Bike for Immigration Justice

Last Day!!! Holy Guacamole!!

Welp, about to hit the road for one last day of biking…weeee!  To be honest I am quite excited to get there.  This will be my 61st day of riding and I started feeling ready-to-be-there about 3 days ago.  Weather reports are calling for scattered storms throughout the area, some funnel clouds, rates of one inch of rain per hour, and cloud to ground lightening.  Perfection!

Here are some things I’m going to do my first few days in New Orleans:

sleep for 20 hours

go to a yoga class

watch mooovies

color with my new 64 pack of crayons

go to some BP protests/learn more about the oil spill situation

After we finish our very-athletic protein shakes we’ll be leaving Alva’s in Gulfport, Mississippi.  70-some miles later we’ll be there!! CAN YOU BELIEVE IT?!?!  I feel like a super woman!!

More blogs to come…

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3 Days to NOLA!

Sad to be leavin’ Mobile, AL, but…should be in New Orleans on Wednesday.   WHOA!!!  I can’t believe it!!!!

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Beyond Tallahassee!

James and I set off from Tallahassee having decided to stay in Chattahoochee that night (because it’s called Chattahoochee) and swim in the nearby Seminole River. When we arrived in Chattahoochee, we encountered Father Eddie outside of his home, stationed next to his Christian church.  We asked if we could camp in his yard and quickly recognized his military background when he put down his lawn equippment, walked directly over to us, and said that before he agreed to anything we should introduce ourselves thoroughly and tell him about ourselves.  Well then, after having done that he explained that since his house is at that bottom of a little hill the lawn often floods in the rain so we would be better off in a motel.  Then he offered to give us $40 to put us up in a motel down the street!

Then I told him about my Bike for Immigration Justice and things quickly got heated.  He kept saying that it is illegal to cross the border so “once they’re over here they are already felons.”   He seemed to think that every human-made law must be obeyed regardless of whether it is inhumane or unjust.  Things got very intense.  At one point he demanded, “give me my $40 back.”  As I returned the money he said, “no, I’m kidding, keep the money.”  Later in the conversation he looked me in the eyes and said, “I doubt you’ll ever live up to your own high ideals.”  Aren’t ministers supposed to motivate, challenge, and inspire?!

Finally we left with the $40 (which I had been trying to determine if I should keep).  Eddie had said he was happy to have a little bit of extra money in his life so that he was able to “help the stranger.”  But I wondered if he would have shown the same consideration for the migrant or the foreigner.  I wonder what he believes Jesus’ opinion would be about immigrants in this country.

As we promised Eddie, we used the money for a motel room that night.  There we made rice-a-roni, watched Seinfeld, played cards, and James washed my socks for me!!

The next days we crossed into Central Time Zone!! Wahoooo!!  Swam in the Seminole Lake, saw sign: “caution alligators,” and promptly removed ourselves.

We biked a bit off-route to Florida Caverns State Park planning to take a tour of the caves.  At the entrance we met Tye, Raffie, and Tim.  Tye was a volunteer worker at the park and Raffie and Tim were leading/supervising a Boy Scout Troop camping trip.  Tye told us a good place to covertly set up camp to avoid having to pay the $30 camping fee.  I told the men about the purpose of my bike ride and they were really excited.  ”I can’t imagine a better cause than that,” Raffie said.  Tim and Raffie proposed a deal: they would invite us for dinner with the Boy Scouts and let us share their camp ground if I would be their guest speaker for the night.  Who’s turing that down?!

We set up camp with the Scouts.  They had shower and bathroom access and were cooking dinner and BIRTHDAY CAKE in dutch ovens (hehe).  Lief, another troop leader, made an awesome dinner: chicken and rice, veggies, pasta salad.  You know a meal is high class when it has sides rather than all the ingredients combined in one big mush.

Later on there was a huge bonfire with about 10 Troop leaders, 40 Boy Scouts ranging from 10 to 17 years old, James, and me.  I was the first act.  Eleven year-old Caleb was MC-ing the event.  He introduced me as “Cheryl, from the New Sanction Monument.”   That’s pretty damn close.  The boys and I played “Immigration: Myth or Fact.”  I called out stereotypes about immigrants (ie. Immigrants are criminals and terrorists”), boys had to determine if it was a myth or fact, and then we discussed the different views.  For the most part the boys seemed to be pretty enlightened about immigration.  They (esp the older boys) were able to dispel a lot of the myths and explain the reality of the situation.  In response to the myth that immigrants steal jobs from US workers, one kid explained that immigrants are taken advantage of by employers.  Another boy, while talking about the myth that today’s immigrants are different from the immigrants of 100 years ago, explained that most immigrants of past or present come to the US to get jobs and make a better life for their family.

