming to track me down and ask me to come back into her life. I will always love that shiny lady, but my heart has drifted on due to our impasse. She has no passion for love and I have no desire to be a drone for a mortgage and a slave to credit card debt, especially after tasting the true freedom of a wandering soul. I will miss her family and our conversations, but I can't go back. The hope of a new love in Alisha awaits me in Canada, and my heart can only fuel that flame.

The Wise Man of Yellowstone

After breakfast we ran into a short dwarven (without the beard) 70-year old German who is apparently a famous cyclist who has traversed every country in the world on a bicycle. His name is Heinz Stuke and he rides one of those little bikes, and a company who just produced the new bike he was riding paid him $5000 to test ride it. He's going from Mexico City to the tundra of the Yukon. I did some research and found that his stories were authentic. He has been cycling for 48 years and has covered over 600,000 KM! Holy wow! What are the chances that we would wake up and after breakfast meet one of the most famous cyclists in the world? He is a Capricorn and very skeptical of superstitions like astrology, but he was in good humor with me over the subject. It seemed that he enjoyed playing the role of the wise man on the circuit and he pushed his powerful personality to the center of any discussion offering his numerous and practical opinions in true German fashion. He was a really cool guy but he definitely rubbed me the wrong way after a time. A few other cyclists, Kaleb from Eugene, and Joe from Thailand also joined us as we all raced through the Southern entrance to Yellowstone where you are supposed to pay $12 per bicycle, but the wily German flashed his pass and said, "These guys are with me!" and the lady at the gate took compassion on us and didn't charge us a dime, as she knew the massive and quite dangerous challenge that lay ahead on the arduous climb into Yellowstone.

It was a difficult climb indeed and I'm glad my Granny in Mississippi is praying for me according to my mom, because there I was riding with a rough three inch shoulder with tourists whizzing by my left, and to my right, a steep rugged incline into a canyon thousands of feet below. You couldn't stop because you'd cause traffic to freak, and you could barely pedal in your lowest gear because the incline was so steep, so your legs burned and burned and the sweat trickled beneath your shirt at first but then turned to a constant stream, even though you had to have a jacket because as you went higher it got colder and colder. So you were hot and tired and had a chill while you spent hours on the verge of death with scant and rare overlooks to stop at. Thanks Granny! Your prayers kept me safe indeed, because there were hundreds of chances to die. Despite not having to pay a fee because of our fearless German leader on his little pony of a bike, I think they should use all moneys collected from bicyclists to pave a shoulder on that killer road.

Eventually we all reached Lewis Lake campground as the sun descended behind the rocky range to our left. The wind was harsh as it always is at the end of the day, and the sweat seemed like it turned to ice and you got a brazen chill running through your core. Living outside is an education in the flow of the elements indeed. You begin to understand the patterns of the wind and you surrender to it. You begin to feel the pulsing power of the earth beneath you as you sleep on grass, rocks and twigs. You begin to realize and cultivate reverence for the life sustaining power of water that you carry, and that you see pushing down the river to feed the valleys below, stubbornly cutting its path through the rocky mountain with no sense of guilt or reservation, just still, calm, watery power. You begin to understand the primitive quest for fire sitting around the campfire with your companions, the smoke driving the mosquitos away, the heat boiling your tea and dinner. I'm in tears writing this thinking about the four elements and the awesome power and realizing that each one of us is a miniature replica of all four elements conjoined and infused with consciousness and the ability to pretend we aren't who we are. We're so miraculous and tricky!

Even though our campsite was rough, with uneven rocky patches for tents and a long trek to the firewood, Iris and I got busy cooking our noodle feast, bangkok curry that I had picked up in Jackson with a delicious slab of tempeh, while Alex and Tony, the Leo and Aries, went down to the lake to gather bundles of firewood. Alex loves making fires, and with my five planets in Sag I share that with him, but he always beats me to it so I let him do it with no argument. There's always a fire in his eyes to get that magical elemental burning and dancing. Maybe years of growing up on the streets of New York City have nurtured a desire for fire in the deep wilderness. I asked and he told me that he used to camp and master firebuilding in the wilds of upstate New York. He and Iris were fascinated with fireworks and carried ample sets sticking out of their packs on the backs of their bikes since the 4th of July in Lander. I think they spent at least $60 stocking up. It turns out that they don't allow fireworks or explosions of any kind since 9-11 in New York City, so they are feeding a desperate childhood longing.

