Author: Pete Schloss

Still Learning.

Posted on by Pete Schloss

It has been a little over a month since I launched my daily “Thoughts”. It has not been as challenging to make time to write as I imagined. I have had the luxury of some old writings to draw upon and for the next few days I will likely post from my 2010 experiences bicycling across the United States.

So far, there have been over 3,500 visitors to my “Thoughts”, from 22 countries. I can’t tell who each of the visitors are, but I have a pretty good idea based upon the country. I am clueless about the visitor from Bangladesh!

I am just as inept at predicting which posts will be popular as I have been at predicting which pictures will have the most “likes” on Facebook. However shorter posts typically seem more popular than longer ones. It also appears that the average daily readership is growing. Also, whereas originally the majority of visitors came in through the Facebook “link”, now is seems the majority are subscribers and visitors who locate the posts directly online.

I hope to continue these missives on a (near) daily basis, but once we are traveling abroad that may become logistically more difficult. Happily, I have learned how to include pictures with the posts. It is still not as easy to upload multiple images, but it is doable! I consider this all to be preparation for taking you with us as we travel across the Atlantic and through Europe for the next 3 months.

Peace Everyone! Pete

Dignity Dies Last.

Posted on by Pete Schloss

I came across some reflections I wrote while bicycling across the country in 2010 as a part of “Cycling for Change”. The memory of this one remains fresh in my mind:

Many of us have heard this speech a hundred times, “In the unlikely event that there is a loss of cabin pressure, a mask will fall from a compartment above you, and provide you with oxygen…”.

We take for granted that on a journey we will be provided with our basic necessities. Air, water, food, safety. Most of us never consider a couple of the other “necessities” that we also take for granted… hope and dignity.

Wednesday (June 2, 2010), the Cycling for Change Team was provided lunch at St. Leo’s Church soup kitchen in Seattle, Washington. St. Leo’s provides breakfast and lunch meals for between 800 and 1,100 people every day, 5 days a week! As one of the staff people explained, the numbers tend to go up at the end of the month when people find that they have run out of money.

Our visit was at the start of the month, but the lunchroom, in a large former school built in the early 20th century, appeared filled to capacity. As I walked through the door I was not prepared for the sight or the sudden emotional impact. It was as if I had experienced a “sudden loss of cabin pressure”. However, there was no mask within my reach. Before me was the “3-D” version of a post-apocalypse vision that we have all seen so many times in science fiction movies. A crush of vacant eyed people, soiled and many wearing what amounted to tatters. I was to dine shoulder to shoulder with the people that Seattle had forgotten.

I proceeded to the food line and was handed a brightly colored compartmented tray, the kind that you would expect to see in a grade school. There was a bowl for the soup, but no plates. My meal consisted of a slice of lunchmeat between two pieces of white bread, a bowl of chili-like soup, and a single chocolate chip cookie. A soup kitchen that serves a thousand people a day from donations does its best by making do with what it gets. The same applies to those who are served. There was coffee, hot and excellent by any standard.

I moved to one of the long cafeteria tables and found a vacant folding chair between two of the center’s customers. I ate and visited with my “companions”. I was beginning to feel a sense of accomplishment in embracing the experience when my eye was drawn to a man seated across from me a few seats to my left. I was wrenched back into the reality that for everyone but me this was not a diversion, not just “an experience”… this was reality and this was life. Again, there was a loss of “cabin pressure”.

The “oxygen” that was rarified in the atmosphere of the room was the loss of hope. Most of us have experienced a momentary loss of hope, but few who read this know what it means to be without hope, and without prospect of finding hope… true hopelessness. In the soup kitchen I could scan the tables and see a face here and there that bore the signs of a life yet with hope. A father with his young son, the boy looking up to dad with the hero worship that any father lives for. A man and a woman looking deeply into each other’s eyes, sharing grimy gap-toothed smiles between words and bites of their meals. But the man who had caught my attention was not one of these, there was no visible sign of hope with him.

