1999 August

On the way to Centerville for breakfast I crossed the longest covered bridge in Michigan, 282 feet I think. A leisurely breakfast ride along county roads. My road ends and I wander South and West on back ways to White Pigeon, Michigan. Improvisational navigation is fun when it works. Then I picked up 131, 20, and 15 to Goshen. It’s early so I scope out the town and call Nathan in Chicago, agreeing to meet Thursday at noon in Rogers Park. I spend some time in the library, then go to meetAunt Hilda. She is in 88 years old, mostly smile. We eat hot rolls, potatoes, carrots, and corn, then wonderful blueberry pie for dessert. I sleep like a baby in the hide-a-bed.

I left Ralph’s house just after the kids took off for school. It was cold. Settled down in Delton for breakfast. A nice long, lazy, breakfast. Contacted the Hilda to announce my arrival tomorrow, Nathan to find out if he’s road trippin to Goshen to meet me. Maybe.

On the ride to Galesburg I thought my ride would make a terrible book. I felt the opposite of drama-total, quiet, blissful peace. Just sun, flowers by the road, parks, almost no traffic. My mind even got quiet for a while. There was no hurry, so I let it last.

I decided to check Billy’s bike shop in Galesburg. Billy is a trip. He has a fast southern Texas patter that is full of well earned cycling knowledge. He refers to me as son and seems determined to make sure my bike is running smooth and sweet before I leave his shop. He takes a tire off a bike on the floor for me. I decide to take the opportunity to replace worn out shoes and toe clips with some clipless pedals. Billy sets me up with just what I want. Talking the whole time about is mountain bike team, hunting in Wyoming, injuries and doctors, and local politics. I only catch about 80 percent of the words flying by, but benefit from those. Billy takes pictures of me trying out the new gear. As I leave he tosses me a pair of new socks off the rack. A guess he noticed me washing my dirty old ones in his bathroom. He comes out twice with parting words of advice. What a guy.

It’s getting on in the day when I reach Scotts, and tentatively scout for a place to overnight. Nothing too good, so I ride another hour or so to Mendon. Scouting again, I see some possibilities. There are two kids jumping off a bridge over the St. Joseph River, and I join them. They tell me about another park. Then I stop in the police station/village center, meet the mayor, and about everybody there offers to let me stay in their yard. The mayor gives me permission to sleep in the park. Feeling happy from all the friendliness, I stop at Red’s sandwich and ice cream shop and have a burrito. Then Red invites me to stay behind his place, a nice little spot on the river with a deck and picnic tables. I have some ice cream to celebrate. Then I meet Stephen, who is fishing from beach below. He has a childlike simplicity about him. He shows me how to fish with a worm, we watch the bats as the sky goes from red to black.

I woke up to a clear, chilly morning and a wet sleeping bag. Decided to adventure down the paved bike trail I found last night. A guy working by it said it went all the way to Big Rapids, so I decided to cruise there for breakfast. I ended up riding quite a few miles in Big Rapids: across the Muskegon River and down 20 a ways to a big boy, back to the trail, down the trail to 20, where the pavement ended, and back up 20 past the big boy again to get back on my touring route. During all this I ran into one guy twice who has lived in 49 out of 50 states and wanted me to give my story to the local paper. I considered it, but I’d had enough riding around.

A fun adventure of changing road names, trying to get back on route. For a while I thought I was headed for a point only half a mile from where I left the route the night before. Of course I had made some progress-the road names were just different until I crossed the county line. For while I chanted like a maniac:

Amazing! The American maze!

Entres Vous, the American maze!

A flag on every flag pole!

A Patriot behind every bush!

… someday someone will call the police.

In Hardy Dam I reach Ralph Blocksma on the phone. Foolishly I say I’ll be their around 5 or 6, only three or four hours away, and he agrees to meet me. I then look at my map more closely and I realize I’ve over 80 miles to go. Feeling feisty, rather than calling to revise my estimate I start to pedal like hell. I enjoy my workout, first through bucolic farmland then lake getaways.

