Our post-retirement travels began in May 2015. For those first 3 years we focused most of our journeys on destinations in the United States and Canada with our 17’ Casita travel trailer in tow. We had set as our “mission” to visit at least 49 States and 8 of Canada’s Provinces. As it turned out, we exceeded the goal with time to spare.

I chronicled those wanderings in an earlier iteration of my website. Unfortunately, in upgrading my site those earlier 2015 -2018 blog posts are no longer available online. However, I did preserve much of the content and photographs in 12”x12” hardback “coffee table” books that I created for our children, grandchildren, and then surviving parents.

I am aware that many of you have vicariously enjoyed accompanying us on our journeys. It occurred to me that I might share with you portions of the books that I created. Currently there are five volumes which have over 1000 pages of narrative and photographs. Some of the content consists of my personal musings and “philosophies“. The PDF files for each volume are huge and make for a very difficult download. However, by focusing upon segments of our travels and eliminate most of my ruminations the files become much more manageable.

Part 1 (previously posted) consisted of content from our 6 week trip through New England and Canada’s Maritime Provinces in 2016.

Part 2 consists of content from travels in the American Southwest and Pacific Coast from 2017 and 2018.

Part 3 will consist of content from our 12 week journey through Alaska, Western Canada and the Yukon Territory.

Below is the link to Part 2. You may view online or download the file. The link will expire on March 31st. I hope that this provides you with some relief from the stresses of our current political climate and pandemic. Please note that the first 9 pages will be the same in each Part.
Peace Everyone. Pete

 

Link: American’s Southwest and the Pacific Coast

 

 

Our post-retirement travels began in May 2015. For those first 3 years we focused most of our journeys on destinations in the United States and Canada with our 17’ Casita travel trailer in tow. We had set as our “mission” to visit at least 49 States and 8 of Canada’s Provinces. As it turned out, we exceeded the goal with time to spare.

I chronicled those wanderings in an earlier iteration of my website. Unfortunately, in upgrading my site those earlier 2015 -2018 blog posts are no longer available online. However, I did preserve much of the content and photographs in 12”x12” hardback “coffee table” books that I created for our children, grandchildren, and then surviving parents.

I am aware that many of you have vicariously enjoyed accompanying us on our journeys. It occurred to me that I might share with you portions of the books that I created. Currently there are five volumes which have over 1000 pages of narrative and photographs. Some of the content consists of my personal musings and “philosophies“. The PDF files for each volume are huge and make for a very difficult download. However, by focusing upon segments of our travels and eliminate most of my ruminations the files become much more manageable.

Part 1 consists of content from our 6 week trip through New England and Canada’s Maritime Provinces in 2016.

Part 2 will consist of content from travels in the American Southwest and Pacific Coast from 2017 and 2018.

Part 3 will consist of content from our 12 week journey through Alaska, Western Canada and the Yukon Territory.

Below is the link to Part 1. You may view online or download the file. The link will expire on March 31st. I hope that this provides you with some relief from the stresses of our current political climate and pandemic. Please note that the first 9 pages will be the same in each Part.
 
Peace Everyone. Pete

 

Link: New England and Canada’s Maritime Provinces

 

Gary Kretchmer was both a friend and a mentor. He closed his eyes for the last time on December 29, 2020. I have not yet read his obituary, but I am certain that when it is written it will, like so many others, celebrate the accomplishments of his life. What I hope is included is tribute to the impact that Gary will continue to have in the lives of thousands of men, women, and children for years to come.

