Making our way towards N'awlins

I arrived in Pensacola on Thursday afternoon (10.25) and found a place to stay relatively near the airport so I could meet Lisa when she arrived on Friday. I went to dinner at the Cuban restaurant housed within Days Inn off Hwy. 90 and picked up a conversation with a man sitting at the next table. It turns out he was from Australia. He had lived all over the states since 1961 when he moved here out of college to work for Ford. He didn't much like living in Florida (he called it the "redneck Riviera") but he owns some properties here. He was happy to be at this relatively new restaurant and said the food was great. He was right. He got pretty excited when he heard about my trip and told me he was continually disappointed at the narrow-mindedness of people who didn't know much about the world. He said he'd done business in Latin American for decades and felt safer there than here.

On Friday, I met Lisa at the airport and we decided to forge ahead to Mobile even though we were getting a late start. The ride was a bit hilly, but it went smooth. We rode about 72 miles to the far side of Mobile arriving about 9:30 that evening. Overall, it was pretty uneventful though we entered Mobile through a tunnel as we were advised to do by our maps and by clerks at a local store about 5 miles out of the city. There wasn't a lot of traffic and all would have gone well except that my chain got jammed in a lower gear and I couldn't pedal. This is a problem I've had before as a result of the threads on my frame that hold my bike rack on getting stripped. As a consequence I've had to run a nut and bolt through the other side that causes this jam. It couldn't have happened at a worse time. I knew what it was immediately and advised Lisa to go ahead as there was no way I could fix it in the middle of the tunnel. My only choice was to run the bike out of there as fast as I could and hope traffic would simply get around me with care. Right about then, a male voice came on over an intercom system and started saying repeatedly, "No biking in the tunnel. Do not stop. Get out of the tunnel." They must have had a surveillance camera in place. I hauled it as fast as I could, but it wasn't easy or fun. As I exited the tunnel where Lisa waited for me the voice said: "Don't come back!"

What way to enter the city.


On Saturday we rode into Biloxi with little fanfare. The weather was nice and cool. When we were getting settled for the evening, I realized I had a broken link on my chain, probably from the jam going through the tunnel the previous day. Fortunately, I had the parts and the tools to fix it. In Biloxi, and for the rest of our ride through Mississippi, we began to see the stark lingering evidence of Hurricane Katrina along the shoreline drive (HWY 98) where businesses, homes and roads were swept away with only hollowed out frames or flat foundations left behind. Some bridges were closed, but others are being re-opened this fall.


Swamplands in Western Louisiana.


Some beach homes along the coast. It was apparent that many of these had also been wiped out, though it was also clear that some folks rebuilt right away while others had only small trailers on otherwise empty lots with some debris of their former homes still on the land.

Pics from a suburban pit-stop about 10 miles outside of New Orleans.

On Sunday we made it into New Orleans where we will be until Thursday morning. After Lisa leaves that morning, I will start making my way to Texas. I should be in Houston by Sunday at the latest. On Monday I had to find a bike shop first thing and get my rear tire replaced again (#4). Our entry into the city on Sunday was severely slowed because I started getting a series of flats, which is usually a sure sign that my tire is gone. It was. Nevertheless, we made it to a motel near the French Quarter and once we got settled in we were able to tour the scene foe a bit.

My congrats go out to Lisa who survived the trip just fine after a limited training period. She did great! It's been nice (if not a bit unusual) to have company to share thoughts/feelings along the way. I'm accustomed to internalizing my experiences, so this is a welcome break from that practice.

Just resting and riding out the rain

I'm at Panama City Beach-resting, relaxing, and regrouping for the next leg.

Free Wheeling Florida?

On Friday I cycled from Kingsland, GA to Lake City, Fla (97 miles) . I encountered several short but intense storms that required me to pull off the road because my vision, and I'm sure my visibility on the road, was being impaired. There was no chance of staying dry so I pulled out my tarp and covered my bags and bike as I sat out the rain under some trees. Saturday was a bit shorter (70 miles) as I rode from Lake City to Perry. Though I was 50+ miles away from Tallahassee, the chain motels in town had jacked up their prices due to the FSU game. This annoys me so much as it was obvious that people weren't exactly flocking to Perry for lodging.
I stayed at a smaller motel across the street from another independent one that declared it was "American Owned."

