This man was born in a gypsy tent, of humble origins, and yet ended up being invited to the White House by two presidents. Rodney ‘Gypsy’ Smith came into the world in 1860 in Epping Forest, just outside London. Forty five times he crossed the Atlantic to preach the gospel to millions of people on both sides. His passion was almost unparalleled, and there was great fruit in what he did. What was his secret? Private prayer. His praying was even more powerful than his preaching.
A delegation once came to him to enquire how they might experience personal and mass revival as he had. They wanted to be used the way Gypsy was. Without hesitating, he said: “Go home. Lock yourself in your room. Kneel down in the middle of the floor, and with a piece of chalk draw a circle round yourself. There, on your knees, pray fervently and brokenly that God would start a revival within that chalk circle.”
How badly do we want it?
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The Bike for Burundi blog is turning into a book, which could be out within weeks, as I’m nearly finalized. I just need a strong title. Some of you will be horrified by what I proposed: ‘Bonking on a Bike for Burundi’ (‘bonking’ is the technical term for losing all energy in cycling). Anyways, it’s been rejected by people I trust, and my folks threatened to disown me, which was a strong disincentive!
So, please help me: what should the title be? At the moment, it’s plain ‘Bike for Burundi’ with subtitle '3,000miles of Blood, Sweat and Tears Across America'. What would grab you? ‘Pedaling for Pygmies’? I don't know.
So I hereby invite you to submit your suggestions!
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Freddy's just sent this to me, and I think it's a beautiful example of reckless costly generosity and gratitude:
Going back a few weeks, on Easter Sunday while my family and I we were at Gitega, we went to church where our kids from Homes of Hope go for Sunday school. During the service the pastor asked people who had testimonies to share. A lady called Mariane shared her testimony of how God protected her the day she was almost killed in a car crash. People thought she was dead but she was taken to hospital by someone she never knew.
Mariane is extremely poor and she is Mutwa, i.e. a pygmy. She is a widow as she lost her husband during the long war/genocide. She says that she was so touched to see many Hutus and Tutsis from the church coming to visit her in the hospital while she is just a poor Twa, why would others care about her?
Normally the other tribes do not share food or socialize with the Batwa people here in East Africa. Mariane told the church that the chicken you see was the only one she had, and that was the biggest thing in her life she could find to give to the almighty God in order to thank Him for protection.
The dress that she is wearing was given by the church that same Sunday; and that famous chicken was given to her by a Christian organization trying to help poor Batwa people in Burundi. Young people laughed to see a chicken on the pulpit but some of us learnt a very big lesson that day. Do you?
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Happy Easter! Well, it was such a pleasure to wake up back in my own bed, with even a lie-in until 634am when Josiah (2) woke up. Things have changed in my absence. He no longer wears nappies/diapers at night, and he said totally unprompted: “Can I share one of my eggs with the orphans?” which I hope is a sign of a future man of compassion and generosity. One less positive development is that he now says ‘wadder’ instead of ‘water’, which is slightly disconcerting, and we’ll have to thrash that accent out of him before it gets too entrenched (oh dear, that’s the third prejudice I’ve revealed on this blog, what a bigot I am!).
It was a frenetic early morning of going to pick up bread from the bakery, getting all the kids ready as well as a picnic together for thirty people, and then into the RV and off to Boone Hall Plantation for the beautiful St Andrew’s Easter service. Each year they put up a huge marquee which seats 4,000 people, and that was always the focus for us on our ride as the climax to Bike for Burundi. The weather was cool but sunny, everyone was spruced up, and it was fun to meet up again with so many people who had been supporting and following us over the last five weeks – it’s slightly disconcerting actually, bearing in mind how transparent I’ve been on this blog, to be talking to people knowing they know wa-a-a-y too much about me, the state of my backside, what I did last night (see yesterday’s entry), etc! My buddy Mark looked behind my back and said: “Just checking your fanny’s still there!” That’s a double laugh for me as a Brit because when we talk about ‘fannies’, we mean something else altogether. And that’s been one of the bonus joys of this trip, the mix of US and UK dynamics, with all the attendant misunderstandings and discoveries.
