The Blog of John P Morgan Jr

For those of you who have been following my travels on and off for the past few years, enjoying my writing and photography, sending me flattering comments and emails… Thank you! I am glad to have been able to inspire and entertain many of you.

I have another story for you… and this time I am asking for a favor in return.

Please continue to travel with me by supporting my project. It will be VERY much appreciated.

Even a little bit will help…

CLICK HERE -> OneOldPen.org

As for upcoming travel adventures…a friend and I are seriously considering a month-long rowing journey down the Guadalquivir River in Spain this spring…

Lived and written by Luis Omar Lopez & John P Morgan Jr

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DAY 1 - San Diego to just south of Temecula (71 miles)

Written by Omar:

We didn’t start on our bikes until late around 10 or 11 our first day and soon as the noon heat began to hit we began the hundred turns and out of the way miles of straight-up straight-down hills it takes to get out of the city and towards the desert while avoiding major freeways. I saw a homeless man carrying his sleeping bag 10 miles into the ride and realized I’d forgot to pack mine. I decided not to turn back and instead hoped some cheap solution would pop up. We felt our first pains early and stretched ass-to-ass like turtles on our backs on the sidewalk for the benefit of everyone else stuck in traffic. We got a few happy honks and then kept going, stopping at every McDonald’s on the way to steal free Powerade, we moved inland then backtracked towards the coast across Del Mar, then back inland again for good, climbing a long uphill through Escondido to Old Highway 395 that runs along the side of the 15 North. John began breathing hard and soon couldn’t swallow any water so we stopped at a 7-11 for a break and using webMD via his iPhone John self-diagnosed himself with EIA (exercise induced asthma). In the parking lot two girls ran into a car backwards pulling out of their spot. The stout troll in the hit car got out in a rage, cursing the world first for his bad haircut, his shitty flat-top that made him shorter and fatter, and then for the 3 inch smear on his maroon 1995 Saturn. It was good theater and we rode off again until after dark trying to reach Temecula but ended setting up camp in a burnt out patch of dirt between the freeway and some golf course and all night the semis croaked their Jake brakes over our tent and down the hill to Temecula. I wore all of my clothes and borrowed John’s silk liner bag and was warm enough.

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On an Oregon State Park beach after watching the Pacific sun dim to a bearable brightness and then slide behind dark gray clouds coating the horizon a Canadian kid came over to me and said hello. Comeau was too touring by bike. He’d been on the road over a month cycling from Edmonton, Canada to Vancouver and then down the coast. He carried a fraction of the gear I had and barely enough cash to buy a bus ticket home.

Comeau showed me some of his low-budget travel maneuvers. We walked into Best Western’s along the coast, filled our stomachs with eggs, waffles and pastries and our pockets with fruits and granola bars for the questionable price of a confident posture and coy smile.

Most of the Oregon coast was a beautifully scenic ride along ocean cliffs and through forests as we traveled from small surf town to small industry town.

In a particularly unaccommodating community characterized by the logging industry and dune buggy rental shops, my Canadian friend and I visited a small diner called the “Cozy Kitchen”.

Comeau asked our waitress Lisa for some hot water with which to mix his oatmeal. Despite my concern with asking a business to supply hot water so he could eat for free at their table, she kindly brought a steaming kettle along with honey and brown sugar on a glimmering silver platter.

Considering the sun was setting and the ugly little town didn’t have much to offer for a place to setup our tents, I wondered how far Lisa’s kindness might go.

“Maybe she’ll let us camp in her yard?” I posed to Comeau.

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I envisioned an exit from downtown Portland with a slight breeze at my back as I pedaled down a long, straight and flat road with wide shoulders. Less than a quarter mile into my first self-supported bike tour the white line hit the edge of the pavement, the head winds started and the road turned almost directly upward. It stayed that way for most of the day.

I’d been running pretty regularly and I didn’t believe the mid 50’s woman cyclist I’d chatted with outside the ACE Hardware store who told me that running 30-40 miles per week didn’t mean anything when it came to cycling hills. Climbing mountains on that first day put a blazing fire in my legs I hadn’t felt since my years of self discipline conditioning in martial arts classes.

Thought it felt as if hot knives were being driven into my thighs with each down stroke, the cognitive battle was even worse. The first day was truly a test of spirit.

Should I have started extended bicycle travel without any training? I can’t do this. Maybe I should take a break? Am I really fit for this? Do I really want to be riding my bike across countries? Cycling isn’t necessarily for everyone. I’m probably better off backpacking. People make mistakes; maybe I just made a mistake. This isn’t just my mind; I’m actually reaching the limits of my physical ability!

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In a few weeks time I’ll embark on a new adventure. This one will be somewhat of a different flavor. Instead of travelling by motored transport as usual, I’ll be pedaling a bicycle!

Start Date: Early August
End Date: Unknown
Departure: Portland, Oregon
Direction: South
Destination: Unknown

For the past two weeks I’ve been daydreaming about pedaling through Central and South America. Daydreaming about travel is normal, but to daydream about the same place and specific travel idea…thats very unusual for me. So I decided to do it.

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Yesterday I visited Providence Country Day School and talked with the kids in two art classes about travel, art and life. I told them some stories about the places I’ve been, things I’ve seen and done, people I’ve met. I told them about the poverty in southeast Asia and India, about the exhilarating experience of paragliding over the Swiss alps, what got me started travelling, why I do it and how I afford it.

The class and their inspiring teacher (and my friend) Dayna Mondello were gracious to provide plenty of questions, which I enjoyed answering as well as heaping bowls of nuts and berries and a can of flavored soda water.

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Contrary to purported “plans”, I’ve travelled very little since my return to the states in December. I wouldn’t say my fears of getting stuck at home have come to fruition. I have been enjoying it here.

However, Providence is finally starting to feel stagnant. Familiarity is becoming monotony. I’m ready to go.

It’s not exactly a desirable thing; this travel bug. There’s a big part of me that would like to get settled into one place for a good while so I could get down to business with the big ideas wobbling around in my head. And probably more importantly, my friendships and family are not well suited to deal with all this hopping about.

It’s just that I’ve yet to find peace in a single place. Well nowhere I’ve tried anyway. So I figure I’ll try somewhere else. And at worst just keep doing that until some place gets me to stick.

In August I’m off to England…probably London in fact. It might not seem like it makes a whole lot of sense to pick the most expensive city on earth, (if it’s not, then it has to be close…one British Pound costs over two US dollars now!) but I’ve got some pretty good reasons.

Actually, I’m lying. It’s the accent. They just sound so damn smart.