Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
votees on one side and in me on the other makes me think that we might as well be dif-
ferent species in mortal combat over the fate of mankind.
It's a lousy way to feel, and weirdly enough, writing obituaries assuages it a little bit.
So does riding a bike, I think, because it is among the least aggressive, least contentious
of activities. You ride into a strange town on a bike and no one's suspicious of you; every-
one's curious. No one sees a long-distance cyclist as a threat; a nut, maybe, but a benign
and interesting one. And the cyclist—tired, alone, homeless—is needy in a way that ap-
peals to people's better angels and allows strangers to be generous without having to try
very hard. They invite you for a meal, offer a bed for the night, dispense directions, fill
your water bottles at their kitchen sinks, stop for you when you're stuck on the side of
the road, applaud you when you reach the mountain pass, and encourage you, encour-
age you, encourage you.
You don't even have to meet them. The messages I've been getting online lately, from
people who have no bone to pick and no earthly reason to write except to urge me on,
are thrillingly consoling:
“Keep up the good work!”
wrote someone named Jim.
“I am keeping track of you from
way down in New Zealand during our fresh springtime. A cross country bike trip has been
on my agenda for the last 30 years after talking to a fellow US citizen in NZ back in the early
80's who went from Chicago to the West Coast. It sounded great then and it still sounds like
something I want to do someday. It has been in the back of my head ever since then and con-
tinues to live there. Ahh, someday . . . Good on ya! Keep the story telling up, I look forward
to it.”
“I know many people have been inspired by your awesome trip,”
Shane from Massachu-
setts wrote.
“Wishing you all the best for a fantastically slow, but exciting, rest of the trip.”
“Bruce, greetings from the Champlain Valley of VT,”
wrote David.
“Enjoying this second
ride of yours immensely—reminds me of a trip I took with my family 11 years ago, mostly
on the Old Lincoln Highway, Route 30, VT to SF. You've got better knees than me, young
feller. Be well.”
“It will be very sad for us when your trip comes to an end,”
Sarah Wiley wrote from
Midland, Michigan.
Maybe there's a human gene after all.
