Mississippi River bike trip-aversary!

GUESS WHAT?!

It’s my 4 year end-of-first-bike-trip-aversary!

Zooming on the Natchez Trace Parkway, Mississippi.

That journey by the numbers: 

1 month 

(August 2013)

800 miles from Memphis, Tennessee to Venice, Louisiana

I started just south of the star and pedaled to the southernmost end of blue

 
2 nights camping inside a fire station

night 1 in Arkansas

night 2 in Louisiana

There weren’t any fires so I got to try on the gear at Plaquemine’s.

26 nights people took me in 

My favorite sleeping spot was possibly the Floating Bed at Quapaw Canoe Company, designed by Chris Staudinger. Not pictured: copious amounts of driftwood that decorate the space.

I thought it was a southern hospitality thing, but people have been taking me in all over the world in the years since –– I don’t know how to possibly repay this gift, but once I have a place of my own there will always be a futon for travelers.

1 cardboard sign 

Recording audio stories at the Sunflower River Blues & Gospel Festival

1 time I held a mastodon tooth 

Thanks, Howard Brent! Howard took me out on a Sunday river boat ride with his friend Hank, too. He showed me how the river washes up a whole treasure box of things, like the skeleton of this boat.

Despite the best attempts of the Army Corps of Engineers, the Mississippi’s banks are always moving and jumping.

1 night dancing at Reds in Clarksdale 

This saxophone player’s jacket is the inspiration for the neon vest that I wear while cycling…

made in New Zealand, March 2015

I embroidered myself a pair of poet pants in New Zealand, too.

But back to the Mississippi River Trail… this was my home office that month.

I did a fist pump every time I saw one of these signs. MRT!!!

That August 2013 I recorded 50 hours of stories.

I didn’t know what I was doing, but it felt right.

I love everything about this quote except for the gendered pronoun.

Nightfall in NOLA

piles from Hurricane Isaac (2 years previous) at the side of the road, somewhere south of New Orleans on the way to Venice

Cotton, growing

Combine

Music comes out of the water, I think.

Stop what you’re doing and go listen to the Shotgun Jazz Band. No, really. The night I spent listening to them in New Orleans was simply sublime.

I chased after a car to get this picture taken at the End of the World, the place where Louisiana Highway 23 meets the Gulf of Mexico.

If you’re wondering where the One Bike One Year logo came from, now you know: The End of the World / Venice, Louisiana.

There were places in Venice where water laps over the road at high tide.

I’ll have to check when I’m back stateside to see if I can find the hard-drive with those audio stories on it. It would be interesting to listen.

I’m immensely grateful to all the storytellers who have propelled me around this planet a few times since… I couldn’t keep going without the 700+ people who have taken the time to share a piece of their lives with me.

Here’s to water stories, climate change stories, and everything in between.

Stay tuned for more updates about 1,001 Stories in the months to come. I have 700+ audio stories from the last three years to share… still working on format, but a podcast might be bubbling on the back-burner.

xo from Stockholm,

“The Power of Slow”

Hey, world! I have an essay in the September 2016 print edition of Bicycling magazine about the power of slow cycling.

You can read the essay online here: http://www.bicycling.com/rides/adventure/the-power-of-slow

…

…

In listening, I give the whole of myself—my ears, my heart—to a storyteller. In cycling, I give the whole of myself—my body, my spirit—to a place. I move through the landscape and the landscape moves through me. Slowness has become part of my daily practice.

Check it out!

http://www.bicycling.com/rides/adventure/the-power-of-slow

Arohanui,

Devi

Words in Places: BuzzFeed & CityLab

HEY WORLD:

I wrote this personal essay for BuzzFeed. More than 38,000 people have read it so far. Holy guacamole.

This is one of those stories that feels vulnerable to share — but I’m embracing that. Hello, vulnerability. I see you.

Here goes:

“Breaking Up With Both A Person And A Place” 

Check the bottom left — the story was promoted to the front page!

