Wednesday, June 30, 2010

A New Friend: Catching An Adventure

A few days back--in Estherville, IA, to be exact--Matt noticed a guy with a bike on the front page of the newspaper. He was getting water from the fountain machine and looking for a good excuse not to go back outside, lest he need to start riding again. He took up the paper and began reading. What he saw was that a young man from Ireland, age 23, named Leon Mccarron

was riding across the United States as well. Leon was also raising money for wells in Africa, and he was traveling roughly the same route. Matt thought it would be cool to catch him, but didn't think it likely.

Two days later coming into Mitchell, SD we saw a figure pull out onto the road riding a bike that looked like the one from the newspaper--if nothing else we figured they had the same bike.

OK. I know when you're writing you're supposed to stay on topic, but let me interject to tell you another story: we were riding along between Spirit Lake and Sioux Falls when Matt stopped staring at the ground while he was pedaling and looked across the field beside him. He noticed he was passing a tent off to the side of the highway. He figured that had to be Leon. Who else camps in a tent on the side of a busy highway in the middle-of-nowhere Iowa?

"Leon, Leon?" he yelled.

"some sort of grunting noise"

"Leon?"

A hand pops out. then a shaggy head of hair. then...a woman emerged. She might have been some sort of hobo. And she had a nice bike, it seemed. But it wasn't Leon.

OK. Back to the original story. We see this guy a couple miles out of Mitchell, SD. We figure it's Leon--a guy we've only read and heard about. A guy we don't know for sure won't try to kill us.

So the excitement is mounting as we get closer and closer. And it continues to mount.

And then we get close enough to yell his name and he turns around. It's Leon.

We instantly got along swimmingly. Matt called the family who was supposed to host us that night and asked if the guy they had just met on the street could come stay the night too.

"Sure!" the Host said.

And so all four of us all went into perhaps the most trusting and respectable family's home to eat and shower and sleep. We actually had a lovely time getting to know each other. As we've continued to travel with Leon he has inspired each of us, and been a lot of fun in general. He's in the process of pedaling across the US, around New Zealand, Australia and into Asia as far as he can make it until his budget runs out. He's originally from Northern Ireland. Check him out at www.leonmccarron.com. We'll probably ride with him into Yellowstone National Park, at which point he needs to go north to get to Seattle a bit before we do.

Tuesday, June 29, 2010

The "F" word and almost getting hit: An Inside Joke

I was kind of surprised. Well, no, not surprised. We had at least a few people do that to us each day. And each time they did it I wondered why they would do something like that. The only difference was that Andy almost got hit by the guy who was going at least 70 MPH across the shoulder-less bridge. Sure the guy swerved a bit into the other lane, but the Pontiac coming the other way was not happy that he had to leave the road to avoid a head on collision. His insistent honking communicated that. The guy speeding past in the Dodge Ram honked back. A long, hard, kind of annoying honk. It was the middle of the day, but I couldn't help but wonder if he had been drinking. Happy hour, perhaps.

So after he almost killed Andy, almost collided head on with the guy he ran off the road, the guy in the truck decided he had caused about as much chaos as he could with his gas pedal. So he hit the brakes. In an intense effort to make himself look more like an upstanding citizen he swerved to the side of the road to proceed to tell us what we were doing wrong.

And I know it's no good to make fun of people who irritate you, but I have to mention that the saying that "guys who drive big trucks are trying to make up for something" came to mind as soon as he used the steps to climb down from the Dodge Ram. He immediately raised his arms, and--now standing about 5 feet 5 inches tall--spouted something that resembled this:

"What the F--- are you guys doing in the middle of the F---ing road" (at this point Andy wisely understood that it would be unwise to point out to the man that technically we were single file along the side of the road--and that he was easily going 70 in a 55) "You guys are F---ing supposed to be single file on the road..." (at this point he seemed to have realized a few different things: 1. he might have realized that if we were as easily provoked as he was the fight would be 3 on 1--not good odds for him; 2. he might have seen me holding the flip camera getting ready to film him; 3. he might encountered one of those moments when you're mind is racing so fast and you're going and going and then all the sudden you hit this blank and don't really no what to say even though you know you haven't really finished the thought, I'm not sure. So he proceeded in a fashion I could only assume was consistent with his personality: humorous to those observing at the time and humorous to him the next weekend after a few cold ones) "F--- (pause for thought) everyone knows that." We could all see the rage leaving him.

Andy: "Sorry." I think he started fiddling with his fingers, not really knowing how to respond to something like that.

The man then took the opportunity to quickly get in his truck and drive away. The inside joke: "f---, everyone knows that." remains.

Friday, June 25, 2010

Tragedy is Uncontrollable

A few weeks ago we sat on a hill in Schuykill County, Pennsylvania. The county commissioner came out and offered us some water. As the conversation progressed we learned that his neighbor and three other young men had began a ride across the United States a week earlier. He showed us a newspaper article. It looked pretty cool. The ride wasn't much different than our own.

Today the host family we're staying with in Britt, Iowa let us know about a tragedy that happened in Laguna, New Mexico:

John Anczarski--one of the riders--was involved in a serious accident in Laguna, New Mexico and has passed away from serious trauma to the head. Rest In Peace. To support the Anczarski family in this difficult time you can send checks to:

John Anczarski
111 Valley Hill Road
Ashland, PA 17921


Check out their blog, pray, or send money to support the family (moving the body across state lines is rather expensive).

Also, continue to pray for our safety as we continue our journey. Like we posted a few days ago--it really isn't possible to control our safety as we bike along the roads of the United States.

