Memoirous

  You Can’t Have It All But you can have the fig tree and its fat leaves like clown hands gloved with green. You can have the touch of a single eleven-year-old finger on your cheek, waking you at one a.m. to say the hamster is back. You can have the purr of the cat and the soulful look of the black dog, the look that says, If I could I would bite every sorrow until it fled, and when it is August, you can have it August and abundantly so. You can have love, though often it will be mysterious, like the white foam that bubbles up at the top of the bean pot over the red kidneys until you realize foam’s twin is blood. You can have the skin at the center between a man’s legs, so solid, so doll-like. You can have the life of the mind, glowing occasionally in priestly vestments, never admitting pettiness, never stooping to bribe the sullen guard who’ll tell you all roads narrow at the border. You can speak a foreign language, sometimes, and it can mean something. You can ...

Day 4, 45 miles I’d washed out my single pair of underwear the night before and hung up in the tent. That’s what I put on the next day. No microfiber towel to help dry them. Oh, well. I also tried to use the stove at the picnic table after packing up. This time it didn’t even spark or flare. Nada. At least I had an apple and part of my sub. And not too far to ride. I got going quick because of not making oatmeal etc. I was riding by 8:15. Sunday morning. Very serene. Google put me on dirt roads, which I usually hate, but in the a.m. quiet and feeling rested, I was so happy. About 12 miles to Owosso. Sixteen minutes later it starts to mist. At a little country church with Jesus Country music on outside speakers I slip on rain pants while members pull into parking lot. I get invited to Bible study. I tell them I want to get home. The landscape reminds me of an Andrew Wyeth painting: muted golds, reds, and browns. The miles come easy. In Owosso I found a gas station and filled up te...

 Day 3, 74 miles Another cold or coldish night (42℉). I was surprised because the sky was crystal clear—but it rained a bit during the night. Also, the dew was heavy and in the a.m. tent, etc was wet. Nevertheless, I got packed up quick and pushed bike up the hill to church picnic shelter, where I fired up my stove to make oatmeal and reheat tea. Hmmm. It didn’t seem as hot. All I could seem to accomplish was a warming up. I suspected the fuel. Something wasn’t quite right. I had a big day and it was Saturday. I would complete the Pere Marquette in Midland and continue on roads to near St. Charles where I’d staked out another stealth spot. So far I was batting zero with these. But, again, hoped everything would turn out. What could I do? So far I’d forgotten my food bag and had to do Plan B for camping spots and things were going well. And now possibly my stove was acting up. I was tired and, just like the day before, each “depot” stop was an occasion to potty, drink tea, stretch. ...

Day 2, 74 miles I slept great in the woods. It was cold in the morning as I packed up. I screwed on a new fuel cannister to my Snow Peak.   It was a bigger size than normal and a Coleman. It burned so quick and hot. I thought, Man, I’m gonna get another one of these. They’re great! I reheated tea with the idea of refilling with hot water down the path in Stanwood where there was a diner right off the path. Back on the White Pine the colors in the soft morning light were just gorgeous. I saw up ahead the blinking taillight of a cyclist. I rode toward it and toward Morley, a quaint town with a damned up pond and nice bridge just as you come in. The Corner Diner had a breakfast sandwich for $5; I got one to go. After Stanwood came Big Rapids, which I thought was going to be a bigger town or at least a speed bump. But, no, I was past it in no time I stopped for potty and to check out Paris County Park, which offers camping. It was completely shut down. No water. I rode down the pat...