Gary was a Mediator’s Mediator. He was adept at working as a Mediator for separated and divorced couples. His experience extended years before I learned that ”Mediation” was not “Meditation” misspelled. Over the 25 years of my Mediation practice I considered it a busy year if I worked with 300 couples. In his position as Director of the Mediation Program for Johnson County Kansas Court Services Gary likely worked with over 1,000 couples a year… often 4 couples in a single day, sometimes more. Day after workday he waded into the toxicity of couples in conflict, couples hurt, scared, couples cast into the role of litigants unable to effectively continue as parents. Gary was gifted at bringing peace to these Mothers and Fathers, moreover he salvaged “childhood” for tens of thousands of children caught in the vice of their parents’ conflict. Gary showed that there was light at the end of their tunnel

I first met Gary in the mid-1990’s, attending one of his trainings. I was immediately drawn to his calm and almost apostolic approach to communication in conflict. In that first encounter with Gary I learned that a Mediator could rarely make a misstep so long as the contributions were kept in the form of questions rather than statements. The Mediator acted as an interpreter between two people who found themselves either speaking over one another or speaking different “parenting languages”. Gary taught that the role of the Mediator was to provide a safe space for couples to craft their own resolutions. The Mediator teaches skills that empower folks to navigate their future. The Mediator is not a judge who makes decisions for them. As Gary would reflect, this is the difference between a Mediator (with a capital “M”) and a mediator. Gary was a deeply spiritual man who pursued his craft not so much as an occupation but as a calling. Much of whatever skill I developed came from lessons that I learned from him.

Beyond his work Gary was a consummate peacemaker and family man. He and his wife Sheryl were often guests at spiritual celebrations of other faith traditions. Christian, Jewish, Muslim, Hindu, Buddhist… to Gary, God was God, regardless of the form of worship. Gary and Sheryl enjoyed an annual Christmas Eve tradition of lunch at Andre’s Restaurant in Kansas City that began in 1984 when they first began dating.

It was the highest form of praise that over the years Gary would repeatedly encourage me with the words, “Pete, you are doing God’s work”. In my last training I was honored to be a co-presenter with three other gifted Mediators, Hugh O’Donnell, Dawn Kuhlman, and of course Gary Kretchmer.

Although our paths rarely crossed after our respective retirements, I feel a personal loss at his passing. The Mediation community in Metropolitan Kansas City not to mention tens of thousands of men, women, and children have much to be thankful for due to this good man.

I am certain that Gary will Rest In Peace since he lived his entire life, in Peace.

Peace Everyone. Pete

 

This past week a number of events seem to converge into a single message for me. Early in the week I hosted a video chat with a group of old friends. We came to learn that every one of our families have been touched by COVID-19. Fortunately with no fatalities. My daughter (a nurse) continues her recovery from the struggles of a COVID infection that occurred nearly a month ago. A younger (very athletic) friend had gone silent after indicating that he had become infected. I learned that he had landed in the ICU, struggling for his every breath. He very nearly fell over “the edge“. Thankfully, he is now on the road to recovery and has been transferred to a regular ward. One of his observations was the extreme stress carried upon the shoulders of the hospital staff. The hospital is over capacity with no end in sight.

Also this week I received communications from folks who persistently deny that COVID-19 is real. People who maintain a belief in some grand international conspiracy. I had enough, and on my Facebook account I “unfriended“ them. In my pique I shared these things with my Facebook community without identifying those who had been “unfriended“. I also added, “…did I miss anybody?“. My daughters applauded my actions, understanding how very reluctant I have been over the years to exercise the “unfriend” button. A couple of people took umbrage with my post and asked that they be “unfriended“ as well. Still others found sadness in these personal interactions. For reasons I will explain, I am not one of them.

I originally resisted joining Facebook. However, I found that I could learn more of the day-to-day events in my children and grandchildren’s lives through Facebook than I could in a telephone call or a discussion over coffee. I joined. Soon I had a fairly large Facebook community that showed interest in our family and our travels. In turn I have enjoyed glimpses into the lives of my friends as shared on FB.

Many of my dearest friendships predate Facebook. Many friends do not participate in Social Media. I do not measure friendship by one’s presence or absence in my Facebook community. Facebook is merely a convenient forum for sharing.

I received some private expressions of regret from others at what had transpired between “friends”. I have come to believe that while social media provides a convenient forum for social exchange there is a darker side. We have come to take too seriously being a “friend“ or an “unfriend“ on social media.

Friends often have disparate views in matters of politics, religion, and socioeconomics that do not threaten friendship. However, in the realm of social media those distinctions, especially when extreme, may rendered it inappropriate for there to be participation in one another’s social media communities. We choose who we invite to Thanksgiving dinner. We choose who attends graduations, weddings, and birthday celebrations. We choose who is on our Holiday card list. Most of the time no offense is taken by those who are omitted.

