T-27: When the Universe is Ready

The Gate is open....step through

Ok, Universe, thank you for saying yes to our big plans for this trip. I can see the gate has opened.   In the few days several important energies have shifted.  All have given me such a big sense of relief.

Step 1.  We have found our house/animal sitter.  After numerous interviews and conversations, we have found a young woman who will happily deal with our odd dog, Louie.

Step 2.  The Dreaming at Daybreak fundraiser was more successful than I dared imagine.  The 1 year cash total exceeded our challenge, and most movingly, promised donations into the future.  I am stunned, humbled, and thankful.

Step 3. A grant renewal had slipped my mind and was not included in my cash projections, but will make a significant payment this summer.  It will move Matrix out of the cash flow blues.  The new leadership will not be faced with that particular form of hell.   This was the final step in making it really, truly comfortable to make this big change.

Two years ago, I wrote the first blogpost in this series: T-720: The Commitment is Made; Let the Wrangling Begin.   I wrote in that post, “We will do this to mark a transition in our life and to harken back to our first years together.  It will mark the end of the years of Massive Work, where both of us regularly worked 60 hour weeks and did little else, giving ourselves wholly (and destructively) to our jobs.  It harkens back to the first years of our marriage and youth, where some of the happiest days of our life were spent on long distance bike travel.”

Reading this post of nearly two years ago is especially poignant today: May 26, 2013.   34 years ago, we were married.  Today, as we were driving out to our regular breakfast spot, I read out loud to Wes the timeline of a 45 year marriage.  At the end of the article, the wife said that she couldn’t believe that she still enjoyed his company so much.  They had their ups and downs and their near misses, but here after all these years, they still loved their time together.  Both Wes and I were crying at that.  Because after all these years, with plenty of ups and downs, and some years of doubts and confusion, we still really enjoy each other’s company.  We truly are each other’s best friends. 

35 years ago, both our souls leapt at each other and said, “There you are again.”  It only took one date (really truly, one date) and then we bonded and have been nearly inseparable since.  (Although Wes says he never spent so much time being alone until we began living together—see note about giving ourselves over to our work).  Even now, when I crawl into bed hours after Wes (he’s a morning person; I’m a night person), I still want to “plug in.”  I snuggle my hips into his and I feel as though a circuit is complete.   

We drive each other crazy, but make each other laugh.  We know each other’s stories inside out, but can spend hours making up stories and elaborating the ridiculous adventures of our alter-egos Googie and Bonkie.   Wes will never be done telling me to close the door, or quit leaving my shoes and socks everywhere.  I will always be frustrated with him because his idea of planning is starting. 

When we go on this long ride: 4500 miles, we will prepare our bodies and our minds for the third third of our life.  We will let go of the structures that have shaped our every day.  And we will invest in that which we have neglected: our health, our relationships, and our writing.  We face this new world a-coming with joy…and a few tears… Here it comes.

T-30: Yes...but

Well once again my decision making is suspect.   I woke up the other morning and said, I am going to take a long loaded run….just to see if I can.  I had Wes drag my big yellow BOB bag out to the garage.  I attached the trailer and went zooming off.  It was an absolutely beautiful morning in Detroit, one of those clear blue spring days where the humidity is low and the air almost sparkles.

I cycle down to the riverfront, where the first thing I see is a fisherman pull a 12 inch walleye from the water.  He is one of the many riverside and boating fishers partaking in the annual walleye run.  The riverfront is teaming with people, even though it is pretty early in the morning.  I am tickled at the range of people enjoying the sight of the glistening water. 

Underground Railroad Monument

There are all ages, all colors, women in hijab, and men in hard hats.  There are youth with pants four sizes too big walking along side hipsters with pants two sizes too small.  There are grandmas with squirmy little grandbabies sitting on lawn chairs watching their menfolk throw fishing line in the water and watch the red floaters bob, bob, bob downstream.  There’s a sailor all dressed in white  
scrubbing the sidewalk leading up the Detroit Princess party boat.  There’s even a few tourists having their picture taken with Underground Railway monument, standing alongside bronze statues, living and metal people peering mightily to the promised land of Canada just across the water.

I am a bit of spectacle with my full touring regalia: helmet and gloves, sun glasses, and most importantly, my low-slung bright yellow BOB trailer.  I see the occasional walker turn a full 180 degrees to watch me go by. It tickles my fancy to imagine they think me some exotic traveler making my way across the city on this beautiful morning.

