Memoirous

This has become a thing—for almost 12 years. I believe my first ride home from the Festival of Faith and Writing in the always unpredictable month of April—the weather, that is. I’ve had snow, sleet, rain (of course!) and sometimes too much heat. Heading home to Chicago, the ride took 4 days. It’s much more manageable going back to Okemos. Once again, I took Indian Trails up, prepped bike and took off for my host’s house—fabulously only 3 streets over from Calvin University, making getting back and forth during the Festival easy peasy. There’s always surprises at the Festival, small delights and big discoveries around books and authors I’m not acquainted with—same goes for this year. I’ve often wondered: does timing matter? The algorithm is all over the place. Upon first arriving, the energy is there, while on Saturday the last day, the emotional levels are depleted. Am I more open to the universe at the beginning or end? Just like the Michigan spring—there’s no predicting. The b...

There are still a few of us on Facebook—though not as many as in the 2010s, For me, it’s a way to catch a glimpse of old friends, look at holiday pictures, post my bike trips. In fact, every day now there is some new old picture Facebook is reminding me of=all bike trips from the past decade. There’s fall 2015 when I cycled from Pittsburgh to Washington DC on the GAP and C&O Towpath. There’s my old bike leaning against a tree. There’s a pic from my trip to Sweden in 2014 when I rented a bike on Gotland. I had no itinerary—only a vague idea that I wouldn’t get too lost—I was on an island. Last fall I was in Switzerland, Germany, the city of Berlin. I visited friends and rode the Rhine River. There are autumn getaways—such as the jaunt I just took to Traverse City and thereabouts. That, too, will show up in my digital memories. I am followed by bike paths I have followed, the ghost of past trips haunt me both online and in mind. I see they are in my blood and under my skin. W...