The Ride for Marale

Pictures of the well in Marale!

2010-09-03T07:07:00.000-07:00

This has been a while in coming, but here are the pictures of the newly completed water system in Marale! It almost brings me to tears to think of what God has chosen to do through us. All of you, Matt, Morgan and Myself. I have been truly blessed to be a part of this...

Sorry for the different sized pictures, we had a few technical difficulties.

Coming Home: Matt's Final Thoughts and Announcement

2010-09-02T14:26:00.000-07:00

For a few days I was downright embarrassed about coming home. I was embarrassed to be home. I was dis-eased, to say the least.

Before we left I let the lease on my apartment in Huntington, Indiana run out. I wasn't dying to stick around after college. I was also pretty sure that I was going to attend Oxford University's Master's Program of Sociology (a fact that I think greatly surprised my professors...I'm not sure if that speaks to their impressions of my intelligence or to the rarity of getting into a place like that). So anyway, I left without occupying a place to live in the United States.

A few days before the ride ended, I learned that funding was not going to be provided for school like I thought it was. That's never good news.

(I guess it was one of those times that comes standard with being human when you've got things all figured out and then all-of-a-sudden everything goes away and you're left with nothing.)

Being home was embarrassing. Instead of being the one who graduated from college and then went on to pursue significant things that were already set up as the next step toward a successful career, happy marriage, and long and fulfilled life (etc); I wasn't going to do anything. I wasn't going to get more smarter :), or get to meet a lot of famous world leaders (turns out that Desmond Tutu is a visiting lecturer at the college I was going to go to at Oxford this year), or do anything at all anytime soon. After coming from such high plans, from such a worthy journey, that takes a few days to recover from.

It wasn't until the first week had passed that I was able to settle down.

I went, somewhat reluctantly, with my mother to the farmers market one afternoon. Wednesday, I think it was. There were a lot of people who didn't look like you'd expected them to after reading about them from educated, affluent writers in The Atlantic. I think maybe they just get their food from the 'elite' farmers' markets. (I don't care who you are, $3.90 for a peach is always insane; compare to $1.00 for Swiss Cake Rolls).

A guy with an old Brett Favre Jersey kept making my mom laugh with his low, mumbling voice and somewhat off-the-wall comments. At one point he made my mother jump back, raise her voice, and say "No! I definitely do not want to try that plum!" I haven't seen my mom do that in years. She really likes going to his stand. Mostly for experiences like that.

Spending more time with my mother I noticed that her lifestyle has become quite trendy in many circles. She buys her food fresh, in season, and local. She makes a lot of her own things. She's healthy. She's made, makes, or is capable of making her own clothes, curtains, quilts, and just about anything else one needs that has a cloth base. She reads often, and is well read, yet asserts her intelligence upon others only when asked. And when creating any kind of a mood for a home, or someone she's in conversation with, it's always peace.

So I quickly remembered the lesson that riding through green forests beside a river in any mountain range, deer playing in the forest not 100 yards into the forest: this is a moment of life, treat it no differently than the rest of the moments.

I've never been a big fan of the idea that one should "live like they were dying." It seems like if I really did that I would quickly fall on much worse times, as I would not only fail to plan for tomorrow, but I would do things that would probably have negative consequences tomorrow, as I invariably wouldn't have to face them. I'd be dead. I think maybe what the writer of that song was trying to express is this: savor every moment of this life instead of rushing them all along because you're too worried about the future.

And so I'll savor the time with my family. I'll savor the time meeting people at my dad's new church. I'll put mental emphasis on the people around me, instead of the fact that I don't have much to do and the embarrassment that comes with that. I'll enjoy getting to pick on my sister Amy when she doesn't want to do what the rest of the family is doing. I'll enjoy shopping and cooking with Karen. I'll enjoy playing basketball with my dad on Tuesdays. I'll learn from both of my parents via observation. And I'll enjoy spending long evenings talking to them about nothing in particular. I'll enjoy taking care of Andy when he wrecks his bike and tears his face to shreds, just because he's alive. I'll enjoy changing the community and learning from our my parents' neighbor. And I'll enjoy being in eastern penn. It's a beautiful place. Because soon I won't have the luxury of being around these people. I'll have moved on to the next thing, and if I don't cherish this time right now, with these people around me, I won't get another chance to do that with these people again. Not ever again. And so I think I've taken a few small steps toward understanding connection.

Seattle: A rushing end

2010-08-25T12:26:00.001-07:00

Our ride into Seattle proved to be, perhaps, the hardest of the trip. The hills were steeper and much longer than any we had encountered to that point. We didn't see that one coming. We also got lost. After a while we asked a lady for directions and she just called her husband to drive us down to the Southworth Ferry so we didn't get lost. We were impressed with the kindness.

The ferry came and we rode on. Soon to encounter the city that was our dream all summer. Well, sort of our dream. The ride wasn't as bad as that might imply. Nothing really exciting happened. A pretty girl got on the ferry with us. But then she disappeared and we didn't see her again...I don't think she drowned--nothing in the paper the next day. We must've just missed her.

And so it goes. We rode to our host's home, met his room mate, a German student studying abroad, made some dinner and fell asleep to a movie. They each had studying to do, though the room mate invited us to her friend's CD release party and a few other events around the city that weekend. They were both very friendly.

The next day we were on our own. We explored the city. Morgan walked his bike everywhere, had pizza for lunch, and chilled out. Andy got his friend to get him a free Kayak rental and paddled around the South Lake, along with riding his bike around the city. Matt woke up after both of them and took his time riding around the city, eventually meeting his friend (whom we stayed with the rest of the time) as she got off work. We met up later that night and went to a block party, then a park with a great view of the skyline.

The rest of the weekend we spent figuring out our bikes, shipping, etc for getting back during the morning hours (our host worked the morning hours). During the afternoons we would go to different things: swimming (it was the hottest it had been all summer: 90 +), cooking a huge meal, and going to Mars Hill to listen to Mark Driscoll preach (it might also be noted that our Uncle Steve had some influence in seeing Mark; the other bit of influence was the fact that our host already went there).

Sunday night we also went to a catholic church to hear hymns played by a beautiful pipe organ and different men in the community sing. It was beautiful.

And so that was our last weekend on our bicycles. It was ideal, probably. We all enjoyed ourselves. We enjoyed talking to and learning about our beautiful hosts (they were all women, seven of them, to be exact). We appreciated their hospitality and putting up with our mess as we tried to cram our stuff into big cardboard bike boxes. The whole was bitter sweet. More sweet for some. More bitter for others. The whole weekend was pretty busy though, and there wasn't a lot of time for reflection.

And so the journey ends. It's back to the Americans on the other side of the country--only it'll just take a few hours this time.

Olympia and South Bend: Beautiful People

2010-08-25T07:40:00.000-07:00

Cannon Beach wasn't so bad when we didn't need anything from it. So we left.

The coast was damp and dreary, like we expected. The next three days were spent heading up the coast and in to Olympia. There were numerous flat tires.

The ride was gorgeous.

We met a man just outside of South Bend, WA who retired and took off on his bike. He has since been living on the road. He rides around the country. Mostly the west, it seemed. When he gets tired of riding he walks--he was thinking about hiking the Pacific Coast Trail soon. He told us all kinds of stories while we ate our sandwiches--we had stopped at a camp ground to eat. He kept asking us to stay the night. And when we said we needed to keep going, that we were even thinking about hitching, he quickly ended the conversation.

Chuckling, we tried to figure out whether it was that we weren't staying or that we were thinking about hitching that turned him off to us. We still don't know.

We got into South Bend about night fall. On the outskirts of the town a kid called to us, we went over to say hello.

"What's up dude?"

"There's camping here for only five bucks. You guys can pitch your tents here if you want. I didn't even pay cause I only have cards."

"Oh. Ya? Well I think..."

"Ah. These mosquitoes are crazy. Crazy! They're all over me. Crazy!" He was screaming and slapping his legs and running around in circles. Then he stopped.

"So do you guys wanna stay? I could really use some company tonight. Ahhhhhhh! These crazy mosquitoes! They're all around! All over me! Ahhhhh! They're going to eat me alive!" The same slapping and dancing ensued. Now, granted, the mosquitoes were pretty bad. We were right beside a marsh of sorts. But even if we did put our tents up here, this kid was going to talk all night.

Come to find out the kid was 18. He had autism. He was riding from Canada to Mexico. His mother put him up to it. She forced him to do it, in his words.

"She said it would educate me about the world!" Wow. I thought I might do something like that to my son if I had the money. But even all that interesting info wasn't enough to overcome the screaming and dancing that seemed to pour out of this kid with consistency that would make molasses look irregular. He also mentioned he had ADHD.

We rode into town, hitched a ride with a really nice trucker, and camped illegally (for the last time on our trip) at a rest stop. It was nearly 1 a.m. before we got to sleep.

The next day we rode into Olympia. The guy we stayed with told us this story. I made him, said I had heard it from his mother:

"So I was at school at Olivet Nazarene. It was finals week of my senior year. (Every year everyone plays pranks during finals week. So this was my big idea.) Every year there's a big chapel service and it's like the final one of the year. So I wake up at like 3 a.m. and go hide on the roof of the chapel--well it's just under the roof in one of the air-conditioning vents. Cause if I would've gone another time campus security would've been all over me. So I hide in this vent from 3 till the service starts at 9 or so. And I have 4,000 firecrackers with me. My plan was originally to light off 1,000 in different spots on the roof and it would make lots of noise and disrupt the whole service. But laying in that air conditioning vent I figured I might as well leave a bunch in there. So about 10 I can hear--well, it turns out the president was giving the message--so I can hear the president wrapping up and I start the firecrackers. The only thing is, once I start the first strand they go off way faster than I expect. So I think to myself, well, I can run now and probably get away or I can just keep lighting them off and get caught. So I just keep lighting them off. And so all these firecrackers are going off and everyone in the chapel--it's this huge auditorium that seats a ton of people--is wondering what on earth is happening. And some of my friends are laughing and everything gets super disrupted. I guess the president handled it really well, like he was acting like he was playin the drum and stuff."

And this whole time Andy, Morgan and Matt aren't saying a word. Just listening, awestruck.

"And then all of a sudden the firecrackers that went off in the vent, the paper and stuff, starts coming through the vents in the chapel. And it looks like all this graffiti. And then the president starts to worry a bit and tells everyone to evacuate. And so I finished lighting them all off and run to the side of the roof and see that everyone's evacuated the building. And then I run to the other side and see the campus security. And I know I'm caught, just like I knew I would be. And so I just stay on the roof and wait for them to get up to me. And I shake their hand and introduce myself. I tell them I'm the one who did all this. And they were actually pretty cool about it. I just went and talked to the dean. They let me graduate and everything. But it cost me $8,000 because they had to clean out the air vents and the whole system."

We slept a little better than we would've that night.

"Now I hear sometimes people talk about me bringing a gun in and stuff. I guess the legend has just gone wild with the stories people tell now. It's crazy."

*It should be noted that this guy is a very successful Army officer now.

Cannon Beach: Social confusion, Hell

2010-08-25T06:28:00.000-07:00

All summer we have been riding to the end of the Americas. Riding to the other side of this great mass of land, not a lot different than Meriwether Lewis and William Clark. Only moving was much easier for us. In fact, a lot of the time we were on the same trails they traveled--sort of, I mean the highway folk put up signs that say your on the same path, but lets be honest, some of the places they went over the mountains the highway builders just left alone or went around.

So when we were within a couple miles of the Pacific the highway gave us the option to go to Seaside, OR or Cannon Beach, OR. They were each 4 miles in one direction. Both had been recommended to us. We went to Cannon Beach because we would have to go north up through Seaside--that would allow us to see both.

Cannon Beach is a little town with plenty of beach-line. It's quaint enough, with all kinds of little tourist attractions: shops, restaurants, bed and breakfasts, hotels, and the like. A number of wealthy people lived there, their quaint-looking little cottages on the land coming right up to the sand on the beach. Blues ones and beige ones and wooden ones and stone ones. They were all very nice.

