Open Road

A quick preface... these pictures are from a recent 50 mile ride through Putnam County with Kelsey (NUS '10 rider) on the left, Britt (fellow CUS '10 rider) in the middle, and of course me on the right.

AFOOT and light-hearted I take to the open road,
Healthy, free, the world before me,
The long brown path before me leading wherever I choose.

Henceforth I ask not good-fortune, I myself am good-fortune,
Henceforth I whimper no more, postpone no more, need nothing,
Done with indoor complaints, libraries, querulous criticisms,
Strong and content I travel the open road.

The earth, that is sufficient,
I do not want the constellations any nearer,
I know they are very well where they are,
I know they suffice for those who belong to them.

(Still here I carry my old delicious burdens,
I carry them, men and women, I carry them with me wherever I go,
I swear it is impossible for me to get rid of them,
I am fill'd with them, and I will fill them in return.)

3

You air that serves me with breath to speak!
You objects that call from diffusion my meanings and give them shape!
You light that wraps me and all things in delicate equable showers!
You paths worn in the irregular hollows by the roadsides!
I believe you are latent with unseen existences, you are so dear to me.

You flagg'd walks of the cities! you strong curbs at the edges!
You ferries! you planks and posts of wharves! you timber-lined sides! you distant ships!
You rows of houses! you window-pierc'd facades! you roofs!
You porches and entrances! you copings and iron guards!
You windows whose transparent shells might expose so much!
You doors and ascending steps! you arches!
You gray stones of interminable pavements! you trodden crossings!
From all that has touch'd you I believe you have imparted to yourselves, and now would impart the same secretly to me,
From the living and the dead you have peopled your impassive surfaces, and the spirits thereof would be evident and amicable with me.

4

The earth expanding right hand and left hand,
The picture alive, every part in its best light,
The music falling in where it is wanted, and stopping where it is not wanted,
The cheerful voice of the public road, the gay fresh sentiment of the road.

I think heroic deeds were all conceiv'd in the open air, and all free poems also,
I think I could stop here myself and do miracles,
I think whatever I shall meet on the road I shall like, and whoever beholds me shall like me,
I think whoever I see must be happy.

5

From this hour I ordain myself loos'd of limits and imaginary lines,
Going where I list, my own master total and absolute,
Listening to others, considering well what they say,
Pausing, searching, receiving, contemplating,
Gently, but with undeniable will, divesting myself of the holds that would hold me.

I inhale great draughts of space,
The east and the west are mine, and the north and the south are mine.

I am larger, better than I thought,
I did not know I held so much goodness.

All seems beautiful to me,
I can repeat over to men and women You have done such good to me I would do the same to you,
I will recruit for myself and you as I go,
I will scatter myself among men and women as I go,
I will toss a new gladness and roughness among them,
Whoever denies me it shall not trouble me,
Whoever accepts me he or she shall be blessed and shall bless me.

6

Here is the test of wisdom,
Wisdom is not finally tested in schools,
Wisdom cannot be pass'd from one having it to another not having it,
Wisdom is of the soul, is not susceptible of proof, is its own proof,
Applies to all stages and objects and qualities and is content,
Is the certainty of the reality and immortality of things, and the excellence of things;
Something there is in the float of the sight of things that provokes it out of the soul.

Now I re-examine philosophies and religions,
They may prove well in lecture-rooms, yet not prove at all under the spacious clouds and along the landscape and flowing currents.

7

Here is the efflux of the soul,
The efflux of the soul comes from within through embower'd gates, ever provoking questions,
These yearnings why are they? these thoughts in the darkness why are they?
Why are there men and women that while they are nigh me the sunlight expands my blood?
Why when they leave me do my pennants of joy sink flat and lank?
Why are there trees I never walk under but large and melodious thoughts descend upon me?
(I think they hang there winter and summer on those trees and always drop fruit as I pass;)
What is it I interchange so suddenly with strangers?
What with some driver as I ride on the seat by his side?
What with some fisherman drawing his seine by the shore as I walk by and pause?
What gives me to be free to a woman's and man's good-will? what gives them to be free to mine?

8

The efflux of the soul is happiness, here is happiness,
I think it pervades the open air, waiting at all times,

Now it flows unto us, we are rightly charged.