What caught my attention was that he visited with no one. He sat solitary, ramrod straight, eyes forward. His hair was as neatly combed as hair could be that had not seen shampoo for many days. His stained and worn clothing would not have been suitable for donation to a second-hand store but was arranged with care. From his leather-like and wrinkled complexion, he looked to be in his 50’s, but I suspect the ravages of a life without shelter had aged him prematurely. He might have been 40. He ate slowly, with deliberation… with dignity. Everything about him screamed his dignity. He wore dignity like it was armor. The man grew in my sight and became larger than life. Whatever the cause of his condition, whatever the story behind a life rendered hopeless, he taught me that dignity may be given, and it may be cast aside, but it is never taken from one who chooses to keep it. Dignity dies last.

Peace Everyone. Pete

KIDNAPPED! (sort of)

Posted on by Pete Schloss

It was the Summer of 72 and I was abroad with 21 fellow students and 2 faculty members. We pretended to study Ancient History. One of the students was a coed with whom I had been in a relationship much of the prior school year. I will call her “Elaine”, not her real name.

She and I were returning to Naples Italy from a day trip to the Island of Capri, traveling aboard a slow ferry. The day was sunny, warm, and pleasant. Our relationship had grown dark, cold, and uncomfortable. A tough thing when stuck with one another thousands of miles from home. She had grown jealous and controlling and I just longed for freedom.

Early in the passage to the mainland I thought to get a beer. My funds were low, and I wasn’t sure of the cost. There were two dark skinned men in their 20’s who sat at a table near to us, beers in hand. They appeared to be of Indian or Pakistani descent. I approached them and asked how much the beers cost. The larger of the two said something that I did not understand, and the smaller man turned to his companion and addressed him in a foreign language, but with sudden and obvious anger. I excused myself and returned to “Elaine”.

She asked, “What was that all about!” and I responded with my ignorance. Soon thereafter the smaller man came to our table and apologizing asked if we would join them as guests for a beer. My girlfriend refused but thirst and the promise of more pleasant company prevailed. I joined them.

They were sailors from a grain freighter out of India. Slightly older than me and with significantly more funds, they continued to buy and the three of us continued to drink. “Elaine” continued to sulk. Nearing the docks in Naples harbor they suggested that we adjourn to their ship to continue our celebration of friendship. We asked my girlfriend to join us, and (thankfully) she refused in favor of returning to our group.

The sailors hailed a cab and I pretended to be passed-out drunk in the back seat in order to make it through dock security. The cab let us out in the shadow of the largest ship that I had ever seen. A gangway and stairs ascended to the ship deck above. At the base of the stairs a man stood as an obvious guard and suddenly stiffened his posture, eyes forward, at our approach. On deck this happened a second time with the same deference displayed toward the smaller sailor. I turned to him and asked, “Who the hell are you?” He smiled and replied that he was the second officer of the ship.

I wish that I remembered his name or could find out how his life has played out. In childhood he had been promised in marriage by his family. He was ascending in rank and his duties kept him away from India and the wife that he barely knew. His travels called him from his home for many months at a time and he seemed sad with his own life and a trace envious of mine.

We toured the ship. He took me to the bridge and showed me the workings of navigation, radar and vessel operations. We toured the cavernous engine room below and eventually made our way to the mess (food) and recreation areas. Some of the crew were off duty and my friend ordered a meal and celebration in my honor. We played ping-pong in rotation. I was miserably outclassed by all except their best player who was the larger sailor from the ferry. Strangely, he could beat everyone except me. I discerned that his superior had ordered him to extend me the courtesy of victory at his expense. I later asked my friend about the anger he had displayed toward his companion aboard the ferry. He explained that when I asked about the beer the larger sailor misunderstood and accused me of begging. The second officer reacted swiftly to silence his companion and avoid an incident that might have caused me offence.

The night wore on and we all lost track of time. It is said that what you don’t know can’t hurt you, but on that night nothing could have been further from the truth. My girlfriend had returned to our group and delivered her explanation of my absence. The professors, and later the authorities, concluded that I had been kidnapped, or in the vernacular of sailors, “shanghaied”. The search for Peter Schloss was on.