Here is the Mississippi River...and my finger.


Morgan and Matt sleeping. Andy being annoying.

We learn a little something everyday.

When we were in Chicago we had some deep dish pizza. This pizza was so good it only took one to fill all three of us up!

We crossed the Mississippi into Iowa. Here is the proof.

Here is our cottage! What a blessing this was.

Speachless.

Patrick MacDonald makes some great pancakes!

We stayed in some folks cottage in Dubuque, IA. They had mega marshmellows! Almost as big as a normal size cell phone.

Anyone seen Into the Wild? This is the magic bus!

A nice bit of Iowa countryside. The only piece of Iowa not covered in corn.


We stopped to smell the roses at this rather large rose garden. The caretaker ended up being more interesting than the roses. Our camera died so we only got a picture of the sign and one rose bush...

We passed about 500 of these puppies today. These wings are 80 feet long and they cost 1 millionn dollars a piece to build. They also probably provide much of Iowa with energy. The wind really blows out here!


We have seen a whole lot of these gas stations and stores across the midwest. They have become a part of our journey.

Dubuque to Cedar Rapids: A Holy Couple of Hours

The people (was it the irish?) who came up with that old blessing "...may the wind always be at your back..." really knew what they were talking about. The wind was from the SW on our way to Cedar Rapids. We were heading SW. It was a lovely combination. Pause. Pause. NOT (Borat, anyone?)

Well, I mean it wasn't too bad. We actually met some really nice people who were riding around Iowa--they were a group that had branched off from RAGBRAI (just check out the site, it's really cool. Every state should have one.) about 36 years ago. The founder was 83 this year. He's still riding. Anyway, they told us about a monestary about three miles off the road we were on: I pointed to the huge building we could see that looked like a monestary and asked if it was it. "No, it's about three miles down the road." "ok, we'll go check it out." The guy was really nice--they all were (about 18 riders in all)--but we couldn't help but wonder why he didn't think the only huge building in a skyline of corn and soybeans wasn't the monestary...So we rode maybe a mile and a half to the front door of the New Mellary Abbey.

We walked in and no one was around. After we looked around--Andy and Morgan were yelling at Matt for exploring the dormitories and other clearly private parts of the Abbey, but no one was around--we did end up finding someone who showed us to the mid-day service.

Matt had a spiritual renewing experience:
"It was good to "feel" God again. After spending so much time in contemporary worship settings (both the music and the messages) I began to grow indignant, irritated, and resentful in general. I became very disconnected from the emotionally charged atmosphere that contemporary worship music easily creates. I was only able to observe, analyze, and wonder what was actually going on in many of the individuals around me. Sitting in the brothers' worship space and listening to them chant prayers and sit in silence allowed for a lot of personal reflection and prayer. And though it was not a very emotional experience, it was good to think that God was still accessible, if only through a different social experience."

Matt seemed to enjoy the experience the most. He then proceeded to weasel his way (everyone's way) into a free lunch at the Monestary despite Andy's initial desire to "just sit outside and eat granola on the bench."

We ate with a lady who was visiting a monk she grew up with. She was very pleasant, though even she couldn't hide the resentment she had for Iowa's humidity. I wondered if she cursed at the wind and the heat and the humidity like I did when she went up hills. She seemed interesting (or is the word I'm looking for Passionate. Yes) enough to have cursed at something recently. It was the humidity.

She told us about a giant road trip she was on--Arizona to Colorado (to stay at another Monestary) to Iowa to Chicago to Cleveland to Toronto, and then back to Arizona. She was recently let go as a nanny--the husband lost his job. She had plenty of time to do as she pleased. I wouldn't mind being like that when I get to be her age.

And then we left. Let me re-phrase that. And then we made the worst decision of the week. We decided to take the back roads instead of the main highway (151 S). The hills were left un-dynamited, the wind was bad, the pavement was often badly in need of repair, and at least 30 miles were added onto our journey--all thanks to the back roads. Also, at one point Andy wasn't paying attention and ran into Matt's back tire. Genius. Andy fell over. Matt just stared at him in disbelief and disgust. How does that happen? We don't know--but matt's fender was ruined, for the day, at least.

Andy fixed it the next morning.

Anyway, the library is closing. More details to come.

Thursday, June 24, 2010

Afolkey to Dubuque: The Adventure begins.

It was surprising when we realized we were going to be in Wisconsin all the way from Afolkey, IL to Iowa. Mostly it was surprising because we didn't anticipate going through the hill-country that is Southern Wisconsin. It was also surprising because it was a state we didn't know we'd be in. And did I mention it was hilly?

All those hills started to get tiring. About the time the Mississippi rolled around we weren't feeling up to the 40 mile trek through more hills (no matter what anyone who grew up in Iowa tells you, Iowa is not flat;) so we stopped in Dubuque, Iowa--right on the Mississippi. We figured we would let the adventure begin.

We went to the first church we could find and knocked. And knocked. And knocked. It was kind of soft, gentle knocking--you know, the kind that whispers "I'm willing to come in any time you open the door." No one answered. We figured they were closed or they couldn't hear us.

The next church opened right up--a lady was walking out of what we thought was the wall of the church as we were trying to figure out which door to knock on. She looked a bit startled. I figured she caught a glimpse of my chest hair so I zipped my riding jersey all the way up and stuttered out something about getting help finding a place to stay because we were riding across the country and weren't feeling well. As we were white guys that had enough money to not look scary, she told us she was "for [y]our cause" and went to get the pastor.