We walked to the beach and looked out into the ocean. It was really foggy. Dreary, really. And the people around us didn't pay much attention until Andy asked:

"Hi. We just pedaled our bikes from New Jersey. We were wondering if you would mind if we left our stuff here while we dipped our tires in the water."

"Uh. ya it's public space here. I think." He briefly turned around to acknowledge us and just as quickly turned back around to keep eating.

"Would you mind just making sure no one takes them, then?" Andy asked. Looking for someone to pay any attention. He wasn't really talking that softly. They had to have heard him.

In a few seconds a lady came over and started talking to us.

"You guys just rode from New Jersey?"

"Ya. We've been riding to raise money for water wells in Uganda..." And thus began the usual banter about what we had just (about) finished doing and why.

She was quite nice. She even took our picture, like we were statues or a coral reef that she had heard about and come to visit there in Cannon Beach. Then she left.

Looking around we figured we might as well head down to the beach. And so we did.

We joked around a bit in the tide. And got some passersby to take perhaps an annoying amount of pictures of us. Or at least that's what their non-verbals communicated (I had just finished a book "The definitive book of body language" by the Peases').

We returned to find that a lady from the hotel we left our stuff sit beside had watered the plants just above our pile. Most of our stuff was pretty wet. So we went down the street to a pizza place. We showed the cashier our brochures and asked for a discount--we hadn't asked for a discount before, but figured we might as well give it a shot as dinner was bound to be expensive and it was the pinnacle of our trip. He said he'd check with the manager. We waited. He asked for our order. He continued his duties, set the brochure under a pile of stuff off to the side, and returned--not having asked anyone about anything--and wrung us up, not mentioning anything.

Well, fair enough. We had experienced the unwelcoming feeling in plenty of towns along the way. All of them tourist places. Or at least rich places.

The whole time I'd been trying to figure out why we felt like we did while in them. I figure they're well off, they don't need anyone else. They've attained what they want in life. They then import people to work the jobs they don't want to put up with and let people come and experience what they live every day for a price, or course.

So it makes sense that they don't want dirty cyclists or homeless--yes, we're comparable at this point--hanging around. It's not good for business--that is, the business classes don't want to put up with or look at people like us. It's scary, especially as they're so far removed from such people. They don't understand them because they don't ever see them.

And a lot of the tourists aren't really interested because we're just in the way. They're here to relax, not to go to jail for accidentally running over a cyclist.

One thing I noticed, though, is that locals don't even pay much attention to the tourists. They just do what's expected and leave them alone. The tourists seem to prefer it that way, as if to say, "I'm on vacation and I don't want to be bothered by some minority I'm not used to interacting with, please don't bother me little Mexican man." And so the menial employees don't bother them.

When I was living in Santa Cruz, CA I would often become irritated with all the tourists on the weekends because they caused an unbelievable amount of traffic. I was the one who lived there. Why couldn't they surf their own part of the coast? It only makes sense that the places where everyone wants to be make money off of their little slice of heaven. And when so many people are constantly imposing their presence on a place it becomes nearly impossible to want any kind of connection. There are too many, too often, and so the human interaction suffers. The locals isolate themselves because, living in such a beautiful place and having so many resources, people always want things from you--I'd imagine.

I wonder if the responsibility of helping the less fortunate is something people consider when they aspire to be wealthy or choose to live in beautiful places. It's certainly not something I considered.

So anyway. We camped, illegally, in the back of the school playground. It was real close to the beach. Only a fence and a bush separated us. A neighbor woke up around 6 a.m. and noticed two tents in the school yard. Terrified or irritated or angry (?) they called the cops to have us removed. Maybe if I ever become wealthy I'll understand that move.

I'll end by pointing out a couple things:

Seaside, a bigger, and perhaps less wealthy town 8 miles up the coast didn't seem to have any rules that didn't allow people to camp.

Is making rules against letting people sleep in your town pushing homeless people to specific places (often cities)? And is it similar to making rules that wouldn't allow black or minority people to sleep in a town?

And that is why I'd go just about anywhere I could connect with someone over the most beautiful place void of any relationship. Solomon pointed that out in one of his proverbs.

Hood River and Portland: Utopian purse thieves

2010-08-24T15:50:00.000-07:00

When you think about uptopian places that the world has dreamed about, or wished they would've lived in, you think about the garden of eden or the ideal world that came out of Sir Thomas Moores' brain. But you should also think about Hood River, Oregon.

(The best part is the end. It's the main story.)

Hood River is a place off of the Columbia River. It's hilly. It's lush. It's green. It's smack between Mount Adams and Mount Hood. Everything grows there: Women and men, apples and plums and cherries and grapes and trees, of course. Grass and animals. Mostly it's just a gorgeous place to live among orchards, even if they aren't making a ton of money these days.

And so we stopped there after camping in a little town called Arlington, OR with a beautiful town park. Oddly enough the people there were kind enough, or not paranoid enough, to let us camp in their town park. The grass was well kept. There was a beach on a little inlet from the Columbia river. We figured more people should be like that, but if that was the case people would start moving out of their homes and into town parks. In fact we were surprised that, in the towns where we were allowed to camp (and not woken up by police because some paranoid...person...had called the cops regarding a tent that was making too much noise at 6 a.m.?) sorry. We were surprised that more people hadn't moved out of their homes and into the parks. They were lovely places to live, after all.

Sorry, I know I've gotten off topic, but I can't help but wonder how a law that doesn't let someone camp in a town park gets passed. How many homeless people come through towns of 50 people? And how many of those homeless people do anyone any disservice or nuissance? It just seems like the correlation between ideas like that and the ideas that go into Sundown Towns (See Dr. James Loewen) is quite high.

And now back to the utopia that is Hood River. Well, it was quite peaceful. The family that put us up was marvelous--the kind of marriage and peaceful family that we all sort of aspire to as youngsters. You know, plenty of resources, plenty of laughter, a lighthearted approach to life, and the love of your life to reproduce with and raise a family. Not to mention in the middle of what is called by historians as the most plush, productive environments on earth. Life doesn't get much better than that, at least for people looking at you. And so we had a great time. We laughed a lot. We ate a lot. We planned a lot. And we learned from that small slice of experience with these people about what it takes to enjoy success in relationships and work.

The ride to Portland was gorgeous. Did you expect to hear anything different?

And a quick description about the amazing family in Portland before I'll tell you a somewhat humorous tale. Well, I think I've already blogged about them.

So on to the story:

Clay and Matt and Clay's friend and girlfriend are going to a place in Portland to meet Clay's friend's girl's brother. I know that sounds confusing, but this was kinda a big moment for Clay's friend. Naturally, I was there to support him. We arrive and think that this guy, who is actually trying to chat up the friend's girl, is her brother. We introduce ourselves. It's immediately clear that I don't know what's going on, and am not from Portland in any sense. So I mention that I just rode from New Jersey--usually a decent conversation starter when I'm looking extremely lost--and instead of hearing "Oh wow" I get, "I don't believe you."

The man flat out tells me he doesn't believe me.

"Oh. I don't really know how to respond to that one." I laugh. "Do a lot of people say that around here?"

"No. You just look like a Portland boy. Did you really ride from Jersey?"

"Ya. I mean but it's cool if you don't believe me. I was just trying to start a conversation because I didn't know what was going on. I'm not actually from Jersey..." At this point I was getting pulled into the place as the other two had discovered that her brother was not among the men who were trying to talk to her in romantic overtones. I might also point out that because of the reputation "Jersey" had gained from folk in Eastern PA I knew I didn't want to be associated with the state. (I hadn't actually spent much time in Jersey, except for the beach, which was sort of dirty but not void of fun, so I figured I'd better make that clear.) Luckily I got that much out before I was pulled in doors.

I met the brother. We hit it off. But his girlfriend, thinking I was the boyfriend (Clay's friend) told him to stop talking to me--"Take it easy on him [insert name]"

He left to convince her...seemed like a real nice guy. He might've even looked a little like the guy from Nickelback--without dyed hair.

Anyway, to the real story.

There's a guy at the bar. What appears to be his friend is on the other side of him playing with his crutches. They're his because he has a cast on his left leg. It's also noteworthy that the guy with the broken leg is, what young people these days call "Double Fisting." He's got two drinks--one in each hand. That's a lot of money, is my point here.

I ask him what happened to his leg (there were a few seconds where no one was paying attention to me. So instead of look awkward, if only for a minute, I figure I'll talk to the guy with the mustache, long hair and caste on his leg.)

"I broke it catching a purse thief."

"What?"

"A purse thief. Ya. Like a guy robbed some girl of her purse. I saved her."

"You saved her or her purse?" I asked, starting to wonder if maybe she was a little heavier than he expected.

"Well, her purse. I mean. I caught up with the guy who snatched her purse and really beat the [poop] out him. I mean he was pretty [messed up]." A genuine do-gooder, I'm talking to, I thought. I must admit, it had been at least a year since I'd heard a purse-thief story.

He goes on: "And then the cops showed up. And I'm holding the purse and this guy is all beat up so I tell the cops what's going on. What happened you know?"

"Ya. I know." No I don't know. This guy is getting increasingly close to me and I'm wondering where on earth the girl is and how on earth this relates to him breaking his leg.

"And so the cop just says 'run that way real quick'." At this point he's brought the Portland Police into question. Because, I'm not sure if you know much about standard American law, but that's not exactly exemplary police work.

"And so I'm running back to give this girl her purse, ya know?"

"Ya. I know. I mean that's standard behavoir. Return the purse." I hoped the book about non-verbal body language wasn't right about your face giving away what you're thinking. I had a few questions, to say the least: Why didn't the girl also run after the purse? If the cops could show up from who knows how far away, couldn't the girl walk a few hundred yards? And why on earth are you leaning so close to me. I can hear just fine.

He repeats himself: "And so I'm running back to give this girl her purse, ya know?" I quit answering what I now deem as rhetorical questions.

"And on the way there I break my leg."

Now Clay, who is much quicker of wit than I, is listening in: "What? How do you just break your leg running back to give back a purse, man?"

"I broke it on the sidewalk." We all bust up in laughter. I'm not sure why he was laughing.

"You mean you tripped, Bro?"

"No. I mean I fell off the sidewalk."

"And you broke your whole leg?"

"Ya man." he was sticking to his story pretty intently as the bartender called out that the bar was closing. The guy we were talking to was the last to pay his tab.

"Wait. Wait. Where'd that guy who was just here go?" He was referring to the guy who was playing with his crutches earlier.

"Where'd he go? He said he was gonna pay for these drinks. He invited me over to get some drinks. He ditched out on me? I can't believe that. A guy asks you over for some drinks and then ditches out on you? How's that work?! What an A..." I just looked at him. I guess if I had a friend that got copious amounts of alcohol on my tab I'd probably leave him too.

We decided now was a good time to leave. It was getting rather late, after all.

Outside a guy on crutches tried to steal the girlfriend's purse. He didn't get real far before getting carried away and falling off the curb...it's a rough life.

Tri-cities, WA: Fine-dining and friendship

2010-08-24T15:29:00.000-07:00

The desert wasn't proving hospitable. Did anyone expect it to?

It was hot (who knew). It was well irrigated. A lot of wheat. A few snakes--Morgan almost ran over a rattle snake. It even struck at him, just missing. And so when we arrived at places like the Tri-cities, it was heavenly. (The tri-cities consist of the cities: Kennewick, Richland, and Pasco. All three are in Washington state).

Andy called a church on Google and asked for a place to stay. The result was a house of 20-somethings who lived in community. The core of the group owned and operated a gourmet wine, cheese, and sandwich shoppe. One just completed a comelier course (basically a master wine taster course). One was the head chef. One owned it. And the others helped out, perhaps more than they originally thought they might. There were 7 in all. They seemed to get along better than other communities I have known in the past. The aura they created was impressive. They were loving. It seemed like living like that wouldn't displease a creator. Or it wouldn't displease me if I created things that could sort-of reason like I could and had to live with each other in one way or another because I forced them to when I was wiring them.