After a couple hours I stop for a quick lunch and hot fudge brownie sundae. Then off again. At 6:30 I’m almost there. I call Ralph and meet him near Middleville. He shows up in a bright yellow 1939 Chevy truck, spotless. He looks really familiar.

At their little house I’m greeted by Ralph’s wife Beth (also familiar) in a T-shirt and swim suit bottoms, sons Matt and John, and neighbors and friends Don and Linda Schaefer. Don thoroughly bores me for a few minutes until his wife takes pity on me and leads him away. I try not to notice that Beth is quite attractive in her T-shirt. Matt is instantly likable, 15. John is aloof, 11? Doug is at his band practice, 17. I swim, Matt drives me around the lake in their boat, when I remember I’ve been here before. Camp Manitou-lin is just down the lake, where I was a junior counselor at 14, 13 years ago.

It’s a casual family night. I make a sandwich, talk to people one by one while the Denver-Dallas game plays on TV. Ralph updates me on his brother and sisters expressing his lack the wealth by emphasizing theirs. He seems a bit melancholy, resigned to it. Aware that his house is small, his to toys are old. The recipients of all sorts of hand me downs. I hope also aware that he has a smart energetic and loving family with a sincerity of speech in manner that is rare in this country. All of them. I even meet Doug in the morning, and watch him round up his brothers and take them to school. They all take care of each other.

The real struggles are what make this trip interesting. The beginning of the day would bore anyone-I just enjoyed myself. Had a yummy breakfast with Dewey and Sandy. (I almost sharked the bill, but Dewey came back just in time and snatched it away. ) I rode into the beautiful day. Stopped in a beautiful park for a banana, and to get the next chapter’s news of expatriate Jake Barnes’ longing for the lady Ashley. Then a nice conversation with Dad. Then, for some reason, I bought a pizza that I didn’t really want. Read more Hemingway while I ate it.

I didn’t make it too far down the road before I felt the pizza gut strike. I seem to get these sudden bouts of the runs whenever I eat pizza against my better judgment. I was relieved at least I was on a nearly trafficless road. I threw the bike into the bushes, ducked in myself, squatted, and began the ordeal. It was an oddly beatific experience. I felt safe and strangely comfortable in my chosen spot, with the sun caressing the maples and the traffic on nearby 37 seemed away behind the hill. I stayed there for half an hour before I was able to go on. Gently at first, then back to normal.

I struggled again looking for a place to overnight. I started the search at about 6:30. Momentum carried me past some promising spots. The ones I did stop to investigate had problems-A house too close, too overgrown, too close to the road, etc.. I resolved a few times to stop at a house and ask if I could sleep on the lawn. But I didn’t like the looks of the people saw. Maybe I was just too timid. Finally, at 8:30, getting dark, I stopped to talk to some folks at a township house on the road, hoping they’d invite me to camp there. No, they directed me to a county campground four miles away. I didn’t want to reject their advice in their face, so off I went, back the way I came, then to Paris Michigan. Now it was dark. The park was 11 dollars, and I didn’t like the looks of it. But there was a bike path running by that looked very nice. Didn’t have to follow it for very long before the path broke off into the trees, leading to a flat grassy spot. I rolled out the bag under the stars.

I fell in love with Dewey’s porch today. I could have easily spent the entire day in it’s cool confines fast off half, reading and thinking while the light spills confines himself down through the Beech wood’s canopy, down to the bridges and finally the dog wood. Of course there is art in every corner and nook. Dewey makes lots of pieces with some screened in enclosures that hold ideas - on the porch you feel like you are an idea clambering around in one of his pieces.

Of course I didn’t stay there all day. Dewey and Sandy took me to their favorite places to eat, shop, and ogle art. Our course was sometimes at the mercy of garage and real estate signs, where Dewey and Sandy would sift through rooms of objects and prices with expert minds, making part of their living. As they say, they are in the object business.