Just as I was wrapping up, one of the scout leaders said, “But they come here illegally.  These are felons!”  As he resisted, I explained that people most often come here because of economic oppression caused by the US.  Then another scout leader stood up to make a comment.  He said, “Thank you, Sheila, for coming and sharing your side. But I just want to remind you all that 100 years ago, Irish and Italian immigrants came to this country to make it a better place.  They worked hard and didn’t cause trouble.  We should remember that this is different from what’s going on today.   Today’s immigrants don’t come here to try to make this country better.  They are lazy and commit crimes.  They are nothing like the hard-working immigrants of years ago.  I think it’s really important that we remember that and always consider both sides of the story.”   I didn’t even get to make a rebuttal!  What a jerk!  As the scouts began to perform the skits they had planned, Tim and Raffie took me aside and thanked me, acknowledging that it had been a tough crowd.  They appreciated my message: We should treat everyone with dignity and respect.  They were so supportive!

We ate watermelon and birthday cake and watched about a dozen skits.  James performed a Boy Scout Song for the group.  There was lots of singing, some funny skits, some awkward skits, and some skits that didn’t make any sense.  Then we went to tent.

Somehow, about 100 ants found their way into our tent.  Die, ants, die!

The next day we began riding on Rt 90 (where we’d be for about the next 3 days) and got as far as Ponce de Leon, Florida.  We went to the Ponce de Leon Springs and swam in the springs.  Florida springs are part of an underground aqueduct/cave system that formed water accumulating in porous limestone.  The water is the clearest I’ve ever seen and freezing, since it comes up from the underground caves.  In the springs you can see the opening of the cave that supplies the water from beneath.  That cave is over 30 feet deep and looks super scary.

We camped in a trailer park behind the trailer of some nice folks: Jim and little Hailey who was zooming around on her tricycle.  The problem was that the neighbors were a little crazy.  They had loud  fights the whole night and the woman, who was super drunk, kept getting pissed off, hopping in her truck, not bothering with the headlights, and peeling off across the lawn and out onto the street.  James and I were sleeping on that very lawn.  The first time she zoomed off we were sure she was gonna run us down.  When it happened a second time we realized this might be a reoccurring thing and we might not make it through the night.  We decided it would be wise to move the tent.  We tucked it right by Jim’s house in between their trampoline and the playhouse.  The distant cussin’ lulled us to sleep until the beating sun woke us early the next morning.

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Some Quick info

Just a quick few things before I head out of Tallahassee.

First of all a response to one comment from my last post where I mentioned the 15 year old who was killed on the border.  The agents said he was throwing rocks, but video footage of the event shows that that was not the case.  Follow this link for more info.  http://www.democracynow.org/2010/6/10/mexican_teenager_shot_dead_on_mexican

Also, for those in Philly, there is an important New Sanctuary Movement Event coming up in an effort to stop Secure Communities, a program that links the police department with Immigration Customs and Enforcement.  Secure Communities, among other things, creates a fear of the police.  Immigrants who are victims and witnesses of crimes fear deportation and do not call police in the case of a crime.

On Sunday, June 27th from 2 to 4 pm at Annunication B.V.M., community leaders from North and South Philadelphia are going to share personal testimony about how police/ ICE collaboration affect their lives and our city with the Deputy Mayor and the District Attorney. We need YOU to come out and support the movement for justice for your fellow neighbors and communities at this Community Forum.  Our goal is to have 400 people attend this gathering!  We have about 200 people confirmed, help us meet our goal!  Make the commitment to be at Annunciation B.V.M. (on the corner of 10th and Dickinson) at 2p.m.

There are three ways you can help us have strong voice on June 27th:

1.) Include the announcement below in your newsletter and weekly bulletins from now until the event.
2.) Email us by June 25th if your congregation or organization is willing to sign-on  to the event (see attached letter) and you will be acknowledged in the program at the June 27th event.
3.) COME ON JUNE 27th and bring your friends and family to show your support in person! RSVP to Jen Rock atnsmphiladelphia@gmail.com

Ok, off we go towards Chatahoochee!!!!!

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Ransom

We wake up at 9am but don’t leave Wellborn until 12 noon because of all our lollygagging.  I think it was because that yard was so lovely…it even had an outhouse!  The last thing we do is drench ourselves with the hose out back.  It is HOT.  At 5pm we pass a thermometer that reads 105 degrees, so I imagine that at this point in the day it was about 115.  We leave Wellborn and ride into…nothing.  There is no town or store for the next 40 miles.  No where to get food or water.  Stopping is worse then riding because then there is absolutely no breeze.  We stop for 5 minutes to have a snack and are completely drenched with sweat by the time we get started again.  We are the only crazies outside.  We FINALLY arrive in Lee, Florida and go to a heavenly gas station.   There’s air conditioning inside, and ice, and water…what a dream!!  I give the clerk info about my trip and she starts cursing and throws the flyer back at me!  It takes me a while to realize that she agrees with me…she is just so fired up about what ‘s going on on the border.  Recently 15-year-old Sergio Adrian Hernandez Güereca was killed by a Border Patrol Agent while he was on the Mexico side of the border.  He fled from the Border Patrol Agent by running further away from the border. The agent shot after him and killed him.  Sergio was unarmed.  http://www.democracynow.org/2010/6/10/mexican_teenager_shot_dead_on_mexican

We leave Lee and ride 8 more miles to Madison.  There we eat some wonderful, much-needed hoagies at a restaurant.  We leave just as it is getting cloudy and thunder is rumbling in the distance.  We pedal as fast as our little legs will carry us, trying to make it 1 mile to the Winn Dixie to do some grocery shopping, but we don’t make it in time.  Half way there the sky gets completely dark and opens up, it begins to hail, thunder is cracking, the winds are so strong I think they’ll knock me over!  Luckily we get to Winn Dixie without any damages.  Unfortunately, I had left my cell phone in my back pocket and it’s soaked.  I put it in a plastic bag and leave it in a dry pocket of one of my bike bags.  We go shopping with dim, mood lighting as the central power of the grocery store is out from the storm.