Since seeing the Ingles store in N. Carolina advertise this so blatantly, I've noticed it more and more, particularly with motels. I can't help but feel that underlying it is a race-based appeal to the sentiments of travelers (Hey, stay here and be a patriot--not in one of those places managed or owned by them other (non-white) folks.) Given a choice, this has the opposite affect on me. In fact, tonight I'm in a motel in Apalachicola called Rancho Inn that has the same LED message scrolling on its sign. While there's no immediate competition in the vicinity, I think, as with Ingles, it doesn't want it name to prejudice would-be customers; yet, I guess they still want to appeal to those who like the Spanish "quaintness" of the name. I came here because all the other places are about twice as expensive given the coastal location.

Getting here today was a great ride of about 107 miles. I felt really good. The roads were great, the weather perfect--cloudy and mild. It's been nice to be riding west and on flat terrain. The easy coast was beautiful, but almost all of it included big rolling hills. Somewhere near Carrabelle, a biker slowed down as he cruised past me and shouted, "I really respect what you're doing man!" I flashed him the peace sign and then a power fist. He raised his fist in solidarity and sped past me.

I should arrive in Panama City tomorrow. I plan to stay there an extra day before heading to Pensacola. My friend and colleague from Minneapolis, Lisa, will be joining me on Friday for a few days. We'll ride to New Orleans and spend a couple of days there before she heads back on Dia de los Muertos. I'm looking forward to being in New Orleans. I haven't been there since Katrina and the influx of Latino workers. It should extremely insightful. A former UM student of mine, Emily, recently contacted me. It turns out she took a year off school to ride down to New Orleans by bike with two friends. They worked with Habitat for Humanity for a while and she became so enthralled with the work that she took a supervisor job with them and postponed school for a year to stay down there. She's promised to hook me up with some contacts in exchange for a commitment from me to work with Habitat for a day. In m next entry, I'll share a bit more about her experience biking with two other women through the Midwest. It was very courageous of them and some interesting contrasts also can be made.

See brief video update below.

Georgia on my mind

I returned the car to the Savannah Airport yesterday evening and rode 21 miles to the small town of Richmond Hill. The terrain was flat and the road good so I made great time. I figured that if this was any indication of what was to come I could expect to cover some good distance. I planned 2 possible stops for the next day--one about 60 miles and one at 98. I figured an option was good since I'd been off the bike a week and wasn't sure how 100 miles would feel. I made the first stop in Brunswick for lunch at about 2:00 so I decided to push on the Kingslander, GA, which is about 3 miles north of the Florida border. Overall the ride was nice and flat and my legs felt strong. It was pretty hot and humid today and there were plenty of mosquitoes out to provide incentive to keep moving. I made it in by 6:00.


Potions of the ride were made cooler by tree-lined streets like those above.

A leaf twisting in the wind caught my eye while resting. It was hanging by a single strand of a spider web.

I came across a non-denominational Christian church that proclaimed itself as the smallest church in America. The tiny building held 12 chairs, an altar, and a book where you could leave a note, a prayer, or just sign in. I decided to leave a simple message that went something like this:

Bless those who welcome strangers in their midst. Embrace new immigrants in this land.

Tomorrow I have another long ride planned to Lake City, Florida. Below is a map of my trip to the Western end of the state. I expect to get there by the middle of next week if I don't encounter any problems. The map shows some riding on the interstate, which I'm not doing. I find it hard to get Mapquest to do what you want a time. but unlike Google maps, it allows you to copy an image of the map.

Buiilding a new world in the midst of the surreal: South of the Border (SC) , FLOC (NC), Hazelton, PA and a quick trip to Florida

Some graffiti I encountered as I rode into Columbia, SC. I enjoyed thinking of what motivated the tagger and its affect on people.

This past week has been very interesting. I rented a car in Columbia, S. Carolina and begin making my way back to Central N. Carolina to visit with the folks at FLOC. Sherry had told me to be on the lookout for a tacky place near the S. Carolina-N. Carolina border if I came up I-95. I couldn't miss it because for at least a hundred miles out there were numerous billboards advertising this gaudy tourist attraction--though it seemed to be so may things I couldn't quite figure out what it was until I saw it with my own eyes.

