The 13th of December feels like the luckiest day of the month for me.
I awoke feeling utterly surrounded by swarms of friendly people. Peter and Jana took me in last night (we met via Couchsurfing.org), and as last night was planned as a very social evening for them, they invited me to accompany them to both parties they attended. The first was a “soup potluck,” or something of this sort, where a dozen or so people convened in a neighbor’s home, many bringing their delicious homemade soups as well as side condiments and written directions of what goes well with each soup bowl.
Attending the soup potluck was an introduction to their most merry and convivial community of Mission Springs: a former camp and conference center which dates back to 1926. Many of the quaint hillside cottages their have been converted to homes, and Peter and Jana spent years gutting and completely refurbishing their cottages– which is now nothing short of a true gem of a home. They have a noticeably rich rapport with their neighbors, which is surely reinforced through continuous contact.
After the soup potluck, we advanced out of Mission Springs to a large home where dozens of people were gathered for a white elephant gift exchange. Peter and Jana thoughtfully wrapped a third gift, which allowed me to participate. Of the 25 gifts, my opening of a heavy candle, ultimately to be “stolen” by someone after me, allowed me to follow Jana’s adroit advice and steal the Jamba Juice gift card! The gift exchange was preceded and later followed up by great conversations with pleasurable people. What a treat!
We returned later in the evening back home, and my accommodation was a super-cozy little guest room at the bottom of a steep outdoor staircase. As was the case with much of the rest of the house, the room was sparkling new. After a few minutes of meditation, and a steamy shower which set off the smoke detector, I snuggled into a peaceful, uplifting sleep.
Jana’s parents, Fred and Twila, were in town and had spent the night upstairs. We all got the chance to meet in the morning, and as other neighbors and family members also came into and out of the house, fun and lively conversations filled the morning hours up till our noon departure.
Peter & Jana had contacted friends and informed them of the Walk. Many were interested in hearing more about it, and a handful of them made time to join me on it today. We started at noon from the place I left off last night. Peter came, and so did his friend Ryan– a great guy with volumes of local info, history, and perspective alive in his mind. Both remained all the way to the heart of Santa Cruz. ( http://img238.yfrog.com/i/98565939.jpg/ ) Zack and Rachael, and their young kids Sophia and Jenison, each of whom had colored beautiful pictures for me, walked with me through Scotts Valley. Rachael and Sophia made it the farthest ( http://tweetreel.com/?6fhh3 ), bravely persevering through the rainiest portion of today, before Zack picked them up so they could resume with prior plans. Matt and Cassie, who were at last night’s soup potluck, joined shortly thereafter, and the five of us hoofed it the remaining miles down the Old Santa Cruz highway and into town. The hours on the road allowed for plenty of time to chat with everyone.
Ryan and Peter treated me to delicious Afghani food before we parted ways. What a great group of people they all are. A great deal of peace is to be found within the eyes of Peter and Jana– peace present in the smoothness of their voices as well. They and their fantastic friends’ synergistic effect collaborate to create one of the richest community vibes I’ve ever witnessed.
Tonight I sleep in the Santa Cruz home of Ian and Christine. A cute guest cottage has been made available for me for two nights. Very nice people who still own a home in Washington state, Ian and I surprisingly graduated from the same high school (he in 1991 and I in 1994; we never knew each other). I may or may not walk to Watsonville tomorrow.
I can smell the salty marine air, but have yet to see the rocky shorescapes in daylight, and look forward to doing so tomorrow, when I may or may not walk all 20 miles to Watsonville.
December 13th: the day the rains dried up, and I walked and talked with some of the most pleasant people in the world, again…

Here’s one for the memory book: I had to walk underneath a dangerously low-stretched power line today– twice! Santa Cruz almost never gets thunderstorms. But today was an exception– as I walked over 18 miles of skinny, narrow, often one-lane mountain roads between Los Gatos and Scotts Valley. The storms were strong enough to tip trees, and the power line I had to twice rush underneath on a steep, twisty, remote mountain road well out of cell phone range, was precariously holding up such a fallen tree.
