Author: admin

I am feeling self conscious about this trip. It is such a luxury and privilege to be able to just take off and step out of the rat race like this that I am a bit embarrassed. It is not lost on me that I am a middle-income, white woman who has grown up with a lot of support and opportunity. I feel guilty doing something as self-serving as this bike adventure. Where do I get off thinking that I can get away with something so fun?

Perhaps, these thoughts come from the mid-westerner in me. My family hails from Minnesota, and I fight a chemical in my blood that demands that we should all be a little bit miserable in order to earn our keep in this world. We are also supposed to praise frugality, hard work and keep a low profile so as not to draw attention to ourselves. This trip does not match these sentiments.

To add to these feelings of guilt, my husband Twain and I have fallen into all the financial traps that our society has set for us and I am choosing to ignore them. We have taken on tremendous school loans which we may never pay off fully, maxed out a home equity line and done the credit card dance throughout our adult lives. We live paycheck to paycheck and rarely buy new clothing or gear. We have three kids in college and often need to bail them out by helping them with rent and other expenses. We don’t have health insurance. We decided to take a gamble this year because it felt like throwing money away and our coverage was terrible anyway. We drive a 2008 mini-van that has sliding doors on either side that get stuck open routinely. It is a big joke to watch our children and their friends struggle to slam the door closed only to have it spring back open again and again. We grocery shop at Trader Joe’s because it is the cheapest thing going. I don’t have a retirement account. Money is a constant stress. It causes a lot of conflict.

Yet, when we do get money do we save it? Do we pay down our debt? No. We impulsively spend it on travel. It seems that every time we get a little windfall we impulsively spend it on adventure. They are low budget adventures to be sure, but they are still frivolous and seemingly irresponsible given the state of our finances. But this impulsivity has allowed us to do amazing things. We have followed the Oregon Trail, and ridden in covered wagons. We have walked on Glaciers in Iceland. We have explored Mammoth Cave and hiked to the bottom of the Grand Canyon. We have snorkled in tropical waters and hung out with Capuchian monkeys. We have camped on beaches and forests and canoed down remote rivers. These trips define our family and the way in which we engage with the world around us. I wouldn’t take away a second of them no matter the cost.

So this bike trip? Totally financially irresponsible. Our money would be better spent paying off loans, saving for retirment or buying health insurance. But how insufferably boring! When Oakley and I leave, it will be necessary for me to close my private practice counseling business. My income will come to a crashing halt. We will defer our student loans and Twain (bless his heart) will keep working, but the trip will cost a lot in terms of gear, camping fees and other necessities. It is completely reckless and will add to our financial stress considerably.

But to not go would be worse. We hear about tragedies on a global scale every day, and I also hear them on a personal scale through my counseling work. I am often overwhelmed by the state of the world and by the sadness that many people I know carry, such as depression and suicidal ideation, the crushing cycle of poverty, drug addiction, and failing families. When I become overwhelmed everything seems gray. I get tired and worn and lose my spark. At these times I feel I have nothing left to offer. Then I feel badly about myself and become unmotivated. It is a sad state of affiars. I know it happens to everybody.

If I don’t have a spark, and if Oakley loses his spark, what good are we? I want to be a positive force in the world, and I want him to be one, too. The only way I know how to keep our sparks bright, is to get out of the gray of the city. To get out off our screens and into the outdoors. To engage with others and nature. To stop worrying about ferry schedules and shopping lists. To stop rushing and getting lost in the lists of my life. Adventuring in the outdoors is how I remember where I fit and what I am a part of. This is why, no matter how selfish it seems, this trip is a good thing. Yes, it is totally self serving but, I am hoping, it will allow us to have more to give by filling us up.

My role model is Frederick the mouse in Leo Lionni’s children’s book, “Frederick”. Frederick spends his days collecting beautiful images and feelings throughout the summer days to have something to share with the other mice during the dark winter months.

“and how about the Colors Frederick?: they asked anxiously.

