It's Tuesday, the recumbent is here, the engine is mounted. It's also 17 degrees, NO WAY can this weekly Intro to MB report a test ride.
DETOUR AHEAD-When traveling cross country, without compass or watch, diversions are part of the fun. This week's temporary route ends up in Oklahoma, explaining how that ugly t-shirt, on the front page of the Ada Evening News: Alabama man retaliates against high gas prices, got me back in the black, back on budget in 2006. Laundromats & casinos, a frugal monk & Chickasaw police...(all below)
It was a hare-brained scheme from the get go, to Denver and Back in May-June 2006, on $10 a day. I had prepared in March, learned some lessons, with an 800 mile round trip to Amelia Island, FL. But I was armed with a very unconventional spiritual guide, my old history professor:
Rev. Aloysius Plaisance, OSB (1921-1992)
was the very first person I thought of, when I built that initial bike in 2005.
If there is anyway to put some of the traveling sections of this series in order, explain the "laughing all the way" attitude, it has to commence with the first 40 mile ride I made to show the Sisters at Sacred Heart Monastery, the monks across the creek at St. Bernard Abbey, then some friends and colleagues in Cullman. (Smack in the middle of Baptist country, Mother Angelica's Shrine of the Most Blessed Sacrament is located here too.)
St. Bernard is closer by a mile, while wheeling up the entrance, the very first monk I came across was Abbot Cletus, placidly walking in quiet contemplation past the Ave Maria Grotto. I turned off the motor and stealthfully pedaled about a quarter mile, when I got 10 feet behind him, I reached back and pulled the starter cord, startling his meditation when the little engine came to life.
After buzzing around him like one of those Mad Max villains, I turned the engine off again, braked in front of him and said,
"Father Al would have had a blast on one of these!!".
(May 22, 1976) Some of Father Aloysius Plaisance's friends call him the unlikely monk. They remember when he rode a big motorcycle around Birmingham, and to New Orleans and Florida. He still rides a motorcycle occasionally, delighting in the surprised faces he passes.
Some of his friends have wondered why he became a monk, but he can name off the advantages those friends cannot see even after he names them. They see confinement: close, tight life of isolation.
"FREEDOM," he says, "it gives me freedom".
The Sisters disagree on what type of cycle he arrived on in 1939, he kept it immaculate, until glaucoma hit him the early 1970's. Either it was an Indian Scout they thought, once they saw the Anthony Hopkin's film, or maybe it was a Norton, after watching the fictional Che in The Motorcycle Diaries. They all agree it was a loud rumbler and a pricey collector's item, proceeds went toward that Oxford, England stay.
Fr. Al was a helluva character, hiking and biking nationwide, writing scholarly papers and, once per week, was my history thesis supervisor, after he returned from a 15 month European-Oxford sabbatical in 1977.
We didn't meet until he returned, for I was still a sophomore, matriculating with the Sisters when he left 1n June '76. He had received the campus paper while abroad, and especially enjoyed our most infamous April Fool's edition. When he returned, he called me into his office, demanded I explain myself, plus give him all the scoops I'd uncovered while he was away.
IT WAS A CONVERSATION THAT WENT ON FOR YEARS
And I could burn valuable diary ink with chapters about Rev. Aloysius Plaisance, OSB, "The Traveling Monk". For decades he wrote a syndicated column in southern newspapers and digest magazines, entertaining his readers with travel, history and humor, his "Camper Awakes to find a Bear in the Next Bunk" was an early story that gained St. Bernard national exposure.
He started every class with a 10 minute anecdote, from being William Faulkner's front porch drinking buddy while doing parish stints at St. Johns in Oxford, MS., to walking and talking with Thomas Merton about harvesting Fat Wood versus planting lavender. But his favorite stories were his "tales of frugality".
When he got back from Europe, he was chock full of $10 a day tips, which boiled down to eating lunch in every monastery and convent in Ireland, England and the Continent, carrying his unlimited Eurailpass, good in 13 countries, and with the proper smattering of charm and a few greenbacks, unofficially recognized behind the Iron Curtain as well.
While he didn't dine with the Pope while in Rome, he knew all about the Vatican City cooks and chefs, for he capitalized on Chapter 53 of the Rules of St. Benedict:
Chapter 53 deals with hospitality. Guests are to be met with due courtesy by the abbot or his deputy; during their stay they are to be under the special protection of an appointed monk; they are not to associate with the rest of the community except by special permission.