By the time we leave it’s 7 pm.  We are way behind schedule so we decide to try to make it to Greenville, which is 14 miles away, rather than ride the 30 miles to Monticello.   We get to Greenville and have absolutely no luck finding a place to stay.  It’s basically dark when we get there and it’s hard to get a place to stay after dark.  One man recommends me to a neighbor when his wife says that she doesn’t want guests in the yard that night.  One woman is about to let us stay in the church nearby, but then realizes that she’ll have to first alert the police and they’ll have to come interview us and that is too much hassle.  Another woman says that our story of having biked there from Philly “just doesn’t add up.”  People are more or less nice, but it is dark, which breeds suspicion, and we are two white-looking folks in a black-looking town.  I think people are just wondering what the hell we are doing there.

We have already ridden 62 miles on a crazy hot day, but we decide that our best option is to continue on another

on another 40-ish miles to Tallahassee where friend Justin is expecting us to arrive the following day.  I look for my phone to call him, but I can’t find it!  I realize that I haven’t seen it since  the storm in Madison, FL.  I go crazy searching my bags for about 15 minutes but to no avail.  Then I call my phone from Alex’s.  And someone picks up.  I ask him why he has my phone.  He tells me he’ll give me my phone back for $20 or else it’s going in the trash!   My phone is being held for ransom!  I try reasoning with him in a variety of different ways but he is insistent.  I want to talk more and try to figure this out, but it’s already almost 11pm, and we have 40 more miles to ride.  I tell Phone Dude I will call him tomorrow and Alex and I begin our long trek to Tallahassee.

It’s DARK.  Luckily we stocked up on lights in Gainesville, so we are well lit.  I have a headlight that guides the way.  There are no street lamps out here.  The sky is beautiful.  There are tons and tons of stars.  It’s incredible.  The night is loud with the sounds of all sorts of bugs creeking and croaking in the surrounding words.  But the sounds are rhythmic and they soon lull into the background.  This ride is completely different from my other night ride.  For one, I have a working headlamp so I can actually see where I’m going.  Also, my other night ride was a solo experience.  Riding alone at night makes you feel like you’re the only person in the whole universe.  That is powerful and exciting and terrifying.  This ride is less emotional.  Riding with Alex normalizes the whole experience.  It isn’t scary.  It’s peaceful and we are thankful for the cool, night-time weather.

We arrive in Tallahassee at 3:00 am.  (Tallahassee is so hilly, what the hell?!)  We are so happy to see Justin.  He lets us in and we take showers and go to bed.

Some highlights so far from Tallahassee:

1. Sleeping until 1pm the day after our arrival.

2. Eating tons of blueberry pancakes

3. Swimming with Justin and some friends at some apartment complex’s pool which they frequent.

4. Riding bikes around the city and seeing the sights.

Yesterday we took Alex to the airport and he flew back to Philly, wop wop wop.  Four hours later, James arrived!  He’ll be riding with me for the duration.  I believe it has already been an adventure for him: he ate his first nectarine yesterday.  I think the trip may have peaked for him.

Tonight I’ll be speaking about immigration at a pot luck dinner at the Far Side. (I love dinner).  And then tomorrow morning James, (possibly Justin), and I are off toward Chattahoochee!!!  Godspeed!!

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Edison (con’t) And so much more

[No pictures: my camera broke in St. Augustine, FL at the Alligator Farm.  It wasn't eaten, I still have it, it just got wet.  Hopefully it will be up and running at some point, but no promises].

We decide to stay with Edison, despite him telling us that we ride at such a slow pace that it is literally painful for him to ride with us.  We pitch our tent outside by some light-fixture-storing units and then hop in the car with Edison.  The plan: go out for Chinese food and then send some emails/make some calls to the local newspaper to see if we can publicize the Bike for Immigration Justice.  Edison is determined to make it happen and has already started placing some calls saying, “Hey there Mr. Blank, Edison here!”  Pause where they inevitably start searching their brains.  Then Edison clarifies, “the Bicycle Man!!”

Edison hops out of the car to get some coffee and Alex and discuss whether or not he is crazy and whether or not those are blood stains on his shorts.

We go to the Chinese restaurant where Edison goes at least once a day.  He spends some time recounting his traumatic heart attack last year, during which he fell from his bike going 30 mph, and musing about how someone in such good shape could have a heart attack.  He thinks it was god’s doing, but I think it may have to do with shrimp fired rice and fried chicken.  During dinner he tells us about his racing days.  He raced a 17-year-old Lance Armstrong. He joined a racing club in Palatka but all 80 members quit because he was so good and they were intimidated.  He stopped racing a few years ago because competition and boastfulness do not follow the teachings of a Jehovah’s Witness.  Edison tells us that he knows our futures from looking at us, but then he refuses to tell us (dammit!!).

