Best of Tour Bed and Breakfast Award

Hands down, the Marble Mansion in Fair Haven, Vermont takes the Rolling Home BoT B&B Award. The sheer beauty of the inn and and comfort of the rooms is one thing, the fresh berries and cream for breakfast another, the fascinating history still another, but the real clincher is the warm hospitality of the hosts.  After an unusually grueling day, we were offered help with our bags, a personal touch we had not experienced during the entire journey.  Once comfortably settled into the cozy Jane Austen room, we were presented with a crystal pitcher of ice cold Vermont water.  We couldn't remember anything tasting better.

Best of Tour Most Idyllic Campground (East) Award

Erie Canal by Night

The choice of winner of the MIC (East) Award was made easier by the rapidly diminishing frequency of low- or no- cost, easily accessible campgrounds as we pedaled eastward.  In more than one case, we were unable to find a patch of grass on which we could safely and legally pitch our tent for the night, and more than once found ourselves at the mercy of sympathetic passers-by who kindly offered their lawns, and in one case by a motel owner in Clintonville, Wisconsin who offered us gratis the spot behind the motel where his son used to set up his tent on warm summer evenings. More often, we found ourselves twisting and turning through the night on the hard pebble tent sites offered at state and provincial campgrounds, often at what we considered extravagant prices.

Quebecois Friends

Hiker/Biker/Boater Campground at Middleport

 Once we made the crossing from Ontario into New York State, The Erie Canalway Trail between Lockport and Palymyra offered welcome relief in the form of Hiker/Biker/Boater campgrounds, grassy areas abutting the canal offered at no cost and blissfully free of mechanized traffic.  Our favorite of these was the HPB campground at the Village Canal Park in Middleport, where we were not only welcomed by the bridge tender but provided with a code to a building with clean bathrooms and hot, steamy showers. Heaven.  We enjoyed an evening with a group of French Canadian cyclists who had whizzed by us earlier on the shady, crushed stone canalway trail, slept on the soft grass and woke up refreshed and ready for more. 

Best of Tour Most Idyllic Campground (West) Award -- Mikoti, North Dakota

One of the most welcome surprises faced by the bicycle tourist covering the long distances between towns through most of Montana and North Dakota is the 'City Park' tradition of welcoming campers and (usually) providing restroom facilities, even hot showers. Best of all, cyclists can pitch their tents on soft grass and spread out stuff on sheltered picnic tables, sometimes even plug in phones to live outlets and find wood or charcoal for an evening meal. The City Park that stands out most in our memories, and therefore the winner of the Best of Tour MIC (West) Award is located at the edge of  the friendly town of Makoti, North Dakota (population 145), some 100 miles east of Williston and just south of Rte. 1804.  We camped on this quiet piece of the prairie next to the ever-present grain elevator with only the songbirds for company, found fresh towels in the shower room, but could find no one to pay the $5.00 fee. Mikoti, we owe you!

Best of Tour Most Incredibly Beautiful Road (East) Award -- East Nabobish Road, Michigan

The Michigan section of the Tour was full of pleasant surprises, but the most delightful, in our view, was a section the route east of Bay City, just south of Saginaw Bay.  Perhaps it was the afterglow of an usually hot and humid day, perhaps sheer relief after the navigation difficulties we had of getting through the congested urban area that led us to feel that the flat, straight section of road through the quiet farmland was a slice of heaven.  Like the BIA Route 1 in Montana (winner of the Best of Tour MIBRA West Award), East Nebobish Road takes the weary rider a few decades back in time.  If you are lucky enough to be blessed with a northwest wind, you will also experience a cooling breeze from Lake Huron, but even if not this virtually deserted farm road abuts what seems to be a very old canal cut through tangled vegetation and separating fields of cultivated land.  There are no stores, no gas stations, not even a post office for at least 25 miles from the point this photo was taken, only the canal, the breeze and the road. It was eerily quiet and incredibly beautiful.

East Nebobish Road, between Bay City and Fair Grove, Michigan

Best of Tour Most Incredibly Beautiful Road (West) Award --BIA 1, Montana

Looking back over our trip photos and remembering all the incredibly beautiful roads we have been able to travel, it became more and more impossible to select just one for the prize. After hours of deliberation, we decided to split the Most Incredibly Beautiful Road Award (MIBRA) into two categories: east and west of the Mississippi River.

