It’s nearly dark in the forest, now, and I like it that way. Interlacing arms of the young redwoods above cast constellations of fading light on the soft floor of fallen needles, my bed. It’s cool, and with memories of the desert in mind, it becomes a salve, so soothing, so appreciated, thank you for not scalding me into a burning sweat. I let the chill caress my skin – no coat. I’m camped out in the crook of a wicked U-bend on 84, the road that switchbacks up the final mountains before the Pacific. The cars circle around me, unknowing; the forest is quiet and still, graciously holding; setting up the tent one last time, dinner from the food bag one last time, alone and on the road one last time. This is just what I wanted for the night before.
Above, I see the contrails in a piney window before the plane, and then I see the plane ahead, pink with sunset, framed for an instant by the branches. The jetstream slowly spreads to nothingness.
Today was a slog through the urban circus of San Jose and the sprawl towns of Santa Clara, Sunnyvale, Mountain View and Palo Alto, oh yeah, and that little 6 mile round trip detour to Cupertino. It didn’t bother me, though, wading through the heaviness and impersonality of chain commercialism, horse-blinded passersby, and general don’t-look-at-me-ness. Nothing could bother me today. This coffee and donut from 7-11? My last. This ache from mile 28? My last. This brief roadside chat with Will, the friendly cyclist? My last, perhaps. Of course I wouldn’t be dying tomorrow on the beach, but I couldn’t help but feel electric and hyperpresent, drawing out the significance of every last detail like it was my last chance to do so, as if death was walking behind me erasing everything forever.
And when the sun sunk to dusk and the light hit that golden quality, oh, how good. The coast live oaks spindling their branches to the ground in gnarled curlicues, six sparrows sitting on a swaybacked barbed wire fence, the ever-rolling hills of velvet gold, all of it cloaked in twilight. Oh, how good, how very good.
Now, dark, the forest, the gentle night, the headlights casting strange shadows on the redwood trunks, strobe-like. I’m thinking of this walk, I’m thinking of faces, I’m thinking of epiphanies and miles and how I was and how I want to be and what’s important. I think maybe I’d think this forest is a scary place if I were in one of those cars, but I’m here, and I know it’s not a scary place. And from that I think, the world is not a scary place. The world is not a scary place. It’s not scary to be alive, no matter the pain that waits, no matter the unknown and the suffering and the confusion. The foundation of it all, the soft piney bed upon which all these things walk and dance and sleep, it’s beauty, the peace of this moment in the redwoods. Come what may, I feel, because I am at peace. I’ve walked myself here and I can rest now, always trusting in this.
Sleep.
Morning. Onward up the mountains, onward over the mountains, and – I don’t believe it – down the mountains, down to the water. There’s a traffic jam and my friends call to say it might be holding some people up, slow down! I pull into a winery and buy myself a glass of red. Nicola, Nina, Henry, and Emma meet me there, nothing like old friends after so long, and then they leave for the beach. The wine tastes good, and I’m warm for my last two miles. A honey seller asks me what I’m doing. I tell him, the brief elevator speech, and it’s strange to be speaking in the past tense, as in: “Everyone has an amazing story to tell, so I walked across the country to listen.”
I’m cruising now, urgewalking, groovewalking, highwalking, I can’t stop smiling and the cars must think I’m a madman, grinning like that and pushing his baby on this treacherous no-shoulder road. Sure enough, a police car pulls up just as the sidewalk begins and the officers get out, stern-faced. “We got a call about a traffic hazard,” she says. Her partner circles around the car to back her up. I introduce myself and my friend Mark who met me minutes back, and explain, “I’ve been walking for almost 11 months…started in Philadelphia…listening to people’s stories… I’m literally 30 minutes away from walking across America.” She smiles, “Are you serious?” “Oh yeah,” I say. “There’s no problem here, keep on going, man!” she says. I invite them both to the party.
Floating. There’s the ocean, a glimpse, big and grey. Down the main strip of Half Moon Bay, Mark and Ivonne and a good group of friends following now. Willy Grey from Alabama sideswipes me. Here’s Dad and Beth. Up ahead, Chris Paisano from Arizona. Bizarre, to spend almost every day for a year passing stranger after stranger after stranger, and then – suddenly – to see familiar faces. Not just familiar, loved.
