5/29
We arrived in Nyack, NY with the trip odometer reading 1424 miles.
Our hosts near the Big Apple were the McCaffrey's. Quentin McCaffrey was my roommate sophomore year, and his family opened their house up to us for three nights. Our time there was marked by relaxing mornings spent journaling and reading, trips into the city and dinners with the McCaffrey clan. Quentin took us on into the city two days in a row, which was fantastic because we learned in Boston that it is imperative to tour a big city accompanied by a local. The first day we toured around, and he treated us to a viewing of the new Star Trek film in a big theatre downtown; it seemed appropriate to catch a movie downtown, and it was also the relaxing activity that we needed at the time. On Sunday, we had the opportunity to visit Redeemer Presbyterian, a church pastured by Tim Keller with several locations downtown. The thing that struck me most about pastor Keller was his humility. He has gained a reputation through his books (The Reason For God; Ministries of Mercy; The Prodigal God; etc...), but in his preaching he did not act like people should know who he was and his speaking was not phenomenal, but God is blessing the ministry of Redeemer Presbyterian as they humbly approach God and ask how to best serve Him in the city.
I have been hearing about New York's food for years, but I always thought that Quentin had a superiority complex about his home food. I must admit my poor assumption as even the bagels in New York were better. On Sunday morning Quentin brought Kyle and I to a bakery, but the word bakery is such an understatement to the bread production that was happening there. This bakery was the "Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory" equivalent for bread. We walked around and picked hot bagels straight out of the oven. He also shared New York pizza with us and his family provided some incredible meals as well. Kyle joked that if food was a love language, it was Quentin’s, and that Kyle was feeling a lot of love during our stay.
Boston- “They’re from Taylor. It will be fine.”
5/27
We arrived in Beantown with the trip odometer reading 1195 miles.
After a long wet ride to Boston, we were looking forward to some dry space. Fortunately for us, our friend Ben (TU grad now BU law student) was watching a vacant apartment for a friend who was away for the summer. Void of any amenities, it allowed us to spread out our stuff to dry and make a few beds for the night.
Ben had just finished final exams for his first year of law school and couldn’t remember the last time he had slept. Despite this handicap, he was surprisingly talkative and took us on a tour (search for food) of his neighborhood. The search was unsuccessful as everything closed earlier due to college summer break. It was no problem for us though, we returned to the apartment and cooked up a feast of frozen chicken nuggets and leftover camp food. Ben even treated us with some Neapolitan ice cream he found in the freezer.
Our early arrival in Boston gave Alex and I the opportunity to spend the day exploring the city. As one of the United State’s oldest major cities, Boston’s architecture is fantastic, and there are many historical sights to see. We jumped on the tourist train and followed the freedom trail throughout the city. The stops along the way were somewhat interesting but neither of us were much in the mood to learn historical facts and figures. Regardless, it felt good to get out, walk around, and listen to people. We made it a game to find the most Boston accent possible. I think Good Will Hunting set my expectations too high, and we finished the tour largely disappointed.
We spent a second night in the city with Taylor, Elizabeth, and their very affectionate dog Harry. Their fourth story apartment was situated in a beautiful section of the arts district where they were both within walking distance of work. Taylor, a graduate of Taylor University, met his wife, Elizabeth, while they were both completing graduate degrees at the New England Conservatory. They were the first professional opera singers that I had ever met.
We were extra thankful for their generous hospitality. They opened their home to us on very short notice and with very little connection. It was funny to hear Elizabeth recall of her initial reaction a few days earlier when Taylor explained that they would be hosting two strange motorcycle riders on a trip across the country.
“How do you know them?” she questioned.
“I don’t… but they’re from Taylor. It will be fine.”
We arrived in Beantown with the trip odometer reading 1195 miles.
After a long wet ride to Boston, we were looking forward to some dry space. Fortunately for us, our friend Ben (TU grad now BU law student) was watching a vacant apartment for a friend who was away for the summer. Void of any amenities, it allowed us to spread out our stuff to dry and make a few beds for the night.