Tony the Aries has a mystical side, as he is always disappearing to go jump in a lake and admonishing us to do the same. Where I preferred the hot shower, he relished the opportunity to dive into every lake we encountered, like he belonged to the water. With those mystical blue eyes, I suspected that he had a strong Neptune, especially since he was into higher mathematics and chemistry. We had some grand discussions around the fire in between Heinz's common interruptions to tell us a wise man story. Joe the Thailand cyclist started in NYC as well and I informed him that I longed to visit his country to taste authentic Thai culture plus Mussaman curry. He informed me that Mussaman curry was an import from India, and that it was a truly Indian dish, and that my favorite Thai tea originated in Sri Lanka, but was later imported to Thailand and became famously known as Thai tea. Kind of like the original Grand Tetons were named for some highlands in Idaho, but the early explorers mistook the Wyoming range for them and the name stuck. Interesting how names start off as one thing and get stuck to another?

Kaleb from oregon was a true dharma bum college kid in his last semester, going for a degree in environmental studies so he could land a cool job in public service working for the parks. He was a good-looking fellow that you know the women swoon over and he and I shared our intellectual love of Jack Kiroac and the Dharma Bums, which I'm currently reading on my I-pad in my tent at night before I drift into deep sleep dreaming of one day meeting this mysterious fairy princess named Alisha at the end of my journey to Nelson. Kaleb said that on his way out of Jackson as he was coming out of the grocery store to head north, when an epic beauty from Moldova was sitting next to his bike. He fell in love instantly and they struck up a conversation, and she ended up asking him to stay. Kaleb said he kicked himself inside for leaving, but his allegiance to the journey to explore and hike and be one with nature was to strong, and so he left her behind with the piercing blade of his own convictions tearing at his heart and loins. At first I thought he was a college kid poser player with the pretty eyes and all the charm but no substance, but after that story and the Dharma Bums connection and on into eastern religions and even kama sutra stories around the fire, I grew to really like him. He even defended my wisdom against the constant rationalistic attacks of our German village Elder.

While Iris and I cooked dinner, with jokes about how we were the womenfolk, Iris said, "It feels like we are in a little village." Joe from Thailand was a smoker, which amazed us all knowing how much your lungs endure on the bike rides, and he would disappear like a little asian ninja like Alex to toke on his latest cigarette. He was a respectful smoker and he went off to ruin his health while honoring ours. Despite his nasty habit, Joe was one blessed asian with eyes like deep pools of compassion, and every action performed with meditative precision. After a delicious meal of Bangok Curry and tempeh, Alex and Iris declared they were going to go vegan for real this time, not just vegetarian, but I knew the allure of sticky cheese would bite them hard in a few days. You don't just go vegan because you think you want to get a little healthier. They are young and they eat lots of junk, but they see what I eat and they see how much energy and vitality and enthusiasm I have, all 260 pounds of me (maybe 250 by now), and they yearn to improve their consumption habits. The seeds of healthy living have been planted.

We all woke up and one by one this new fellowship began crawling out of their tents like caterpillars shedding layers to become butterflies. I woke up and stretched my arms to the sky and breathed the forest air, grateful that no bears visited us to stir our food about. Of course, our ever efficient tinker Capricorn Heinz, was already down by the firepit telling stories and offering strong German opinions and helping Kaleb fix his broken sandal. By the time we were all up and at 'em, Heinz was perched at the picnic table with an assortment of trinkets and tools rolled out on a towel fixing the sandal with dental floss. You could learn a lifetime of tricks from this wise man, but he still rejected anything I said about astrology as if he was the defender of both Science and traditional religions. At one point he launched into open insults on my character and began insulting Americans with the whole, "You Americans are so...blah, blah, blah" And it got so annoying after a while, that I said out loud, "And you Germans are good at starting world wars and getting your asses kicked!" That shut him up for a while, as everyone laughed at first, and then realized the total unpolitically correct essence of my harsh words.

I knew this German wise man, who was born Jan 11, 1940 with no birth time, was put in my path for a reason, and it disturbed me terribly. It was as if I, as a defender and champion of astrology was standing up against 2000 years of misinformation all concentrated in the stern, opinionated mind of a German explorer who refused to let you have a word in edgewise. He insisted that if I was a great astrologer then I should predict his future or shut up. I insisted that astrology was not about predicting the future but rather, aligning with the natural tides of both your character and the seasons of the soul, harnessing our free will to shape the seasons in alignment with the divine, co-creators of destiny. "Bullshit!" was his response, followed by many insults but always ending with "I like you Kelly, You are good guy I can see, and I'm impressed by your strength and the load that you carry. But tricking people with this superstition reminds me of the millions of Turks who now believe they can see the future in the bottom of their coffee."

On and on our arguments went with the others watching. The young folks looked up to Heinz for his stories and wealth of experience and travel wisdom, but they started to turn against him when he attacked astrology and me, because they could easily see the connection between the cosmos and life on planet Earth having been raised on the Internet, and not seduced into the rational position of Science or the irrational position of religion. In the end I walked over to the firepit and circled it slowly calling on my inner guides. I could have sat down and interpreted his chart without a birth time, but everything I would say would be followed by scorn, so I refused to do it. He didn't deserve the wisdom of the Magi in his frozen stubbornness.