Today was by far the wettest day of the walk: from the time Steffany dropped me off in Los Gatos, where I’d last left off, the rains were uncomfortably coming down. The sweetheart she is, Steffany offered me yet another night with her family– but after taking them up on the offer and canceling an otherwise late start yesterday, I was too determined to move full speed ahead today– despite the ominous forecast of thunderstorms and rain throughout the day.
Picking up a fast, free, fabulous bowl of soup on the way out of town (I love those spontaneous invitations the signs inspire), I continued on to the Los Gatos Creek Trail en route to my circuitous bypass of Highway 17. I had been prepared to walk up and over 17, but as locals seemed to be thoroughly disgusted with the idea, giving me an expression as if to say: “you’re putting mustard on ice cream!??–” I’d decided to re-route in accordance with their wisdom.
Even in the rain, those first couple of miles on the trail brought some die-hard joggers and bicyclists, determined to be out and about despite the elements. What a refreshing boost to witness!
As the trail concluded, I’d thought I’d be walking directly onto the Old Santa Cruz Hwy, as I’d figured to do on the map. But NO: unknowingly, I’d instead been guided the wrong way onto Alma Bridge Road, which ended up adding unnecessary miles to the day’s journey. It also guaranteed I’d not be arriving to Scotts Valley before dark.
Within a couple of hours, as heavy as it started coming down, often times horizontally, the rains ultimately soaked through my outdoor pants and into my shoes. I was wearing three layers of socks today, which helped. I placed a poncho over my rain jacket and despite this, the humidity was such that all dry layers within still ended up damp. For the first time, my glasses had fogged over and I had to walk without them for hours, which, given the fact that I’m so nearsighted that I’m legally required to wear them to drive, made for an interesting twist. (Should I investigate Fog-X for spectacles..?)
A couple of hours into the cycling storm surges, a donut hole of bright sky opened up, substantial enough to let the sun peak through, give the trees and me the gift of shadows on the ground, and most importantly, instill a high hope for a brighter conclusion to the several remaining hours of walking ahead. Within minutes, this donut hole had sealed with the same crappy filling that goes into your typical donut, as the dark storm clouds gloatingly smiled their way back into the picture. This time they’d bring some thunderous surprises with them.
Partly because I feel blessed for having experienced so much good weather so far; partly because so many good people assist me; partly because I know that tough times bring greater appreciation of everyday simply joys; partly because I believe perspectives can be shifted even in trying situations: I never once felt “unhappy” the entire day!
And as it has ended up, there has been so much to be happy for!
After nearly a month in mostly urban surroundings, I returned to nature today. I walked by huge redwood trees again, and just had to give one a happy-to-see-you-again hug. The punctuating respite of sunlight and occasional overcast calming were better than an alternative non-stop stream of water. I met a handful of cool people, who certainly perceived the seriousness of this walk on a day like today. At sunset, on my way down from the 2,000-ft climb up the pass, despite still be quite nearsighted without the glasses, I could see the brilliant color show of a distant sunset between breaking clouds. And perhaps most importantly: the whole time, I knew that if things ever became unbearable, I could make a call to Steffany or to Peter and Jana, who would be hosting me tonight, and I’m confident that either would come to my aid immediately. I also was warmed by the thought that the ultra-hospitable Peter & Jana were awaiting me, and ready to take me with them to a pair of local gatherings of friends in Scotts Valley.
The rains were at rest by sunset, having worked hard to soak the surrounding hillsides all day long. Arriving to the outer limit of Scotts Valley over an hour after dark, I received an off-the-road greeting from the most euphoniously energetic evening toad orchestra ever: I could feel their powerful little voices ribbeting right through me– so strongly that I had to stop, face them, remove my now-dry glasses, close my eyes and extend my arms into the air to absorb the full experience. Sounds weird; was awesome!
Peter and Jana coincidentally passed by me as I reached the main street of Scotts Valley. “Are you at the corner next to the gas station?” Jana asked me over the phone, to my surprise as she pinpointed my exact location. I met them across the street, and concluded the Walk for the evening, ready to return to that exact location for the continuation to Santa Cruz the following day…
Steep hills, soaking rains, splendid sunsets, precarious power lines, and musical amphibians– the day wasn’t an easy one– but I already look back on it with a big grin on my face!