It hadn't always been like that in their lives, though. They hadn't always appeared to be peaceful, kind, and fun-loving. Some of them were coming from quite turbid pasts. Some coming more recently than others. But each of them found the friendship, the peace, and the beauty in the situation they had created in that house and with the shoppe more fulfilling than the lives they had left.

They were lucky. They were blessed. They knew the right people with the right ambition and the right resources to be able to live in a house in a place that provided enough of an income for them to continue to live where peace was attainable. Possible. Easy enough.

We seriously thought about staying another day with them. We wanted to very badly. But we had plans to stay with another family down the road, and it was getting close to the end. We couldn't really spare any extra time.

And so we made our way down into the Columbia River Gorge, another one of the most beautiful places in the country.

Pullman, WA: Laughter and Laziness (Beauty)

2010-08-24T15:04:00.000-07:00

I usually go out of my way not to mention individuals. Mostly that's because I don't ask them about being put up on the blog. But I'm going to break that rule with Jon. Primarily because we stayed with him for so long--5 days--but also because he was so cool.

Jon is a friend and Andy and Morgan. He graduated from Albright College and is now getting his doctorate in chemistry at Washington State University.

He picked us up late Tuesday night. He gave Matt, whom he hadn't met before, a big hug upon his arrival at his van in a mildly-sketchy parking lot on the corner of two streets. He helped us fit our bikes into his mini-van. He made us act like we were pedaling in his minivan all the way to his place. He cooked us food and provided drink as we were showering. He shared his wisdom with us. And his plans over the next five years. He's really quite a remarkable guy. He's brilliant, as you might guess, given his current undertaking, but his disposition is one that draws you to him. He was the perfect guy to spend five days with.

And the process I'm about to describe to you is why:

We woke up Wednesday--and after eating--went to play disc golf. You know, just to say we did something that day. We returned, with more food, to sit in front of the television and watch the television show "Big Bang Theory." We then played the board game "Settlers of Catan." Then we ate. Then we watched more Big Bang Theory. Then we played more Catan. Then we watched a movie and fell asleep. We woke up the next day and put in a few episodes of Big Bang. We started cooking breakfast while we set up another board game. Then we watched a mid-day movie, followed by a few episodes of Big Bang (which I will reference with BB from now on). Then a board game. Then BB. Then dinner and another game. A friend came over during the board game. We put in a movie to watch while we were playing. We fell asleep watching the movie.

Nothing really changed, except for our leaving the house for food, or a few social functions. It was beautiful. When you're on a bike everyday, nothing is better than sitting in front of a television while you're mindlessly entertained. Did I mention we were sitting on a couch? It was a perfect five days. We grew attached to the characters in BB. We grew attached, and more attached to Jon. We grew attached to the situation (which might not have been a good thing, I'm not sure).

There's nothing like spending five days sitting with someone in an apartment with nothing in particular to do. Especially when you're laughing a lot (laughter is a non-verbal signal that is often done in order to build relationships. Spend a significant amount of time--5 days, for example--laughing with someone and notice the bond you build).

And so it was rough riding away from Jon's place that next Monday. But all good things must come to an end. It was back into the dessert.

Idaho's northern tip: 150 miles of hunger, irritation, and bliss

2010-08-24T14:18:00.001-07:00

We had stayed longer than we thought we would in Hamilton. That was OK. It was more than OK. We had three weeks to get somewhere that would only take us a week to ride--if we were going straight there, that is. Nevertheless, there was no doubt that all of us were still a little tired.

So, being tired and all, we decided to ride. From Hamilton, Monday morning, we proceeded to ride 90 miles to Jerry Johnson Hot springs. They were less commercialized than the first hot springs we had stayed at in Southeastern Idaho (remember Challis?), but they weren't as far away enough from the road to make us feel comfortable breaking the rules and pitching tent beside them.

Along the Clearwater river runs rt 12, through the beautiful Northern part of Idaho. It's green forest, clear river, and mountains made for excellent riding, not to mention that everything was at least slightly downhill--it's all river-grade from the top of the Lolo pass to Lewiston, ID on the other side of the state. The wind often made up for the slight downhill, however, and riding wasn't always as easy as it might have been. Welcome to our summer of riding bicycles.

Jerry Johnson Hot springs were a series of ten or more pools formed beside the Clearwater river. The pools that did not connect to the river were between 80 and 100 or more degrees. Others mixed with the river water to make cooler ones. Everyone had their pick. There was also a sign that said "clothing optional." That was a first was a couple of us. Luckily no one else was there.

Later that night our camp-stove ran out of fuel and we, being 50 miles from the nearest town, began to get a little nervous. We salvaged some dinner--cold baked beans and a few pieces of bread--and sprinted to set up our tents as a swarm of mosquitoes started biting us all of a sudden. We were also running short on water. We were beginning to second guess our decision to stop at the hot springs, but we had already pedaled 90 miles. We couldn't really have gone much further, right?

The next day proved that wrong. We made 50 miles in the morning like it was our job. Or like we didn't have any food left. Or like we were going to ride 150 miles that day to meet our friend. Though it would be lying if we said that we weren't a little annoyed at each other during certain parts of the day.

50 miles, or was it 55 miles? to a town in the state park that had a loaf of bread and water that wasn't drinkable. We ate peanut butter and honey--a recent staple in our diets. Morgan was getting tired of peanut butter so he had trail mix. Andy couldn't help but argue about the mix of peanuts he had just paid a high price to eat. It was one of those irritable moments for all:

Andy: "Matt, go tell him he can just buy something down the road. They have a grocery store."

Matt: "haha, is he irritated with you?"

A: "Ya. It's too bad I'm the one who has to give him any good advice. He won't listen when he's tired of me."

M: "That's too bad. You give such good advice."

Morgan walks around the corner carrying Chex-Mix and a peanut based trail mix. No one said anything. We all knew we were a little tired and that spells of irritation came and went. kind of.

Andy waited a while to pick up the bag that he, no doubt, thought Morgan needlessly spent an African village's water money on:

A: "Do you know the main ingredient in this is peanuts? Didn't you say they were making you sick?"

Morgan: "Peanut butter was. There's a difference."

At least their voices were kept low. The argument continued.

Other than the occasional fits of irritation--and they were primarily held in those morning hours--the ride that day was quite pleasant. It was cool. The woods were among the most beautiful we had seen. And after the first 70 miles we had food and water aplenty.

Except for the trucks. Did I tell you about the trucks on rt 12. Everyone told us about them. They didn't really tell us not to ride it. Well, they did. But they also told us that all kinds of others ride it. They just said it was miserable. And they were right. For probably 20 miles along rt 12 there isn't really a shoulder. It's right along the river, so at least if you go over the 20 feet or so of steep hill it's just into the water. The trucks literally came within inches each time at about 60 mph. Matt swears one of the trucks brushed up against him.

The adrenaline that each passing truck forced into your system was enough to make you insane. That sort of energy created from a negative situation makes it hard not to blame the individuals themselves for the situation. I would imagine that years and years of that would make you want to kill all kinds of people. I wondered if wars and mass killings weren't more than just the killers' faults. Often we don't fix situations we have the power to do something about.

Eventually we would ride in the middle of the road and put our hands up when we saw truckers coming. They slowed down, and were often quite unhappy. They gave us more room, though.

We stopped at a subway with 40 miles to go. At this point we had realized that if we got our friend to pick us up in Lewiston, and if we were going to go to Portland after his place, that we would be coming back down south anyway--so getting a ride straight north wasn't technically cheating. That was pretty exciting. And with that good news, a stomach full of subway--both of which contributed to a high morale we set out to Lewiston.

We arrived at midnight, or close to it. We had just pedaled 150 miles on bikes that weighed 80 pounds. We were pleased with ourselves. We were pleased with Jon. We were pleased with life.

Andy's Reflections on The Ride For Marale

2010-08-15T11:47:00.000-07:00

The weather was cold and rainy as we rode the last 75 miles of our journey across the United States. We made our way to the Oregon shore through towering evergreen trees, dense lush underbrush and up and down over several mountain passes. I had not expected this part of the trip to be dreary. I had envisioned a blue skied paradise.

As we rode west through the streets of Cannon Beach, Oregon I began to smell the salt. It was now quite cold due to the ocean breeze, and the drizzle had not subsided. There it was, the Pacific Ocean. I had ridden my bicycle from the Atlantic Ocean to the Pacific Ocean and... I didn't really feel any different. I had envisioned this moment to be one of euphoria. I expected a mountaintop experience, but instead I had a "you mean this is it" moment. I didn't really even want to get in the water. I was cold and tired and suddenly let down by the mundane nature of this event that I had been placing on a pedestal for the last 70 days.

It was at this point that I remembered the many timesi had heard that life was more about the journey than the destination. Cliche, I know. I began to reflect back on the past 6 months of my life. I thought of all the initial planning, fund raising, and gathering support we had done. I thought about Walking For Water (what a great day). I thought of all the conversations I had been a part of. All the early morning training rides Morgan and I did. Then I began to remember all the host families we stayed with, all the meals we had been a part of, all the sights we had seen. It all came flooding back and I was a little overwhelmed. It almost seemed like a dream, like none of it had actually happened.

I didn't know how to respond. In that moment I felt allI could express was praise to God for allowing me to experience something like this. In no way did I deserve to be this healthy, wealthy, or blessed. God didn't have to look out for us each day as we rode. We didn't have to survive all the traffic we rode through, or meet as many wonderfully hospitable people as we did. God had been entirely too good to us. In the same sentence, I should add that this trip would not have happened without all of the incredible support we received from our family and friends. I would likely fail miserably if I tried to create a list of all the names of people who helped to make this happen. Instead, if you are reading this, consider yourself thanked! I am truely greatful. I have a new perspective on what it means to be generous and I have resolved to become as hospitable and supportive of the people around me as people have been for me over the past few months.

Sitting back and reflecting on how this trip has impacted me is really tough to do. I have been stretched in many different ways, most of them non-physical. (A word on this... It does not seem that I am in great shape at this moment. In fact I might be in quite poor shape. Only the muscles required for pedaling a bicycle are strong. Walking, running, jumping, swimming, paddling a kayak, have all proven to be quite strenuous activities over the past few weeks.) On the social side of things, this trip quickly took the form of a practice marriage. Morgan, Matt, and I ate, slept, rode, spoke, did laundry, shopped, explored, and played together for 78 days. We shared money, food, and everything else. Each decision had to be made with all three of us in mind. Three opinions, one ultimate choice. We had to ride at a pace suitable for all of us, eat food we all could stand, take routes that we all agreed on.... I had never done anything like this before. In fact, I am generally a fairly independent person. I enjoy my freedom. I can say that I failed on numerous accounts to be an encouraging, supportive, positive part of our team. I said things I shouldn't have, I acted selfishly, and I learned a lot from the consequences. Don't take this the wrong way, Matt and Morgan were incredibly patient with me and we actually got along swimmingly (well, that is). I learned a lot about doing life with other people and I feel that I grew up a lot in the process.

Spiritually I learned as well. I feel more than ever that God is abundantly good and that I am of the weakest caliber. Even in my failings at discipline in spending time with God and placing trust in my own strength and wisdom rather than His, God was faithful. He stuck with me, protected me, and spoke louder than usual. This was a summer for teaching. I continued to feel that God was with me throughout this adventure and can see his hands all over the events of it. He placed us in so many situations that stretched our character and showed us about Himself. Even so, I am certainly looking forward to more of a routine in which my time with God can flourish again.

Another wonderful thing I learned was thrift. I learned that a person can survive quite well on less than $5 a day. This was quite a realization to me and showed me just how possible it would be to sustain a life of travel and adventure on a bicycle. We ate oatmeal for breakfast, peanut butter and jelly for lunch, and a rotation of pasta, rice and lentils, or potatoes for Dinner. We always obtained our jelly by begging for individual packets from diners we always made the most of any opportunity to eat for free. Waste not, want not. I experienced first hand how a person could be homeless and content. Regardless of your circumstances, you still exist in a similar human experience to those around you. Life still consists of unexpected treats and difficult letdowns. As many people before me have mentioned, "It is all relative"

How about the people in Uganda? Well to this point we have managed to connect enough people to raise roughly $13,000 for the construction of water systems in three Ugandan villages: Marale, Piswa, and Kitany. This is roughly $2000 short of what might be considered our goal for the ride. To be clear, the villages of Piswa and Marale have received the funding they need to begin constructing clean water systems. The village of Kitany is currently $2000 short of this realization.