There was a long line of people waiting for the temporary toilets, and I stood in line as everyone else did; but Jeff is not yet used to being back in civilization, so he just peed in the bushes amidst thousands of pucker guests – Jeff, those days are gone now, from hereon in please use regular facilities like the rest of the developed world! We had a lovely picnic and then slowly mobilized for about twenty five of us to do the last 6miles to the Isle of Palms. We wended our way across the bridge and to the beach, before carrying our bikes along the sand, and dipping them in the Atlantic Ocean, thirty four days after doing the same in the Pacific Ocean. We each had a bottle of champagne and sprayed each other like Formula One winners, before jumping into the water and hugging each other. Precious times. The end has come. We could have done it yesterday, but it was nice to be with a whole bunch of others to share the experience.
Furthermore, why finish today? Because Easter is such a significant day. Because without Easter, I wouldn’t be working in Burundi. Because without Easter, there’d be no hope. The history of humanity swung on the fact that about two thousand years ago, a closely-guarded tomb lay empty. The authorities, both Roman and Jewish, tried to explain it away, but suddenly a scared ragtag bunch of eclectic folk became emboldened to travel far and wide sharing at great personal cost about this extraordinary event.
 I think back to Arizona, a month ago to the day. I was cycling along, in pain, feeling discouraged, and head down. The others further back shouted at me to raise my eyes. I looked up to see the name of the town we were entering: Hope! Once through the other side, another sign greeted us: Beyond Hope! But the original Easter events mean that we’re never beyond hope.
There was a crazy old pioneer in ancient times called Paul whose sudden transformation gave us the term ‘Damascus-road experience’. Initially he saw it as his job to wipe out this new-fangled cult, but then he got blitzed and spent the rest of his life spreading the good news. He suffered a lot, and there’s an episode he recounts where he’s wrestling with a ‘thorn of the flesh’ – be it sickness or whatever – that he just can’t shake off. He says that he asked God three times to take it away from him, but eventually got this answer from God: “No, my grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” So Paul goes on: “Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me.”
What are you on about, Simon? Well you see, three days before I was due to fly out to LA to begin Bike for Burundi, I tried fifteen minutes on the cycling machine in the gym, after five months of injury, and gave up. My knees couldn’t take it. I was totally discouraged and weighed down. We’d spent so many hours of planning, preparing, emailing folk, etc, and I was going to crash out on day one with weak injured knees. However, my incredible physical therapist, Jill, reassured me: “Simon, you can do it! This is perfect. If you weren’t injured, you could take all the glory at the end. As it is, when you finish it, it’ll have to be God who gets the glory because your knees are just so weak.”
So there you have it. What I didn’t tell you throughout this blog was that I tried to pray every single mile of the journey: “Lord, this is for your glory.” Of course, I sometimes forgot, and might have gone dozens of miles without praying it. But then a shooting pain would quickly get me back to that prayer. “Every mile for your glory, Lord!” And Jill was right! I did make it. I can’t believe it. It’s an amazing feat. But plenty of people have accomplished it before us, and will do after us. The amazing thing for me is that my knees were shot, and I shouldn’t have made it, but somehow did. And for that reason, with Paul, I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses so that Christ’s power may rest on me. He’s the reason we embarked on all this. He made himself ultimately weak on the cross, to the death, so that we might be raised up with him in his resurrection.  Wow! If you don’t get it, then just check out what Easter is all about. Give it a really good look. Feel free to ask me any questions, or someone you know whose life reflects the beauty of an amazing God. And may the empty tomb with the stone rolled away rock your world as it has mine!
All good things come to an end, so they say, although the ramifications of Easter defy that cliché. But in the case of this blog it’s true! I’ve enjoyed it. I hope you have. Now get off your laptop, grab hold of your life, and live it!
Over
and
Out!
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I fell asleep on the sofa last night and woke up cold at 3am, so it was another bad night’s sleep. But hey, thanks to my terrible lack of sleep throughout the whole trip, this blog happened, so my loss has hopefully been your gain! At 6am, Brent and John showed up from Charleston to join us on our last leg, and there’s also Matt who came last night. They brought superhero costumes with them so today I was Superman, Craig was Spiderman, Jeff was Captain America, John was Batman, and David was his sidekick Robin. Our host Bill nipped out before 7am to bring us piping hot and fresh bagels straight from the oven, and then we were off.