Alex, mosquitos, grasshoppers, and I camp that night in the grounds by Edison’s warehouse and trailer.  The next morning, as we exit our tent, Edison is there immediately.  He wants to go to the newspaper.  He hasn’t brought them a biking story since 2007, but before then he had an almost perfect record of getting their stories in the paper.  He is determined.  We finally get in touch with a newspaper person who agrees to put my picture and explanatory caption in the next day’s edition.   I am excited (then I see that today’s front page news is that local high school student has 12 year perfect attendance and  I become a bit insulted that they don’t consider me story-worthy).  After the photo-op and some comments from Edison and the photographer (“is he [Alex] your body guard?” and after I refuse help with my bike, sarcastically: “oh, I get it, your a strong woman”) I am so ready to leave.  Alex and I go have milkshakes and fries at Florida’s Oldest Diner and ride on out of Palatka!

We should have been in the newspaper the following day: 6-10-2010, but we have no idea if that happened since we were long gone at that point.  I asked Edison if he wanted me to send him a post card and he said no.  I didn’t get his address, but I think if I addressed a letter to Edison the Bicycle Man, Palatka, FL it would find its way to him.

All our bike lights except for one broke or are lost on one unfortunate day.

In Florahome, FL, while taking a break under some huge oak trees, our snack bags ware raided by ants!!  Noooo!  Lost in the scuffle are yogurt-covered pretzels, cream cheese, and butter cookies.  But I learn in the process that I will not go into anaphylactic  shock if bitten by one or two fire ants (which was my original fear due to a prior bare-footed-run-in with a fire ant farm back in ’07  that left me swollen all over and drunk on benadryl for days).

At a break in Hawthorne, Fl, we encounter Irvine and Polly.  They are so so excited about the Bike for Immigration Justice. Both are very religious, Bible-quoting individuals, which unfortunately lends itself to a politically conservative stereotype, but Polly and Irvine apply their religious values in an inclusive manner.  They speak of the Golden Rule: treat one another as you would like to be treated.  Polly quipped, “that applies to all human beings, immigrants and non-immigrants alike!”  Irvine speaks of a Biblical city that was divided by walls separating different ethic groups.  God commanded the people to break down the walls and all live together in peace.  He relates this story to immigration, saying that people of different races, colors, backgrounds, religions, and languages can and should live together peacefully.  I also think, quite literally, of the wall between Mexico and the US that must be torn down, and how the militarization of the border, which has done nothing to stop the flow of immigrants and has only made it more treacherous and deadly to cross, must be stopped as well.

Polly and Irvine give me their addresses and ask me to update them on my trip.  Irvine gives me his phone number in case I have any problems and need help. I give him one of my flyers and he responds enthusiastically, “I love this!  I love this! I’m going to keep this until I die; and I’m going to live to be 100!”

From Hawthorne, Alex and I take a 16 mile bike trail (no cars!!) towards Gainesville, FL.  We get lost quite a bit and arrive at Cody, Veronica, and Sky’s country home after dark with the help of our one remaining bike light.  Cody lets us crash for 3 nights, first in the guest room and then, when the house gets fuller, out back in the trailer which we share with a little kitten.  We pick veggies from their garden, eat eggs from their chickens, and….shower!!  Some highlights from Gainesville:

1. playing hangman and eating free pizza and beer downtown with Alex.

2. protesting with Students for a Democratic Society, Coalition of Immokalee Workers, and Student Farmworkers Aliance outside of a Publix grocery store for fair wages and better working conditions for the Immokalee farmworkers who supply produce to the grocery store.  http://www.ciw-online.org/

3. getting to know Cody, Veronica, Sky, Mosa, Christian, Lars, all the folks from Civic Media Center and SDS.

4. Being interviewed at the Civic Media Center about my Bike for Immigration Justice.  The interview will soon be available on their website https://www.civicmediacenter.org/ and will later be aired on a local radio station.

5. Hanging with a puppy named Birdie

6. getting bike lights from Mosa at the 8th Ave Bike & Coffee House.  He also tightened my bottom bracket, trued my wheel, and adjusted my front bearing.  Thanks Mosa for the free repairs and snacks!

7. Watching the first half of Earth Girls Are Easy starring Geena Davis. I need to see the rest of this movie!

On June 12th, after interviewing at the Civic Media Center, we leave Gainesville headed toward High Springs, FL.  When we arrive in High Springs we quickly find a Mormon Church with folks outside.  We ask them if we can camp and they oblige.  I chat with some of the teenagers about my trip.  They haven’t heard about what is going on in Arizona.  I tell them that Arizona has made it illegal to not carry immigration papers and that police office will now detain people that they suspect are in the country without authorization.  This, of course, will only serve to increase racial profiling and create an environment of fear in the communities of Arizona.  They seem really shocked and concerned about what is going on….as we should all be!!

