After my first night in Philadelphia, I woke up and briefly couldn’t remember who I am. A couple days later, in On the Road, I read that Kerouac had the same experience. I guess that to travel like this is – or can be – an attack on one’s own congealed identity. In Toronto, surrounded by the same people and the same surroundings, day after day, I found myself acting compulsively in the same ways; now that I’m out here, much of that is falling away.
My hosts in Philly treated me wonderfully. Their neighbourhood in west Philadelphia is a hotbed for anarchists, which suited me just fine. Once again I found myself staying longer than expected, attending a concert, partaking of a seven-course Moroccan meal, and drawing a picture to be sent to the White House. And then I found I had moved on again, headed for the U.S. capitol.
Delaware was the first, and probably the last, state I was able to cross in one day, and then I stayed the night in Elkton, MD. The next night, in a Baltimore hostel, I met Omar, an Argentinian-born veteran bike tourist, and his 20 year-old daughter Camila. They’re going roughly the same way I am: down the Blue Ridge to New Orleans, then west from there to California (although I might have convinced them to go to Burning Man instead). So from Baltimore to D.C. I rode with them. Omar is forceful and sometimes demanding, telling almost everyone he meets about his round-the-world project and requesting donations or freebies. Remarkably, it often works: not only did he get cash from some people, he convinced the owner of a pizza place to feed us all for free, and a guy at a roadside deli bought us some Gatorade after the owners kicked him out for soliciting. Camila is a very quiet sort who didn’t had much to do with her father when she was growing up; she went to New York to meet him and then bus with him to Vancouver where he lives, but he sprung the bike trip idea on her, and off they went. At any rate, although I only just met them, I love them both because their madness points the same way as mine.
I’m here in Washington for a few days, and then I’ll be off towards the Smoky Mountains and the Blue Ridge Parkway. The warnings I’ve received of endless steep hills seem less dire now that I’m in better shape: climbing is no longer the heart-pounding ordeal it was when I started the trip. I’d like to ride with Omar and Camila, but I’m much faster than they are, and I’m already behind if I’m to get to Burning Man on time. Still, we may yet meet again.
