Detroit by Bicycle from the Megabus - Part 1

August,  2011:

Summer was almost over and I wanted just one more adventure before another school year started up.

I had been reading about the woes of the Motor City and I wanted to experience it for myself.  By car you just can't see much.  Better on a motorcycle, but you still have to obey the law and go too fast to really take it in.  Plus I'd have to drive up there, tour the city and drive back in a day - it's five hours from Pittsburgh.

I love pedaling cities - seeing and smelling that which only cities can provide.  I had pedaled Pittsburgh, D.C., and Manhattan - Detroit was calling me and the Megabus was the perfect vehicle to get me there.

I upped my mileage to prep for the long day but I still had to get a bike ready since the Mbus has luggage size limitations.  I could buy a folder or I could make another bike like the one I chopped and tossed into a suitcase to take to Paraguay years ago.  It's more fun to make than to buy so first I found the box.

Cardboard was my choice since I already had it and I could always make another one in Detroit if I lost it.  I thought about sewing but I already had the box.  Here's the bike inside the box.

That really is most of the bike inside the box.  I cut the frame, used roll cage couplers for fittings, and brazed them in.

Since the build took more than a week, I spent time getting familiar with Detroit.  My 'research' consisted almost entirely of finding a list of Netflix movies set in Detroit and watching them all - '8 Mile' - 'Detroit 1-8-7' - 'Gran Torino' - ....

I printed out a pair of maps on 8.5 x 11 paper, cut them in thirds, and laminated them to easily fold into my pocket and slide out for quick reference.

There is a basic street map, a downtown map, and a zoomed downtown/waterfront map.  The map with shades of blue is the vacancy rate with darker blue representing the higher vacancy.  I printed it from this site and learned that Highland Park and Hamtramck are apparently separate entities from the city of Detroit.

This is the approximate route I planned:

My Megabus ride would end early in the morning at the Rosa Parks Transit Center where I would assemble my bike, hide the box, and head northeast along Gratiot Ave to 8 Mile.  Then west across 8 Mile to Woodward Avenue and back downtown.  I also wanted to see Belle Isle.

But spontaneous detours can be wonderful for both conversation and adventure....

The Best Adventure of My Life

Last year's adventure on a Cheap Chinese Moto en Paraguay continues here in the US with another cheap Chinese motorcycle.

I hope you enjoy it:

http://www.advrider.com/forums/showthread.php?t=907404

Abandoned in the Parking Garage

It was November of 2011.  Misael had just been born and all the Paraguayan family was visiting Pittsburgh for the first time.  We tossed the baby in the car, tied him down, and headed to the airport for Linda's arrival.

Misael's little sister Cesia.

I was just the chauffeur so Mom and sisters were jabbering away, catching up on time apart and remembering adventures in Paraguay.  We talked and slowly walked the small part of the terminal now accessible as we awaited the little sister to complete the reunion.  Since the flight was late and we were early, there was plenty of time to reminisce and lots of giggles going 'round.  

Then my stomach dropped and my heart leaped creating that internal vacuum of fear.

Wasn't Misael supposed to be with us?

Did we just leave him in the car?

Did somebody find him already and call the police?

Will we be arrested?

Are they going to take away our kids?

Visions of TV interviews of the irresponsible parents of our baby danced in my head as I ran to the parking garage. 

Entirely unconcerned for the welfare of my child and completely focused on the potential consequences for his parents, I reached the car.  The tightness in my chest quickly dissipated since there were no emergency vehicles or news vans and the baby was sleeping contentedly in his comfy seat in the warm car.

There was no real drama.  Our baby was never in any real danger.  Now, however, I have a touch of compassion for those TV interview parents who do dumb things with their kids.  

I abandoned my sleeping baby in a parking garage.

Locked Inside a Thrift Shop

It was July 3rd and Cesia was five days old.

Walking back from the St Vincent DePaul in Sharpsburg, I passed the door to a new resale shop a couple blocks down the street. The lights were on.  The sign inside the open door read "OPEN."  I walked in.

The shop

Deep inside the shop was a good collection of guitars so my new daughter and I wandered to the back and started browsing.  A few minutes later, I pushed the stroller to the front door so we could get home for lunch with the family.

Guitars on the back wall

The barred glass door was closed.  The keyed deadbolt was locked.  And we were inside.

I thought about using an old Louisville Slugger to break out of our prison.  I also considered calling the police.  But first I had to check the back door.  I climbed over boxes of records, slid past a folded 6' parrot cage, and squeezed by a wooden bed frame to see if the back door was open.  No dead bolt!  So I traversed the merchandise and carried the car seat and stroller over and through it all again.