Friendships may be a reflection of our work, our neighborhoods, where we worship, together with when and where we went to school. Social media does not and should not determine our relationships. I merely invite you to consider your own view of Social Media friendship and “unfriendship“.

Peace to Everyone. Please stay Safe, Happy, and most of all Healthy in this Holiday Season. Pete

PS. Speaking of Holiday Cards: Disaster has again befalling me in my best efforts to send out cards! After handwriting and addressing over 500 cards… even including a $10 bill in each one to make up for the past years’ omissions, I placed the cards in the oven. I had thought it would be a harmless way to sterilize them and avoid any risk of virus transmission.

Unfortunately, I became distracted by doing the laundry, washing the dishes, scrubbing the floors and washing the windows. In my neglect the cards and their contents perished.
Oh well, perhaps better luck next year. Pete

It has been a while since I shared my “Thoughts”. Most of my musings are the product of inspiration, travel, and occasionally the “news cycle”. Unfortunately, these days the news is largely COVID-19 and election drama, both of which are incessantly pondered and frequently divisive. I don’t wish to publicly contribute to the noise.

This last week my daughter Alexis shared a vignette concerning her 12 year old son Kane and one of his teachers. Before I share it I want to place it in context with two other student-teacher interactions that involved my family in years past:

In 1989 we had moved from our home in central Kansas City to 20 acres located in rural Clay County. The children had been attending an urban parochial school that was very diverse. The early days in their new rural public school setting were an adjustment for both of us our children. Our son Peter and daughter Renee’ which were in the 5th grade, and Alexis was in 2nd. “Dad, where are the black kids?” was a question that our son posed at the end of his first day in the new school. Most of Peter’s friends in the city were children of color… indeed, in first grade the children had been urged to bring baby pictures to class as part of a contest to see who could most accurately associate the baby pictures with the first grade classmates. Peter wanted a picture that would be a real challenge for his peers. I pointed out to my son that since he was the only Caucasian boy in the class that really wasn’t going to work very well. Proof that we are born “colorblind” until trained otherwise by the adults.

Peter came home one day excited to begin work on a class assignment. That got our interest, “Peter, excited by homework?!?” I inquired. Grandparent’s Day was approaching, and the teacher asked the students to write about their grandparents. Peter asked his teacher if the story could be fictional. She said yes, without taking into consideration the workings of a boy’s pre-adolescent mind. Peter set to work, skipping afterschool television.

Later, he shared his effort with us. After reading his story, which was about my father (also named Peter) I again asked Peter if he was sure that fictionalizing his grandfather was OK. He assured me that he had cleared it with the teacher. Peter was off to school, excited to turn in his assignment.

A few days later Peter came home from school crestfallen. He handed me a note from his teacher requesting a private parent/teacher conference.

Arriving for the meeting I squeezed into a too small desk and was mentally transported back in time to my own less than endearing experiences as a 5th grader. The teacher towered over me and placed Peter’s essay on “my” desk. “Have you read this?” It was more an accusation than a question. “Why, yes. It is quite creative.” To which she replied, “WELL, what are you going to do about it Mr. Schloss?” If I recall correctly, my 5th grade teacher had a habit of calling me “Mr. Schloss” when I was in trouble. Some things never change.

I asked her if she had given Peter permission to write a fictional account of his grandfather. “Yes, BUT NOT THIS!” Again she wanted to know what I was going to do about it. “Nothing” was my reply. He completed the assignment as instructed, and in fact was more excited to do so than I had ever seen him be about homework. No doubt the teacher now considered young Peter to be the acorn that had not fallen very far from me, the tree.

She refused to accept his work and required that he do it over. It fell upon our shoulders to praise our son for his creative effort and to explain that perhaps the teacher just could not appreciate his talent.

Peter wanted to know if he could send his essay to his grandfather. I discouraged this and in light of his teacher’s reaction Peter seemed to better understand that his grandfather would probably not fully appreciate the skill with which he had recounted grandfather’s fictional life as a Nazi war criminal.