We headed off back to Walmart which was our starting point. David filmed us and did a photo shoot in our new garb as we got the bikes pumped up, checked over, etc. But then the Security Officer showed up in wannabe police car. The poor guy - he was trembling, sweating, and pale-faced as he circled twice, reported back to his superiors by radio, and then bravely plucked up the courage to confront us five superheroes with our crime. He wound down the window, and I leant in. It smelled like he’d already peed himself. I thought of using my laser eyes to intimidate him, but he was already putty in my hands. It’s nice to just exude authority by your presence. Maybe I’ll wear my cape a bit more often (although it provides more drag than lift as I ride). He bleated some high-pitched blurb about Walmart not allowing photo shoots, and then wheeled pitifully away with his tail between his legs. Only then did I remember that I was meant to be a superhero rather than a villain, but wow, I tell you, it felt good!
We didn’t have many miles to complete today, so we took it easy, with long breaks. Actually it was very cold at the start, with full extra clothing needed, but the sun soon pierced through to provide the perfect weather for the climax to the ride. Unfortunately the only route up to Charleston was Highway 17, which is a very busy road, so we needed to be vigilant all the way. Brent and John got separated from us at one stage, but we hooked up again by lunch. By that stage we had passed the 3,000mile mark for the trip. It’s funny because you forget you’re a superhero, and people are staring at you as you behave completely normally! Similarly in Burundi I get stared at the whole time, and in some ways people likewise think I can solve all their problems, just because I’m white. I think overall I prefer to be regular Simon, neither a superhero nor a standout because of my skin colour.
A few ladies saw our sign as we were parked up, googled it, and then knocked on our door to give us a donation. One of them saw Jeff’s outfit and said incredulously: “Are you wearing a cape?” He explained we all were dressed as superheroes but then looked around and he was the only one, so I think she thought he was a little odd but still made the donation! Then another lady approached us and gave two donations – one towards the orphanage, and one, she insisted, was for a pitcher of beer for us – at least I trust that’s what she meant rather than beer for the orphans because that’s not how we go about training them to be Burundi’s future shapers and shakers! Those two encounters were just a typical sign of being back in Charleston, recently cited by Times magazine as the city with the friendliest people in America.
As we cycled the last stretch, I bombed ahead, similar to Craig a few days ago as he desperately wanted to see his family again. My speedometer melted as my superlegs rotated at a cadence never seen before. I was on a mission. I began sporadically screaming or whooping with delight. The realization hit home that we’d actually made it. After one such whoop, Jeff asked: “Is that your mating cry?!” No, it was sheer elation, joy and relief. I’d spent months injured before the trip, and I never thought this day would come. But then after one such spontaneous cry of happiness, in the next breath I burst into tears – tears of sadness for old Geoff, the instigator of Bike for Burundi, who is still suffering back in England after having to leave us half-dead on day two. His ordeal is ongoing following the medical evacuation. He’s sent messages of encouragement to us several times daily. I know how totally devastating this episode has been to him, even though he’s taken it on the chin like the tough nut he is. He’s such a precious friend, and today’s experience to me felt incomplete without him. Yet again, Geoff, we salute you. I don’t think the others had any idea that I was crying, as I was out at the front - except that my nose started pouring with snot, so I cleared it summarily, as is standard cycling practice. What is also standard etiquette, however, is to make sure nobody’s right behind you to receive it in their face. But I didn’t care at that stage, and duly heard Craig cry: “Yuck, Simon!” Sorry buddy, I did it for Geoff!
I actually now wish we’d worn these outfits every day of the ride. They just bring out the best in folk. People everywhere cheered us on, put their hands out of their car windows to give us a high five, called out to us, laughed at us. It was such a joyous atmosphere. In the city, a few groups of folk recognized us and squealed with glee. Some friends along the way were waiting for us, and had banners welcoming us home. One friend of Jeff’s was on his bike and joined us for the last few miles. Ron provided great entertainment at a traffic light when he literally fell completely sideways to the ground, still strapped into his cleats. Maybe the English contingent found it all the more funny as he’d been telling us as we cycled through the historic parts of town: “This is where we kicked the Brits out… this is where the Brits got hammered by us, etc.”
There was a fabulous greeting party waiting for us at our home. Lizzie, the kids, a few neighbours, other wives and family members, gave us a great welcome. I can’t tell you how wonderful it was to hold Lizzie, Zac, Grace and Josiah in my arms and kiss them many times over. It’s been costly to them to be without husband/Daddy all this time, and I don’t take it for granted at all. Lizzie and co had prepared a gorgeous spread. We chomped away, caught up with loved ones, had a few speeches, and the little ones enjoyed playing in the RV. Then it was time to unpack all our gear, food supplies, etc out of the RV in preparation for the last symbolic stretch tomorrow to dip our tires in the Atlantic Ocean on Easter Sunday with several dozen others.
