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September 18, 2004

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As I rode around the country, all alone, I often found myself in times where I longed for human company. Then, other times I just wanted to be alone and not even want to talk to another human being. Some long rides that often took me weeks without interacting with other people made me appreciate the solitude. 

While riding through Alaska, along highway (1), I had stopped up on top of this ridge, overlooking a valley and a silt peppered river below. There was this incredible view of Mt. Drum in the distance. But while admiring this awe inspiring  view I was amazingly surprised, and almost startled when I saw another human being there as well. With not a vehicle in sight there was this beautiful young lady, sitting there all alone, on the edge of this cliff. Not sure of what she was doing there I struggled within myself for a moment as to what to do. I thought of just riding away and leaving her there. I mean, she seemed at peace. But the thought that she might have been in need of assistance would have consumed me with guilt, had I not offered to help in some way. So I cautiously approached and asked her if she was okay. She replied that she was fine and often came up there to that spot to admire the view and "get away from it all". Looking around and not having seen any signs of reasonable civilization for hundreds of miles, I had to ask her "Away from What?" She told me how she just enjoyed the solitude. After a little conversation I found out that she lived alone, but close by and was within walking distance of home. Which turned out to be about five miles or so. Down the road a little further, her father owned a small restaurant and a few rental cabins in the small community of Gakona. Which, as far as I could tell, humorously, consisted of nothing more than a small restaurant and a few rental cabins. After talking for a little while I realized that I was imposing upon her time alone and decided to ride on. She recommended that I stop by the restaurant for a bite to eat on my way. I thanked her, we said our goodbyes, and I went on my way. As I rode away I looked back and, at that moment, acquired a greater appreciation for the need of solitude.

I recall another moment on my trip where I stopped for gas and a snack at a small outpost along the Alaskan highway in the Yukon, Canada. I met the attendant there that only opened the store and gas pumps whenever somebody arrived. With a scruffy face, ratty clothing, and a small log cabin behind the store, he definitely looked very much like an isolated mountain man. At that particular moment I wasn't in too much of a chatty mood, and obviously, neither was he. Amazingly though, we both shared a whole conversation of one-word sentences, with long pauses between words.

Me: (shivering) "Cold"....
He: "Nope"....
Me: "Summer?"....
He: "Yep"....
Me: (looking around the small store) "Lights"....
He: (slightly shaking his head, yes) "Generator"....
Me: "Ahh"....
He: "Alaska?"....
Me: "Yep"...."Coke?"
He: (motioning behind me) "Cooler"....
Me: "Ahh"....
( I grabbed a few other items, but with no prices anywhere, there was an even longer pause)
Me: "Two?"....
He: (curiously adding in his head) "Three?"....
Me: "Okay"...
I dropped three dollars on the counter. He picked them up and put them into his pocket. I smiled and nodded, as did he, and I went on my way.

Down the road I ran into a new friend, Yuki Uchiyama, from Japan. He couldn't speak English very well and me, with not a word of Japanese. We both talked up a storm but didn't understand a word each other was saying. We had lunch together and laughed and talked and laughed and talked. Afterwards we both pulled out our guitars, played together for a while, and suddenly, for that moment, we both spoke each other's language.