Fr. Al wouldn't enter a monastery by the front door, he'd pedal up on his bike, carrying a gift, like a large cheese, for the cooking staff, park behind the refectory (eating hall). Rather than take a chance on a random monk assigned to him, he'd roll up his sleeves and start washing dishes, kitchen conversations oriented him to the local scene quicker than any tour book could. It was often the immediate or extended families of the kitchen monks/staffs that would take him around to see the sights, to give him a head start.
APPLYING LESSONS LEARNED
While growing up, he delivered the Birmingham News, was one of the youngest carriers, first walking, then on a bike, by high school graduation he had his motorcycle, and spent two years working for the News as a copy clerk in the advertising department before becoming a monk in 1939.
(There were also 3 other notable noviates around that time, the future Abbott Hillary, Fr. William "Bill", and Fr. Claude, who would become the "Pugilistic Papalists", escorting the basketball team into the hinterlands. Fr. Bill, at his parish in Robertsdale, AL gave me some more great stories on returning from Mobile in Jan. 2007).
So getting newspaper publicity and coverage was in his Fr. Al's blood, he was on the Alabama Tourism Board, one of it's most popular speakers. Likewise MY getting the word out via small town papers has always been built around building up fun stories. Liz Brewer, at the Ada Evening News, made note of my "Crater of Diamonds plan" (mentioned in Intro: Diary Part V.)
That whole premise, to recoup my staggering $3 per day fuel costs, had taken a life of its own.
Stopping in Ada on his way east, taking the scenic route through Crater of Diamonds and the Natchez Trace in Louisiana and Mississippi, Crabtree is headed back to his home in Joppa, Ala. Crabtree rode his bike to Denver, Colo., to attend a May 19 concert with a friend.
The fact of the matter, while Ada, Oklahoma is the Chickasaw Nation headquarters, I was really looking for the Choctaws, located in Durant. Both St. Bernard and Sacred Heart had provided scholarships, for many years, to boarding students from the Mississippi Band of Choctaws. Swinging my jumbo possibly papally blest Medal of St. Benedict, I thought might finagle lunch and a tour. Plus, I'd been lugging around a copy of The Choctaw Trading House, 1803-1822, by Aloysius Plaisance (1955), and a picture of an Indian Trail Tree (also called a "signal tree") discovered in my county recently.
So, I missed Durant, but Ms. Brewer made a phone call for me, talked to the Lt. Governor of the Chickasaw Nation, and when I arrived, Larry, the uniformed head of the Tribal Police, met me at the door....
BUT WHAT ABOUT THAT UGLY SHIRT?
With a name like mine, nicknames are rampant, and Fr. Aloysius had an affinity for trees. Specifically, Fat Wood, the resin rich wood found especially in the long leaf pine stump, which is used as a fire starter for kindling and charcoal.
He was always thinking of new ideas, and he combined getting wood-chopping exercises by packaging the pieces, selling them at the Grotto as "Monks Fat Wood", $5 and $10 sized packets.
Then, the Ad Monk discovered mail-order, and he got himself a gimmick. To take advantage of the bicentennial spirit, he somehow changed the address of the small Abbey post office to P.O. Box 1776, 1600 St. Bernard Drive. When patriotic catholic charcoal users suddenly overwhelmed his supply, extra credit or funds could be earned by students who went out on the 800 acre grounds and drug up chunks of fat wood.
So, of course I had a traveling gimmick, I started doing it during the Grateful Dead mini-tours in the mid-eighties.
About a month before I planned to leave, I'd call my bank and special order anywhere from 50-100 $2 bills. (In 2007, when the gold dollar coins came out, I'd drop a few rolls in my saddlebags, to sprinkle along the route.) $2 bills are a lot lighter however, and before I left for Denver, I ordered $200 worth.
I blew my budget big time on the way out, to shower in a motel room in the extra dry and dusty West Kansas town of St. Francis (St. Franny), on the Colorado border. But thanks to the excellent Coloradan's hospitality during my eight days there, I was still semi-liquid on the return leg.