Advocating for people you do not know is an interesting endeavor in and of itself. For one, it is devoid of relationship on my end. I do not know these people, and short of a trip to Africa, I never will know them. I am satisfied only to know that someday I will be spending eternity with our creator and meet some souls there who were impacted by an ambition God gave me. Storing up treasures, if you will.

Conversely though, when we help people we do not have relationship with, is this a cop out? Am I only helping these people because I am too afraid of the hard work it takes to enter into relationship with the needy people around me? Is this my way to feel good about myself without bogging myself down with relational involvement? These are serious questions I have begun to ask myself. I would welcome any other opinions of the matter. Ultimately I am glad that our efforts were able to bring a number of people in Uganda clean water, and I trust that God will in deed use this effort to bring more people to himself. This much I know for sure.

What is next you might ask? Well, this summer I have constructed an enormous list of possibilities for next summer. Some on the top of the list are work for the National Forest Service out west, spend a summer working in Africa, take a bicycle tour of Europe, buy a small and inexpensive chunk of land and build a small cabin from the ground up, or go back to Camp ECCO. Really I have no clue, and that is how it should be. Immediately, I will embark on the adventure of being a good Resident Assistant in a freshman dorm at Albright College. I am also looking forward to continuing to hone my skills as a math and physics tutor. I am still pursuing a degree in Math and Physics and hope to become a teacher someday.

In conclusion, thank you all again for being a part of this mission. I hope to speak with many of you about the trip as we get a chance to see one another in the coming times.

Peace be with you all.

Ladies and Gentleman, Boys and Girls, Children of All Ages...

2010-08-11T19:34:00.001-07:00

WE MADE IT!

On Tuesday, August 10th at 6:30 PM we arrived at the Pacific Ocean. Our ride took 72 days, we

went through 13 different states, rode over 4000 miles, consumed an estimated 50 pounds of Peanut Butter,

and raised $12,000 and counting towards the construction of clean water systems in three different villages.

Be on the look out for concluding thoughts from each of us as we arrive home and have time to process all

that has happened over the past two and a half months. We all plan to put our thoughts into words,

so you can expect a post from each of us. Matt will continue writing stories from the places we haven't talked much about, too. So don't stop paying attention yet.

Here are some more pictures to hold you over....

It turns out the water on the pacific ocean is freezing. We didn't quite go swimming.

A little taste of the Washington coast line.

This is a four mile long bridge that crosses the Columbia River right before it pours into the Pacific. One side of the bridge is Oregon, the other is Washington. One of the more incredible feets of engineering I have ever encountered. Pictures do not come close to capturing the size, height, or length of this thing.

To get up to the higher portion of the bridge one must climb a 200 feet or so up a circling ramp. Kind of felt like a roller coaster.

Portland: Runaway Capital

2010-08-08T15:45:00.000-07:00

She had blonde hair, dyed, I think. A black shirt, and black cargo pants. She looked like she used to be pretty muscular, back before the food must've run a bit sparse. She might've played softball. She might've been a catcher. In fact, she might be playing high school ball right now if things had been a little different. But those days were long gone, for sure. She didn't look up at me from the side walk. Her sign said it all: "I make you feel better about yourself." There was a hat for putting money in titled "Space Hat." And there she was, offering her bit of pleasure in the form of self-righteousness--and all from the sidewalk.

And so I walked past, wishing I had the ability to sit down and chat with her about the anger that comes with being ignored all day. Down the street a different girl sitting on the sidewalk laughed at another man's joke, confiding in him that she "was so drunk." The homeless in Portland are only different because of their age. They're also much more interesting because of their age, I think.

Portland is an interesting city. It's very biker friendly, as in bikers have a lot of rights--and by rights I mean lanes. Bike lanes are everywhere. Cars are used to sharing the road with bikes. People also get very upset at bikers when they break the traffic laws--like when people get upset with other drivers when they break traffic laws. So unless you've come from the east where you can get away with doing whatever you want on a bike because no one really knows the traffic laws for bicycles--unless you're Andy--you'll be fine.

After a few traffic laws were violated. After a few people yelled profanities. After Matt finally broke down laughing and made a few smart comments to an affluent white couple. After Andy almost got hit. The trio got separated and frustrated trying to catch the train to meet the family they were staying with.

(A small tangent: Portland has a "Free Zone" for the train. If you get on the train in the downtown area you can ride for free. If you board it outside the proper downtown area you have to pay a certain amount depending on where you're boarding it from. Cities out east should give this a try.)

Nevertheless we met the family and had an amazing weekend hanging out with the parents and three of their boys (who were our age; they also had an older son who kindly texted his family a picture of him an michael Jordan--he's working at one of his camps).

Matt and the oldest son that was home got a long really well and spent the weekend hanging out in Portland and watching television.

Andy and Morgan spent time hanging out with the son that was their age as well as spending some time with one of Morgan's distant relatives. Overall it was a great weekend--one couldn't have asked for a more restful or fun weekend before we complete our goal in the next week.

Don't worry, I'll keep filling you in about what happened in Pullman and the last week. Cheers for now.

A very unordered picture summary of our last few days...

2010-08-07T18:18:00.000-07:00

I think majestic is the word.

Pictures do not come close to capturing this guy.

A famous donut shop in Portland. The line was around the block so we didn't try any, but we were there.

Lots of waterfalls along the gorge.

The trail we road along had an abrupt obstacle on it. I don't think the bike grooves on the stairs were designed with 80 lb. touring bikes in mind.

Anything goes in Portland.

Ya, we met Jimmy Hendrix!

Breakdancing show in downtown Portland. Impressive.

Our 13th state.

A bike trail we road on following the Columbia River gorge.

We almost ran over this rattlesnake on our way through the eastern Oregon desert.

Asparagus field. A first.

Gorgeous. Pun.

We road into Portland on Friday evening and met up with some new friends. We enjoyed a nice day in Portland on Saturday and will stay for church on Sunday as well. We will then ride to THE COAST! on Monday morning. Looking foreward to seeing all our friends and family soon.

Hamilton, MT: Brewfest, Fire, and the meaning of life through story

2010-08-01T12:44:00.000-07:00

Idaho was proving to be much nicer than any other fine state that opened itself up to commercialization and the other--motorized--tourists. One man from Idaho who picked us up in his 1992 Volkswagen Van told us "If anyone asks you if there's anything in Idaho, tell them that there's only potatoes."

And so we did. Well, we will. Idaho seems to still be under the radar for most people trying to tour the Northwest.

Montana, on the other hand, seems to get a little more attention. We made our way into Hamilton Montana hearing about a brew-fest that was happening on the day we were to arrive. Well, mostly we saw posters advertising for it as we were riding towards it that day. We thought it was pretty cool that the town was having a party on the same day we were arriving, let alone a brew-fest. But we think that about every town that happens to have a party on the day we arrive. Mostly it happens to us each friday and/or saturday. It seems like maybe most towns have little fair-like get-togethers on weekends in the summer. I digress.

We arrived in Hamilton with hopes held high. We weren't expecting to do much partying though. Matt is the only one who can drink legally, and even one person has to drop $30 to get a few drinks in him at one of these festivals. So we settled for pasta and ice cream right outside the festival.

Sooner than later we were talking with a lovely couple of people at a pavillion. They were modest folk, perhaps a little less excited to talk to us than those who had already consumed a generous amount of alcohol. There was even one woman who was unhappy because her daughter, who was Matt's age, had just left.

"It's too bad, I could have introduced her to ya'll."

It was too bad. Matt hadn't showered in 5 or 7 days; even alcohol doesn't stop one from sensing a person who hasn't engaged in common social rituals for that amount of time.

So the trio spent their time chatting with anyone who would put up with their company. After a while the couple started to take a liking to the trio.

"You boys aren't like a lot of the "new" kids these days."

"What do you mean by new kids?" Andy always asks good questions, right?

"Well you're very polite and respectful."

"Well thank you."

The way they worded the compliment was unlike I had heard it before--so much so that I was surprised to hear it. And so we proceeded. They told us what it was like to live in Montana; what it was like to have children; what it was like to be them. And we shared about ourselves and about our ride, assuming that they understood mostly about what it was like to be us. They certainly seemed to.

After talking a while we were humbly invited back to the woman's house to sleep. I suppose it was kind of like being picked up at a bar, only without the connotations. In fact, if we were any good at that sort of thing, we might've slept much more peacefully many nights previously.

Nevertheless, a couple hours later we found ourselves fast asleep on her living room floor--bathed and everything.

She was a marvelous woman. In the morning she cooked us a huge breakfast and let us into her life a little bit more. She was beautiful. Wonderfully talented. Perhaps a bit under-appreciated. She was also very generous. I thought of some of the richest religious people we'd met on our trip so far--mostly the ones who'd turned us away--and wished they could meet her.

We finished breakfast and hurried off to church; we went down the street and she went to the town we had passed through the day before.

Church: The one pastor--who happened to be speaking that Sunday--was emotionally disturbed by the lack of effort put forth by the congregation during a youth function recently. He did a lot of yelling. It was quite interesting. He kept mentioning the body of Christ and pointing out how the people in the congregation weren't being very christ-like as they weren't supporting the youth and trying to bring them to christ like they should've.

Talking with some people afterward it seemed like the message--one unlike any other that I had heard to that point--was received well enough. Well. Kind of. We heard that in retrospect the man was likely to look back on his sermon as one that was perhaps a bit emotional. perhaps a bit less thought-through. perhaps a little unlike the other ones he'd given. And maybe he'd be a bit embarrassed about it, though no one would fault him for it, now or in the future. Anyway, that probably doesn't make much sense to anyone that wasn't there. (how detailed are blogs supposed to be anyway?)

As the service came to an end we started talking to people in the rows behind us and in front of us. They probably noticed each of us get up three times during the service and go to the bathroom--we kept passing back and forth a 32 oz. bottle of water. So between getting up to fill it and getting up to go to the bathroom, I don't think the back door of the sanctuary was ever fully closed.

anyway, we met a man and his wife who ran marathons. well, his wife ran marathons. Not to be outdone, the man ran ultra-marathons. With her dad. in other words, he ran 50 miles at a time, often through the woods, in what other individuals would call a race. They got shirts and free drinks and other fancy things. This man also got trophies, but they only go to the top few folks in the race. He was impressive. And so we had no trouble chatting over lunch. After he taught us a lesson, of course:

"Is there anything we can do to help?" Matt asked as lettuce was being cut up for salad and large pieces of hamburger meat were being patted onto a platted to be grilled. The three boys stood around drinking soda.

"No. We'd just like it if you let us serve you right now." He looked Matt in the eye and smiled. It was the second or third time he had asked. Being able to be served must've been a quality that Mary understood better than Martha. Martha was a bit humiliated at the end of that story, if you'll remember. Matt learned it before he was humiliated, don't worry--this story ends pleasantly.

Well, kind of. During dinner a huge forest fire broke out at the top of one of the peaks within eyesight of their living room window.

Later that evening we all attended a bible study--a small group from the church, if you will. We stayed with the family who hosted the small group.

If you're wondering about what people with children talk about when they study the bible, it's a lot like anyone else when they're studying the bible. Except for maybe bible scholars. But they don't seem to get together and eat banana nut bread: they sit by themselves at mahogany desks and write letters via journals back and forth so that the rest of the world can listen in on what they've got to say, if they've got time. If not their pastor tells them one sunday.

And so there we were, sitting around a living room acting like normal religious people. It was quite enjoyable.

Later that evening we found out that instead of getting a new sports car or something slightly irresponsible this man and wife had three daughters during their mid-life crisis. It seemed a lot more productive than most couples we had met until then. It was a second chance at parenting if nothing else.

And after a number of long conversations with the family we went to bed, only to wake up in the morning, eat, and get on our bikes and begin riding again. Refreshed if nothing else.

