POLITICS AND NATURE

There is a story about nature and my small place in it that I would like to tell. Back in 1995, I biked across the country from Florida to Michigan in an epic adventure fit for tales of wildness and joy. Riding a mountain bike purchased in college with a couple of panniers, a tent and a sleeping bag strapped to the back. It’s something I may never do again and it is as strong in memory as if it were yesterday.
The road less traveled can be peaceful and it can be hairy. It was the last day of May, 1995 and I had been on the road for two weeks. There is an incredible feeling of freedom that comes from journeys of this kind. But it’s tough too. Your muscles ache and there are times you are sure you can’t go another mile. The hills become larger in your mind and the road seems to go on forever. Then things brighten up and you keep moving on.
Strangers and Friends
On this day, the pedals jammed up a bit. Being a mountain bike, it was not meant for long distance travel and I had gone through the entire states of Florida and Georgia already. A young man glided up beside me on a fancy road bike, decked out in racing gear with all the attire necessary to show he was a serious biker. I wore cutoffs, my helmet strapped with the tent and sleeping bag, and I probably had no shirt, although I don’t remember that portion of it. I think he thought me a bit strange and decided to ride with me for a while.
As we talked and rode, it turned out he lived in the area and obviously knew a thing or two about bikes and biking. He took a liking to me for some reason and I to him. He was a very nice guy. I explained about the issues I was having and he offered to help me take a look at the pedals. We rode on to his house; I remember it being at the top of a hill and that hill being difficult for me to climb at that moment.
Once there he turned on the local religious station and we discussed the bible and our religious beliefs while we worked on the bike. I was a bit taken aback when he asked me if I was a Christian, since my beliefs do not particularly jive with the establishment of the church, but he spoke in a kind fashion, sans judgment, and that is always alright by me. So we rapped about Jesus and fixed the bike and then his mom came home.
She was also a very kind, righteous, Christian woman who made us a dinner of pasta and offered me a bed for the evening. He, for his part, offered to bring me to his bible study class for the evening, after which, I could go and have a good night’s rest in a helpful home and be on my way early in the morning. I, for some reason, did not see the wisdom in this plan of action and I really did not want to impose on people who had been so kind and showed me how the Lord Jesus really teaches the truth to people of good faith. So, I thanked them profusely, explained that I had planned to make it to a certain campground that evening, and I should be hitting the road but I would always keep them in my heart and in my prayers.
The way I described them at the time in my journal: They were good Christian folk in every positive sense of the word. They helped me greatly and offered me shelter for the evening. He had strong eyes—thoughtful and good. His mother’s were warm, honest, and pure—Good folk in every way, willing to do anything to help a stranger, a wayfarer, a lost child stricken with wanderlust.
Now, I wasn’t lost and I was 26 years old so hardly a child. I believe I wrote that part for dramatic effect. In any case, after I left their home, I headed downward, through a beautiful valley on a winding road following a big river. The feeling of ease and the benefits of kindness lifting my spirits and the splendid air of Southwestern Tennessee made me giddy. What a joyful ride this was. Descending downward, the campground getting closer, the miles easily gliding by. Drizzling rain cooled the summer weather and the river, like the arm of God, pointed to my destination.
Things Do Change
I remember thinking of life being like the river. Meandering slowly for a time and erupting into rapids of despair, hopelessness, or dread, and then smoothing out again just as quickly. I sat on a rock by the river pondering such lofty thoughts as the rain trickled down around me, pleasant and fresh. I kept thinking amusing thoughts as I coasted deeper down into the valley as the light of day began to leave way for the coming night.
Just as it began to turn to dusk, I came to the campsite that would be my home for the evening. Alas, it was closed. Locked up. No home for the homeless. A small gate guarded the path from anyone foolish enough to think of bypassing Forest Service regulations.
It would have been easy enough to just head on into the area, set up the tent, and get some shut eye, but as a long haired, hippie type biking through the South, I had decided at the beginning of the trip to stay as close as possible to established camping areas. This didn’t always happen, but I was able to keep to that plan most of the time. There was another campground just up the road seven miles from the turn off, which was another few miles, and I still had an hour or so before it got dark so I figured this would be the best bet.
Off I rode, into the Tennessee countryside, still feeling good, the pedals were working, and I was healthy and it would not be too much longer before I could set up camp and get some rest.
Bring on the Rain
I turned off on the road to Chilowee. I knew it was there because Rand McNally said so. Only seven miles to go. They wouldn’t lie. After I made the turnoff, the road turned uphill. Steep incline. It did not take long before I was traveling at a snail’s pace and I even stopped to walk the bike at times. I didn’t know if I was going slower riding or walking. Each was a struggle. Every muscle hurt. I was tired. I have been in some seriously strange and some might call them dangerous situations in my life and only one other tried my spirit with such a vengeance. Both involved rain.
The road climbed steadily up the mountainside. It soon became clear there would be no leveling off anytime in the near future. Dusk gave way to night. Black and frigid night in the midst of the Tennessee hills. The pleasant drizzle turned to rain. The sky poured buckets over my head and gear. I would come to learn it was a rain rarely experienced in Arizona.