 

Fast forward to 1997. Renee’ was living in France, a year long placement as a high school foreign exchange student. She wrote a letter to her former French teacher in America. As it happened, that teacher was then Alexis’ second year French teacher. In her letter (proudly written in French) Renee’ had shared with the teacher some of the details of her new life and also suggested that perhaps her classmates in France and the teacher’s students could begin exchanging correspondence… becoming class “pen pals”.

We knew about Renee’s letter as she had shared with us her intention to write to the teacher. We did not expect what next occurred. One afternoon Alexis came home from school hopping mad and on the verge of tears. The teacher had read parts of the letter out loud in class, criticizing and correcting Renee’s grammar as she read. She failed to include in her recitation Renee’s class pen-pal suggestion. Now I was mad.

I requested a parent teacher conference. Because of the “heat” of my request, this was arranged to include the school’s principle. I verbally let her have it with “both barrels”. “A great teacher is one who recognizes and seizes upon teaching opportunities that are not found withing the pages of a textbook. You may be a teacher, but your conduct demonstrates that you are one in name only.” The principle sat silent while I continued to dress her down.

 

Now to my grandson Kane and his 2020 COVID-19 virtual class experience:

  Approaching Thanksgiving, Kane’s class was given the assignment for each student to write an email to someone they are thankful for. Kane’s teacher expected the students would be addressing their words of gratitude to a parent, relative, or friend. He did not expect Kane’s take on the assignment or the initiative that would be required to executed it.

Kane, like most 12 year old boys, loves fast food. For him McDonald’s is the best of the best. It seemed quite natural to him that his “thanks” should be directed to someone responsible for that little bit of culinary joy in his life. Kane’s research resulted in an email that he addressed to the CEO of the McDonald’s Corporation.

Kane’s mother (our daughter Alexis) is the school nurse where Kane is a student. His teacher shared with her his surprise at Kane’s interpretation of the assignment. A week later he shared his shock that Kane had receive a personally written reply from one of McDonald’s executives, thanking Kane for his email which had been circulated among staff. In appreciation for the bit of happiness that Kane’s email brought to McDonald’s, a gift certificate was included.

Kane’s teacher told Alexis that the next email assignment would be for each student to write to a company whose products they appreciate. To Alexis the teacher shared his intention to participate, “Do you think the Fender Guitar Company gives out gift certificates?”

The finest teachers are those who remain willing to be students.

Peace Everyone. Pete

 

We rode out of Miami on the morning of September 2, 2010.

Key West, Florida lay 160 miles south and west at the end of a string of island pearls known as the Florida Keys. We would overnight in Key Largo and on Marathon Island, before riding into Key West, our final destination, on September 4th.

Traveling the length of the Keys was extraordinary and at times even magical. We shared the road with motor vehicles, but we had long grown accustom to the risks. If anything, Highway 1, the thoroughfare that has connected the Keys since 1935, was quite bicycle friendly.

However, there were exceptions.

The ride was at times leisurely, allowing us to stop roadside for pictures and to just take in the sights.

In Key Largo Christine and I, in the company of riders Tom and Lissa Whittaker, sought out a well regarded local restaurant. “Tasters” was an exceptional find both for its cozy and intimate island atmosphere and the excellent cuisine. We were treated like valued local patrons by the owner/chef, Thomas Smith. We enjoyed his personal attention and also delightful conversation with another diner, Christi Allen Franchini, owner of the local Pilates studio.

We returned the following morning with rider John Mocella to pick up a souvenir t-shirt and this time met Thomas’ young son.

At a nearby dock we found the original “African Queen”, the famed steam vessel from the 1951 movie of the same name that stared Humphry Bogart and Katherine Hepburn.

Now in “retirement”, this 35 foot steam powered vessel, originally launched the UK in 1912 as the “Livingston”, plied the waters of the Ruki River in the Congo for over 50 years. She was shipped to the United States in the 1970’s, refurbished, and was added to the US Register of Historic Places in 1992.