Ben had just finished final exams for his first year of law school and couldn’t remember the last time he had slept. Despite this handicap, he was surprisingly talkative and took us on a tour (search for food) of his neighborhood. The search was unsuccessful as everything closed earlier due to college summer break. It was no problem for us though, we returned to the apartment and cooked up a feast of frozen chicken nuggets and leftover camp food. Ben even treated us with some Neapolitan ice cream he found in the freezer.
Our early arrival in Boston gave Alex and I the opportunity to spend the day exploring the city. As one of the United State’s oldest major cities, Boston’s architecture is fantastic, and there are many historical sights to see. We jumped on the tourist train and followed the freedom trail throughout the city. The stops along the way were somewhat interesting but neither of us were much in the mood to learn historical facts and figures. Regardless, it felt good to get out, walk around, and listen to people. We made it a game to find the most Boston accent possible. I think Good Will Hunting set my expectations too high, and we finished the tour largely disappointed.
We spent a second night in the city with Taylor, Elizabeth, and their very affectionate dog Harry. Their fourth story apartment was situated in a beautiful section of the arts district where they were both within walking distance of work. Taylor, a graduate of Taylor University, met his wife, Elizabeth, while they were both completing graduate degrees at the New England Conservatory. They were the first professional opera singers that I had ever met.
We were extra thankful for their generous hospitality. They opened their home to us on very short notice and with very little connection. It was funny to hear Elizabeth recall of her initial reaction a few days earlier when Taylor explained that they would be hosting two strange motorcycle riders on a trip across the country.
“How do you know them?” she questioned.
“I don’t… but they’re from Taylor. It will be fine.”
The Wet Ride to Boston- we are not as tough as we look
5/27
We left the majesty of the High Peaks and headed east toward Lake Champaign hoping to encounter a dry Vermont. Vermont came, but the rain didn’t stop. It wasn’t long before our “rain gear” designed for hiking gave way and was saturated with the 50mph water bullets. Shortly after, our boots gave way to the flood, and we found refuge in a small mountain town diner called Helen’s Place. Helen was in the back kitchen when we walked in and sat down at the long bar. Her daughter brought us out some beef stew, and didn’t seem to mind the small pools of water accumulating under our stools. We downed what was in front of us and spent the next couple of hours drinking coffee, drying, writing, and observing the interactions taking place around us.
Helen came from a family of 12 and had 7 sisters. At least two stopped by while we were in the diner. The local food supply man also stopped by and Helen negotiated prices with him from her post in the kitchen. Produce prices would dictate what she would bye and thus what she would make. The menu was flexible.
Back in the rain we decided to press east hoping to emerge into sun. Vermont’s landscape was beautiful, but difficult to appreciate in the downpour. Every few miles a pungent stench would fill my helmet at the arrival of a dairy farm. We stopped in Montpelier and received the dreaded report that the rain was blanketing the north east. We abandoned our initial hopes to camp near Mt. Washington in NH. We needed shelter for the night.
A quick phone call to a Taylor friend who was in law school at Boston University and we had a place. Against our better judgment we got back on the interstate for the three hour wet drive to Boston. Although it was a bit scary at times, God was merciful and we arrived in Beantown looking like a couple of mangy dudes.
I walked around the block looking for a place to park for the night and made a surprising discovery. People were avoiding my path on the sidewalk. I wish I had a picture because I must have looked horrific. I was dressed in all black, with a leather jacket and black leather gloves. I was dripping wet, my face was unshaven, my eyes bloodshot, and my hair matted into peaks and valleys from my helmet. If you know me, I’m not a tough guy, but for a moment I felt like getting a big tattoo.
We left the majesty of the High Peaks and headed east toward Lake Champaign hoping to encounter a dry Vermont. Vermont came, but the rain didn’t stop. It wasn’t long before our “rain gear” designed for hiking gave way and was saturated with the 50mph water bullets. Shortly after, our boots gave way to the flood, and we found refuge in a small mountain town diner called Helen’s Place. Helen was in the back kitchen when we walked in and sat down at the long bar. Her daughter brought us out some beef stew, and didn’t seem to mind the small pools of water accumulating under our stools. We downed what was in front of us and spent the next couple of hours drinking coffee, drying, writing, and observing the interactions taking place around us.