I feel emotionally and physically spent. It’s time for sleep, at last back in my own bed, in my own home, with my own wife (just staying with the ‘owns’ there, but be assured, she’s the only wife I ever plan to be with!). I’ve offered her my honour, and she’s about to honour my offer, and however depleted energy stocks may be, there’s always a little left in the tank for that! Goodnight! |
We allowed ourselves a lie-in this morning, until 730am, as we only had a short ride – we are too far ahead of our planned mileage, and in fact could have made it all the way back to Charleston today at a stretch (c.130miles) but we have cool hosts planned for this evening with me due to give a talk, so that wasn’t an option anyway. We clicked on the weather forecast at breakfast and it talked of thunderstorms, flood risks, and all sorts, so we braced ourselves for an unpleasant few miles. Joanie sent us off with much better instructions of roads to use, which doubtless saved us a lot of hassle.
So we had to drive back from Bluffton, SC, to Savannah, Georgia, to then enter South Carolina legitimately on our bikes. This is our tenth and final state. It was cold, miserably cold, thirty degrees cooler than yesterday. We had a headwind blowing at us. Our spare bike was not properly attached on the back of the RV and fell off with serious damage, so I hope that’s not a costly mistake for our last full day tomorrow. I’d put away all my cold-weather clothing two weeks ago, but it was really needed. Everyone felt it, apart from Craig, for whom it was normal English cycling weather. The rest of us have been used to only cycling in blazing sunshine and humidity, apart from the early days of this adventure when we were up in the mountains.
Ron continues to crack me up. I speak BBC English, whereas he speaks Southern English - if that is a real term. It essentially means he understands one in three words that I say, and is constantly asking me to repeat myself. To explain his struggles to understand me, he said with his slow gentle voice: “Mah father married mah sister but didn’t affect me none!” As we entered SC – the sign read ‘Welcome to South Carolina – Smiling Faces, Beautiful Places - he mentioned a lawyer friend of his upstate who had a divorce case to deal with. His client asked him in deadly earnest: “Now look, I just need to know something: if my wife and I get divorced, will she still be my cousin?” Oh dear, I guess I’m providing legitimate ammunition for Yankies against Southerners, referring back to yesterday’s blog!
Discussing last night’s gorgeous fat juicy steaks, Craig was expounding the environmental damage in terms of methane emissions, water usage to feed cows, grain consumed by cows, etc ‘You could kill world hunger by the Western world cutting out meat once a week’. I’m not doing him justice, because his words were very coherent, the argument cogent, it was vegetarian evangelism par excellence – but he got short shrift from Ron: “Oh, just go and eat a handful of grain and leave me alone!”
 Aargh, it was miserable. We had four punctures within the first 29miles. We pressed on along Alligator Alley, hoping to see one of them and maybe catch one to provide as a pet to my littl’uns tomorrow – that might not go down well though. Jeff, now truly on his home-turf in terms of bird knowledge saw a beautiful one flutter by. As usual I kept my mouth shut to avoid confirming my ornithological ignorance, because I would have said it was a penguin or a puffing, but he chimed with great authority: “That’s a pileated woodpecker, with its red mohawk!”
 He then explained to us what all South Carolinians know - but not necessarily many other people - about the Palmetto palm tree, which is on the State flag. Unlike other trees – whose trunks are mostly dead apart from the outer layers - the Palmetto’s entire trunk is alive, which makes them really flexible. So during the American Revolution in 1776, when the Americans eventually kicked our British butts all the way back to Blighty,  Fort Moultrie on Sullivan’s Island was made from Palmettos as they effectively acted like shock absorbers when the Brits fired cannon balls against her. Unlike regular trees or bricks, which would have exploded upon impact, the Palmettos absorbed the full force of the cannon balls and withstood extensive damage, being so sturdy. And so the Palmetto became famous and a symbol of pride – thanks Jeff, glad to have you on the team in more ways than one.
A lovely bunch of Bluffton folk were waiting at Parker’s station to encourage us on our way, and I’m afraid we kept them waiting about ninety minutes. Craig’s folks showed up too. So we had lunch, feeling very weary, windswept and cold. It goes down as our least enjoyable stint on the road, counting down the miles until we reached Beaufort. A one-mile stretch over a bridge across the water was memorable in terms of how exhausted we were as we pounded into the gale.