She has continued on in Key Largo as a tourist boat, undergoing her most recent restoration in 2012.

Our evening in Marathon was equally pleasant with drinks and some dockside contemplation.

As is to be expected, the sunsets in the Keys were stunning.

Our ride into Key West from Marathon was rain-delayed by a strong early morning thunderstorm with accompanying rapid-fire air to ground lightning. The storm gave us a pause for breakfast and fortunately passed quickly. Back on our bikes we covered the last 50 miles, entering Key West shortly after noon.

We were greeted by a contingent of family and friends.

There was an overflowing of emotions and Champaign.

We posed for pictures.

 

We embraced, and we gave thanks that the 16 of us had safely made it across the United States without a serious accident or injury.

The following day Father Matt said Mass for the gathered friends, family, and dignitaries.

Hors d‘oeuvres, drinks and an emotional celebration followed.

The evening capped off with another spectacular sunset that lacked only “The End”  followed by the list of cast and credits scrolling across the sky.

 
Epilogue:

I know what we did, but the answer to what we accomplished is more elusive.

We bicycled over 5000 miles across the United States.

We carried the message of the problem of poverty in America.

We attended rallies, and we visited facilities that attend to the needs of the underprivileged. We lent a hand now and then along the way.

Certainly, we raised substantial funds for poverty related programs in Kansas City and in other communities that hosted us. While we may have touched some lives in a way that brought change, perhaps most important was the change that occurred within each of us.

For 100 days we were dedicated bicyclists. For 100 days we were a tight-knit family. We became disciples in a cause that did not end on the 100th day. It is not hyperbole to say that this was a life-changing experience. When I am engaged in conversation with a new acquaintance it is natural that the topic of “what did/do you do” comes up. After all, that is the fast track question to learning about one another. I am a husband of 43+ years, a father, a grandfather, a retired lawyer of 40+ years… and I bicycled over 5,000 miles across the United States as part of a commitment to the mission of Catholic Charities. It is telling that I mention those 100 days as a member of C4C with the same level of pride and accomplishment as other aspects of my life that are measured in decades. I suspect that the other 15 members of C4C are equally gratified with the part that they played.

I am proud to have been part of Cycling for Change. I am honored to call the other members my lifelong friends. I am especially grateful to Father Matt Ruhl, S.J. for the passion that he carries for the plight of the poor and underprivileged. Matt not only turns words into deeds, but he moves others to act, we of Cycling for Change among them.
Now roll the cast and credits:

… and finally: Peace Everyone. Pete Schloss

 

In times past it was known as the Big Bend Coast. Since 1991 this unofficial region of Florida has been known as “The Nature Coast”. Loosely defined, this area covers approximately 8 Florida Counties that abut the Gulf of Mexico. Culturally, it is the transition from the southernmost extent of the “Deep South” into the more tropical and urban cultures of the Tampa Bay area and Miami.

From August 22nd to August 31st we enjoyed 9 riding days that covered over 480 miles and connected us with the Florida communities of Perry, Chiefland, Inverness, Polk City, Sebring, Clewiston, West Palm Beach, Boca Raton, and Miami.

“Enjoyed” is a term I present in the literal sense. The climate was comfortable.

The scenery was inviting.

The route was bicycle friendly and included the 32 mile long “rails to trails” Nature Coast State Trail.

Henry the “rubber roach” was still making his presence known. (Here seen attracting the amorous attention of a native Palmetto Bug)

It seemed that the most challenging hills we had to navigate were the roadside curbs.

The quality of our accommodations through most of this stretch were among the finest of the summer. The most memorable were our stays in Sebring (August 26th), West Palm Beach (August 28th and 29th), Boca Raton (August 30th), and the “pièce de résistance” was the Royal Palm Hotel in Miami Beach. These night stays read like a luxury tourist itinerary.

In Sebring we enjoyed rooms in the historic Kenilworth Lodge. This expansive resort hotel was built in 1916 by George Sebring, developer of the community. Listed on the National Register of Historic Places in 2000, its glory days were in the early and mid-20th Century as seen in this 1922 postcard.

During our brief stay hints of its past grandeur were apparent.

