The Hanging Whale
Published August 1, 2011 | 
by Mary Frances
Rushville, IN – We returned from our trip with great satisfaction….happy to be home and happy to have made the trip. I just read today in Parade that the greatest joy derived from a trip occurs two months prior to taking it. The anticipation is the best part. Alternatively, according to this article, returning home leaves you no happier than when you left.
I have to say that our experience of the bicycle trip was the opposite of that predicted in the article. Two months before leaving on the trip I was a nervous wreck. Each week, as it got closer, I was filled with more and more doubts.
Going to Mexico was a cultural adventure, and I had my moments of fear in preparing for it. But nothing is quite like the fear of trying to go on a physically demanding adventure while in the back of your mind a tape is playing over and over, “Am I too old? Did I wait too long? Is it too late for me to have an adventure?”
For once in my life, I was planning on trying to do something I wasn’t sure I could do. My pre-trip fears peaked on the day we left. I inadvertently stuck my speedometer in my pannier and thought that I had left it at home. I freaked out when I discovered this at the drop off point. I was so crabby that it is a wonder that anyone was willing to ride with me.
As we rode off, I continued to be nervous. Then, as we passed into Ohio after only a very short distance, I thought, “I’ve already made it into another state! I can do this!”
It was ridiculous really. We had only gone a few miles, but a state line was a state line.
Later, I would have other crises of self-confidence, and I would be tempted to go back. But nothing ever created as much trepidation as my initial departure.
Now that we are home, I think all of us have a bit more self confidence. And we all have more confidence in each other. For four weeks we were “home” only in the sense that we were together. We had food, a place to sleep, someone to fix a breakdown and security, only in so far as we had each other.
When it rained we sat in the “girl’s tent” and talked, played cards and said night prayers. At dinner we sat at the picnic table and told jokes and tales of the day as we do at home. I think that was probably when we missed Chris the most.
Now that we are back, and school is starting soon, I can’t believe how much I miss my children even though they are still here. The closeness of the trip was like a pause in our normal harum scarum life in which we all have our own pursuits and we all leap from project to project, challenge to challenge, or crisis to crisis.
When we got back, Chris was still out of work. Blessedly, he got a job two weeks later and as of today, August 1, he will have been working for a week. He is working closer to home and he is happy at his new job. He is even happier to have it.
I spent the week after we returned scrambling to finish my two distance learning classes and then promptly registered for the fall semester, which begins on August 22.
Jennifer made it back in time for band camp and a heat wave that left the band members wilting on the field the entire week of camp. She had her end of camp performance this past Friday and it was wonderful. The kids had only had a week to practice, so the music was a bit wonky, but I was so proud. They wore their wool blend uniforms in the heat while they performed, trying so earnestly not to make any mistakes. They wore their uniforms in the heat as the band director thanked everyone who had helped in any way with the camp. Gratitude is effusive in small town events.
The kids finally marched off the field of dry, brown grass, proudly lifting their feet as they passed their parents and grandparents, siblings and teachers. Jenny was the cutest of all.
After it was over, Jennifer and I rode our bikes to the store to pick up some groceries and then we rode home. Band camp was over until next year.
The kids spent much of the last two week scrubbing walls. They are doing “spring cleaning” in August, in the mornings and evenings, and resting during the heat of the day. Joseph spends almost every evening after dinner visiting his friends. On Saturday Mary Elizabeth had a booth of needle felted products and art at the Farmer’s Market here in Rushville. She sold a fairy. The day was a scorcher and attendance was poor. She hopes to do better next week, and is spending a lot of time on her art work.
This week is more work, as well as a couple of overnights with friends. Patrick weeded the yard this morning and then left to spend the night with his best friend. Joseph leaves tomorrow to do the same thing.
I am hoping to get in some family kayaking before school starts.