I was having a great time in Oklahoma, once I got south of Cordell. I'd stopped by the offices of the Wichita, Apache and Delaware Nations in Anadarko, where I did a newspaper interview. On the map of Oklahoma above, I actually spent an extra day camping in Stratford (c#8)at the invitation of a family of Comanche, to visit their swimming hole in Sulphur, picnic at the Chickasaw Recreational Area.
That area of Oklahoma would be my choice to homestead, if I wasn't up here in TVA territory. During 2 breakfasts in Stratford, I remarked to the table full of regulars, that none were natives: Indiana, Philly, Jersey, Wisconsin....they all moved there because of the $500 an acre land, plus the water and air quality.
I DIGRESS
The point of that explanation is, in the snapshot of the ugly shirt, two things you can't see. In my pocket I only had 3 quarters, and wrapped tight, I mean supertight, in a cylinder zip-tied under my basket, were 2 Benjamin Franklins, my cash reserve.
I had really been putting off a stop at a laundromat, that was the last clean shirt I had. Touching the c-notes meant the budget was truly blown, unpacking everything, cutting loose the hot wax sealed cylinder, trying to poke out the bills without tearing them, then having to buy a pack of gum to get washer/dryer change & soap....
A chore deferred.
SO NOW I'M IN THE POLICE CRUISER
Getting a tour of Ada with Larry, Rocinante is safely locked in his office, hearing about some "John Grisham in Ada" controversy. The headquarters are blocks away from the casino, but I'm not paying attention, we're just yakking away. I gave him Fr. Al's Choctaw article to pass along to anyone interested.
Would you believe, I was then 49 years old, and had never been in a casino, much less gambled at a electronic slot-like machine? It's true.
This Chickasaw casino is one of the biggest in the Native American Gaming system. Next thing I know, I'm in this elaborately lit main room. I'm kidding Larry, asking if he gets a cut by dragging in tourists and speeders.
But the moment of truth has arrived, while I'm not going to tell him my dire financial straits, I brag about "shooting the moon", when we pass this rouletty-looking, punch in numberish machine that took quarters !!
ONE ONE, ONE TWO, ONE THREE
Friday, when Justin rang up the blue recumbent, "faring" (windshield), accessories and sales tax, that is what he said "one one, one two, one three".....helluva number to write out on a check "one thousand, one hundred, twelve dollars and thirteen cents." He even called over Melissa, to check out the funky numbers.
BUT THAT'S WHAT I PUNCHED IN WITH MY THREE QUARTERS IN ADA, 11-12-13 !! Surrounding the twelve with the two primes...
And I won $29!! I wouldn't remember it if I lost, and I don't remember which number hit (the rules weren't anything like roulette I'd seen on James Bond flix). In fact, it spit out 2 types of papery ticket things, I didn't know how much I won for another 10 minutes. (Nothing like those jackpot moments, sirens and bells, coins spilling on the floor Vegas images).
Anti-climatic or not, I just wanted my cash, pronto !
I knew, taking my tickety things to the redemption area, I had more than enough to get me to Arkansas, grab up my diamond, and then roll on home...
Larry gave me a hard time about stealing from the natives, but I told him it was getting late, could he give me directions to the nearest washateria? On the ride back I confessed about the 3 quarters...and he was giving me some "happy hunting ground/no man's land" information about my Alabama area as we rolled Rocinante out the door.
And my most excellent lucky streak continued, the laundromat was next to the Goodwill! I bought 4 clean t-shirts for a dollar and donated all my old stuff in the box by the side of the building. Cheaper and quicker !
(But I kept that ugly one.)
LEFTOVER DIARY TRIVIA
This is what a Indian Trail Tree looks like, there is supposedly one on the Abbey Grounds, but I never saw it.
To the casual eye, these bent and often lumpy trees look like growth gone haywire. Trail tree enthusiasts see them as historic landmarks to be preserved, documented and studied. Their theory is that American Indians bent hardwood saplings over a forked stick, chopped off the end and pointed it as a directional marker toward water, shelter or food. Indian trail trees, also called signal trees, language trees and thong trees, are all over the Ozarks. They’ve been documented on public and private land from Michigan to Florida .
However, there is a flora "miracle" in the Grotto, off the main path, behind the main altar...a magnolia branch about 4 feet off the ground, growing out of a fir tree trunk. It just appeared, all by itself, with no explanation. The branch has been there since the '70's, and it was still there last time I looked a couple of years ago. To the best of my knowledge, it never has bloomed.