My seafaring friends and I continued to lounge in the recreation area when there arose a commotion outside the door. It suddenly burst open and men charged in with automatic weapons at the ready. They appeared to be military police. One of them then asked for me, butchering my name with his accent. I slowly raised my hand and my second officer friend turned to me. With a shocked expression he asked, “Who the hell are you?!?”
One of my professors stood behind the phalanx of security men and I then understood what had happened. Security quickly figure out that I was a fool, but not a victim. The police cleared the scene and my second officer friend, the professor, and I adjourned to a very early morning café for espresso, and a round of apologies.

“Elaine” and I were finished. In revenge she succeeded in briefly alienating the other students from me. However, there was one attractive exception among the group. She and I became friends in Venice and more by the time we arrived on the island of Crete. That story is best left untold.

Peace everyone! Pete

The First “Next Thing”

Posted on by Pete Schloss

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I have written of our practice of always having a “Next Thing” to engage the imagination. I have also written about our preparations for the end of life “Last Thing”. It occurred to me today that I have never mentioned the First “Next Thing”.

Actually, there are two of these. The first one never came to fruition, but it confirms to me that the notion of a “next thing” has been hard-wired within me since I was very young. One Summer, as a child of 9 or 10, I stood at the headwaters of the Mississippi River gazing downstream to a point where the waters disappeared around a bend. It was a river in name only, since at its source it was little more than a large stream. Where I stood was a sign that declared that the river progressed onward south to the Gulf of Mexico, a journey of over 2,500 miles. The notion of traveling its length to the sea in a rowboat captivated me. During the school year that followed, my imagination would not let go. My mind wandered from classwork to the lure of the Mississippi. I wrote estimates of the time it would take to travel, and the supplies that I would need, all in the margins of my school text books. I envisioned using my dad’s 1946 Elgin outboard motor for power. I still have that motor, and I believe that it still works. Without regret, I do not believe that it or I will ever make that Mississippi journey dreamed of by my 9-year-old self. It was my first major foray into planning a “next thing”. It would not be my last.

Fast forward to the Fall of 1971. I was a sophomore at Southern Illinois University. A coed in my African History class told me of a 9 semester-hour study abroad program planned for the following Summer. After class we went to the History Department offices to get more information. 2 months traveling to England, France, Italy, Greece, Crete, the Aegean, Turkey, and Yugoslavia. 22 students and 2 faculty members would study Ancient History where it occurred. Travel would include a week on a cruise ship and travel from Budapest to Paris on the Orient Express. The price was $1,250.00, a huge sum in 1971… more than I had paid the prior year for my new Kawasaki Mach III motorcycle. My imagination went from a smoldering ember to a conflagration in minutes.

It never occurred to me that the trip would be out of my reach. Without knowing it I had already decided that the experience I imagined was more valuable than a motorcycle capable of accelerating 0-60 mph in 3 seconds, topping out at over 130 mph.  Within the day I was on the phone to my parents and explained that prudent saving and the sale of my motorcycle would fund the trip. I don’t know if my parents took me seriously. But they didn’t hinder my self-initiated plans and preparation.

Someday I may share the details of that “epic” Journey, however here are some of the thumbnail events:

  • The coed and I both went on the trip, starting as a couple but not ending that way.
  • I found other love on the island of Crete.
  • In Naples I was kidnaped by Indian sailors and held aboard a 600-foot grain freighter until rescued by machine gun wielding military police. (This one really needs some explanation in another post)
  • I made the acquaintance of a pretty Polish girl who was traveling as the interpreter for a Japanese film crew. Our fast friendship resulted in the film crew following us for a week making a documentary on American student travels in Europe. The program aired in Japan. Regrettably, I never saw anything more than some still images. One of the professors related that he had seen the film and it largely featured all of us smoking cigarettes, drinking, and carousing… a “reality show” before its time. The conclusion reportedly was me embracing the Polish girl and then leaping on a departing ferry in Naples harbor as we all waved goodbye to her and the film crew.

