Companionship, solitude and loneliness

In writing this blag, I have consistently shared my experiences in the first-person singular, because this blag is meant to be just that: a first hand account of my experiences and interactions with the world at large as I pedal my fool self through it (with me pretending all the while that people care what I think). There have been times, though, where it has been a stretch to maintain this singular account of my journey, because in truth, I often am not cycling alone. I have ridden with friends (both new and old), lovers, strangers and acquaintances, other cyclists out for a dayride or in it for the long haul, a priest, children, turkeys and more. My path has intersected many a time with that of another traveler, all the better when we happen to be headed in the same direction for a spell. It gives us all an opportunity to share and contrast information, stories, warnings, and I've often learned something invaluable, such as the existence of a spectacular bike path that parallels the route I was planning to take.

My most recent traveling companion was Shannan, a friend from Seattle who has spent the summer (more of it than me, actually) on a bike trip of her own. We had the good fortune to rendevous in South Dakota, and the better fortune to be headed in the same direction for a spell. She recently ended her trip back in Stevens Point (alas, graduate school beckoned). I mention her specifically because I found her story to be inspiring (certainly more so than mine), given that she had never ridden a bike much more than around the city before hopping on and pedaling for a good 3,500 miles or so. Good job, kiddo.

Shannan was headed to Stevens Point for a friend's wedding, which I was fortunate enough to be invited to last minute (literally the day before), when it turned out I'd be in the neighborhood at the right time. I was planning on going to the wedding ridiculously underdressed in my Chacos, a longsleeve plaid shirt and a $1.50 pair of Goodwill jeans I had just bought for the cold. (They were both dirty, rumpled and smelled of campfire.) In fact, the groom himself lent me a decent change of clothes to wear. All I did was fashion a highly unfashionable belt from the shoulder straps of my saddlebags, and I was ready to go to the first Catholic mass of my life (at least, that I'm aware of).

The wedding itself was very, um, Catholic, to say the least. But! It was also very Wisconsin-y; at the reception, the bride and groom were playing a game of corn hole before a toast was even made. The opulence of the reception, the four-course dinner and free-flowing booze, the music and the shaking of my behind and the fancy hotel room (albeit shared with five other people, and me on the floor) all stand in such stark contrast to the minimalism and simplicity of biking that it was a bit jarring to my system. It was fun, and great to be welcomed by such warm and inviting people, but also good to be back on the road the next day.

It's getting late in the season now, though, and I'm seeing fewer and fewer people on the road in non-car form; I'll probably be riding alone from here on out. I haven't seen another cyclist for a week, and I haven't even had so much as a conversation with someone in three days (to be fair, I haven't seen many people at all), excepting a cop last night who asked me if I was planning on sleeping where I was. I enjoy the solitude, but the loneliness that can often accompany it is hard to bear. The rural isolation here coupled with the ever-shortening days, and I'm suddenly finding myself with hours of free time every evening between when the sun goes down and when I'm ready to sleep (hence, for example, this overly long post).

Well, enough then. I squandered my extra hours this evening running around town trying to accomplish things I never got accomplished, and lost a biking glove in the process; I'm just grumpy and feeling sorry for myself, and ready for this day to be over.

Happy 60th anniversary, G&G! Happy 21st birthday, Amy! It's about time. Love to all...