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.