Helen came from a family of 12 and had 7 sisters. At least two stopped by while we were in the diner. The local food supply man also stopped by and Helen negotiated prices with him from her post in the kitchen. Produce prices would dictate what she would bye and thus what she would make. The menu was flexible.
Back in the rain we decided to press east hoping to emerge into sun. Vermont’s landscape was beautiful, but difficult to appreciate in the downpour. Every few miles a pungent stench would fill my helmet at the arrival of a dairy farm. We stopped in Montpelier and received the dreaded report that the rain was blanketing the north east. We abandoned our initial hopes to camp near Mt. Washington in NH. We needed shelter for the night.
A quick phone call to a Taylor friend who was in law school at Boston University and we had a place. Against our better judgment we got back on the interstate for the three hour wet drive to Boston. Although it was a bit scary at times, God was merciful and we arrived in Beantown looking like a couple of mangy dudes.
I walked around the block looking for a place to park for the night and made a surprising discovery. People were avoiding my path on the sidewalk. I wish I had a picture because I must have looked horrific. I was dressed in all black, with a leather jacket and black leather gloves. I was dripping wet, my face was unshaven, my eyes bloodshot, and my hair matted into peaks and valleys from my helmet. If you know me, I’m not a tough guy, but for a moment I felt like getting a big tattoo.
Adirondacks- a wet night
5/26
We arrived in the Adirondacks with the trip odometer 870 miles. Our entrance into the mountains was the biggest change in scenery that we had experienced on the trip, and we were ready for it after a long and cold ride through Canada. The weather warmed up, the roads emptied, and the woods closed in around the now curvy highways; all these things combined equals ideal motorcycle riding. I quickly learned that ideal motorcycle riding does not mix with traffic laws. Kyle and I were cruising around a bend when an oncoming police car appeared and flicked on his lights. I immediately thought that we were going to sacrifice our food budget for the first month, but the officer must have been in a good mood because he turned off his lights and kept on going. We were both overjoyed in our good fortune, but hope we haven’t wasted all our luck in the first national park.
Just up the road, we passed a sign with small font, but the words “trout fishing” burned brightly. I hit the brakes and pulled a U-turn. Kyle, who had seen the sign too didn’t need much to interpret my non-verbal communication. Five, maybe ten minutes later, I had a fly on my rod and I was wading into the roadside stream. Kyle was gracious enough to allow me to fish while he endured the biting black flies that were all over the river. I hooked one, but failed to land, so we moved on.
Shortly after, we passed through Lake Placid, a quaint mountain town and home to the several Winter Games. With fish still on the brain we stopped at a fly shop and got the official report on what the fish were biting. After a few hours of fishing the West Au Sable, we parked our bikes and hiked up to the peak of Mt. Jo in the dark. We tried to ignore the bear warnings that were posted periodically along the trail.
When we reached the summit we were greeted by the High Peaks surrounding us in the moonlight. Mt. Jo was rocky, but we found a relatively flat slab on which we laid our pads and bags. After cooking up a hot meal of rice, we hit the sack for what we hoped would be a peaceful night.
In case you didn’t get to see the videos… At about 2:30am, I woke to drops of rain hitting my face. I looked over at Kyle who had made the disappointing realization as well. The rain was light, but we had a decision to make: Pack up and head down the mountain looking for shelter or set up the rain fly. Under the sleep spell, we chose the later and stayed decently dry through the morning when we found a break in the rain to pack up and start our decent.
We arrived in the Adirondacks with the trip odometer 870 miles. Our entrance into the mountains was the biggest change in scenery that we had experienced on the trip, and we were ready for it after a long and cold ride through Canada. The weather warmed up, the roads emptied, and the woods closed in around the now curvy highways; all these things combined equals ideal motorcycle riding. I quickly learned that ideal motorcycle riding does not mix with traffic laws. Kyle and I were cruising around a bend when an oncoming police car appeared and flicked on his lights. I immediately thought that we were going to sacrifice our food budget for the first month, but the officer must have been in a good mood because he turned off his lights and kept on going. We were both overjoyed in our good fortune, but hope we haven’t wasted all our luck in the first national park.
