Life in a Tent

As I rode my bike the last few days of the tour, it struck me how comfortably our tent had begun feeling like “home.”  There were times I woke up during the night and I didn’t need to remind myself that I was in a tent.  I didn’t need to deliberately remember why I was in a tent.  I didn’t have to orient myself to the makeshift surroundings.  The 8’ x 9’ dome had somehow (and unexpecetedly!) become a familiar, comfortable space with everything within reach.  The unorganized conglomeration of stuff from Week One had settled into natural resting places to the point where I could retrieve things without pause or frustration. 

I’m not sure what to make of this. 

Many parts of the tent resemble the normal things found in a house:

Bed—air mattress

Bedding—sleeping bag
Night stand—tent pockets
Closet—main compartment of the duffel bag
Hamper—small compartment on the end of duffel bag
Medicine chest—gallon-sized zip-lock bags
Top dresser drawer—small compartment on the other end of the duffel bag
Light—head lamp tied to the rip-stop loop hanging from the top of the tent
Back porch—vestibule of the tent
Shingles—rain fly
Windows with screens—zippered mesh fabric

The same question our daughter raised about her meager surroundings at her summer-job dormitory-living swims in my head.  How can this confined, stripped-down living space become a near-sanctuary?

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I was back at work today, visiting with 20 freshman advisees; many of whom feel as overwhelmed in their new setting as we felt at the beginning of Sea to Sea—not remembering which names go with which faces or which stories go with which names.  Classes start tomorrow.

I will write more about the last few days of Sea to Sea; but not tonight.  I miss the people and the simplicity of that temporary, quirky community.  I am awake 90 minutes (plus the one-hour time difference) later than my Sea to Sea bed-time. 

I wish re-entry could unravel at a slower pace.  Good night.

How Many Bathrooms?

As we near the end of the tour, my days are measured by how far I was able to ride that day.

Monday—36 miles

Tuesday—0 because of a very, very hilly route

Wednesday—47 miles (I think; I can’t remember exactly)

Thursday (today)—the entire route—67 miles!! 

I am so thankful for the healing in my leg.  My ankle is still very tender when I turn on it in a certain way, but biking is a straight, rhythmic movement that has loosened my leg and joints quite nicely.  This morning I had a bit of limp walking around camp, but tonight it is much better!  It’s amazing what a “little” biking can do!

Two nights ago we stayed in a campground where we had two showers and two toilets available and additional facilities 400 yards up a dirt path.  As I stood in line for the bathroom with a few other people, someone commented about the fact that we had two bathrooms for over 100 people while many homes have three bathrooms for just two people.  Without expressly saying it, we were wishing for more bathrooms in our camp that night.  I pondered, which of those two situations—two bathrooms for 100 people or three bathrooms for two people—is more “wrong?”  Sea to Sea makes us think about things differently.  It didn’t take long for me to realize that I live in a house with three bathrooms and three people. 

Tonight we are in a city park with a swimming pool, but there are no children’s voices filtering through the chain-link fence.  The pool is closed.  I heard the pool has been closed ever since they ran out of chlorine a few days ago.  Many of us feel the disappointment that we can’t enjoy the swimming pool after today’s hot ride.  Some voice it more than others.  My antennae have been very alert to things which reveal a sense of entitlement.  Harold, a member of my small group on the tour, said that wherever there is a sense of entitlement, God is not #1.  That’s a bold statement; but I think there is truth in it.  We all know this sense of entitlement is easier to hear in someone else than in ourselves, but it’s there in all of us.  I hear it in myself, if not in my spoken words, then in my thoughts.  Try listening to yourself from an objective point of view and see what you hear.

A Disaster Relief Services team from World Renew greeted us at one of our SAG stops yesterday.  It was so encouraging to have people with us who volunteer directly on the front lines of one of the partner organizations with Sea to Sea.  After initial hellos, someone said, “Wait, are you the lady who broke her leg?  I’ve been reading your blog and so has Virginia Bouma!”  Whoa.  That’s a name from the past!  We taught with Virginia in the mid-80s in Visalia, California.  Here’s a shout out to anyone from Visalia who might read this!

