Home Sweet Home - Rochester, NY

What up people!

At some point last Friday, as I watched torrential downpour #14 from my Motel 6 hotel room in Grand Rapids MI, I decided that when the sun came out again, if the sun ever came out again (tomorrow? It's only a day away, right?) that I would take advantage of it and get back to riding.
I was feeling sullen, dragging a bit. The dreary rain was getting to me.
I love Motel 6 - where they left the light on for me once again - I love that! Their hotels are crap, the beds are lumpy, the pillows have a total of 17 feathers in them, the room does not have a clock, the shower does not have shampoo - but gosh darn it they play fun goofy music in the commercial and they leave the light on for you! What more could you want? The time? Time doesn't exist at Motel 6, it's like a casino.

That was last Friday. It's a good thing I sought shelter that day too because a tornado touched down about 30 miles east, right along the path I was going to take. That's the same day that Chicago had 80 mph winds and power outages and all-around rambunctious weather.

So Saturday morning I'm eating breakfast at a diner, and a group of 4 scruffy people walk in. They ask for an ashtray and the waitress tells them that smoking is not permitted until 3pm. (Not sure how they came up with that rule...?)
One of the guys in the group says 'I have 3 o'clock sharp on my watch!' - even though it wasn't even noon yet. They continue back and forth, pleading, begging, and eventually contemplating going elsewhere so that they could smoke in between bites of pancake. Smoke and a pancake?
Can't it wait until after your breakfast? Seriously. You really need to smoke while you eat?

I was so grossed out by this unconscionable display of lethargy that I decided to go the other way. To pedal far, to hit the open road and breathe deeply. To be in motion and remain in motion for as long as possible.

5 days and 562 miles later, I arrived in Rochester, NY.

On Monday I rode 162 miles, a successful experiment to see whether I could ride 150 in a day. Hightailing it across Ontario.

I stayed outside the train station in Durand, Michigan - it was the usual red tepee on the map but no sign of campgrounds in town. I ask in town and they say 'oh boy, let's see, there's one 3 miles that way and then 5 that way, or 10 miles that way' but of course it's already 7pm and I'm tired, not looking for a wild goose chase, so I shift into stealth camper mode. The train station seemed like the best option, had bathrooms, and it's in a small town so there couldn't be that many trains going by throughout the night... Right? WRONG! It was a veritable parade of trains, slow trains, fast trains, big trains, small trains - all with the common theme of loudness. I think I can I think I can... chug a lug - toot toot!

Earlier that evening I was passing through a town called Owasso. I met a smiley guy outside a gas station there, he was missing his front teeth but was very pleased to find out that I was going to Maine. I was sort of in a hurry so we didn't talk long.

Then, as I headed out of town, I met another guy. He was riding bikes with his young daughter. He pulls up next to me at a stop light and asks where I'm headed.
I explain.
He says 'that's neat'. He didn't have any front teeth either. They must have a good candy store in town. Or perhaps the lack of a good dentist.

In any case, this exchange felt different. I wanted to tell him that I thought what he was doing was neat. Delighting in the dwindling dusk with his daughter.

I was reminded of a famous passage in one of Thomas Merton's books. He was standing on a street corner in Louisville, Kentucky, looking around at all of the people going about their business, when it suddenly occurred to him that he loved all these people.
'That they were mine and I theirs, that we could not be alien to one another even though we were total strangers. It was like waking from a dream of separateness.'

He said 'there is no way of telling people that they are all walking around shining like the sun.'

I wanted to tell this man that he was shining like the sun, with or without front teeth, but there was no way of doing so. It was a neat encounter. And then I slept on the concrete of the train station.

I didn't have much time to find computers along the way. I'm not even sure Canada has computers yet. Or schools, or people under the age of 47.
They have lots of corn fields, lots of power lines, and the entire province smells like poop.

Ontario, Canada - Yours to Discover!

And you'll also discover that they have a 14% tax rate. Nice! I kept buying items and then scratching my head when the total jumped way above the price. Gatorade -- $2.29 -- your grand total is $2.60. Hmmm, that's strange. What is the tax rate?
Oh, the tax rate is 14%. 7% for the province, and 7% for the county.
Perfect!

As for the smell - at first I thought 'wow, that's some strong manure they're using on the corn!' but then it became more and more pungent, to the point that I was gagging as I rode along the shores of Lake Erie. I couldn't figure out if it was the manure in the fields, or Lake Erie. I finally decided that it was the lake! It smelled exactly like a pig farm - more specifically like pig shit on a pig farm.
It was as if Porky the Pig had flown over the lake - yeah, when pigs fly! - and taken a dump the size of Rhode Island right in the middle. Then it lazily drifted ashore with the offensive odor wafting across the land.

It got me thinking - when we sprinkle manure - poop - on our fruits and vegetables, on our fields of corn and wheat and all that - doesn't this eventually work its way up through the roots, up the xylems and down the phloems and into the actual fruit or vegetable itself? It must, right? So we're eating poop? Not cool!

On Monday, whlie riding many miles, I started to become very hungry. Shaky starving.
I found a store and had a hot dog, and a hamburger. Spalding!
I had a hot dog, and a hamburger, and a candy bar, and a bag of sun chips, and a large apple crisp muffin, and a Dole Kiwi Strawberry drink, and another large blueberry muffin, and a water. Then I felt full.

Later, I found a fruit stand with peaches. I bought a quart of them. It cost a $2 coin. Canadian money isn't even real so really it was free!
The first bite of the peach was so fantasticly delicious that it made me question my order of favorite fruits. Kiwi used to top my list, but what about this peach? Or the juiciest naval orange you could find? And how could we forget watermelon?
I think we should have a playoff of fruits, get 100 people together and pit one fruit against the other in a Final Four of Fruits, have people vote for their favorite and see who wins.
On a super hot day, which fruit refreshes you the most? I could not decide, as I thought about it. I love them all so much.

Anyway, I gotta run. I have so much more I'd like to talk about, the demure Canadian flags flying, the money, the music, the fact that Lake Erie was the first familiar thing I've seen in a long time and it almost made me sad because the trip seems to be winding down. Only 3 more states to go. I think it's because I'm at home now, it feels like the denouement in this plot even though there are plenty more miles to pedal and many more rivers to cross.

I'll try and post some pictures later on, maybe tomorrow.

I spent last night at my older brother's place, playing with Jason my 8 month old nephew. What a beautiful creation he is. He is an endless source of smiles, both for you and for him.

Nick I'm calling your ass today - what is this accident all about? The Orbea is dead?!?

And Gold thank you for your fine lines of rap. I had to refer to my resident rap expert Mr. Michael M Bond for the interpretation and further background.
Apparently a rapper - I forget his name - had so much extra money that at a concert he pulled out a bunch of $100 bills and sprinkled them on the crowd. He made it rain on them good.