The pastor said we couldn't stay in the church because the security system would go off--at this point it's important to note that Andy almost started yelling about how the church was spending its money--anyway, they referred us to a Catholic Worker House down the street.

The Catholic worker folk seem to be really cool. Kind of like Shane Claiborne only not quite as religious and putting up with more addictive behavior. Basically anyone can come live for any amount of time. It's a community. The first one was started in 1933, I believe, and it was open to anyone. Naturally, a bunch of addicted individuals showed up and drove the people running the house crazy. I'm not sure that they made any rules about it though. Some houses since then (there are over 180 houses now) have made rules about sobriety and addiction--it's really hard to live in a community with someone who is addicted to something--but some haven't and are still allowing anyone to come live for as long as they like. It's an interesting approach to living in community.

Me and the guy talked for quite a while. Here's a reenactment of the conversation:

Here's something I've noticed about living in community--and religious things in general:

It's sort of popular. Lots of young people really like the idea. Well, I might even venture to say that its young people who don't already have a close community around them that long for such a thing. I've noticed that when people are happy with their friends they don't necessarily go looking for new ones. Anyway. So religious folk like the idea of serving their deity--via the poor and the neighborhood, etc--by having a great time sitting around the fire drinking beer, coming up with clever ways to gain the community's support, and getting enough of a part-time job to pay what bills may need to be paid. Don't forget, living in community often means living in poverty. Then they give it a shot and it's not quite like they pictured it. The homeless people they thought would be sort of edgy and hip, at least to work with, are actually pretty psychologically messed up--sometimes in very dull ways--and don't do much more than try to use the nice middle-class kids who are giving poverty a try. The people they're living with don't think the way they do, try to date their ex-girlfriends, and sometimes leave too many dirty dishes in the sink. I think living in community can sometimes be a good example of the way that religious things are made to look a lot more fulfilling, a lot easier, a lot different than they actually are. They're romanticized. They're glamorized.

On the other hand sometimes secular things aren't glamorized in the same way. Sometimes people just like to live with other people because they've ruined all their other relationships via heroin addiction. Sometimes secular things are also glamorized. Have you noticed the media lately?

Are distinctions necessary, or are we just talking about humanity in general? Yes.

I kind of wished we could have just talked with those people all night. However, one of the ladies who was cooking dinner took pity on us. She asked if we wanted to stay in her cottage on a lake nearby. I wasn't sure if we looked naive or pretty drained or if she was just being really nice. Regardless, we took her up on it. Not thirty minutes later we were watching movies in her air-conditioned cottage over-looking a beautiful lake in Illinois. (It wasn't a half a mile from the river).

Andy said he hoped he could be as free with his possessions and resources throughout his life as they were with theirs.

A Road-side stop

I stopped by the side of the road, hot, sweat dripping down my sunglasses, and swung my leg over the seat. Instead of laying my bike down and going to the weeds I simply leaned my weight back on the cross bar. I pulled down my riding shorts and started to pee. The cars on the highway, not more than 3 feet behind me, felt good as I stared into the thick Illinois maple trees that made up the foliage beside the highway. The woods were thick. Movement attracted my eyes to the base of a tree right in front of me. A rabbit darted to and fro between the tree trunks. I was pleased with the natural nature of my stop. I grabbed a granola bar and mounted my bike. Only 50 more miles.

A glimpse of a road-side stop. They're quite common on our daily journeys. They often allow us to notice things we didn't notice on our bikes. And so we're wondering: what if we all allowed our schedules to be interrupted once in a while and took time to notice something. Just try stopping your car on the side of the high way one time on the way home from work and noticing the trash on the side of the road. Inspect it. And see what it teaches you.

A Quick Update

Since leaving Afolkey Illinois on Monday things have been great despite not going as planned. We rode from Afolkey into Wisconsin and then into Iowa. We ran into more hills than we expected and decided to stay in Dubuque rather than ride up to Guttenburgh. We had to find a place to stay on short notice. We ate dinner at a homeless shelter and ended up staying in a womans cottage right on the Mississippi River. She was serving the dinner at the homeless shelter and decided that we could use some real beds and a shower. Apparently we smelled.

The next day we had a very long ride to CedaR Rapids Iowa where we stayed in an appartment with a nephew of Tom and Pam Brey's. His name was Adam. Adam made us pizza and we had a nice visit before crashing on an air matress and futon (I don't know how you spell futon...).

The next day we set off expecting to reach Ames. The wind had different plans for us. We were riding into 30 mph winds all day. This made for average speeds of 8 mph. We only made it to Marshaltown (30 miles east of Ames), but this was a blessing in itself. The father of our host in Ames lives in Marshaltown so she just had a nice excuse to visit and brought dinner to Marshaltown. We all had a great night and even some homemade ice cream! God works in his own ways and we have been pleased to be a part of that.

Today we ride to Ames where we will spend some time with an old friend. Patrick Mac is studying at Iowa State and we will spend the evening with him.

Keep Praying. It seems to be of the highest importance.

Saturday, June 19, 2010

An update from Dixon: Hell, War, Wind and Water

The bed was a lot like the bed the princess slept on--except it didn't have a pea somewhere deep inside of it. It was up against a wall of glass. The lights that make up the South Loop of Chicago light up the entire room. It was like sleeping in the city...It was sleeping in the city.

Then I woke up and realized we had 115 miles to ride. But that seemed sort of average, so I stayed in bed for another half-hour.