Just up the road, we passed a sign with small font, but the words “trout fishing” burned brightly. I hit the brakes and pulled a U-turn. Kyle, who had seen the sign too didn’t need much to interpret my non-verbal communication. Five, maybe ten minutes later, I had a fly on my rod and I was wading into the roadside stream. Kyle was gracious enough to allow me to fish while he endured the biting black flies that were all over the river. I hooked one, but failed to land, so we moved on.
Shortly after, we passed through Lake Placid, a quaint mountain town and home to the several Winter Games. With fish still on the brain we stopped at a fly shop and got the official report on what the fish were biting. After a few hours of fishing the West Au Sable, we parked our bikes and hiked up to the peak of Mt. Jo in the dark. We tried to ignore the bear warnings that were posted periodically along the trail.
When we reached the summit we were greeted by the High Peaks surrounding us in the moonlight. Mt. Jo was rocky, but we found a relatively flat slab on which we laid our pads and bags. After cooking up a hot meal of rice, we hit the sack for what we hoped would be a peaceful night.
In case you didn’t get to see the videos… At about 2:30am, I woke to drops of rain hitting my face. I looked over at Kyle who had made the disappointing realization as well. The rain was light, but we had a decision to make: Pack up and head down the mountain looking for shelter or set up the rain fly. Under the sleep spell, we chose the later and stayed decently dry through the morning when we found a break in the rain to pack up and start our decent.
Lake Ontario- a tent by the water
5/25
After a day of bombing the interstate and navigating a busy Toronto, Alex and I made camp near the tranquil waters of Lake Ontario at Presqu’lle Provincial Park just west of Kingston, Ontario. The trip odometer read 545 miles, and we were ready for some rest and relaxation. We found a vacant site near the water’s edge, which was not difficult because the entire park was nearly empty apart from a friendly elderly couple who passed by on a foot trail, and set up camp.
After a day of bombing the interstate and navigating a busy Toronto, Alex and I made camp near the tranquil waters of Lake Ontario at Presqu’lle Provincial Park just west of Kingston, Ontario. The trip odometer read 545 miles, and we were ready for some rest and relaxation. We found a vacant site near the water’s edge, which was not difficult because the entire park was nearly empty apart from a friendly elderly couple who passed by on a foot trail, and set up camp.
Alex used his man skills to build a fire out of wet timber while I pitched the tent. We wasted little time and cooked the little frozen (and now not so frozen) pizzas that had been strapped to our bikes since crossing the border over the open flames. Soon we were sitting down on the rocky shore eating our tasty treats, skipping stones, and watching the sun set. Not bad.
We woke up early and got out of Dodge to avoid any fees that we may or may not have been aware of. From there, our next destination was the High Peaks of the Adirondack Mountains, a place we have heard much about through friends who have spent summers working at Deerfoot Lodge. On the way east to the land of the red, white, and blue we stopped at a good ol' country diner for some eggs, toast, journaling, and chatting with the locals. This is a favorite time of the day for me, and everyone seems to be interested in our little journey. It's fun to listen to their recommendations for spots nearby that we cannot miss.
Detroit- a city of stark contrast
5/24
We arrived in Detroit with the trip odometer reading approximately 230 miles. The drive was smooth and it felt good to put some miles behind us.
We arrived in Detroit with the trip odometer reading approximately 230 miles. The drive was smooth and it felt good to put some miles behind us.
Much thanks to the Hochhalters for hosting us. Eric Hochhalter is a friend from Taylor, and his family lives in Grosse Point, a suburb just north of the city. Bryan, Eric's dad, pastors a church called Grace Community on the border between Detroit and Grosse Point. In the morning he took us on a tour of the city to show us the extremes.
We took a route from Grosse Point along the lake passing by some serious wealth. And then with the crossing of a particular street that served a a dividing line, everything changed. Now liquor stores and nail salons replaced the mansions. Picture windows were now broken and boarded up. Bryan also explained the problem of arson and showed us entire city blocks where only charred skeletons remained.