I have been riding about a hundred miles a week since our return. I rode 55 miles one day with Mary Elizabeth. We went to a bike shop where I got, once again, the distinct impression that overweight, past middle age housewives are not really their thing when it comes to customer service. I went to Indy Cycle on Saturday with Chris, however, and got perfect service. I also found my dream bike. I am not sure how or when I will be able to afford it but as Raould Dahl wrote, “secret plans and clever tricks” are always an option. ( see The Enormous Crocodile). The crocodile was referring to eating children. All I want is a new bike.
My bike is much the worse for wear after the trip. It was second hand to begin with and now needs to be replaced. I am hoping to ride at least part of my commute to Ball State after classes start and I need a real road bike for this.
Chris and I took our first sailing lesson on Saturday. We have given ourselves five years before we hope to move to a sailboat, assuming we enjoy the rental cruising experience we are planning to take summer after next. If we don’t like it, we can always prepare for another dream, based on the improvements in our finances and our fitness levels that we are trying to achieve.
In the meantime, we are contemplating our next adventure, a small one. We hope to go to Annapolis for the US Sailboat Show in October. If we can swing it, we can take the kids to the Smithsonian. I wonder if the giant stuffed whale is still hanging in the ceiling as it was when I was a kid? Forget all the informative plaques and modern, interactive museum exhibits they have nowadays. I want to see the hanging whale.
Today is my day to finally write thank you notes to all the wonderful warm showers people who helped make our trip possible. I can’t thank them enough!
Homesick no More
Published July 17, 2011 | by Mary Frances
Rushville, IN - This year’s bike trip is over. Chris and John picked us all up on Saturday afternoon and we drove until 2:30 am to get home. I couldn’t wait.
Picking up the Foolish Mansion Riders at Long Point State Park, NY
I know that some readers will be surprised. In my last post, I announced my decision to continue the trip by going along the St Lawrence River and into Montreal and Quebec. This trip has been postponed until next summer, due to sheer homesickness. In 32 years of marriage, the longest Chris and I have been apart was 3 and a half weeks, which occurred when the kids and I were on our volunteering vacation in Mexico last summer. As Chris and I approached our 3 and a half week separation on the bike trip, I found the one obstacle that no amount of plan changing or route alteration could solve: I missed Chris too much to spend four more weeks away from him.
I am very happy with this decision, and the kids were okay with it. Jennifer wanted to get home in time for band camp. The other three were ready to stay on the road but now that we are home, they seem content. Chris is thrilled.
My leg injury healed on its own before I decided to come home. Riding shorter distances and taking a more relaxed attitude towards the trip worked very well. Detouring towards Canada also was a good idea.
Our Kingston, ON hosts, Heather and Josh
We finished our ride in Kingston, Ontario, where we stayed for two nights with a wonderful young couple, Heather and Josh. They were the most popular hosts by far with the children, playing games with them and spending time just listening to them rattle on. We were all excited to be going home and probably talked their ears off.
We spent our last night in Long Point State Park in New York (on the map), just this side of the Canadian border. We passed the thousand mile mark as we rode into the park. It had been a long trip.
Kingston, Ontario, is a beautiful city. It was easier crossing into Canada this time because we crossed at a much less crowded location and we also had the confidence of prior experience.
Jennifer and Mary Frances on the ferry to Wolf Island
In order to get to Kingston, we first had to take the ferry to Wolfe Island, a Canadian island that lies at the mouth of the St Lawrence River right where it empties into Lake Ontario. The water was clean and cold. I stood at the front of the ferry watching the bubbly white froth leap ahead of the boat while sail boats and sea birds passed by.
Wolfe Island has a small village on it, as well as multiple small farms and many more windmills than we could count. The juxtaposition of the sleek, skeletal structures of the windmills and the pastoral beauty of the lush green countryside was jarring. I was not
Wolfe Island windmill. Seems a little out of place.
surprised to learn later that the installation of the windmills had generated an enormous amount of controversy. There were conservationists concerned for the bats and birds that inevitably get whacked by the churning arms of the windmills. In addition, there were the locals who did not appreciate having the scenery transformed by the towering metallic presence of windmills. The irony of windmills is that, while friendly to the environment in function, clearly are not compatible with it in form.
