Southern Tier Sankofa 2021

Posted on January 1, 2021 by anthonycaferro

“A mind that is stretched by a new experience can never go back to its old dimensions.” – Oliver Wendell Holmes, JR.

The road is calling. Maybe it’s a zoom or a FaceTime or something. But I undoubtedly must answer. A little over a year and half ago, I was lamenting the lack of long distance touring in my recent past. At that time, my beloved cross country ride was 8 or 9 years behind me – and it had also been 5 years since a modest Florida Keys ride, my last tour on ANY length. (Shame. Shame. Shame.)

My cross country on the Northern Tier route in particular holds a special place in my blood pumper. Operating at maximum capacity of body, mind and soul, it serves as a beacon and a moment when my entirety of existence felt aligned to the core. Routinely moving under my own power across time and space, day after day and town after town; achieving unified frequency vibration. It wasn’t realistic, but I wanted to do nothing but these long solo tours, forever.

Needles to say, I’ve come to recognize those weeks in July and August and September 2010 as a personal North Star, a guiding light, a source of inspiration and connection. I don’t dream much, but it’s most definitely the shit dreams are made of – and yet so far removed from my then-current situation. Had I left my path? Lost my way? Was it even my fault, or had I been bamboozled? Led astray? Run amuck? Was I even the same person who did these extremely satisfying bicycle tours anymore? What had become of that maximum capacity?

I dig-dug deep and pulled out a 1,500 mile solo ride from NOLA to Buffalo in summer 2019. Then I invited a few friends to join me on a 1,300 mile ride this past June and July. Both of these experiences helped bring me back to the center – all that hard work and pain and sweat just to ride from A to B – and yet just an abbreviated version of that natural high of being out there for a prolonged amount of time. I was renewed.

Back in the late 90’s my very good friend and brother Dr Kush Bhardwaj was always laying down the wisdom of Sankofa. And years later I’d witness him teach University at Buffalo students the same. He’d wave around his cane, then bang it loudly it on the desk or floor and proclaim, “Return to the source and fetch!”.

Wikipedia suggests the following:

Sankofa (pronounced SAHN-koh-fah) is a word in the Twi language of Ghana that translates to “Go back and get it” (san – to return; ko – to go; fa – to fetch, to seek and take) and also refers to the BonoAdinkra symbol represented either with a stylized heart shape or by a bird with its head turned backwards while its feet face forward carrying a precious egg in its mouth. Sankofa is often associated with the proverb, “Se wo were fi na wosankofa a yenkyi,” which translates as: “It is not wrong to go back for that which you have forgotten.”

So I’m returning to the source; I’m going back and getting it; I’m embarking on my longest ride in over a decade – perhaps ever. Friends new and old are joining. All are welcome for some or all of this Southern Tier Sankofa 2021. We leave mid February for 3,200+ miles along the adventure cycling association’s Southern Tier cross country route – and we will be sitting on our ass the entire time.

Posted in bicycle touring | Leave a comment

In Loving Memory of Banh Mi

Posted on November 1, 2020 by anthonycaferro

Banh Mi was rescued by Buffalo Animal Control after a downstairs neighbor called to complain that the upstairs neighbor was leaving their dog in the basement, all day and everyday. After a second negligence complaint, this adorable 5-6 year old pork-bellied pig bull was on her way to the downtown Animal Shelter, and that much closer to my heart.

Portland Maine while awaiting our first Brown Butter Lobster Rolls.

This backstory comes directly from the officer on duty at 380 Oak Street. I’m familiar with the place, most notably from a weekend stint by a pup of a queen of a bitch named Isis about 17 years earlier. Time travel to 2018 into 2019 and I’ve finished grieving the loss of that amazing 16 year old, so Kara and I are regularly visiting the shelter, looking for a friendly dog to co-adopt.

We met a newsworthy pup named Montana a few weeks back and my affinity for that state really looked good for the Big Sky Country of a shepherd as we entered on a weekday afternoon in March. But of course, you don’t choose the dog, the dog chooses you. We arrive to find only three cops and zero volunteers on-site yet; learning that only the volunteers handle the meeting and greeting of furry friends. It gave us plenty of time to walk up and down the cell blocks, fill out adoption applications, and get to know the officers working that day.

I take the sad stroll up and down the aisles and wish I could take them all. A few stand out as cutie pies – and of course there’s the lovely Montana barking up a storm… fast forward to a few volunteers arriving and we’re meeting and greeting in the socializing room. Meeting Montana. Meeting a big headed pittie named something non descript. Scrambling around with a young puppy we knew we couldn’t handle (but sure was fun). After 3 dogs we kinda like, a bell goes off in the woman-who-is-donating-her-time’s head and she brings in a short fat waddling little pit mix who looks up at me with the most brilliant smile. She is into me and I am into her. Immediately, we know it’s time to take Montana and this couch sausage formerly known Princess out on a walk and get to know these girls a little more.