Bill and Cindy were our delightful hosts for today, whom I’ve met a few times over the last couple of years. We got to them at 4pm. Strangely we were at least as tired as on other days when we’d cycled twice as long because of the sapping wind that buffeted us all over the place for several hours. I fell asleep on the floor before a load of their friends arrived for a lovely evening with food and a talk by yours truly. Now I’ve just spoken to Lizzie, and am counting down twenty hours until I can hold and kiss her again after thirty five days apart. Can’t wait! She told me how Grace (4), when having her goodnight chat and cuddle in bed just now, made a circle on her tummy and said: “Mummy… are farts round?!” That kind of searching and inquisitive mind fills me with pride and hope for future generations of Guillebauds! So on that profound note, I’ll call it a day, for almost the last time.  |
We were up at 6am for a great breakfast prepared by Chris. My neck’s sore from fighting Ron in the pool yesterday, so maybe I didn’t get the better of him as I’d thought. As we ate, Brian talked about Northerners coming down and taking some of his business with obscenely low contract bids. He’s an airport runways contractor. Ron said: “Well, they must be cleverer than us to be able to do things so cheaply.” Brian replied: “We know those damn Yankies are cleverer than us because they keep telling us they are!” There’s undeniably a huge amount of condescension that I’ve observed by Northerners in general towards Southerners, the former considering themselves more enlightened and sophisticated compared to the latter whom they characterize as backward and quaint.
As with England, there’s a North-South divide as well, although here of course it arises historically out of a huge amount of bloodshed.  It just so happens that last night I read on the BBC’s website about new estimates of numbers who died during the American Civil War (1861-65). About 750,000 people are reckoned to have died in those years, which would translate into about 7.5 million US deaths in proportion to America's current population. In proportion to Britain's 2010 population of 62.3 million, it would equate to about 1.5 million people. So it was a deeply traumatic time in this nation’s history, and it’s a victory in a sense that people aren’t killing each other any more, just making jokes about each other.  I’ve witnessed plenty of prejudice both ways in my encounters over here, but one thing I can say from our experiences over this month is that we’ve been undeniably blessed as recipients of the famous ‘Southern hospitality’. Our hosts everywhere have really known how to treat guests well.
So off we headed. Craig met us back at the RV, having had his third cheeky night in a row away from the team spent with his belle. They had been stopped by the police in their car this morning before the rising of the sun, no doubt because they looked like guilty students returning to campus after some elicit nookie - or maybe it was his latex cycling mankini that drew the policemen’s attention. At any rate, the policemen seemed satisfied by Craig’s crazy explanation that he was cycling across the US in thirty days with a bunch of other guys but had just been off for a night with his family – not sure I would have believed him.
We began cycling, not knowing how far we’d go today. There was a festive atmosphere as we are nearing the end of this mammoth ride. I think our tires are sensing the imminent ending too, because mine gave up the ghost yesterday and Jeff’s did today. We actually had six punctures between us, which obviously took a fair bit of time to fix in total. Jeremy had one puncture which could have ended badly as his tire connected with a Matchbox dinky toy, the tire popped, he lost some control on what was a very busy road, but managed to pull off away from the traffic after initially heading towards them.
We spent mile after mile on Highway 84, which was dead flat for the most part. Sometimes there was only an eighteen inch cycling lane, with the occasional twig or road kill rending the ride all the more dangerous as big trucks steamed past us. We saw signs for Augusta, where the Golf Masters kicked off today, which is one of Georgia’s main claims to fame. By the time we hit the 80mile mark, we needed to leave Highway 84, and follow Google Maps to the next road. But after a few miles, we realized that Google Maps are no good for us, because they led us to a sandy path that our bikes simply couldn’t handle, so we had to backtrack five miles. Then some more punctures followed, so we lost our speedy momentum and took a lunch break.
Last night we read of Levi Leipheimer, the USA’s top cyclist, training in Spain this week and getting smashed into by a car. He was in the cycling lane minding his own business on a four lane road, and an old driver careered into him at 80km/h. Levi’s obviously now out of action, but thought he would die, so is grateful to still be alive. As we cycled further throughout the afternoon, the roads became busier and busier, and frankly more and more dangerous. You know things are serious when the odd obnoxious driver swerves towards you to make a point that you shouldn’t be there. We had a few close shaves in the mix. I was thinking about what happened to Leipheimer and feeling a heavy sense of responsibility, imagining how hideous it would be if anything happened to one of us, and all the more knowing that they wouldn’t have been here if it’s wasn’t for me.