“Close your eyes again.”Frederick said. And when he told them of the blue periwinkles and the red poppies the yellow wheat and the green leaves of the berry bush, they saw the colors as clearly as if they had been painted on their minds. -Leo Lionni

I may never pay off my loans. I may never make the big changes that I would like to see in the world, but I think I can rationalize this expedition by believing that if we stay compelelty alive and awake we are adding something good to the world. At least believing us helps quell the scolding mid-westerner in me.

Oakley is sleeping upstairs as I write this. He is sick with a bad case of swimmer’s ear. In our life together this is relatively unheard of. This kid’s fire rages so hot that germs seems to get burned to death on contact. This time I actually think we wore him out. It is a parenting technique of mine to keep him so exhausted that he doesn’t have time to get into trouble. Besides, he doesn’t know how to not be busy. He is on a swim team and the indoor track team; he snowboards every Wednesday and cross-country skis whenever I make him. He takes drumming lessons and is in a Queen ensemble group that practices weekly at the Mid-Coast School of Music. It is a great outlet that lets him thrash away while remaining in control. The hope is that it is giving him a rhythm to help organize his scattered self. On days that he doesn’t have a scheduled activity he begs to go to Urban Air, the indoor trampoline park. He doesn’t have an off switch. In fact, this morning he had a fever of 101 degrees and was exclaiming that he could still go to school. I told him he had to stay home and now he is passed out.

That being said, yesterday was the day we finally got to sit upon our bikes. They are terrific. Ainsley at the Gear Hub in Portland has outdone herself. She found us recycled frames and selected components for the bikes that will be able to withstand heavy use and not break our bank. Plus, all the components of the bikes, from the brakes to the shifters to the spokes, all match each other, so we will only have to haul one repair kit and one set of replacement parts with us on our trek.

I was excited and instantly felt a bond to my bike. It has a purple Specialized frame, a drop-down handlebar for lots of different riding positions, and a head set that turns like whipped-cream frosting. The tires are Kevlar to help prevent flats, with double-walled wheels to help bear the weight load. Perfect.

Oakley, on the other hand was unimpressed. I am not sure he truly appreciated the value of a recycled bike and would probably prefer a brand-spanking-new bicycle with all the shiny accoutrements that come with a pricey designer bike. He is 15, after all. What 15-year-old appreciates used stuff? Ainsley enthusiatically asked him what he thought of his bike. “I like it,” Oakley said, unconvinclingly, as he looked around vacantly with rheumy eyes. If you loook at the “bikmum” Instagram account (this is not a misspelling: “bikemum” was already taken on Instagram), you will see that he was busying himself making slow-motion videos of himself, flapping his lips like a rubber duck, that really sum up how he felt.

As we went over the details of the bikes and what still needed to be done, Ainsley mentioned that we might wear out our chains while we are training for this trip and need to replace them. That was when Oakley roused himself and looked at me with horror. I could read his mind. He has no intention of training. Training is boring. The idea of us riding in circles around South Portland when he could be running around with his buddies like a wild child is truly cringe-worthy to him. He intends to just go for it, hop on a plane, hop on his bike and begin that chapter of his life. The adventure appeals to him, not the biking. Not at all. “Are you ready for this?” asked Ainsley excitedly. “Yeah, I guess,” he responded. I wanted him to catch the bike fever, but it wasn’t happening.

Maybe it was just the swimmer’s ear fever he was catching instead.

So, there are a few things that I am excited about seeing when we bike across the country. One, I am excited to see the world. The places that we are going to pass through and maybe even stop and explore sound cool. I guess this tripis sounding better.

My mother says that we are going to walk through huge tunnels that go on for miles and miles, called Lava Tubes, at a place called Mammoth Cave. There will be other fun things as well, like Mount Rushmore. I hope we visit it because last time I was there I was 3, and I remember screaming my tiny little head off because my mom stuffed me in a stroller and didn’t let me run around and have fun. This time I she won’t be able to catch me!

