charles and peterThe more you want, the more limits you create. You want something so much that you do not think about anything else, you’re not doing anything else, you become a slave of your desires. When you get older, when you’re more mature, you will begin to be aware of this fact and you start laughing at your present and past desires. You will see that they are as ephemeral as life itself. Then you will learn to get rid of them. You will learn to forget even about a dream most people share – a dream of longevity. Tiziano Terzani

I left the coast and, although still in California, I’m heading towards Nevada. It’s getting warmer, brighter and sunnier. In a week or so, I will start to miss the rain. I spend at least half of a day walking along highways. Well, country roads are certainly more enjoyable, more scenic and quieter, but they deceptively lead south, and a moment later, they turn to the north, or climb nearby hills. If I had chosen them, it would have taken me at least a month to get to Mexico. Perhaps one day I come here just to visit the United States, to wander and linger through all these neglected towns, where in the morning, dogs go straight to the tent and lick your face.

Charles Ervin Keys, a man I met on a road, thought I was a German. I don’t know if I desappointed him, saying that I’m Polish. Only after a while I noticed his violin. I asked him to play something. Waves of the Danube resounded on the street. Charles had a long beard. I wanted to tousle it, but in the end, I only asked whether I can take a picture. Slowly I begin to understand why Ala likes tousling mine. For now it’s still short, it takes time to let it grow. And time, when you travel alone, doesn’t want to accelerate itself – it lingers, wanders, maybe I should tousle it a little, till my beard is still short:)




I have to believe that my special value lies in me, that I am also a world for myself, that I am able to shape myself and find strength and meaning of existence in my soul. Jan Szczepanski

I met Jacob by the store, when I was about to hit the road. He said that he also used to ride a bike and he knew what it means to be invited for a warm meal. Firstly I refused. Something was pushing me forward. Maybe it was the sun, or maybe a strong wind, I don’t know. Anyway, it was only noon and the knee didn’t ache much yet, so I thought it’s better to go forward, to the south. But, somehow, I stayed and accepted the invitation.

A Jacob’s friend with his wife and four kids dropped in. They have three more at home. That amounts to seven. I said I would never make it up. We sat up and talked stories. Everyone was interested in how Poland looks like. Is it the same as the USA? Do we have trees and the ocean and azaleas?

The ocean is huge, azaleas have soft leaves. Under aproaching dark sky, I put up my tent at the beach, wondering if waves won’t reach me at night. After midnight, I had an unexpected visit of law enforcement officers. I wondered how they knew that I was there, but I obediently showed my passport. I tried to explain and excuse myself in a very silly way that I did not want to cycle at night, because it was dangerous, and the beach seemed to be secluded, and I never leave traces, and so on – typical excuses I usually make in such situations. The police were very understanding, as they usually are to me in the States, which I like, cause it doesn’t coincide with a stereotypical image people have about them here. They were very serious, but at the same time – nice and friendly. They didn’t ask me to get away, only to set off at dawn, so that passers-by wouldn’t have „wrong impression” that one can legally put up their tent there.

It was a long weekend, Memorial Day was held on Monday. There were lots of parades in towns, during which kids were pelted with candies. Not all sweets could be gathered, a lot of them were left on the streets. It is difficult to say whether there was a shortage of children, or there were too many candies.

At the parade in Brookings, I was with Martha, another Polish Martha (already the third), who helped me in the States. I was sitting in MacDonalds, devouring hamburger, when suddenly, at the next table, I heard Polish language.

Marta invited me to her house. I was able to wash, do the laundery and get some rest, after ten days of continuous cycling. What such a gesture mean, I do not need to explain.

Martha is a teacher in college in Brookings. She has a husband, Adam, and two sons, with whom we went to the park to walk among redwoods. Once more, I was struck by the rigidity of these trees, their indifference, the life in the world full of ghosts. Even fallen, dead trunks spoke to me. One would like to stay there longer, lie among them. Listen and hear more.

It’s strange to think that all those trees were there before anyone had even a slightest thought about me, before someone gave me a name, and it’s even stranger, that they will still be there when a last thought about me disappears.

My mom is responsible for my name. Surely, she is responsible for my appearance here, too. Mom is gorgeous and awesome, makes delicious cakes and probably is worried about me, that I sleep in trenches and do not care enough about myself.

Mom! Thank you for everything. Do not worry about me. I take care of myself and one day I will settle down! I promise not to get completely crazy till that time:)

California Coast


Oregon coast (7)

The only reason for my writing is always a desire to prolong life, averting it from doom and destruction. And because describing stories and telling other people’s affairs is one of the most difficulties for me, so eventually it turns out that I simply record myself. Zofia Nałkowska


– She goes like a bat out of hell, you can not stop her. She rests only in the evening, when she realizes that I was going with her.