By this stage we’d gone past a hundred miles, and our Florida friends had more than a five-hour drive back to Orlando, so we said goodbye to them and they headed off home. It was great to have them with us for the last three days. Brannon particularly left his mark with his staggeringly regular trips to the bathroom, which he assured us was business as usual.
We were nearing Savannah, and knowing that tomorrow’s weather is not looking good, and the roads we are using are not the most safe on this last leg to Charleston, we wanted to get through as many miles today as possible. So we ploughed on for what ended up being 130miles in total. We had originally intended to find an RV park, but had contacted an old friend whom I’d met in dramatic fashion last year, and at just forty five minutes’ notice she’d invited us to her place in Bluffton. How I first met her is worth retelling:
 Last June, I’d driven down from Charleston to Bluffton to give a few talks over the weekend. On the Saturday night, I spoke to a youth group, after which I was dropped off at this beautiful house where I would be staying. The owner was out of town, but the annex was open, so I should make myself at home. I’m an extreme extrovert, so I remember feeling disappointed that I’d not have anyone to be with all evening. I always prefer to stay with a family than in a hotel, as I love meeting new people. There was a swimming pool at the back, and I didn’t have a swimming costume with me so just jumped in naked. On my 22nd length, I looked up to see a very shocked lady walking towards me and asking who on earth I was!!! In the Bluff, in the buff! So I bared my all, body (and later soul), and our friendship went deep very quickly throughout the rest of the evening! So this is my second evening with Joanie, and I promise you I had clothes on all the way! We’ve just had a lovely supper with her, Cheryl and Kim, and now it’s time for bed. I may grab a swim tomorrow before we head off, but I again I promise to wear more than just my birthday suit! Time for bed, goodnight! |
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05 April 2012
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Priorities…
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Last night we were hosted by David and Valerie, and their two daughters, Sydney (20) and Connie (18).  The girls were immediately swooning over our accents, and sat down to listen to us, not for the content but just the sound! It’s funny, the number of times I’ve given talks around the States and afterwards someone has said: “Thanks for your talk, I love your accent!” - damned with faint praise if that’s all that stuck! Actually, an American friend of mine said that my accent was worth an extra twenty IQ points in terms of how intelligent people would perceive me to be – which is great because I need all the help I can get!
The whole evening was great fun. They were superb hosts. Valerie works for the State Governor. US politics is so fascinating to me, and wherever we have been cycling throughout this enormous nation, we have been bombarded with campaign signs or billboards saying: ‘Vote for Hugh Jass for Sheriff’ or ‘Ivor Biggun for District Commissioner’, etc. There is so much money spent in politics here, which if successful leads to so much power. So the current Governor spent – wait for it - $60million of his own money to get elected to a position that pays $130,000/year. His name’s Rick Scott, and as Marcus noted: “Never trust a man with two first names!”
David was a state trooper for years, working the Florida Turnpike between Miami and Ft. Pierce, one of the heaviest drug-smuggling areas in the country. So he had all sorts of stories to tell, getting shot at, stopping a car with 950kg of cocaine in it as well as a gun used to murder someone the day before, all sorts of stuff. He said when he was young, it was ‘fun and gun’, he loved it, but once he had a family, the reality of potentially dying meant he needed to get out of the game. In a strange way I could relate to that with working in Burundi. Not that I’ll stop taking risks out there, but having family certainly makes me more measured in decision-making. My bottom line is choosing not to take decisions from a paradigm of fear (as most people do), but rather from faith. David now works for the State Department doing some very interesting stuff which he’d prefer I didn’t blog about. Shame! It was nice to have a positive interaction with someone from the State Department after all our very negative experiences with them, being delayed for a year whilst trying to get a visa to enter the country. So up until today, if I played the game ‘word association’ with you, State Department would immediately bring to mind ‘bureaucratic fascists’ and such like! Sorry David, as is always the case, don’t judge individuals by their organization.
