Mile 4162: PORTLAND,
ME
We made it to Portland yesterday, arriving at 2:30 in the afternoon. Stephen and Esther got us a glorious room in
the Regency Hotel. We have been
celebrating and reminiscing, and just a few minutes ago, Wes was crying because
the trip was over.
However, it is not over in many ways. We still have to get back to Wyoming, where
we will gather all the materials and add some reflections, ruminations, and
rants to create the book about our trip.
I still need to finish writing the story of the travels from coast to
coast. In the next few days, as we stay
in Brooklin, Maine with my brother and his wife, I want to share the stories
from the rest of Canada, across New York, Vermont, New Hampshire, and
Maine.
I will keep the T+ counting until we return to Detroit. It began when we left the city on June
22. Eleven days later, we were abike in
Portland, Oregon. We cycled 105 days to
get to Portland, Maine. Of those 105
days, there were only 7 days we did not cycle, although to be sure, there were
a few very short rides in those 98 days on the bike. It really was two trips combined into one
long trip: the first from Portland to Anacortes, WA, then from Anacortes on the
Pacific Coast to Portland on the Atlantic Coast. The first trip was 420 miles, the second,
3740 miles. Now comes the re-entry.
But first, the rest of the story……
The eastern side of the North Shore of Lake Erie is quite
distinct from the touristy middle range.
The shoreline changes. No longer
sandy beaches, it is either shallow, rocky, little inlets, or swampy
coves. The farms on the plains above the
coast stretch out too. Instead of a wide
variety of vegetables, the landscape again begins to be dominated by corn and
soybeans.
We are following the Lake Shore route, which is taking us
through mile after mile of small cottages.
For reasons we cannot determine, there are a number of bridges being
replaced in this section of the lake. It is a bit frustrating because we keep
getting turned off our route, returned to the busy main highway for a few
miles, then returned to the shore route.
These detours are adding many miles to an already long ride.
There are few tourist services like restaurants and
motels. Nor is this the land of
Victorian trophy farms, such as we had seen on Talbot Trail of Chatham-Kent.
The wind turbines continue apace; the density of anti-wind turbine lawn signs
also increases.
We stop to read an information display about the turbines,
and find out that the Ontario provincial government lets bids to private
companies to build and run these wind farms. It seems clear that local residents are not
happy with the way Toronto chooses the companies or places the turbines.
We had been riding several hours and were beginning to look
for a place to eat some lunch. We are
riding in a little colony of houses clustered in concentric circles around a
small point on the lake. We see a sign directing us from the main route to the
Peacock Point Store which has Hot Lunches.
It is a small white building across the street from circular park with
big oak trees. A line of small houses
rings the park so that all the houses are facing each other.
There are three people sitting outside the small building, chatting,
smoking, and enjoying the bright fall sun.
One is a youngish, heavy-set blonde.
Another is an older male with long, scraggledy hair and wispy beard
sitting in a non-motorized wheelchair.
Both his legs have been amputated.
A small sixty year old woman with dyed brown hair completes the trio. A chalk board sign announces “Mary’s Last
Day! Thanks for a Great Season!”
They seem surprised when we stop our bikes. When we ask if
they are still serving lunch, the older woman jumps up, and motions me to
follow her inside. Wes stays outside
with the other two. The store with its
little grill at one end, bank of coolers at the other, and line of shelves in between
is nearly empty of products. Mary
explains that when she leaves today at 3pm, the store will close for the season. She apologizes for the state of the store,
bustling about, wiping shelves, swatting flies, and explaining what few items
can still be prepared. She says she is
behind on the closing because she had family in all last week. Her son and family had come all the way from
Nunevet, where they live way above the Arctic Circle and he works as a
geologist for an oil exploration company.
After the store closes, she will travel to Dallas to see her daughter,
who works there in the medical field.
After that, she didn’t know what she will do, perhaps go get an
apartment in Hamilton and see if she can find work until she can come back to
Peacock Point the following spring.
There is not much anyone can say to this rant, so we change
the subject. In increasing numbers, all
along the coast, we have seen many houses with Union Jack flags, along with
signs that say “Loyalist Cemetery” and “Loyalist Union Social Club.” We ask if these British flags stand for
anything. Did it mean anything when one
house had the Canadian red maple, and another the stars and bars of
England. No, no. If anything, the flags just show who the
house supports in soccer….or maybe their ethnic origin. The blonde, whose name
is Donna, says that she regularly flies a German flag, because she is German
and she supports the Frankfort team.
Eldon, the man in the chair, says, “I should see about
finding me a Finnish flag! But that’s
the thing with you Americans. You’re not
even allowed to put up a flag in front of your home. I think it is just a real crime when you aren’t
even allowed to do that.” I try to
correct him, but he is not to be deterred.
“And another thing, look at the mess your government is in right
now. Why is there such a big mess about
getting health care? It’s
unbelievable! What a bunch of corrupt
politicians…but, hey! I’m not saying ours aren’t a bunch of crooks, too!”
He goes on. “Look at
Donna and me. I don’t know what we would
do without NHS. But you Americans are
against health care for the people. It
just don’t make any sense to me.” Wes
points out that most Americans are not against the new health care law, and
Eldon is just about ready to start another rant, when I ask Donna about her
experience with national health. I tell
about our encounter with our contrary host in Port Rowan, who was furious with
the difficulties he encountered trying to get treatment for his Parkinson’s.
She says that they was not at all her experience. Her husband had recently passed away after
contracting a particularly aggressive form of Lou Gehrig’s disease. A year ago, he began falling. Six months later, the 36 year old man with
three children, was dead. They had taken
him to all kinds of specialists in Toronto and London. Nothing worked, but she never had to pay a
bill. But…she also pointed out…she also
hadn’t been able to work and if it hadn’t been for the community here in Turkey
Point, she and her family wouldn’t have made it.
“Yep!” Eldon
declares, “It’s not unusual for me to come home and find food, or some
groceries just sittin’ on my table, but that’s just the way it is here in
Turkey Point. People take care of each
other here, not like some big city where nobody knows nothin’ about you. I remember a few years back, when I ran out
of water after my cistern sprung a leak, people brought me some of their own,
even though it meant they were cutting into their own stores.”
We find out that the water supply will be shut off to the
whole community after Thanksgiving. Many
people will leave the colony, but fulltime residents like Donna and Eldon will
need to depend on water from their individual cisterns. I ask if people have trouble making it
through the winter on the limited water supply.
She laughs, and says, “That’s how we know they are city people. They don’t know all the tricks to save
water---liking using your dishwashing water to flush your toilet---but if you’ve
lived here all your life, like my family all the way back to my grandma, it’s
no big deal.” I ask why they don’t keep
the water on the winter. Eldon replies, “The
pipes from Lake Erie freeze!”
Our delicious handmade
sandwiches are long gone, and our short break has stretched far past its
allotted time, when we make our good byes to this vivacious trio. There was a certain melancholy in the air. In a few short hours, the store which had
provided work for Donna and Mary would close.
Most of the summer people would leave and the water would be cut
off. Not one of the trio had a clear
sense of how they would get through the coming winter, but they were all
certain they would find a way. They
wished us a good ride and told us to come back and see them sometime. We cycle off and wonder if we ever would.
Posted from Brooklin, Maine
No comments:
Post a Comment