You see. This is life. Not a lot of exciting, extra-ordinary things happen in anyone's story. In fact, it's rarely the events that make the story. It's the way it's told. So instead of taking in some motivational speaker's ideas about living a better life, why not get better at telling stories.

Challis Hot Springs: Tourists and Tent poles

2010-07-30T19:31:00.000-07:00

We had ridden 80 miles to Challis, ID and decided to check out a hot springs camp ground in Challis that someone had told us about. It was getting dark, and the hot camp ground was nearly 5 miles off the main road--10 miles from the town.

We arrived to a bed and breakfast/RV park/Camp ground. Not what we had expected. Women were walking around in dresses and a others were coming out of the hot springs with their shirts off--guys, of course. The hot springs had just closed. And one of the women in a dress came over.

"did you guys ride down here to get in the hot springs? or to camp?"

Andy: "Well we were thinking about going in the hot springs--are there not any others around?"

"No we own them all. They close at ten so we just locked them up for the night. Are you planning on camping here--we'll open the hot springs up at 8 am tomorrow morning--you can get in them after you wake up in the morning before you start riding again."

"how much are the campsites? just to tent"

"well it's $21 for the first two people and $8 for each person after that."

"No we definitely won't be camping here then."

At that point a long silence ensued. Matt started looking around for people who were leaving the small parking lot, hoping to hitch a ride into town. The lady just stood there. It was dark at this point and most people seem to think that once it gets dark we shouldn't be riding on the road. People also tend to look at a distance like ten miles as a great distance to ride a bike because they don't pedal bikes around often. The silence went on for close to a minute.

"ah. well I'll let you sleep in an empty spot then. I'll get in my car and show you. (laughs nervously) I don't like to walk really, even if its only a few hundred feet."

we showered her with thanks, hoping to get that slightly disgusted look off of her face. She walked 50 feet to her car and drove us 200 yards through a gate and pointed to a campsite.

"This isn't like New Jersey boys, you have to be careful about where you end up in Idaho!"

"Yep. Real sorry about that. We'll be more careful next time for sure."

The campsite was nice. The grass was mowed and it promised not to wake us up to sprinklers spraying our things (like it did earlier that morning in Arco, ID).

Matt propped his bike against the table and began pulling this off, getting ready to sleep.

"Andy, remind me not ever to listen to anyone who reccomends going to anything that has to do with tourists again."

"Ya I know, right."

5 minutes later Andy was talking on the phone to his girlfriend. Matt had set up his tent and was starting to eat when Morgan came back and said he couldn't find the tent poles.

"Andy come get the tent poles. We can't find them." Matt yelled.

Andy just sat there and kept talking. Matt went over.

"Andy you need to get off the phone and come find the tent poles!"

"I know. I think I left them in Arco." Andy whispered, still on the phone.

Matt turned around and went back to eating. It was the same sort of reaction he would have the next night when his sleeping bag got bumped into a waterfall at the top of a mountain. No visible reaction. These things are sort of funny, if not maddening, and they always happen. Getting visibly upset is only worth it when the social consequences are few (i.e. when its just you and your brother and no one else is around it's usually ok to hit him. he'll heal. no one else will think you're very violent, provided you don't leave any bruises, and your anger is instantly purged.)

Sure enough, Andy left the poles in Arco. (At this point it might help to explain that both the tents we're carrying are split up to distribute the weight properly. Andy was given the poles of his tent, Morgan carried the poles to the tent Matt sleeps in.)

"Do you mind if I sleep with you in that tent," Morgan asked.

"ya I don't mind," Matt laughed.

He then finished his food, completed his pre-sleeping rituals, legitimately tried to console Andy while brainstorming a solution (Morgan suggested calling the owner of the gas station in the morning--earlier that day we found out he was from Reading, PA and gave us free sandwiches, etc) and headed toward the tent (with poles in it).

The problem was solved. they went to bed anticipating bathing in a hot spring full of other tourists in the morning. Andy slept in the tent without poles, and life was fine. sort of.

2010-07-30T18:16:00.000-07:00

That is a forrest fire. Nature is incredible. Death is the engine of life.

A few days ago we met a most extraordinary couple. They were riding their bicycles across america...with their 4 and 6 year old children riding behind them in a trailer! Yes that is right. The Murr family is pedalling across the United States and pulling their two children behind them in a trailer. More than three months on the road, they are riding to promote family invovlement, environmental awareness, and a healthy life style. You should check out thier website at http://www.murrbike.com

.SMALL town.

While at Jon Geruntho's place we have been learning to cook...and eating.

Pictures from the Tetons

2010-07-29T16:00:00.000-07:00

Morgan never learned to skip.

Tina was a great contact in Grand Teton National Park. We spent a few nice days with her and a few of her friends there.

A few facts

2010-07-29T14:08:00.000-07:00

Our most recent leg of the journey was 150 miles long. We rode for 11 hours and made it 150 miles.
We rode up route 93 through Idaho, into Montana, and headed west on route 12 over Lolo pass. This was the same route Lewis and Clark took on their expedition to the pacific ocean
We are now in the Pacific Time Zone
Matt, Morgan, and Andy ate an entire half gallon of ice cream in one sitting.
A River Runs Through It is a great movie.
Over the past week we have sat in 3 natural hot-springs. Life is tough.
We are currently spending several relaxing days with Jon Geruntho. Jon is a good friend from Albright who is now attending graduate school at Washington State University
We have now been on the road for 60 days.
Matt is currently working on something more substantial for you to read.
Pictures will be coming soon.
Our last leg of the trip will look like this: From Pullman, WA to Portland, OR to the coast, into Olympia, WA and up to Seattle on or about Aug. 13.

Idaho: Into The Wild

2010-07-29T02:08:00.000-07:00

A recent conversation with a man pointed out that people feel good about accomplishment. An individual undertakes great things, or lesser things that are also great, primarily for the reward that comes with the accomplishment of that thing. He then went on to argue that survival for all species is an accomplishment. well, survival and the reproduction. isn't that what species are all about anyway--surviving and ensuring the survival of their species? He was saying that it's only natural that positive, healthy emotions follow such an achievement in order that the species does what it's supposed to--survive and reproduce.

So I had hiked a few miles into the back country of Idaho and was sitting close to the summit of one of the hills commonly called the Rocky Mountains. I was naked. And I was floating in a hot spring, my head on a rock, watching the moon come over the rock face right above me. The big dipper was above on the right, Orion's belt somewhere straight up, and only the silhouettes of different trees and plants were visible in front of the moon. I was out in the middle of no where. As far as my sense could tell no one else was around for miles.

I couldn't help thinking that maybe there was some part of me that was supposed to live like this. Wild and untamed, not unlike those previously prestigious explorers who had passed the same way 200 years earlier. Living like an animal.

Back to the guy and the sense of accomplishment:
He was making the point that he'd like to live in the wild. Each day would be a struggle to survive. Each day would be an accomplishment. He was convinced he would be happy that way. He was convinced more people should think a little more about living life a little bit more like that. If nothing else it might be a bit healthier.

We are animals, I suppose.

Pictures.

2010-07-22T11:23:00.000-07:00

Feet and a pronghorn...

We got into the Park Rangers stash.

Funny looking legs for a Buffalo.

This is our new friend Matt. Matt works for the National Park Service in Grant Teton NP. Matt hosted us for a few days. He makes wonderful homemade bread.

Interesting bit of history.

It was dark when we arrived, but we made it.

We are still climbing.

It is a bit hard to see here but we had a rude awakening one morning when the spinklers started going off and soaked all our stuff :( We blocked the sprinkler near our tent with a sock and went back to sleep!

Fund Raising Update

2010-07-21T14:05:00.000-07:00

We have great news. Because of what God has been able to do we have officially finished our second water project (in Piswa, Uganda)! We have now united enough people to raise over $10,600! In faith we will be accepting a third village to advocate for. The name of the village is Kitany. Kitany is within 20 miles of Piswa and will require a very similiar water system. As of now I do not have any pictures or much other information. Hopefully that will come soon... Thanks everyone and praise God. He has created a beautiful world and is pleased to walk with us as we serve as its caretakers.

A quick update

2010-07-20T06:44:00.000-07:00

We just spent a few heavenly days hiking and resting in Grand Teton National Park with Tina Mauro, her family, and her friends. This was a much needed break from our bicycles. We did two beautiful hikes, learned to make bread from scratch, watched some TV shows, went to a "worship in the parks service and much more. We are now in Idaho Falls and planning our route through Idaho. We are planning to go North to Pullman, WA where a friend of Morgan and Andy's is going to school at Washington State University. Last night we slept in a Motel after a wonderful couple that we were put in contact with took us out to dinner and put us up for the night in the motel. This morning we made the most of the continental breakfast and got a late start.

Starting a new chapter: Leaving Yellowstone and good friends behind

2010-07-16T14:50:00.000-07:00

From Yellowstone it was on to the Grand Tetons National Park. That meant splitting ways with Leon and Mike, two friends who have shared part of our journey with us. And two friends that we will hopefully get to spend plenty of more time with in the coming years. They went north into Montana and we went through the south exit of the park.

The day off was marvelous. Grand Teton was not only a bit smaller--meaning less tourists--but maybe even a little prettier. And if nothing else it carried with it the promise of at least a few days off. We had a friend there.

We spent the night catching up with her and her family. We went hiking the next day, and are now in the process of staying at a log cabin that would sell for a few million dollars if the national park would sell it. It's right in front of the Tetons. So instead of anything else, here are some questions:

To what extent does a structure that someone has given a lot of themselves toward educate you about them?

Why do people who don't like the same symbols (or subcultural icons) as we do not immediately strike our fancy? or do they?

Why is beauty so expensive? And how does beauty affect those who can't afford it differently than those who can?

does love mean to watch someone die (physically, mentally, spiritually)?

What is home to you?

Does capitalism fail when everyone becomes so specialized they stop looking into what the other areas are feeding them?

Do you not connect with any one specific question when people give you a list of questions that could require a lot of thought? Yes.

Also. Matt is going to have a go at writing some short non-fiction stories regarding different people and experiences he has encountered on the trip thus far. So in the next few weeks, if a short story pops up it will be from experiences encountered on the trip.

Yellowstone: A Tourists Paradise

2010-07-16T14:23:00.000-07:00

There's nothing quite like a bunch of affluent (enough) Americans driving full-size RVs around a 60-mile circle in the middle of a 2.2 million acre mile wilderness to severely distress a cyclist. Or anyone riding a bike, for that matter. Not only do middle and upper-aged men not always understand how big their vehicle is, but they also don't understand what it's like to be young, passionate, and riding a bike...

Yellowstone is gorgeous, but it wasn't the resting place some of the group thought it might be. At least not on the first day. Besides almost getting hit a few times each day by the same people who were living much more comfortably than we, the wind made things less than pleasant to ride in. We decided to take a day off from riding and hitch-hike around the park.

I'll only mention once that the same people who irritated us on our bikes irritated us as hitch-hikers because not only would they not pick us up, they wouldn't acknowledge us. There's something about affluent (enough) white Americans that can be enraging. Try begging on the street--or working on the same committee as one.

We got a lot of rides with, hippies, foreigners--people who were exploring the national parks of america from other countries--and a few kids our own age. All people worth consulting about the future of the country or personal substance. We really liked all of the people we met. We learned from them.

And so we saw the park. We ate lots of peanut butter sandwhiches. We slept. We read. We hiked. We conquered the tourists; being ourselves, well, tourists.

When Leon was asked why it was so natural for us to get so upset with the tourists driving their cars (almost) into us, getting in our way, and sometimes stopping to wiggle their finger and scream bits of advice like: "Ride Single File" he replied:

"I think it's because I've pedaled my butt off to get here--and at first glance it seems like they're getting a similar experience for a lot less work, with a lot more convenience and comfort. We're being forced to share the same beauty with a million others who don't seem to care about us, and who seem to be having a much easier time doing it."

And so we learned about expectations and the old saying about not worrying about what other people are getting for what they do.

Did I mention we also saw Yellowstone?