I leave the waterfront on the other side of the Milliken State Park, past the swaying cattails and invasive phragmytes of the restored marsh.  I note my mileage (on my new bicycle computer, of course) and see that I have travelled just over 4 miles from my Southwest Detroit starting point.  I told Wes I was going to go down to the Belle Isle Bridge and back.  He shook his head ruefully, and said, “That far?”  I stuck out my chin at him: “It’s only 15 miles!”

I curve back to the riverfront by Stroh Riverplace.  I love this part of the Riverwalk, with its restored buildings, boutique hotels, boat slips, and Coast Guard station.  I am intrigued to see a Coast Guard cutter being lowered to the water.  The giant crane looks like a huge praying mantis.

I am still feeling good as leave the riverfront, cross the bumpity, bumpity cobblestone streets of old Iron Street, noting the ten or fifteen new murals depicting the strengths and beauty of Detroit on the sides of a rusting, wreck of old factory.   I am still feeling good as I pass by the big empty lot just before the Belle Isle Bridge.  Years and years ago, it was an industrial site for Goodyear, I think.  It has been too toxic for redevelopment and has sat fallow as long as I have lived in Detroit.  Today, it is abuzz with activities.  All along the fence is banner after banner proclaiming the upcoming Belle Isle Grand Prix.  The lots are being set up as service areas for the racing crews.

Well, here is where I made my big mistake.  If I had “the sense god promised a billy goat”, as my mother would say, I would have turned around right then and there, and started my homeward track.   This was the distance I told Wes I was going to take.  It was a good run.

But no.  Blinded by the beauty and ecstasy of my ride thus far, I turn my bike onto the Belle Isle Bridge.   It is gorgeous to look up and down the river.  There are geese, and swans, and ducks paddling with their babies. I am committed now.  The Belle Isle run, if I circle the island is another 5.5 miles. But hey, I’m feeling good, so why not?

I pull my trailer up the bridge, and notice for the first time, how much drag the trailer creates on a hill.  Flat Detroit is not very good training for the Cascades and the Rockies which start our trip, I note.  I huff and puff up the bridge, scream down the other side, pushed by the trailer, find the corner to the right quite a bit of challenge with the push of the trailer and drive right into….a construction zone. 

All along the river road, giant concrete barriers are being put up along the race route for the Detroit Grand Prix (http://www.michronicle.com/index.php/news-briefs-original/11459-chevrolet-detroit-belle-isle-grand-prix-revs-up-for-summer-classic).  The barriers block the view.  I weave in and out of heavy equipment, teams for workers, and trucks moving racing gear.  The workers stare at me.  I am sure they wonder what kind of fool would bring her bike and trailer into their midst. 

A few miles later, I finally leave the construction zone, then pull into the party zone on the riverfront.  It is a mess.  Even though there are garbage cans every 25 yards or so, there are cans, bottle, wrappers, dirty diapers, food containers and more everywhere.  On the grass, on the road.  It is disgusting.  This is the place where scads of teens hang out on weekend nights.  Every Monday morning, the place is a wreck.  By Tuesday, the debris would be gone, but now, with budget cuts, it is still sitting there on Thursday.

I leave the garbage zone and I notice that I am really starting to get tired now.  I have gone about 10 miles and it is starting to get hot.  I reach for my water bottle…empty.  I am not half way around the island, and I still have the whole way back to go. 

By the time I get to the Detroit Yacht Club, I am only ¾ around the island and I am pooped.  I stop in some shade, move my pannier to the other side because my right leg is hurting and record a note on my phone and call Wes.  I tell him to meet me at our favorite coney island in half an hour.  He asks me if I am all right.  What can I say?

The ride back to the diner is long and hard.  The river is still beautiful, but the temperature is up.  When I make it back to the Underground Railroad monument, I am in “just keep going” mode.  The tenth miles turn over so slowly on my bike computer.  When I turn away from the river and make my way up the gradual climb up to Michigan Avenue, my legs hurt, my forearms ache, and my shoulders are starting to knot. 

I stop at a red light to catch my breath, having climbed the bank of the former Cabacier Creek.  While I pant, a friendly fellow tells me “You don’t need to wait for the light, there ain’t no traffic.”  I wait anyway, glad to be off my bike, even for a moment. 