With the note that this award is ENTIRELY SUBJECTIVE and has a lot to do with the weather and how we were feeling on particular days, the 2010 Rolling Home Tour MIBRA West goes to:

MIBRA West: BIA Rte 1 (Indian Road) Fort Peck Indian Reservation (between Nashua and Oswego, Montana) This road is more than another gorgeously scenic route along the Northern Tier; it takes you back on a spiritual journey at least half a century to experience the way the prairie must have felt before the age of fences, megafarms,
semis, Bud Lite and electronic casino games.
of the oncoming traffic here.

Heading East toward Malta on BIA 1

Fearless Turtle on BIA Route 1

 ..

The ride is over, but long haul is not...

'The Route' page has just been updated with a general description of the Eastern sections of the Tour.  We calculate the total mileage from Spokane, WA at 3,212 (5,138 km).  If we tack on the first leg from Port Townsend, WA to Coeur d'Alene, Idaho in 2009, our coast-to-coast distance was 3,611 (5,777 km).  

During the coming months, we plan to complete a number of works of original art from our observations across the continent for the 'Rolling Home Art Show' opening in Portsmouth, New Hampshire on January 7, 2011.  In addition, we will be adding more poems and stories to the Blog from our notes, and collect additional road poems and songs in English, French and Kreyol.  These will be organized and posted on the Blog along with an album of the art on a separate page, so please keep checking in.

In addition, watch for a BEST OF TOUR posting coming soon. Categories will include, after great deliberation, our choice of:

• most incredibly beautiful road
• toughest climb
• most amazing story
• best bike shop
• 'the host with the most'
• best camp spot
• best B&B

Through these media and whatever additional ways we find, we hope to keep raising awareness and funds to help continue and expand the work of the Art Creation Foundation for Children in Jacmel, Haiti.

Finally, with the exhilaration of this amazing experience still fresh in our veins, we will be dreaming of and planning the Rolling Home Tour 2011 edition.  The idea will still be to combine cycling, art, poetry and at the same time promote a worthy cause. Please let us know your suggestions, keep biking and think about joining us next summer!

There's no place like home...

August 18, Bedford, NH west of Manchester...off to an early start from the Hill-Brook Motel, knowing that with less than 50 miles to go we would probably make it to the Atlantic before dusk. Filled with delightful anticipation, but also some trepidation about coming to the end of the tour.  These three months on the road have overflowed with rich experiences, the retuning of bodies, minds and imaginations set free.  A part of both of us wants to keep pedaling forever. Random lines from the Beatles' 'Two of Us'  pops into my head in high fidelity---'You and I have memories longer than the road that stretches out ahead...'  A vivid flashback to Ontario where the melody and words floated through the air as we rode down the main street of Port Dover looking for a place to stay. The rhythm finds its way into my legs and I am able to ratchet up the pace. We're going home.

In the middle of the steamy Manchester morning, we stop at an espresso shop that looks oddly out of place in this old New Hampshire mill town. Three tired-looking customers sit at a table on the sidewalk reading newspapers and smoking, taking little notice of us and our heavily loaded bikes. A beautiful, haunting melody drifts out of the dark interior. Are we in Egypt? Macedonia? Really so far from home? The owner, we learn, is from Bosnia, and the coffee is strong, sweet and cheap. And so on through the gray, depressing city streets until we reach the eastern side of town and the pastoral, hilly farmland until, finally, we cross the Lamprey River south of Newmarket and are almost home. We rush to unload the bikes and find the energy for the final push to the seacoast at Rye Harbor and are elated to see Eliot and Heather there with big smiles and two bottles of the best champagne this side of the Atlantic.  We are home at last.

Eliot and Heather with the bubbly

Ritual dipping of the wheel

Sunshine overhead, WSW wind at our backs, rolling home to the sea

In the hills just west of Manchester on Rte 47 we stop at the old meetinghouse in the village of Francestown to rest. It seems like we have been here before...maybe we have. The inscription on a stone bench next to the small church cemetery says, 'tarry awhile.' As we get closer to home, the prospect of arriving  is both comforting and unsettling.

None too soon

 Francestown, New Hampshire (60 miles west of home)

A spire to inspire 

straight paths amid

sprawling undergrowth

the tangled dry weeds and

gnarled roots

Riding through 

on an easterly path
to the sea and home

Travelers in these
strangely familiar hills
Under these stones
lie the bones of those
whose legacy rolls on,
rolls on in lines 
in destinations.

Almost home,
here we pause and
tarry awhile

Caution signs

Fair Haven, Vermont...