We got a bit of a late start, but it wasn't any later than 10 a.m. when we finally took off. All the radio stations were mentioning that it was over 90 degrees--Fahrenheit, that is. One even informed me that it was as hot as hell outside. I was kind of surprised. I mean I haven't been to hell before, but it seemed kind of mild compared to what I had heard. Maybe I was mostly surprised that she had been to hell before and I hadn't heard of her. I'm actually thinking about doing a ride across hell next summer to raise money for Ben Hinn's ministries. Turns out the average temperature down there is about 97 degrees, but sometimes it does get down to the eighties though.

Getting out of the city was slow (with all the lights), hot (with the sun and the humidity), and an experience in what appeared to be lower-and working-class religion (we passed a large number of Baptist temples and churches). Our heads were hurting from the heat and dehydration when we finally pedaled 40 miles to a Sam's Club to eat lunch (go to as many of the sample stands as many times as possible). While there we learned about a guy who was denied Vietnam war benefits because the US government wouldn't acknowledge that he was there. He was in the Special Ops and did all of his missions (23 to be exact) in Laos and Cambodia. The government won't acknowledge that they were in Laos or Cambodia during Vietnam. He doesn't get any benefits. He thinks very highly of the government.

We left with 24 more oatmeal bars. I tweeted it yesterday, but I'll mention it again: Sam's Club is easily one of the best things that small children around the world spend countless, thankless hours in dirty shops sweating to make possible for the fine overweight, oversaturated, over-stimulated human beings of America.

About 5 miles down the road we stopped at a stop sign to admire the beautiful storm clouds that were going to hit us.

A car pulled up: "Hey guys they're calling for 50 mile-an-hour winds." He pulled away. Why thank you sir.

Another car pulled up: "Hey guys they're calling for 60 mile-an-hour winds." She pulled away. Thank you ma'am.

And another: "Hey, they're calling for 75 mile-an-hour winds. You guys might want to find some cover or something." And promptly pulls away...Thanks.

At that point it was getting hard to ride. We all got blown off the road. Then the hail started.

Rain and wind (it was legitimately at least 50 mph) are bad, but hail really stings the sunburn. Morgan noticed his back tire felt kind of funny...It was flat.

We started walking through the hail. A red car pulled up beside us and asked if we wanted to go in their garage to wait out the storm. As we couldn't ride, and weren't exactly enjoying ourselves, we accepted. We spent the next 45 minutes in the garage changing the tire, eating oatmeal snacks, and getting geared up to ride another 65 miles in the rain. It was about 4:30 p.m. when we left.

Things weren't bad until about 20 miles later--Morgan got another flat tire. We had cleaned out the inside of the tire the first time. It didn't really make sense. We still aren't sure what happened. Another 30 minutes were spent changing the tire. Morgan wasn't real pleased at this point.

Five miles later we hit a patch of road where the IDOT people (not idiot, though we questioned that ourselves) had decided to grate a seven-mile stretch of road. Hemorrhoids, anyone? 'nough said.

About 4 miles into that stretch we saw what at first glance looked to be two tornadoes coming at us from across the field of corn. After staring for a few minutes we figured out if was actually two smoke stacks. Then we thought we saw a funnel starting to form. Luckily it dissolved before too long. But as we continued to ride along the grated road we watched the storm come right up on us and almost blow us off our bikes. Another storm with at least 50 mph winds. Footage of that should be up shortly.

The wind blew us about a couple miles down the road. We stopped at the first Casey's gas station we found. Someone suggested trying to stay at the Fire Department. They all seemed to suggest we not continue to ride. We obliged them and spent the next half hour looking at the selection of rental movies they had.

A half hour later we started the 20 mile trek to our next Host house. Riding at night was gorgeous. One million fire-flies lit up each field as we passed. Cars were few and far between. The rain was light. The temperature was mild. Life was good--except we were wet, kind of cold, and very hungry. We finally made it at 11 p.m. where we were greeted warmly, bathed, fed, and set up with comfort. Very Nice.

If I could sum up the ride for everyone, I would say this: It was probably a low point for Morgan, though he handles those quite well; It helped Andy realize some things about himself as a person--both good and bad; Matt enjoyed it all except for the first few hours when his head hurt because of the heat.

Thursday, June 17, 2010

We've finally arrived in Chicago. We're staying at a friend's apartment downtown. It's got a beautiful view of the river and is a few blocks down from the Willis Tower (previously known as the Sears Tower).

We noticed the roads in Gary were merely a series of potholes. They reminded me of the roads in Haiti. We just hope our wheels are still round tomorrow morning when we try to head to Dixon, IL. I suppose the area doesn't really have the money to pay for the roads, and the surrounding areas aren't exactly sympathetic. I mean it makes sense--poor areas mean poor roads regardless of whether any kind of government plays any role in it.

We've been walking around the city and have stopped at the public library to write this. We'll be kicked off in less than 2 minutes. More to come.

Wednesday, June 16, 2010


Easily the biggest steak I have ever seen... and ate.
Meet Dan Koch. Dan got us steak.


Talk about a spare tire!
This train was really long. We raced it.
The corn is growing. We have front row seats.

Matt and Morgan outside one of the many gas stations that has kept us hydrated.

Monday, June 14, 2010

Fort Wayne to Valpo: A Fearful Update

We've had many people wish us safety as we ride on the highways. We've had many people wish safety upon us in general. And so far we've been safe, but the trucks on our trip from Fort Wayne, IN to Chesterton, IN (near Valparaiso) certainly threatened our safety and mocked our irritability.

