Foothill woodlands near Sacramento

Descending the western slopes of the Sierras

Donner Lake, California

Watching the forest and mountains pass by the window is like watching a movie.

Near the Sierra summit

Eastern Sierra Nevada, California

Climbing away from Reno along the Truckee River.

Nevada salt flats

Nevada at dawn

The magic of railroads and religion

Near Provo, Utah, I joined a nighttime conversation with Stacey, the
kind young ice cream man I met earlier, and Frankey, a reformed
convict who's now trying to teach at-risk kids about his experiences
to keep them away from the path of crime. It's the magic of the
railroad that brought three such unlikely individuals together. It's
the power of religion (in this case, Christianity) that's guiding both
these men's lives. It gives Stacey confidence and enthusiasm for
helping others, and it gives Frankey the compassion, structure, and
lucidity he needs to choose right over wrong. Over the past two
months, I've met many folks like Frankey, reformed criminals whom
religion has really helped, and who, through religion, are now helping
others. Simply good men like Stacey, though, are much rarer, and are
an inspiration to me. Both are a testament to the positive potential
of religion.

Sky on fire

I enjoyed the scene with fellow passengers in the view car. It's amazing how a train ride relaxes folks, so that they enjoy themselves and are thus enjoyable to be around. I met a kind young man named Stacey, who is a part-time nurse and a full-time entrepreneur, having started his own ice-cream truck business in Utah, following his passion. I enjoy meeting folks who follow their passions in life, because their enthusiasm and positive attitudes are contagious!

Western Colorado sunset

Colorado River sunset

Colorado River, Colorado

Draining the western slope of the Rockies, the Colorado River runs through red rock canyons similar in form to but smaller in scale than the Grand Canyon, which lies hundreds of miles downstream.

Grand Junction, Colorado

The western slopes of the Rockies bring me back to the land of irrigated agriculture.

Glenwood Springs, Colorado

After passing Denver, the Rockies rose steep out of the Great Plains. Since then, the landscape has been fantastic; the train has passed from the historic American east to the dynamic American west, with its ever-changing topography causing rapid transitions from forest to riparian wetland to desert to craggy mountain to grassland.

Ice fall on the Colorado River

Colorado River

Far upstream of where Jeff and I crossed 2 months ago!

Fraser River, Colorado

Rockey Mountains, Colorado

Rocky Mountains, Colorado

Climbing higher up into the snow.

Rocky Mountains, Colorado

Hydropower dam

Rocky Mountains

Up up the switchbacks we roll!

Denver, Colorado

Climbing the Rockies away from the Great Plains (and city smog).

Denver, Colorado

My train rests at Denver station.

Denver, Colorado

Anele in front of our rail car

Denver, Colorado at dawn

Omaha, Nebraska

After departing Chicago, my train rumbled through rural Illinois and
Iowa, with a landscape of farms sitting upon endless rolling hills,
gliding by my window. My seatmate is Anele, a nice young Zulu lady on
holiday from grad school in Durban to spend the winter working at a
ski resort near Lake Tahoe, and to see snow for the first time. During
dinner, I spoke with Lloyd, an older gent from Colorado Springs, also
a Stanford alum, and very knowledgable on railroads and antique cars.
I then met Frank, an American expat from France who works as a
freelance writer for magazines and NPR. Long-distance rail passengers
aren't in a hurry, unlike airplane passengers, and so seem more
relaxed and social. An Amish lady, en route with her husband and 7
kids to Montana, even came by to chat; it's amazing these folks have
successfully preserved their culture for 400 years in assimilitative
America! That takes hard work.

Chicago, Illinois

I'm at Chicago's Union Station, waiting for the train to San Francisco. Like New York's Penn Station, it's packed with travellers heading all over the country. I had some time to stroll around the city's nice downtown, with its canals and interesting architecture, but my toes soon became too cold, as I had traded my shoes for sandals on the hot train, and was too lazy to change back.

Midwest morning

Folks on their way to school and work in the typical manner of small-town America.

Brooklyn buddies

My old college roomate Bradford and his awesome family.

Toledo, Ohio

Nearing dawn, I woke up as we crossed a river beside this bridge. The bridge lights were the only around, and shattered the darkness as dawn is soon to do.

