While planning our bike tour, I desired most the absence of schedules. I often dream of freedom -the ability to not be suckered by consistency. I like to organize my own schedule. I do admit that I am spoiled. I live a very free life, and I know that there are millions of people who's lives are much less free than my own. But after being strapped into a strict college schedule of sports, classes and work, I am ready for a break. It felt like every day was the same. Looking back, I can't distinguish one day from the next.
Today was much different than yesterday. I began the day with expectations, and ended with confusion and question on how Chet and I were so fortunate to end the day the way we had.
There was one thing that we expected in the beginning of day six, which came true: we knew that we would ride a bus from Goshen, New York, to Binghamton.
Before we caught the bus in Goshen, Chet and I looked at the New York state map in a cafe, which we went to with Adrienne. We calculated the time we were capable of riding from when we were dropped off in Binghamton, to dusk; about four hours. We estimated the miles traveled and where we would end the day; 40 miles, in Waverly.
Nothing today went according to plan, which was why today was such a great day.
I left Adrienne with a kiss and a hug at the bus stop where Chet and I waited for our connecting bus that took us to Middletown. An older, homeless-looking man, mid-sixties, snuck past me to grab the last seat on the bench next to Chet. So, I stood.
As the homeless-looking man began lining up the eight beverages he had just boughten, I realized that there was something different about this man. With his sagged, dirty slacks, stain-filled collard shirt and nasty teeth, at first glance, he looked homeless. But when he began conversing with Chet and I, there was nothing about this man that I could assume.
"Do you fellas want a drink," he asked. "No thanks," I replied.
The man seemed hungry for conversation, so, he talked, and talked, and talked. We at first listened, then chuckled at his weird, obscure jokes, or sighed to his devastating life stories of being arrested a dozen times, getting diabetes, and losing his wife to divorce.
The man obviously had issues. In fact, he admitted to having issues. But he was seemingly and surprisingly optimistic about life. With a cigarette in between two fingers and a lineup of soda drinks, the man declared that he would live until we turned 90. "I'm gonna quit smoking next week," he claimed.
When the bus pulled up, Chet and I were hopeful to escape from this man. Up front he didn't seem all too dangerous, but after hearing his stories, we weren't completely confident of our own safety.
So, Chet and I planned to let him on the bus first, so we could first see where he sat, then we could know where not to sit. The man sat in the front; we passed him to sit in the back; he stood up and followed us to the back. There was no escaping this man.
For the 30-minute connection to Middletown he talked our ears off. When we stopped in Middletown, we finally escaped.
We had two more bus rides - to Montpellier, than to Binghamton. We met more interesting people on the rides and witnessed many interesting interactions. There was a war veteran who secretly drank beer in a seat behind us, and a talkative women in the seat across from the veteran. The talkative woman took the vet's offer for a beer.
Finally, we arrived in Binghamton, and we were happy to escape another shady upstate New York city.
We took many flat roads to Owego, where we began seeking sleeping locations. We turned down cemeteries and motels that we passed when out of the blue, a women shouted out her car window as we rode past, "where are you headed?" "Keuka Lake," we yelled back.
The women pulled out from the side street where we passed her, passed us, and pulled to the road's gravel shoulder. "Are you looking for a place to sleep tonight?" she asked. "Yeah," we replied. "Do you know of any places around here?"
She wore an American Red Cross shirt, and with the questions she asked, seemed incredibly kind. She was also curious. "I've always wanted to this," she said after we told her our journey. It didn't take her long to offer us a place to set up tent in her and her husband's backyard.
Chet and I looked at each other in disbelief. In all honesty, we aren't used to such civil kindness. To offer two strangers her backyard takes total human trust.
The women introduced herself as Renee. After Renee gave us directions back to her house, she said that her husband Brian had made homemade pizza, and that they were going to a bluegrass concert nearby after dinner. She then asked us of we wanted to join. "Of coarse!"
As Renee pulled away, Chet and I both smiled at the luck we had encountered.
Brian stood at the top of their driveway to greet us, and direct us to their laundry room where we washed our sweaty clothes. Thank God, I thought to myself as I took a giant wiff of my biking jersey.
I couldn't have been happier when Chet and I joined Brian and Renee at the dinner table. There waiting for us was a plate of homemade pizza, a can of Coors, and a glass of water.
Perfect, I thought to myself.
Halfway through dinner, Brian stood up from his seat to grab a jug. "Would you like some whiskey?" he asked. "Okay," I thought to myself. "Now this is perfect."
I couldn't help but think where Chet and I had been just 30 minutes before - on the road, smelling the death, and looking for food and shelter. Now, we felt like kings.
We quickly scarfed down dinner so that we could make it to the greater portion of the bluegrass concert. The concert was nothing like I expected; picnic benches were seat, children were climbing a jungle gym next to the pavilion where the band played, and the band members stood side-by-side, in front of their microphone, jamming. Chet and I sat listening to bluegrass, while drinking whiskey for a few songs, then joined Renee and some of her and Brian's friend's children who were playing frisbee. What a perfect evening.
We went back to Brian and Renee's and took refreshing showers. Brian had told us about his love for music and bluegrass, and then gave us a tour of his studio in his house where he recorded albums.
For the next hour, we stayed up talking to Brian and Renee about our bike trip and the bike trips they had been on. While Brian told us of their many adventures, I could hear the excitement in his tone, and I was pleased. Throughout our trip we shared the story of our journey to many people. Many of those people told us that this was the only time in our life to take such a trip. Here was Brian and Renee, both almost as old as our parents, telling us of their recent adventures to Montana. I am hopeful hat I can have similar stories as they.
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