The vast blue of the Pacific stretched for hours below us as we flew to the islands in its middle. Finally we caught sight of them, tiny patches of green showing between the clouds.

Kati and I were following a feeling to come here, and brought our teen-aged son, Marc. He wasn’t quite sure. . It didn’t make much sense, really. We landed on Kauai with a tent, sleeping bag and five hundred dollars each. The rest of what we carried were the remains of our life in California. Our intention was to live on the isles, but we had no prospects and no plan. We just had the intuition.

Our feet on the ground, we rented a car for a couple of days and stored our suitcases. We would tent-camp. Then we learned that each campground was closed on a different day of the week. That meant we would have to move from one campground to another. The purchase of used bicycles took more than half our money in exchange for mobility.

A friendly camper showed us how to split off the husk of a coconut with an ax. Not bad! We could do that. But the next day the rains came. Unusual for this time of year, people said. Every day it rained. And we had to pack up every few days and bicycle to another campground, in the rain. We were soaked to the skin, our gear was soggy and still it rained.

For more than a week the tropical rainclouds released their burden on us, every day. With our money running low we decided to fly to the Big Island of Hawai’i. The friendly camper gave us a ride in the back of his pick-up to the airport and I gifted him with a leather attaché case.

Stepping from the plane in Kona was like stepping into another world from Kauai. The sun was shining, the air was moved by a warm breeze. It was dry! Locals told us about a campground near the airport, and that is where we headed for our first evening. We were delighted to sleep on black lava beds under stars that spoke to us as they sparkled. Already we were feeling the magic of the island.

We learned about a free campground thirty miles north called Spencer Park and saddled up the next morning for the ride. We had jettisoned all extras on Kauai and now carried only large backpacks, weighing over forty pounds each. It was hot and dry here, and our water bottles were soon empty.. We counted on finding water on the way. Surely there would be a gas station on the main road up the coast!

But no, the road was mostly cut through lava fields and quite barren of any buildings. With our heavy loads, how would we make it in this heat?

Then we saw that the highway was closed to cars. We learned this was for the Ironman Triathlon. A steady stream of lean cyclists pedaled south as we pedaled north. Athletes shouted comments about our heavy loads. To Marc, one said, “You’re a bad dude, man!” and gave him a “thumbs up.” Later, when my pen of poetry began flowing, I wrote the story in a rhyme:

Ironman Triathlon

We were attracted by a feeling to the islands in the sea,
and knew that for a time it was our place to be.

We went first to Kauai, the old and Garden Isle,
rainforests wet and green go on for mile and mile.

We had our packs and tents but not so many bucks.
A week of camp in rain and we were three wet ducks.

With backpacks and our bicycles we flew from sand to sand,
to the Big Island of Hawai’i, known as the healing land.

All this was new experience for Kati, Marc and I,
and we enjoyed the heat of the October island sky.

We pedaled our bikes north, all belongings on our backs,
with no water carried on us, not aware of all the facts.

We thought there would be stations along the desert way,
on the thirty mile stretch to camp at Spencer Bay.

The Kona heat was awesome as was the weight we carried,
and it seemed that in the desert our bodies would be buried.

There were no stations here, no place to quench our thirst,
we saw the wisdom now of finding it out first.

But as fate would have it, on the coastal highway,
the annual triathlon was pedaling south, our way.

For along the desert highway people stood with Gatorade
to support the super athletes, and that is how we made

the trek of thirty miles for as we passed the stands,
supporters put the Gatorade into our grateful hands.

Before we left the western shores of America, Kati and I felt an inner confirmation that the Hawaiian islands were an essential stop on our path. This magical welcome allowed that feeling to expand, and we basked in the glow of it.