Introspective: The Big Day

Don’t Carry it All:

“Here we come to a turning of the season
Witness to the arc towards the sun
The neighbor's blessed burden within reason
Becomes a burden borne of all in one

And nobody, nobody knows
Let the yoke fall from our shoulders
Don't carry it all, don't carry it all
We are all our hands in holders
Beneath this bold and brilliant sun
But this I swear to all”

The song “Don’t Carry it All” by the Decembrists has been a kind of personal anthem of mine for years. It’s a song that casts out a vision of a community willing to take on the burdens of others. A deep duty to help those around themm prosper. It projects the idea that the burden of one is the burden of all, and It’s that lyric that has resounded deeply within me for all those years.

What I've often found is that my vision for my path forward is a sterile vision that centers my grit and determination to proceed forward, but when reality hits, that vision quickly crumbles and I find myself in the position of humbly accepting the gift of others. And what a blessed burden we share. More often than not what is revealed when the old vision crumbles and reality is revealed is something unimaginably more satisfying.

“How wonderful and pleasant it is when brothers live together in harmony! For harmony is as precious as the anointing oil that was poured over Aaron’s head, that ran down his beard and onto the border of his robe. Harmony is as refreshing as the dew from Mount Hermon that falls on the mountains of Zion. And there the LORD has pronounced his blessing, even life everlasting.” Psalm 133:1-3 NLT

We are all meant to be in a broader community with others. We share their joys and hardships, their laughter and tears, and it’s dirty and imperfect but it is unbelievably sweet when we finally surrender to the idea that we cannot go it alone. That as imperfect, and even sometimes harmful it can be to be in close relationship with others, it fills us deeply to share eachothers burdens.

In one of my last posts I sent out a call for help and what has impressed and humbled me most was how the broader community provided.

The provision of closed doors:

The last you read, I was in position waiting to rent a car the next day and start making progress to Minneapolis.

From the outset my understanding was that I simply didn’t have enough time to make the miles necessary to make it to Bob and Robin’s wedding under my own power. I had expectations of being able to make more miles than I could. For example it’s clear I can do some near 70 mile days, but most days will probably be 45ish. So when planning, the idea that I could do 85 or 90 mile days — at least at my current expertise and training level — was highly optimistic. However, in my unpreparedness, I knew to be prepared.

Initially the plan was to ride a train from Milwaukee to Minneapolis and then bike the remaning miles up to Park Rapids. From Chicago heights this was at least 5 days, but probably more like 8 days of travel even with the train ride. At that point I had 4 days.

My backup plan was to rent a car and get as far as I could and ride the rest of the way. However with the broken bike that now included Bob’s friend Collin picking me up on his way up to Park Rapids, in Minneapolis. I was to return back to the rental agency, use my debit card on to get a full-sized car, pack it in and roll out to meet him.

When I got to the rental agency that morning they told me I would need to come back at 2:30pm to honor the 24hr hold required for debit card usage. No problem. I hung out in the Panera Bread down the road and wrote up the missing day.

When I arrived back, I had the overwhelming sense that something else would go wrong, but that whatever went wrong, I would be ok.

The girl behind the counter ran my debit card and let me know there would be a soft credit check. Not a problem. I waited a few minutes for this to occur. When it was done she handed me a receipt that informed me out of a scale of 100 to 900, my check returned a four. Ok. That’s fine. But also… what? They couldn’t rent me the car. She was very apologetic, and I walked off kind of numb and perplexed. A door had closed.

I now had to ask something of someone I knew would put them out. Bob had lett me know that his friend Collin was in Madison, Wisconsin and that if absolutely necessary he could come the three hours south and grab me before proceeding to Minneapolis. The only real rub there is that Collin owns a Prius. Admittedly it’s a hatchback, and so it does have some ability to fold seats down, but my bike and trailer are so large it’s difficult to fit them into my wife’s van. We exchanged some texts back and forth, and I told him I could break the bike down to just the frame and it would likely be able to be stacked and shoved into the space. He agreed, and so we made plans for me to stay another night in Chicago Heights where he would pick me up and then we would travel up to St. Paul that evening, and travel on to Bob and Robin the next day.

However, because Collin had just moved in to his apartment, and his relationship with his temporary roommate was strained already, he asked if I could find other lodging. I went on warm showers and started asking around. Bob, unbeknownst to me, started furiously sending out texts to his extended friend group in the area on my behalf.

With no response back from warm showers hosts, and Collin not being able to host for very understandable reasons, it felt like another door was closing.

Except the greater community provided:

Bob later told me with each response he received it caused him to cry tears of joy and relief from the same feeling I was having that so many people in his friends group were more than willing to act out the principles we say we stand for, but have few opportunities to actually practice. And what made it tremendously meaningful for both of us is that we both independently had the exact same feelings:

To St. Paul:

That next day Collin showed up at the hotel under angrily dark skies and pulled his Prius up for us to start pulling things apart. With some effort we got the wheels off, the handlebars turned and fitted everything into the Prius just as it started to pour down rain.