 It was an astounding Summer that fed my soul for years to come. It even contributed to my marriage to Christine who I was not to meet for another 2 years. On the night that we first met we sat beneath the limbs of a large oak tree. I spun my tale of adventure in Europe, sensing that her imagination was just as flammable as mine. Years later she confessed that from that beginning she found me “fascinating and intriguing”. We have since gone on to plan many “Next Things” the greatest of these being… marriage, a family, and life growing old together.

I could have kept that motorcycle and passed on the 1972 journey, but then I wouldn’t have anything to write about, would I?

Peace Everyone! Pete

PS: Our next “Next Thing” will begin to unfold for us in less than 2 weeks!

Packing for 90 Days

Posted on by Pete Schloss

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Packing for most “trips” is not something one stresses over, however packing for a 90 day “journey” is another matter entirely. With the exception of a large suitcase that will accompany us only during the cruise, everything that we will take with us must fit in moderately sized backpacks for each of us. The goal is to keep the weight below 20 pounds each.

Christine has proven in the past to be better at this than I am. On our 2013 Spain trip of 54 days (which included 35 days walking the Camino) her pack weighed in at 16 pounds, while mine started out at 24 pounds. After a few days on the trail I segregated a bunch of “just in case” stuff and shipped it out, reducing my pack to 18 pounds. 6 pounds may not sound like a lot, but it was a world of difference when one is afoot and covering 12-15 miles a day.

I once mused on the cumulative effect of carrying an extra ounce over 525 miles. That distance represents approximately one million footsteps. Each step that transports that extra ounce adds up to an extra 62,500 POUNDS over the length of that journey! Ounces do matter!!!

There are some principles that are helpful to keep in mind:

  1. Pack for the expected, not the “just in case”.
  2. Europe is not part of the “third world”. The countries in Europe have the equivalents of Walmart, Target, Dick’s Sporting, Walgreens, and CVS everywhere.
  3. Take less than you think that you will need. I (half) kiddingly have said that one can stretch the use of underwear to 4 days by wearing a pair on day one, reversed on day two, inside-out on day three and again reversed on day four.
  4. Make sure it can all fit in your pack, even though you will be wearing approximately one-third of it.

Here is a short summary of what we have found to be a reasonable packing list:

  • 4 pair of socks, 2 of medium weight and 2 of light weight.
  • Hiking shoes and a pair of light trainers.
  • 2 long pants and 1 pair of shorts, and a light swimsuit.
  • 3 changes of underwear, 2 tee-shirts.
  • A lightweight sleeved shirt.
  • A light sweater.
  • A breathable water-proof windbreaker.
  • An ultralight parka that is designed to cover both you and your pack.
  • An ultralight compressible down blanket.
  • A simple first aid kit for minor cuts and major blisters.
  • A toiletry kit with a very minimalist supply of toothpaste and shampoo. (Remember, Europe is NOT THIRD WORLD)
  • A ½ liter refillable water bottle. (Large capacity and water purification are not necessary… again, NOT THIRD WORLD!)
  • A small kit with charging cords and electric plug converter. Smart phones and most other electronics work fine on Europe’s 240-volt power, but a plug converter is necessary to make US “prongs” connect with Euro outlets.
  • Trekking poles. These have proven to be a necessity. They enhance stability afoot and transfer approximately 10% of the effort of walking to the arms and chest. Christine and I each attribute their use to saving us from some serious stumbles.

In addition to the above, I will take my iPhone, iPad, and “real” camera. Carrying these things in not necessary to my journey, but they are necessary for taking YOU on our journey!

We also each carry copies of any travel documents, including copies of both of our passports and driver’s licenses.

On the Camino it is customary to say “Buen Camino” (Good Journey) when one greets or says goodbye to another Pilgrim. So I will end with that and a bit more:

Peace Everyone, and Buen Camino! Pete