Midnight in Rochester, New York

Border patrol agents boarded the train, quietly woke us up one by one,
and asked us our nationalities. Other passengers tell me that this is
standard action here, as we are rolling along the border with Canada.
The agents asked each one of us our nationality. Those answering
"American" were let back to sleep. My accent seemed strange to my
inquiring agent, however, so he asked me where I was born. He seemed
satisfied by my reply of "Fort Dix" and so moved on. Foreigners had to
present passports. Further down the car, one man was questioned by the
agents and then escorted off the train by them, into a waiting patrol
car. Maybe he forgot his passport? I couldn't hear the conversation
between him and the agents, nor could my fellow passengers hear.
Rumbling down the tracks into the dark of night along Lake Ontario,
sleep overtakes me.

Hudson River, New York

I've boarded a train for Chicago, which is cruising up the Hudson River valley. I've always thought the densely wooded cliffs that line the river are deceptive, by masking the urban nature of the metropolis that lies just beyond the banks, with a scene of wilderness remeniscient of our country's not-so-distant colonial past. The landscape lies in stark contrast to the bustling Penn Station in Manhattan, a maze of underground labrynths where I boarded this train just ten minutes ago.

Jersey train to New York

Embarking on the first leg of my journey back across the country to San Francisco. My sis and nephew sent me off with hugs on a cool autumn day.

Brother Brian and friend Brian in Jersey

More folks whom I'd be happy if I could see more often. The US is too large, and sometimes we are too mobile a population for our own good.

More babies

Phil and Jen in Jersey

Bilingual baby Sophie

In Manhattan, I met Jeff and Jessica, old friends from my years in Japan, who have adapted to city living all over the world.

New York City's autumn splendor

As with family, it had been much too long since I saw many old friends, such as Andreas here. I was surprised that the region's autumn colors endured this late into the season, as exihbited by this brilliant Japanese Maple at the city's botanical garden in the Bronx.

Family in New Jersey

After my train arrived in Jersey, I spent much-needed time with my sister and nephew, and also with my brother in law, and father and stepmom, who were up from Georgia. We all went to Dad's cousin's home in Pennsylvania for Thanksgiving, and there I met nice new cousins, whom I had never met before due to a long-forgotten family feud. What a large, interesting family I never knew I had. My cousins are kind and fun, and my aunts and uncles are intellectuals. And I'm very proud of my Dad for quitting smoking!

Up the Atlantic coast by train

As we rumble into Georgia, the setting sun with its final rays illuminates a changing landscape. South Florida's cedar swamps and forests of small pines have given way to higher ground with poplars and woods of other deciduous varities mixed with tall pines. The autumn colors of falling leaves mingle with evergreen needles and the warm hues of the sky during sunset. The harmony of colors outside parallels a similar harmony of colors inside the train, where passengers and crew of all origins enjoy the ride together. Above all else, it's this peaceful plurality that makes me proud to be an American, and it's the strength derived from this diversity that allows me the hope that our great nation will remain great in spite of the troubles we face (and sometimes cause) in the world.

Recapturing calories

I spent these past four days in Ft. Lauderdale, visiting my Grandmar, Aunt, and Cousin. Naturally, they stuffed me like a Thanksgiving tofurkey, so that I've regained the 15 pounds or so that I lost on my bicycle trip, and am now back up to my normal 155 lbs. Another week of such pampering, sleeping, and eating would leave me unfit for any occupation other than to be consumed at the dinner table like the previously mentioned tofurkey, so I'm again on a train, fleeing northward up the east coast. Grandmar, thank you for spoiling me, as always.

Everglades, Florida

I'm on a train, barreling thrnugh the swamps at sunset, on my way to Grandmar's house. The ride is smooth and reolaxing, as I watch reeds, ponds, and scattered copses of cypress trees fly past outside my window. Apart from the causeway upon which the railway lies, the only overt signs of civilization are the smokestacks of what appears to be a power plant, which I assume burns oil, coal, or methane. The railway is used for freight throughout most of the day, and probably transports fuel to the power plant. Passenger trains run only twice a day each way, though ridership seems high, so I'm surprised that trains don't run more frequently. Some folks I talked to here ride because it's less stressful than driving in traffic, but most because it's cheaper than driving, especially since gas prices rose to their recent high. Ours are not as fast or punctual as trains in Japan are, but the view of rural America the train affords is a treat.

Haichuan and kids in Dunedin, Florida

On foot

Like a cowboy without his horse (so I'd imagine), I feel lonely
without my bicycle, which I took to the local bicycle shop today, to
ship back to Gerard's place in California. My rear, however, is
rejoicing that the riding is over, and that my feet will do the work
from now on.

St. Augustine, Florida

The town seems more European than Anerican, as its historic streets and structures have been protected from the destructive consequences of cars. In a museum, I did read about the electric streetcars that served the city until 1930, when their tracks were ripped out to make way for more cars, as occurred throughout the US at that time. But thank goodness this city didn't continue the process by widening its streets and tearing down historic structures or greenspace to make way for more parking spots.