Caution signs in Amish country

After days, weeks and now three months of dodging careless (and sometimes enraged) drivers, passing the sad carcasses of too many wild animals in varying states of decay, and hearing the tragic stories of joggers and cyclists struck down by speeding, overpowered machines, it seems to me that respect for life is a state of mind. I thought of the followers of the Jain path in India who carry brooms to sweep the road ahead to prevent ending the lives of the tiniest animals, and wondered how many flying insects I had inadvertently collided with. I thought too of the gentle Amish people we had met, whose everyday practices so purely express their religious beliefs. Extreme, perhaps, to believe that all loss of life cn be prevented, but Jacques tells us that the practice of caring for others is fundamental to peace and happiness, and this is his dream for Haiti. If we could successfully cultivate this state of mind as part of educational processes, could there be just one composite caution sign? I imagine that the North American version might look something like this.

no

passing

narrow shoulder

blind corner rock falling

cattle roaming foxes chasing

cougars turtles dear elk children

crossing life is sacred slow

down save one

when you

can

Familiar signposts

Boonville, New York...

As we get ever closer to home, the signs of home are everywhere. License plates from Massachusetts and Vermont, yesterday a cluster of white birch trees and even a Red Sox bumper sticker brazenly displayed here in Yankee country. Sometimes the signs can take you to another continent altogether. As one of our fellow cyclists put it, the thought of reaching our destination is accompanied by mixed emotions. On the good days, one wants to keep riding on...

On the pavement thinking about the government

After a delightful but expensive week in Ontario, we ended up gazing dumbstruck at the awesome majesty of Niagra Falls along with a gaggle of tourists and honeymooners from around the world. Jacques was duely impressed with the Falls and sorry to leave the company of scores of Canada geese we encountered along the trail.  From there, we crossed the Lewiston-Queenston bridge and re-entered the USA, getting temporarily lost in the maze of power stations and bleak industrial landscape before finding the relatively low-traffic Upper Mountain Road through the Tuscarora Indian Reservation on the way to Lockport and the start of the Lake Erie Canalway Trail.  In the meantime thunderstorm clouds were gathering once again. We took temporary refuge from the rain at a Tuscarora trading post, where we were offered free coffee, conversation, a rain cover,and a bumper sticker that reads "Sure you can trust the government...JUST ASK AN INDIAN." This gave rise to a flurry of thoughts about, among other things, who owns the maginficent natural wonder we had just witnessed and the massive industry and urban sprawl that has sprung up around it, the wars, the high-rise hotels and clogged highways. Grateful for the coffee and rain cover, we pedaled on to Lockport, where the heavens finally burst open and gave us a thorough soaking but also welcome relief from the heat and stifling humidity.

Chasing cloud shadows in Ontario

Chasing cloud shadows

Surfing mind channels

Tuning in long term memories, my eyes

Skip on butterflies' wings, and on

Other creatures in my restless entourage

July 25, Ontario (Lake Erie north shore)

Jacques takes a rest day

Jacques was keen to keep on riding in spite of a severe thunderstorm and tornado warning, but finally agreed to take a rest day as long as he could stay in the saddle. Today the storms have passed, and we are off again, pedaling steadily toward the bridge to Ontario.

Pere Marquette Rail Trail and beyond

Caro, Michigan...
Another day of sweltering heat, miles of road construction but bolstering tail winds swept us to the head of the Pere Marquette Rail Trail in Clare, and suddenly we were being led through shady forest and pastoral farmland toward Midland with no sound other than the soft whirr of bicycle wheels and friendly greetings. Hats off  to Pere Marquette (1637-1675), the French missionary and explorer who founded the first European settlement in what is now Michigan, for lending his name to such a marvelous 21st century venture. 

Stopped in at Coleman Auto and Bike (right on the trail) to see if they could tell us why Jean's lower gears were slipping and found this to be the shop most cross-country cyclists only dream of. Even though it was close to closing time, Dean Retzloff, the manager and chief mechanic, wheeled the bike straight into the shop past the shelves of auto parts and up onto the stand. Wthin 20 minutes the problem was diagnosed, fixed and the bike good to go. What's more, we were spontaneously invited to stay at Dean's house, swim in his backyard pool and partake in a feast of steak, homemade biscuits and grilled corn-on-the-cob. We soon discovered that Dean is a man of many talents -- not only the best bike mechanic we have ever met but also a fabulous cook, a gread dad and a former DJ with an encyclopaedic knowledge of rock music and a dream to one day travel to the far corners of the world on a two-wheeled machine. 