I arrived to the neon monstrosity fairly late--around 11:00PM. It's not a town, at least not in the typical sense, but a stop about one mile south of N. Carolina that includes restaurants, campgrounds, gas station, a tobacco store, an amusement park, shops, ice cream parlor, and so on--all based on some godawful South of the Border theme that makes Taco Bell look sophisticated in comparison. Here you can find Pedro's Campground next to larger than life images of sleeping Mexicans. This is among a variety of other caricatures and images meant to evoke someone's idea of Mexicanness intended for amusement and easy consumption. It's other worldly alright. No wonder the alien moniker has such enduring force in regions where one-dimensional, ahistorical, caricatures reign supreme. Below is some text from a website that documents and celebrates the origins of this "dis-traction". A living testament to how people's ideas can live outside of time. Most of the places were closed or closing when I was there. i decided to go into the gift shop to take a look and I swear the two young clerks did a double take when I walked in. Seeing a real Mexican in their midst must have confused them!

South Of The Border (or SOB, as it's known to insiders) is a unique amalgam of Dixie and Old Mexico. At first you wonder what all this Mexican stuff is doing in South Carolina, thousands of miles from its natural habitat. But in a remarkably short time you'll accept SOB as a neon yellow and pink Tijuana, with thione added benefit that its inhabitants speak English and its water is safe to drink. (http://www.roadsideamerica.com/attract/SCDILsob.html)

These two pics come from the website identified above.





FLOC - Dudley, NC


The FLOC office. Organizer Leticia Zavala and Angelita pose for a picture.

Lisa Sass Zaragoza helped me make contact with FLOC executive director, Baldemar Velasquez, to give the folks at FLOC a heads up about my desire to stop in and visit with them. FLOC is a legendary farm worker union based in Toldeo, Ohio who opened a permanent office in the small town of Dudley, NC (just outside of Goldsboro) after they successfully won a huge case against the Mt. Olive Pickle company following a five year campaign.

In 2004 FLOC signed a collective bargaining agreement with Mount Olive and the growers. More than 6,000 of the state's 10,000 guest workers joined FLOC. As Leticia Zavala, the young union organizer (and mother of an infant son) told me, one of the reasons this was such an historic victory was that more than 1,000 growers agreed to form the North Carolina Growers Association. In doing do, they also agreed to act as the employers' collective bargaining agent. More importantly, this agreement marked the first time an American labor union represented guest workers. FLOC quickly established a program to bring guest workers into the United States under the H-2A temporary guest worker visa program. According to Leticia, they are the nation's largest utilizer of the H-2A.

Leticia immigrated to the US in the mid-80s with her family. They became part of the migrant stream, working throughout the mid-west. Eventually, they came to N. Carolina and the family stayed year round on the east coast. After high school she attended South Florida University and majored in Business Administration. She got a job as a union organizer after graduating. When I asked her if she used her degree, she laughed and said it was helpful in organizing economic boycotts. The FLOC offices are run by a small staff but it was clear that they are much more than just a union--they (the workers, union staff, and community members) see themselves building a social movement of workers, advocating for fair and human working conditions, but also social justice in the largest sense of the word. FLOC is one of the few unions that successfully operates transnationally. They organize guest workers in Mexico by not only recruiting them but informing them of their rights as workers and meeting with extended family members in Mexico so they can feel secure that their loved ones are part of a larger community here in the US when they come to work.

FLOC's latest campaign is focused on the tobacco industry. In addition to seeking fair wage, there are a number of deplorable working conditions that have to be addressed. Many workers suffer from nicotine exposure in the fields and receive no health protections or compensation when this occurs. Leticia and I spoke briefly about tensions between immigrant workers and African Americans. She said that most of this tension revolves around manufacturing jobs because there is little competition for field work since it is not work local people want to do. More than 90%+ of agricultural workers in N. Carolina are Latino.

The FLOC offices in Dudley are housed in a beautiful multi-functional building that serves as not only union offices, but playground, community gathering space for quinceneras, picnics, church services, and so on. The land was donated by a highly respected elder of the community, a diminutive in stature but huge at heart woman named Angelita who is originally from San Antonio. As Angelita explained to me, she has done a any and all kinds of jobs possible. She left San Antonio and became a migrant worker because she was worried about her children being susceptible to big city influences of crime and drugs on her children. Several years back she opened up a store, Las Palmitas, to serve the needs of the small but growing migrant community in N. Carolina. This business is successful but some of her other ventures, including a construction company that pursued state contracts, have not fared as well.

Angelita in front of a painting in her honor. The street leading in to the FLOC offices is named in her honor.

In the area around FLOC a little barrio is emerging with several businesses surrounding the offices. Seventh Day Adventists hold church services once a week at the offices.

