It Didn't Stop Them. It Won't Stop Him.

In the 1980s, two celebrities--Muhammad Ali and Michael J. Fox--used their own struggles with Parkinson's Disease to raise awareness of the affliction.  Moreover, they helped people to realize that Parkinson's wasn't an "old people's disease"--Ali's diagnosis came in his early 40s and Fox's before he turned 30--and that people can live more or less normal lives after a diagnosis and treatment. 

Somehow I don't think Brue Closser's life is more or less normal--or less of anything.  

The 78-year-old resident of Marquette County, on Michigan's Upper Peninsula, has been cycling since the 1970s.  There has been one ride on his "bucket list," he says, and it will commence on 5 May.  On that day, he plans to get on his bike in Yorktown, Virginia and pedal to Astoria, Oregon--in other words, across the United States, from the Atlantic to the Pacific Oceans.

I give "props" to anyone who undertakes such a ride. But the journey Closser has planned is especially notable for two other reasons.  One is that he is riding from east to west:  the opposite direction from that taken by most transcontinental cyclists.  The reason for that is that while there are local and daily variations, the prevailing wind is from west to east.  (That's why a flight from New York to Paris is about an hour shorter than one in the other direction.)  But, perhaps the most noteworthy aspect of his trip will be that when he completes it, he will be, according to the Guinness Book of World Records, the oldest cyclist to complete such a trip.

But the record isn't the reason he's taking the trip, he says.  "I learned a long time ago, don't put off your dreams, because I think I can do it this year, but who knows what next year will bring."  

Whatever it brings, I doubt Parkinson's Disease will stop him.

His Travels With Mona

Many years ago, I read John Steinbeck's Travels With Charley.

In the book, he and his traveling companion set out on a trek that took them through 40 of the 50 US states.  He took this trip, he said, because he felt he'd lost touch with America.  If anything, he might have been trying to recapture his youth:  He was nearing 60, and his physical and mental health were failing him.  I suspect he might've been suffering from "writer's block."

So, he outfitted a three-quarter-ton pickup track as a camper and set out from his Sag Harbor, NY home.  And he allegedly recorded--and replicated in the book--a number of conversations with "ordinary" Americans.

Even at such a tender age, I had my suspicions about his account.  Some things just didn't seem quite right; later on, when I'd read more of his fiction, I felt as if some of those conversations sounded like the dialogue in his stories.  And I had to wonder whether he was alone--save for Charley--and roughing it as much as his book made it seem he was.

Still, I enjoyed it:  after all, Steinbeck could tell--or, more precisely, reveal--a story.  In fact, Travels With Charley might have been the first book that showed me how the truth of the story is more compelling than the mere chronological or spatial correctness of its facts.  Even if he wasn't in Alice, North Dakota at the exact moment he related in the book, what he was learning while traveling the windswept plains is interesting and, at times, compelling.

I'm mentioning Travels With Charley because of the traveling companion in Steinbeck's title:  his French poodle.  I must say that I like French poodles as much as anyone else, but I'm not sure that it would be the breed I'd choose to accompany me on a trip.

Perhaps I'd choose a hound--at least for a bike trip, as hounds generally like to be outdoors.  Now, I'm sure Paul Stankiewicz didn't choose his "Charley"--whose name is Mona--specifically for his trip across the USA.  But the pooch--an 8-year-old mixture of English fox hound and Egyptian Pharaoh hound--accompanied him on a drive from their New Hampshire home to California and, more important (for this blog, anyway), on an 8000 kilometer (5000 mile) bike ride back to the Granite State.

They arrived two weeks ago--he, 10 pounds lighter than he started and she having survived being struck by a car.  Fortunately, she suffered nothing more than a few scrapes and a stiff neck.  Perhaps not surprisingly, she and Stankiewicz developed a bond after spending four months on the road together.

He undertook this journey on a Trek 520 he bought used and "fixed up for touring" with lower gears and new brakes.  I'm sure he needed both in towing a trailer that carried Mona, as well as supplies for him and her.

Mona, recovering from her injuries

Now that he's home, he's looking for a job.  At least, the news reports and blog he kept of his journey can vouch for what he did during that four-month employment gap in his resume.    

And, on returning home there have been adjustments.  For example, he says that on such a trip, "You kind of lose track of time, like it's a Sunday afternoon."  That's a pretty fair description of how it feels in the middle of a multiday (or multiweek) trip.  That might be the reason why, he now feels like he's "going so fast" when he's driving his car at 30 or 40 miles per hour.

A Journey Continues Across Generations

Some things are worth saving for their intrinsic value, artistic merit or historic or cultural importance.

More often, though, the stories behind objects are what make them valuable--at least to someone, if not to everyone.  

Such is the case of a bicycle that hangs in Les Sorensen's garage.  The Cooks Mills, Illinois resident inherited it from his uncle Einar when he died in 1978.  Einar never told Les the story behind the bicycle.  Rather, the younger man learned about it from letters his uncle's friend, Ed Warren, wrote to his mother.

Those dispatches were sent out daily during a trip Warren took with Einar and his brother Kay in 1922.  Their 62-day journey--which Einar rode on the bike in Les's garage--took them from their native Illinois to Los Angeles.  Some letters were sent  from familiar-sounding locales like Reno, Nevada, while others came from places where one might not expected to find so much as a rubber stamp, let alone a post office.

Along the way, the three young men stopped and worked for money to pay for their trip.  Einar sometimes stayed and worked a little longer than the others, but he would catch up to them.  While they made friends along the way, some places were rather hostile.  When they rode through those not-so-safe areas, they hid their money in their handlebars.

Les didn't find any of that cash.  I am sure, though, that some dirt and dust from their route was still embedded in parts of the bike:  For much of the time, they were riding on unpaved roads and they often had to carry their bikes.  One of Warren's letters says that one day, they portaged their machines 18 miles through the desert.

The letters and other memorabilia Warren's daughter assembled into a book, which she gave Les, offer no indication of any motive--except, perhaps, fun--behind their ride.  When they arrived in California, Kay decided to stay and join the military.  Einar and Warren returned, with their bikes, to Illinois.

The bike Einar rode--and Les now owns--is a Rugby, made in St. Louis.  According to the report I read, the bike had wooden rims, though the ones in the photo look more like chromed steel--and not of the same time period.  I am guessing that the wheels were replaced a few years ago, when Les rode it for a season.

Born 12 years after his uncle's adventure on the Rugby, Les is, shall we say, getting on in years.  He never could sell his antique treasure, he said, so he wants to keep it in the family.  So, he plans to send it to Kay Sorensen's granddaughter in Oregon.  

And, I'm sure, the stories will follow as the Rugby makes another trip to the Pacific. 

Beating A Tick

Normally, I try not to give Fox News publicity.  I try not to even dignify them by mentioning them at all. However, one of their affiliates in the middle of Pennsylvania actually reported favorably on a cyclist.

Then again, how could they not say anything positive about John Donnally?  In late September, he got on his bike in California and started pedaling to New York City, his hometown.  

 



Some undertake such rides because they can.  Others, like Donnally, ride for a cause.  In his case, he's part of the Tick Born Disease Alliance, and he's riding to raise awareness of Lyme Disease, which afflicts his parents and sister.

With yesterday's stop in Lancaster County, he has about 300 miles of riding to New York. He expects to arrive home on the first of December.