I meet Wes at the Coney.  I am sweaty, sore, and beat.  I have cycled 18 miles without a break, carrying a 40 pound load.  Wes laughs out loud as we listen to the recording I made of my pitiful self at the Yacht club. “What did you expect?”

I say to him, “Well, I have answered my question.”  “What is that?”  “Can I do twenty miles in a shot.”    The answer is “yes, but…”  After I cycle the remaining two miles home, I have gone twenty miles, sure enough, but I will be sore tomorrow, and not worth much today.

Yes, I can ride twenty miles with a load, but I have also shown, once again, that I am poor, poor, poor at recognizing reasonable boundaries.   And not just on bicycle rides, I assure you.

 

 

 

 

T-38: Inch by Bloody Inch

Are we there yet?

Last night was the final Matrix Theatre Company Board meeting before our trip. One of the activities was meeting the new leadership. Another was receiving from me a 13 page report on Matrix’s strategic plan. We spent nearly an hour talking about the upcoming Dreaming at Daybreak fundraiser. Boy, does this capture the complexity of making sure that the company is ready for my departure.

The report discussed all aspects of Matrix: board, development, communications, programs, operations, facilities, and strategic partnerships. Each one of these is complex in its own right. Each one has a mix of stuff that works well, stuff that barely or doesn’t work, human fallibility and greatness, difficult finances, conflicting priorities, and varying timelines. Anyone who has been an Executive Director, especially of a small organization, will recognize this list.

When describing my job, I often resort to carnival metaphors. My job is juggling knives, anvils, feathers, and jellyfish…endlessly. Or perhaps it is keeping fifty plates spinning at all times, and even when one drops and breaks, making sure the others keep spinning.

As soon as the company figures out one challenge, it is time to work on the next three. Here is a case in point that was made very clear last night. We have been working hard on the Dreaming at Daybreak fundraising breakfast. It is a lot like coordinating a wedding, only instead of one invitation list, there are at least 20 people inviting people. So imagine all the arrangements, plus speakers, plus a video premiere, plus lining up sponsors and donors….and communicating daily with 20 people. Then last night, two of our board members laid out the challenge that follows the event.

We need to devise…pronto…a system to make sure that people who make pledges, especially those people who make multi-year pledges, fulfill them. Both board members had horror stories of pledges made at fundraisers that were never fulfilled. Getting the accounting and cultivation systems in place to do this presents a challenge I had not much considered until just a few days ago. Oh my. Oh well.

In the meantime, we are still plugging away at solving the bicycle trip logistics. We finally decided to fly to Portland from Denver, which means that we will ship our bikes. How we will get back home is a question we will delay to answer. Who knows how we will feel when we get to end of our trip? Will we want to get off the road as soon as possible? Will we want keep exploring?  Who knows…maybe we won’t even get to Portland, Maine. We have decided to let the trip tell us the answer to this question.

In the meantime, I need to do the final tune-up of my bike, and make arrangements for shipping our bikes. We are still trying to secure our house/animal sitter (!!!). We still have financial/bill paying arrangements to make.

38 more days to go. Inch by bloody inch, we will get there… inch by bloody inch.

 

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T-46: The once and future city

Part of the reason we are taking our bike ride across the country is to see how other places operate, how they have weathered the disinvestment in public life that has been the norm for the last 25 years.  We have been so embedded in Detroit, which certainly is its own unique self.  We are interested to see if how it is in the big out-there.  Even so, very little riles me up quicker than folks who don't diddly about Detroit making big time pronouncements about how to "fix" the city. 

I recently read an article in which the writer was touting the influence and necessity of small entrepreneurs as the salvation of Detroit.  While it was a well researched article, it missed the boat because the writer was not much aware of the way in which life in Detroit has already left the 19^th century model of centralized commerce and government.  Detroit, both through choice and necessity, has found ways to invent key structures of daily life,  whether that is food, cash free economics, or a deeply rooted maker culture. 

One cannot tell the story of Detroit’s rebirth without discussing its central role in transforming the food economy.   With miles of open and incredibly fertile river bottom land, more than 2000 community gardens, and an active local food movement, Detroit is a the center of the urban agriculture movement.  It is not unreasonable to think it will be food self sufficient in 10 years.  And… this is a movement centered in the African-American community.

