Detroit. 2.28.14
I have been back at work for six weeks now. I am still getting my feet under me. The contrast to our lives on the bike is
remarkable. While we were on the bike
sojourn, and then later, when we were on the writers’ retreat in our cabin, life,
managing priorities and communications were much simpler.
On the bike, choices are reduced. When do we leave? Where do we go? When do we stop? Where do we stay? What do we eat? Of these, the only one that regularly presented
complications was “Where do we stay?” In
many places across the country, there were exactly two choices. Do we camp outside or do we stay in the one
small motel in town? In Circle, Montana,
for instance, there was a KOA campground or there was a creepy looking
motel. We were so tired after biking
hours in a howling wind, we didn’t want any more time outside. We opted for the motel, and were filled with
anxiety when we saw its ramshackle sign and abandoned, crumbling coffee
shop. As it turned out, the motel owner
“gave us his best room,” which although the plumbing leaked, and was newly
painted a spectacular combination of pink, blue, and gold, it ended up being a pretty good rest for our
weary bones.
 |
| To stay or not stay here....that is the question. |
Other times, we were faced with a plethora of choices. In Shawano, Wisconsin, there were many nice
looking accommodations. It was late, we
had been lost (again), but we had reservations at a resort, theoretically on
the lake. Our inner voices were
screaming at us, to just take one of these rooms and not bike out in the dark
to that distant room. But no. And when we got there, after meeting the
befuddled owner in a lobby reeking of cat, we found our beautiful lakeside
resort was actually a rundown welfare motel.
Still--these choices were pretty straightforward: cope or
not cope with the choice. Rail against
your fate (Wes’ choice in Shawano) or slip into surly resignation (Shaun’s
choice in Shawano). The good news was that we could leave behind
our bad choices the next day. We left
it behind and rolled onto the next adventure.
Communications on the road are also pretty simple. First of all, for much of the day, silence
reigns. Once we mount our bikes, there
might be an hour or two where the only communication was an internal
conversation with yourself. Many times,
there was not even that.
Our brains were focused on making sure that our bodies were
functioning as needed, especially when the terrain was challenging. The only thing that mattered, that truly was
all-consuming, was getting that bike up that hill. The same can be said for many down-hills. Full concentration was required when zipping
down a mountain at 35 miles an hour.
There is only one choice available.
The same is true riding in traffic, as when we were trying to make our
way on that hell-hole of a two lane road going into Whitefish, MT. With no shoulder, heavy traffic, and a six
inch drop off the highway to the surrounding land, it took every ounce of our
mind and body to stay alive.
As we were going in and out of public places, like restaurants
or bars, communication was an option. If
we were tired, or not feeling social, we could easily choose not to engage with
the people around us. When we did talk
to the strangers we met, it was easy enough to turn the conversation to them
and find out about who they are, what they are experiencing, what they are
perceiving in the world. We had nearly
pat answers to the five standard questions.
(Where did you start? Where are
you going? How many miles a day do you
ride? Where do you stay? How many tires have you gone through?) If our conversation turned to our background
or interests, we could disclose… or not.
In any case, these were 15-45 minute relationships. Before long, we would be down the road and
would likely never see this person again.
Such are the pleasures of anonymity.
Oh, what a difference to be back in Detroit and back at
work. First of all, good bye to
anonymity. Nearly everywhere I go in this
small town masquerading as a big city, I see someone I know. Here at the coffee shop where I am writing
this, I have spoken to 7 people in less than an hour. Some of these people I have known for years. I know their families. I have had disagreements off and on through
the years. I must choose how I continue
these relationships. Let bygones be
bygones? Warily engage and watch out for
grounds of conflict? Keep the war
alive? I almost never choose the latter,
although I know people who do. I wish I
could always choose the first, but I am rather bad at that best of
choices. Mostly I focus on the positive
and watch out for the negative. With
the woman whose politics make me uneasy, but whose personality and family I
like, we talk of family and history and neighborhood.
Back at work, the choices can be overwhelming. There are ramifications to everything. Who will it benefit? Who will disagree? What happens if we do? What happens if we don’t? What are the steps to get there? Everything is a finely balanced choice. Choose wrong and the resulting mess will
bring emotions and confusion and disorder that may take years to sort.
Even in the best of circumstances, I am operating with a
mass of indefinites. This is a human
operation. Humans don’t always say what
they mean… even when they are not trying to obfuscate. They may not have the skills to express
it. They may not feel comfortable
expressing it in these circumstances. They may not know what they want (one of
my particular failings)… And there are the inevitable balancing acts. What may be just great for A is deeply upsetting
to B and C is not yet ready to choose.
Round and round and round it goes.
Then the context for every decision must be considered. Can I see what is happening in the city, in
our community? If I align with one
group, do I damage my relationships with another? If I speak against one option, do I close off
the possibility of a relationship with the people who support the other
option? Which way is the best way? Who knows?
Who can tell?And no matter what, whatever I choose, I will have to live with consequences of my choice. If my choice angers someone, then I will have to work through the backwash of that emotion, even while allowing another person the space and time to celebrate, or worry, or dismiss the same thing. It is a tangle, that’s for sure.
During these first few weeks, being back in the tangle has felt
claustrophobic. How often I just wanted
to get on my bike and disappear from all these complications. How much I just wanted
to retreat into a spot where all the choices are mine, as are all the silences. 
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