by Doug Walsh
Kara echoed the sentiment, recognizing the well-intended, keep-in-touch goodbyes for what they were. Every day she met such nice, generous people, and every day she had to keep moving. She wondered how many new friends she’d meet by the time she got across the country. Or to Europe. Bit players in the story of her trip around the world.
“If you’re ever in Seattle, be sure to look us up. We’d love to return the favor one day.”
“I’m gonna hold you to it,” Brenda said, pulling her in for a hug.
“Guess it’s time to hit the road,” Kara said, as Edward approached with his bike.
“You mind holding this? I think I left something inside.”
Kara watched Edward run back inside, unable to ignore the coy smile playing on Brenda’s lips.
The door clicked shut behind him and in the empty solitude of the house, Edward felt he could exhale for the first time in hours. He backed against the door, hands on his knees, doubled over, like an Olympic miler finishing on fumes. But the race had only just begun.
The reality of what he’d agreed to hit him on the way to bed last night. The absurdity of his decision, thinking he could rush them through the trip without Kara realizing—or objecting—overwhelmed him. All night he groped in the fog of his mind, searching for a solution, a way to get her on board. It was impossible, he knew; they hadn’t been on the road long enough for Kara to entertain any discussion about his career. And she had long since given up believing his promises of reduced hours, more time at home, fewer weekends spent with clients. Of course, it was easy for her to say she cared more about his time than his money while he was clearing twenty thousand a month. What if he couldn’t find work after the trip? He couldn’t risk it. He had to win the job with Tom—for Kara’s sake.
Still, he’d never lied to Kara before. Not directly. It was paralyzing, rendering him unresponsive to Kara’s touch—another first. In a way, he was glad Brenda winked at him when she mentioned Tom’s new hire, just the jolt he needed to snap him out of his daze. Edward wondered why Tom bothered to tell Brenda anyway, then he remembered why he had come inside. There was a letter for him in Tom’s office. He’d better find it before Kara grew suspicious.
Edward pushed open the door to Tom’s office and recoiled as the stench of stale cigar smoke accosted him. But his repulsion didn’t linger. Despite his unease, Edward felt himself relaxing as he crossed the threshold, a step into his old life. Oversized bookcases lined the walls, filled with leather-bound binders and framed photos of Tom glad-handing a who’s who of Fortune 500 executives. Beyond a pair of nailhead armchairs sat an intricately carved desk near a window overlooking the lake. There, on a felt-lined desk blotter, was a bulging envelope bearing Edward’s name, propped against an old cell phone.
From the envelope stuffed with cash, he extracted a folded sheet of letterhead with a handwritten note.
Edward,
Call me every Thursday at 10 p.m. Central time. Don’t be late! If I don’t answer, leave a message. I want to know your location and where you’re headed next. I’ll be tracking your progress.
No excuses!
Tom
PS: Despite my better judgment, I’ve decided to include a signing bonus as a show of good faith. Don’t make me regret it! Also, Kara’s email mentioned you two not carrying a phone. This old Blackberry should still work. Get yourself a SIM card and use it.
Edward rolled his eyes as the letter reminded him of what a jerk he was signing up to work for. Probably no better than his last boss, he thought. He sighed, knowing it came with the territory. At least he’d be working halfway across the country, in his own office, setting his own hours. And the pay would be fantastic. Speaking of money …
He stretched the envelope wide and rifled through the cash, quickly counting fifty hundred-dollar bills. Not bad, he thought, given the circumstances, but it didn’t change much. If anything, the money was a complication he could do without, another thing needing to be hidden from Kara. He hesitated, then stuffed the envelope of cash into the pocket of his pants, thankful he’d chosen baggy, mountain bike pants over the skin-tight Lycra so many other cyclists wore.
