"Trike Girl"

March 24,
Hwy 35 Bay of Plenty, NZ

Norm and my reflection:


Alice, minister of sweet church that her Scottish grandfather built with kauri logs cut and hauled from the northland. She's Scottish-Maori.


John and Colleen I met when I stopped at a macadamia farm cafe, The Nut House. He's a photographer from Auckland and I hope to get a copy of the pic he took of me:)




Didnt get a picture of this: Deer with 8 points in road staring at me. But deer don't run wild here! Mind boggling, like a sign just for me.

Maggots. That's what Kiwis call the white campervans as they crawl around the South Island. Fitting!

Microwave oven mailboxes are everywhere on the East Cape.



Great recycling!

Second rainy cycling day. First was in January on South Island.

Lovely, rolling coastal ride with quiet little coves in all the dips. And a view of the steaming volcanic island off shore, White Island.



I ran into Norm on the road this morning and while we were biking and chatting, friends of his passed by. Then I turned off to checkout the historic church and he pedaled on. His friends were up the road and asked him "Looks like you didn't score with Trike Girl!" (Norm told me the story when he passed again going home. "So now there are rumors going around about us, Trike Girl!")

It's 8 pm and the last of the day's light is hanging on the horizon. And I'm sitting in my tent, drinking wine, listening to Rodriguez, dancing and crying. Solo travel can be quite lonely. Many hellos and quick goodbyes. I travel alone because I have no compatible travel mate. And maybe because its easier. I get what I think I want...every day. No compromises.

I sleep every night in a different place, with a different view...alone. The other night I was sick, a terrible bellyache. And I was out at the lighthouse. What would I do if I had an emergency in the middle of the night? Alone out here? I don't think about it because I don't know really. Wait until morning, I guess. I think that because I've been alone most of my adult life, I don't know what it's really like to be taken care of (except for a few years). I'm tough. Tough Cookie. I don't think there's really anything I can't toughen my way through. And maybe that's what I do alone in my tent out of habit now.

But crying feels so good sometimes...like being fragile and vulnerable, just for a brief moment. And maybe, as my daughter said, "Crying cleanses the soul." But oh wouldn't it be nice if there were someone who cared that I was crying? That someone who just holds you and the whole world feels better. Will I ever have that again? I sure hope so. Until then, I have to do both the crying and the holding. And I'll be all right. Another sip of wine...there...all better:). Turn up the music, dance while sitting down...party of one! There'll be more great hugs and parties of two and real connections...and until then a lot of hellos and goodbyes meeting incredible, amazing, giving people!!

Thanks for listening. I'm posting this slightly censored right from the heart. If I can't share this, why journal at all? It's all part of the journey. It ain't all smiles...just mostly!!

BagLady


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