I am excited about biking across the tall prairie grasses in Kansas. It sounds cool to travel through miles of grass that might be 8 feet tall. I am excited about seeing super tall trees with 6 foot wide trunks as well in Oregon. I am going to try and climb them.

BUT, there are still things that I am not excited about. For instance, I hear that dogs chase you while you bike through farm land on very long and twisty roads. My mom says we can carry pepper spray to keep them away. She says sometimes you have to get off your bike and use it as a shield from the dogs. That is terrifying to me, and I think that I should carry a baseball bat at all times to whack them.

The other thing I am not looking forward to is going over the Rocky Mountains. It will be all uphill and I am going to hate this. I will probably throw my bike off the side of a mountain.

Anyway, now I think that there is a lot to worry about and a lot to look forward to.

“Alison, Run!!!!”

My friend Alison is hiking along the Appalachian Trail about 50 feet ahead of me. We have been hiking alone for 10 days and are carrying 50-pound backpacks, so her running is more like a hurried hobble.

I see her try to pick up her pace, stumbling over roots and rocks as she continues to ascend the ridge, but her speed doesn’t accelerate much. “Go!” I call frantically. She can’t look over her shoulder because we are wearing poorly-packed, external-frame packs that extend high over our heads with sleeping pads and pots and pans strapped to the outside. Alison has no idea why I am suddenly commanding her to hurry, but due to the timbre of my voice she doesn’t stop to question me.

Behind me, I hear the thudding of heavy feet galloping up the trail. Something big is coming fast. I hear the leaves and brush rustle and scrape, but I don’t dare to turn around. The faster I run, the faster it pursues me. I am in a blind panic. “Alison!”

We are both 16 years old. This trip had been my idea. The previous summer I had attended Camp Farm & Wilderness, and now felt that I was well versed in outdoor living. I had convinced Alison that we should hike on the Appalachian Trail for a month and survive off of wild edibles along the way. I had also just read “My Side of the Mountain” and pictured us fishing out of clear streams with hooks carved from saplings and eating pine nuts and acorn pancakes to sustain ourselves. Surprisingly, our parents thought this would be a good experience. Maybe they were in need of some respite.

Not surprisingly, it was harder than it sounds. By the second day, we were starving and begging other through-hikers for handfuls of trail mix. We hadn’t even brought a stove and realized quickly that acorns, while theoretically a food, are as bitter as hell if you don’t cook them for hours.

Needless to say, we were ill-prepared. No stove, no food, no maps. And now we were in bear country. We had recently passed a sign that gave instructions for a bear encounter:

• Do not run
• Back up slowly
• Climb tree
• Use pepper spray

At night I had been sleeping with a butcher knife under my pillow–just in case. But currently, that knife was buried deep in my backpack. I was helpless against my attacker. In my rush, I tripped. My heavily-laden backpack toppled me forward, and I hit the ground hard. My knees crashed down on a rock, and I struggled to quickly unclasp my hip belt and twist free of the weight of my pack. I was picturing the bear shredding me with his long teeth and jagged claws, and I wanted to be ready to kick at him. With a sharp intake of breath, I turned to face my doom.

There was nothing. Instead, I saw my sleeping bag had become unrolled and had been dragging on the ground behind me, bumping along the rocks and roots and sounding very much like a bear in hot pursuit. The relief that flooded me could be sold as a street drug.

“Alison,” I called. “It was my sleeping bag.” She dropped her pack immediately and looped back down the trail to me. She was covered with sweat, her cheeks shone red, and her breathing was ragged. She laughed, “Let’s get some pictures of your bloody knees.” (See picture above.) I posed, and she took some shots.”We should probably sing to keep the bears away from now on.” she said. I agreed. So, we did.

I saw Alison yesterday for the first time in 18 years. We met in a coffee shop called Book and Bar in Portsmouth New Hampshire. She was with her 11-year-old daughter. Alison had read this blog and reached out across cyberspace to reconnect. As we spoke her daughter leaned over and whispered in her mom’s ear. “Is this the one?”

“What ? ” I asked.