We pitch our tent on their lawn, took a psuedo-shower from a spicket (spigot?) on the side of the church, listen to some terrible modern-rock on my solar radio while eating dinner, and then go to bed.  The next morning we pick blackberries from the bushes surrounding the church and head on to the Ichetcknee River for some tubing!  We get a  ride from some dude who “didn’t have any problem with immigrants so long as they come here legally” (there are many problems with this argument, here’s one: there is no path to citizenship for unskilled laborers without family members in the U.S.).  Then we fenagle a discounted entrance rate for the park, score some free tubes, and float down the Ichetucknee!  The water is so clear you can see straight down to the bottom where there are beautiful fishies and  striped sea weed.  Most of the river is canopied with trees that hang and drape creating a beautiful, green tunnel.   As this may be the only recreational activity for the 200 mile vicinity, the river is jam packed with tubers.  So we spend the next 2 hours bumping into people, overhearing annoying conversations, and then successfully zoning out and enjoying the ride.

We leave, get caught in a thunder storm (as per usual), and spend the next few hours riding to Wellborn, Fl as Alex chronicles the history of death metal, much to my rapture.  That’s not sarcastic…it’s interesting stuff!  We arrive in Wellborn and knock on the door of a beautiful, old Victorian house with rocking chairs on the front porch.  Mike answers and lets us camp in his yard.  The yard is phenomenal!  There’s a swing set, gazebo, pond, blueberry bushes, porch swing, and various interesting sheds.  After eating a huge dinner of Spanish garbanzo bean soup with bowtie pasta while playing subjective Guess-Who, we gaze at the shining stars for a bit and then hit the hay.  I am excited because I have convinced that crazy-loon-Alex to let me sleep until 9am….whoa!

The next day we head to Monticello, Florida…or so we thought….

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Edison the Bicycle Man

Alex and I leave St. Augustine on June 8th, a hot and blistery day, carting a rice-a-roni and veggie dish along with us: should make for a satisfying supper.  We ride through a small, poor town called Hastings, Fl where we see an abandoned squash crop, which we mused about for sometime (Why would one abandon all of that delicious squash?!) and very few people.   There’s no public lake access, all of that property is owned privately.  We are finally able to sneak into a old, middle class, randomly placed development so that we an hang out by the river, under the oaks with swaying Spanish moss, and eat snacks for a bit. Then it’s on to Palatka!

We arrive in the city, note that it is home to Florida’s Oldest Diner, and seek out a place to stay for the night.   We stop at a church, but for no particular reason decide that we’d rather look elsewhere.  As we ride down the main drag we consider stopping here or there at various congregations or homes, but ultimately we keep on riding checking out the sites.  Just as Alex and I are discussing how we really should find a place soon so that we’ll still have time to check out Florida’s Oldest Diner, a man zooms past us on his bike.  He slows down after he passes, and calls to us, “Where are ya staying tonight?!”  We tell him we’re not sure, to which he replies, “You’ll stay with me, come on!!”  Ok then, the decision has been made!  Alex and I are cracking up…this trip is constantly  serendipitous.

He introduces himself as Edison the Bicycle Man.  Before we go to his trailer, we’ll first stop by his landlord’s business so that he can tell him that he has guests and also so that,  “they’ll know who did it if I end up dead.”   We ensure him that we are not going to kill him, meet his landlord long enough so he can memorize our faces, and head over to Edison’s.

Edison lives in a trailer which is parked outside of a large warehouse.  The property is enclosed by barber wire fencing and a large metal gate that remains locked.  Inside the gate is dirt/concrete/grass surface on which there are a bunch of trucks, flat beds, and storage units.  It’s a junk yard of sorts.  Edison takes us into the warehouse.  It is stock full of lighting units.  This is Edison’s day job.  He repairs the units and ships them back to various places: stadiums, parks, etc.

Edison is gregarious.  He has already told us that he is a Jehovah’s Witness, a Native American (one of that last surviving members of the Envera tribe), and that everyone in this town knows him as the Bicycle Man (a fact which he is very proud of).  He is psyched that I am riding for immigration justice.  He talks about how he demands justice everyday.  He doesn’t care who he has to fight with: the cops, the chief of police, the newspaper.  He will fight until his gets his way.  He says the trick is to keep fighting until everyone else gets tired of fighting back (I think that’s a pretty good technique myself).  Then Edison tells us that we are welcome to stay at the warehouse.  We can camp inside with the lights or camp with in the barbed wired lawn.

Welp….It’s getting late.  I’m off to High Springs, FL from Gainesville to check out the springs. You’ll have to stay tuned to find out what happens next!

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Georgia

Sorry for the long lull.  Georgia was spectactular but afforded me no Internet access. 

I set off from Charleston with a buddy: Alex!  No more solo Sheila!  I had spent three wonderful weeks riding alone and was ready for a companion..talking to imaginary friends and your thighs just doesn’t compare  after a while.  I didn’t know if it would be a very difficult adjustment to ride with someone else after all that time of being the only decision maker, but the transition has gone pretty smoothly.  We just had to figure out logistical things like riding speed, break time and place,  etc. 