St. Augustine, Florida

Exploring the oldest city in the US, I feel like I'm in another world. Everything here speaks of the colonial wars of 400 years ago, with France, Spain, and Britian contending with one another and with pirates. At that time, the Spanish started building with a marine stone called coquina, formed of fossils of sea shells, and these forts and homes are still intact here.

St. Augustine Beach, Florida

That's the Atlantic Ocean behind me, and I've finished my sojourn from sea to shining sea! The late afternoon sun to the west was adorned with colorful sundogs, ribbons of praise that I earned by battling through the headwinds that the stormy Atlantic has been throwing at me for the past two days. Thank you all for supporting me through this journey with your calls, emails, thoughts, and hospitality, and thanks be to Hashem for answering my prayers for safety!

St. Johns River, Florida power plants

They may be too small in the background of this photo, but there are two cooling towers for a nuclear power plant, and one smokestack that I assume is also related to poter generation. I always wonder where these flat eastern states get their power from, other than fossil fuels. Out west, I didn't see any power plants, but I did see many dams blocking mountainous river valleys, and many of these are used for hydropower. Without topography, hydropower isn't practical out here in the east, so it makes sense that I should see more power plants of other types here.

Cypress swamp in Gainesville

The highway to the sea

is lined with many a tree. Today held smoth riding and warm weather, although a moderate headwind made it slightly tough. Much of the route was rural, but, happily, I was not chased by any dogs, leading me to think that Floridians are more considerate than Louisianians, whose loose dogs had made me so on edge that I stuck to major highways throughout the deep south. But I gotta say that folks from western and central Texas still take the cake for politeness and helpfulness! Now I'm in Gainesville, Florida, next to the University of Florida. Tomorrow I'll make a run for the Atlantic Ocean, which will be in reach unless this easterly wind strengthens.

Litter

In the western states, most roads have "Adopt a highway" signs
(showing the sponsors for road trash clean-ups) dedicated as memorials
to people who had died and are missed. In the east, the signs instead
recognize the organizations or individuals that donated the money or
manpower for cleanups. But all roads, if not sponsored, are littered
with unbelievable amounts of cigarettes, beer bottles and cans, and
other redneck items, especially in the eastern US. So these cleanup
programs are effective and necessary for cleaning up the symptoms of
the problem, but they don't touch the cause of the problem: lack of
education in societal values among the redneck families that pervade
our beautiful country. How do we tackle a problem like that?

Live Oak, Florida

For the second day in a row, I was denied a campsite, and so ended up
in a cheap motel. The Suwanee River State Park, a picturesque
riverside campground, is being renovated, and so is closed for the
season. Last night I had hoped to camp at a campground in the forest
outside Tallahassee, but they allowed only RV's, no tents. Tent
camping in Florida is not as widespread as I'd like, especially now
that freezing weather is gone and it'd be nice to spend some nights
outside.

Yellow day

These Yellow Poplars displayed their autumn best today, as the sun dispelled the cold snap that had held the region for the last few days. Along with the newfound warmth came a new generation of butterflies, these bright yellow, in contrast to their orange forebears that had graced my path before the frosts of these past three days. I don't know how today's butterflies survived the frost, or why their color is different, but it's a joy to have them back. Maybe they have just emerged from their coccoons, which could have sheltered them from the cold.

Tallahassee, Florida

Today held another frosty morning followed by gorgeous cycling
weather. Near the Appalachiacola River is a state prison, near which I
saw a couple of tough-looking guards on horseback with rifles slung
over their shoulders, overseeing a chain gang of inmates laboring in a
field. The guards conjured images of the movie "Hot Fuzz", but were
polite enough to wave to me as I rolled by. Crossing the river, I
entered the Eastern time zone, making for the fourth time change of my
trip; that's almost one time change a week, which gets confusing
enough to give a cyclist jetlag! Entering Tallahassee near sunset, I
crested a hill to a vista of the state capital building rising white
and square above the surrounding forest, which conjured up memories of
the summer I spent here at Florida State University as an undergrad
intern 13 years ago; nostalgia. Unfortunately, the friends I made that
summer are no longer here, but happily I have the chance to visit one
of them, Haichuan, at his home near Tampa next week.

Butterflies

The pretty little orange butterflies that often glided along with me
since the Texas hill country, suddenly disappeared yesterday. When the
weather started chilling down two days ago as I pedaled through the
marshes north of Dauphin Island, Alabama, I saw butterflies everywhere
falling to the ground and expiring. Yesterday there were dead
butterflies along the roadside. Today no butterflies at all, as last
night's cold wind must have swept them away. A sure sign of winter,
but I miss my graceful little companions.