Bathing: Another sketch

2010-07-16T14:01:00.000-07:00

The woods were dark. The outline of the mountain peaks were just differentiated from the sky by the light of the moon. The peaks were sharp and jagged rock, harsh features against the sky's gently burning stars. But they continued to shine. The breeze was warm. No voices could be heard, but the sound of the river and the moon's reflection on it could have caused one not to hear someone yelling at them from less than a foot away. The river was swift from flooding, higher than usual.

The wildness of the night threatened to demolish anyone who didn't respect it, who wouldn't stand up to it, who wouldn't worship it in some way or another. Just him and the wild. The out of doors. And so he stood there, feeling the breeze, taking in the stars and the mountain peaks and the rushing water and the cry of the wolf.

His descent to the water was quick, his entrance cold. The water rushed over him, and his body started to clench up. The stars still shown, and the wind was kind--warm. His hands moved quickly over the different parts of his body. Trying to get clean again.

The moon lined the muscles in his legs when they managed to break the surface of the water. Then all of him went in. Now the river washed.

The cold soon ended the bath. The moon displayed the naked body climbing out, up the river bank. The shadows on his back, hunched over on all fours to climb to flat ground. And then at the top he stood, shook himself, and moved into the cover of the woods before looking back at the moon to give his own kind of howl.

Day 47

2010-07-16T13:44:00.000-07:00

Look at this little treasure.

Looks like something out of a sci-fi movie...

I would have understood earth science a lot better if this were my classroom in 9th grade.

The colors are fabulous. Imagine stumbling upon this for the first time!

We ditched our bikes at our campsite for the day and did some hitch-hiking around yellowstone. Seeing the sights out of the back of a truck is almost as good as from a bike. Andy might have been pleased about a day off.

Countryside.

This was Matt's rear wheel by the time we wobbled into Cody, WY. We had trued it on about 10 different ocassions and it wasn't having any more. 6 broken spokes. We had to buy a whole new set up.

One of our numerous close encounters with Bison. "I feel like we dodge a bullet everytime we ride by one of those things and don't get charged" said Leon.

Old Faithful.

Progress.

I am not sure what was more ammusing, all the people taking pictures or this big elk.

The Grand Tetons

Sure glad we swung down from Yellowstone to see this place!

Dinner time.

First time for everything. They were serious!

Big-Rock Candy Mountain: Lots of treats

2010-07-09T15:14:00.000-07:00

It had been quite a ride to the top. The kind of ride that's easy enough to pedal, but once you've done so much of the same kind of pedaling--uphill, of course--it begins to wear on your legs more than the other kind of pedaling (downhill). When you're heading up a mountain you're in the lowest gear, but the hill is never-ending and both the lack of hope that the top exists and the increasingly difficult grade make the experience everyone feels in their legs the next morning.

A number of people on road bikes kept riding by. I was thinking about writing a post on the difference between cyclists in the east and cyclists in the west--the ones we were passing were saying things like "good luck," "Enjoy your ride," God bless you," and "You deserve a medal!" Out east we were lucky if we got much of a nod a lot of the time. I was thinking about the socio-economic status that usually comes with being a cyclist and wondering what other factors, besides location, might have contributed to the difference in attitude. A few miles down the road we came across it: Cycle America.

Cycle America is an organization that people can pay roughly $6,200 to in order to organize a cycling trip across the United States from them. The trip is complete with route, bike repairs/spare bikes, food, water/Gatorade, snacks, set-up pit stops, laundry, sleeping and basically anything else you could think of/want on a bike trip.

There were 90 other people going over the mountain that day, 45 of them going across the country. (the other 45 were stopping in SD). Most of them were middle-aged to 81 years old. It was a vacation for them. They were pleased to spare some water, Gatorade powder; we were pleased to take a few granola bars and banana's off their hands; they gave, we took. It was a balanced relationship.

But really, it was good talking to a few of them. They were very nice, most of them quite interested in what we were doing, and we were likewise interested and willing to give advice about the rest of the mountain.

On our way up we also re-met our friend Mike and pedaled our way to the top together. His company made things easier as he was somewhat new and other all sorts of interesting information about the experiences he had been through thus far in his life.

After pedaling six and a half hours we reached the top. In honor of our good health Andy climbed a steep rock summit so he could say he was 10,000 feet above sea level. The rest enjoyed some treats our sponsors probably don't want us to mention.

Now after six and a half hours of riding uphill, there's nothing like not pedaling at all for 22 miles. We stopped several times down the side of the mountain, not because we were tired, but to look at the beauty that was the Big Horn Mountains. A vast glacier is said to have carved out a canyon and different rock formations just east of Ten Sleep, WY that ranks among the top landscapes we've seen across the country.

Mike mentioned: "It almost makes me want to believe in God again." I think just about every skeptic agreed with him. We heard their voices in the wind coming through the canyon.

Mike was supposed to meet his dad in Ten Sleep at 6 p.m. but as mountains always take more time to climb than you think and rarely offer cell-phone reception; and many people move slower than one, his dad came up the mountain to make sure all was well. It was, and when we got to Ten Sleep we ate (a lot) dinner at a lovely (the only) restaurant in town. We sat outside. We sat next to a lovely young man who kept saying (or was he yelling, we weren't sure) things like "I like my women like I like my whiskey: 12 years old and all mixed up in coke," "Ya, get out the stripper pole," and "give 'er the gas sonny" (referring to the man who just got in his hot rod along the sidewalk). He also kept mentioning things about heroin that made it quite hard to concentrate on what anyone at our table was saying.

I might also point out that when a young man came out of the bar with a six-pack of beer, a bottle of wine, and a young lady I had seen him trying very hard to talk to at the bar an older man in a big truck driving by yelled "Hey nice work" and winked at him. Everybody knows everybody. I wondered if he had been after that girl for quite some time. Some towns publicly congratulate people for personal achievements, some towns personally congratulate people for private achievements soon to be public problems. Yeehaw!

And before I go on I'll mention that the dinner was lovely and meeting Mike's dad was a real treat. Probably two of the nicest people we'll meet on the trip.

Back to the point about everyone knowing each other:
They do all each other, and they all seem to have a lot of money. It was probably the nicest town without a grocery store we had seen yet. In fact, it might have been the nicest town we'd seen--because it was so small. It's easy to have bad sections of big towns. But anyway, the combination didn't bode well for camping there. An old man stopped in the middle of the street, obnoxiously turned around and told us that we weren't allowed to camp in the park. We were just standing around on the Ten Sleep Park's very green, very well watered, very well maintained grass.

That comment prompted us to sleep on the church's grass across the street. It was well watered too.

And so the journey continues, inches of (precious) grass at a time.

Through the Big Horn Mountains

2010-07-09T14:32:00.000-07:00

This is Andy speaking.

Yesterday we set up off the Big Horn Mountains. We climbed, and climbed, and climbed. Thirty miles up. At five miles an hour we climbed just about all day.

The views though made it all worth it. I have never seen such lush forests. A sea of pines. I had also never seen snow in July. By the time we got up to 10,000 feet we would have been cold had we not been working so hard.

Then we went down. Maybe the most euphoric hour and a half of my life 30 miles down through a prestine lake, ten sleep canyon, and lots and lots of peaks.

In so few words I was more pleased with life than I had been in some time.

What a day.

We made camp in a pastor's yard and slept quite well.

These pictures are not ours because my camera died, but this is what we saw yesterday. This guy is a better photographer is than us anyhow...

Camping: Another Sketch

2010-07-07T16:11:00.001-07:00

The wind is nice when it comes through the bottom of the rain-fly--through the screen sections of the tent. Most of the time it doesn't, though. So I lay and try not to think about how dirty I am. I'm wearing leg warmers, shorts, a t-shirt, and a jacket--that way I can't feel any part of my skin sticking to the sleeping bag. I try not to let any part of me touch any other skin--then I can feel the stickiness too. My arms are close to my body and my hands folded over my chest. (I'm laying flat on my back.) I keep my legs apart, and try to move my calves as little as possible because every time I do I can feel that the uncovered parts of skin stick to the sleeping bag. It's disgusting. I don't know when I'll get to shower again. It's a sort of hopeless feeling, laying there in my own filth realizing this is what I'm doomed to for an indefinite period of time. It's hard to get used to, harder than I remember. Between the two of us in the tent, the smell is not any kind of pleasant. I put in my headphones and try to pay more attention to how tired I am. The pile of clothes beneath my head is not always the best support, or clean, but it's not a rock, either. And this has become beautiful to me. Soon it will just be normal, peaceful in most senses.

As I adjusted from life in a host's home to life in a tent, this was a typical experience. I often remembered not only that life without a shower was once normal to me, but also that entire cultures live without showering as often as I do. Adjusting does seem to get harder with age. So I pray that I'll always be given the strength to put up with the difficulties of adaption in order to put myself through experiences and ways of life much different to mine. I'm not sure of a better experience for the human soul.

One hour internet limit at the local library...

2010-07-07T15:49:00.000-07:00

We have taken the liberty of exploring a few run down buildings like this one. There are hundreds of ghost towns out west.

I am not sure how these things formed, but I am glad they did.

Morgan taking in the view.

Climbing is good fun...as long as you can get down.

I would like to hear the story behind this.

A typical lunch...

The highest Andy had ever been outside an airplane...not for long.

Tourists...

It was 110 degrees, but it was beautiful. Like nothing I had ever scene.

All business.

Rapid City to Custer: A Peace-Bringing Experience

2010-07-07T15:23:00.000-07:00

Rapid City woke us up gently.

After that it was a series of bike shops, libraries, grocery stores and the like before heading into Custer State Park to visit a family Matt knew from CA. He spoke very highly of them, and was pleased when the other three mates found them as charming as he did.

We arrived about 8 p.m. after a leisurely ride through the black hills, complete with a stop for ice cream, a few brief rain showers and some amazing views. The next day we hung out with the family as they showed us around in their minivan--a much needed day off. We saw Rushmore, a number of information centers on the area, did some laundry, ate--we're always eating, and the family was more than happy to feed us--and topped it all off with a Fireworks display in Custer (the Mt. Rushmore fireworks were canceled).
It was a splendid time.

Among the things we visited was the Badger Hole. I wondered why people went to see a big hole in the ground at first, but once we got there, it did seem pretty clever. The dirt was all kinds of different colors from years of formation--OK, if you've checked out the link you know I'm kidding, so I'll stop. If you haven't checked out the link yet, do so.

If you still won't: he was a poet. He's most famous for "The Cowboy's Prayer." The Badger Hole is his house. He was South Dakota's first Poet Lariat. Quite brilliant, really.

His house sits in the Black Hills. It's not grand, or on some huge hill with a ridiculous view. Though the woods surrounding it is beautiful. It's just peaceful. It has a big porch in front looking across a dirt road into the forest. It has a cozy living room with a guest bedroom immediately off to the right when you walk in. It has a book case with a more-than-lovely book collection. It has a modest kitchen, and his room is attached to the other side of it. It's a fancy cabin--it's well built, well decorated (for a man who was never married), and cozy enough that even the most urban of us could picture themselves sitting in by the fire reading a good book with a cup of wine or coffee.

Walking around it, however, I couldn't help but wonder about how peaceful he actually was. He lived something of a lonesome life. He was engaged three times to the same woman, but he fell ill and that relationship didn't quite work out. He read a lot by the fire, I'm sure. He wrote a lot. He cooked his own food and chopped his own wood. He lived a simple life. He lived an ideal life if you ask the kind of person who likes to sit and think--there seems to be a whole movement, or maybe a few of them towards living simply and contemplating life, really thinking about things, etc. I suppose it's the same sorts of people who are a bit fed up with the society that has emerged. The desire to return to only what we need, to the simple pleasures, the natural pleasures; that seems to be what these sorts of people are looking for.

All four of us fall into these sorts of ideas, or types of people with ideas--however you'd like to go about stereotyping or categorizing this sort of thing. Well, to some extent we fall into them, at least. And so we go on longing, looking for peaceful serenity.

