Day 56 - Cincinnati to Peebles, OHI discovered when I got back from Evanston, that one morning while I was gone the group woke up to deep, unchained, wrenching sobs. Raj had checked his voicemail in Boston and learned that his father, in Sri Lanka, had died suddenly. He left within an hour to catch a plane; every day until DC we will care for his bicycle that he bought after his was stolen, for a trip he never planned to complete, but ended up quitting his job so he could. It's riderless. Back on my bike after five days off and it's an 85 mile re-introduction. I'm a little sorer, don't pace myself quite as well. On our way out of Cincinnati, Jerry, Brad and I take a wrong turn and end up on a parkway instead of the truck alternate where we should be. But I feel at the safest when I am riding with these two: they are predictable, communicative, street-smart and experienced. We are holding our own in the roadway until out of nowhere a motorcycle cop zooms up behind Brad and Jerry, turns his lights on and starts shouting at them from behind, "Have you guys ever seen a raccoon run over? You guys are crazy..." yadda yadda. Distracted, Brad's front wheel gets hung up on Jerry's rear, and Jerry has to stop to make some adjustments, all the while the cop...stopped in the middle of the parkway, is yelling at Jerry to get going (he can't) and at Brad and me to get going (we won't without Jerry). Once we are going again, he speeds ahead with these parting words, "You guys are nothing but a speed bump to these drivers." We know. An hour later at lunch we learn that a local cyclist riding a hundred yards ahead of Doris, today's lead rider, was run over and killed. The driver had certainly passed most of us a few miles back. The cyclist was a dentist with two kids, out for a recreational ride with a friend on a route they followed every weekend. A road with a wide shoulder that we all felt safe on. Doris was there before the ambulance, before the police; just her and the other rider freaking out, and someone trying CPR, and the driver. Someone on the scene said the driver reeked of alcohol. He said he fell asleep. By the time I ride by, there is no evidence that anything has happened. No stains or crowds or flashing lights. No mangled bicycle. No sign reading, "a driver drove off the road here and killed a cyclist." Reactions? I'm interested in the other riders. My three worst fears about this trip have now been realized by others: Holly suffered a knee injury that ended the ride for her. Raj was away from home when his dad died. A cyclist, riding safely and responsibly, was nonetheless killed when someone altered the inclination of his wheel a few degrees. I can't say I feel vindicated and thumb my nose at those few folks who couldn't understand why I was so concerned before the ride. Because I did all that fretting before, I am not very disturbed now. But neither were others. About the killed rider: Doris was shaken, but rode the next day. Khayam wanted to know about the blood. Everyone else seemed to take it in stride. About Raj: some people were sad he was gone, especially Khayam and Allen whom he had been watching out for. 5am Wendy (we call her that because she leaves at sunrise every morning) was shaken because her mother is sick and her biggest worry was that she would die over the summer as her dad did on a Mexico vacation several years ago. A couple of others thought about that particular "what if" for the first time. But I thought it would be more than a couple. This is primal stuff, losing a parent while so far away and so out of touch. I suppose most of the people on this ride, not having experience much death, don't have a place to put that; it's so far removed that it can't touch anything. Yet. I am less surprised about the equanimity about the killed rider; we have become used to the idea that we may be killed like that. Trusting hundreds of drivers each day, probably 10,000 of them over the course of the summer, to do the dozens of things involved with keeping a car on course: staying awake, steering properly without fail, breaking at stop lights, seeing us, understanding our hand signals, signaling themselves, driving at sane speeds, has become an acceptable risk. And that's not just for the riders: when I went to Evanston my mom was relieved that I'd taken a bus, "I thought you might rent a car." "Gail, I'm riding my bike on those same roads!" "But I'm used to that," she says.
Day 57 - Peebles to Jackson, OHI have taken my responsibilities to the group very seriously on this trip, "Hey Stefan, since you missed riding while you were in Chicago, you want me to drive the SAG for you today?" "Back off, bub, it's MY turn to drive." And so begins the end of the trip. In my head and to my body it's the end, even though there are still hundreds of miles and a few mountains left between me and DC. But my friend Shani is coming to pick me up today, and I'm driving the van, and then after she drops me off it'll only be five more riding days and then poof, I'm there. It's not just me: conversations have turned away from our bodies and bicycles and the terrain and food towards ending. "Are you going home from DC?" "When does school start?" "Is anyone going to meet you when we ride into the city?" And maybe anticipation of the end is the first thing we've found in common, because we feel, at least to me, closer to the bonded group most of us had expected but not found.
Days 59-61 with Shani in Pittsburgh, PALet me first say this: Pittsburgh has got a bad rap. Cleveland deserves to be called boring. Phoenix does indeed sprawl monotonously into the desert. I lived in LA two months before discovering, after a clearing rain, I was at the foot of a mountain range. But Pittsburgh is NOT the dirty steel and coal mining town you've been lead to believe. It's a town of Carnegie endowments. It's home to three major universities: Duquesne, Carnegie Mellon and Pitt. They've got one of the best public radio stations outside of Canada. The architecture is gorgeous, the neighborhoods distinct and interesting, the downtown is not such a ghost-town after 5pm as most American cities. From the steep hills to the South, along Grandview Avenue, you get one of the best urban vistas outside of San Francisco from the Golden Gate. And while a worldly diner might be happier in New York or Toronto, I have never lacked for fine, diverse vegan food in the city of three rivers. Local theater buffs are well served by the Public and City productions. As are queer Burgher's by the local community center. Of course I learned long ago that my impressions of a place, especially a place as quixotic as a big city, are inevitably affected by the people I know there. I hated New York until I started staying with my Aunt Herbine, who made it exciting and fun and just sane enough. San Francisco never interested me until Gail moved there 5 years ago, and now I am hooked, possibly for life. And Pittsburgh has its own shining star in my personal heavens, Shani Rebecca Ferguson, Simon's Rock BA graduate, 1989. Shani and I were introduced by Rodney Anthony Neal Christopher, SR BA grad 1990, who's presence in Brooklyn led me to appreciate that special borough, and since that fateful visit to Toronto in 1989 (I'd like to claim responsibility for both of their affections for my home town) Shani has been, in the words of my mother, "a better friend than anyone deserves, even you." Shani drove the four hours to Jackson, OH to pick me up, helped me make dinner for the masses, and drove us back. I could tell you about the restaurants we sampled (vegetable paella and grilled portobello mushroom strips!) or tagteam chatting on email with my mom (I miss that way of communicating that is instant yet gives you time to form succinct and witty repartees) and the movies we saw (Fierce Creatures: not-so-sequel to A Wish Called Wanda: One thumb up, one down. Conspiracy Theory: One thumb up for the acting of Mel and Julia - don't let anyone know I actually enjoyed a Julia Roberts performance...who else can I make fun of now? - one thumb down for the over-wrought bad guys and uneven pacing.) Or the Lilith Fair we went to (Shawn Colvin and Sarah McLachlan ruled, Jewel is a great live performer, the Indigo Girls closed their set with "Closer To Fine" with each verse sung by a different Lilith Fair headliner - righteous grrl-rock) or the two houses Shani sold while I was there (go real-estate woman!) but I won't because those things are secondary from the pleasure one gets from just spending time with an old friend like Ferg. Jim Monsonis, one of my mentors in college, once said to me, "The real sign of a good friend is not someone who you can talk to for hours. It's someone you can be quiet with for hours."
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