Sadly, it has lain closed and abandoned since 2016 due to a small electrical fire that lead to a detailed fire inspection and condemnation of the property.

Our stay at the Hilton Hotel in West Palm Beach was not so memorable for the otherwise typical accommodations, but for the unusual group that was also registered at the facility. Wherever we looked there were young people dressed as cartoon and fantasy characters.

One of our group asked an attendee what they were there for, “We are part of an Anime Convention.” was the reply. “What’s that?” continued the C4C rider. “A convention is a group of people meeting for the same purpose” was her response… and with that said she walked off leaving a bemused C4C rider in her wake.

In Boca Raton the oceanside Holiday Inn was anything but ordinary. Our arrival was heralded by a videographer.

The rooms looked out upon a delightful swimming pool and the sound of the Gulf waves on the beach mere feet away provided an aural backdrop for this piece of paradise.

At our 6 am departure the next morning the manager asked if we would join him for a group photo to add to his collection of hotel guest dignitaries.

And then there was the Royal Palm Hotel in Miami Beach. It was one of a group of extraordinary art-deco high rise hotels that adorn the South Beach strip. By day the hotel and surrounding environs were beautiful…

…but after sunset they transformed into a technicolor feast for the eyes.

Dating to 1939, the Royal Palm was named after the famous 1897 Henry Flagler Miami hotel that had been destroyed by fire a few years earlier. The staff at this decidedly upscale resort did not bat an eye when we asked to take our bicycles up the elevators for overnight storage in our rooms.

In spite of the changes that our venture into south Florida brought, we remained true to our established routine: An early start with Christine’s instructions for the day was followed by Father Matt’s morning prayer; “Let’s ride with peaceful minds and strong hearts…” and his concluding directive, “Buns Up Everyone!!”.

Daily Mass remained an afternoon or evening tradition. Often a “potluck” supper was served to us courtesy of a local church group. By now we had long lost count of the number of different ways that pasta could be served.

And of course we remained dedicated to the continuing mission of Cycling for Change, carrying the message of the problem of poverty in America. During this segment of our ride there were meetings and presentations with various parish groups, however the most endearing experience was our visit with the children at Miami’s Centro Hispano Catolico Child Care Center.

This child development center is one of 6 such centers operated by Catholic Charities of the Archdiocese of  Miami. The Centro Hispano serves up to 200 underprivileged children in the largely Hispanic community. Services include classes taught by degreed staff, 3 balanced meals a day, a curriculum to address literacy, social, and emotional development, individualized education plans, and training programs for parents that include development of language, job, and financial skills.

Ahead of us from Miami lay the final 160 miles to Key West. Ten years later a lump forms in my throat and a tear comes to my eye at the mere typing of those words.

Next: The final chapter: The Florida Keys and Key West.
Peace Everyone. Pete

PS.  Christine’s parents, William “Bill” Alden Nichols and Doris Irene (Robinson) Nichols were born in 1918. At the age of 18 they eloped to marry, fearing their parents’ disapproval. On August 27, 2010, a little over 74 years after they had married, we of C4C were riding from Sebring to Clewiston, Florida. Christine took leave of the group that day to drive 60 miles west for an afternoon visit with her parents.

Doris resided in an assisted living community while Bill continued to live independently in their Florida home.

Doris passed away the following year at the age of 93. Bill lived past his 101st birthday, drawing his final breath in Kansas City on February 24th, 2020… “Eternal rest grant unto them O Lord…”

 

 

On the morning of August 15, 2010 we assembled to continue our journey east and south.

Ahead of us lay the final 1,150 miles, allocated between 18 riding days. Nearly 1,000 of those miles would be ridden in Florida. Certainly, we were not on the “home stretch”, but something had changed. We were excited, suffused with an optimism that had not been present over the last few weeks.

Perhaps it was the transformation that included palm trees and seashore vistas.

Perhaps it was the cooling offshore breezes that replaced the inland swelter that we had endured.

The roads had become pool table flat, except where the sea causeways arched to accommodate commercial shipping.

The sun shone brightly upon and within each of us.