Here rises the fluid and attaching character,
The fluid and attaching character is the freshness and sweetness of man and woman,
(The herbs of the morning sprout no fresher and sweeter every day out of the roots of themselves, than it sprouts fresh and sweet continually out of itself.)

Toward the fluid and attaching character exudes the sweat of the love of young and old,
From it falls distill'd the charm that mocks beauty and attainments,
Toward it heaves the shuddering longing ache of contact.

9

Allons! whoever you are come travel with me!
Traveling with me you find what never tires.

The earth never tires,
The earth is rude, silent, incomprehensible at first, Nature is rude and incomprehensible at first,
Be not discouraged, keep on, there are divine things well envelop'd,
I swear to you there are divine things more beautiful than words can tell.

Allons! we must not stop here,
However sweet these laid-up stores, however convenient this dwelling we cannot remain here,
However shelter'd this port and however calm these waters we must not anchor here,
However welcome the hospitality that surrounds us we are permitted to receive it but a little while.

--Walt Whitman Song of the Open Road

Putnam County Training Ride

It's been a while since my last post, and much has happened...

In December I mounted a successful letter-writing campaign, getting me about 40% of the way to my fund raising goal. In February my Giant Defy II arrived, and I made many investments to make it road-ready. In March, the snows melted and I could finally take my bike off it's trainer and onto the road. I've since put about 250 road miles of training in and had one 6-hour pedal-a-thon to raise funds and awareness.

Two days ago, on a whim, I decided to take my bike out to Putnam County and go on a sort of 'covered bridge tour'. I started at DePauw, my undergrad alma mater, and made a loop around the mostly deserted country roads.

On my route I started out eastward, swung around Heritage Lake, went north toward Bainbridge, IN. In between I found a goat farm with the classic Indiana barnyard scene below.
I also found some friendly burros and a horse on CR 800 N toward Bainbridge.


A few miles down the road, I realized I'd made a mistake in my route planning as my road turned to all gravel and potholes. Unfortunately it was the only direct route to the covered bridge I was aiming to see. Therefore I got some welcomed rest from the saddle and walked 2 miles to get to Pine Bluff Bridge.




From Pine Bluff Bridge the road got more passable and I turned south and west toward Clinton Falls.


It's a brave time to be alive here in the early spring. It's a wonder that the daffodils made it through the frost last week and burst forth in glorious yellow as if nothing happened.

Right out of Clinton Falls is the Edna Collins bridge, a supposedly haunted covered bridge. The story goes that a girl and her father would visit the bridge in the summer time. The father would allow the girl to go swimming in the Little Walnut Creek as he waited in his car then drive up to the bridge as it was getting dark, honk 3 times, and she would come out and get in the back seat. One day the girl drowned in the creek as her father waited and has haunted it since. As my friends from DePauw and I have tried, the modern part of the story is that if you do the same as her father (arrive at the bridge near sundown and honk 3 times) your windows will fog up, a handprint will appear, and your backseat will get wet.

Personally I think the effects of the story is that your windows are rolled up and the car-mates are breathing heavily (thus the fogging) and at some point someone wets themselves (thus the back-seat moisture).

For the rest of the trip I spent my time dodging the many free-running dogs of Putnam County. It seems like every farmer seems to have some sort of Rottweiler or Pitt bull or combination thereof. At one point, I had four different dogs after me. The only time it got testy, though, was one German Shepherd that thought it would be a good idea to run right in front of me and then stop. He almost got a tire sandwich, but we both made a necessary dodge and ended up okay.

This was good practice for my trip, I think, as I am finding what combination of speed or slowness is needed. That is, if you go to slow the dogs will be all over you if they so decide to chase. If you go too fast, however you will escape them faster but the seasoned chasers will think you a worthy adversary and will not stop until you are being knawed upon. I found that 11 mph is about the right speed to keep a low profile, but I guess it probably varies from dog to dog. Most are just doing their jobs defending the property and will give up after you're past their territory. I don't count it against them. It makes the trip a bit more interesting, even.

At the end of the journey, as I approached the edge of Greencastle again, I came upon Dunbar Bridge. I had gone about 57 miles at this point and was ready for some Marvin's Frank's Fries, and to get back before it got dark.