I’m attracted by the nomadic tendency of that axiom. You’re never without a home so long as you have a sufficiently padded sleeping pad, pillow or posterior. Hakuna matata indeed.

Currently my rump rests in the pleather parsons chair of a traveling flautist friend (say that five times, fast). I have a full shower, a bed, a door with a lock, a kitchen with running water, sink and stove. Life is – comfy. So, why do I feel so restless? Is the road still calling or are these just the pangs of a transition to settled life?

I’ve been asked if I found myself while on the road, as if self-actualization was a point on a map. Nope, sorry. Here’s what I did find, by the numbers.

• Brazilian music groups on the west coast: 26
• Miles traveled to see them all: 2,425 miles!
• Popped inner tubes: 4
• Tires replaced: 2
• Road kill: lost count
• Road kill resembling Aztec petroglyphs: 5 (all in central CA)
• Me and my bike in a road ditch: once
• Thunder storms: 2
• New friends made: lost count

While It’s true that I started this trip solo, I didn’t finish alone. No, regardless of what you may have heard, I did not pick up a girl halfway down Washington. No, she did not ride on my handlebars and take all those pictures. What I mean to say is that I had a support crew all along the coast. Every time I stopped in a city, without fail, there were kind and generous people who opened up their arms and doors for me. While most of these kind souls were associated with the samba groups I visited, some were not sambistas and some were not even musicians. If it were not for the charity of Mitch Fishman, Rachael Sandy, David Moseley, Kathleen Hunt, Ara Nelson, Drew Danin, Pauline Serrano, Tim Prendergast, Shin Luong, Bruce Brennen, Amber Mendez, Mark Dias, Neil Richman, and David de Hilster, I’d have slept on street corners bundled in yesterdays newspaper. Thanks also to my good friends Sylvie Curran and Stefanie Schmitz for editing out all my grammar errors and for the incredible, unstoppable moral support throughout. Thank you all. Without your support I don’t know if I’d have made it past Oregon.

What’s next? I don’t know. What I do know is that now that I’ve been bitten by the travel bug I’ll be eternally looking for that next adventure. I’ll be sure to keep this blog open for such future travels. For please make sure you visit my Picasa albums. The latest pictures will be available here.

Tchau!

Esteban Diaz - SambaTourist

But not home yet. And trust me, every time that Coaster passes by I can’t help but think that I could end this trip with a short pedal to the train station and $3.50. No. I couldn’t cheat this close to the finish line. Tomorrow I will ride all the way to the Tijuana border and then up to Chula Vista where I’ll stay at the KOA. Sunday I ride to Balboa park and call it done. There’s a certain satisfaction to ending a trip that began the 15th of April on the 15th of August.

Roam-Sweet-Roam meet Home-Sweet-Home.

Pictures Here.

I’m now in Morrow Bay and considering staying here an extra day as well. If it seems like I’m procrastinating it’s because… um… I am. My next samba school destination, Santa Barbara Samba School, will not be active as I pass through the city. Matt, director, is out of town and his designated substitute will also be leaving town as I arrive. As a result, I’m skipping Santa Barbara. Shame. That means that me next samba fix will have to wait till Long Beach and SambaLa.

More Pictures Here

Click Here for Pictures.

I’m in Monterey now. There’s a samba crew here called the Sambahemians. I had not heard of them so thanks to Sylvie for hooking me up.

Here are the latest and greatest pictures.

And here’s a video of a guy having a big O for some rainbows. WTF

I’ve been a busy little biker. From San Francisco I rode down to Half Moon Bay crossing over a tricky little pass called devils slide. I learned early on that when you have to pass over a geological feature named after the embodiment of evil you better be ready for one hell of a ride. I made it through the windy, winding pass, shaken and blown dry but alive. Half Moon Bay was a rest stop before heading up and over the 92 to get to Sunnyvale, home of Samba Mundial. My intentions were to meet up with Samba Mundial and take some one on one lessons with Jimmy Biala. Jimmy is a great percussionist and an all around nice guy. That explains why I was unable to get some time with him. He’s in very high demand. And that, sadly, has been theme lately. One of the major reasons for taking this trip was to meet and play with some of the heavy hands along the coast; Jimmy, Jose Riv, Marcio Peeter and of course, Jorge Alabe. Unfortunately, I’ve been unable to secure one-on-one time with most. Jorge and Marcio are both out of their respective towns. Jimmy, and Jose are both busy musicians. What’s a SambaTourist to do?