The Farm Labor Organizing Committee, AFL-CIO is both a social movement and a labor union. Our immediate constituency is migrant workers in the agricultural industry, but we are also involved with immigrant workers, Latinos, our local communities, and national and international coalitions concerned with justice. The FLOC vision emphasizes human rights as the standard and self-determination as the process for achieving these rights. We struggle for full justice for those who have been marginalized and exploited for the benefit of others, and we have sought to change the structures of society to enable these people a direct voice in their own conditions. (Above paragraph from http://www.floc.com/)

Hazleton, PA

I arrived in Philadelphia late Wednesday/early Thursday and checked into a motel in Bellmawr, NJ about mid-day to take advantage of having a car as a way of saving money on a downtown Philadelphia hotel. I spent most of the day preparing for my presentation on Friday morning. Early the next day I went to the conference, found a place to print my paper and attended our session "Connected, Grounded, Surrounded by Academic Freedom? Still Changing the Languages and Cultures of the Academy" sponsored by the Minority Scholars Committee. I saw a number of colleagues and friends during my brief stay at the conference, some of whom I hadn't seen in quite a long time. It was odd, almost difficult, however, to be around so many people after spending so much time alone. I felt a little discombobulated--both wanting to connect to people and feeling overwhelmed with it all. Here is when I missed having a room nearby to retreat to. So.... I split early. Hazleton was 4-5 hours away, so I figured getting a head start on the next day would be a good thing. I drove thru traffic and went west to Bethlehem where I stayed for the night--thinking not of the religious connotations of the town's name but of Bethlehem Steel, a business in the adjacent neighborhood of my youth.

I've stacked these photos because if you click and enlarge the statue's pedestal you can see the tribute to Columbus--the much celebrated "undocumented" immigrant.


A bar declaring: "We serve all legals." I went in to the otherwise empty business for a few minutes and asked the lone bartender w hat this referred to. He gave a smile and said that it referred to people being of legal age and that it was a joke in the context of the debates about illegal immigrants. I wanted to believe him. On the right, a vacated Mexican produce store.

There's much to say about Hazleton, and I won't be able to do the subject much justice here except to say that as I follow the news about the continued battles being played out in small town USA where local leaders have tried to "do what national leaders won't do" by creating and enforcing laws against undocumented workers. Hazleton is the birthplace of this modern anti-immigrant movement that has some towns biting off their noses to spite their face. This is evidenced in a recent NYT article that reported on how many of these towns, Hazleton included, have experienced dramatic economic consequences as people have gotten the message that they are not welcome there and have sold houses and businesses and gone elsewhere despite the fact that most of these ordinances have been struck down and declared unconstitutional. In this particular article, the may or Hazleton proclaims the la achieved its purpose. In towns with leaders who aren't so willing to proclaim victory in the face of defeat, which is to say, they have been able to admit that maybe immigrants were a positive economic force, they are making changes to their stance on immigrant presence in the town in the hopes of drawing people (workers, consumers, business and home owners) back to these towns.

A rebel flag on a home on Broad St. down the street from where most of the Mexican businesses are. There seemed to be an unusual number of American flags on people's home on this street as well. On right: a family owned restaurant and store.


A campaign sign for the Mayor's race.


A view from the Appalachian mountains in W. Virginia.


Florida
My time in Florida has been a real bust. I stayed in St. Augustine one evening and walked around the tourist center the next day to see how the "oldest city in America" presented its Spanish colonial past, which was not necessarily any more benign than the American colonial past of Jamestown or elsewhere. I was pretty disappointed in all the attention played to mythical elements, like Ponce De Leon's quest for the fountain of youth. With the exception of the visitor center, everything was behind walls and required an admission fee. It's a quaint town, but the city center is one big tourist trap.

I spent two nights in Ft. Lauderdale and between bad weather and other unanticipated glitches, I didn't actually see Miami or have many conversations with people. Across the street from the beach and I only walked down there once one evening. Between letters of recommendation and some other obligations, including my interest in catching up on blog entries, my time here was not productive for my project. I'll have to figure out how to get back here or otherwise do the area more justice.

Moving on: Virginia, North Carolina, and South Carolina

I'm writing this post from Fort Lauderdale, Florida. It's been a while since my last posting. See the Oct. 1st posting on my DC area visit which I've just gotten around to publishing. Let me begin by explaining that since last Tuesday evening I've taken a break from riding and have rented a car. I needed to do this to attend the American Studies Association conference in Philadelphia this past weekend. I've taken advantage of having a car to make some important side trips to 1) Dudley, N. Carolina to visit FLOC offices (the Farm Labor Organizing Committee); 2) Hazleton, PA; 3) St. Augustine, FLA, and; 4) Miami, FLA. I will update you on these visits later, but the reason I've come down here is so that when I resume riding on Wednesday evening from Savannah, GA I can go south to Jacksonville and then begin traveling west across the country.

