So come up with some great ideas and help raise money for the Cancer Research Institute!

Before this journey began, people said things like, “You’ll find yourself”, or “This is going to be the time of your life”. Sometimes it bothered me that people who had never done anything like this were telling me how the walk was going to change me… it didn’t seem to make sense.

“I’m not DISCOVERING myself”, I told them…”I’m EXPRESSING myself”, a thinly veiled claim at some elevated status, a maturity I thought surely had been earned long before I went on a walk. In an odd internal contradiction I thought, “How could this NOT change me?”.

There is an illusion in life that is so powerful, so pervasive, so all-encompassing, that we actually FEEL it. We sit in our cars and feel it. Lying on the couch with the clicker in our hand we feel it. Even walking down the street we feel it. Control. Our hands are on the steering wheel at 10 and 2 and we steer ourselves in any direction our fancies lead us.

Being on the road leaves you completely vulnerable. I’ve walked through neighborhoods people just don’t walk through. Down roads pedestrians don’t walk down. I’ve slept in places where perhaps no one has slept before. I knew this would happen before I set out. I knew there was no hiding any weaknesses because, it is plainly obvious that I’m vulnerable. I’m traveling at 3mph, pulling a cart… and I’m a stranger.

About 4 hours before I made it to Marlborough, CT., I felt a shift in my consciousness. It wasn’t grandly profound or moving… just a change in my internal trajectory. Think about where a space shuttle on a mission to the moon would end up if the trajectory changed by a single degree. How far off target would the shuttle be because of a change that at first was imperceptible?

At first imperceptible to me, I have since realized only a glimpse of how my actions through the R2L project are affecting others. When I called Pastor Bob 4 hours outside of Marlborough, CT., I didn’t know what to expect. Soon after asking for a space on the lawn to camp for the night, R2L was invited to stay in the church rec-room on comfortable couches, to shower at the parsonage, to attend service on 9/11, to be a part of the ‘Rally Day’ BBQ, to go with the youth group on their ‘Challenge Day’ at a high ropes course, and to be accepted into the hearts of the community.

This one degree shift has helped me to uncover the fallacy inside myself that I am in control. Sure, I may have control over my choices, but my intentions and my actions affect others in ways that I will never fully understand, in ways too profound to adequately express with words. And while to this point in the story I may have only loosened my grip on the steering wheel a bit, I’m learning to LET GO of navigating obediently and robotically according to the GPS of my own thoughts. When I first started this project, Eureka, CA., was the destination. And because of a one degree change in trajectory, I am content with waving at it, distant as the moon outside the shuttle window, and meet what is beyond my control. The road. Life.

This project, from planning to walking, giving compassion and receiving it, waking up and going to sleep, right to left to right again…has been a monumentally challenging experience. When I took my first steps at East End Beach in Portland, ME., wide-eyed, I didn’t know what to expect, but vaguely felt myself crossing a barrier, as if I had hopped the fence separating my emotional and physical rut from living, and walked directly into the time of my life. This walk has been the surprise party after thinking everyone forgot my birthday.

As soon as I hit Commercial St. in Portland I began to learn and transform. Adjusting my big red pack toward Casco Bay Bridge, a man ran up to me wondering what I was doing. Inquisitive at first and then genuinely inspired by R2L’s story, Tom McCoomb’s example of curiosity and openness is a practice I repeat many times each day while I walk. There couldn’t have been a more fitting beginning…and I hope the practice continues after R2L is finished. Thank you to everyone I’ve met so far for the realization that there is meaningful communion in our intentions, words, and actions when we come together in mindful compassion. Throughout the day I remind myself to be open…and it works. One of the goals of the project is to inspire and allow people to express their compassion…and by being open to whatever that means for any given individual, it’s been an unequaled success.

If you don’t like the weather around here, wait five minutes.

By the end of my second day, my body was screaming to stop. The logical part of my brain, until now out-matched by the dreamer part, was whipping me with doubt, pain and fatigue, and I was having trouble seeing a tomorrow for R2L. Walking has a way, albeit sometimes painfully, of keeping you in the moment. I realized that the trouble with tomorrow is that no matter how jealously it tries, it will never be today. Today I can heal my body. Today I can receive generous compassion heaped on me like a pound of spaghetti on an empty plate. So, that’s what I did… I soaked in the tub and took some ibuprofen. I massaged my aches and stretched my tired muscles, and most importantly, I stayed present enough to get to know my kind hosts, Donna and Colleen. By morning, my body felt better and my mother showed up with a cart I could tow my gear in. Funny, there is a rule when traveling in the woods with others; if you are separated from your group and are lost, stay where you are. It’s an apt metaphor. I stayed where I was, waited for the fog of doubt to pass, and let the impermanence of change carry my much lighter feet southward to Wells.

It’s not all Zen. There’s a practical side to everything on the road. A method, a practice, a system. On Rickshaw 1, I used a spool of string to fasten a harness out of my small backpack which allowed me to pull my cart… a bowline on one side and a few rolling hitches on the other that were easy to untie when I needed my pack. Blister care is methodical. Remove band-aids, douse in peroxide, pat dry, air out…then in the morning it’s almost exactly reverse. Air, peroxide, band-aids. Sometimes you don’t know what to expect, and sometimes you do. There have been about 12 vehicles, all containing at least two males between the ages of 18-25, that have carried said males sailing past me shouting. Admittedly, it really is funny scaring people.. and admittedly, it did make me jump the first two times…but not anymore. It’s like when the neighbor’s dog barks every time you go by the house…after a while you know what’s coming. And there’s comedy, too. Billy at the church supper told everyone, “Whoever doesn’t eat their salad is going to get a spanking”…then slid his salad to me…

Finding a place to sleep is part of the adventure. I asked a man in York (who happened to be an off-duty York policeman), “Excuse me, sir. Where is the best place for me to set up my tent?” …”Kittery”, he said.

After these first two weeks, I’m filled with the understanding that when I open myself to people, they generally open themselves to me, too. I’m touched by the compassion that is all around us and I believe that people want to, and will, express their compassion if you give them the chance. Thank you, supporters, fans, friends, family, strangers, new friends, and readers for making this the time of my life in only 14 short days. Back on the road tomorrow and looking forward to sharing new experiences soon.

Peace,
Rick

Elaine and me at Sea-Vu! At Sea-Vu they raise lots of money for the American Cancer Society each year and were happy to host me for two nights…even though they were all booked up! Thanks to my friend, Marisa, for setting me up with Aunt Elaine and the rest of the awesome folks at Sea-Vu after my 3rd day on the road.. Such a restful and beautiful place!

Rick has been on the road a little over a week. As of this minute, he’s in Wenham, Massachusetts! (You can keep track of where Rick is by clicking here or on the “Where’s Rick Now?” button above.) He’s been staying with friends and strangers along the route and is overwhelmed by the hospitality he has encountered — from the fabulous folks at the Sea-Vu campground in Wells, Maine; to the church who let him camp in the church yard after stuffing his belly with a church supper; to the kind woman from Ipswich who fed him dinner, did his laundry, and tried to set him up with her niece.

Rick has experienced his first set of blisters, his first rainstorm on the road, and some HOT days of walking but is in great spirits and enjoying meeting the amazing people in this world.