IN OTHER NEWS:

It’s a big day on the internet for this little touring cyclist that could. CityLab, a division of The Atlantic, wrote about my journey:

You can read the full story here:

http://www.citylab.com/navigator/2015/12/water-climate-change-cycling-stories/422076/ 

—

I like writing things.

I like the reconnection that happens with so many of you when I write something.

It’s kind of magic, really.

Just want to say that if you’re reading this, I’m grateful for you —
thanks for being here. It’s been a wild ride of a year.

2015 was the year of the bike.
2016 will be the year of words. Getting them out into the world,

because that is what I’m here to do.

Interview with Cycling Violinist Jasmine Reese

Jasmine Reese is an adventurer, violinist, and cyclist from Indianapolis, Indiana. In 2013 she bicycled across the United States with her dog, Fiji, and her violin in tow. In March 2016, Jasmine is setting off on a second long-distance bicycle journey––this time around the world. She plans to cycle through 47 countries.

It was a pleasure to meet Jasmine via a Facebook group of touring cyclists, and equally wonderful to learn more about her life on the road.

You can read more about Jasmine’s work at www.FiJaPAW.com. I’m looking forward to following her journey as it unfolds.

Photo by Robert McAdams

DKL: What draws you to the bicycle as a means of transportation?

JR: I hate the gym. The bicycle was a low intensity workout that combined getting from one place to the next. To combine travel with cardio was amazing to me. Also, even when I could feel the burn, unlike being on a treadmill, I had tons of distractions to keep pedaling; the birds chirping in the trees, the wind caressing my face, the old barn sitting on a brown field. When you have such beautiful landscapes and stories distracting you from the burn, that’s the best type of exercise. Like all endurance sports, bicycling has taught me patience, fortitude and to smell the flowers even in the midst of adversity (adversity on a bicycle is a steep climb, hahaha).

DKL: How did you start playing violin?

JR: I wanted to play violin way before I actually started, but a number of factors kept me away from it. Our school shut down the string program, so I could only choose from woodwind and brass instruments. I started clarinet at 11, but that only lasted a year. We weren’t compatible.

When I was 13, I had my own babysitting business and was making about $800 a month. I saw a violin on sale for $110 when my mom and I were running errands one day. The rest is predictable. Even though I had the violin, it wouldn’t be until several months later when I actually took up violin lessons. My mom couldn’t afford lessons and because we had moved, my babysitting incoming had decreased. So, I called all the area violin teachers and asked to do chores in exchange for violin lessons. I found my first teacher, and babysat her children. We actually became family as opposed to teacher – student. I love her for giving me the chance to learn violin.

DKL: What do you like most about making music?

JR: The way it makes me feel and the opportunity to make others feel the same way.

DKL: What advice would you give to someone who is just starting out with a musical instrument?

JR: Slow and steady. Like being on a bicycle, the road, the journey seems long and painful. There are hills and traffic. Weather can sometimes delay your travel. But at the end of the day, no matter how difficult the journey, you’re proud you accomplished something. You look at your legs and feel proud of those hard calves. You look at your surroundings and breathe in the fresh air, and you know you wouldn’t trade your situation with anyone else. I guess that’s why I love bicycling so much. It’s very comparable to learning a musical instrument.

DKL: How do you build music into your everyday practice on the road?

JR: I don’t think this is difficult. Traveling with Fiji means lots of breaks and stopping. I just take out my violin while Fiji chases a squirrel or rubs in the grass. I actually hate practicing outside because the acoustics are meh. But I am starting to appreciate it more.

DKL: Talk to me about listening. How do you see music and listening as interconnected?

Is it possible to just hear music and be effected? Listening to music includes breathing it in. Embracing it, creating images in your mind, feeling the heartbeat, interpreting what the tones are trying to tell you. Listening to music is an experience. I remember watching a TEDx presentation. Evelyn Glennie talked about “how to truly listen.” She’s a percussionist and deaf. I suggest you post that video here.

JR: More importantly, if you listen closely enough, you’ll find music all around you in the most unexpected places. Another perk to long-distance adventure bicycling.