“Oh,” Alison laughed, “She has heard stories.” We started swapping tales of that trip. How we hiked with ferns behind our ears to keep the gnats away and ended up looking like forest nymphs. How we hadn’t even brought a stove or a map. How in our starvation we took a break from the trail and hitchhiked to Arby’s. We set up our tent up in the parking lot and ate dinner and breakfast there. We remembered asking a farmer to sleep in his barn along the hike during a terrible thunderstorm and huddling under his tractor to avoid his very agitated horse that was also seeking shelter. It was rearing up and kicking at the hard-packed dirt all around our heads. We spent the night questioning whether we had ever heard of a horse trampling someone to death. We remembered how kind everybody was and how helpful. “You will have a lot of adventures, Penny, just wait.” Alison said.

We paid no attention to detail, we relied on the goodness of strangers, and we learned more than we could have ever from a book or a screen. It was terribly uncomfortable, and, at times, we were alternately exhausted, starving, and terrified or all three at once, but, of course, it was worth it.

On this bike adventure I will bring food, lots of it, and maps too, and I hope the appropriate gear. I still welcome the craziness of not planning every moment, but, given my track record of chaos, I will try a little harder to give some thought ahead of time to some of the details.

I hope Oakley will sing with me if I get scared of bears like Alison did.

Here is what we are planning to bring:

• 3-person tent that does not require stakes
• 2 cozy, very compactable sleeping bags
• 2 soft, compactable sleeping pads
• Biolite stove that can use twigs if no fuel is available
• Cooking supplies
• Two touring bikes, double racks and double fenders on each
• Kevlar tires (to prevent flats)
• 2 sets of front and rear panniers
• TransAmerican Trail Maps
• Bike lights
• Headlamps
• Homeschooling supplies
• Repair kits
• First aid kit
• 2 full sets of rain gear
• Battery pack for phone
• Serious amounts of food
• Serious amounts of food
• Serious amounts of food

Another summer morning on Peaks. 10-year-old Oaks is pottering away his time jumping on the trampoline. He is doing front flips, back flips, rodeo’s and the like, elevating himself 12 feet in the air in a way that seems almost controlled. This is nothing new. He jumps around like a flea all day long. He can do back flips even when off the trampoline; he can do handsprings, run downhill on jumping stilts, launch himself into the air on skis off huge jumps and pogo stick until the cows come home. He is never still.

When we moved to Peaks Island after eight years away (we lived here before Oakley was born), I went to the police station to give them the heads-up that I didn’t always sanction his reckless activities, and that they should feel free to stop him if he seemed to be acting in a dangerous or out of bounds manner. I am not embarrassed to ask for help. He seems to have no fear and we have always needed others to be his conscience for him. He needs everybody to be his Jiminy Cricket.

On this particular morning, Twain and I were gathering a few last-minute things to outfit ourselves for a quick trip to town on the ferry while our 15-year-old son Jonah babysat Oaks. We ran through the house grabbing keys, sunglasses, wallets, and phones in the final moments before we would have to run for the ferry. Just then, a neighbor came by with a gift for Oaks. He wanted to bestow on him his old “giraffe” unicycle. It measured six feet from the bottom of the wheel to the seat. I had never seen one so tall. ( I think this man might be a full-grown Oaks in his own right.) He presented the bike with a Cheshire-like grin, knowing that the giving of this gift to a kid like Oaks was at once terribly generous and terribly mischievous. I shuttered at the thought of yet another high stakes activity entering our lives, but I thanked the neighbor just the same. Oaks was beside himself. He smiled from ear to ear and cradled it in his arms like a long-lost lover. Suddenly, I was torn about going into town. Oaks + Six-foot unicycle + No supervision = Disaster. But, we had to go. “Jonah, don’t let him touch it until we get back!” we admonished. “Oaks, we will be home in two hours. Just wait!” He nodded. We ran for the ferry. God, am I a slow learner.