Valerie actually took the day off work so she could fix us breakfast, far earlier than she would have liked! She and David sent us off with bloated stomachs and contented spirits. Actually over breakfast Jeremy looked at how much Jeff and I were chomping through, and made the observation: “My theory is that you guys are creatures of habit. In that first difficult week in the mountains where you had to burn 6,000 calories a day to get over those humps, you got used to stuffing your faces, and you just never stopped, even when the mountains ended and you no longer needed so much fuel.” Well, he might be right, because Jeff has put on 8lbs during the trip. My metabolism means that no matter what I eat, I remain a skinny runt. Craig’s definitely a bit of a porker though, and I mean that affectionately and non-judgmentally of course!
We said goodbyes and headed off to our starting point. In the RV, Ron came back with tears in his eyes. He’s having an amazing time on this ride, it’s potentially really life-shaping for him. He loves his family so much and wants to get things in the right order in life. We talked about how screwed up people’s priorities are – how so many work so hard to live beyond their means spending money they don’t have on things they don’t need to impress people they don’t like, sacrificing their loved ones in the process. That’s here in the affluent West at least, and particularly where we are in Mount Pleasant – and yet most people still aren’t happy. They just have more money to spend on disguising and masking their hurts and hang-ups. Along the same theme, a number of people have asked Craig how on earth he can take thirty five days off from work. “It’s easy,” he says, “it’s just a question of priorities. I made this adventure a priority. If you prioritized it, you could do it too.” And he’s no slacker, let me tell you. He’s worked like a dog for the last ten years. So maybe there’s a challenge in there for some of you – it’s not about doing what we’ve done, it doesn’t have to be that long, or physically taxing, etc – but prioritize something that has more significance to it than the big buck, and move from success to significance.
Today we ended our run of fifteen consecutive century rides. We could have done one, but it would have meant cycling further and further away from our host family for the evening, so just before we set off, we decided to just do 75miles, which still meant driving 40miles back (it’s a matter of saving money, because the RV guzzles so much, averaging about 7miles to the gallon). We’re so fit now that 75miles feels like a recovery ride, or a rest day. We cruised along, entering Georgia (our ninth state) very early on.
A treat came as we were about to stop for lunch when a car went by with some familiar but out-of-context faces in it. Bob and Lynn Lawrence, with their son Newman and wife Trish, were returning from a family holiday, and so they stopped off for a lovely bonus lunchtime chat.  Burundi has deeply impacted them as a family. Bob returned from his first visit and used to sing a Kirundi song each morning to Lynn when they woke up. Newman and younger brother Will Henry both went out and were very touched, and now Newman and Trish are heading out for two years to work in Uganda. I love how Burundi blows people away beautifully, and has a unique impact on those who experience it.
So we finished early, and headed back to Valdosta to a business friend of Ron’s called Brian. His wife Chris greeted us and was shocked because she’d been expecting nine Africans – that’s what Brian had told her, but we are all very definitely Caucasian! They have this humoungous property and I’m ensconced in the pool house. We’ve enjoyed their hot tub (I almost shouldn’t tell you this because you might think we’re having too good a time), and I beat up Ron in the pool in punishment for the transparent boxers episode.  We’ve just finished an incredible BBQ supper, with a few more thousand calories to add to the bank, which culminated in John and David embracing a $100 wager (by the Florida boys) to swim across the snake-infested lake. John took the prize, gallantly shared $20 of the spoils, and instead of a winner’s floral garland he picked up some nice green algae along the way. I’m glad the snakes didn’t surface, because we were debating who was more expendable. John’s the only one who can drive the RV, so is pretty crucial to the cause, and David’s going to produce an amazing documentary, so is likewise integral. Who would you have prioritized? More importantly, referring back to earlier, on more significant issues, what are you prioritizing…?
Off for a last late-night soak in the hot-tub, with a team meeting to discuss whether to go for a big 150miler tomorrow, or settle for a mere century. See you tomorrow, sleep well!
(John and David after "snake lake" race) |
I forgot an important detail last night, and that was Ron’s transparent white boxer shorts. When we went for a quick cool refreshing dip in ‘the blue hole’ at the RV campsite, Ron jumped in along with the rest of us, but when he got out to jump again, the poor teenage girls voted with their feet by fast deserting the area. Ron was beautifully unaware and liberated, beaming with enjoyment and satisfaction at a long hard day’s cycling completed. Let’s leave him in the dark on this one, I don’t think it’ll happen again.