The stay at Dean's was so restorative that the next day we found the energy to sail the next 80 miles to Caro. Except for having to negotiate the streets of two mid-sized cities, beautiful roads and rural scenes reminiscent of the French countryside all the way. Perhaps the adventurous spirit of Pere Marquette, whose given name was also Jacques, is alive and well here..

Shelter from the storms in Wisconsin

At last, we arrived at the ferry landing in Manitowoc, Wisconsin, after another drenching in a thunderstorm near the tiny town of Shoto. Mindful of the gathering clouds, we took shelter under an underpass, only to get caught in the second and third waves of the storm, soaked to the bone. Gratefully, the Sunday afternoon patrons and staff at the Double Dam Bar and Grill flagged us down brought us, the bikes and all our dripping gear inside to dry out. At that point it was impossible to refuse to imbibe in a mug or two of Wisconsin's own brew, which was followed by an invitation to a hot shower and warm bed at the cozy A-frame of Jhan and Cathy Lehman, just a short ride down the road. This was the third time we had experienced the extradordinary warmth and generosity of ordinary people in rural Wisconsin. Many of the families have met have been hit hard by the recession, and some, like the dad at the lunch counter in Merrill whose daughter is recovering from leukemia, have told us stories of personal hardship and courage. Invariably, people wonder why we are putting out such an extreme effort and ask about the cause we are supporting.  Most are aware of the earthquake and the suffering it has caused, but have heard very little recent news on conditions in Haiti. They are shocked to hear that so many children do not have access to education and people are still living in tents. Even though the trip is far from over, we are pleased to have made so many new friends and had the opportunity to introduce Jacques and spread the word about the work of the ACFFC.

l'Albatros

'Un grand merci' to Noro Andriamiseza (Madagascar), a good friend and former colleague at UNESCO for suggesting Boudelaire's 'l'Albatros' as we steam across Lake Michigan toward the final phase of the Rolling Home Tour. PS -- Jacques really enjoys this one.


l'Albatros

Souvent, pour s'amuser, les hommes d'équipage

Prennent des albatros, vastes oiseaux des mers,

Qui suivent, indolents compagnons de voyage,

Le navire glissant sur les gouffres amers.


A peine les ont-ils déposés sur les planches,
Que ces rois de l'azur, maladroits et honteux,
Laissent piteusement leurs grandes ailes blanches
Comme des avirons traîner à coté d'eux.


Ce voyageur ailé, comme il est gauche et veule!
Lui, naguère si beau, qu'il est comique et laid!
L'un agace son bec avec un brûle-gueule,
L'autre mime, en boitant, l'infirme qui volait!


Le Poête est semblable au prince des nuées
Qui hante la tempête et se rit de l'archer;
Exilé sur le sol au milieu des huées,
Ses ailes de géant l'empêchent de marcher.

Charles Baudelaire (1821-1867)

Mountains of coal, columns of grain

Manitowoc, Wisconsin...SS Badger in port

Shadows on the enormous mountains of coal waiting to fuel the SS Badger caught my eye. The day was foggy and the smoke from the ship mixed with the fog hid the grain elevators. We had been admiring the beauty and functionality of the grain elevators in each of the raiload towns since Montana, especially the way their shadows revealed their form. In the port at Manitowoc, the elevators are enormous, and I had never seen mountains of coal so high. It seems a central point in vast system of moving agricultural products from one place to another. As we pedal on muscle power, thinking about the dependency of this system on fossil fuels, I wonder if as a society we have become dwarfed by the things we make.

Wind
chimes in morning,
ripples on the great lake
humming through branches and mainstays,
lifting tattered prayer flags
to the ancient timbre of perpetual Om

Lake Superior South Shore near Port Wing

Jacques Meets Marie in Minnesota

While packing up to leave the small town of Farmwood, Minnesota one early morning last week we were pleased to notice that Jacques, who has been shy about his English until now, was out chirping and chatting with a new friend, 'Marie'. Jacques and Marie have exchanged email addresses and, fortunately, have wings to get around on.

Like Jacques, we have made quite a few new friends on our journey, most recently in the idyllic and friendly village of Cornucopia, Wisconsin on the pristine south shore of Lake Superior. After a terrifying passage through Duluth and a suffocatingly hot ride northwest onto the penninsula, we decided to stop in Cornucopia for lunch and a short swim in the icy lake.  Instead, we wound up camping there for the night at the marina, were treated to a spontaneous music fest (fiddles and banjo), and a Reggae concert at the local Tiki bar -- all part of Cornucopia's 4th of July festivities.  Proof positive that a long haul bicycle trip is not all sweat and callouses.