When we returned home to Peaks barely two hours later, who should come careening down the hill to the ferry dock, flopping his arms and wiggling his butt desperately trying to maintain balance on this gargantuan unicycle but Oaks himself. He was covered in sweat with a look of intense concentration on his face. He had no helmet, no wrist guards, no sense. Cars edged down the road beside him trying their best to stay out of his fall line. He was so proud.

As a parent what am I to do? Do I yell at him for not listening and causing me to live in a constant state of high alert, or do I smile at him and admit that I am incredibly proud of his abilities? This kid struggles academically; he has zero to no executive-functioning skills; he struggles to relate socially at times, but he is kinesthetically gifted. I used to live with my heart in my throat watching him catapult through life until I became numb. Other parents would shriek when they saw him fly through the air as he practiced a trick. His favorite was to climb onto a railing or fence post, and then launch himself into a back-flip and (usually) land on his feet. I realized that I was helpless. I had to shut off. Becoming numb was a survival tactic for me. I just can’t be scared all the time.

Then there is me. I am NOT a natural athlete. I am 157 pounds of cozy. I like to be active, but I am by no means gifted. I run, slowly. I can’t jump. Really, not at all. I have had varicose vein surgery twice. Gravity and I love each other. I think I can launch myself two inches, maybe three. I can’t do a pull-up, never have. I stink at catching baseballs and can’t throw a frisbee. I hate yoga. I should love it, I know, but I don’t. Sometimes I make myself do it because it is the right thing to do, but it is so uncomfortable. I have no kinetic sense and often bumble through life. My posture sucks; my back resembles a camel’s hump. I have no depth perception, due to an eye injury. You should see me try to put toothpaste on my toothbrush. I believe this is why I sometimes live vicariously through Oakley.

It is time to begin to get in shape. I am going to spend this season trying to get this body back in line. I have grown soft and feel tired much of the time. That might be the age 50 whispering in my ear. I can’t listen yet.

This trip is going to take a lot out of me, but I do have heart and I do keep going. I have endurance. I have been told that I may not be not light on my feet but that I am a good hauler. So I will haul myself across the country, chasing Oaks and trying not to have my heart in my throat.

Last night, after spending the day running around doing errands town, my husband insisted that it was time to spend some time with my maps. I think this is because he is excited to begin to plan where he might come to join us for a few days. I have announced that being apart for three months is too much for me so he will try to meet us somewhere along the route for a few days so I can grab some kisses…and have a shoulder to cry on.

So, I sat down on the floor with my 144 maps that cover the minute details of our route, and a big map that covers the expanse of America, and a blue Sharpy. I began to slowly trace the route, city by city, park by park, big wild expanse by big wild expanse across the country.

One of the many issues we will have to contend with out there is my vision. It sucks. 10 years ago I was diagnosed with a melanoma on my retina. The treatment for it consisted of eye surgery as well as radiation. It was not super fun, but I was lucky. I got to walk away alive and kicking, with only the loss of my vision in that eye. Most of the time this doesn’t affect me. Nobody would ever know unless they saw me pour a glass of wine, and miss the glass (when I am stone cold sober), or misjudge whether a bird is coming or going, or, watch me try to read a map. My good eye quickly becomes fatigued and little words and roads and numbers seem to wander about the page doing pretty much whatever they feel like. It is exhausting. I can do it (don’t worry, mom), though it is just really frustrating and takes a while. Oakley will have to become the expert.

One notices how damn big this country is when one attempts to transpose 144 maps across its width with one squinty eye! Drawing it took forever. Many times I had to remove my glasses and rub my eyes and lean my head against the wall. Truth is, I had to finish the second half of it this morning. However, after sitting there diligently squinting and marking, now I can see it in my mind’s eye. It is pretty amazing.

We will be riding on endless little twisty and crooked roads through the most obscure places! We will pass through Crow Heart, Sweetwater Station, Amy, Colorado, and Sugar Grove. There are, of course, huge mountain ranges, but also immense deserts and grassland! We will pass through the Wind River Reservation, the Grand Tetons, Yellowstone, and the Shenandoah National Forest. We will climb over Bear Tooth Pass and descend down onto the long (and thankfully flat) plains of Kansas. We will pedal by the Mammoth Caves and Hot Sulfur Springs and hopefully finish by the Jamestown Settlement in Virginia.