There was significant road construction on a five mile stretch of RT 30. Cones in the middle of the road forced traffic onto the shoulder. We were on the shoulder. There were many times an eighteen-wheeler came within a foot of us. One truck came much closer to me as I was not yet riding on the very side of the shoulder. I'm sure the driver could not see enough space between myself and his truck. I'm sure that he was not sure that he would not hit me. Yet he continued. I think they have a name for that--which brings me to my next point: our host for this evening recently got a tattoo of a donkey on his left butt cheek. He didn't hesitate to show us while we were eating 24 ounce steaks that he made for us in celebration of our arrival. Good man.

There were many more trucks than we had hoped on each road we turned on. We must have been on popular truck routes. And going into CST from EST at about 5 p.m. EST only meant that we were in rush-hour traffic for an extended period. It was lovely. It also made the point to us that while we can attempt to stay away from traffic in general--we do, it's quite unpleasant with so many loud engines blowing disgusting exhaust in your face--we can't really do much to save our own lives when it comes to getting hit. All it takes is for someone to drop the cell phone they're texting on, spill the coffee they're drinking, or drop a piece of the sandwich they're eating on their shirt and they could easily swerve to the side and take us out...And so we continue.

Such danger, however, is around everyone else all the time as well. And, as you're reading this, neither you nor I have managed to get ourselves into one of those "freak" situations in which the danger that seems to be lurking around any corner finally asserts itself and introduces one to a different kind of view on life. Or death. Depending on your paradigm. So we continue. Hopefully not in too much fear.

Well maybe. Fear might have a big role in the economy. Fear might be better. You know, the fear you aren't pretty enough. The fear your muscles aren't big enough. The fear you don't make enough money. The fear that you aren't smart enough, or that you won't amount to enough, or that you won't be able to win the game or girl or social event in a way that makes you feel like people want you. Or makes you feel like you're better than the people so it doesn't matter if they want you. The fear of rejection. Oh. Wait a second. I meant the fear that you'll be hurt, more in a physical sense. The fear that you might put yourself or someone you love in harms way and lose them forever. Kind of like not being good enough and therefore rejected, only in a more direct, more physical way. This also aides the economy--we buy the safest cars; spend money protecting our possessions from people we'd rather give the power to scare us than get to know; go to great lengths to insure ourselves and our possessions so that if someone does manage to pass our security systems and take a few parts of our life we'll maybe be able to get them back.

Without fear the economy might really go under. We need more fear, folks. Because if people began to be secure in their relationships, yet carried a God-like spiritual disconnection from the physical (and all that that implied about relationships), we would need a different sort of approach to capitalism altogether. If people were worried about showing others kindness instead of attaining certain things so as to be accepted--worried about giving instead of getting affirmation as a human--the economy would suffer. If we were not so jaded or calloused that we needed to prove ourselves above others the media would lose immediate effectiveness. If we held safety and comfort--emotional and physical--at a distance while fighting for it, well, that would just make things a whole lot harder--both economically and personally.

I'd prefer not to. I mean come on, is it really worth destroying/transforming the great power that is capitalism? I think I'll keep my insecurities. Thank you. And keep exploiting yours when I get the chance. Now donate to our cause. I'm going to eat.

Sunday, June 13, 2010

Just another update: Some stories

We've now arrived safely in Huntington, IN. We've been well fed by the people who have hosted us so far. We've also been well cared for in every other sense. It's been pretty easy so far, actually.

We think we're pretty close to meeting the needs of the second village.

We've been thinking, however, that the real adventure will start when we get into Iowa and don't know people anymore. In fact, the real adventure so far has come in meeting people along the way. So far they've been really nice (well, most of them: it seems like some people are wired to instinctively yell out some profanity each time they pass someone on the side of the road. It's proven entertaining. Ignorance is always bliss--and sometimes for those observing, too.).

Sam, for example, was a man who came up to us and asked if we needed some water. We had just finished climbing what might have been Ohio's biggest hill (about 25 yards long, not more than 50 feet high ;) and were stopping to call our next host and double check our route. We gladly agreed, even though we were running late. Sam came out with a green glass pitcher of cold well-water and filled up our bottles. It was good water. He also brought out a block of mozzarella cheese and a few bananas. He said we could stay as long as we wanted. I was pleased. We got to talking and came to found out that Sam was threw Tomahawks. I was more pleased. It didn't take much prodding to get him to grab them and take us out back into a clearing in his woods. He had three or four Tomahawk targets set up (depending on what you call a target; for example Andy insisted he was not a target, though I sometimes thought differently). He started tossing the Tomahawks--wwwhhhishhh, thunk. "You just have to let them slide out of your hand," he told us. And handed us the Tomahawks.





He was a pretty trusting guy. There might have been a look of regret on his face when Matt threw one at Andy. Luckily they weren't that sharp. It hit him in the leg and bounced off with only a minor bruise. Wait. What I meant to say was that, for a second, when Matt was pretending to throw the Tomahawk at Andy, Sam wasn't sure what to think. There we go. Nevertheless, we all ended up learning how to throw the Tomahawks swimmingly. A good time was had by all.


In Lima, OH we stopped for a festival--not something we usually do. Too much stopping guarantees that we ride after dark. And we did--ride after dark, that is. But not until we were vigorously warned not to go into "[Joe's Gyros]that F---ing place that charges $5 for an F---ing Gyro. No, go a block to the right and make the first right and you'll see a Kewpee. They've got the best D--- Hamburgers in Ohio. And all the beef is grown locally. None of that processed S---!"

