Summer of 1991 I lived on my brother’s couch in Hawaii. He was stationed there with the Marines, and I leeched off of him for an amazing tropical summer. One week I flew to Maui for an incredible solo bike tour on the cheap. Each day was its own magnificent adventure, but right now I want to share snapshots from the nights.

Night 1: Because the sunrise atop Haleakala is sublime as the road to its peak is steep, I rent a car, with a trunk big enough to fit a fully assembled bicycle inside. The backseat is big enough to sleep in, so I spend my first night in the parking lot of the Food Land grocery store in Pukalani. About 3 am, a police officer knocks on the window to tell me to move along. It’s time to head up to the park anyway, so I drive off to catch the sunrise before hiking into the crater for a few hours before returning my luxury bedroom to Hertz.

Night 2: Somewhere at the south end of the growing condo stretches of Wailea, I find a completed construction slab, which is a nice place to eat, but too hard and visible for sleeping. Further out in the waist high grass, I find a six foot wide trampled circle, which is perfect for sleeping. I stretch out as the stars ignite above me. About 3 am, a group of wild pigs snorts and tussles out there in the grass, complaining that I am in their bed. I eat my breakfast on the condo-crete floor before heading further south to a lava field where the word “road” gets a serious redefinition.

Night 3: After an exhausting day of black lava rock, carrying my bike, and the glorious sensation of fresh pineapple stinging my dehydration cracked lips, I use my cell phone to check in with Jim, and watch the sun set just outside Maui Wine. When it gets dark enough, I cross the road, toss my bike over the wire fence, and curl up in a drainage ditch by the roadside. About 3 am, a group of cows comes by to investigate this strange object by the tree. Their wet noses are the scariest thing that will happen to me the entire trip. 

Night 4: After the Most GLORIOUS downhill ride of my life, where I spend all the potential energy I had stored up the previous day, I coast all the way through Kahului without seeming to peddle and keep going to Iao Needle State Park. By sneaking off the trail at closing time, I have the entire place to myself. I find a huge bush to hide myself and my bicycle under as the sky slowly fades through purple to black. About 3 am, every mosquito on Maui comes to investigate the rumor that a single warm human has stayed after sunset. 

Later that morning, I become some airline passenger’s smelly tale titled “The world’s worst seatmate.”