DKL: How do you define performance?

JR: Performance focuses on the visual and sensory aspect of delivering a form of art or music to an audience. But if the music and art is good; it can stand on its own without performance. Don’t misinterpret what I’m saying though. Performance is definitely needed and some art forms such as dance cannot be separated from it. They go hand-in-hand. I hope more people will get away from their computers and go see live performances.

DKL: So, you travel with your dog, Fiji––that’s super cool! How did Fiji get her name?

JR: She was named by the pound.

DKL: How did Fiji come into your life?

JR: I rescued her off of craigslist. She was going to be sent back to the pound and would be put in the gas chamber as a result. Missouri still uses gas chambers to euthanize dogs. Anyway, Fiji was supposed to be a surprise for my mom. We had just lost our sweet rottweiler to heat stroke and I was devastated. My mom was, too, but she kept talking about needing a furbaby in her life. Me, I did not want to be connected with a dog ever again. I hate losing them. Fiji came to our house while my mom was on a business trip. The first night, I tried to keep her away from me. I pretended to not like her. But she quickly infiltrated my heart and I ended up letting her sleep next to me in bed. Such a cute little thing.

The next day my mom came home. I hid Fiji in the garage. My mom came in, and I told her something weird was in the garage. She opened up the door and Fiji completely ignored her and came running to me. For the next several nights, I tried to abandon her with my mom. But at night, you’d hear her sneaking out of my mom’s bed, her little feet creeping down the stairs and her knocking at my door. I’d carry her back upstairs, but she kept coming to me. My mom suggested we find her another home, but that would break my rule. We never give dogs up. So she became my furbaby.

It took me some time to warm up to her, but she stuck to me like a leach. I was very hurt by the loss of my first dog, Xheus. He died while exercising with me. I felt so guilty and depressed. I made a mistake that many people make, but that was no excuse. It took me forever to get to the point where I would allow Fiji to run with me alongside the bicycle, but I started to educate myself and now I am an expert on healthy exercise for dogs. I think Fiji had a great part in healing my guilt. And of course, we only became that much closer when I bicycled across the U.S with her in 2013. I wouldn’t leave without her because like me, she was also a broken spirit who I put a lot of time into rehabilitating. She would run under the car or whatever she could find when people yelled, even if it was just my brother calling to my mom. She was very dog aggressive at 3 months old. However, she has come a long way. She’s really an impressive and intelligent dog.

DKL: What do you like most about traveling with Fiji? What is the most challenging aspect of it?

JR: She keeps me going. Her enthusiasm for travel and bicycling keeps me pedaling. She’s hilarious. She’s protective. No one comes near my gear when she’s around. She is cute, so she attracts animal lovers who in turn like to give her treats and other things to keep us going. I think the only challenge outside of the norm is she limits where I can go and what I can do, but it’s not enough for me to leave her home. We also argue and she can be mischievous.

---

Be sure to stay up to date with Jasmine’s travels on Instagram, Twitter, Facebook, Youtube, and on her blog: www.FiJaPAW.com.

You can also support her journey via GoFundMe: www.gofundme.com/fijapaw

 

 

Aotearoa is Hilly

I love it here.

 

Somebody Asked Me

Somebody asked me recently if I worry that as a queer writer, my work will be marginalized.

I don’t have time to worry. I’m too busy writing.

Sun into Water into Wind

Good morning, world!

I’m channeling the strength of the oceans and the gorgeous ferocity of the wind because HOLY GOODNESS, in T minus 32 hours I step foot on a yacht called Far Fetched that will take me as far as Thursday Island and, if it works out, to Indonesia from there.

… and this isn’t even the exciting news that I have to share with you all!!! That’s coming later on today.

THANK YOU to everyone who has helped me get to this point. It’s a new beginning, a blue beginning.

a line from a Bill Manhire poem in Wellington Harbor, New Zealand

Watch as I greet what comes.