A friend who did this trip told me that he would often find himself biking through deserted prairie lands ringed by barbed wire until it got dark, and then he would just jump a fence and wheel his bike over and around a small hillock to set up his camp out of sight of the road. I wonder about the coyotes. I am no wimp, but that chortling, yelping, screaming sound that they make as they stream across the prairie like a hungry mob decimating everything in their path, pulling little cute bunnies apart limb from limb and playing catch with their heads haunts me.

Yes, studying all this expanse of wild land between where we will start and home was a bit disconcerting. I am truly excited to think of all we will see and experience, but I won’t deny that I am a bit apprehensive about the fact that I am really signing up for sleeping under the stars with nobody but Oaks and some coyotes…or snakes, or vultures, or bears for 80 nights or so We will be okay, right? I have one good eye and Oakley has two.

Today is Wednesday and Oaks and I are heading out to go snowboarding at the local hill. We do this once a week as part of the Peaks Island Ski Club. It is a great program and gives us all an excuse to blow out of town and go play in the snow, away from the cobwebs and dust prevalent in our homes and bodies in January. Typically, I take three or four kids in my van, and we eat snacks and chat during the hour-long drive to Shawnee Peak.

Today though, I have just Oakley and his friend Ryan. Ryan is a great kid, and I love talking to him about all sorts of ideas on our car rides. He begins chatting, ” What do you think is more important, happiness or freedom? I am reading Brave New World by Aldous Huxley, and it is one of the themes.” I look over at Oaks who is sitting next to me, riding shotgun. He is diddling on a phone that a friend gave him that is not hooked up to a number. It only can be used when connected to wi-fi unless you have downloaded games or music. Apparently he is playing some games now. “What do you think, Oaks?”

“What?”

“About Ryan’s question?” He shrugs and grunts.

“Did you know that teenage pregnancy is decreasing, but it is still a lot more common in the South than the North.” Ryan tries again.

“Oaks, put your phone down. We are talking.”

“No, I am only doing one more thing.” His voice is beginning to escalate.

“Put it down, buddy.”

“You’re so annoying, stop!”

I see exactly where this is heading. Poor Ryan. I wait another minute or two. “Oaks, you’re being rude.” Ryan shifts uncomfortably in his seat. He doesn’t want to hear this. “Oaks. now.”

“Just give me a sec!” He yells. His fingers swipe and his eyes dart across the screen. I put my hand out, gesturing that I want the phone.

“Now, Oakley.” There is no wiggle room in my voice. Oakley’s hand darts out and he aggressively shoves my hand away. This kid is solid muscle, and it actually hurts.

“Leave me alone!” he shouts. Ryan winces.

Decision made. I take the phone from his hands. He won’t be seeing it again. One of the wonderful things about Oakley is that he knows when he has crossed a line and understands the repercussions. He slouches down in his seat and puts his chin to his chest.

Oakley will not have an iPhone. No Youtube, games, Instagram, nothing. This bike trip is the last chance I have to help him disconnect from the distraction of screens, and to reconnect to the world around him. I’ve decided to get him a “flip phone” — the Trac-Phone variety — because I envision lots of times when we may need to split up during the ride. He’ll be stronger and faster than me. He will be able to use it as a walkie-talkie, and it will be plenty to keep us connected with one another. He may be able to text and call his friends, but that is it.

So, what is the answer to Ryan’s first question? What is more important, freedom or happiness? Oaks just lost the freedom of a phone in the name of happiness. Both of our happiness (and Ryan’s).

Thank you for all your comments. This story isn’t always going to be pretty, but it is going to be real.

