Being Homeless

Being on the road is, in a sense, being homeless.  It is a nomadic lifestyle; I have what I need to survive on my bicycle and stay alive by visiting towns, markets, grocery stores, bars, and right now, a public library.  I see now why the Madison Central public library is a beacon to the homeless of Madison.  Being on the road, I feel much closer to the homeless.  While I don't lack financially speaking, or have a drug addiction, I don't have a place to shower at the end of the day, there's no guarranteed roof above my head (although my tent promises to be a good substitute now that I re-sealed the previously leaky seems...), no air conditioned haven free of mosquitoes, ants, flies and bugs.

I sat reflecting upon this idea today as I sat on the curb of a Hy-vee supermarket.  I had just been inside the chilled sanctuary walking the isles packed with tasty morsels of food that my tummy cried for at every step.  It was a difficult ride this morning, there was a strong wind from the south, which resulted in a headwind since we intended to travel south to get to Brookings, SD.  I emerged from the cold supermarket with more than I had intended on purchasing; some meat and a tomato to make a sandwich with the bread, cheese and avacado I already had, a bag of chips, some yogurt, and a bar of reeses chocolate which melted within 5 minutes of being outside, inspite of the fact that I had placed it in the shade.  Forecasts said 95 degrees was the high, with only 70% humidity, indeed a better day than conditions we had previously experienced.  But stepping into the sun after being inside the supermarket yielded a cry of disbelief at the temperature we had just been biking through.  After aclimatizing myself to the refeshing feel of the air conditioned supermarket, the sun and humidity was almost too much to bear.  Yet bear it I did, and I sat on the curb next to my bike like I had the previous day and they day before that, eating my food, watching people entering and leaving the store, looking hot, sweaty, and extremely dirty.  My white shirt, although it had been washed, still bears the mud stains from the pig wrestling the week before.  Sitting on the curb, receiving funny looks from passers-by (or worse, no acknowledgement at all), gave me feelings of what I thought the homeless might feel on occasion.

A couple days ago, in Fairfax, MN, we had a good homeless experience.  It was our second day on the road after leaving Erinn's in Lakeville and we were shot.  It's amazing how civilization sort of just drops off the map.  Within a couple of hours (not many miles on bicycle...) the people and towns we passed through went from Minneapolis suburbs to "You're from Wisconsin?  oh, I went to Wisconsin once!  Where ya headed?"  "to the west..."  "No, what town ya headed to?  There's not much out there..."  Indeed, there wasn't much out there, and before we knew it, we were in the middle of no-where (although some would call it Minnesota ;).  We had the choice of a gravel road south, or a gravel road west, both of which didn't so much wind their way, but just go straight as an arrow past the fields of corn and soybeans.  At least the monotony made directions easy...

About 35 miles after leaving a small town where we filled up our water bottles at the only store-the bar-we reached Fairfax and went straight to the grocery store.  It was heaven on earth.  Air conditioned, and stocked with everything a town of 1200 people should need.  Before we had left the store we were almost done with a box of 6 ice cream snicker bars, and sitting just outside we feasted on watermelon, apples, blackberries, and bananas with peanut butter.  It wasn't long before a young lady asked us what we were doing and why on earth were we in Fairfax, MN.  She was there for her sister-in-law's wedding reception that evening.  After a brief talk she said goodbye and walked away, only to come back after she'd got to her car.  "Oh my, I almost forgot," she said.  Brint and I both thought the same thing... she had forgotten to invite us to the wedding...  "Here take this and buy yourselves a hamburger or something," and after trying to refuse accepting it, we took the $20 in her hand with gratitude.  Maybe our scruffy looks (especially Brint's mustache) and stories to share are worth something to some people-like the story the homeless man was worth something to me.  It's just a matter of starting a conversation with somebody and the possibilities are enormous.

As for us, we're headed west now, Pierre is the next major city we plan to hit on the Missouri river, maybe not too far away if the temperatures actually drop to a more bearable level.