Dispatches

It Is Finished.
  Today, 28 days, almost to the minute, after departing San Diego the tour de Saints is
completed. We rolled into St Augustine Beach under mostly sunny skies to thunderous
cheers from adoring throngs of Charity Bicycle Touring aficionados. Not really; just a few
beach strollers and shell hunters mildly curious as to why two identically dressed middle aged
guys were wrestling skinny tired bikes to waters’ edge. Nathan was there to document the
event in pixels so we spent a few minutes in the sand as we debated riding back to St
Augustine proper or racking the bikes and driving. Enough pedaling for today and perhaps
many more; we lashed the cycles to Nathans’ car, drove to town and enjoyed a Victory
Luncheon accompanied by beer and a beautiful view of the Ancient City. St Augustine is a
lovely place. Nathan did his undergraduate work there at Flagler College, and the town has
become one of the few places I’ve visited to which I would relocate in a heartbeat.
  But it almost didn’t happen. The Florida fauna almost saw to that. Yesterday into the early
evening was an almost perfect day of bike riding. Through pine forest and cypress swamp
bisected by tea colored rivers and streams we enjoyed sun, flat pavement but a bit of
headwind. 5:30 PM found us snacking in front of a convenience store on the edge of a small
central Florida cracker town, having ridden some 82 miles. The idea for the day was to ride
toward Gainesville until dark and wait for Nathan to pick us up; we could either stay where we
were or ride the 16 miles to the next small central Florida cracker town and chill at a Hardees
that I knew was there, right along our route. We pressed on.
  About five miles later, I saw them. Two dogs coming hard and quiet at about 3:00 off our
right flank. Big dogs too, but I really wasn’t very concerned; the owner was already calling
them back and we were almost to the end of their property. I gave a half-hearted yell, “DOGS”
and tried to move left for my 100 yard dog sprint but was foiled by spotty traffic. Meanwhile,
my Personal Physician, riding in front, was still in his late-evening, almost-done, low and slow
cadence and failed to comprehend that what was developing was a Situation. I don’t know if
he even saw the dogs, big and brown as small calves as I recall, and the leader homed in on
Fred’s right ankle as the wingman attempted a pincer movement around the left, directly in my
path. The irony in all this is that I do not believe they were even going for me; perhaps they
were enticed by the milky white finish on Fred’s TREK 1000, glimmering in the fading western
sunlight. I hit the cursed cur in the midsection and my front wheel rolled him beneath me as I
went down into the middle of the right lane. As I lay on the road, the damn bike still attached
to my feet, I fully expected to feel the bastard’s foul, hot breath on my neck followed by the
warm gush of blood from the rended flesh of my exposed jugular. Perhaps the unexpected
outcome of the attack, followed by the angry cursing of both their owner and their prey, was
too disorienting, or maybe they are just a couple of all-show-no-go wussy dogs because,
instead of finishing what he had started, the fallen dog yelped like a scolded puppy and
headed for the porch, followed by his bewildered accomplice. My execution stayed, I
nevertheless received some lacerations and bruises on my body as well as a bent wheel on
my bike. The dogs’ owner, to his credit, was apologetic and willing to do whatever he could,
but I just wanted to get out of there so we rode on, the asinine parting words to my would be
killers’ master being “ How’s the Dog?”
   You might think this was the final attempt on the part of Florida’s, indeed the whole South’s,
Wildlife to bring the tour de Saints to a premature, ignoble end, but you would be wrong. Five
miles further, I got a wobbly back end which I immediately identified as a missing pannier rack
screw, probably loosened in the fall. I pulled off the berm, lay the bike over and affected the
repair in about five minutes, as the sun set behind us. I didn’t know till this morning, but I
evidently knelt with my one good knee into the soft sand of a fire ant colony. I now have a hot,
itchy, pus-filled knee full of ant bites on the right, to go with the bloody, bruised and swollen
left.

   So it is finished; does this mean it is time to end the Adventure and return to Normal Daily
Life? I ride a bicycle a lot, including a commute to work and back, nearly every day, of about
28 miles. For me, cycling is that one sure way to avoid the life of quiet desperation predicted
for modern man by Mr. Thoreau. I get to enjoy an Adventure almost daily, dealing with the
vagaries of weather and traffic, and enjoying the solitude and immediacy of the simple act of
getting somewhere under my own power. I recommend bike riding to anyone interested in
improving their physical and spiritual well-being. You too can have Adventures whenever you
want, and feel like a kid again in the bargain.