However, all was not paradise in those coastal waters.

40 miles offshore from where we rode the largest marine oil spill in the history of the American petroleum industry was unfolding. On April 20, 2010, the Deepwater Horizon, a mobile oil rig, had been drilling an exploratory well in 5,000 feet of water. On that day the wellhead violently blew out, taking with it the lives of 11 workers whose remains were never recovered. The rupture caused the release of an estimated 210 million gallons of crude oil that continued unabated well into 2012. In Louisiana alone, nearly 5 million pounds of oil impregnated material was removed from the coastline. The direct environmental and economic damages were felt over 68,000 square miles, an area as large as the State of Oklahoma and easily visible from space.

Oil contaminated the beaches of Louisiana, Mississippi, Alabama, and extended along the coast as far as southern Florida.

As we rode we saw cleanup crews at work and witnessed the black corruption washing ashore.

What was hidden from us was the devastation to the flora and fauna. Thousands of species were impacted. The health and livelihood of millions of coastal residents were threatened, impacts that continue to be felt more than 10 years later.

Deepwater Horizon did not dampen our spirits.

Over the next 6 days we would pass through Biloxi, Mississippi, Dauphin Island, Alabama, and into the Florida panhandle: Pensacola, DeFuniak Springs, Marianna, and riding into Tallahassee we would enjoy a “rest day” on August 21st.

Between Marianna and Tallahassee we passed from Central Standard into the Eastern time zone, 4 time zones east from where we started on the Pacific Northwest coast.

It was one of a series of milestones that were reminders that the conclusion of our quest was drawing near.

On August 17th we were joined by Mark Dufva, Executive Director of Catholic Charities of Northwest Florida. Accompanied part of the way by a few co-workers, he rode with us for 4 days and over 300 miles from Mobile, Alabama to Tallahassee, Florida.

Mark was not a veteran cyclist, but what he lacked in experience he more than made up for with enthusiasm and determination.

On the 18th, a day that was scheduled to cover about 90 miles, Mark joined me for an extension that would take the day’s ride over the 100 mile mark, a significant accomplishment known among bicyclists as “riding a century”.

Mark was also largely responsible for the explosion of publicity that we enjoyed.

There was a media event and mayoral proclamation ceremony in Pensacola, hosted by the Honorable Michael C. Wiggins.

En route to DeFuniak Springs we were hosted at a BBQ lunch in Ft. Walton Beach where another proclamation was made on our behalf.

Father Matt and Mark were interviewed via telephone on Christian Talk Radio.

Mark worked to make other connections for our meals and lodging. The most notable was the “Cycling for Change – Homeward Bound Rally” held in Tallahassee.

This was a festive family event that featured food and entertainment.

Tallahassee Mayor, John Marks, proclaimed “Poverty Solutions Week”, and County Commissioner Akin Akinyemi was not to be outdone by proclaiming “Poverty Awareness Day”.

We were treated to lodging in Tallahassee courtesy of the Newman Center of Florida State University and the endearing hospitality of its Director, Sister Christine Kelly, SSJ.

It is hard to imagine that after 10 years I could hold any regrets from my participation with C4C, but there is at least one. Over the years I have learned that I am fairly accomplished at beginnings, but quite deficient when it comes to conclusions. The child-like enthusiasm that I can barely restrain at the start of an “adventure” is balanced by my tendency to withdraw into myself when the finish line comes into sight.

As we lingered in Tallahassee, 86 days in the constant company of 15 extraordinary people were behind me. We had shared a once-in-a-lifetime experience. I could not shake the thought that in 2 weeks it would end and we would go our separate ways. There would be memories to last a lifetime, but it would never be the same as when together we rode across America.

I wish that I had not become so self-absorbed. I wish that I had been more gracious and grateful to those with whom I shared the experience. To paraphrase a line from a popular song, “Regrets, I’ve had a few… but then again just one to mention.”

Next: Florida’s Heartland
Peace Everyone. Pete

 

Founded in 1718 by French colonists, New Orleans took its name from the French Duke of Orleans who reigned as Regent from 1715 to 1723 for King Louis XV. Louis inherited the throne at the age of 5 and reigned for 59 years until his death in 1774. The Duke served until King Louis reached his official age of majority, 13 years old.