I told him thanks. And mentioned that I couldn't have said it better myself. (I mean why do people use big words? Most of the time others don't even know what they mean. On the other hand, swear words grab peoples' attention. So I figure if you've got one or two swear words in each sentence you're bound to make people pay attention to at least half of each sentence. It's common sense. Come on now people.) I mean I'm not a fan of mass produced meat either. I mean unless it's right in front of me. (Don't worry Tyson, in good time I will cause you to change your ways.)

And off to Kewpee we went. I really had to pee. And they had a restroom! Well, or so it seemed. Turns out the Men had to use the bathroom outside. And by outside I mean in the parking lot. They expected the men to pee in the parking lot. Well, not really, but I did think they meant that. A lady at the drive through informed me that that's not what they meant--and one of the workers quickly came outside and showed me the bathroom: a small, freezer-looking, metal door that I had mistaken for, well, a freezer upon first glance. Nope. And as the employee informed me, the bathroom used to service only the minority folk. The building was built back in the 1920's--back when it was popular to physically illustrate your disdain for those with minority status. It was just a little hole in the wall. I mean do human beings in the minority of the population of a certain place deserve to breath the same air? Or be in the same space?

We haven't been to too many places that actively think so.

And one more story before I need to go eat again.

We were stopping for lunch again--by this point we just started asking people to sit under their trees while we ate. This couple invited us in. They fed us melons. They showed us their dogs. They pointed out that beer tastes really good. I wondered if I would still get into Heaven if I agreed. Then I wondered if my school would kick me out. Turns out I just graduated, and, having just spoken with God about the meal, remembered that he had mentioned some European monks in the 1100's who lived on their own brew. And so, after what probably seemed to her like a long, awkward pause, I agreed. I then proceeded to take a swig of the beer that I keep in my water bottle on long, hot, humid rides. Well. No. That part isn't true. But it is sort of funny to joke about when you've grown up in conservative evangelical circles.

And then. They showed us their dogs. Bob and Baby. Bob and Baby are dogs that compete nationally--and in prestigious competitions, no less. They compete in the long jump and the high jump, I believe. They've been on television. They're high rollers in the dog world, if you will. Basically it was like having Ben Roethlisberger come up and start licking your leg, arm, and face because you were giving him attention. Or because you were watching him perform. I wasn't quite sure which one caused Bob and Baby to treat us with such hospitality. I guess I'm not sure why Ben does things like that either...

They were quite well trained, too. The couple had a man-made pond in their back yard. They had a dock that had a ramp from the edge of the pond into the middle and then turned right and left for about 10 feet each way. The dogs would start by picking up a throw-toy, bringing it to whoever was nearest, wait for them to throw it in the pond, and sprint up the ramp and across the rest of the dock before jumping as far as they could towards the toy in the water. They promptly swam to the shore, brought the toy back to whoever threw it last time, and repeated the process. This happened several times in a row. This happened several more times in a row. This happened more than several more times in a row. The dogs did not stop. It was literally a circle. One part running, the other swimming. I continued to eat melon and Sam's cheese. Nothing could have been more entertaining...not even for Ben. OK. Enough with the Ben jokes. I'm going to eat now.

Some Pictures

On Saturday, June 12th 3:00 PM we crossed the Ohio/Indiana border... Not much changed.
We went through Oreville, OH... The home of J. M. Smuckers' large enterprise.



This is proof, we made it through Pennsylvania.


One of our hosts made each of us a whole chicken. We each ate a whole chicken :)




A little country treasure.

This was quite the climb. The views were great but our legs are glad to be rid of the PA mountains.


Even guys like flowers.












Thursday, June 10, 2010

Seneca, PA: Is There a Ghost? (an edited post from before)


I spent five years living in Seneca, PA. I had great fun during those years, and remember a few stories. I could still see the way everything used to be in my imagination.

I could see our old shed-barn that we raised pigs and chickens in; fed cows and our one pony from; and got into lots of trouble in and on. It sat maybe 100 yards to the side of the house, amidst the other 10 acres of grass (there was another 10 acres of woods) that the church owned.

I could still see myself as a six year old coming out of the barn, asking my neighbor not to tell me the joke--I had to pee, I pleaded. No luck. She went ahead anyway. Naturally, the realization that if I laughed I would certainly pee myself made me laugh, and, well, start to pee. So, being the clever chap I am, I pulled up the leg of my swimming shorts. No, I hadn't been swimming. I just liked to wear swimming shorts (Now I think it's too bad Nike encourages foreigners to mistreat children in order to make such things...how naive I was). Anyway. I pulled them up... She was pleased. And by pleased I mean she was laughing. And by laughing I mean she was probably still laughing at her own joke and still hadn't noticed what I was doing. Who knows. Nevertheless, I was peeing. And it felt great. And she was laughing. Life was good. But, you know what's better than good? Great! of course. So I went for Great! It seemed like it would be funnier if I were peeing on her. Now don't fault my logic too much (I was six), jokes are always funnier when someone gets peed on after the punch-line. And so I peed. I soaked her leg, and a little of her denim shorts. She kept laughing. Well, sometimes it was hard to differentiate between her laughing and her screams. I could never tell whether she was upset or whether what I said was very funny. Often, I figured, I was just a funny child. And there's nothing girls like better than a boy who's funny. But, sensing the noises coming from her to be screams rather than laughter, I ran to the house to grab a washcloth.

Now, keep in mind that I'm watching myself do this while other people I haven't seen in a decade stand around...