How could such gleam and dullness exist side-by-side? And how does Grace, a church serving both communities, minister to the contrast and encourage a reconciliation between the rich and the poor? The church is a place of common ground, where a a "mosaic of people" can seek Jesus together. Bryan explained that while the church is seeking to practically meet physical needs through a variety of avenues, he feels the need to preach the central gospel message. Rich and poor alike need Jesus.
While the city seems to be in economic despair, I am told that there have been recent signs of hopeful growth. Businesses are starting up and people are relocating to the city.
Alex and I left for Canada in the late morning and had an eventful time crossing the border. Check out Alex's story...
Kyle's First Adventure
Kyle took his first bike adventure at age 3.
I was pregnant with his sister Kara. It was a late spring day, probably in mid-April. Kara was due in a few weeks, and I was feeling "great with child." By mid-afternoon, I felt I just couldn't make it through the rest of the day without a nap. I gathered a few books and puzzles, hoping to keep Kyle busy for an hour while I took a quick nap. I plunked him on the bed beside me and firmly told him to stay put while Mommy rested. If he moved, I'd wake up. It's the nature of a mom, right? Wrong! I awoke an hour or so later to the ringing of the phone. It was a neighbor mom calling. Did I know Kyle had just peddled a quarter of a mile down our county road on his little red tricycle to deliver a birthday gift to his best buddy, Jessi?
So began Kyle's love affair with adventure. He was "wild at heart" from the beginning of his boyhood. From there he advanced to building L'ego sets designed for kids much older than himself (without reading the directions!), making complicated "traps" out of string in his room, constructing zip lines from backyard trees, and shooting bow and arrows at targets and BB guns at birds. His first 2-wheel bicycle was a heavy duty monster that took him a while to master, but soon he was off and racing down the country road in front of our house in search of adventure. He soon moved on to roller skates, skateboards, and rollerblades for which his dad built a ramp to make this new adventure more exciting! His final adventure on wheels before his first car was a go cart. It was as much fun on ice and snow as it was on the paved parking lots of the elementary school. He and Kara burned holes in the bottom of multiple plastic saucers pulled behind the beast before he finally outgrew it and moved onto to his first Honda, a car.
That '91 Honda took him on many further adventures down the road in high school to footballs in neighboring counties, Cedar Point Amuzement Park in Ohio, Olivett College to visit friends (IL), Holland, MI (via Gary, IN...oops!), and multiple trips to Chicago. When that little beige beauty gave out during his freshman year in college, he travelled on foot and by bicycle, doing triathalons and the Chicago Marathon. He travelled to Greece, Italy, and El Salvador to study and volunteer in ministry. He skiied in Colorado. He spent the summer in South Africa working for Youth for Christ, hiking through Namibia on a break from teaching English to 6th graders. He spent a summer biking with a club team while doing a research internship at the University of Notre Dame. He spent a January studying at Oxford. He landed only briefly in Upland to resume his college studies as required to complete his Engineering Physics degrees with additional studies in Economic Development.
Now his Honda is a bright yellow '95 Magna motorcycle. And another adventure begins.
Enjoy. Be safe. God speed.
Love and prayers as always,
Mom
I was pregnant with his sister Kara. It was a late spring day, probably in mid-April. Kara was due in a few weeks, and I was feeling "great with child." By mid-afternoon, I felt I just couldn't make it through the rest of the day without a nap. I gathered a few books and puzzles, hoping to keep Kyle busy for an hour while I took a quick nap. I plunked him on the bed beside me and firmly told him to stay put while Mommy rested. If he moved, I'd wake up. It's the nature of a mom, right? Wrong! I awoke an hour or so later to the ringing of the phone. It was a neighbor mom calling. Did I know Kyle had just peddled a quarter of a mile down our county road on his little red tricycle to deliver a birthday gift to his best buddy, Jessi?