Another feature of life in this city is the robust social capital that keeps this place running.  There are time banks, thousands of grassroots block clubs and community groups which do everything from patrolling the streets, to tutoring kids, to running city parks.  Detroiters are past masters of “making a way out of no way”.  The resilience of the African-American community fuels this, of course.  The community has been ignored (or mistreated) by officials for so long, that other structures to solve problems are put in place.

This is what I call “the Auntie network”.  Battalions of kin and near kin organize the structures of life, from baptisms to funerals, from transportation to home repairs.  When you want something done, you engage families, not individuals, in this city.  When I say families, I don’t mean daddies and mommas and kids…. I mean grandma, grandpops, aunties, uncs, cuzzes (1^st, 2^nd, and 3^rd) bros, sisters, and all their kin.  A typical family reunion can bring together hundreds of people…it is an organizing feature of the social, economic, and community life in the city.

Finally, one cannot omit the central role of the culture and arts in this city.  Singing, storytelling, painting, poetry, film, dance, and more... are daily occurrences made by all sorts of people.  With food being grown in the neighborhoods, folks that know how to get stuff done with little money or help, and super cheap housing, it is possible to live as an artist here.  I know this and see this every day, having founded and run a community based theatre for the past 22 years.   Matrix Theatre Company has employed thousands of artists and engaged tens of thousands of residents.  We see them go on to make art with and around us, year in and year out.

So, yes the structures of 19^th century commerce and government are broken and nearly gone in the city.  But a new, organic, self-determining and self-creating structure is already here.  Those who have eyes to see it, already do it.

T-42: Promises Made....and Kept

Two years ago, when we made the decision to go on this epic bicycle trip, we identified several commitments which had to be met before we could leave.    Some were big and scary; some would take a long time; others would require a bit of luck.  Before we could go, we had to:

1.       Be completely out of debt: no mortgages, no car debt, no personal debt

2.       Wes had to be retired and have secured his pension;

3.       Matrix had to be put on secure footing, so it could run without me.

4.       We had to have our estate planning done

Two years ago, we still owed tens of thousands on our mortgage, had just purchased a newish vehicle, and were carrying a small amount of personal debt.  For months upon months, we paid a double note on our mortgage.  This was no fun, I can tell you.  When Wes would get a bonus for his teaching overages (the result of his giant sized classes), we would pay more on the mortgage.  We set up extra payments on the car.  This meant that we were just working and paying bills.  We were happy to use the excuse of our exchange daughter Louise staying with us to give ourselves permission to spend some money on recreation and travel.

I think we would have just made it out of debt in time, but we were given a great boost from a sad source   After a long decline, Wes’ father passed away, leaving his house to his sons.  Unfortunately, selling the house caused a huge rift between the brothers which still has not healed.  Wes’ share of the proceeds allowed us to pay off the mortgage and the car, to our great relief.  There is something poetic about this.  George was a great outdoorsman.  He would spend months each year in the mountains, happily living a tent, and riding horses into the back country with “Eastern dudes” who thought they wanted to kill elk.   It is nice to think that George’s final gift to us was a chance to fulfill this lifelong dream.

Getting Wes retired was actually pretty easy.  We had been growing increasingly concerned both about his ever increasing work load, the never-ending drumbeat of anti-teacher press, and the constant incursions on teacher pensions.  Truly, the writing was on the wall about retiring sooner rather than later.  Making the psychological adjustment was much more difficult.  Wes is an excellent teacher who has invested his identity, his heart, and his time into this work.  Now, that he coming to end of this phase, he can be moved to tears to think he will never again have the chance to teach The Scarlet Letter.  Now that’s an English teacher!

Securing Matrix: now there’s a notion.  This has been a complex, scary, upsetting, difficult, and ultimately hopeful endeavor.  Just the other day, the board signed a Memorandum of Understanding with Andrea, Jake, and Megan to take over the day to day operations of Matrix.  I am very happy to see the company pass into the next generation.  I would be lying, however, if I didn’t also admit that it has grabbed at my heart to not be at the center of things.  But I also know that every child has to head out on their own and make their own life.  I have always, rightly or wrongly, thought of Matrix as my child.   I feel as though I have successfully seen my child “married”.  Both Wes and I laugh that it is appropriate that our “child” would end up in a non-traditional marriage.