A pit formed in his stomach as he stared at the phone, realizing he didn’t know the first thing about SIM cards and international calling. And then there was the issue of time zones. They were headed to Europe. Did Tom really expect him to wake up in the middle of the night to call him? And what if they were out of cell phone range, camping in the mountains? He shook his head, remembering the underlined words: Don’t be late. “What a pain in the ass,” Edward muttered, annoyed he couldn’t just email him like a normal human being. “No wonder he can’t land any younger clients. The guy’s a dinosaur.” He checked the letterhead for a phone number and stuffed it in the pocket with the cash.
The friendly jingle of Kara’s bicycle bell reminded him he’d better hurry. He dropped the phone into another pocket and quick-stepped out of the office and into the bathroom. There, he flushed the toilet and ran the faucet behind a closed door, pretending to wash his hands as he planned his next move.
Is this really worth it?
He broke into a cold sweat, hating what he knew he’d have to do in order to win the job—and to keep everything a secret from Kara. But what choice did he have? He loved her too much to risk finishing the trip unemployable and bankrupt.
Edward realized he could hide the money in the zippered pocket inside his pannier, where he kept the spare spokes and brake cables. Kara would never look there. As for the phone, he considered pretending it was a gift from Tom and Brenda, but quickly decided it was better to just hide it. Telling her would only invite more questions.
There was no way she would understand what a great opportunity this was for him—for them. Even though six months of travel was still more than most people ever experience—equivalent to thirteen years of two-week vacations by his count—he knew it wasn’t why they sold their belongings, and it was a far cry from the three-year tour she dreamed of.
Cycling around the world in six months would require an incredible amount of good luck: a complete lack of mechanical problems, good weather, and long days in the saddle. Not to mention a militant approach to route planning. Edward exited the house wondering if it were even possible, but knew he had to try.
He looked at his watch: 9:45 already. Shit.
Chapter 11
Wednesday, April 29 — Two Harbors, Minnesota, USA
Five eagles—four adults and a mottled juvenile—danced atop the carcass, wings flapping, beaks wide and stained with blood, jostling for their turn at the mangled deer. Edward and Kara watched from afar, their bikes tottering in the center of a desolate highway in northern Minnesota. The spectacle, the latest in a string of delays Edward felt coiling around him, constricted his movement.
His plan to straight-line across Minnesota on a northeasterly heading to Grand Portage and the Canadian border was struck with one setback after another. It all looked so easy on the state’s bicycling map. The plan was to pedal east along the Heartland Trail to Grand Rapids, and then northward on the Mesabi Trail, into the green and blue expanse of Paul Bunyan country, where quiet forest roads and lakeside campgrounds promised to make for smooth going.
But spring had yet to thaw those paths. Rather than marching past in a blur, the ubiquitous white birch trees, so stark against the blue sky, crawled by in slow motion as Edward and Kara pushed their bikes through drifts of lingering snow, ice scratching at their panniers. The going was glacial. On the fifth day of a three-day ride, they decided to angle south, to the shores of Lake Superior, and rid themselves of the state’s icebox interior.
“I can’t believe our national symbol is a filthy scavenger,” Kara said from behind her camera.
“I think the word you’re looking for is opportunist,” Edward said, watching an eagle tear free a fresh strip of meat. “It might not be noble, but neither is starving.”
“I suppose,” Kara said, her face a portrait of disg
ust. “But roadkill?”
Edward didn’t know bald eagles ate carrion either, but why shouldn’t they? There was no shame in taking advantage of the blessings strewn across your path, especially when desperate. He considered the alternative—nature demanding the eagles wait till spring to fish their meals from melted lakes—but knew they’d die of starvation if that were the case. No, it was better to take advantage of chance encounters, pride and appearances be damned. The more he pondered the morality of their ways, the less he found himself thinking about the birds.
The eagles took flight as Edward and Kara approached the carcass. He stared into the butchered heap of fur and bone as they rolled past and, in that moment, with the birds carving circles higher and higher in the blue sky above, doubt sank its talons into Edward’s mind; he wondered where he and Tom stood upon the food chain.