“We have so many bikes right now,” says Ainsley exuberantly. “Storehouses of bikes made from recycled parts. Let’s start by looking at Long-Haul Trucker style bikes. You can beef up the tires, swap out the handlebars, change the shifters, change the type of brakes, get new seats, strip down and rebuild any of them.” The possibilities are endless. She says there are hundreds to chose from. Tractor-trailer beds full. Storerooms. Oakley and I hover together in the Portland Gear Hub, a cinder-block bike shop in Portland, Maine. This is it, the moment we have been waiting for. No more talking; time for action. We are going to start building our bikes.

The Gear Hub is an amazing place. They take donations of used bikes from all over the Portland area and rebuild them, swapping old broken parts for working ones, polishing up the ugly parts and making them shine and then putting them back out for sale at affordable prices. They make it possible for just about everyone to buy a bike. They turn the profits directly into a campership fund. They also have a bike school. They have classes for kids, women, and the general public to learn step-by-step how to rebuild a bike from the ground up. They make these classes accessible with low prices, some of them even free, and create specialty classes so no one feels intimidated. Women and trans-people, kids, beginners, you name it. You can show up not knowing how to hold a wrench and come out with true knowledge of bicycle maintenance. Participants can attend open-bench time and use the Gear Hub’s tools, space, and expertise while they work on their own bikes. Something everyone needs, especially if you are about to embark on a cross-country cycling adventure. The Gear Hub wants to put people on bikes — all people — not just the elite. What’s not to love?

Oakley and I are ready. First, Ainsley, the manager, sizes up Oaks and me. She has us survey the shop floor: what shaped handlebars do we want? What kind of seats? What are the pros and cons of click shifters or thumb shifters or twist shifters? Our minds whirr. So many choices. “Would you like to look in our shipping container out back? We have lots of options.” She says. Would we? You bet!

We follow Ainsley through the cold, dark January evening to a freshly painted, corrugated steel shipping container. It is freezing and we stand close together with our fists jammed into the pockets our down jackets. This is it. She kneels down on the pavement and readies the key for the padlock. I can hardly wait. Which will be my baby to ride home? Which bike will become my best friend, my chariot, and the bane of my existence?

Ainsley fiddles with the lock and key. Her naked hands look cold as they maneuver the small metal parts. She isn’t wearing a coat. “Hmmmm,” she says. The key doesn’t look like it is working. She repositions herself and tries to force the key into the lock again. Oakley and I shift hopefully “It’s not going in. Maybe there is ice in the lock.” The cold wind blows up my jacket and tickles my spine in an unpleasurable way. “This has happened before, we might need to boil some water and thaw it. The lock sometimes fills with frozen water.” I am so excited to see these bikes, but the idea of Ainsely scrounging around her shop trying to boil water on this frigid evening seems too much to ask. “No, that’s okay, we can come back,” I say, feeling my stomach sink just a bit. I am hoping she insists that we stay, but after another moment she reluctantly gives up. “That’s probably a good idea.” The shop closes in half an hour. There is a ferry to catch. I don’t blame her at all. “Okay,” I say, maybe a little glad to get in out of the dark and cold.

January. Yes, it is beautiful in Maine in a shocking, startling kind of way, but really, it sucks when you are chafing at the bit to break free. I am the worst at sitting still. I am impatient and overly intense. Ask any of my children. Ainsley will call us soon, she promised. I believe her. We will take her class and rebuild our bikes. But today? We return home empty-handed. My daughter is lying on the couch after her third knee surgery. She stares vacantly at the wall. So do I.

Our family, like so many others, deals with an addiction to phones. I have been one of the last holdouts to give my children cell phones. The three oldest made it to high school before I relented, and it was really based on the fact that they would be attending school on the mainland while I would be working on Peaks. I saw them as walkie-talkies.

Our phone use started innocently enough, and they were indeed mostly used for logistical exchanges, but, of course, the rate of phone use took off exponentially. First came access to music. That was great. Then access to games, less great. Then to Instagram and Facebook, and these became real time and motivation suckers. Lastly, to the bane of my existence, came Snapchat.