The world’s greatest travel secret could still be considered a secret due to the simple fact that not enough people are aware of it– and until a great word-of-mouth reference comes their way, many would have a hard time taking such a concept seriously. I didn’t take it seriously at first either, but after a couple of dozen excellent experiences of previously unknown people inviting me into their homes for an evening, to “couchsurf,” I find it to be one of the greatest projects on the planet!
Originally conceived by a Casey Fenton, the Couchsurfing Project has been open to the world for nearly six years. In 2000, Fenton purchased an inexpensive flight from Boston to Iceland. Rather than stay at a hotel, he randomly e-mailed 1,500 students from the University of Iceland, asking if he could stay with any of them. He received over 50 accepting offers. On his way home from Iceland, he began to develop the ideas that would underpin the Couchsurfing Project.
Couchsurfing.org became a public website in January of 2004, and after some slow initial growth, a 2006 crash and near dissolution of the site, the project is now stronger than ever and still growing rapidly, with over 1.5 million members participating throughout the world. Similar to social networking sites like Facebook, Couchsurfing invites anyone to create a profile, add pictures, and add detailed personal information. If you set your status to “Has couch,” you are potentially making your home available to a traveling Couchsurfer, who may find your profile by searching for users from the city you are registered in. My status during the Walk is “Traveling at the moment.” When hosts receive any inquiry from a traveler to “surf their couch” (or floor, or spare bedroom– whatever they specify as being available), they are under no obligation to open their home– or even to respond, for that matter. But if the traveler appears to be someone interesting enough to respond to, and perhaps invite, then the host may choose to contact the traveler back, and perhaps a brief homestay will be set up– always free of charge– and only for as long as the host wishes to make his/her home available. If the experience is a good one (I’d say there’s a 99% chance it will be), then both the host and the traveler are encouraged to leave positive references on each other’s profile pages– available for all the world to see– and a vital tool in the decision-making moment of whether or not to host someone or stay somewhere.
Is there the potential for danger in such a project..? Just like with anything else one may do in life: yes. I am aware of one reported rape, in the UK, via contacts made on Couchsurfing. And though any violent crime is tragic, if we’re to place this report in perspective, out of any community of 1.5 million people, one such event definitely undercuts typical violent-crime statistics within such a population. Using common sense will generally keep you from connecting with users who have highly incomplete profiles, give a bad vibe, or exhibit other unwelcoming signs.
So far, I’ve stayed with a couple of dozen Couchsurfing hosts– and I have nothing but positive feedback to give regarding the project. I’ve had almost exclusively outstanding experiences with each Couchsurfing homestay. Hosts invite me in, give me a nice place to sleep– be it a sofa, a mattress on the floor, or even a guest bedroom. Without ever once asking– they usually fix me dinner and breakfast as well, sometimes even giving me some healthy snacks for the road. Some go as far as providing me with items that help me with my walk. New friendships quickly form, and I continue to keep in contact with many of those who have hosted me– with the dream of going back and visiting all of these friends once again.
The people I’ve met via Couchsurfing.org have truly been a godsend– accounting for close to half of the homestays I’ve enjoyed so far. (12 weeks on the road– and I still count my nights outdoors on my fingers.) Nearly every populated community of several thousand or more has hosts who are willing to meet and allow selected travelers a place to stay– guaranteeing that during this entire Walk Across America– only in some of the more rural and remote areas will I occasionally not be certain of where I’ll be staying on a given night.