Edward assuaged himself, confident he and Tom were on the same team, members of an elite flock, believing he wasn’t just a passing meal for a shrewd predator. A teammate with hoops to jump through, he thought with a sigh. As the miles rolled by and the town of Two Harbors drew near, so did his need to buy a SIM card. Tomorrow was Thursday, and he wasn’t about to miss his first call to Tom.
Later that day, the couple descended straight into town. Kara took the lead, pedaling across a sodden field in the shadow of two massive piers, and didn’t stop until they were at the shore of Lake Superior. Dumping her bike on the gravel path, Kara ran to the rocky coastline, her arms stretched wide, as if trying to embrace a distant relative.
Edward hesitated. He wanted to join her on the rocks and twirl her around in celebration of their reaching the Great Lakes, but he didn’t. He held back, anchored to solid ground, struck by the beauty of the moment. There, on the shore, with half a continent behind them, and concentrated within Kara’s effervescent glee, everything was forgotten: the wet feet and frigid toes; the saddle sores; the incessant headwinds; the grease-stained fingers and frustration of flat tires; the hurt feelings and lost tempers. None of it stopped them. Not even his own disinterest. We’re really doing this.
“You didn’t think it’d be this big, did you?” Kara asked, her Midwestern pride beaming as she spun around.
“I guess I never really thought about it.” He paused, scanning the mirror-like sweep of blue. “It’s just like the ocean.”
Kara laughed and skipped the final steps toward Edward, hopping into place, her toes against his toes, her arms around his neck. She smiled at him from mere inches away, and he was struck by how intimate the moment felt, even more than kissing. “And I always thought seeing the Pacific would be more impressive than it really was.” She kissed him quickly then stepped beside him, ducking under his arm, and taking his hand in hers.
Edward held his wife tight by the shoulder, proud of them, of her. The odometer hit two thousand miles earlier that afternoon. He hadn’t given it much thought at the time, but now, standing at the edge of this ocean of a lake, he could happily drown his thoughts about money and the contest and focus on what they had accomplished. And how much of a team they had become.
As if reading his mind, Kara spoke, her voice contemplative: “We used to go to Copper Harbor every summer, up on the coast. The cabin seemed so far away when I was a kid. It was only a three-hour drive from home, but the minutes passed like hours. My world’s gotten so much larger since then. Copper Harbor used to feel as far away as California. Now I know I could have biked there in three days. Two if I was in a hurry.”
Knowing what her response would be, he asked anyway, hopeful. “Are you sure you don’t want to take the southern route around the lakes? Go through Wisconsin?”
She shook her head. “I’m sure.” Her voice barely registered above the cawing of the gulls.
How many times had he sat, gritting his teeth, as her family blamed him for living so far away? About her big city lifestyle? Her work? How many times had Edward offered to fly her parents out to visit, only to have them provide one excuse after another as to why they couldn’t come? The truth was, no matter how much the distances shrank for Kara, her world would never again be as small as it was for them. And they resented her for that.
Edward squeezed Kara close, knowing how much was going unsaid, as only a husband would. She wanted that water buffer. That she’d rather chase winter along the longer, Canadian shoreline than go anywhere near her hometown was expected.
Thirteen hours. That’s all he had until his first call to Tom, all he could think about as he stared out the window over the toasted horizon of an Egg McMuffin.
At least he was able to get the phone working.
Edward had no idea convenience stores sold phone cards, but life on the road held many lessons. He bought a prepaid SIM card last night, along with microwave popcorn and soda, while Kara was in the shower. To his relief, the clerk helped him activate the account and even called the phone to make sure it worked. Now, all he had to do was find a way to use it without Kara noticing.
Edward took a bite of the sandwich, wondering whether people in this part of the country were truly more helpful or if being on the road for two months rendered him more willing to request assistance. Across from him, Kara scribbled away in her journal with one hand, holding a breakfast burrito like a cigar in the other. He wanted to ask her, but already knew her answer. She’d tell him the world was filled with generous people and that the idea of Midwestern politeness was just a myth perpetuated by coastal homebodies who never went anywhere. He’d heard it before.