So began Kyle's love affair with adventure. He was "wild at heart" from the beginning of his boyhood. From there he advanced to building L'ego sets designed for kids much older than himself (without reading the directions!), making complicated "traps" out of string in his room, constructing zip lines from backyard trees, and shooting bow and arrows at targets and BB guns at birds. His first 2-wheel bicycle was a heavy duty monster that took him a while to master, but soon he was off and racing down the country road in front of our house in search of adventure. He soon moved on to roller skates, skateboards, and rollerblades for which his dad built a ramp to make this new adventure more exciting! His final adventure on wheels before his first car was a go cart. It was as much fun on ice and snow as it was on the paved parking lots of the elementary school. He and Kara burned holes in the bottom of multiple plastic saucers pulled behind the beast before he finally outgrew it and moved onto to his first Honda, a car.
That '91 Honda took him on many further adventures down the road in high school to footballs in neighboring counties, Cedar Point Amuzement Park in Ohio, Olivett College to visit friends (IL), Holland, MI (via Gary, IN...oops!), and multiple trips to Chicago. When that little beige beauty gave out during his freshman year in college, he travelled on foot and by bicycle, doing triathalons and the Chicago Marathon. He travelled to Greece, Italy, and El Salvador to study and volunteer in ministry. He skiied in Colorado. He spent the summer in South Africa working for Youth for Christ, hiking through Namibia on a break from teaching English to 6th graders. He spent a summer biking with a club team while doing a research internship at the University of Notre Dame. He spent a January studying at Oxford. He landed only briefly in Upland to resume his college studies as required to complete his Engineering Physics degrees with additional studies in Economic Development.
Now his Honda is a bright yellow '95 Magna motorcycle. And another adventure begins.
Enjoy. Be safe. God speed.
Love and prayers as always,
Mom
Home- a slow start
We had just finished an emotional send off prayer with the Holloway family, said our goodbyes, and mounted our bikes. With the video camera rolling, Kyle pressed the ignition button only to hear a "click" and helplessly watch as his control lights flicked off. After several failed attempts to get the bike going... panic started flooding in.
No worries, it was a simple battery issue (my bike had the same problem earlier) and we will be on the road shortly.
Empty and Fill
Thank you for visiting our trip site. This website is intended to serve as a hub for communication before, during, and after the trip. As you look around, you will find information about us, what we are doing, and how you can be a part. As we draw near to the start, we will begin posting short journal entries to tell the story.
If you are a potential host, we would encourage you to contact us as soon as possible with your availability. Please check out our interactive map to view the present route. We will try to keep it up to date to include any time or route changes.
If you are a potential host, we would encourage you to contact us as soon as possible with your availability. Please check out our interactive map to view the present route. We will try to keep it up to date to include any time or route changes.
Departures
In the last two days I have been packing, graduating, and saying goodbyes. It has been difficult to know that I have made Alyse (my fiancé) and my parents both cry before I go. The tears that are coming as a result of this departure are coming out of the care that our friends and family have for us. The phrase “I am so excited for you” and “Why do you have to go” can come out in the same breath. I love Alyse and my family so all of these things are making our departure harder than I expected, but I am excited to hit the road.
I stayed with my parents and my sister’s family last night and my nephew David loved my helmet. He wore it constantly and made sure to put fingerprints in places I did not even know could get fingerprints on them, but it was good to stay with them. I had the privilege of exerting physical superiority over my older sister, Laura, who thought she could dunk me in the pool.
The trip's beginning is starting to feel similar to Forrest Gump’s run across the country because when I was loading my bike this morning a random man riding by on a bicycle came up to me and said “Hey! I read about you in the paper,” He then asked a few questions about when we were leaving and where our first stop was and on his way off he shouted, “Now I can say I was the first to see you!” And with that, our trip begins.
I stayed with my parents and my sister’s family last night and my nephew David loved my helmet. He wore it constantly and made sure to put fingerprints in places I did not even know could get fingerprints on them, but it was good to stay with them. I had the privilege of exerting physical superiority over my older sister, Laura, who thought she could dunk me in the pool.
The trip's beginning is starting to feel similar to Forrest Gump’s run across the country because when I was loading my bike this morning a random man riding by on a bicycle came up to me and said “Hey! I read about you in the paper,” He then asked a few questions about when we were leaving and where our first stop was and on his way off he shouted, “Now I can say I was the first to see you!” And with that, our trip begins.