By now I have passed the halfway mark of my trip and though I have miles and miles to go, even now I feel like I am on the way home. I suspect I will feel this even more strongly when I begin heading west. I've no doubt that seeing family and friends in Tejas will renew me even more--as having seen so many dear friends along the East coast has. At the end of this post I am going to share some beautiful quotes send to me by a friend that, along with so many other supportive sentiments that have been communicated to me, have helped me keep perspective.

I left the DC area and made it only as far as Fredericksburg, VA. There, as I was looking for lodging, I asked two guys who had just finished a jog for directions and after a brief conversation, I learned one of them was a U of Minn. grad. He didn't say much but his friend was very interested in my trip. I ended up having to go a little further down the road to Spotsylvania to get mid-range lodging. The next day I only got as far as Richmond when I began having a series of rear tire flats. I was a bit chagrined as I had only had minimal tire trouble since leaving Minnesota. Virginia was beautiful and Hwy 1 was comprised of a series of long, winding hills. At times I was able to manage these quite well, particularly when they were spaced in such a way as to keep my momentum. But I was feeling a bit inefficient at times as my chain seemed to be rubbing and my gears slipped from time to time in a way that recalled my difficulties in Wyoming. I changed my tube out 3 times and decided I should find a shop to see what was going on. I was concerned about being delayed as I had agreed to be in Monroe, NC the following Monday and my timing was being endangered.



Some pics of Virginia

It was too late to find a repair shop open so I tried to make my ways towards hotels near the airport so I could rent a car if necessary. My tire went flat again and I ended up having to walk the last 4 miles. The next morning I called a couple of bike shops in the area and none could see me right away. I decided to take a car to Raleigh, NC, the next big city up the road, where I would have more choices. I arrived in the afternoon and went to the All Star Cycle shop and the guys there were great about prioritizing repairs on my bike given the trip I was on. Even before I'd told them details of my trip they began rattling off the many things that needed repair. They could only work on it until the end of the day as they had commitment the next day so we agreed that they would replace the derailer, the rear tire, and repair my rear wheel spokes. But they told me that I also needed to replace the chain and the rear drive train as well as the brakes.

When I picked up the bike the next day, I was amazed at the vast improvement! It felt like a new bike. I hadn't realized how much I had gotten used to the slow build up of problems. Riding was so much easier: smoother, faster, stronger. I spent the next few days making my way to Charlotte--camping a couple of nights in the NC foothills. The roads were as hilly as Virginia but the riding was definitely a lot easier. I've since replaced the chain, the rear drive, and the brakes. I have to pause and give props to the quality service I've received at bike shops, beginning with Erik's in Minneapolis. The folks at shops are usually bikers and are eager to hear about long trips and to share their own experiences. Both in Raleigh and in Cherry Hill, NJ where I had the latest work done, the owners were there and shared their own cross-country trips with me. Both told m that they made the ride with their spouse a long time ago. At Elkton's in Cherry Hill, the guy told me that they biked a lot at night to beat the heat and that farmers accommodated them if they knocked on their doors and promised to leave the place cleaner than when they arrived.

Below are some pictures from my ride across North Carolina. The heat and humidity were out in force, but I find that easier to embrace than the cold. I was particularly struck by the skies of N. Carolina.

On Sunday, Sherry Edwards, the teacher at Piedmont High School in Monroe, took me to visit her friends Magda and Rocky in the Hickory area of Western, NC.

That night, I slept in Monroe and prepared my presentation for the students at Piedmont the next afternoon. As we drove towards Hickory, Sherry pointed out this chain of food stores to me in western N. Carolina and we mused on the name (pronounced een-gulls, not like the Spanish word) and the special effort the store owners made to note on signs that the store was American owned.