In Case You Missed It

… I wrote a piece for the Guardian that went live a week ago:

Check it out: http://www.theguardian.com/environment/bike-blog/2015/sep/21/one-bike-and-1001-stories-on-climate-change

A big THANK YOU to everyone who has supported me and continues to support me up to this point, esp. to Peppe and Jeanie, who let me stay up late for three nights in their kitchen in Mackay writing this thing, and to Caitlin Kelly, who coached me through it.

I love writing in kitchens.

Balancing three time zones (east coast USA friends to help edit, editors in London, and myself here in Queensland, Australia) was no easy task but I’m happy to say that I’m alive and kickin.

Thank you.

I couldn’t do this without all your help.

More soon.

xo

d

G’night from Sarina

Greetings from Sarina, a small sugar cane town in Central Queensland.

When I say that the sunsets smell like sugar here, it’s not a metaphor. The mill runs constantly and spews out char and molasses and rum and such.

Last night I rocked up to town before dusk and wasn’t keen on camping in one of the caravan parks––they tend to be hostile places to be a solo female. I much prefer to sleep alone in the roadside wild.

I followed my nose up a hill, searching for a good, flat spot to stealth camp.

I paused in the middle of a residential road to think and to write. This happens often. Then I felt two sets of eyes to my left: two kids playing in their yard had paused to take me in––the bicycle, bags, ridiculous magpie-deterring helmet, neon vest, and neck of a guitar sticking out the back (more on that in a future post). I’m embracing the spring cyclist look: Medusa-met-a-porcupine on my head. It keeps the magpies away.

Be afraid, magpies. Be very, very afraid. This #solofemaletouringcyclist is not up for your swooping shenanigans.

I waved and the kids behind the fence waved back. Across the street children ran circles on top of a trampoline in the golden light, bouncing. A neighborhood cat criss-crossed the road. No cars.

“Hi!” I said. “This is an odd question, but do you know of somewhere where I might be able to fill up on water?” I was empty. Camping without water is difficult.

The preteen girl with pigtails looked at her younger brother and then up at me. “We have a hose you can use!”

“Ah, thank you so much! I really appreciate it.” I wheeled my bicycle closer to their fence and did my best to dismount without falling over. When you’re tired at the end of a long day, getting on and off a fully loaded bicycle can be a (hilarious) challenge.

The girl unraveled the hose and brought the nozzle up to the edge of the fence. We talked as the stream of water jetted into my plastic jug. School holidays are coming up, I learn. This is a small town where everyone knows everyone else. A long time ago her family used to live in Melbourne, but she doesn’t remember that. Her brother watched silently, thinking. I gave them both cards with the name of the blog. If you’re reading this––thank you. I so much appreciate your help.

Water is a gift. So are spontaneous stories, no matter how small.

Their dad called them in for dinner. “I have to go,” the girl said. “Good luck.” Across the street the trampoline was empty. I rode on, searching for trees and flat ground.

Speaking of trees, over the weekend, a 13-year-old introduced me to the film My Neighbor Totoro. Go watch it if you haven’t done so already. It’s a gorgeous story.

Eventually I found a playground surrounded by houses that might work as a campsite, but what if one of the neighbors objected? Then where would I go?

All of the roads I followed led to more houses rather than trees. I looped back down towards town, pausing to admire the sugar sky––the golden hour.

That’s when I found a woman watering her plants.

“Can I ask you a question?” I asked, cycling closer.

“Of course!” she said.

“Do you know of a place where I could camp around here? I don’t feel comfortable in caravan parks and am looking for somewhere to pitch a tent. Do you know if your neighbors would be okay with a cyclist sleeping in the playground?”

She thought for a second, hose in hand. The water pooled in the grass. I pictured the swing sets and my tent behind them. I do love swings.

“The neighbors are great, but you should really spend the night with us,” she replied. “Come set up your tent. Have you eaten?”

And that’s how I met Tina. And her husband Gus (who is so gentle and uses more silence than words when he speaks, but when he says something it’s brilliant) and her two kids Chloe and Casey. Chloe is going into 10th grade and Casey’s in elementary school. They have guinea pigs that keep multiplying and a rambunctious puppy and a cat named Doris.