The forest closed around me, leaving me wondering what I would find at the top of this mountain. The occasional car sped by, me taking cover on the side of the road, visions of deliverance terrorizing my soul. The road went on and on and on. The situation appeared dire. I spent hours on that road, pushing, prodding, and occasionally trying to ride the bike up the never ending hill. No starlight or moonlight illuminating the sky for a weary traveler. Just rain, thunder, the forest and the road.
I began to think Chilowee didn’t exist. I was wrong somewhere in my calculations. I figured the whole thing out too late and what the f%$# was I doing out here anyway. I should have never gotten on that bike. This trip was a mistake. What an idiot I am. Is this the car that contains the drunken rednecks that are going to beat the crap out of me? Why do I always take things to such extremes? All of these thoughts and, I’m sure many, many more, crushed my mind.
Still I plodded upwards and onwards. Knowing what I know now, I should have pulled to the side of the road down at the bottom of the hill and set up the tent but I was looking for the safety of an established campground.   
I reached Chilowee campground in the Cherokee National Forest at 11:00 pm that night. So, it took about three or four hours to make that seven miles. I’ve traveled a lot before then and since and that was the longest seven miles of my life. I doubt I’ll ever be able to express just how happy I was when I saw the sign that promised me rest. I set up the tent in the rain, crawled inside got out of wet clothes and slept peacefully until the morning, June 1.
Return Journey
The weather cleared by morning. It was a bright, beautiful day. The sun was shining, birds singing, people mulling around the campground (most had gotten up long before me) and I hit the road again at about ten. Now, Chilowee campground was at the top of the mountain (hence why it took me so long to get there) and the map was right and I was safe. Many of the thoughts were silly and, although uncomfortable, I had never been in any real danger, except maybe some animal but that was one worry that never crossed my mind.
The map was right. That was the important part. It had gotten me to my destination despite my misgivings along the way. As I studied the map more thoroughly that morning, it looked like I didn’t have to go back down the road I had struggled on after all. Another way led down the mountain closer to my destination. I packed up my gear, said goodbye to Chilowee, and headed right instead of left to return to the expedition. Before too long, the pavement ended and the road became gravel. I should have taken that as a warning, but the road was heading down and the ride was easy and the day was nice. Then it turned to dirt.
I headed further and further down but as I looked around, it seemed I was heading deeper into the mountains. I did this for a lot longer than what was smart but the scenery was awesome and the ride was great.
I finally figured out I was not going to get anywhere but maybe West Virginia on this road, stopped the bike, and hiked up the mountain on my left to get a view of the terrain. I could see where I needed to be from the top of that mountain. (A side note: this was spectacular scenery of Tennessee I could see from the rock I sat on for a while just to realize how dumb I was). I could see the direction I was heading was wrong and unlikely to come out where I thought it would. If it did, great, if it didn’t, I faced the prospect of living deep in the forest that night, nowhere near a campground, and then having to hoof it up the mountain.
I turned the bike around and walked/rode it back to the entrance of Chilowee campground, where I had left about three or four hours before. The entire morning wasted and back to the starting point, and now it was mid afternoon. I felt dejected. But, I knew where I was, I knew the road was good, and it was going downhill.
Heading down the mountain which proved a nightmare the evening before was a blast. Speed is always a good antidote for a sore body and a muddled mind. The only problem, I covered the same distance in half and hour what took me a three or four hour journey the night before. Just the way it is with hills and riding.
I came to a little store seemingly in the middle of nowhere within an hour of leaving the campground sign the second time. Exhausted; ready to give up, give in, and call it a day. Of course, without much money for the trip, I had no idea how I would get home.
I was wearing a Grateful Dead shirt my friend Martin had given me years before and a girl asked if I had been to see them in Chicago at some point and we chatted a bit about that.
I met a man who came up and asked me what I was about. I was sitting at the corner of the store, bike with all the gear etc. I told him I had been on the road for a couple weeks and went into the saga of Chilowee. He replied he had done a good deal of biking around the south and that he knew what I was feeling at that point in time “pain”. It’s amazing what a little empathy can do for the spirit. Here was a guy who singularly made me laugh about the (relatively minor) plight I had put myself into and lifted my mind by sharing the pain. It made the rest of the ride that day (it turned out to be a long one, ending with another random act of kindness from a stranger) much more pleasant. And reminded me of why I had created such a quest in the first place.
Reprise
I have often thought of that river and my feelings as I sat beside it before things turned south, as they say. The experience made me stronger and better mentally. The collision with nature generated by a trip of such magnitude clears out cluttered thoughts and benefits not only the body, but long term it is something that will never be taken away. It was one of the first times I feared nature and realized its awesome power and majesty.
I’m not an extreme individual. I don’t like being in dangerous situations, like hanging from a cliff, but endurance tests are a different thing. I learned a great deal from the river and the forest and the rain that day. Things that have helped me in every endeavor I’ve tasked myself with since then. Yep. Nature empowers individuals. Of that I am quite positive.