At last, the Mississippi

Mississippi River near Grand Rapids, Minnesota...
For weeks on end, it seemed as though we would never get to the eastern border of Montana, then came the plains of North Dakota.  The winds have been relentless, thunderstorms have threatening, tornadoes bypassed us, tires and brake pads worn dangerously thin. Then suddenly we were in Fargo sipping capacinos at the Great Northern Bicycle Shop and at last within reach of the headwaters of the Mississippi. Thankfully, the winds have been mostly at our backs and somehow our legs have agreed to keep pressing on. We've met some wonderful people, both in the places along the route and, increasingly, fellow cyclists along the route, with whom we exchange stories and gain valuable advice. Great to meet Sam (UK), Leo and Stephanie (France), Jeff (Vermont, USA), Jackie and Ted (Bemidji, Minnesota USA) and  to the lone cyclist  in  a  red  shirt  who gave us the tip on where to stay in Fargo.  Looking to dip our wheels in the cool waters of the Atlantic in some 6-7 weeks.

Grand Rapids, Minnesota...

In case you are wondering who the two young men in the 'Williston to Fargo' slideshow might be, our son Eliot (right) and his pal Alex (left), who were good friends and next door neighbors in Amherst, Massachusetts, decided to take a train ride across the country to spend a few days hiking and rafting with our daughter, Alysoun, in Heron, Montana.  We knew that the west bound Amtrak Empire Builder would stop in Williston, North Dakota for a few minutes so scheduled our ride to get there just at the right time, just enough for hugs and photos.  It was well worth the effort. We hadn't seen Alex for 10 years -- he is now three times as tall as when we knew him in Amherst, and Eliot is our anchor man in Stratham, New Hampshire.  Planning to have the cooler of champagne ready at Rye Harbor when we arrive there, to dip our wheels in the Atlantic, hopefully in about 6-7 weeks.

Si l'ete est pluvieux et morne

Many thanks to our good friend and fellow traveller through life, Jaya Conhye-Soobrayen for pointing us to the beautiful work of Haitian poet Jacques Roumain (1907-1944). The following is an excerpt from Bois d’Ebène. For more verses, please see 'Négritude et Créolité' by Lise Willar at Aux rives de la francophonie


Si l'été est pluvieux et morne
si le ciel voile l'étang d'une paupière de nuage
si la palme se dénoue en haillons
si les arbres sont d'orgueil et noirs dans le vent et la brume
si le vent rabat vers la savane un lambeau de chant funèbre
si l'ombre s'accroupit autour du foyer éteint
si une voilure d'ailes sauvages emporte l'île
vers les naufrages
si le crépuscule noie l'envol déchiré d'un
dernier mouchoir et si le cri blesse l'oiseau

Would anyone be willing to translate for English-speaking readers? If so, please send as a comment or email to jbrollinghome@gmail.com

Jacques Points the Way to Hope

Hope, North Dakota...19 June
Heading east toward the Minnesota border, Jacques reminds us that the purpose of the Long Haul for Haiti Tour is to help gather support for the people of Haiti in their long and difficult path toward recovery from the devastating earthquake of January 2010. We have recently received news that the the young ACFFC artists (who created Jacques) are helping to create a Memorial Wall to honor those whose lives were lost and pave the way toward a brigher future  for all. Thanks to Jacques, we reached the town of Hope, North Dakota and were not only warmly welcomed there but given refuge  from a severe thunderstorm before setting out on our way to Minnesota. To find out how you can help the children of Jacmel reach Hope, please visit ACFFC Website. Every dime will go directly to the cause. If you can't afford a dime or are suffering from 'donor fatigue' please consier sending us a poem, a song or a prayer. Thank you!

Reaching Fargo

Sailing into Fargo, North Dakota yesterday at the mercy of a blessedly cool three-quarter tail wind, we realize that we are measuring time in terms of distance (only 30 miles 'til lunchtime) and, conversely, distance in terms of time (looks like another hour or so to Fargo). Too bad the relativity theory has already been expounded.  Anyway, this thought has given rise to another poem-in-the-making, but in the meantime reaching Fargo is cause for reflection on all the reactions we have had from people along the roads of Montana and North Dakota when we tell them we are riding across the continent. Added words in parentheses are mine. Enjoy!

