High Up On The Alter…

April 4th-5th, 2023 (The Southern Tier Bicycle Route)

McDowell Mountain Regional Park sits in the Sonoran desert just NW of Phoenix. The team of a Wheelman, his aortic piggy valve named Pinto and touring bike Lady Luck are currently spending a few days resting there with SLC friends. The campers at adjacent sites are complaining to authorities about a frightening noise that sounds like feral hogs snorting. The campground host comes over to the site mid afternoon and sees the team of three in a state of deep sleep. One would think they were looking at a trio of hoary cadavers, if not for the tumult, coming from the combination of six flared nostrils. Pinto startles awake, shouting at the campground host , “criminy, ya scared the rind right off my pork– we are exhausted and just resting–what’s the problem mister big shot? Anyhow, isn’t this known as the snoring desert?”

The Wheelman and Lady Luck, in a rare state of blended dreams, sleep right through the hubbub Pinto is dealing with. Wheelguy has now shifted into a REM dream–a conflicted state between all the road angels who have helped the team on this journey; the Baptist preacher, the Seventh Day Adventist gal, the women with the fuck Biden and fuck you too if you voted for Biden sticker on her truck, the Mormon Church on the Apache reservation that allows cyclist camping and those helpful small town Texans. How do you reconcile their personal kindness and generosity with their churches hypocrisy towards women’s rights, the lgbtqia communities and the churches influential money train helping to fan today’s stark political divisions?

Lady Luck the touring bike, intertwined in the dream,  throws more gas on the fire with the Wheelguy teetering on a precipice. She drops the tonearm on some ghost vinyl from 1977 and Crosby Stills and Nash are belting out…

“Open up the gates of the church and let me out of here!
Too many people have lied in the name of Christ
For anyone to heed the call.
So many people have died in the name of Christ
That I can’t believe it all.
And now I’m standing on the grave of a soldier that died in 1799
And the day he died it was a birthday
And I noticed it was mine.
And my head didn’t know just who I was
And I went spinning back in time.
And I am high upon the altar
High upon the altar, high.
I’m flying in Winchester cathedral,
It’s hard enough to drink the wine.
The air inside just hangs in delusion,
But given time,
I’ll be fine”

The Wheelman jerks awakes in a profuse sweat–clothing is soaked, the mouth is dry, lips cracked and fused together. The last thing he remembers was that he was on a large black horse, dressed in leather armor in the year 1233 CE–a Christian Crusade to slaughter people who differed in views and to wrestle back the Holy Land from the infidels.

The team has now been on the road for 64 total days, 8 of those rest days or weather delays–2700 miles of pedal strokes. The first 40 days were solo, with Charlie joining the team for the remainder. These trips would be tough without the many road angels who are personally demonstrating their beliefs by feeding, housing, and sometimes opening up the back of their pickup trucks to help a weather stranded rider. At least once a week, someone says a prayer for our safety. Are all the road angels Pius? The majority have seemed to mention their church or religion. More thoughts and discussions to be had.

These touchy subjects often come up in those weekly team meetings with Charlie joining in on the banter. Charley fits the Wheelguy’s team perfectly, as he rides for the diversity and new stories that each day brings, not the goal of mileage, speed or destination like so many other riders we meet. Riding across America is not the goal. If there is even a goal it would be to understand and accept the differences of the American people and become a more empathetic and helpful human– derived from the enlightenment that cycle touring can bring. The truth of the matter for Wheelguy’s team is that American politics, religion and society in general seems more bizarre each day leaving the Wheelman and his team in an evermore twisted and tangled dream state. There are less than 400 miles left before San Diego to sort things out.

“If the Constitution was a movie, the Preamble would be the trailer, the First Amendment the establishing shot, the 13th the crowd pleaser and the 14th the ultimate hero scene.” Henry Rollins

Cheers, Pinto, Lady Luck, Wheelman and Charley.