I’ve made it to Santa Cruz. Here I plan to hook up with some of the samba peeps and hopefully take a lesson from Marcio if her’s back in town before I leave. Until then I’m happy to have the always enthusiastic Amber to jam with.

Huge thanks to Stefanie, Sylvie and Rebecca for coming out to Santa Cruz last weekend and camping with me. It was a refreshing, soul recharging weekend.

Pictures of my travels from Half Moon to here

Bjs!

Pictures here.

I’m still in San Fran but I’ll be leaving today and heading out to Half Moon Bay. After which I’ll be going inland to play with Samba Mundial.

Here are some more pics of my stay at San Francisco.

Santa Cruz, I’m coming.

This is either a picture of the Golden Gate bridge or a polar bear sneezing in the woods.

I knew it would be a foggy day in the city. As you head through Mill Valley you can see the fog rolling over the mountains south of Marin City. Like dry ice on the set of a B movie, the fog drips over the mountain peaks and dissipates in the hot valley. No surprise, when I made it to the north shore and all I saw was two red tentacles poking out of the cloud bank. I was hoping for a clear view but crossing the Golden Gate Bridge in dense fog is an adventure all the same. As you cross, you reach a point where all you see is rushing traffic to your right, the ocean below and cables that reach vertically to… nothing. Eerie.

Aren't these supposed to connect to something?!

I’ve made contact with the locals. Maracatu Luta had a rehearsal yesterday in Oakland which I enjoyed. I met a freshly minted author, Jacob Paul, on the road and he’s having a signing. Today I’m going to go to his reading/signing at the Booksmith in the Haight. I’ll be playing in a parade this Sunday with Xuxa, Jacare and a whole lot of other CBCers. Looks like I’m off to a good start here in the bay. Let’s see if I can keep the momentum rolling.

A few more pictures in the Eureka to San Francisco Album

New album just for San Fran

View from Camp. Click to embiggen.

Last night I found the perfect non-sanctioned camp site. I sneaked into an abandoned day use area, a victim of California’s budget crisis, and set up camp ten feet from a cliff overlooking a gnarly set of sea stacks. I was sung to sleep by me very own sound machine, the Pacific Ocean, and awakened by an alarm with no snooze button, barking harbor seals.

I feel, after a fleeting two months on the road, that I’ve found my rhythm. At first I felt as though I had to rush to get to my next camp site. Strike camp before 9, pedal 05-55 miles, set camp by 6, make dinner, collapse, wash (may be), rinse (the dishes at least), repeat (ad infinitum). Only recently, entering California, did I discover the grace of the 25 mile day. And though at first it’s tough being passed every cyclist you see you soon realize that they secretly wish the could adopt your leisure. I’m two full days ride from San Francisco. Though with my new-found dilatory philosophy of biking, I may never arrive.

What day is it today? Never mind, it matters not.

Pictures Here

I hate Chase. Hate it. Let me explain. I was in Westport on a lovely warm day. I had stopped to take a breather and buy a candy bar from the local grocer. Walked to the candy isle and what did I see? None other than my favorite ice cream, Cherry Garcia. I snatched it out of the cold case, ran it to the counter, slapped down my vintage WAMU debit card and – was promptly denied. Denied. Oh the cruelty.

Chase has canceled my debit card because It’s the wrong color, gold vs. blue. They did mail me a new card. Unfortunately, I won’t be home, wherever that is, to pick it up. I did manage to bully the poor telephone operator at Chase into re-activating it for me even though it will only work for a few weeks before it automatically cancels itself again. I need to figure out how to mail the new one to myself while on the road. Ideas?

In other news, the weather is now perfect for riding. Sunny days with a steady a North wind pushing at my back. I’ll be taking an easy day today; riding from Fort Bragg to Van Damme Sate Park (named after Jean Claude I believe). You can bet I’ll be buying some Cherry Garcia on the way.

Pictures Here