We set out from Charleston very vey late  because we had a bunch of things to do during the day.  At 6pm we left Betsy and Jame’s place and headed in the direction of Statesboro, GA.  It was super hot, even at that hour, and the roads were terrible: lots o’ traffic, minimal shoulder.  The directions were unclear so a lot of re-routing was necessary.  It was slow moving.  By 8 pm we had gone only about 10 miles and found ourselves in the middle of no where needing a place to stay for the night.  We saw a mysterious mail box at the start of a long winding road, followed it, and it opened up after a quarter of a mile to reveal a large, randomly placed neighborhoods of wealthy, elaborate lake-side homes.  My last experience in a wealthy neighborhood was no good, so I was worried that no one would let us camp.  Luckily, the first person we asked, Steve, who was riding some kids around in a golf cart, the transportation method of choice for this neighborhood, immediately agreed to let us camp in his yard and told us we could also use the bathroom under the garage.  Steve and I had a conversation about immigration.  He said that his “only problem with immigrations is that they don’t pay taxes.”  I explained to Steve that undocumented immigrants do pay taxes: property tax, sales tax, and often times income tax if they are working on the books.  The National Research Council estimates that the average immigrant will contribute $80,000 more in her/his lifetime than s/he will ever receive from the system.  Whats more, I believe that the vast majority of undocumented immigrants would happily become documented and pay taxes, and in doing so step out of the shadows of society, if only there was some path to do so.

After chatting with Steve for some time, we set up camp and began to cook dinner (rice-a-roni, beans, onions, mushrooms, yum!).  After a little bit, back came Steve on his golf cart, this time with his wife, who was visibly perterbed.  Steve said that they were coming by to make sure that everything was going ok, and he tried to introduce us to his wife, but she quickly interjected that she wanted to “make sure that NOTHING was going ok!!”  Hmmm…I think someone was bothered by our presence.  Steve zoomed away before she could say anything else, the whole interaction lasting less than a minute, leaving us bewildered.  Needless to say we left early the next morning and half expected Steve to be ready and willing to leave his home and travel with us. 

The next day was long and hot and we traveled about 70 miles…crossing into Georgia!!  One of the last things we encountered in South Carolina was a “Z” Farm. Zebras and zebus galore!  I will surely miss you South Carolina!

One thing to love about Georgia is: HUNKS OF PIZZA!  Everywhere, gas stations,

restaurants, convenience stores, sells Hunt’s Brothers’ Hunks of Pizza (all the toppings you want for NO extra charge!!!).   Right after Alex and I crossed into Georgia we stopped at a convenience store and had our first experience with a hunk.  One hunk equals a quarter of a pizza.  Alex and I got 4.  Linda was selling them and was so disappointed when we ordered veggie hunks without jalepenos so we decided that we wanted jalepenos afterall.  The hunks were awesome.  And so was Linda!  She was excited about the purpose of the trip and agreed that immigration policies are in need of reform and that people are undeservedly being mistreated. 

The roads were terrible the first part of the day: either busy and full of traffic like the day before, or beautiful and peaceful, but then suddenly changing from blacktop to unrideable, sand-covered pathways.  Fortunately, as the day progressed the roads improved, but it was still super hot and at one point, in the middle of a very rural area, we ran out of water.  Noooooo!  The gas station that we had anticipated from our map was closed already for the day.  Morale was low.  We were so lucky to come across a store 2 miles down the road.  It was water, air conditioning, snacks, bathroom, and two wonderful women who welcomed us to hang out while we ate and provided us with some drinks and chips at no charge! 

We road onward and the lanscape became really really rural: nothing but pines trees, swamp land, and a lonely house here and there.  Just as it was time to find a place for the night, we came across a church and Deacon Carl Polite who was

painting outside.  He let us camp in the church yard and offered us some sodas.  He also left the church unlocked that night so that we could go in and have access to the bathrooms.  He was curious about my trip; he also admitted that he was not too informed about the issue of immigration and was happy to recieve some of the info I gave him.

The next day the route gradually became less rural as we approached Statesboro, Ga, a large college town.  While biking in town we noticed a fraternity called Chi Alpha Christian Fellowship.  We saw that it had a hammock, a porch swing, and a rocking chair and were thus convinced that it would be the perfect place to camp that night.  Brad and Mike welcomed us to camp in the yard and gave us free range of the kitchen, bathroom, and porch amenities…yessss!  Alex cooked a great pasta din that had purple cabbage in it so it looked really pretty.    The backyard was a mosquito haven and one lucky one snuck its way into our tent and had quite a feast that night.  oh joy!

The next day we hung out for a while on various pieces of swinging furniture and then left…forgetting our strawberries in their fridge, wop wop wop. 

There were huge, forboding rain clouds surrounding us as we road and we managed to stay dry on the narrow corridors that separated the storms.  They finally merged over top of us and it began to rain about as hard as is possible at the exact moment that we arrived at a place called THE STORE in Register, GA.  We hung out and ate tons o’snacks as it stormed and rained, happy to be inside, warm and dry. 

