Week 9

I’m a day late with this, but I fell asleep practically as soon as I finished riding yesterday. (Now I’m two days late)

On Sunday night, and old coworker rode the train out to try bike touring for a week. I doubt he slept well in the roach motel I got in Hutchison Kansas, but I doubt anybody did. It’s the kind of place you don’t pull the sheets back on the beds.

Monday morning I got to meet the grandmaster of the karate school I attended as a kid. I’ve seen his pictures so often, so it was easy to find him. The ride that day was long, flat, and straight, like all of western Kansas. The wind finally slowed down, which was nice.

That night we camped in Cassoday, met a long distance runner / traveling pastor, and a couple of brothers riding cross country, but not quite the same route as me. I camped out with the pastor, but the other three bikers rode into town and took advantage of some generous hospitality from the residents. I got some great advice and prayer at the campfire that night.

The rest of the week all four of us rode together, with Thursday including a fifth rider; my long time partner Matt who I run into from time to time.

Tuesday night was Toronto Lake. It was beautiful, but possibly the most fetid and disgusting water I have ever swam in. Fortunately there were showers.

Wednesday was the first day in Kansas without a headwind, and the scenery finally started to change from flat and straight to a few little hills and sometimes trees. That night we caught up with Matt, and we all stayed in a Lutheran church outside of Walnut, Kansas. They had a Wednesday night service, and it was great to attend and meet the congregation.

Thursday was the last day in Kansas (the flatest, yet hardest state to ride a bike through). I will remember Kansas as having almost universally kind people. That night was camping at Golden City Missouri, and back down to four riders.

Friday was the start of the Ozarks. Not mountains for someone used to the Sierras, but it’s a constant up and down road. We were close to Springfield, and needed to start thinking about an airport for my ex-coworker to fly out of, so we turned south. Stayed with a nice couple and took Saturday as a rest day. Went to a big sporting goods store, and visited a restaraunt where the waiters throw you the rolls across the room. Quite a silly experience.

Sunday was back on the road. Missouri is beautiful, and the leaves are changing color. It’s all very mild country. No sharp changes or big contrasts. Back in the hills, but it’s nothing like riding over the rockies.

My ex-coworker is flying back to California, much to his dismay, and aftr ecamping in Houston Missouri, I will be saying goodbye to the biking brothers from Georgia today as well. They are cutting down south to ride home, while I continue on towards Illinois and Kentucky.

This week I heard a story in a small Missouri town about some trouble with cross country bicyclists. There was a supported tour with a big group of riders (supported tours have vans that carry all the supplies and set up camp for you at night) coming through this town. At the same time, there was a birthday party for a young boy going on. The birthday party was attended by the mother and all o fher family, and the father by himself. The father was estranged more or less, and the couple was not together. They sent the father upstairs to fetch something or other, and while he was gone, they sang the song and ate the cake. Essentially they got rid of him and celebrated without him. When he got back, he was angry, and grabbed his son. Then the grandfather tried to grab the son and take him back. I guess they were fighting over this kid, and one of the cyclists got between then to stop the fight. The father bit the arm of the cyclist and the fight ended.

The story was told as if the father was the bad guy. He lost his job over the ordeal. And while I don’t doubt he hasn’t done everything right, I can’t help but totally empathize with him. I can see the utter helpless frustration he must feel at being left out of the family. Whether it’s his fault or not, I do not know. But I know that to him, it doesn’t change the horrifying reality he’s found himself in.

How easy it is to sit back when you’re in a group and laugh at someone’s misfortune or weakness. It feeds that need to be known, to be heard, to be important. But that father wasn’t important. Nobody wanted him. And now the story told to cyclists passing through is what a horrible person he is. He lost his job. GOOD. He lost his son. GOOD. He suffered the consequences of his actions. GOOD. He has no family. GOOD.

I’m tired of all that. Poor guy. I wish I could do something for him. What great position of moral superiority do I have over him? Whether loss and hardship and suffering comes as a consequence of our own actions, or if it’s just the way the wind blows, don’t people deserve my pitiful compassion? I can’t save them, but I can love them.