• "You what?  You mean on pedal bikes (not motorcycles)?"
• "You guys gotta be crazy."
• "What are you doin' (a darn fool thing like) that for?"
• "Aren't you a little old to be doing something like this?"
• "You know, they don't like bikers on the (Blackfeet Indian) Reservation. You could get shot."
• "Sure, you can camp out there behind the (tribal police) station, use the showers and all in there too."
• "Why didn't you just drive in an RV (like normal people)?"
• 
  
  "Well, if it looks like the thunderstorm is coming this way you can stay at my place.  It's not much, but you'll be safe there."
• "You're not environmentalists, are you?" We don't want no tree huggers around here."
• 
  
  "If you see a funnel cloud coming just get as far away from your bikes as you can and jump into a ditch or crawl into a culvert.  Good luck!"
• "I really think you guys are incredible, I mean, most people just fly by through here on their way to the coast. We don't see them, and they don't see us (farmers)."
• Raising funds for children in Haiti?  That's a wonderful cause. They need to know that even people out here in North Dakota care about them."

Time Out

Yellow dashes on the wet tarmac,
time passes, repeats itself in stanzas.
‘Tempo, tempo, tempo’

roars the choirmaster.

Keep in stride,
or move aside.

Time slips away,
is marked in digits
dials, kilometers, miles

Told in adverbials, growing wild
by the roadside and in fields
unfettered, unrestrained

JB

Binford, North Dakota

County Road West of Minot

These rolling hills seemed to go on forever.

Oil Country

Cyclists, beware. The stretch of highway between the North Dakota Border and Minot via Williston and New Town could easily be descrubed as the road from hell. With the exception of the preserved natural beauty of the Lewis and Clark State Park and a very pleasant stop at Keys Cove (both off Rte 1804), the route will take you through a landscape dotted with giant drills and mammoth 'donkey' oil pumping rigs, many of these setups belching huge burnoff flames that seem to come directly from the fires of Hades.  If the fumes and noise don't get you, the steady of stream of tankers, concrete mixers, and oversize semis carrying heavy equipment to service these monstrosities will. In some stretches oif 1804 and even worse, the infamous Rte 23 where there is no shoulder even the best truckers cannot avoid creating a destabilizing blast of wind that can blow you off the road.  Jean now has the scars to demonstrate this (leg gash and bruise on the bum as the result of being toppled by such a blast). In New Town, which is located on the Fort Berthold Indian Reservation, we were kindly hosted by the Three Affiliated Tribes and advised to take an alternate back route to Minot.  We were greatly relieved to pedal east out of Minot this morning to find that this area has not been 'blessed' with oil. The only sounds were those of birdsong and whispering wind.

Made in Cambodia

(Why is it that only this morning while putting on my high-tech Shimano bicycling shoes that I noticed where they were made?  Maybe it comes from thinking to the rhythm of the road day after day, but I started to imagine by whose hands. Thinking of Cambodia and its tragic recent history, the changes that have come to many poor countries along with globalization, this poem came to mind.)

Named for the moon,
her child-hands form perfect crescents,
fingers stretched into graceful pinwheels,
tracing celestial pathways, connecting constellations
in the lamplit shadows

Entangled in ageless karma,
her woman-hands repeat perfect stitches,
fingers spread across pliant leather forms,
feeding foreign markets, keeping economies humming
under the flourescent stare
of artificial suns

Discovering the High Plains

There are those who say there is nothing to see between the Rocky Mountains and the Mississippi River, but we have found that when you slow down to cycling speed on the 'hi-line' you experience an incredibly rich variety of natural beauty and deep wells of human history.  What's more, if you can deal with the wind and stay awhile, you will find that people are very willing to share their stories, their personal histories and perspectives. Some, like the story of the German immigrant Jacob Bauer and his lifelong romance with Mary Walks-With-the-Wind, you find on museum walls, others you find just by talking to people. We would like to extend special thanks to Bruce, Mary Lou and their whole extended family in Chinook, Montana for the warm welcome and great time we had playing the old songs and getting to know you. We also thank you for your concern for the children of Haiti. Here's hoping our paths will cross again.

Saco Dry Goods

Saco, Montana (population 145); June 3--- An abandoned dry goods store with traces of its 'Osh Kosh B'Gosh' slogan has been left to lean with the wind. Across the street, the old Ford auto garage no longer shows its logo. In the evening, people walk by these relics, leaving the overalls and spark plugs to yesterday, pass the old bank that was changed into an hotel, now a delapidated rooming house, and head to OD's saloon to join in the community barbeque. Norman Mavencamp saw us on the road and made certain we knew about it. Norman had supplied the meat. He runs each year in the senior Olympics. He is 86.

