62 miles

A guy named Chuck gave me $100 at a gas station today. The day started out normally, otherwise—I rode the first 20 miles from my campsite at Day Lake. Lately I have been growing weary of the same few questions I get asked every time I stop: where are you going; where did you start; how many miles a day are you riding; are you camping or staying in hotels; why are you doing this/is it for charity; what do you do when it’s raining; how long do you think it’ll take to get there…etc. For a good portion of the last 20 miles I had been rehearsing how I might be able to dodge if I reached the next town and didn’t feel like chatting. Somehow, there simply seems to be no possible way to phrase “I have no doubt you’re a terrific human being but I don’t want to talk to you” in a way that sounds truly polite and sincere, even when you mean no harm whatsoever. I think everyone should have the right to withhold consent to engage in a conversation at any time. Why is it always seen as rude (no matter how gently you try) to want to keep to yourself, when it’s a perfectly normal need that everyone eventually feels at some point or another? 

Having not really worked out a way to say my piece, I decided to just stop in the parking lot of a store that was closed when I first reached town, so I could minimize chance encounters with curious people and do my stretching in solitude.
Getting back on the road and now needing to find a bathroom, I found what seemed to be the only available spot: a gas station called The Bear Crossing. I felt pretty pleased, having had my uninterrupted morning stretch, and I took a seat on the curb to drink my coffee and have a snack.

Chuck approached with the usual questions, but he also came with a few more thoughtful ones. He asked if I had made any significant mistakes, which I felt was a very good question. It invited me to actually reflect and speak on my choices, rather than recite a fact sheet about my trip. It made me realize that part of why I dislike “the same 12 questions” at every gas station (and small talk in general) is that it doesn’t allow me to really consider anything new or think about what I say. My responses are always the same, so they’ve become automatic, which is boring. It requires my energy and gives me nothing in return.

After we chatted, he went into the store. When he came out, he handed me a piece of paper with his phone number (in a truly grandfatherly, small town good samaritan non-creepy way) and told me that if I got stuck or needed anything, I could call him for help. I could tell he was sincere, and I was touched by the gesture. We said goodbye and he left while I continued to sit, finishing my coffee. Then suddenly a moment later he was back. He handed me a wad of cash, said hastily “Just want to help fund the trip,” and disappeared before I could find the words to protest. 

I was stunned. He had told me in our conversation that he’d never done a tour, but always admired folks who do. I hope he does tour someday. I thought about how kind and generous and unexpected this gift was, and about how I had spent the morning planning to avoid an encounter just like this one, which I assumed would leave me as drained as usual, and how his thoughtful questions and attempts at real connection had completely turned my expectation on its head. Even without the fistful of cash, he brought a welcome change in the script, and it couldn’t have come at a more perfect time. It truly made my day, and I hope it made his, too. 

I decided to take a long rest once I reached the town of Butternut. There isn’t much here, but there is an ice cream stand, and it’s bustling. I met a guy named Aaron, who told me about his friend Paul Jones, who is working on charting good bike routes through Northern Wisconsin. He said he is from Manitowoc. I spoke to a couple of other families, too. This area definitely feels a lot like the U.P.—almost everyone here is on vacation, or currently living out of their summer home. I’m hoping to get lucky and find a shower at the next campground. 

On a whim, I picked up a book called Normal Is Just A Setting On Your Dryer at the little Free Library here. 90’s self-help is a fun genre. The cover shows a picture of the author…sitting on a dryer. So far, it is a very light read.