Later we stopped in a small town called Collins for a break.  There was a store, an automotive shop, and maybe three other small stores.  There was a church and maybe three of four criss-crossed streets of scattered houses.  There weren’t a lot of trees in the town, so from the gazebo where we snacked, one could pretty much see the whole town.  Just as I was wondering, “what in the world do people do here?” Mike approached us and gave us the rundown with minimal prompting on our part.  “This is onion country,” he said.  People either work on the onion farms, work in some of the few shops in town, or are unemployed.  There’s also an onion lab in town that employs a few people.  According to Mike, the onion lab is where people sort out the good, bad, and ugly onions.  (Later we heard that the onion lab is where genetic onion experiments are conducted…Lord only know what really happens in that pungent lab).   Mike is unemployed.  He moved to town two years ago and sleeps at his sisters house.  He watches TV most of the day and tries to go out every day, walk around town, and see what’s going on in the neighborhood.  We talked about immigration a bit.  Mike was a bit wishy-washy, beginning by saying that “they all need to get out of this country.” But later talking about how he is friends with undocumented Mexicans and how they are “not bad people.”  He explained the living conditions of the immigrants who work on the onion farms.  They live in dorm-style shelters, many men and women living together in a small space, sleeping on bunks.  According to Mike, they tend to drink a lot and fight often.  He finished his monologue by explaining that he’s had a pretty good life, “42 years old and ain’t never been to prison yet!’ he said proudly.  And then off he went!

At around this part of the ride we started encountering onions on the side of the

rode, overflow from the passing trucks…and free food for us! We saw some trembling donkeys and a cow-horse!

The rest of the day was full of minimal rain and lightening threatening us from a distance.  Just as it was getting late and the lightening was getting closer, we saw a nice, white country home with a great big porch and a girl outside.  The whole Mack family was there: Franklin and Carolyn (who own the house) and their grown children and there spouses: Rhonda and Ray, and Keith and Joy and their 10 year-old daughter Natalie.  Natalie and I hung out for a while in the front yard collecting leaves and flowers and making boquets and chatting with Ray and Rhonda while Alex hung around back with Keith and the rest of the fam decided where they were going to put us.  They ended up offering us a small house in their backyard with a large open room and a kitchen which they use for family parties.  Then they invited us inside so we could fill up on some sandwiches!  While we ate they told us about their family.  Franklin and Carolyn’s three grown children owned and lived on the farm land property that we had traveled by as we approached their house.  There they raised and sold bulls to be used in cattle production for beef and had large chicken houses for eggs and chicken.  Besides farming, Rhonda was a dietician, Keith worked in the police department, and Franklin was a retired prison guard.

The next day Ray and Natalie offered to take us on a little tour to go see the cattle.  Natalie took us by the chicken houses first.  Every other day someone goes through

 the huge coops to pick out the blind, half dead, or dead checkens to be burned.  Natalie explained that that area always reeks of the smell of buring chickens.  She also  showed us blackberry bushes whcih we subsequently picked, told us what to do if we encounter a rattle snack: RUN! and/or kill it with a shotgun, and she told us how to properly slaughter a chicken: slit its throat and let it walk around until it dies. 

Ray told us about his business: bull semen.  He deems himself a self-made geneticist, concerned with the bull/cow combination that will make the most efficient cattle (efficiency concerns the balance of intake of food and output of beef).  He collects, stores, and sells bull semen, extracts eggs from cattle, and

artificially insemenates cows.  He showed us his vat of bull semen frozen in liquid nitrogen…..WHOA!!!  And then he told us about his days as a rodeo clown.  This guy’s a catch!!

We left the farm with Ray telling us to contact him if we needed a place to stay in GA or FL, he has many rodeo friends in many different towns.    We rode on towards Odum, GA, and placed a call to Ray to see if he could connect us to a friend, but had no cell reception.  At the junction of a deserted cross-roads we came across an old gas station with five equally old men hanging out outside.   We told them where we were headed and I borrowed a cell phone from one of the men.  While I spoke with Ray, two of the men got into a heated debate as to whether Odum was 7 or 11 miles from the gas station.  The rest of the men shared the life story of the manwhose name I repeated from Ray as a possible contact.   They knew the exact location of his home, and details about his occupation, family, and childhood.  Ultimately, they assessed that he was a just-fine human being and an acceptable host for the evening.  Happy to have their approval, we set off for Odum, determined to conclude once and for all whether it was 7 or 11 miles away. 

We met Ray’s friend Adam a few miles down the road at a Pentecostal church.  There, he introduced us to the pastor of the church and the four of us had a long conversation about immigration and religion, much of which consisted of Pastor Greer trying to convert us and bring us to Jesus.  Pastor Greer said that he supported my cause, but seemed to think that it was only necessary to talk about religion, pray, and prostelysize, rather than actively work for justice.  Then, Pastor Greer, Adam, Alex, and I joined hands for a “prayer, “  during which the Pastor basically prayed that our souls be saved and that we find the right path (his path). 

We ended up staying across the street from the church at Sharon and Hodi’s house (other friends of Ray’s).  When we met Sharon she said we could camp in the yard.  Within five minutes that plan changed to camping in the garage, then to sleeping on cots in the garage, and finally, to sleeping in her guest bedroom!  Before long,

Alex and I were in Sharon and Hodi’s kitchen eating sandwiches and pie and meeting their two cats.  Then, Sharon and Hodi started getting things out of the fridge for us to sample.  They had an array of homemade pickles (including cinammon pickles..yum), pecans from the tree in their front yard, homemade strawberry wine, and…….MOONSHINE!  It burns!!! 