So--I grabbed the washcloth. My mother, being the ever-wise woman in my life, curiously followed me to the back door and watched me run to the barn. From the porch she asked what had happened. The girl quickly confessed, and, well, later that night I got a spanking with a bamboo stick. And then I screamed that I hated my dad--quite on accident, pain really brings the worst out in a boy--and was mandated another 40 minus one lashings. Luckily I had hidden the cat of nine tails.

And so I tell you all that to wonder about this:

staying in my old house--Seneca's parsonage--that night brought back all kinds of visions. It was like I was unable to think normally. The very structure I was in continually triggered images and memories. I hadn't experienced anything like that, and all from a simple structure. It was like it had pieces of me. Pieces from my past that still existed, if only in that structure. I find the same thing happens with people. The people at Seneca still had pieces of me, even if they were from a more incomplete age. Those pieces still exist. And instead of something profound, all I'm wondering is this: Do you think it's possible that if the pieces were infused with such emotion--or human power--that the pieces from someone elses life could take on an aura, feeling, shape, or energy of their own that others could sense? If I'm horribly murdered, for example, and my fingernails are scratched off and into the wall, is it possible that the pieces of myself that I left in that room could cause someone else to sense them like I would sense them if I walked back into the room?

Wednesday, June 9, 2010

Ninevah, PA: Like Jonah, Without The Threatening

Ninevah, PA is often called a metropolis by those who live in it. Sarcastically, that is. It isn't very big. The area can't be much bigger than a square mile, with maybe 100 people in all. We spent the weekend with a number of those people. A few of them were recently accepted into Elite universities but chose to forgo the honor because they didn't feel quite right about things. Another man has worked at a company as a welder for quite some time. He has a nice house and a beautiful family. A couple of them drink too much, too often. Two of them are pastors at a relatively large church (for the area). And no, the pastors are not the same ones who drink too much too often, though the irony in that might have a different effect on some. I, for example, might chuckle about it before I remembered the seriousness of life--and then stop listening to them. Anyway. I've spent a lot of time with a good amount of these people since I was born.

But you haven't. You don't know anyone in Ninevah, PA, probably. You may have never heard of it--and you might even live in PA. I don't believe they even have some claim to fame like "Lincoln's boyhood home" or "the place where Dan Quail grew up." Most people probably wouldn't think much if it ceased to exist. Well, except for the people who have connections there. You know, the people who have friends or family or childhood memories of the place. Those are the people who would care--those are the people who have given a bit of themselves to the people there, to the place. I like that the place has a piece of me, of us. They've taught us in a unique way, in a way that gives hope or enables plans for the future to be hoped upon. I suppose they must've taken something like that from us as well. It's a good thing, that connection is. And so we move.

Tuesday, June 8, 2010

Into Ohio

A quick update: After spending a nice night around the fire with our buddy Jerod Snyder in Hermatiage PA. We then woke up and rode 85 miles into Ohio. We landed in Manchester OH with some old friends. It was again nice to catch up with everyone. As of now it looks like we will be riding 95 miles through the rain tomorrow. Should be fun!

Thursday, June 3, 2010

Some raw footage of a typical small town

Honest Abe and a question

A bunch of rough, dirty, killers used to run around Curwensville, PA. And they were well respected by the president. Of course, they were soldiers, and it was back when Honest Abe was leading the country--bathing wasn't quite as easy back then as it is now. But these guys put the tails of White Tailed Deer in their caps. They were called Buck Tails, and they protected President Lincoln.

Three regiments existed, two were from Curwensville. Lincoln is said to have been good friends with them, as he was socioeconomically working-class himself...or something like that--basically he enjoyed them more than he did the bureaucrats. And so they got along splendidly, they saved his life, and he graced them with his presence. I bet he was pretty funny, too, if not honest. If not directly, then in that awkward sense that everyone observing the interaction laughs at when someone is too honest. You know, the guy who ends up telling your mother that she still has toilet paper hanging out of her summer dress...that's still tucked into the back of her stringed underwear. I think they had stringed underwear back then? I digress.

Anyway, they say the Buck Tails actually saved Lincoln's life four different times, one of which was the morning he was actually assassinated--from John Wilksbooth, nonetheless. Supposedly what happened was he let the company of Buck Tails off for the night, got dressed up to go to the theatre, Ford's Theatre, that is, and then, well, his brain ended up not working as well as most of the country might have liked for the rest of the evening. The company of people watching over him--the one's that replaced the Buck Tails for the evening--may have also lost their minds after that night. And ironically, Wilksbooth shot Lincoln during one of the funniest parts of the play while everyone was laughing...boy he got them good. He then proceeded to jump onto the stage, yell something and run off. The audience thought it was all part of the play. Silly them.

Anyway, Curwensville proved to be quite interesting. We were entertained by stories about the history of the town after we spoke about the ride at the Curwensville Christian and Missionary Alliance church's get-together. It was quite nice, not to mention the view from the house we were at had a beautiful view.

Other than that the adventure is starting to settle in. It's all about the relationships we make now. We'll probably forget a lot of what we see after we get used to it. The relationships tend to keep popping up. And so we ask, what sorts of ideas about life are more important to you than the relationships in your life?

Clearing things up

Just to be clear:

Nothing has changed regarding the way donations should be sent to Food for the Hungry. We're still riding under "Ride For Marale" as it was the first village we raised money for--it was the village that got everything started, if you will. Everything on the side of the Blog is still correct.
We've just branched out a little wider to attempt to help other villages that are very similar to Marale.

Wednesday, June 2, 2010

A few more pictures...


Andy taking a break on the way to Shamokin.



Morgan on the way to Nittany.