Fake Graduation
Yesterday was graduation… robes, funny hats, and a long sweaty ceremony. My friend Allie and I are not technically graduating until December of 2009. She is completing her student teaching in the fall, and I am traveling to Ecuador where I will be studying Spanish and taking a history class. We didn’t want to miss out on all of the festivities so we decided to fake graduate. We used our four years of top notch Taylor education to infiltrate the most sacred of all academic ceremonies... and graduated ahead of our time!
After months of planning… ha, yeah right! I borrowed a cap and gown, Allie wore my mom’s old gown from her master’s education, and we fit right in. We now had the appropriate attire, but we needed a place to sit. About ten minutes before the ceremony began, we convinced the maintenance guys, to set up two chairs in the front by the stage, where all of the grads would walk by on their march in.
It was perfect! We got to greet all of our friends, who were surprised to see us sporting the garb, as they walked to their seats. During the awarding of diplomas, Allie inserted my name (aloud from our seats) at the appropriate time with the engineering grads, and I returned the favor when her time came with the biology department. At the conclusion of commencement, we flipped our tassels, exchanged high fives, and exited with the rest of our class to pictures outside.
After months of planning… ha, yeah right! I borrowed a cap and gown, Allie wore my mom’s old gown from her master’s education, and we fit right in. We now had the appropriate attire, but we needed a place to sit. About ten minutes before the ceremony began, we convinced the maintenance guys, to set up two chairs in the front by the stage, where all of the grads would walk by on their march in.
It was perfect! We got to greet all of our friends, who were surprised to see us sporting the garb, as they walked to their seats. During the awarding of diplomas, Allie inserted my name (aloud from our seats) at the appropriate time with the engineering grads, and I returned the favor when her time came with the biology department. At the conclusion of commencement, we flipped our tassels, exchanged high fives, and exited with the rest of our class to pictures outside.
A Giving Spirit
We live in a consumerist culture where goods are meant to be owned and a person’s possessions largely define who they are. I bought it, I own it, and I will guard it. If you want it, I will sell it to you, for the right price of course. Thus, the virtue of generosity is rare admits the sea of credit cards and advertisements. Instead of the possessive norm, generous persons recognize that they own nothing which they have not been given. A few days ago, I encountered an excellent example of giving spirit, and I wanted to share it.
I met Jerry unexpectedly at an event on Taylor’s campus. Each year one of the floors in the dorm where I live hosts a night called Tonight We Ride. They dress up in vintage motorcycle leather and have a party where you can come, put on some leather from the collection, take pictures on a bike, and enjoy a root beer keg. Jerry supplies the vintage leather collection (I’m talking hundreds of jackets) and generously allows students to wear what they like for the night. I had the opportunity to meet Jerry, who hangs out for the evening’s festivities, and told him a bit about the trip. He was enthusiastic, and invited me over to his house to check out the full collection. I headed over there this past weekend, and it was unbelievable! Beside an impressive collection of vintage motorcycle apparel, Jerry collects Fire Boots. He has a neat relationship with FDNY 10 House located near ground zero and has a pair of boots that were used during the 9/11 rescue. You can see pictures of his collection at www.classicboots.com.
Before I left, Jerry gifted me a jacket to use for the trip… for safety and style. It makes me look tougher than I am.
I hope that throughout my life, I can recognize the temporary nature of goods and develop a strong desire to share what I have around me.
I met Jerry unexpectedly at an event on Taylor’s campus. Each year one of the floors in the dorm where I live hosts a night called Tonight We Ride. They dress up in vintage motorcycle leather and have a party where you can come, put on some leather from the collection, take pictures on a bike, and enjoy a root beer keg. Jerry supplies the vintage leather collection (I’m talking hundreds of jackets) and generously allows students to wear what they like for the night. I had the opportunity to meet Jerry, who hangs out for the evening’s festivities, and told him a bit about the trip. He was enthusiastic, and invited me over to his house to check out the full collection. I headed over there this past weekend, and it was unbelievable! Beside an impressive collection of vintage motorcycle apparel, Jerry collects Fire Boots. He has a neat relationship with FDNY 10 House located near ground zero and has a pair of boots that were used during the 9/11 rescue. You can see pictures of his collection at www.classicboots.com.