Freedom!  A bit early for Independence Day but our first big father-daughter outing and a taste of many adventures to come.

Not So Great Expectations

I have a friend.  His name is Pat.

He doesn't ride a motorcycle.  He doesn't do physics.  There is no space in his brain for anything related to cars or engines or firearms or bicycles  That man cannot properly wield a hammer or turn a screw in the correct  direction.  His wife does the repairs around the house.

I remember when Pat helped me move from one apartment to another.  He lifted the weight bench in the living room, walked toward the front door, and slammed the bench into both sides of the door frame.  His solution was to back up two steps and walk toward the portal again with the same result.

I collapsed in hysterics and continued to watch through tears as he tried a few more times to get that bench through the door.  3-D spacial relations?  Not his strength.

But I love him to death.  He was a great friend in college and we still enjoy getting together.  We share marriage and family and theology and life.  He's fun.  And he's interested in me and my family.  He remembers most of the things I tell him and I do the same for him.  We don't get together often now.  I miss him.

Even when he's a bore and the situation of his life isn't so good and his voice on the phone is dead because he hardens himself to the trials he faces, it's always good to talk with him.  I wish we talked more often.

The thing about Pat is that he's always been honest.  I know details about his life that haunt me sometimes but he's never held anything back.  Ever.  Even his failings are on full display for his friends.  I am not nearly that honest.

Pat never tries to be anybody else.  Pat is Pat - depend on that.  He has not been through a rocker phase followed by a cowboy phase followed by an paramilitary phase.  His activities and interests have never defined him except that he is a husband, father, and pastor.  Those roles are an outgrowth of his love of people and desire to help.

And that's the thing about my friends.  I want to love them for who they are.  I want them to have a real understanding of themselves and not try to be who they are not.

I did not marry my wonderful wife because she is an expert in physics.  I would have dumped her long ago if our love were based on conversations about the operation of an internal combustion engine.  She really doesn't care that much.  And that's just fine.

I don't care if you can build a nuclear reactor from scratch.  I couldn't care less if you can't even operate your DVR.  Just figure out who you are and who you want to be.  I'm OK with that.

It's when you try to be someone you're not that I have a problem.  Why do things just to impress other people?  It's when you lie in person or online to get more respect or attention that I get crazy.  Or when you arrogantly smack someone down because you think you know something you clearly don't.  That's when I get angry.

Friends are friends because they are honest and real with each other.  Friends become good friends when they share something in common and remember details about each others' lives.  Let's be friends.

Time on the Allegheny

The windsurfer was just two blocks from Grandma's house in Rhode Island.  When the owner told me the price was only $50, I snapped it up, tied it to the roof, and headed home to Pittsburgh.  Fearfully watching the 70 mph winds vibrate the nose of the deck above my hood, I checked my knots every few miles until I gave up worrying and drove home.

Since I figured I would never be coordinated enough to actually surf by wind power, the plan was to use the deck as a sit-on-top kayak.  I took a pair of thrift shop canoe paddles, cut the aluminum shafts, and used the innards of an old lady's walker to form a kayak paddle.

Then I tossed it on the river and had a great time.

It tracks well so I can just paddle and not worry about steering.  I get to see nature and the city from a different perspective and every once in a while it feels like I'm on the salt water creek at Mom's parents' house on the North Fork of Long Island.  I hear the sea gulls and I can almost smell the salty air.

But transportation was a problem with the old car so I tossed it atop the pantry closet in my kitchen where it languished for years.

Paraguayan license plate provided by Romualdo Orzuza

Yesterday was my third ride this year since we have a minivan and transport is not horribly inconvenient.  Plus I'm in another crisis of mid-life.  I put in at Three Rivers Rowing in Millvale and headed upstream

Snake Family Dissection

On the way home from work one evening, Dad slammed on the brakes, pulled onto the shoulder, leaped from the car and came back with a big snake.

I was seven.  

Its intestines were protruding through its scales so Dad carefully washed the outer innards and shoved them back in.  The snake died after a time in his new barrel home and Dad wanted the skin so he did a dissection while I looked on over his shoulder.  Fascinating experience.  

On the way home from work on the bicycle the other day, I happened upon a Garter snake that had just been struck by a car.  It seemed that its head had been crushed and blood was flowing from its eye and mouth.  

I picked it up and it wrapped itself around a finger so I took it home and showed it to the boys....