Being in the car with Collin was proof to us both of what he called “The serendipity of the tour”. Being an experienced cyclotourist himself, he fundamentally understood the vulnerability of being on the end of needing help from any unexpected source, and that often times being in that position opened both of us up to experiences with people we could have never had otherwise.

Collin is a solid dude, and I would expect nothing less from the person Bob chose to be the officiant at his wedding:

I often joke that Bob is a collector of people, because he has a kind of effortless charisma that puts people at ease. I know that to some extent I have that quality as well, but it is certainly Bob’s gift, and he wields it with seriousness, understanding that it could be misused. One thing is immutable though, the people that Bob keeps in his community are people I personally want to be around. In any instance in which I thought there might be some awkward interaction, every single time in meeting a person in Bob’s circle, they put me at ease the way he does.

In fact, the first time I met Robin it just felt like coiming to see an old friend. Admittedly there is some history there — we had talked on the phone, and Bob talks about me with some frequency.

That night I stayed in the house of Peter Akimoto in St. Paul. He was away for meetings, but I was able to get in using a key safe on the door. He had graciously set up a bed for me and laid out towels and sheets. Collin left to his house and I bedded down for the night.

Collin had let me know that it would be a bit of a later departure because he had some things he needed to attend to, so I walked the neighborhood the next morning to get some breakfast.

Unfortunately many of the local neighborhood restaurants either didn’t have a breakfast or brunch offering, or simply weren’t open. So I ended up at Denny’s. Womp womp.

When I was there I received a text from Peter that he had arrived back home and he invited me to come hang out with him and his dogs in the back yard. Collin arrived shortly thereafter and we all shared a cup of coffee and talked about tours, and bands, and our mutal connection to Bob… oh and also how much both Me and Collin wanted to steal Kuvo, Peter’s dog.

After a short time both me and Collin departed for the trek northward, which would be another four or five hours across the gently rolling plains of Minnesota.

Overall, the journey from Chicago Heights to Park Rapids was 623 miles. To this point I’ve only pedalled about 400. So I’ve started to joke that this is more of a car tour than a bike tour. And honestly my younger self would feel like this was a failure in that I had not biked as much as possible. I think I’ve realized this is about the experience, not just making miles under pedal power. Both are important to me, but one is far more important: meeting and enjoying time with the people who are part of this journey.

Arrival and lead up to the wedding.

Life is weird, and the friends you make along the way arent always the people you expect. Up until arriving in the driveway I had never met Bob in person. I know him through a set of convoluted internet back rooms on facebook, where we, and others talked about politics, life, etc. He is what you might call a digital pen-pal. That digital space has allowed us to broaden (and sometimes contract) our communities and the people we interact with in very deep and meaningful ways. For some it may seem odd that I’m Bob’s “internet friend”, but our common experience even in that space has been so meaningful that Robin confirmed, he often brings up thing’s I’ve written as something he needs to remember, that’s changed his thinking about a topic. The same is certainly true in the opposite direction as well.

I just want to soapbox for a moment that virtual spaces are real spaces. We live in our minds. Our body is simply the conveyance for our being. Bob even pointed out that we can live with out legs, or hands, or eyes, a stomach, etc. So much of our flesh is just unnecessary for the continuation of our actual self, but the virtual inside space of our mind is the reality we inhabit.

That and I met my wife online, and she’s awesome. So any naysayers can suck it.

All that said, physical meetings can be frought with all sorts of anxiety for different reasons. Mostly because of our own insecurities the will they, won’t they sort of thoughts we superimpose on others rather than allowing reality to take what shape it will.

As Collin and I drove down the driveway, I could see Bob coming down from his garage, already set up with pavillion tents, tables and chairs, and people conversing and cooking. We met half way and hugged. There was no awkwardness, it was just like meeting and old friend, because that’s exactly what he is. My real anxieties lay in meeting the others I had no relationship with.

Except Robin. Just like Bob, Robin immediately put me at ease and again it felt like meeting an old friend. It was clear they fit.

What I saw was two people doing the same thing me and my wife did when we got married: working together to serve communion to the important people in their lives. They were doing service together.

No, they weren’t serving wafers and wine. They were cooking pizzas on a grill from homemade dough and toppings. But fundamentally what is different? Why is there this false sacred / common divide? Feeding people is an act of sacred service. They wouldn’t call it communion, but I’m certain they would understand the undertones and gravity of fellowship and feeding.

And to be clear, this was not the wedding, as that was days away. I’m not even entirely sure what this was — feeding people who helped set up? A common meal with those who had arrived early? Honestly it was just them doing exactly what they want to do, serve and connect others.

Eventually people said their goodbyes and went to their respective lodging for the evening to return for full on wedding prep the next day.

I however, got to stay on in the house with Robin and Bob, along with other friends who had joined us: Jessie and Joel, who also hail from our common virtual space, but live in Pennsylvania

As others floated off to bed or hotels, I stayed behind talking with Bob and Robin as they prepped for the wedding. There was some talk of applique dreds, but those were shelved in favor of a few feathers in Bob’s hair.