Chris Paisano and his brother Michael are dressed in Navajo ceremonial garb, Michael drumming and chanting, Chris sprinkling corn pollen. I wasn’t sure what would happen on today’s walk, in this moment. I’ve thought about it for so long, planned, dreamed, fantasized, schemed. Now that I’m here, though, there is nothing I can do but let go. Coming into town, it was euphoria. Walking these last steps, though, turning the bend and seeing so many waiting for me, looking at the surf crashing on the beach, I’m hit with it all, with 11 months of miraculous encounters and devastating goodbyes and a million homecooked meals and mind-altering showers and shining solitude and true company, so many stories, so many lessons, the hills and bayous and mountains and deserts, the diners and bars and gas stations and general stores, the cities and towns and villages, the nothingness, the everythingness, the beauty and the perfection, and I did it and we did it, sobbing and weeping in this circle of welcoming.
I go around, embracing everyone. This is astonishing, to have so much love and support, so many to see you and celebrate you. Mom and Dad and Beth, Kathy all the way from Delaware, the Furmans from Alabama, the Paisanos from Navajo, and so many from near and far in California. A few curious beachgoers join the party. Holy shit. We’re led down to the water where James Paisano greets me, speaks words that only the wind and I can hear, and it’s time. Shirt stripped, sandals kicked, and the water is cold and deep.
Thank you Kate Olen for this beautiful shot!
A few more posts to come, photos, plans, and info for interested readers. Thank you for everything.
Congratulations! I met you at a little diner in Blacksburg SC at breakfast one morning and have kept up with your travels. I admire your journey.
SC State Rep. Steve Moss
Sent from my Verizon Wireless BlackBerry
Thank you, Steve, I remember you well! So wonderful to hear from you, all the best.
Andrew- Your story and journey has been truly amazing!
Thank you for sharing over the past 11 months and I trust there will be much more sharing that lies ahead.
You are an inspiration!
xo Ann
WOW !! CONGRATULATIONS,ANDREW !! What a journey you have taken us all on ! So eloquently written with words and feelings from your heart and soul! Thank you ! Enjoy all your friends and family and CELEBRATE ! Looking forward to your next post…what shall we all do now that your walk has ended ?! Best in the whole word,to you !
Congrats to Hastiin Nihanaaghaí for completing his pilgrimage across this land. We are happy you made it. Know that my dad and I were with you as we offered corn pollen and corn meal in the morning so that the Sun could bring his blessing on you as you walked through some of our lands. As I said between tears and happy emotion that now you understand why some of us pray for clouds under a hot sun, for rain, wind, sun, and protection from the elements you lived with. When the sun was up, our thoughts were with you; when the stars were visible, our thoughts were with you – and with your parents who I’m sure, were anxious for your safety. Truly, you have changed the world by bringing so many people together and giving us the opportunity to pause and reflect on our own lives’ journeys. Keep walking in hozho!
Amazing Andrew! Congratulations! Look forward to seeing you when you return.
Lovely, Andrew. Lovely. This was a wonderfully-written piece.
We are inspired and proud of you and can’t wait to hear the stories! Much love and give your mom a hug for me.
Warmly, tucker pierson
A Chadds Ford transplant to Oregon
congratulations we are so happy you maid it. May God be with you. Keep in touch.
Your friend Vicki
I remember you coming through our town in Georgia several months ago. I’ve kept up with your progress! So glad you completed the trip! God Bless!!!
Thanks!
Ben & I are so happy for you Andrew! Words can’t describe the fullness in my heart. I’m both proud of and grateful for your journey.
Thank you for your Walk in Beauty!
Can’t wait to see you on the 6th!
Much love and safe travels home,
Marie
wow. this entry brought me to tears. cannot wait to see you in person and give you a big, long hug. let’s talk this week …i have info about the literary festival dates!
Luke is in my class and at my lunch table. His presence has kept you in my thoughts. I have been wishing you well from Delaware, amazed at what you have done. Congratulations.
Thank you, Dan, can’t wait to see you soon. Miss you guys.
Congratulations, Andrew! We have never met but I feel like i know you. What an incredible journey you have had! Mama, Daddy, and Willy (my bro in law) were so happy to be able to share in your celebration! I will pick Mama and Daddy up at the Atlanta airport today. I look forward to hearing their experience too. Again, congratulations!!