Before I left, Jerry gifted me a jacket to use for the trip… for safety and style. It makes me look tougher than I am.
I hope that throughout my life, I can recognize the temporary nature of goods and develop a strong desire to share what I have around me.
What to Bring
A lot of people make packing more difficult than it is. To some it’s an art. They spend hours meticulously selecting the items to carry in terms of lightness and efficiency. For them functionality is supreme. If it’s not necessary, it gets cut. These “ultra-lighters” as they’re affectionately called, cut their toothbrushes in half, get clothes tattooed on their bodies, and buy dehydrated water in an effort to shave ounces in their packs. The process requires a proficiency in particle physics and access to a graphing calculator.
To others packing is more like putting toothpaste back in the tube. The limited space for conveniences, the inability to predict what will be desired upon arrival, and the fear of forgetting something necessary makes the process a nightmare, and it’s all under the clock ticking down to departure. The bags usually resemble a pac-man figure (mouth open) and that’s even after hours of failed attempts to massage the blender into the suitcase without needing to sacrifice the kitchen sink. Moms who feel responsible for the success of the family vacation to Disney World usually fit into this category.
In an effort to reduce the packing woes, Alex and I went for a test run this past weekend to a local campground. After an hour or so of rearranging and stuffing, we each had two backpacks strapped to our motorbikes in a tangled mess of bungee cords. I couldn’t stop laughing at how ridiculous we looked. Here are the contents so far:
• Tent, sleeping bag, and pad
• Cook stove
• Fishing rod
• Some clothes
• Coin for split decisions
• Camera
• Journal and pen
To others packing is more like putting toothpaste back in the tube. The limited space for conveniences, the inability to predict what will be desired upon arrival, and the fear of forgetting something necessary makes the process a nightmare, and it’s all under the clock ticking down to departure. The bags usually resemble a pac-man figure (mouth open) and that’s even after hours of failed attempts to massage the blender into the suitcase without needing to sacrifice the kitchen sink. Moms who feel responsible for the success of the family vacation to Disney World usually fit into this category.
In an effort to reduce the packing woes, Alex and I went for a test run this past weekend to a local campground. After an hour or so of rearranging and stuffing, we each had two backpacks strapped to our motorbikes in a tangled mess of bungee cords. I couldn’t stop laughing at how ridiculous we looked. Here are the contents so far:
• Tent, sleeping bag, and pad
• Cook stove
• Fishing rod
• Some clothes
• Coin for split decisions
• Camera
• Journal and pen
Motorcycle Hypochondria
Lately I have been showing signs of hypochondriasis, or more commonly, hypochondria, the excessive preoccupation or worry about having a serious illness. I get antsy just thinking about it; my knee starts bouncing and I grind my teeth. It is not my health, though, that I fear is failing, but rather I am constantly worried that my bike is going to go kaput.
I can just feel it. Every time I’m riding and the wind whistles the wrong way around my windshield or there is a faint new vibration under my right foot, I just know the bike dying. Then I start self-diagnosing. Did you feel that? That can’t be good. I bet it’s this. My friend Steve, the motorcycle mechanic, is gracious in dealing with my nagging questions. He kindly reaffirms in me that the bike is reliable and that while I am sure to have some trouble with the bike at some point throughout the trip, those events are unpredictable and unpreventable.
Alex on the other hand has no qualms about his bike; he is too busy worrying about what the fishing conditions will be like throughout the trip.
I can just feel it. Every time I’m riding and the wind whistles the wrong way around my windshield or there is a faint new vibration under my right foot, I just know the bike dying. Then I start self-diagnosing. Did you feel that? That can’t be good. I bet it’s this. My friend Steve, the motorcycle mechanic, is gracious in dealing with my nagging questions. He kindly reaffirms in me that the bike is reliable and that while I am sure to have some trouble with the bike at some point throughout the trip, those events are unpredictable and unpreventable.
Alex on the other hand has no qualms about his bike; he is too busy worrying about what the fishing conditions will be like throughout the trip.
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