My great grandmother’s name was Doris. I keep thinking of her as the cat brushes up against my legs. She was British and proper and I was a horrible child who found it hilarious to sneak up from behind and yell “Boo!” Doris would jump up in the air and say, “Oh, goodness me!”

Great Nana, I’m really sorry.

My grandparents eventually made a “No Boo Chart.” For every day that I didn’t “boo” my great nana, I got a sticker. When I filled up the page, my grandparents would take me to the toy store to buy a coloring book or a dinosaur.

I digress.

That night I slept in my five billion star hotel. I woke up with this sun in my leadlight window. Bliss.

Things I love: waking up with the sun in my tent. Waking up slow in a sleeping bag cocoon. No rush to leave.

Gus suggested that I spend an extra day in Sarina to learn more about the industry here. It was an offer I couldn’t refuse.

Tina and I went to a meditation group in the morning (what a wonderful surprise!) and then set about exploring the sights.

First stop: Coal.

Coal carriage, with a Devi for size.

I have been cycling next to railway lines that carry, oh, 125 of these carriages in a single go. And 40 trains pass per day, all full to the brim. SO MUCH COAL.

Behold: the infinity train.

chooo chooooooooo x ∞

It’s a money maker, that black stuff. And most of it goes from the mines straight to the sea. Can you say export commodity ten times fast? How about ten million times? The scale of this operation is mind-boggling.

Twenty minutes later Tina and I made it to the coal terminal at Hay Point. You wouldn’t know it’s there unless you were looking for it––the terminal is well protected by the surrounding hills.

See those little blips on the horizon? Ships line up at sea to take the coal to power plants in China or Japan or India. They could go anywhere, really.

And of course, because I am collecting stories about water and climate change, I was fixated on the spray of water bending light into rainbows near a hive of big machine activity. Even from a distance, I could hear the trucks reversing and revving their engines. Something was being made. At the coal terminal, movement abounds.

check out the lower right: water for the coal

The answer to what exactly that “something” was came in the form of a storyteller in a sundress. Her husband is on contract to build two dams for the ever enlarging coal terminal.

And what could they possibly need all that water for?

“To spray the coal. To keep down the dust.” The woman went on for a bit about how the “bloody greenies” were protesting these dams for years, but they finally got approved. And now her husband has good work.

The more I travel, the more I realize how deeply intertwined water and climate change are. They are twin issues––one story that can’t be told without the others in the wings.

Stories have feathers. Lift. Physical properties that render them vulnerable and invincible at the same time.

Tomorrow morning I’m off to Mackay. No idea where I’ll sleep for the night, but I think I can figure it out. Here’s to spontaneity and to listening.

Viva la Vida

This trip is magic. Really. Last night I pulled into a tiny town called Mt. Larcum just before dark, unsure of where I would pitch my tent for the night. About 15 minutes earlier I was on a road that felt like it would never end, complete with unhoppable fences on either side that made stopping to camp impossible.

I chased the pink sunset and asked the clouds to please let there be a good surprise around the next corner.

And there most definitely was! My surprise was sitting with a loaded bicycle at a picnic table: Nico. Nico is Italian and 29 and just finished a coast-to-coast ride through the center of Australia, and is now cycling south in search of work to replenish his funds. Every 20km he stops to smoke a cigarette. On one forearm he has a tattoo that says “Viva la vida.”

Nico doesn’t have bags on his bicycle and instead tows everything in a trailer made to carry a child. We quickly realized that switching to Spanish was easier than English & spent the night telling stories from the road, cooking spaghetti, and stealth camping in a rugby field next to the school. We bonded over the simple fact that meeting people on the road gives us energy. So many spoken and unspoken truths. A light rain fell. A whole family of kangaroos grazed and hopped. The little joeys were adorable.

This morning Nico & I went our different ways, though there’s a chance we’ll be in Southeast Asia around the same time early next year. It was so much fun to meet a new friend!