MJ

Eastern Montana shopping list

 Saco, Montana (all services)

 June 4, 2010

Road Sounds

   the

road

speaks

uncovers

 in stretches

white stripes

staggered lines

crushed gravel of

faded promises and

passing conversations

abandoned dreams and

destinations beckons anew

insists yes I am alive in these

rolled phrases, painted rhymes

jb

Jacques Enjoys the Open Air

Havre, Montana --- Camping at the Great Northern Fairgounds in Havre, once a thriving railroad town and during Prohibition years the home of an underground speakeasy.  The long, wet spring has helped the lilac bushes and cottonwood trees stay in bloom, their scent heavy in the early morning air.  Jacques enjoys an outing along with a whole chorus of meadowlarks, wrens and red-winged blackbirds.

Leaving Chester

At last, the sun mercifully breaks through the clouds and we are blessed with a tailwind.  This next stretch of Route 2 is dotted with a series of railroad towns, most in serious economic decline. Glad to be out of musty, cheap motels and looking foward to camping in the open air.

Native American Art Gallery

On our way through the Blackfeet Nation reservation at the foot of the Rocky Mountains we stopped by the Lodgeple Gallery and Tipi Village, which houses the fine art works of leading Native American Artists as well as a wide variety of artifacts, crafts and jewelry. We were struck by the high quality of the artists' work and the unique combinations of traditional and contemporary styles, each reflecting Native American cultures, languages and ways of life. For many indigenous peoples, visual arts, music and story telling have been the key to cultural survival in the fact of overwhelming obstacles.


We would like to encourage our readers and especially the young artists in Jacmel, Haiti to view some of these works at the Lodegpole Gallery online and to send their comments.

Across the Great Divide

Steep climbs, breathtaking views, stiff winds and heart-stopping descents have been the marks of this last leg of the Tour, from the toney resort of Whitefish, through Blackfeet Nation reservation lands, and finally to the wind-swept rugged town of Cut Bank, Montana.  It is difficult to select a single image that captures the beauty of this leg of the tour, but the view (above) of McDonald Lake in West Glacier comes close.

While we thought that the climb to Marias Pass (5,216 fit) and the Continental Divide would be the most challenging day, it turned out that what we expected to be the long, lazy descent into Cut Bank turned out to be a bone-chilling, 11-hour struggle into a 35-40 mph headwind, topped off with a 'back door' thunderstorm.  We arrived, soaked, frozen and shaking from fatique to find the last room and a warm welcome at the Cut Bank Super 8 Motel. Here we were treated to a steaming hot shower and a plate of spaghetti bolognese straight from heaven. 

Thank you, Blaise

We were just reminded that Jacques, our beautiful blue papier mache mascot from Haiti was created and signed by a young artist named Blaise at the Art Creation Foundation for Children in Jacmel.  Thank you, Blaise and all the children who make these treasures. As we face the weather, the mountains and the traffic, Jacques has become both a symbol of hope and endurance. To learn more about how you can support the work of the arts community in Jacmel and receive a 'Jacques' of your own, please visit the ACFFC website.

The Road Behind, The Road Ahead

Whitefish, Montana

As anticipated, the first five days of the Long Haul for Haiti have been both painful and exhilerating.  We have reached Whitefish after climbing, coasting, freezing, burning and clinging for dear life to a narrow shoulder laced with potholes, shuddering in the dust of of logging trucks, pickups and rv's as they hurtle by, enjoying the 70 mph Montana speed limit.  At the other extreme, the Tobacco Road from Eureka and the Farm to Market Road near Whitefish are among the most pastoral and beautiful we have ever experienced. Since passing through the Cabinet Mountains and the Libby Dam, we have been on a gradual climb toward the Marias Pass, which will take us from West Glacier to East Glacer and finally on a declisiously gradual descent to Cut Bank.  From there, we begin a very long trek across the plains of Eastern Montana and North Dakota.

We have named our little papier mache mascot made by the Haitian children 'Jacques'. From time to time, we assign Jacques the task of checking out the road ahead for possible problems. So far, we have not confronted any bears, cougars, mountain goats or other dangers thanks to Jacques' vigilance and foresight. 

Cabinet Mountains, Kootenai National Forest

You road I enter upon and look around, I believe you are
    not all that is here
I believe that much unseen is also here

                                        -Walt Whitman, 1856

Got road poems?