That he was pondering the kindness of strangers as a direct result of a lie he was telling his wife wasn’t lost on him. And it wasn’t one he could cycle away from.
Edward and Kara spent the day pedaling north along the shore of Lake Superior, passing riotous rivers plunging through narrow canyons, swollen with snowmelt and sediment, staining the lake the color of a root beer float. Where the road curved inland, Subarus adorned with whitewater kayaks dotted roadside pullouts, as neoprene-clad action heroes stood nearby, preparing for battle against the rapids.
While crossing one of the numerous mist-shrouded bridges of State Route 61, Kara proposed shortening the day’s ride to do some sightseeing. Edward glanced at his watch, now covered in droplets from the billowing mist. Ten hours to the call. Had they covered enough distance this first week? He gave a mental shrug and agreed to Kara’s suggestion. His legs felt dead, a shorter day would do him good.
So instead of pushing a full eighty miles to Grand Marais, they halved their goal and took time to visit a pair of state parks along the way. Though hesitant to stray beyond sight of the bikes, Edward let himself be talked into taking a short hike to a waterfall. It felt damn good to get off the bikes and actually see something for a change. That there needed to be a NO SWIMMING sign in front of a raging waterfall had them both laughing, and helped to take Edward’s mind off things.
Despite the detours, they arrived at Tettegouche State Park by five o’clock—over five hours till he had to call Tom. Edward paid for a small tent site on the bluff directly overlooking Lake Superior and exited the campground office to find Kara talking with a wisp of a woman whose angular features were a rarity for the region. A small RV was parked near their bicycles, a mural of the Grand Canyon painted along its side.
“This is Ineke,” Kara said, barely containing her amusement. “She thought we were German.”
“Because I did not think Americans had Ortlieb here,” the woman said, gesturing at their panniers. “To travel like this is very German.”
Edward chuckled, noting her heavy accent. “Nope. Ortlieb’s panniers are real popular here too. Anyway, nice to meet you, I’m Edward.” They shook hands. “Are you camping here tonight?”
“Yes, I have a reservation.”
“Just you?” Kara asked.
“Yes. For now. I will meet my boyfriend out west in three weeks.”
Kara smiled, rolling her bike back and forth in quarter turns.
“Well, it was nice meeting you.�
� Edward waved as he grabbed his bike then turned to Kara. “We’ve got a walk-in site across the highway.”
“Would you like to join me for a beer after you are set up?”
Edward and Kara exchanged a quick glance, then replied in unison, “Absolutely.”
Edward led Kara to their campsite across the road, where they pitched their tent within earshot of the waves lapping against the cobbled beach below them. After showering and eating, they stowed their panniers inside the vestibule, double-locked their bikes to the picnic table’s metal frame, and carried their folding camp chairs in search of Ineke’s campsite. Edward, not about to arrive empty-handed, carried a partially eaten can of BBQ-flavored Pringles.
The wet-wood smell of a campfire made finding her easy. Ineke sat cross-legged on a folding chair, black leggings sticking out from under a tie-dyed flowy skirt, a road atlas on her lap, and a blanket around her shoulders.
“Ah, you came. Welcome.” Ineke hopped to her feet and strode toward Kara, planting two quick air-kisses on her cheeks. Edward stared, wide-eyed at Kara, as Ineke repeated the process on him, not knowing which side to turn to, and whether or not to actually kiss her cheek. He was certain he did it wrong and wished Kara, who had spent a semester abroad in Paris, had filled him in on European greetings.
“Sit, sit, I’ll get the beers,” Ineke said. She disappeared through the RV’s screen door and returned seconds later with two bottles of Becks, already opened.
Edward glanced at his watch as he took a drink. It was almost eight.
“Tell me about your trip, are you going far?” Ineke asked.
Edward motioned to Kara. “The floor’s yours.”
“We’re headed around the world,” Kara said, opting for the shorthand explanation. “We left Seattle six weeks ago.”
“Seattle?” Ineke repeated, her eyes bulging. “Kurt Cobain!”