When we return from the bike trip, I will serve as Matrix CEO with two primary responsibilities: getting that damn kid a trust fund and place to live.  With those two key pieces in place, I feel I will have done everything I can to make sure that Matrix can survive into the future.  This is still Mom-thinking, which has been both a blessing and curse.  Like a Mom, I have always been willing to do more than any employee would.  I truly believe Matrix would not have made it 22 years without some heavy duty parenting, but if I have done my job well, it should never require that kind of care again.  We’ll see.

We have finished our estate planning, though not finished all the details.  Those details, along with 8 jillion logistics, some of which are huge (like securing a house/cat/dog sitter) are the pile we are moving through in these last six weeks.  There is still a lot to do (a major fundraiser, for instance, getting our bikes and gear to Portland and back, for another instance) that have to be done.  However, we have done most of the heavy lifting and can see the light growing, ever growing at the end of this tunnel.

T-53: Test...Run?



Simple and fast pack with the BOB

Last Saturday was the first truly beautiful spring day of the year.  We decided to use the opportunity to load the bikes with the full kit…and the new B.O.B. trailer and go for a longish ride.  The Bob necessitated a different pack than the panniers. So I went throughout the house, snatching laundry bags of b sizes.  I create bags for personal items, dubbed bathroom bags, then underwear bags, then clothing bags.  The idea here is that we will need to dig through the yellow hole of the Bob to find specific items.



Now, I have generated an elaborate system of bags, and often bags within bags, that serve various purposes and needs.  There is, of course,

1.       The bag with the tent, ground cloth, and rain fly. 



Bag after bag

2.       The bag with comforter, ground sheet and my pillow

3.       The bag with kitchen supplies

4.       The bag with emergency and first aid supplies

5.       Two bags of personal items

6.       Two bags of underwear

7.       Two bags of clothing

8.       Two rolls of sleeping pads

9.       Small bag of tools and flat repair kit

10.   A small bag of Adventure Cycling maps

11.   And more…I think I have counted 21 bags altogether!

We loaded the bikes, bags, BOB, panniers, and ourselves into the car and went to Willow Metro Park.  After a quick and easy pack, we head off for the Trial Run.  Wes was on his good ol’ Schwinn LeTour, carrying his gear in panniers.  I attached the BOB to my pretty good ol’ Trek 7600.    It is a breeze to pull or carry this load.  We are very happy.

It was an absolutely beautiful day, such a relief after the long cold and wet spring we have been experiencing.  We remarked at the very high Huron River, well over its banks in many places.   We zoomed off…more accurately, I zoomed off.   Not only have my months with a trainer improved my fitness and stamina, the BOB really lightens the load.  I felt almost no drag and had little to no trouble adjusting to the changes in turning radius.  I did have trouble parking and have the feeling this will be an on-going challenge.

Wes was much slower.  His transition to the trip is going to be much more difficult.  He just has not had the capacity to do much training at this point.  He likes to blame the difference in our fitness level on the slight difference in our age…he is, after all, 3 years older than me.  When Wes tells me this, I practice what he calls the “the bobble head” which is a vaguely affirmative head nod.  Graciously I don’t point out that my brother Scott and his wife Deb, who are exactly our ages, could outhike, outwalk and generally outperform us in every way…that perhaps it’s not really an issue of age[SN1] , but of fitness habits.  But I’m too kind for that

We had a great ride, enjoyed a nice visit to the Huron Metropark Nature center (love the box turtles and friendly head-circling snakes), then decided to a full camp test at a picnic ground.  At Acorn Knoll, past the sloughs of standing water, we set up the tent.  It was easy and great.  We are very impressed with REI tent, but note that we need at least four tent stakes to withstand a big awful rainstorm, which we will surely encounter on our ride.

I lay out the sleeping gear.  It is easy and comfy.  Wes crawls in, stretches out, and almost immediately falls asleep.  Within minutes, he is snoring and drooling.  This looks like success to me.

The next test is the all-important coffee making test.  In years past, we have actually carried a coffee pot.   I want to try a silicon pour spout attached to our cook-kit.  With our dandy little Brunton cooker, pot, pour spout and Melitta strainer, we may a damn good cup of coffee.  Another success…and a critical one for my coffee addict husband.

So I am thrilled with the BOB.  I am happy with the pack.  I am really happy with the new seat, which will end the excruciating abrasion in my “lady-parts”.   The choices we are making are working and we are getting more and more excited.  Just a few more days now….oh boy!

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 [SN1]