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August 22, 2022

That’s correct, I’m in New York state. I’m on the downhill portion of this journey. (Would that it would be all downhill!) More on how I got there in another blog.

Tom, I thought, as I boarded the greyhound in Bay City.
Michigan seems so real to me now.
It took me two months to cycle from Seattle.
I’ve come to look for America; I’ve come to look for America!

The above, if you don’t recognize it, is a rewrite of the Simon and Garfunkel song titled, “Cathy’s Song.” It is a theme that I’ve carried with me on this journey through, at this point, eight northern states.

AMERICA. (Perhaps more correct would be the United States of America, as I don’t wish to slight the rest of the Americas.) What a huge, diverse, beautiful, ugly, kind, divided, wealthy, poor – (I could go on) nation.

What does this America (at least this small portion of it) look like, at 10mph, on back road and secondary highways from the narrow seat of a bicycle and from this single person’s perspective? Here I offer you only a few ovbservations filtered through a single mind (mine) that speak to the portion of America in which we reside.

We as a nation seem to be enamored with our flag. It is no exaggeration when I say that I’ve seen close to 10,000 flags, or facsimilies thereof, as I’ve ridden on this small sample of US roads. (This number does not include the flags in the many cemetaries I rode by.)

The “stars and stripes” as a symbol – what does it mean and what does it say about us as a nation? Patriotism, of course, is the word that comes to mind. We are a nation that appears to love itself above all other nations. And what does this love look like?

As an aside: when I was discharged from the army back in 1975, having been stationed in Germany, I chose to be discharged in Europe so that I could visit some of the “rest” of the world. One place that I traveled to was Israel and one place that I visited in Israel was Haifa, where I stumbled on the gravesite of Baha’u’llah, the founder of the Baha’i Faith. On his tomb were written the words (and I paraphrase here):

The world is but one country and humankind but one of its citizens. Let not a person glory in this: that they love their country. But rather, let them glory in this: that they love their kind. *

(And I would add the rest of creation.)

This statement had, and still has, a profound influence on my relationship to this country and to the rest of the world. I consider myself a citizen of the Earth who happens to live in a particular place on the Earth. “Patriotism” is, for me, just another word in the dictionary. I mention this only because it gives you, the reader, an idea of why I even noticed all these symbols and why I question the meaning of the flag and what it says about America. Essentially, my question is: “What does it mean to ‘love’ one’s country?”

Many of the flags I saw (perhaps as many as 1%) were accompanied by right wing slogans, pro Trump banners and signs, symbols of Christianity, even on a few occasions racist comments (A Latino cyclist I rode with for a few days said that even though he passed as “white” he never felt quite comfortable riding through some of these rural communities.) I was struck that some of the January 6th rioters were carrying the flag (in addition to CSA flags) which were used to break windows and to fight off security guards. Was this an attack on their country, or did they feel their country was under attack? If it were the latter, then they might defend their actions as “patriotic.” Love of country, just like love in general, can obviously come in many different flavors.

As for the other 99% of flag fliers, I can only assume that their love of country is less extreme and more in line with that dictionary definition. For example, in every Indian Reservation I passed through, the flag was flying. I saw African Americans with the flag emblazoned on their t-shirts. I would have expected that these segments of the American population might be less inclined to fly the flag. Shows what I know!

This is turning into another long diatribe, but I have another point I’d like to make on the subject. Riding on the side of the road at 10mph allows me to notice the amount of trash and roadkill that a speeding car never sees. In addition, I witnessed many properties with yards full of junk cars and other material refuse from our materialistic culture. Many of these properties had flags flying (some of these flags were close to rags). So, my question: “If love implies caring for, how to explain this disconnect? The number of flags I’ve seen doesn’t seem to translate into a true caring – not just for the US, but for the Earth (world). How can we love a country that at the same time we abuse?

I have consumed a great deal on this trip and have had to dispose of a complementary great deal (plastic bottles, paper products, my own biological waste). As I deposit this material I mentally thank the Earth for taking our waste. Is this love?

Bob Dylan has something to say about patriotism that’s more confrontational than Baha’u’llah:

They say that patriotism is the last refuge to which a scoundrel clings. Steal a little and they put you in jail [or kneel on your neck]. Steal a lot and they make you King [or president].

* The original quote, from The Tablets of Baha’u’llah, reads: “It is not for him to pride himself who loveth his own country, but rather for him who loveth the whole world. The earth is but one country, and mankind its citizens.”

A footnote to this blog entry:

I wrote this blog in a coffee shop in Fredonia, NY. When I got back on the bike to ride, it began to rain and then to rain hard. I looked for a place to get out of the downpour and spotted a building with a bench beneath an overhang. Ironically, it was the Fredonia VFW with, of course, a flag flying out front. DUring the time I sat there – an hour or so – waiting for the rain to stop, I heard no thunder nor saw any lightning flash except for one very bright flash of light followed immediately by an earth shaking clap of thunder. The flag pole had been struck! I’m not sure how to interpret this, but it sure seems like a message I’m meant to receive.