Looking at the Badger's few things I could envision myself living there in peace. Reading and writing at night, drinking and eating good things, keeping to myself and having friends over occasionally. And then I figured I'd get bored really quickly. I figured it wouldn't be quite as peaceful as I thought it would. I'm not to the point in life yet when I can be peaceful in any situation yet, especially one with no capacity for passive stimulus--that is, the ability to be passive while being stimulated by something at the same time. But Badger was much older when he built his house in the Black Hills, so I figure I've got some time to gain the sort of disconnection from electronics and man-made beauty, the need to assert myself and the like so that I too may one day live in peace, where ever it is that I do that living.

Badlands to Rapid City: A taste of the West

2010-07-06T12:25:00.000-07:00

It was 100 degrees. The badlands were quite remarkable for being simple piles of dirt. Beautiful, really. We spent plenty of time being honked at, smiled at, and simply passed by RVs and other fine folk motoring their way to a vacation spot around the fourth of July. At times it was frustrating, especially when they grew impatient. A lack of respect easily rears its head when tourists get upset. It's a completely different feeling when locals get upset, or even don't care about what you're doing. Anyway, we saw the badlands.

Upon our exit of the badlands we had rode about 40 miles. Scenic, SD was the next town, about 20 miles down the road. We were about out of water already and facing the kind of de-hydration that dries out your throat so that it hurts to swallow. A squirt of water is mandatory every couple of minutes. The wind wasn't unbearable, but blowing from the SW at about 15 mph. We completely ran out of water about a mile outside of Scenic. And so we began to understand what a lot of towns in the west were like.

It looked small enough from a distance, a few buildings here and there. It looked like it would certainly have a store to buy groceries from and fill our water. We were even thinking about heading toward Rapid City, SD (a bonafide city of about 40,000 people) after we rehydrated ourselves and had something to eat.

Everything looked closed as we got there, and the only road into the town that was paved was the main one. We passed an old church that was turned into an extras store, but was closed, a stone building that proved to be the original jail, and then rode around looking for something that was open. A hostel, a second-hand shop, a bar, a sort of grocery, an Indian shop, a museum, and a few other shops. All closed, boarded up. All seemed to be built in the 1950s or '60s. There was one shop that was open. We walked in. There were convenience-store items in the front: candy bars, chips, sodas and sports drinks, etc. In the back were some clothing items on a table, all for sale.

Starting to wonder if we had sweated out all our fluids, minerals, and other things that keep you healthy we grabbed the sports drinks. Then we asked the lady at the counter if there was anything else around:

Andy: "is there anything else around. A grocery store or anything?"

Lady: "no. everything else is closed. Sorry. We've got some chips and trail mix stuff over there if you want. The town is pretty much all closed down now. A few families left the town because of some problems and this is the only shop open anymore."

We ate a bag of Frito's and a bag of trail mix each.

Not any more than 15 minutes later the owner (of the town) walked in: An older lady who was maybe 5-3, 100 LBS, and probably could have beaten Matt in a boxing match; smoked between 4 and 6 cigarettes in the time she spent conversing with us and "closing the town down;" consistently interrupted herself to viciously yell at what could only have been her two young grand kids, who were making plenty of noise antagonizing each other; and was open enough to questions from Matt (who instantly took a liking to her) to close the town a few minutes late.

Matt: "So you own the town?"

Owner: "Ya, we own it. There are about eight of us now."

M: "and, uh, how do you come to own a town?"

O: "well it was founded it 1963, and through the years I just came about to owning it..."

M: "Oh, ya, that makes sense. So you're just closing it down for the evening now, then, huh?"

O: "yep. We're closing it down."

M: "the whole town?"

O: "Yes!" she seemed a tad irritated, but not so much as to imply that his questions, or maybe his existence in general, mattered much to her.

M "Wow. So..." At this point her grandboys interrupted the conversation. He started to talk back

O: "Ya would you mind getting that stuff off the table. I'm closing up. I'm late for something."

M: Oh. Sure... Silence--then the yelling at the boys, more silence as Matt piles a lot of bottles and bike stuff in his arms (where did everyone else go?) and walks the length of the building and out the door.

Everyone is outside. She locks the door. The town is now closed.

At this point it's apparent that she drives a golf cart around her town. That makes sense. And then:

Matt stood right beside her as she screamed at the grandkids who were insisting on riding on the space on the back of the golf cart (where clubs would normally go) instead of on the seat beside her. She knelt down and pulled with all her might on one childs arm to get him to move. He fought her off, laughing the whole time. Her voice was quite loud, high pitched: "You get up there!"

It wasn't working. After a long struggle the kids ended up sitting on the back as they drove, maybe 100 yards, down the street to what appeared to be her house. And in they went.

Two other cross country cyclists rode up. Luckily theystill had water and food. We decided to ride into the night and get to Rapid City, about 40 miles down the road.

We rode across Buffalo Gap through the night and arrived in Rapid at about 12:30 p.m. We stopped at the first gas station that was open to get some more food, water, etc. It soon closed and we were at a loss as to where we should camp. Figuring it would be the most forgiving in the morning we chose the Lutheran Church across the street.

And so the day ended. Finally.

A few less words...

2010-07-01T16:22:00.000-07:00

I am typing this from a library Kadoka, SD. The wind has been terrible over the past few days. Mostly blowing from the South and gusting above 30 mph most of the time. This is keeping us slow. We have camped the past two nights but have had a pleasant time.

We also keep meeting folks that are doing similiar things to us. Just in the past few days we have camped or ridden with two guys pedalling from Conneticut to San Diego, two guys pedalling from Florida to Alaska (one of whom has ridden over 1 million miles...http://www.dannychew.com/) a guy WALKING from Philadelphia to San Fransisco, a guy riding from New York to Hong Kong (this is Leon who we have befriended) and two Blugarians pedaling from Pennsylvania to California. WOW! I guess because there are so few towns is South Dakota everyone is funnelled into the same area...

I(Andy) never really understood what people meant when they said "big country." Now I get it. Many of the towns we pass through only have 100 or so people in them. Sometimes 500 if we are lucky. Everything else is just rolling hills covered in grass and cows. The wind is big, the sky is big, the hills are big, the sun is big. They all seem to persistently point out just how great their creator must be.

Five thousand words...

2010-07-01T16:00:00.000-07:00

We road to a car show and Morgan really like this one. He offered the guy to trade him straight up for his bike, but the guy did not bite...

Paul Bunyan had the day off, but here is his ox.

Tourist trap.

This is Leon.

We crossed the Missouri. One of the more beautiful areas I have ever been in. Not quite sure how the pioneers got across though...

We hope to get to Mt. Rushmore by Saturday evening. We are looking foreward to this and riding as hard as we can to make it happen.

A New Friend: Catching An Adventure

2010-06-30T13:31:00.000-07:00

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.

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

2010-06-29T14:05:00.000-07:00

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.

Tragedy is Uncontrollable

2010-06-25T19:27:00.000-07:00

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.

2010-06-25T18:31:00.000-07:00

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

2010-06-25T13:03:00.000-07:00

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.

Afolkey to Dubuque: The Adventure begins.

2010-06-24T15:50:00.000-07:00

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

2010-06-24T15:23:00.001-07:00

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

2010-06-24T08:06:00.000-07:00

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.

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

2010-06-19T13:55:00.000-07:00

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.

2010-06-17T18:21:00.000-07:00

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.

2010-06-16T15:29:00.000-07:00

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.

Fort Wayne to Valpo: A Fearful Update

2010-06-14T14:09:00.000-07:00

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.

Just another update: Some stories

2010-06-13T14:56:00.000-07:00

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

2010-06-13T14:16:00.000-07:00

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.

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

2010-06-10T07:10:00.000-07:00

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?

Ninevah, PA: Like Jonah, Without The Threatening

2010-06-09T20:44:00.000-07:00

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.

Into Ohio

2010-06-08T21:28:00.000-07:00

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!

Some raw footage of a typical small town

2010-06-03T19:28:00.000-07:00

Honest Abe and a question

2010-06-03T19:00:00.000-07:00

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

2010-06-03T18:51:00.000-07:00

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.

A few more pictures...

2010-06-02T19:53:00.000-07:00

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...

2010-06-02T14:36:00.000-07:00

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

2010-06-02T14:04:00.001-07:00

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!

Happiness grows in valleys

2010-06-01T17:55:00.000-07:00

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.

A quick update

2010-05-31T19:00:00.000-07:00

Memorial day was hot. Someone said it was between 90 and 95 degrees, but we didn't get to look at the temperature. It felt like it was hot. Nevertheless, we've made it to Shamokin, PA.

Shamokin used to be a town booming with industry from the coal mines. The coal mines are mostly all shut down now. Many other industries in the area have also gone away. Unemployment in the town is high, and many people look to unemployment checks to make ends meet.

It's an old town, dating back to the 1800's. There are many old buildings to seen, some beautiful mansions, and gorgeous cathedral-like churches. The Evangelical Congregational church in Shamokin (we're staying with Mark Brownson, the pastor at the church, and his wife Beth, who have been more than hospitable this evening!) is very much like something one might find in Europe somewhere. However, as with anything, the years have deteriorated many of the buildings and as one hears about the current state of the town they seem to be an accurate representation.

On a different note, there are plenty of abandoned coal mines around. Hopefully we'll get some pictures and be able to post them shortly. We've been taking plenty of other video footage and plan to have that up shortly.

And on a pleasant note, everyone we've met so far has been absolutely splendid. We met a couple and their grandchild and they took a few of our brochures to pass around their church. They also donated to the cause. The commissioner of Schuylkill County came out of his house (we were stopped for a second in front of it) and invited us in for some water and conversation. He's one of the one's who said it was a little over 90 degrees. Literally everyone--save for a few excited teenagers who drive by yelling obscenities--has been very caring and excited about what we're doing.

We should have another story or two about the people we're meeting up soon enough.

Our Planned Route

2010-05-28T18:04:00.000-07:00

This is the route we plan to take. The dates are only remotely accurate into Iowa, and all dates are subject to change depending on how the ride that day goes. We might break down, get hurt, etc. In that case, we'll probably not arrive as expected. This is precisely the reason we plan to arrive in Seattle on July 28 and don't plan to fly out until August 16. We will certainly use up the extra days along the way. We put this up merely to give you a rough estimate of where we might be at any given time.

Also, if you have any advice, etc, about the route we've planned, please don't hesitate to give it. We'll take all the help we can get.

Boyertown to Kutztown Sunday night, May 30
Kutztown, PA to Shamokin, PA (57 mi), arrive Monday, May 31
Shamokin, PA to Nittany, PA (68 mi) Tuesday, June 1
Nittany, PA to Curwensville, PA (60) Wednesday, June 2
Curwensville, PA to Sigel, PA (46 mi) Thursday, June 3
Sigel, PA to knox, PA (38 mi), Friday, June 4-rest on Saturday
Knox, PA to Seneca, PA (10 mi) arrive Sunday night, June 6
Seneca, PA to Sharon, PA (50 mi)-arrive monday night June 7
Sharon to Akron, OH (50 mi) Arrive Tuesday night June 8
Akron to Mansfield, OH (61 mi) Wednesday night, June 9
Mansfield, OH to Columbus, OH (57 mi) Thursday night, June 10
Columbus, OH to Lima, OH (78 mi)- Friday night, June 11

Lima to Huntington (80) Arrive Saturday night June 12—rest on Sunday. We might actually try to stick around for a bit. We have a week to get to Afolkey, IL.

Huntington to Valpraiso (90).
Valpraiso to Chicago (50).