Steve and Laurel Shields, Matt and Andy's Uncle and Aunt.  We had a great time hanging out with them and their church. 

A Picture Journal of our first few days...


From a mountain top between Shamokin, PA and Nittany, PA. We climbed over three miles to get a view out this window.



 

From Mountain Top Dr. on the top of Mt. Nittany.




Another view from the top.





One more.





Leaving Happy Valley. On our way into the mountains on our way to Curwensville, PA.





More Happy Valley.






Mountain Top Dr. on the top of Mt. Nittany.






Matt (in white) and Andy (in Green) in Happy Valley.

Introducing Piswa



As of recent we have reached our fund raising goals for a water system in Marale, Uganda. Praise God!  In light of this we have asked Food for the Hungry to introduce us to another village that needs water. Now the name of our ride(The Ride for Marale) is more in commemoration of the first village God was able to help through us. 

Allow me to introduce you to Piswa. Piswa is a village located on the slopes of Mt. Elgon in Eastern Uganda. The community members were displaced from
the forest when their lands were declared a National Game Park by the Ugandan government. The landscape is bare
from deforestation, and erosion has contaminated water sources and hindered farming practices. The community has
been isolated for many years without access to roads, health care, education or Christian training. Children suffer social
and emotional abuse as a result of debilitating cultural and traditional practices such as female genital mutilation. HIV/
AIDS is also growing in the region, while education about the disease is lacking. In general, fatalistic mindsets pervade
the community, and there is little hope for positive change. The incarnational staff has begun changing beliefs, attitudes, behaviors and practices of the people by partnering
with the church, family and community leaders. They engage in many programs that seek to end the cycle of poverty in
the community and provide hope.

We have been given the opportunity to lend a hand to the people of Piswa by raising 90% of the funds for a water system in the center of the village. As with Marale, Food for the Hungry has been working with the villagers to form a 9 person water committee that will oversee water issues for now on. Part of there job has been to work with the members the community to raise 10% of the funds for the water system and organize all the unskilled manual labor involved. In this way the water system will not be a "hand out" but the people of Piswa will have personal ownership in their new water system. About $5000 will help to bring the people of Piswa the clean water they need to continue developing as a community. It only takes $5 to provide a person in Piswa with clean water for the rest of their lives! 

Tuesday, June 1, 2010

Happiness grows in valleys

Things aren't always easy for anyone, ever. But if they could be, they would probably be that way for someone in happy valley.

They were certainly that way to everyone riding to Happy Valley from Shamokin today. It was perfect, too, as yesterday was not exactly the easiest. Now don't misunderstand, Happy Valley is called a valley for a reason, and we climbed that reason and many other reasons like it on the way there, but as a whole the ride was pleasant. Most of it was through pristine forests in the Bald Eagle and other state parks. The parts of the ride not through the state parks were spent in a valley between two mountains. It was beautiful. It also rained a good amount, which was great. It really cooled us off.

And so we got to Happy Valley in good spirits. And as it turns out, Happy Valley got its name during the Great Depression: it was a sufficient and happy place for the people who lived in the area. This was primarily due to the agriculture in the area and Pennsylvania State University, which is about 20 minutes down the road--driving, that is. Turns out it has nothing to do with Penn. St. football. I guess it's also common for people to just stay around their whole lives. People might leave for a while--you know, go to college at Penn. St.--and then come back. And obviously there are plenty of people who leave, but Pastor Dave and his wife (the family we're staying with) said that a lot of people have grown up together and all know when new people come in. They're all very welcoming, though, which might be rare for a close-knit area. Who knows.

Anyway,Footage should be coming tomorrow.

Some other quick updates: We're getting in better shape. Feeling good about our legs and climbing hills. Our bikes are holding up well. Tonight life is good.

A story:

Walking out of Pizza Hut yesterday a man, age 30, walked up to me and wished me luck on my ride. Knowing he didn't know what I was riding for, or anything else about me, I thanked him. He proceeded to tell me about his bike--a Honda...crotch rocket, something or other. I guessed he was a bike enthusiast. I guessed right. He went on to tell me--without my asking, though I really enjoyed his story--about his recent life.

A few weeks ago he was clocked by a police officer going 210 MPH. on his bike. A few jokes regarding the incident were exchanged (e.g. Me: "wow, that kinda puts a damper on things, huh?" Him: Laughs "Ya, that's why it's still in the garage."), and he told me that the ticket cost him $2,800. He then told me that in order to pay the ticket he took a sledge hammer to his garage door and was in the process of collecting the insurance on it. He said he filmed it and was going to send it to the insurance company after he collected the money and switched companies...sucks to be State Farm. Hmmm. Ok. I was just kidding about the garage door part. But really, that's quite a ticket.

But wait, there's more: he's got some down time, as he can't drive as of now, so he's working on putting some nitrous oxide on the bike. Now for those of you who haven't seen The Fast And The Furious, basically what nitrous oxide is is a speed burst. He was making his bike faster...but not too much faster, he said, because otherwise he would wheelie backward and crack his "bean," I think was the word he used. He mentioned doing that when he was younger and it not ending up so well...I agreed with him on that one.

Probably one of the more interesting people I've ever met. And I probably haven't gotten more information from anyone else in such a short amount of time. The conversation didn't last more than a minute--Andy and Morgan had already started riding up the road. He seemed really cool...though I can't say I would ever get into any vehicle with him.


And I would have time for one more but I've been trying to get this camera to upload stuff for you and it doesn't quite seem to be working...sorry.

More to come tomorrow.