Sandy was as I remember, very present but almost painfully quiet. She does, however, extend the confidence of ownership in her domain. Somehow I sense that she’s in indispensable for holding all this together.

Dewey’s good-bye the next morning is awkward as usual, whereas sandy gives me a sincere-feeling hug, she’s a really sorry to see me go. I regret not probing a little more to get a better feel for who she is.

Slept late, feeling secure in my spot on a disused railroad bed by a stream where a bridge once stood. Cooked oatmeal on the remains of the bridge.

Got reacquainted with the hills into Traverse City. My bike tire was back ordered, and had not arrived. I found Dewey’s sculpture and appreciated the succinctly titled “River Guardian”. She truly is the image of a guardian, from the different perspectives one might view a guardian.

A cyclist from Georgia named Jeff came in the Subway while I ate and introduced himself. Again-the relief of someone interested in the tour and not the bike. I joined him while he waited for his tofu, and gave him my copy of “On the road. ”

He alerted me to a book about a perimeter tour-”Changing gears,” and recommended “Miles from nowhere. ”

At the Interlochen bookstore I’m unable to find these, so I pickup “The Sun also rises” as this has popped into my experience numerous times the summer.

It’s hot and so humid - working up the last Hill before Beulah I’m drenched in sweat. Down and down, all the way into crystal lake. I dive again and again to the bottom to study the sand while the luscious water soothes me. I groan with pleasure at the surface.

Not hard to find Dewey’s, and soon I’m frolicking in his universe of ideas.

A stuttering goodbye-at last when I am on the boat and Mom on the dock we both run out of words. We wave and part.

I read and wander the boat with hungry eyes, looking for someone to talk to. No one interests me. All day I feel the fierce need to connect with someone. It’s not to be. The fear returns the same as in Martinez, California and washes over me. I’m on my own again. I savor it.

I make the unfortunate decision to stop the park in rapid City for dinner. A lightning storm soon descends and I retreat to a shelter. At one point I look up and lightning strikes right in front of me, maybe one hundred yards away. I watch the bolt flash 6 times,then disintegrate into stars as the crack rips the air. Never seen that before.

Finished “On the road. ” Some of the spirit of Dean Moriarty has been added to my journey. He reminds me of Russell Pochop. I feel I’m discovering both this same country and different, both more on my own terms and less. More sane, and madder by far

Days of lovliness and comfort and being taken care of by Mom. I still feel active and productive, but the days whiz by. We get mom on-line, I tune the bike, packages are assembled, store customers attended to, e-mail sent, calls and plans made. Lots of home cooked food made and eaten. Good, restful days.

Today I feel a new vitality flowing through me. I think of things to do & act on them all day. My vision feels clear. Perhaps I’ve caught some of Mom’s mental state, & this is how she produces so much beautiful stuff. Everything seems as it should be.

Mostly I do my chores, but also I feel moved to take a vigorous swim, solve my camera problem (or start to), start to solve my tire problem, & glue all sorts of magical figures from Mary’s toy store all over my bike.

Of course there is grand eating & the longed for comfort of a juicy movie over dinner & beer. Aaah.

Another homecoming. I realized I was really looking forward to visiting Mom as the 25 miles to Charlevoix seemed to stretch to 50. Stumbled into the strange carnival vision of wealth called Bay Harbor, under construction. Huge buildings of copper, and an Inn like a Victorian mansion on steroids, a man-made harbor & doc on the inland side. Most unreal to imagine all of it populated.

Ate while I waited for the ferry, then read & slept on the ride. Seemed to see Mom & her house with new eyes, she’s surrounded by treasures that reflect her heart & productivity. She’s always a little unsure of things when I visit, but for once I feel sure enough for both of us. We go mushrooming & I get a sense of the wooded trails where she spends afternoons discovering the strange world of fungi.

I see my pictures from earlier in the trip & realize that I must continue to take photographs. I’m happy with the results of many of my experiments.

I fall asleep after reading my birthday letter from Dad. It’s a true treasure. It makes me feel unique & special to be the only son in the universe to have such a letter.