New Orleans was held by The Kingdom France until ceded to Spain from 1763 to 1802, during which time significant Caribbean influences were exerted upon the city.

Its control briefly returned to the French Republic in 1802. The city and over 800,000 sq. miles known as the Louisiana Territory were sold by Napoleon to the United States the following year for 15 million dollars.

Statehood was granted to Louisiana, formerly known as the Territory of Orleans, in 1812.

By 1840 New Orleans ranked as the 3rd largest city in the United States and its largest slave market.

In 1861 Louisiana seceded from the United States and became part of the Confederacy until the United States victory in 1865. However, in 1862 New Orleans was captured and thereafter held by Union troops throughout the war.

This brief history may explain: why most of the 18th Century architecture that abounds in the French Quarter and old city are of Spanish origin;

why linguistically New Orleans and the surrounding area still present an unusual mixture of French, Spanish, and English dialects known as Creole; why Louisiana retains a French influenced “Code” legal system rather than the English Common Law followed in the rest of America; why Louisiana has “Parishes” rather than “Counties”; and why New Orleans is so ethnically diverse.

The 16 members of Cycling for Change entered New Orleans on August 12, 2010.

We remained in the city for 3 nights. The original plan had been for the group to either stay at a convent or to reside in a homeless/transitional living shelter in nearby Marrero, Louisiana. Happily, our “handlers” back at Catholic Charities in Kansas City acknowledged that our efforts deserved an upgrade to a hotel located between the New Orleans French Quarter and Garden District. It was a welcome concession to our comfort.

New Orleans should be on every North America traveler’s “bucket list”. It is unique among all the continent’s cities for its architecture, music, cuisine, culture, and of course Mardi Gras. We enjoyed a limited opportunity to see a few of the better known features of the city such as Jefferson Square and St. Louis Cathedral,

the oldest trolley system in the United States,

and of course Bourbon Street.

At the end of this post I will provide some of my 2019 images that give some insight into the tourism opportunities that New Orleans presents.

Historically, New Orleans has been a veritable magnet for hurricanes. This NOAA graphic shows the tracks of every category 3+ hurricane that came within 100 miles of the city between 1852 and 2005.

At the time of our visit in 2010, New Orleans was still reeling from the devastation wrought in 2005 by the Category 5 Hurricane Katrina. With over 1,200 dead and damages estimated at over 125 billion dollars, Katrina then ranked as the costliest storm in US history. Entire neighborhoods were erased in part because of engineering failures of the flood levee system and due to human caused ground subsidence which has left half of New Orleans’ neighborhoods located below sea-level.

Over a million people were displaced. In the immediate years following Katrina the population exodus reduced the city’s population by half. Poverty, which was already a pre-Katrina problem, became a critical issue.

Founded in 1982 by Archbishop Philip Hannan, Bishop Roger Moring, and Gregory Johnson, Second Harvest Food Bank of New Orleans is a leader in the fight against hunger in south Louisiana. By 2005 it had become the largest food bank in the world.

The 16 members of C4C spent much of August 13th volunteering at the main Second Harvest warehouse. As a part of our orientation we learned that 1 in 5 Louisiana households are at risk of hunger.

Second Harvest salvages over 35 millions of pounds of food annually… food that is still wholesome, but which has been rejected for cosmetic reasons, damage to packaging, because of expired “best by” and expiration dates, and surplusage.

Second Harvest relies largely upon over 9,000 volunteers for labor to sort, repackage, and distribute this food over 23 Louisiana Parishes (Counties).

Each year over 32 million meals are thus provided to nearly a quarter of a million people. It was an honor for us to participate in those efforts. C4C members sorted food,

repackaged and boxed food,

and visited the various warehouse facilities including the frozen storage unit.

Christine drew my attention to pallets loaded with PediaSure, a specialty nutrition supplement for growth challenged children. At that time our three surviving quadruplet grandchildren were directed to use this product by their physicians. The cost was approximately $2.00 an 8oz can.