Bonifay, Florida

Today was beautiful, with cool, sunny skies and only light winds. The
route followed a cargo rail line over gently rolling, grassy and
forested hills, making for fast and easy riding. I plan to follow the
standard Southern Tier route to St. Augustine, after which I will
visit Tampa and Ft. Lauderdale by bus and train. I estimate five or
six more days of cycling, until I reach the Atlantic Ocean.

Seasons

The air was cold this morning, and the grass was covered with the first frost of the winter. Into late morning, however the sun had warmed things back up enough to make for comfortable cycling. I was surprised to see autumn colors, which are rare in Florida, but seem to exist only on trees in the marshes.

Alternative fuels?

Today at a Pensacola service stop, I alro met a salty old trucker
(think ZZ Top) who saw my rig (bicycle with trailer attached) and
commented to me, "Sunny, the way the price of gas is going, you're the
wave of the future!" I hope so! (Along with efficient public
transportation; that's the other thing we can learn from Japan.)

Personalities

There are some interesting folks I came across in Louisiana whom I
hadn't written about, but whom I want to tell you about. One is Kevin,
a local who was cycling the other way on a rural road and stopped to
chat with me. Not your typical cyclist, he was riding along in jeans
and construction boots, though not being a fashion-conscious cyclist
myself, I didn't even notice these quirks until he pointed them out to
me. What I did notice from the getko war that he was pedaling while
smoking a cigarette. Now that's a skill that I saw many folks perform
in Japan, but it was the first I'd seen it in the US. A very friendly
guy, he told me that he's taken up cycling the roads of his beautiful
Louisiana countryside in an effort to improve hir life. It's helped
him quit doing the frightening drug meth, and together with AA, it's
giving him the motivation and structure he needs to lay off the
bottle. I guess smoking comes next, but it's really nice to see this
guy using healthy outdoor exercise ar a means to improve the person
that he is! Another friendly Louisianian I met is an older lady named
Paula, who said it's always been her dream to see the country like I'm
doing, but that her family wouldn't go for an adventure like that, and
that she is scared to go other than in a large group. When she asked
me what means I had to protect myself if threatened with crime, and I
responded that I carry only a cannister of pepper spray, she grew
concerned, and suggested that I go at my earliest convenience to
purchase a firearm, because that's what folks really need to protect
themselves in this crime-ridden country, and they're so easy to buy
and obtain a permit for. In some ways she's right, as anyone can
obtain a gun pretty easily, but I hold to my bleeding-heart liberal
values that, except for folks who use guns professionally and are
trained psychologically in using firearms with restraint, as policemen
are, I want this to be a gun-free society, so I should set an example
by not carrying one myself. Japan's got that right.

Milton, Florida

Ironically, the Sunshine State greeted me today with the coldest day
of cycling of my entire trip thus far. The sun was shining bright over
the Gulf's white sand beaches, but a strong northerly wind brought
wintery temperatures. As today's route took a northeast tack, the
headwind kept me crawling along at a snail's pace, with the cold, dry
air dessicating my eyes, even though I was wearing sunglasses.
Fighting the headwind, I rode in a tucked position, which prevented me
from enjoying the scenery via more than just occasional glances,
during which I spied grassy sand dunes that separated the beach from
the road, many seagulls gliding in place into the wind, pelicans
diving into the Gulf to catch fish, and the Navy's Blue Angels
practicing their stunts over their home city of Pensacola. Now I'm
holed up in a motel in Milton, Florida for the night, as the forecast
is for sub-freezing temperatures, and I did not bring the camping gear
I'd need to sleep outdoors in such conditions. So I'm taking the
oppurtunity to plan the rest of my trip, by sitting down with a state
road map and Google Maps (on my cellphone), to decide whether to stay
on the Southern Tier route to St. Augustine, or to head down the west
coast of Florida to Tampa, visit my friend Haichuan there, and then
cut across the state to Grandmar's house in Ft. Lauderdale.

Dauphin Island, Alabama

These glorious saltwater wetlands thrive on the shoreward side of the Gulf Coasts' barrier islands. I saw many birds, but I don't know much about birds so cannot say what species.

Fort Morgan, Alabama

The structures on this barrier island are all elevated upon piles, as every few years such islands are completely washed over by hurricane storm surges.

Dauphin Island, Alabama

Extensive saltwater wetlands in the lee of a barrier island.