I’ll never know who most of you are who are reading this blog, but once again, thanks for joining us on Sea to Sea in this way.  If you have not yet made a donation, feel free to do so by clicking here.

A French Lesson and a Few Pictures

It’s 7:15 a.m. on Saturday morning of Week 8.  The sun rose about an hour ago and I’m sitting in the shade of an evergreen tree to minimize the glare on my computer screen.   Many riders have already made their way down the curved lane to the road where today’s route will take us to Montreal.  We had a brief French lesson in Peleton last night to help prepare us for the French-speaking province of Quebec.  Bonjour!  Je ne parl pa Francoise.  Parle' vioux Engles?  Merci.  Hello!  I do not speak French.  Can you speak English?  Thank you.  (If you know French, please pardon these spellings!!!!)  It's so hard to believe that we have only one week left of this crazy adventure.

We have had many warm welcomes by CRC churches here in Canada.  Yesterday, some people drove an hour from a church north of us to be at one of our SAG stops with cookies.  Apart from visiting Rudy’s home church in Chilliwack, British Columbia, I’ve never heard so many people speaking with Dutch accents!  There seems to be a deep sense of camaraderie amongst the people and churches; however, there might be a little competition between them as well. J  We surmise that the comradeship exists because so many of the people emigrated from the Netherlands after World War II.  There is a bond amongst them that most of us have never known; the bond of sticking together in a foreign country in order to make life work.  The people who greet us are, more often than not, the older people of the congregation.  We, the younger generation(s) forget our grandparents’ struggles, bravery and sacrifice to settle in a new country, and we tend to be more independent.

In spite of the warm welcome we have received from the CRC churches here in Canada, as we head further northeast we seem to experience more road rage against bikers.  One rider had a plate of food thrown at her group from a passing vehicle.  Other riders reported having stones spit at them by a pickup purposelly driving on the shoulder of the road and spinning out on the shoulder of the road.

We’ve ridden through some beautiful country along the north shore of Lake Ontario and up the St. Lawrence River.  The region is thick with history, which, as a non-history fan, I may or may not care to dwell on.  The mismatched, cut limestones fit together like a pre-made puzzle, forming the walls on buildings from small houses to large churches.  Interestingly, the stones' arrangements remind me of the adobe buildings we saw in Zuni, New Mexico.

St. Lawrence River

We road a ferry which was part of the Ontario highway system.  There was no other way to get across the waterway and no fee!

Niagra Falls (from last weekend)--Rudy has some better pictures on his camera, but it's on the road with him on his bike right now.

I have ridden my bike the last three days—12, 16 and 22 miles, respectively!  There is another rider who has been riding partial days because of her sore achilles tendons.  She bikes the first part of the route while I drive our van and when she is ready to stop, we switch places.  Having our van with us allows us more freedom to go to the store or Laundromat when we need to, but it also means that I can’t bike unless someone is available to drive our van.  This arrangement has worked out well so far.  I hope we can find a way for someone to drive our van into New York City on the last day so I can bike to the tire dipping!  I’ve chosen not to bike today for several reasons.  1) By the time I would ride, we’ll be in heavier traffic nearing Montreal.  2) I don’t want to overdue the use of my leg.  3) I get to drive our van into Montreal.

I feel a sense of freedom when I get on my bike for part of the day’s route.  My mind wonders wherever it wants and I lose track of time.  The scenery this week has been so, so beautiful.  I haven’t taken that many pictures but I’ve post a few here.  If you want to see more pictures, you can go to the Sea to Sea Facebook page or follow the link to other peoples’ blogs at www.seatosea.org .

 

I have moved into the recreation center where we camped last night in order to access the Internet and post this blog entry.  In the auditorium down the hall I hear a vocalist rehearsing and they are church songs--Joyful, Joyful We Adore Thee and Great is Thy Faithfulness.  Time seems to pause as Sarah, a young woman with Downs Syndrome who is helping in the kitchen for the last two weeks of the ride, leans up against the white brick wall and sings along for a verse. 

 

Thanks for riding vicariously with us!