I run a private practice counseling service, and I often work with teenagers and young adults. I have seen many people’s self-confidence and motivation tank at the same rate that their phone usage escalates. I feel old when I say this, but it seems true: people don’t hang out like they used to. They isolate themselves, and I have seen a big increase in social anxiety that runs parallel.

My own relationship to my phone is also fraught. I diddle on it endlessly, often checking for new texts or emails that will change my life and give purpose and meaning to all I do. I know that the answers will never come from there, but I can’t seem to help myself. In weaker moments I play Candy Crush.

Last night as I lay in bed trying to fall asleep, I found myself remembering glimpses of my childhood before the social media invasion. I saw myself at age 7, squatting with my knees pressed against my ears on the cement patio behind my parents’ house. I was watching ants navigate a crack, carrying huge and unwieldy pieces of crackers over their heads that waved like sails in the air. I watched for what seemed like an hour. I built obstacles and designed races for them and cheered in a whisper for the champions.

I saw myself climbing a fence and running through an apple orchard to a half-fallen-down hollow tree that I knew was slick and polished inside from countless bottoms that had slid through the tunnel of the trunk. I remember climbing inside the tree and the feel of the smooth, silkiness of the wood under my fingers as I scooted my fanny down through the dark pithy wood.

I also saw myself in the evenings playing Ghost in the Graveyard outside at dusk. Sweaty, even the though the air was cool. Breathing hard but quietly. Heart thumping. Acutely aware of every sound in the bushes around me as I hid, and smelling the sweet green of the hedges.

I am not saying this doesn’t happen now, but I do believe that people live less fully in the moment. And I believe that this speeds up life. I am looking to slow it down. I want to be fully present and I want Oakley to be, too.

I have not given Oakley a phone yet. He is 15 and is desperate. His friends have given him broken cell phones which he tapes together and uses without data to listen to music and take pictures. He tells others that they work because he is embarrassed that he may be the last of his friends to have one. Even so, he is on it all the time. It is like the phone calls to him and he can’t resist. He fiddles with it endlessly. He doesn’t seem to be able to see or hear what is around him during these times.

I want him to leave it behind on our trip. I want him to be fully engaged in the experience and not worrying about the drama back home he is missing. I want him to lose himself in the moments. He can use my phone to take pictures and occasionally touch base with friends and family, but I don’t want him to have access to games and pop culture. This will be a battle, but to me, it is part of the point of this trip. Looking at life differently. Checking out from all that distraction. Is it still possible? Am I living in the Dark Ages?

Please read Oakley’s Opinion in the last post.

Okay, so the question here is, “Why do I want a phone on this trip?” Well, the reason why I think I should have a phone during this trek across the county is that it would be nice to contact friends or family every once in a while, and my mom and I are making an Instagram account based on this trip.

The other question is, “Why the hell are my parents so uptight?” My parents were planning on not getting me a phone until I was in my freshman year of high school, and while I am biking across the country I am technically a freshman in high school, so why not let me have a phone?!? I just asked my mom again why I can’t have a phone, and she said, “It rots your brains.”

The truth is, I (kind of) already have a phone, which my parents didn’t actually allow. My friend gave me his old iPhone 4, and then my brother got a new phone and gave me his old iPhone SE, which is the smaller version of the iPhone 6. Because it’s not activated, it doesn’t even make calls, but, when connected to wifi, I can text and play certain games. Even so, I am barely allowed to use it. On the trip, we will rarely be connected to wifi, so this “phone” won’t function at all unless, of course, my parents actually activate the phone and get me a number.

The one big reason why I feel like I need a phone is that all of my friends have phones, and every time I need to call my parents, instead of pulling out my phone and calling my mom, I have to ask my friends to borrow their phones to make the call. That’s another reason why I want a phone, not just to play games. Well, sometimes I want to do that, but really all I want is to easily communicate with my parents and friends.

My parents have never let me have a phone. I am 15 years old, and I am the last of my friends not to have one. What is your opinion? Please write it in the comments section below.