   I have not mentioned Haiti in all my ramblings and perhaps it is now time. Unlike Dr. Fred or
the good people of the TPC Haiti Mission I have not been to Haiti. When Fred called last
January and said “I want to raise money for Haiti.” I said “Well, OK.” Then he said “I want to do
it by riding cross-country on bicycles and I want you to be with me.” I said “What Country?”
The rest you know. I hope that Pastor Pierre can use the money we’ve somehow managed to
raise to measurably improve the lot of all the people of LaCroix. And I hope that you who are
reading this will spread the word to others about this work and this goal.
   Even though I have not been to Haiti, I think I know something of its people. I am a fan of
Caribbean basin music; such as Calypso and Soca from Trinidad, Zouk from Martinique, of
course Reggae from Jamaica and especially Rara and Compas from Haiti. Songs by bands
such as Boukman Eksperyans and Tabou Combo are a haunting combination of melodies
and complex rhythms that speak to me of love and beauty amidst the sorrow and deprivation
of a sometimes brutal existence. I don’t know Kreyol from Klingon but I sense a wry wit and
knowing wink in the music, a feeling that these folks know very well where they stand in the
world but are not going to let that affect their spirit. Dr. Paul Farmer, subject of Tracy Kidder’s
recent bestseller Mountains Beyond Mountains and the most saintlike human alive today in
my estimation, said about Haitians, “They’re totally over the top. My kind of people.” I would
add, as someone who most would say is also over the top, that Haitians seem to be my kind
of people too.
  The recent Haitian elections and the relatively peaceful aftermath is, I think, cause for
optimism. President-elect Rene Preval needs the support of the whole world as well as
Haitians, in country and abroad, to have any hope of improving the country’s future.
Whatever you feel about this man and his politics, if you are not praying for his success then
you are just paying lip service to the idea of Democracy.

   Finally, I need to send thanks and everlasting gratitude to all who have helped to make this
endeavor a reality. The unlooked for assistance out there on the Road from the McClures in
Phoenix, Ron Medlock in San Antonio and Brad Bays in Opelousas turned possible disaster,
or at least inconvenience, into opportunities to renew our belief in the basic goodness of
humankind. Both of our TREK bicycles performed flawlessly in spite of abuse and neglect, no
doubt owing to their preparation at the capable hands of Nathan and Tim at Volpattis Cycles
in Washington, PA and Geoff and Greg at Team Cycling and Fitness in Cincinnati, OH.
  My colleagues and customers have been cooperative and understanding through all this far
out of proportion to what I deserve. I especially must thank the owners of Whitewater Building
Products, Inc. for giving me the time off to pursue this dream. Larry Cartmell, Tim and Mike
Hausfeld, Larry and Missy Sunderhaus; there’s no way for me to repay you for this but I will
try my best.
  My family has been through a lot in my absence yet they have been supportive and
enthusiastic and for this I love them even more, if that is possible. Rachel has kept the
website updated throughout the tour de Saints while working 24 hours a week, doing well in
school and trying to pursue her social life. That is a lot to ask of a 17 year old but she has
made it work. Zak and Jake called frequently to express support at all hours of the day and
night. Nathan’s help was, of course, invaluable. And Becky, God love her, surprised me most
of all when she agreed to this Codgers’ Crusade in the first place, and since then has been a
lighthouse of hope in a roiling sea of doubt; doubt about whether I could take the time off,
doubt about whether we would raise any real money, doubt about whether we could actually
make it. Remember, I didn’t just give up my own vacations for two years; she effectively gave
up hers also.
   Lastly, to my friend and Personal Physician Fred, what can I say? I’ve never been so close
to another human for so long and I guess you can say the same. And yet we didn’t kill or even
maim each other even though we were virtually shackled for 28 days x 24 hours. Thanks for
the memories.

  Would I do it again? Ride across country on a bike? Maybe if the Country was Luxembourg
and it was an all-expense paid long weekend! Until then, I’ll sign off with my last homage to
one of the greatest writers to breathe American air, Hunter S Thompson ...
OK,
JTV