Then another German came to me at the edge of the fire and I began to whisper the words of a a poem called the Holy Longing by Goethe, that starts with, "Tell a wise man or else keep silent, because those who do not understand it will mock it right away." I thought of Heinz and his claims to fame and his arguing over the Guinness book of records and the technical details of travel logs and records and realized that despite his outer wisdom and practicalities, he had no wisdom of the spiritual realm, and often balked at such superstitions, true to his Capricorn prove-it-to-me in reality nature. As I circled the fire reciting the poem Goethe's great German spirit grew within me and the whispers became speech and then I turned to the my fellow temporary villagers and I recited it loudly to their amazement. Heinz tried to interrupt but each time he did my voice grew louder as I channeled Goethe through the fire and overshadowed his power with the words of an ancient dead poet.

The Holy Longing

Tell a wise person, or else keep silent,
because the mass man will mock it right away.
I praise what is truly alive,
what longs to be burned to death.

In the calm water of the love-nights,
where you were begotten, where you have begotten,
a strange feeling comes over you,
when you see the silent candle burning.

Now you are no longer caught in the obsession with darkness,
and a desire for higher love-making sweeps you upward.

Distance does not make you falter.
Now, arriving in magic, flying,
and finally, insane for the light,
you are the butterfly and you are gone.
And so long as you haven't experienced this: to die and so to grow,
you are only a troubled guest on the dark earth.

The village exclaimed in exaltation, especially when I quoted the last two words in German, the Dunklen Verde, the dark earth. That silenced the old geezer for a minute or two before he went back to fixing Kaleb's sandal. I had planted a seed of wisdom in each person's heart, and then I had a moment where I could talk about astrology without interruption. Heinz enjoyed being the center of attention, he was used to being the coolest person with the greatest stories and the most helpful advice, and I respect all of that. But his constant belittling of my art was too much to take and he had declared war with a Magi, and the Magi won. Of course he'd say he had won.

After that I wanted to leave the group for a while. The Moon was in my eighth house of death and transformation and letting go and my spirit was crying for alone time. So I bid them farewell, with complaints from Heinz of course, who wanted me there. Possibly to set up his next attack, possibly because he respected me even if he didn't agree with me. But now he was talking about the superiority of the Chinese Zodiac that he learned about in his travels while cycling through China. I just had to go, so I rode hard ahead of the others. They caught me at the next town to stop for food and Alex and Iris were really aching for the World Cup on TV, but alas, they had no television there, so of course Heinz broke out his ancient radio and tuned in the broadcast so all could listen, walking around announcing the highlights in front of the store like some kind of odd German sportscaster. With little care for soccer, and an itch to visit Old Faithful on my own in memory of my father who once took me there as a child with my brothers, I departed an hour earlier than they did and rode hard up the pass to an elevation over 8000 feet. My lungs were doing better since the dusts of central Wyoming were far behind us, but they still strained to breathe the thin air.

On my ride I meditated on what Heinz meant to my path, born just two months before my own father in 1940, another conservative who respects my calling but probably thinks its a weird tricking of people with superstitions despite the amazing testimonials I and many other serious astrologers receive for work in astrology. What were we astrologers struggling against at the dawn of the Age of Aquarius when the one thing the world needs to make the transition into a new Renaissance possible was contained in this scorned secret language of the heavens that according to Jung contains all the ancient world's psychology. I kinda felt how Jesus felt on the cross when he said, "Forgive them Father, for they know not what they do." But the Aquarian Renaissance offers an awakening of Christ Consciousness in every human being, and the holy cycles of the planets and the realization of galactic being fueling our human creativity was at stake. There was no way I was being burnt at the stake by the institutionalized heathens of petty religion and squabbling sciences symbolized by this stubborn little dwarf of a German. I guess when you become a champion of something, you better be prepared to fight.

When I arrived at Old Faithful, I remembered the scene from childhood, as the geyser was blowing its top as I rode into the little mecca among the mountains, cold and shivering from the intense down slope combined with the front edge of a massive rainstorm that I later learned the others got stranded at the Divide under. I locked up Magellan and strode into the main building loaded with tourists and watched the Old Faithful complete its cycle. I wanted to walk out onto the wooden decks and remember the time that my father took me there, but I was distracted by the fact that my Droid phone had got caught up in a weird feedback loop and refused to work. I needed an internet cafe so I could figure out how to to a hard reboot, as my brother Marc had suggested. I was directed by a kind lady at the door to the Snow Lodge cafe where they had wi-fi access, and so I quickly rode my bike over there and ordered a hot tea, hot veggie soup, and a veggie burger, which I loaded with pickles and onions! I recharged my devices and fixed my Droid in an hour, but I had lost all the data, including the amazing pictures I took of the Yellowstone countryside, the canyon coming up, the lakes with the mountains, etc. But at least C3-KP was back online.