T minus 1: Bobohana

Throughout the next day we set up tables, chairs, pavillions, activities for kids, etc. Not everything for the wedding, but many of the elements were in place.

Once that was accomplished Robin stayed behind to work on other elements as Bob led a group of us out to the city a few miles over, Detroit Lakes ostensibly to see some local art installations: large trolls made out of recycled building materials.

Both the town and the trolls were interesting, but the experience itself was more about spending time with different people who didn’t know eachother at all or well.

Jeff Morgan, another friend from the virtual spaces we inhabit joined us, and I had the opportunity to talk one on one with him about our shared outlook on life, his journey to finding kindness and peace in himself, and the importance of service.

I also rode in the car with Jessie and Joel, which led to conversations about our backgrounds, especially hurt related to church, parents, and life in general.

Both of these interactions were further demonstrations to me that this journey is about the connection to people and not the miles made, or the beautiful places I might see.

We returned to a full house, buzzing with activity in preparation for the evening’s festivities Bobohana, which is basically just Bob doing the thing: serving people good food for the sake of connectedness. With three grills going, and Collin and Preston—Robin’s brother—at the helm, we enjoyed a Benihana style meal at the hands of our hosts. We all had pitched in earlier in the day with prepping veggies and meats for the meal.

And yes… they had apron’s made.

Blastoff: Bob and Robin get hitched.

The day of the wedding saw an explosion of activity in the early morning. We set up more tables and chairs, added finishing touches to the space. Me and Joel worked together to route a hose through the pavillions to the rented bathroom trailer. In the end we were all surprised at just how quickly and without issue it all happened. The only unfortunate part was that this particular Saturday a dome of heat was hanging over most of the east and midwest. Park Rapids was just on the edge, but still boasted a 92 degree temperature at max — the hottest day of the year so far. In fact for most of the days during summer it doesn’t get much above 80 and has a climate somewhat like Sweden even though it shares a latitude with Geneva, Switzerland.

The wedding was to start at 1pm, and so in the remaining hours (yeah, we really did rock out the setup) we got ready, took cold showers and helped people get positioned.

In the days before I had specifically asked if Bob and Robin had a photographer for the ceremony. They had not engaged anyone for the task, but expected that their many friends would provide pictures via a shared link. Me being me, I couldn’t allow this to just be amateur photography and so I offered myself up with my camera. I had asked my wife to bring up my full frame DSLR with the long 70-200mm lens.

The Service:

If you haven’t caught on, this was no traditional service. Collin is not a minister, but he is a trusted and stalwart friend. Bob and Collin started at the bottom of a hill on the property, with a dais for elements of the ceremony placed in front of a hawthorn bush, which I was told has some significance in native cultures.

Atendees struggled to find shade in the heat, but we all resigned to sweat in honor of these two wonderful people.

Robin’s father walked her down the grass aisle, both beaming with pride, and struggling to hold back tears.

Bob gave a moving speech about how this land, their homestead, is built upon the land of native peoples, honoring them and remembering the dislocation and genocide:

Overall the ceremony was brief but meaningful. Robin and Bob exchanged vows, there was a ceremony in which both of them and Bob’s daughters mixed waters from different area rivers that hold spiritual significance to indigenous peoples, and of course, the kiss:

After the ceremony I took some abbreviated family pictures as keepsakes for them and then the reception kicked off in earnest.

The night was punctuated by live music played by Bob and friends, including Peter and Collin.

Respite in the days after:

The day after family and friends once more descended upon the homestead to help break things down, we enjoyed our last meals together and each went their separate ways.

In the morning we saw off Jessie and Joel who were going to the Canadian border to hike around and take some nature photography of their own — Joel is an accomplished landscape photographer and he was hoping to get a shot of the milkyway over lake superior. Which he did phenomally, by the way.

As for me, I’ve spent the last few days waiting on the aforementioned battery in the presence of just Robin and Bob. Together we have been the three Robs. I have shared meals and long conversations about life and family with both of them over the past three days as I waited for my battery to arrive — which it has — and for the necessary weatherproofing to be finalized.

Moving onward:

Tomorrow I set out again, this time over the upper plains, into the badlands and eventually the rockies. I’m anxious as this leg is 1400 miles of beautiful, but widely less dense territory. I think I have worked out the kinks and I should be ok, but I fully expect that at some point there will be another massive failure in which I will need help and it will be just as difficult to ask.

More than that, I don’t want to leave. This time with them both has been restorative, blessed, and leaving them feels to a lesser extent like leaving my family. I know that I will miss them deeply because the tears welling up in my eyes right now prove that.

Tomorrow when Bob takes the last selfie with me I’m sure I’ll be holding in tears… or perhaps not.

The sweetness of this time will not be forgotten, but there are miles to make yet, and so make them I must.

Just for the sake of my own ego:

Oh and by the way, when I checked my credit numbers on equifax it was 762, so… yeah, I was meant to get in that car with Collin.