Today, Saturday, December 12, I will arrive at the Scott’s Valley home of the hospitable Couchsurfing hosts Peter and Jana Thomsen, who have offered to give me a ride from town to their off-the-route home, saving me unnecessary miles on foot. They’ve invited me to join them on a Christmas Party night; they’ve alerted local friends of my impending arrival, and some would like to walk a ways with me as I leave Sunday for Santa Cruz; I’m told that some neighborhood kids will join. One of their friends has even offered to make me some healthy snacks for the road. Ian has offered to host me in Santa Cruz, Sharon in Salinas, and Robert in Carmel…
It’s my hope that Couchsurfing.org, the world’s greatest travel secret, continues to blossom wildly, spreading far and wide, to all unfilled corners of the globe. (This is my effort to help expose it from its secrecy!) Far beyond being the hands-down most economical way to travel, your experience of the brightest side of people will quickly strengthen (or restore) your faith in humanity as you savor some of the world’s greatest and most personable hospitality from complete “strangers…”
I can’t wait till I have the chance to host!

“Don’t I know you?” may be expected on the rare occasion that we don’t immediately line up a comprehensive memory to match a familiar face. Only now, I seem to never be finding the most polite way to actually ask the question, despite ironically being affected by feelings of familiarity on a regular basis.
Of the countless surprises that I never could have imagined before the walk began, I’m finding that as enlightening conversations take place with new faces every day, that more and more often, so many of these “new” people feel very familiar to me. Typically, when familiarity is felt with someone, your familiarity with them is often echoed back as they find familiarity with you as well, and if neither one can immediately recall from where, you can go about tracking down the connection together– figuring out when you both attended the same school, the time you were both invitees to the same party, or the people that you both jointly know.
If it weren’t for the fact that I can tell by so many of their faces that they’re clearly meeting me for the first time, I would be trying to track down the how-do-we-know-each-other connection with these “familiar” faces as well.
This phenomenon began in Canby, when I met Mike and Wilma. I had never met them, but both agreed to host me for the evening on my way through town (my first of many homestays via the Couchsurfing website). They arrived at my stopping point for the day to pick me up, and Mike emerged with a very warm, enthusiastic smile– as if he were seeing a good friend whom he hadn’t seen in years. (So, I guess this experience felt more like him recognizing me.) Little by little over the weeks, random others have felt familiar in a variety of ways, and then the sensation exploded into overdrive at the Green Festival, where I wore the WALKING ACROSS AMERICA signs, and a full family-reunion-sized flock of (new) familiar folks found me for conversations about the Walk. The Green Festival was when I really started to notice this phenomenon for what it is.
There could be various explanations for the familiarity of the new faces. Modern psychology may perhaps approach it with some insipid explanation like: “The trauma endured as a child combined with the acute physical and mental distress endured on a daily basis due to this aggressively abnormal transnational ambulatory undertaking has resulted in the irrational, unpredictable ability to discern familiar from unfamiliar, friend from foe, and brother from barfly…” or something. Those with their heads submerged into metaphysics texts might postulate that I’m simply running into people with whom I already associate with daily in parallel worlds– perhaps on the planet Heberton. Some Eastern religions may tell me that I used to polish their shoes in 16th century Macedonia. I have no clue who is right, or why– but just as I find myself overcome at times with the beauty of a rugged landscapes, cloudscapes, plants and wildlife without being well versed in geology, meteorology, or biology, I simply enjoy these beautiful, magical daily encounters for the excellent experiences that they are…
Despite any amount of planning for the pilgrimage, I’m finding the beauty of the completely unexpected presenting itself to me every day…

I figured it would be fun to share one of the many random positive experiences that come about of the days on the road. I received this message late yesterday, as I was making my way through Menlo Park and on to Palo Alto:
Just saw you make your way past the Starbucks in Menlo Park, CA. The entire shop immediately visited enjoythewalk.org (blame our cushy lives in temperate CA weather and the sudden cold snap for our not joining you).
You’ve got about 12 caffeine-fueled folks cheering you on. Enjoy the walk, and keep spreading your awesome message!
– Andrew (& Starbucks patrons)
MY RESPONSE:
It’s great to hear from you Andrew– thanks for writing!!
Admittedly, especially when I’m out on those long rural stretches, every last passing car-horn honk of support is helpful. I receive messages like yours on my phone, and when moments get particularly rough (rarely), these words are very uplifting…
Take Care & Best Wishes,

George