People Pour on the Love for the UniMan



C

Cycle America

Guest
Max Chen delivered the goods to us once again. Here, I present to U the
beautifully written account that Max transcribed from a fax he received
from one most remarkable man indeed, Unicyclist Patrick Thomas. As U
have seen in here, the UniMan is almost in Colorado now, but here is
what his ride looked like after he left us in Folsom:

California

Day 5 Folsom to Placerville
Tuesday, June 15
20 plus miles

This trip will end up being an affirmation of my
profound belief in the genuine goodness of human
beings as a whole, or a partial or complete
repudiation of this very conviction. I believe that
the people, with whom I share this country and planet,
for the most part, are kind, caring and giving toward
their fellow ****-sapiens. During my two month
odyssey, I look forward to putting my principles to
the test.

Dinner with Don, my recumbent cyclist companion and
fellow cross-country road warrior, was superb. I
thanked him, profusely, for having the courtesy to
wait for me to eat. I had survived the extreme
ravages of the Davis, Sacramento, Rancho Cordova and
Folsom heat, as well as the wounds inflicted by my
unicycle seat. After pizza, salad and drinks, I was
born again. Though you could not tell by my account
of the unicycling journey from Davis to Folsom, the
path along the American River Parkway is beautifully
designed, lush with nature and spectacular views
throughout. One of my most enduring impressions of
this route is the dozens upon hundreds of gophers
(maybe, they were ground hogs) who, upon seeing
anything or anyone pass by, would retreat, in a flash,
to the safety and inner sanctum of their underground
palaces.

After dinner, Don and I pedaled through the streets of
Folsom and made our way to Jack Martin's lovely,
spacious home. Jack is a cyclist, software engineer,
inventor, husband and father of five. He has created
an ingenious system that allows cyclists to replenish
lost liquids, without having to wear anything on their
back (check it out at http://gomb-er.com).

In light of the juggling that Jack has to do in his
multiple roles, it was pretty amazing just how
gracious he was as a host. Don and I failed to meet
Jack's wife, who was sleeping when we arrived and off
to work when we awoke. Nevertheless, Jack opened his
entire family and home to us. Don, I, Jack and his
oldest son talked in the kitchen, deep into the
northern edges of the evening hours while I, almost
single-handedly, drained a pitcher of fabulous
lemonade. Following a rejuvenating shower, I could
not have hoped for a better conclusion to a day that
thoroughly tested my commitment to this ride. Sweet,
luscious slumber overcame me with the quickness of a
gazelle.

A glorious, sunny and scalding day awaited me the
following morning. Jack, without missing a beat, had
a full spread of pancakes, juice, fruit, and coffee.
I enjoyed hanging out with his kids most of the
morning (my sincerest apologies to his middle son,
with whom I never managed to play computer games) and
then it was time to go. Jack's daughter, Rachel, was
kind enough to give me a royal escort, on her bike, to
the corner and I was off. I would miss the warmth and
comforts of the Martin home, especially during the
challenges I faced the following day along the Mormon
Emigrant Trail.

Natoma Street led me past the infamous Folsom State
Prison (why are prisons, so often, built on some of
the most incredibly scenic spots? Some examples are:
San Quentin (near Larkspur, Calif) and a Nevada State
Prison, near Connor's Summit, to mention a couple) to
Green Valley Road. Along the rolls, twists, climbs
and descents of Green Valley Road, I steadily advanced
toward Placerville, at a blistering speed of 6 to 7
miles per hour. Somehow, somewhere, I strayed off
Green Valley and ended up on Lode Road (in a town
neighboring Placerville), which is where I met Miriam.

She was getting the mail from her box, at the side of
the road, as I pedaled up. I was lost and bewildered,
at this point, and upon seeing Miriam, I was relieved
to encounter a soul from whom I could seek guidance.
It seemed that she was no less surprised to see
someone, like me, riding a unicycle on a rural road.
Nonetheless, Miriam was very hospitable. First she
offered to give me a lift and, when I politely
declined, insisted I come up to the house, for a
while, to rest before heading into Placerville. I
made my way up the gravel path to her house. This
experience has moved me deeply. Whenever I find such
trust, such friendly treatment, from a stranger toward
me, I am in awe, particularly in light of tragic,
tumultuous, events that have transpired in our country
and world over the past few years. The flicker of the
flame of human decency and hospitality, for one
stranger towards another, endures despite the hostile
gusts that swirl about it. Entering Miriam's house
was like boarding a flight in which you're traveling
first class (I've only imagined this experience.) She
had fruit drinks poured before I'd even walked through
the door.

Inside, Miriam introduced me to her housemate, Sandra,
and I also met Sandra's mom. We chatted, for awhile,
as I told them about the purpose of my ride. We made
our way into the living room, just as a playoff game
was starting between the Los Angeles Lakers and the
Detroit Pistons. I quickly learned that the best way
to stay on Miriam's good side was to avoid talking
during the game. She was a Laker hater and cheered
whenever they stumbled. The game was exciting and
while we watched the first half., I retrieved the
Subway Tuna sandwich which I bought hours earlier in
Folsom. It had wilted, like a flower, under the sunís
merciless assault, and seeped a stream of mayonnaise,
sauce, and tuna broth into my backpack. (for days to
come, my backpack, and everything it held, smelled of
tuna)

As I prepared to depart for Placerville, Miriam gave
me a bag of strawberries as a parting gift. I thanked
them all for the kindness they had bestowed upon me
and then left to pedal the last few miles that lay
ahead. Later that evening, I reflected upon my day's
journey. I started to understand all too clearly,
just how significant the weather is during a cycle
trip. The fact that I had completed 20 to 30 miles
was irrelevant. Obviously, depending upon the nature
and severity prevalent during a ride, the amount of
physical, mental and spiritual exertion required can still
be drastically increased.
 

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