Rocky, Isabel, Emilio, and Magda. Rocky and Hannah. Magda is Colombian American Born in Colombia, she and her brothers and mother moved here to reunite with her father after he had been here in N. Carolina a few years working on farms and as a horse trainer, an expertise he brought with him and cultivated into a highly successful family enterprise over the years. She is currently a high school Spanish teacher and continues to help with the family business, breeding the sophisticated Paso Fino horses, training riders and selling a rare and sophisticated breed of show horses that has earned them international acclaim. Their children are being raised bilingually, something the parents want and the grandparents insist upon. Rocky is Native American and Scotch-Irish from Northern Michigan. Magda shared her family's history of moving to the US and their early struggles adapting to a new country, language, culture, and society. Magda noted that when she was young there was only a small handful of Latinos in the Hickory-Conover-Newton area of N. Carolina and in the state at large. This demographic has changed dramatically, though she also noted that most white N. Carolinans don't bother to learn the distinctiveness of each Latino group and they tend to all be perceived the same way--for better or worse. Rocky said that given his own background and the region of the country he grew up, marrying a Latina was not an issue for his family. Magda relayed a instance within the past few years in which Rocky took a day off of work to participate in a sit-in held on behalf of Latinos when local tensions about new immigrants began to emerge. Our conversation was much more wide-ranging, but as with all these interviews I can only offer a few highlights.

At one point, as Hannah was about to leave I did ask her about race relations in school. She attends a suburban school that includes youth from the larger cities as well as youth from the rural areas. In her very strong opinion some tensions do exist because some of the rural youth bring in attitudes about race taught to them by their parents and this manifests itself in "old-fashioned" ideas about race, race-mixing, and being bi-racial. She places herself in that latter category and clearly claims both her parents cultural heritages. Her strong and vocal personality makes her a good advocate for the new south as she appears ready and able to challenge her peers.

Here's some background on Magda's dad and the family legacy from their website:
The story of Startown Stables, Inc. Began over 50 years ago in Tarqui, a small town in Colombia, South America. It was in Tarqui, that Luis Carlos Iriarte, a respected Paso Fino breeder and trainer, instilled into his only son a love for the Paso Fino horse. As a young boy, Alvaro Iriarte became the fourth generation in his family to breed, train, judge and show Paso Fino horses. While in school, Alvaro learned more about the United States and vowed that one day he would come to America and become a citizen. Alvaro tenaciously pursued his dream by coming to the United States at age 35 and in 1979 becoming a United States citizen. He has been just as tenacious in his commitment to the Paso Fino breed.

As a judge for over 30 years, Alvaro Iriarte has gained respect for his knowledge and integrity. He is a Senior Certified judge with both the PFHA and USA-E and has judged both the Grand National Championship Show and the World Cup Championship. In 1992, Alvaro was recognized by his peers at the Grand National Championship Show as Trainer of the Year. From his insistence on a solid foundation to the polish of advanced training, his commitment to horses entrusted to his training is evident. His reputation for excellence in breeding is well-known throughout the United States, Latin America and Europe. (http://www.startownstables.com/aboutus.htm)






Pics from my well-received visit to Piedmont High School in Unionville, NC. On Monday morning I rode the 10 miles from Monroe to Piedmont High School in Unionville. Staff at the school were expecting me as a front page story about my visit had run in the Monroe Inquire-Journal the day before. Since I arrived early, Ms. Edwards asked if I could visit the tail end of the mid-day class since they were a bit envious of the other class. I gave them some abbreviated background on my trip and took their questions. Both here and in the larger presentation in the library, which included two classes of about 65 students and some administrators, staff, and teachers, the questions were quite good. Sometimes amusing but always relevant whether focused on the ride itself, the people I met or experiences I was having. They were interested, invested, and appeared to be engaged with the issues I was raising. They seemed especially pleased that they were the first high school I'd visited on my trip. One young woman asked if my ride was like Che Guevara's. I complimented her on knowing this history and told her that a friend of mine has recently learned of a cross-country ride across his homeland that Che took on bicycle. I appreciated their sincerity, their curiosity, and their hospitality. They were a great audience! Another article on my visit ran in the local paper the next day and Ms. Edwards tells me that she received a number of positive comments on the visit from students, teachers, and parents. She has encouraged me to engage high school students more since they are in a position to engage their parents and communities on the issues and to help foster a stronger sense of our commonalities and histories.


The skyline of Columbia, South Carolina as I enter it from the north.


Thanks to Eden for sending me these inspirational quotes. I can only aspire to integrate such beliefs into my own spirit and frame of mind.

Lao Tzu says, "A good traveler has no fixed plans, and is not intent on arriving."

How about this, (inspired by Carlos Santana), remember that you would not have done this had you not heard your heart crying out for the freedom of it, had your ancestors not filled you with the desire and ability to live an eternity in one journey, had you not known that you are already worth more than this task, and had you not suspected somewhere inside you that the road would not break you.

Some amusing pics from a bookstore I visited....