Thanks, Laura! Hope to meet you and the rest of the tribe someday!
Well done Andrew! I am selfishly sorry to see the end. Every time a post would pop into my email in the midst of a crazy day I would smile, sigh and feel a breath of respite from day. I will miss you!
Donna Gicker (friend of your Mom)
So nice to know this, lends a whole new layer of meaning to the past year. Much love!
Beautiful Andrew…what a miraculous journey you have taken us all on. As I sit here in Albuquerque after arriving yesterday, it is my first chance to catch up with you since your gathering. I wish you peace, I send you love .
Thanks, DJ!
Congratulations! I met you at a small winery in North Garden, Va. I have been following and admiring every step of the way. Janice Amiss
Of course I remember you Janice, I’ll never forget you and Rand and that day. Hope you can make it up to the October 6th party in Chadds Ford. Best!
Andrew, congratulations on your amazing journey. I hope that reaching the Pacific Ocean is not the end, but the beginning of an amazing story for the rest of your life. I have enjoyed reading your posts for the past 11 months. Your words, and your ability to put it into writing that allows us to feel we are walking right next to you, has morphed into our daily lives, and I only hope that when you go home and take time to adjust to what has occurred, you consider putting them all down into a book. I would love to read it again!
Thanks so much, Samantha! Much appreciated.
Congratulations, Andrew! I would have loved to have been there to welcome you to the end of your journey. I’m so proud of your accomplishment and look forward to hearing about what this leads to in your future.
I wish you all the best!
-Amanda
Thanks, Amanda! I was bummed to hear you’ll be gone by the time I get to Erie. I hope we can get together and catch up on all the adventures the past many years have brought us both. Travel safe and well!
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Oh Andrew, what a beautiful pic, so glad you made it safely. Have kept up with your journey since meeting you at Cest’ Bon in Mermentau, Louisiana.
You are my hero, what courage you have.
Very proud of you to say the least. Best of luck in whatever your future holds.
Hugs and a kisses from South Louisiana.
Sacha Nugent
Thank you so much, Sacha, you were my hero on that day we met, teaching me how I want to be, i.e. generous and kind. All the best, and see you back in the bayou someday!
YOU DA MAN! Congrats. LOVED this latest blog. This end (or perhaps beginning) must have been surreal – indescribably delicious. Love the photo!
Congratulations!!! Ive been keeping up with your journey. since right after you left new orleans. i just missed you coming through
i would of loved to have met you! i think its simply amazing what you have done! xoxoxo
LeahAnne Mulkey
I appreciate you keeping up with me all this way, LeahAnne. To many adventures to come!
Delicious. What else could you do? Of course you walked and listened. Love to you, dear human.
Congrats Andrew! Wish I could have been there, Roxanne from Hawg Heaven in Hogansville, Ga. ( New Years)
Great to hear from you, Roxanne! Missed you all but you were all certainly present in heart and mind. See you again someday I hope!
thrilled to see you made it.. congratulations and god speed from the girls at tacky jacks 2 in ft. morgan, alabama
All the best, girls! Many thanks.
So beautiful, friend. You ability to mold words is incredible. I recently heard a quote: great stories happen to people who know how to write them. And I think that applies quite deeply to your whole quest. And being.
Thank you, my friend, amazing to hear this from a friend.
Thank you for DANCING!
admirable, what you are doing. I remember a snippet of a pop song from years back “everybody’s got a story that can break your heart”.
So true!
Keep walking, keep writing and keep reporting back to us from the real world!
Beautiful words, Kasia, thank you. All the best!
So sooo sad to have missed this. You arrived here literally the one week period my entire family came from all over and out of state for my sister’s big birthday bash that I was throwing on your day at the beach, and I couldn’t even get to the computer to see your updates until now. We really wanted to be there with you at the beach. But thanks for sharing it, so eloquently as usual, so that I can feel like we were sort of there. Congrats on the journey! When do you head back east?
Great to have had you on this journey, Danielle. Many thanks for all the support, really meant a lot to me.
This is absolutely amazing. I mean I knew you could do it but to read your latest post it was almost like I was there with you. To be honest it almost made me cry happy tears for you. Congratulations and once again sorry I thought you were a serial killer.
Haha, thanks Shannon!