The ride across Wolfe Island was 6.6 miles. At the end, we arrived at the village and another ferry, this one going to Kingston. The second ferry was much larger than the first one.
When we arrived in Kingston we were tired and it was late. The total ride for the day was only 40 miles and the hills had been moderate but it still felt like a long day. We rode directly to Josh and Heather’s house. They invited us inside to visit while the boys set up the tents. The mosquitoes were attacking in organized squadrons so we gratefully accepted.
I feel in love with their house on first sight. It was homey and beautiful. There was neither too much nor too little of anything. It was, as Goldilocks said of the Baby Bear’s belongings, “Just right”.
The next morning Heather drove me to buy groceries. Canadians have much better bread than we do, and higher prices. Afterwards, the kids and I set out for downtown and the Busker’s Festival. We left the panniers and trailer at the house. It was a relief to ride without the extra weight.
Kingston Street Artist (literally)
A “busker” is a street performer. There were buskers from all over the world at the festival, representing a wide range of talents. The performances took place in parks and on blocked off streets. They were scheduled so that the audience could walk from one performance as it ended to another as it began.
Our first performance was a juggler in suspenders and pants up to his arm pits. In sequence (not all at once), he balanced a hand cart on his nose, juggled while standing on a platform balanced on a big rubber ball and juggled seven balls at once. Mary Elizabeth, who can only juggle three, was put to shame.
The next performance was by a trio of street musicians from Austria. Their music was sublime. Their concert was my favorite busker performance. Inevitably it was the one that interested the kids the least.
Penta-unicyclist on Kingston
Afterwards we saw a unicyclist with a five wheel high unicycle, an escape artist who escaped from hanging upside down in a strait jacket and chains, a comedy act and a Jamaican band.
The kids loved it but I was hot and tired from sleeping in lumpy grass with lots of sticks poking me.( I had spent the whole night trying to contort myself so that there wasn’t a stick poking me in the back, elbow, etc.)
At the end of the afternoon, we went into a book store for some respite from the heat and the crowds. We found an old-fashioned book store with high shelves, old tomes and an erudite book dealer who could seamlessly navigate discussions of literature, history and politics without missing a beat.
Mary Elizabeth bought a book of poetry (which she henceforth insisted on reading to us during our bike breaks) and yet another copy of the Odyssey (we have three at home) to ride in the car on the way back. Patrick got a copy of the Mad Scientist’s Club and I got an early Dean Koontz novel. Joseph got a book on Sudoku.
After the bookstore we went into one of those game shops where people with IQs of 140 and the social skills of a fifth grader play games with inch thick rule books. The store was packed with players sitting around tables scattered throughout the store. I walked around and listened in on animated conversations about the relative attributes of fantasy characters and strategic initiatives for wars being waged with plastic tanks on cardboard fields. Nerds or not, the players were having a blast. I don’t play games myself but I envied the fun they were having.
The next morning we left for another trip across Wolfe Island. This time the windmills were actually turning. Jennifer and I stopped at an art and crafts gallery with works done by islanders. I enjoyed looking at the paintings but Jennifer preferred the jewelry.
We had a picnic lunch on the shores of the St Lawrence River while waiting for the second ferry. The water was amazingly clear and the scenery was beautiful.
Once we arrived in Cape Vincent, we passed through customs and then headed for a grocery store. I bought everyone a box of ice cream that we consumed in about five minutes. Then we hit the road for the campground.
The campground was on a peninsula jutting out into Lake Ontario, which was calm and clear. The kids tried swimming but gave up with they found how many rocks and weeds there were on the bottom of the lake. I studied for my distance learning class and felt sorry for myself for having to waste such a beautiful place.
The next morning we broke camp and packed up, waiting impatiently for the arrival of Chris and John. When they got there, I walked into Chris’ arms and held on tight. I was back home.
