Reconnections and Reflections

Wow, SEPTEMBER 12? I appologize to all my readers (if there are any left) for such a blank in my journal. This gap is evidence of how fully I have been enjoying my time on the road and in the depths of the alternative U.S. agricultural community. Much has happened for Gautier and I in the last 2 months, and I know that I could never report all of it accurately, but I will update you all on the fun highlights.

Indiana and Illinois flew by. On our way to Illinois we got lost in the maze of roads on the western boarder of Indiana. The simple grid system we had become accustomed to in the flat states of the midwestern U.S. melted at this one point on the map so that we could not take a straight route across the boarder. We were on our way to another Warm Shower contact's home, a nice young man named Paul. But, it was getting close to sunset, and the building winds hinted of the icy night that was to come. If we didn't get to Paul's house soon, we would be forced to set up camp on someone's property, something we did not want. In addition to the freezing temperatures and wind which would have easily ripped my tent stakes from the ground, the last 15 miles of biking through Indiana woods was an advertisement of "no tresspassing," "private property," and "will defend with rifle" signs warning strangers of even stoping for a breather on the side of the road. A few miles from the boarder, we flagged down a man driving a huge white pickup truck who was barrelling down the road which recently transformed into 'blacktop,' the type of pebble-and-tar road surface which road bike tires abhore. After 10 minutes of him explaining the most bike-appropriate route, our faces still wore baffled and tired looks, so he offered to load us and our bikes up and drive us closer to our destination.

It was a quick ride with this stranger, who turned out to be a rough Indianan farmer on his way home from a doctor's appointment in Illinois. As we crossed state boarders and entered Illinios, he directed his comments and answers to our questions to Gautier, and I found myself feeling like a silly little girl because that was exactly how he was treating me. He described to us the agricultural economics of the area as we drove through some of the most varied crops we had seen for weeks. In a matter of minutes, we passed pumpkin patches, rows of cabbage, fields of ornamental flowers, and acres of top grass (the green carpets one rolls out for an instantly green lawn--yes, even these take up our precious resources in this country. Instead of using space and water for food production, we dedicate this energy for manicured lawns. What good is a perfectly trimmed lawn if those inside the associated home have no nutritious food in their stomaches or pantries?) Matter-of-factly, our newly-adopted choiffier told us how this soil is much sandier than the soil in nearby Indiana, and so it must be irrigated by large center pivots, which are elevated irrigation systems supported by wheels which span the length of large fields. In addition, he described the diversity of people in the area: many Latinos (mostly Mexicans and Guatemalans) lived there, permantly or seasonally, working in the fields. Squash and cabbage are more labor-intensive crops because they are too fragile to be machine harvested. Logically enough to him and our goverment, we outsource this undesireable job to those so desperate for work that they leave their family and travel thousands of miles for a dirt-cheap wage. Nearby was also a large African-American population. According to this farmer, we were lucky that we did not ride our bikes through this area, because we would have been robbed, no questions asked. Well, I'm not so sure about that; I thought his comment was a bit presumptuous, but perhaps he knows the area better than I.

Thanks to this man's help, we met Paul and his girlfriend just as the sun's light was leaving the sky for the night. For the first time on the trip, we went out to a restaurant to eat. It was at this little local bar and grill where Gautier finally got a taste of an American classic, the Tenderloin sandwhich. When we left Mike's house in Ohio, we asked him about some traditional American foods. He came up with this meat sandwhich, supposedly the prized possession of Indiana. Well, Gautier did not try one in Indiana, and perhaps that was why he was dissapointed with the result. Basically a pulled pork sandwhich, deepfried and served on a bun, after a long day of biking in headwinds, the meager portions at the restaurant did not satisfy. Perhaps if they had served it with cheese and pickle, as we heard was traditional, it would have been better? I'm still skeptical. I was content with my eggplant parmesean sandwhich and the extra baked potato I ordered to fill the gap in my grumbling stomach.

It was a quick visit with Paul, who shared with us his experiences on the road, particularly his trip with a buddy southwest through the desert to California. Paul, however, does not seem to have much time for long bike trips lately; he is dedicated to his job. Paul reminded me of many people we met along the trip who were super excited about our ambition to plan such a trip and our freedom to carry it out. So many in this country are tied to the life of school, job, or family. I am not suggesting that it is bad to put one's energy into the aforementioned, but if biking is what makes one truly happy, why not go out and do it? Why not make the time, put that job on hold for a moment, and do something for oneself that will enrich life? At first I thought this opinion of mine was just a result of my naivety, my lack of experience in 'the real world.' I, of course, am still a student, and have not even completed my undergraduate education. But, in this society, what comes after college? Grad school? A job to pay back that hefty sum of loans? Hopefully a fullfilling career and the money to support a family? This is expected to satify all. If one is lucky, he or she can accumulate enough vacation time to escape from the monotony of a 9 to 5 existence for a week or two in a location dreamed about for years. But even this week-long get-away is dissatisfying because it was spent at a resort, a pre-packaged existence for Westerners, meant to skim the surface of a new culture and climate, and ingnore the true faces of the people, plants, animals, all organisms, whether those faces are lined with joy or pain. No, it is not my naivety after all. It is my resistance to being forced into a box, one that can be neatly categorized and stacked on the shelves of society so that I do not get in the way of efficiency. (More on this idea in a later blog....the libray is about to close, and I must wrap up this entry.)

So, as we left Paul's home town, our bellies filled and bodies rested, thanks to his hospitality and calm spirit, we biked on, yet again reminded of why we were on this trip in the first place: to find our place in the world. Not a pre-determined career with a fixed rate of raise increase, but a true fit, a way to live in peace while giving back to the Earth which sustained our lives for a short, sweet moment.