The others eventually caught up to me, but I was ready to go. It was indeed strange to be in the lead so often after lightening my load. But I wanted to get going to beat the sun to the horizon. Our next destination was Madison another 17 miles away, but inside I had a secret desire to get to West Yellowstone, a town just inside the border of Montana, and another 14 miles away. Kaleb informed us of a secret bike path through the woods up the road of of which we could stealth camp, and everyone was all for it, including me. Although I didn't want to have another camping experience like before where I was defending my art against the old man's ego. So I rode ahead with passion praying for a good shoulder, good winds, and a nice decline. I stopped to take several pictures but the riding was so good, so flowing and fast that I just wanted to reach Madison, and I unconscious missed the bike path turn off. I never even saw it. So I rode hard against the descending sun maintaining about 18 MPH. I had to stop once to eat some almonds and a clif bar to keep my waning strength up. I felt like a furnace in need of wood.

I reached Madison quickly, but the campground was full, and I had to decide to either sneak in and join the cyclists camp or plow forward toward the border. I have a new love and respect for the state of Wyoming, but my Gemini Moon craves variety and despite the Sun having only an hour or so left before it completed its cycle, I knew I could ride with all my leftover strength and make it to West Yellowstone. I texted the others and they decided to camp on the bike trail. I turned my bike West and set a grueling pace, having to weave through stopped traffic three times. Tourists with cameras are a strange lot. If they see one iota of wildlife like a moose or a deer, the whole caravan of cars stops and the cameras come out of their holsters like gunslingers and they creep up on the animals while I zoom by racing the Sun to the horizon. But I rode past oblivious to their strange desires wondering what it would be like if animals came into cities to gawk at and take pictures of human beings.

Breaking into Montana!

I rode hard through tears and pain, but all my prayers were answered (thanks Granny!) and the slope was downhill with no giant passes to climb, and the wind was at my back for the first time at the end of a day, and the shoulder of the road from Old Faithful all the way to West Yellowstone was clean and three feet wide! I made my destination and beat the Sun for once! Unlike the time in Laramie when the Sun defeated me. I rode briskly into town like a victorious cowboy, having conquered Wyoming. I stopped to snap a photo of the "Entering Montana" sign above, and breathed a deep sigh of relief.

West Yellowstone was alive and bustling with tourism, the main drag resembling an old mixed with modern western town with saloons and gift shops, and places to tie up your bike. I quickly located the cyclist camp by asking the locals and paid ten dollars to set up my tent right next to the Rolling Dutchmen and the Adventure Cycle Association, seeing my friends from the trails of Wyoming. They were taking two rest days here and that enabled me to catch them during their second day. The Rolling Dutchmen were joined by a former cyclist who had went back to Charlotte NC after Kansas to get his car, his kayak, and his other mountain bike to continue the quest with them by car. His name was Dan and he welcomed me and told me where I could eat. They shared their bathroom key with me and I had a long hot shower after I rode back downtown and gobbled down a vegan pizza laden with broccoli, mushrooms, peppers, onions, and black olives, hold the cow please as slowly as I could gobble. In the end I was deeply satisfied, happy to have reached Montana, glad to see old trail mates again, and lying in my tent relaxed wondering if I would continue my journey in the morning or stay a day and do some work.

Even though it was 72 miles till the next destination, the town of Ennis, Montana, I wanted to ride, even though I'd likely be a day ahead of Alex and Iris. I knew they would catch me eventually, probably before I finish typing this blog post. I got a text from Sky that he was stranded in Jackson until the company could ship him his new Unicycle tire and tube. I knew he would catch me too, eventually.

But last night as I was laying in my tent, Alisha called and expressed her true heart to me and I to her. We've never even met and we've cultivated this deep love on the higher planes, mental, emotional, and astral-archetypal. We are both having visions of our new life together. I saw us walking down the streets of Nelson holding hands. She visualized how tall I would be next to her in the shower embracing. I saw a vision of me sitting behind her looking out at the Canadian lake and I breathed a deep sign of relief to be holding her in my arms at last. We've been having these vision and dreams with increasing regularity as I approach from the south. Today when I woke up to come write this at Ernie's Cafe, I met a Canadian cyclist at camp who opened his map and showed me the best and most efficient route to Neslon, BC. His name was Ray, and he shone a bright Ray of Light on my path north on this journey of love.