Do you have a short poem or song you would like to share with our readers (in English, French or Kreyol)?  Within the general theme of 'The Long Haul for Haiti,' the poems should be related in some way to:

• travel (paths, passages, transitions)
• recovery (from illness, accident, natural disaster)
• the road to recovery

Please send your contribution to jbrollinghome@gmail.com or post as a comment.  Merci!

Leaving Spokane

everyone has somewhere to go
          inasmuch as we know
                two astride, step aside
          for wheels in spin
eastbound, awakening

                
 jb 12 may        

 We're on our way. Thanks to our New Hampshire neighbor for this wonderful gift for the road....

she'll wheel (within wheel)
while he'll wheel (within wheel) while
we'll wish them (all) well

decarteret

106 glengarry dr

stratham nh 03885

Ready to Fly

This little bird is getting ready to fly.  On May 9, she will leave with us on a three-day train ride across the country, and then perch on our handlebars as we begin the 'Long Haul for Haiti' Tour, heading back home from Heron, Montana.  Crafted by young artists at the Art Creation Foundation for Children in Jacmel, Haiti, the bluebird is a symbol of hope. Crossing the North American continent is a huge effort that takes resolve and persistence, but it is not nearly as long or arduous as the road to recovery for the people of Haiti after the earthquake of January, 2010.  Help is needed for years after emergency needs of food, medical care and temporary housing have been met.  The sudden loss of family members, destruction of homes and disruption of daily routines takes an especially deep toll on children.  That is why we chose to dedicate this year's Rolling Home Tour to the ACFFC and to encourage people we meet along the way to directly support this wonderful organization. Please see our 'donate' page and help our fragile little friend continue on her journey for years to come.

Getting Ready

Live and learn.  After last year's ride across the rugged Cascades and the steep dip down into Grand Coulee Dam (and back up) we vowed to make some serious changes.  In a few words, this amounts to lighter gear and stronger legs.  So this Spring has brought with it a new, super flyweight tent, a training regime, and a plan to take exactly one change of clothes in addition to our riding outfits. We are still undecided about what, if any, special equipment we might need to fend off hungry bears and wandering cougars but are very well versed in the various ways of discouraging such visitors.  A brief but completely non-threatening encounter along the highway with an enormous male just out of hibernation last May has made this a matter of serious discussion!  This particular bear was far more interested in the berries than in us, but the sheer size of this creature was enough to instill a healthy respect.

As far as climbing the remaining Rockies is concerned, we are feeling much fitter this year thanks to regular workouts and some delightful spring training rides, the most recent along a mountain road off New Hampshire's own Kancamagus Highway, called (ominously?) Bear Mountain Road. The road is still closed to motorized traffic and there are remaining snow patches that have to be negotiated with care. The warm sun, snow and cold rushing brooks create an invigorating, heavenly micro-climate for riders willing to dodge the twigs and fallen branches. PS no sign of bears on this road as of April 12, 2010.

The Long Haul for Haiti

Welcome to the Rolling Home Tour, 2010 edition.

After many years in the dreaming, we are finally ready to move into the reality of Summer, 2010 and the long-awaited opportunity to complete a coast-to-coast bicycle tour. In May of 2009, when we managed to pedal up and over the snow-capped Cascade Mountains from Whidbey Island in the Pacific to Coeur d'Alene, Idaho in a 'trial run.' This year, the trip resumes with what we think are stronger legs and what we are sure is a worthwhile cause. We are resolved to go the distance AND help raise funds for a very special community of children in Jacmel, Haiti.

Art Creation Foundation for Children, a non-profit arts organization created to serve children in need, is truly a community. Having survived in the immediate aftermath of the January earthquake, these young artists and scholars are filled with resilience and hope. There were 60 children and youth at ACFFC pre-earthquake and now approximately 20 more have become a part of the art creation and learning community in Jacmel. They are the future, the hope for Haiti.

But they need our help, both now and for a long time to come.
Please consider making a donation directly at:

http://www.artforhaitianchildren.org/

Please watch for new posts of our 'carnet de voyage' beginning in May, 2010

2010 Starting Point

Beginning in May, 2010 we resume the Rolling Home Tour as a fund raiser for the Art Creation Foundation For Children, starting from the bike path in Coeur d'Alene along the Northern Tier and Great Lakes route, all the way to the Atlantic coast (around 3500 mi/5600 km), we hope by September 1. Along the way, we will be talking to people we meet about the learning community in Jacmel, showing some of the children's art and making some of our own. We hope many others will join us in spirit, on bikes or both for all or part of the Long Haul for Haiti.