Peter is on the right side of sixty and is bicycling with Karen, his woman, alongside the southern coast of the US. This is not their first trip. They did a long route once, riding their bikes, but instead of going from the north to the south, they went from the west to the east. There is another subtle difference between these two trips – during the first, kids carried the luggage in the car. Now they pull everything themselves. If you are interested what they are up to now, here is their blog:

I was advised to try a region’s speciality – clam chowder, which probably I would do if only I could afford it. But it doesn’t matter and it is irrelevant. I have enough dough to buy some bread, peanut butter, burgers and fries, and a large cup of coffee for a dollar, every two hours pulling up to the next diner.

Stopping at the Mac is crucial to me for another reason – it is a place, where I can find some ice, because the knee swells, gets hot and it must be cooled. I presume only half of the knee works well at the moment, while the second one is still out of order. Maybe you remember, I wrote about it. Six months have passed since the fracture, and six months is still left to the full recovery, so it means that half of the knee works well and the second half simply not – according to my own logic, which does not have an ounce of common sense.

There is nothing to do but to endure the pain, go slowly, no more than sixty miles per day, stretch, strain, watch, forget the pain, do not worry that the knee swells and is hot, apply some ice and enjoy the ride. The worst what could happen is that the knee will split apart and that there will be falstart. Then we’ll worry about what to do next.

A few meetings with people, not many, but the ones that happened, extremely pleasant. Yesterday, in the pouring rain, I stand on the street, wondering if pitching my tent next to the nearby tree is a good idea or maybe not so much, and suddenly, like a ghost, there is a woman standing in front of me, inviting me to her backyard.

Anne Marie Slate could not drag me home because I was a “complete stranger”, but a complete stranger had absolutely nothing against it, cause spending the night in the yard was secure enough and it was a hell of a better place than a fishy urban park, full of wandering homeless people with their overloded strollers.

Hens, as I wrote, stayed in Portland, with the girls. Girls will do theater with them, only a script is needed. Hens have already practised some play-acting, including being eaten by a fox. Of course, the fox, though real, did not eat chickens. It’s just a play, or maybe even a play. It is probably far easier for a fox to play a fox, because it is simply a fox, a chicken is a chicken, Moomins are Moomins, and I? Well, I’m still working over my identity, just playing another role. Although it seems to be another dress rehearsal, it is again only a trial, a silly attempt, but when it ends I’ll play from the beginning the whole show. With pictures, video and live commentary, of course.


The way to the south


I lack the imagination. For that reason I have to pack, stuff into my pockets odds and ends, passport, money, and go see what it’s really like. Whenever the time of year or the weather changes, I have to pack up whatever I can’t do without and visit all those places I’ve been before, to make sure they still exist. Andrzej Stasiuk On the Road to Babadag: Travels in the Other Europe.

I’m in Portland. Together with chickens and Sara and Maya. We are sitting on the couch, playing a silly game which doesn’t even have a name. You may name it, if you can. I packed chickens into a backpack, then flew to the States, took the bike out of the garage, attached panniers and tomorrow I’m heading south. I have brought the sun to Oregon, outside over eighy degrees, a little unusal as for this part of the year. Hens will stay with the girls, they will have their own, cozy house.


Refinery and I are to hit the road again. Moomins are also coming with us. Ghosts fly through the open window in the evening. Everything will be fine. This time we will get where we are supposed to get and maybe finally we will stop for a bit.

Arizona Dream

CoipasaThere are no people on the earth. There is no such a thing. Thomas Ligotti


Riding a bike still gives me the same amount of fun and satisfaction as in the days when I was a kid. If someone feels the same – knows what I mean, and if not, it does not make any sense to explain. You can’t please everyone. Even cat houses can’t, let alone me.

I converted my old bike into a queer hybrid, but the sitting position is far better now and it helps my cervical vertebrae work properly.


Although the knee cup still hurts a little and it’s difficult to ride without pain for more than an hour – I am able to cycle, and it is simply awesome. I’m a bit worried, because I’ gonna start my next trip in a couple of days.

Yes, I know, my dear doctor, that the knee will heal for good not earlier than next year. But it has been already six months since my unlucky fall (in the city named Fall), so half of the knee should be already healed. So, I only have to push the pedals with half of the strength than I usually use, and the second half of the knee will heal itself on the road. There’s not an ounce of logic in it? Fuck the logic. How to put it simply:

The only thing stopping you is you!

Why so much optimism? I do not know. Maybe it’s just because I’m glad I’m alive. Never mind that I’m not on fine form yet. But I live. I do. So I can do everything.


And if I get seedy, I hope that, as in Goran’s film, a little Eskimo from a dream will come running to me and will help bringing a one-eye flying fish.

Arizona Dream. Each of us has their own Arizona. So, let’s build our flying machines, let’s dream the strangest dreams, but not in order to get out of them somewhere else, but to remain in them.

In dreams we are always free. Even on the other side.