So our three new team members duly arrived at about 11pm last night after a five-hour drive from Orlando. Jeremy’s a keen cyclist, and century rides are a cruise for him. Brannon hasn’t done one yet, but I’m sure will be OK, and Marcus is their entertaining support driver. I met Brannon and Marcus in Burundi last year and then flew down to Orlando to speak at a number of meetings Brannon organized just a few months back – all great guys. We went to the Waffle House for an early breakfast and then all the team regrouped at the departure point. I’m not sure what it is about Marianna mosquitoes, but my bites from last night have turned into impressively large red welts. Craig was late back from his ‘family’ time, but we’ll let him off that.
I spent parts of the day in a somber mood as I received news of an apparently healthy 34-year-old friend who died suddenly last week in England. Being on this trip I’ve been out of the loop, but he died in bed next to his wife, leaving behind three precious children under the age of six. He was a fantastic man, gifted, gentle, kind, and compassionate. Devastating. There are no easy answers to the big questions that such tragedies elicit, but it’s a reminder how fleeting life is… None of us knows how long we’ve got, but let’s make sure we make it count whilst we’re here. I think of how many people are dying in Burundi right now amidst the hideous suffering (I’m hearing daily reports of how much worse things are out there), and that makes me all the more determined to raise as much money as possible to make an impact out there through what we’re doing.
We have followed the Southern Tier ACA official route so far, but that ends at the Florida coast, whereas we wanted to finish in Charleston. So from Tallahassee onwards, we were going by Google Maps as we cut north eastwards. We’d had a GPS with all the ACA maps programmed in, so in theory whenever we’d got lost before following the cue sheets, we could just refer to that and quickly get back on track. How would that work out now? Well, the morning went smoothly enough, although I pushed my knees too hard, so we had to collectively slow the pace a little on my account. Come Tallahasee though, it quickly became clear that it wasn’t going to be so straightforward. It wasn’t that big a deal, but we did get lost. It’s the state capital so a reasonably sized city, and we ended up cycling around Florida State University for a while. I think Craig and Jeff will work on things to sort out the next few days, because once out of the city, the Google Map option then directed us to a rough road that our bikes simply couldn’t have coped with, so maybe the coming few days will be challenging in a different way.
Outside the city, we went through an area where I saw a number of young men who have bought into what must be in the whole of human history the weirdest fashion – and you’ve all seen it, I’m guessing – trousers (UK)/pants (USA) that hang not just low revealing your underwear or builder’s bum, but below the butt completely.  So I’m watching this guy walking along the road with his hands in his pockets, his jeans are starting at his knees, totally revealing his blue boxers in full (they’re nice enough, I suppose), but then every five steps he hoists his jeans up, only for them to drop back down to his knees again! Am I just really old and decrepit, or is that the most bizarre sartorial trend ever? Do they know how stupid it looks? Should I tell them? Do they want to know? So many questions, but likewise so many mysteries in life… I remember this street fight, with two lads punching each other. And they’d both bought into this trend, so were swinging punches in between pulling up their trousers/pants, and then one of them literally fell over because his trousers had slipped too low and he’d got his legs all in a twist. Hi-la-rious!
We’d covered 82miles by late lunch, but had lost an hour with changing time zones. At last, we’re in the same time zone as Lizzie, which means we must be nearly home. So after scoffing down some good nosh prepared by John, who’s surprising even himself I think by his culinary skills, we got back on the road for a short stint to the finish.  But as soon as we mounted our bikes, a thunder storm kicked in. It had been brutally hot (for us pale-skin Brits) until then, but suddenly there was a sharp drop in temperature, large heavy rain drops pelted down on us, and there was a bit of thunder and lightning. Jeff’s our man with the GoPro camera which he sticks on his helmet, so during storms we trust that if lightning strikes, he’ll take a hit for the team! The whole situation wasn’t ideal at all as we were on a main road without a cycling lane with 18-wheelers blasting past us just a few feet away, spraying water in our faces and blowing us sideways. Thankfully it didn’t last long. We finished off 102miles, and headed back to Tallahassee for an evening with new hosts, which I’ll mention tomorrow so I can get this off now.
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Author, speaker, founder of Great Lakes Outreach, passionate about challenging people to make their lives count, committed to seeing Burundi transformed, married to Lizzie with Zac, Grace and Josiah completing the team. Currently…
2.4mile sea swim over, tough in choppy waters, finished just outside the medals (about 564th out of 600!)