8/13/22

A lot has happened since my last blog entry back in Marquette.

From Marquette I continued riding east toward Sault Ste Marie with the intention of crossing into Ontario. The ride was along bike paths, back roads, and highways. There have been obstacles along the way.

Four days ago, in Newberry, MI, I had another bout of flat tires. Six in one day. I wasn’t able to determine the cause for why these tires kept going flat. It was always the rear tire. The first of these flats occurred in Picture Rocks National Seashore. I had ridden five miles along a gravel road to arrive at a trailhead where I hiked five miles through pristine forest, arriving at Lake Superior – a lovely sand beach reminiscent of Popham Beach and Morse Mountain Beach (for those of you who have been there). After a quick swim, lunch and the hike back, I was ready to ride again. Flat tire. In this case, the flat was due to a staple that had punctured the tire.

That evening, another flat along the highway. I began to suspect that the patched tubes I was using may have been leaking around the patch. Arriving at Kingston Lake State Park for the night, I was determined to ensure that the inner tubes I was carrying (6 in all) were all holding air. They were. So, feeling confident, I set out eastbound again. This ride between Kingston Lake State Park and Newberry is where I had the six flats.

The Newberry bike shop is part bicycle shop, part motorcycle shop, part off-road vehicle shop. I bought three new tubes there, made sure that there were no sharpies in the rim or the tire, and, using one of these new tubes, I set off once again. After less than a mile, the tire was flat. Throwing up my hands in frustration, I was at a loss.

A woman (whom I never saw) witnessed this act of frustration and called her husband, telling him that there was someone on the side of the road who needed help. A truck arrived. (It was her husband, Marvin, a motorcyclist who has his motorcycle worked on by the same establishment where I had purchased the new tubes.) We loaded the bike in his truck and he brought me back to the shop where Marvin and one of the shop employees agreed that the rim seemed fine, the tire itself seemed fine, and perhaps the cause was low air pressure and too much weight on the rear end of the bike.

After another new tube with 80 psi pressure, i set off once again. This time I got a mile and a half until the next flat. I didn’t seem to be able to get out of Newberry. At this point, I considered buying a new rim. I begged a ride back to the “bike” shop. This time the owner and the person most experienced with “bicycles” looked things over, couldn’t find anything wrong with the rim, pulled out a heavy duty inner tube and a tougher tire, put it all back together, and told me that if this failed, he wouldn’t have any other way to help me. 

It has been five days now with no flats. I am so grateful and more confident that the problem is solved. In addition, I mailed a 7+ pound package home. The woman postal clerk (a cyclist herself) quipped, “It’s like having a baby!” 

Now onward to Sault Ste Marie and the Ontario border.

Four days before arriving at the border, I had stopped in at the Munising Michigan hospital for a PCR test, hoping that a negative test would get me into Canada, as I am unvaccinated. Now, I crossed the International Bridge across the Soo Locks and stepped into Canada, only to be sent back because the rule is “no vaccination, no entry.” Despite having a three-day-old negative PCR and despite the fact that most of my life these last 8-9 weeks has been spent outside – socially distant – I was a risk to the Canadian citizenry. Disappointed and unsure what to do next, I rode back into the US. Now what?!

From Sault Ste Marie south there is the old highway that was replaced by Interstate 75. This old highway has been designated as a bike path. It has wide shoulders, very little traffic, and no semis or RVs (they prefer the interstate). This bike path runs from Sault Ste Marie to the Mackinaw Bridge – a two day ride. Bikes are not allowed on the bridge, but for $15 (cars pay $4) I was driven across the bridge to Mackinaw City.

This brings me to yesterday. I have determined that I need to get to Southern Michigan and the Ohio border while avoiding Detroit. Fortunately, there are bike paths for at least part of the way, which is what I rode all day yesterday to Aloha, a campground on Mullett Lake. It is a “campground” in name only. It’s actually an “RV community” (very few tents). Because the site I was given had electric hookups for an RV, I was charged the rate ($46) for the right to pitch my tent there. 

When I consider what happened at the border and what happened here at the campground, I am left to conclude that “rules are rules” and these rules leave no room for common sense. Take the border situation. It is well known that vaccinated does not mean COVID-free (witness Joe Biden’s recent infections in spite of being vaccinated and boostered). So is Canada unknowingly letting infected people across the border? In my case, I was shown to be COVID-free, but was declined entry because the “rule” is “no vaccine, no entry.” Here at Aloha Campground, despite the fact that I had no use for the electric hookup intended for an RV, I was charged as if I would use it. That’s the rule!

This is a long blog – sorry if it is too long, but I felt I had a lot to catch up on. ONWARD.