We left Sharon and Hodi’s the next day with an invitation to return an enjoy some nice fried catfish.  I felt almost sad to leave; I had had such a good time with them!  But onward we went.  And onward we continued.  Even when it rain on us, and even as we started to hear thunder rumbling in the distance.  We road  almost to Brunswick, Georgia (our destination for the following day).   Suddenly the rains worsened and we realized that it was getting dark and we had no where to stay.  We were on a road in the middle of the forest when the sky completely opened and a drenching rain set it.  With no other options, we found a clearing in the woods big enough to fit the tent, pitched it, and got in as quickly as possible.  We were absolutely soaked and the tent was absolutely soaked, water had leaked in through the bottom from the wet ground.  We were literally sitting in puddles, wet and pathetic, eating crackers for dinner.  Then the storm got really bad.  The lightening was so close it illuminated the surrounding area and the thunder cracked so loudly it made me jump.   It was terrifying!  And we were in the worst possible place, surrounded by trees!  Holy crap it was scary.  But after about 30 minutes the storm subsided.  We then decided to listen to the weather report on my crank radio (might have tried that 2 hours before) and learned that the storm was predicted to pass completely in an hour and the rest of the night would be calm.  When the rain stopped, we shook the tent out, gathered the very few dry supplies we had, made a warm-enough-bed, and went into fitful sleeps.

We woke early and got the hell out of the forest and made our way to a more exciting forest: The Hostel in the Woods.  A hostel composed of a group of little tree houses!! Our tree house was octogonal, with 5 of the 8 walls composed of only

 screens, and had a trap door, and a little sitting hammock!  At the hostel we napped, swam in a lake, walked through a labyrinth in the dark, dried all of our wet, mildewy belongings, and tried our damndest to de-smellify.  The hostel was super-relaxing and pretty difficult to describe.  One thing that I liked that may be a bit graphic for some folks is that they recycled human poo for compost rather than flushing it down and in the process polluting potable water sources.  Duh! They also had an offer-what’s-left-on-your-plate-to-others policy which I really appreciated because I can’t tell you how many times I’ve watched as people throw away awesome food that I really really want and stayed silent in agony just because I feel like they will give me a you-are-abnormal-look if I ask them for their leftovers. 

The place was a wonderful respite, but after a day we were ready to leave so we set out  Thurday morning with plans to make it to St Augustine on Friday afternoon.  Got poured on again on Thursday, but it was no big woop, the hot sun dried us off right quick.  We bought some really exciting snacks: cheez-its, onion /mustard pretzels, butter cookies, and, of course, a container of icing for dipping pecans into, so needless to say it was a great day.  We rode only about 30 miles and then decided to camp in Kingsland, Ga, as it was getting late.  We stopped at the African Baptist Missionary Church and asked the people outside if we could camp on the church lawn.  They were happy to help and pointed out a patch of grass that looked like a nice, flat spot to put a tent.  They showed us where we could get water, assured us that the area was safe, and one of the Deacons gave us his number in case of any problems.  Then they left and Alex and I got to cooking.  Not 20 minutes into dinner preparation a car pulled up.  It was Linda and William Jones, two of the people we had just met outside of the church.  They came bearing gifts: three bags of food!!  They were worried about us camping outside and not having anything to eat so they went to the grocery store and picked up some fruit, granola, and sports drinks, and to Subway and got us a foot long hoagie!!  It was the sweetest thing ever and just another reminder of how wonderful people can be.  About an hour later, after we had finished eating, two men (Alex and Mike, I believe) approached us, parishoners of the church.  They were basically asking us what the hell we were doing there, but they did it in an oh-so-polite and gentle way!  Then we gathered in a circle and held hands as they began to pray.  I immediately began to relive the Penecostal prayer circle I had been subjected to days earlier and was thus feeling a bit reluctant to be included in this circle, but their prayer was so beautiful!  Rather than praying for our conversion, they prayed that we enjoy a sweet slumber and safe travels.  They asked us if we needed anything and then went on their way.  I liked them!

In the morning we headed toward St. Augustine…70 miles of riding…and crossed into Florida!! State number 8 (counting DC)!!!  I said a blessing to the 9 dead armadillo road kills I saw in Georgia and began my new tally. 

When we crossed into Florida the trees got taller, the gas got pricier, and we continued to get smellier and smellier.  Luckily, at the end of day #35, we met up with my Uncle Arun who took us back to his house in Ormond Beach, FL where we got to shower, eat, relax, and hang out with my Aunt Cindy and cousins Alison, Kimi, and Sam.   Oh, sigh, what a wonderful break.! 

I’m now in St Augustine, FL with  some of Alex’s family.  We escaped certain death twice yesterday: went to an alligator farm without being eaten, and swam in the ocean without being attacked by sharks…I feel invincible!!! I’ve had three full days off and am very ready to ride….ROOOOAARR!!!

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