Chicago to Afolkey, IL (100 mi) Arrive at least by Saturday June 19.
Afolkey to Dubunque (70). Arrive monday night, June 21
Dubunque to Guttenburg, IA (40). Arrive Tuesday night, June 22
Guttenburg to Ames (110 mi) Arrive wednesday, June 23
Ames to Britt (85 mi) Arrive Thursday, June 24
Britt to Spencer (75 mi) Arrive Friday night June 25
Spencer to Sioux Falls, SD (100) Arrive Sat. night June 26
Sioux Falls to Mitchell (80 mi) Arrive Mon. night June 28
Mitchell to Fort Thompson (91 mi) Arrive Tuesday night June 29
Fort Thompson to Buffalo Gap National Badlands (camping, after 130 mi. ride) Arrive Wednesday night June 30—If this doesn’t work, we can camp in the Fort Pierre National Grassland—basically we have until Sunday July 4 to get to Mt. Rushmore.
Ride 80 miles to other side of Badlands camp again Thursday night June 30
Badlands to Mt Rushmore on Friday July 2—about 40 miles from western side of Badlands—Rest Friday July 3 and 4 at Mt. Rushmore.
Black Hills National Forest (Mt. Rushmore) to Thunder Basin National Park, WY—about 100 miles, depending on where we camp. Arrive July 5. --Monday
Thunder Basin to Gillette, WY. (50) Arrive July 6.--Tuesday
Gillette to Buffalo, WY (70) Arrive July 7--Wednesday
Buffalo to Bighorn National Park (50-100) Arrive July 8--Thursday
Bighorn to Yellowstone National Park (100) Arrive July 9—Friday evening.
Be at Idaho Falls, ID by Monday evening, July 12 (200)
Idaho Falls to Aberdeen (70) Tuesday, July 13
Aberdeen to Shoshone (90) Wednesday, July 14
Shoshone to Boise, ID (100) Thursday, July 15.
Boise to Vale, OR (70) Friday July 16.
Vale to Hines (116) Saturday July 17.
Hines to Riley, OR (20) Sunday July 18.
Riley to Bend, OR (120) Monday or Tuesday July 19 or 20.
Bend to Albany, OR (127) take two days. Camp in Santiam State Forest between Bend and Albany. Arrive in Albany Thursday July 22.

Albany to Salem (30). Arrive Friday July 23.
Salem to Portland (55). Arrive Saturday July 24. Rest Sunday.
Portland to Longview, WA (55). Arrive Monday July 26.
Longview to Olympia (75). Arrive Tuesday July 27.
Olympia to Seattle (70). Arrive Wednesday July 28.

Plans and Dinner: Cleaning Other People

2010-05-28T13:52:00.000-07:00

Last minute plans are coming together swimmingly. Our riding jerseys and casual t-shirts arrived today. They all fit much better than we had initially expected--Huntington University did a nice job on the designs, too. Morgan picked up a GPS device, Matt got a new phone and figured out how to fix the Flip video camera, and Andy put the finishing touches on the bikes and finished a number of thank you notes. The Friedlund family is busy preparing the house (recently wrecked by the return of Matt and Andy from college) for a dinner with the Jones family. It should prove meaningful for both families.

And why do we clean the house, anyway? We both used to wonder that as children when others were coming over. In fact, having company over was not a popular pass-time--especially if the company was not specifically for the entertainment of the children--because we had to clean. As young children we weren't going to be interested in what the adults were talking about. It was often quite boring. They often talked over our heads, or censored themselves in case what they were talking about would be inappropriate for a child to hear--that may have been the most frustrating part. And when we did understand what was going on, like I said, it was boring. But the adults enjoyed themselves.

In general, the average person's company prefers to be in a clean and comfortable environment. And so it's a pretty standard middle class gesture to clean the house before guests arrive at the house. It sends the message that their presence is preferred, even valued.

And then we get to the actual relating to each other. This is never as easy as putting things on the shelves or mopping up the yellow stains on the floor around the toilet. The people coming over have all sorts of ideas about life, even how the house should look. And so one must wonder: How does one go about tidying up ideologically in order to present themselves in a manner that welcomes others? And how does that effect what our physical spaces look like?

Probably it has a lot to do with whether we actually value the person or people in general, and to get to a point where we genuinely value others seems to be quite a journey.

Maybe presenting ourselves as caring will help us understand the positive side of caring about people. Presenting ourselves is easy, as its just an appearance. And it's safe, as it doesn't have to reveal what's really there. We all do it to some extent. (It should probably be mentioned that a life only filled with presentation may be a tad empty). It might not be a bad idea if you're among those who follow the philosophy that you need to start acting in order to understand the good that comes from acting in such a manner. Or, perhaps just continue as you were. When I get bored with new ideas, or too frustrated with the people around me that's what I do ;)

The Unofficial Start of the Trip: A 115 Mile Test

2010-05-26T20:23:00.000-07:00

Today we launched an unofficial beginning to the ride. It was mostly a test run. We figured a ride from Point Pleasant Beach on the shore of New Jersey to our parents house in Boyertown, Penn. (about 110 miles total) would be a great way to learn first hand about what we are still missing. We also figured it would be cool to say that we went from coast to coast. We tagged along with our mother and sister (on a field trip to a place near the Jersey Shore) to the Atlantic. And so we set off from the tide--Morgan got a little too close to the tide and started the day with a wet pair of shoes.

A summary: We got through New Jersey just fine, but upon reaching Penn. immediately went on a three hour search for a street that proved to be un-findable. Google really let us down. After asking many different people at many different places for directions we finally arrived in Quakertown, the town right beside Boyertown. As it was after dark and we had already come at least 115 miles, we got a quick ride back home.

The Lesson: we'll be getting a GPS device before we leave on Sunday.
Overall it was a good ride though. It was really hot, and certainly frustrating at times, but it was all three of our first "Century Ride" (a ride over 100 miles). And we have a pretty good idea about what we'll need to finish the journey.

And now, some housekeeping items. I'd like to give an overview of what we'll be planning to blog/tweet about as we go along on our journey.

Twitter:
Ideally, we'll tweet a number of different times each day regarding a few different topics:
--Thought of the day: Something to think about, of course.
--Question of the day: Something to think about, of course.
--An update: We'll try to give updates as we feel necessary. These are relatively straight forward and kind of boring, however useful.
--A best and worst aspect of the day: Insight into the most interesting moments of our day, whether that be biking, meeting people, or whatever else we might be getting into.
--Anything else: We don't want to limit ourselves, if we think of something else that doesn't fit into the above categories, we'll probably put it up anyway.

The Blog:
We'll blog as often as we can. We'll be staying at different peoples' houses and will blog when we can get our hands on a computer.

We'll be blogging to:

Communicate, of course.

Explain our experiences via: short stories, commentary, rants, explanation of events, poetry, video, pictures, etc.

We'll certainly be exploring the communities we stay with. We'll try to understand them and share some of their wisdom with you.

And with that, we'll leave you, at least for tonight. We'll be blogging in anticipation of the trips commencement on Sunday.

Walking For Water

2010-04-12T12:06:00.000-07:00

Heard about The Ride for Marale and wish you could play a bigger part? If you live near Reading, PA, Walking For Water is your chance.

We are putting on an event that will place you in the shoes of someone from Marale and raise money to help them construct a water system in their village. We have filled up hundreds of gallon jugs and we will carry them around a sidewalk loop to get a little taste of what their life is like. This is Saturday, May 1st at Albright College, Kelchner Field (the baseball field) from 10AM to 4PM. The event will aslo include food, music, softball, frisbee, home run derby, manicures, pedicures, and men's haircuts.

Come out and enjoy the festivities while learning about the water crisis and being part of the solution!

New Team Member Morgan Jones

2010-03-16T13:53:00.000-07:00

A wise man once said that "a cord of three strands is not quickly broken." In keeping with such a philosophy, we decided to make an addition to our travelling party. His name is Morgan Jones. Morgan is a sophomore at Albright College and is Andy Friedlund's next door neighbor in Mohn Hall. Morgan first got involved with The Ride for Marale when Andy asked him to design a logo for our project. He did an awesome job with that and has since designed our brochure, a Walking For Water flyer, and all the other media we have used. It seems that all the writing and designing he did wore him down. Morgan finally broke down and decided he had better just come along. Matt and Andy are excited to be able to share this adventure with Morgan.

Isn't he cute!

The Philosophy of Ubuntu

2010-01-15T06:32:00.000-08:00

I first learned of Ubuntu when reading a book called Like Breath and Water by Ciona Rouse. She says that Ubuntu means "I am who I am because of who you are" and that living this way "suggests that our well-being depends on the well being of others."

Archbishop Desmond Tutu of South Africa calls Ubuntu "Me, We" and describes it like this:

Ubuntu speaks particularly about the fact that you can't exist as a human
being in isolation. It speaks about our interconnectedness. You can't be
human
all by yourself, and when you have this quality- Ubuntu- you are known
for your generosity. We think of ourselves far too frequently as just
individuals
separated from one another whereas you are connected and what
you do affects the
whole world. When you do well, it spreads out; it is for
the whole of
humanity.

The Zulu people say it like this, " A person is a person through other persons."

Ciona concluded by noting that her "ability to thrive depends on their ability to survive." This seemed so counter intuitive to me for a while. Can your success really be linked to my success? What good can having you around really do me?

Then I thought about the movie Cool Hand Luke. What is the punishment for doing almost anything wrong in that movie? "A night in the box" A night in total isolation from humanity. With extended periods of isolation from humanity I would go crazy. My whole existence as a human is really validated by the people around me. I finally realized that I really do affirm my own humanity by acknowledging yours?

By putting myself in the shoes of someone else, stopping to feel their pain and engaging in genuine relationship with them, I am truly being human.

I think this really gets down to the core of how we are made as human beings. We experience the greatest source of life from the people around us. If not for our interaction with others, what makes us human? Can we be anything at all without friends, family, and people that love us? Can we be anything at all without others?

So Christ does have it right when he says "Unless a kernel of wheat falls to the ground and dies, it remains only a single seed . But if it dies, it produces many seeds." In the same way in order to experience any life we must die to ourselves in order to become a source of new life. Rob Bell says that, strangely enough, "Death is the engine of life."

May we all begin to practice a little more Ubuntu. Each day realizing the joy that comes from dying to ourselves so as to be made alive.

Marale Profile

2010-01-11T10:52:00.000-08:00

Language:The people of Marale speak a local language called Lumasaba. The name Marale was given to the village because of a large rock that lies near the main road that runs through their village.

Economy: The people here are mostly subsistence farmers. They grow beans, maize, cassava, millet, and sorghum. A major problem for the people is preserving and selling the food they grow. This keeps them from progressing much as a village.

Climate and terrain: The region experiences a long dryspell from November to March and then has intermittent rainy and dry periods throughout the rest of the year. The terrain is largely short grass savanna with a small forrest to the west. The lack of cover from the savanna provides the area with lots and lots of sunshine. Despite this, the heat is typically mild, rarely reachin more than 90 degrees Farenheit.

Community: There are many local gatherings in the community including the market, the football (US soccer) pitch, the borehole (water source), and the curches. There are three local churches including two Christian Churches, and a Seventh Day Adventist church. There is no health center or school system in Marale.

New Pictures

2009-12-07T15:54:00.000-08:00

Meet some people from Marale!

Some women and children gathered around their main water source.

A water system that Food for the Hungry recently supported in Kulu Ilyak, Uganda. Something like this will be constructed in Marale.

In The Beginning

2009-11-22T06:23:00.001-08:00

Thanks to the wonderful people at Food for the Hungry, Matt and I have now officially been introduced to a village in the Mbal district of Eastern Uganda called Marale. The people of Marale are desperate for clean water. Each day the women of the village must spend several hours fetching water from a distant borehole that is not clean and often nearly empty. The water supply is estimated to provide one fourth of the necesary water for the amount of people in the village. To add to this, drinking from this water source is giving people cholera, bilharzia, malaria, and parasites. The people of Marale are trapped in a devastating cycle of dehydration and disease. They need water to survive, but the only water they can get makes them sick. But since the water makes them sick, they have the energy to do little more than fetch enough food and water to survive. This is hopeless, poverty filled, and lethal. In cooperation with Food for the Hungry, the plan is to work WITH the people of Marale to give them a chance at a different life experience. This starts with facilitating the formation of a nine member committee of Ugandans from Marale to oversee water issues from now on. Mostly women will make up the committee because mostly women collect water. Additionally, the village will be expected to contribute 10% of the total cost of constructing a water system. This is where we come in. We hope to raise the other 90% of the funds ($5300) for this water system. We are not simply giving a handout to these people, we are working with them to help them out of a situation they cannot get out of by themselves.