The Big Sky Shepherd comes out first and wants to smell trees and rock and bushes. The one soon to be known as Banh Mi emerges second – all flat-footed and stout; some sort of cute, hog-shaped creature moving like how a penguin on all fours might. She proceeds to urinate for three straight minutes, then poop a human sized pile shortly thereafter. Then repeat. Seriously. The little piglet appears to lose 5 pounds in the process and now she isn’t really fat, she’s just big boneded. We walk up the block a bit and Montana just wants to climb up and hump Banh Mi. Like hardcore dominate this bitch shit. Brushing it all off, Banh Mi couldn’t give a flying fuck one way or the other – she’s happy to be outside and living her best life. She’s not about that piss and shit in your own cage life and she seems to understand that everything here is roses compared to that fucking basement. She made the choice for us.

Hike fanatic. No leash necessary.

Much melted hearts later and I get to have the best friend one could imagine for the next 19 months. Banh Mi turns out to be unbelievably well trained and its clear her story goes much further back than being trapped in a basement. She was just looking for the right crew to fall in with. She loves to love to love, snuggling up at any given moment with subtle grunts and nudges. Unless running wild and doing total summersaults in the grass before flipping on her back for cherished belly rubs. Her snoring is adorably relaxing and I can’t sleep through my own damn snoring.

Every single living thing that meets Banh Mi is overwhelmed with her, even in pandemic times. Complete and total strangers of every age, background and approach (quite literally at least one on every walk or hike we’ve gone on) goes out of their way to compliment or greet her. People call out from their car, asking whether they can breed our dogs. Little kids wanna know if they can pet the puppy. Neighborhood feral cats and skunks live in peace with her as she follows me on leash-less city walks. The humans who really get to know her can’t help but to fall in love the same way I have.

A year or so in and my bestie is in the best shape of her life, jogging miles with me and showing better and better blood work results. This past Spring a tumor starts growing on her underside. Come Summer and she endures a mastectomy at the age 6 or 7; then biopsies show an aggressive metastatic carcinoma spreading into her leg and groin. Followed up by two months of anti-inflammatories and chemotherapy as we fight to preserve our very best lives together. Drew and I take her out in the canoe. Candice and I take her to Acadia for lobster and sunrise on the ocean. Banh Mi and I fight together but I feel so fucking powerless and her condition doesn’t improve. The vet calls off the chemotherapy and we begin comfort care as her pain increases and her mobility decreases. After having gone through a very difficult time with Isis just 28 months earlier, Kara and I can’t draw out her discomfort and suffering any longer. As I type these words the hours count until the vet makes a house call and this little piglet takes her place in the heavenly cosmos. The 1st day of November in the year of 2020. Ice and rain pound the driveway and roof. Her favorite Otis Redding record crackles out in celestial comfort of both of us.

Banh Mi. Previously known as Princess. Also known as The Pork-Bellied Pig Bull. Piglet. Piggie. Little Fat Butt. Tender Loin. Pauly Snore. Couch Sausage. Becky With The Good Hair. Velvet Keister. I love this living creature so much and all I have are these words and a lifetime of memories gained in our nineteen wondrous months together. Her light shines so brightly that recounting all of the stories might fill a book penned by several authors. But ask about the story of Banh Mi sometime. Ask me or anyone who knows her and we’ll no doubt tell you a story about a canine companion with a golden smile so amazingly full of love and happiness that it’ll only end in overwhelming tears of joy.

Posted in bicycle touring, Uncategorized | Tagged , , , | 1 Comment

Day X. Mile #. TBD3

Posted on July 23, 2020 by anthonycaferro

Meanwhile back in Buffalo New York USA.

I am clearly less inclined to scribble anything clever down whilst being back-to-the-grind as compared to whilst riding my bicycle daily 8-10 hours and sleeping outside. Then I recall that comparisons are futile.

Butt(s)…

Gratuitously inescapable ass shot for effect only

…I can’t so much scribble shit using just my thumbs anyway.

I’m pandemically living in what feels like slow motion and coming back into orbit about how phone addicted we all – myself included – utterly are. I sometimes look for my phone, while forgetting that I am holding my phone in my left hand! “The Greatest Left Hand Boost.” Like I’m stealing something from myself… hoping its whatever is left of some corporate part of me. Of all of us.

Out on the road my mobile device — or as the ghost of Steve Jobs calls it, my mobile device — doesn’t receive consistent engagement on the part of moi. We’re riding bikes here. Duh. Ain’t nobody got time for that shit. Really, IT serves only three basic purposes. Let me tell you something!! The phone addiction is so much much easier to ignore on a long bicycle tour. It simply doesn’t exist and there are no negative withdrawal symptoms whatsoever.

Butt. For. (huh)

They shootin’

First — and most importantly — my technological tether allows me to play and listen to and enjoy harmonies, melodies, grooves and rhythms. It’s a musical instrument of sorts, in so much that my ability to – as the kids now call it – “curate” music is to be considered musical skill. Everything else my phone could or would do is secondary. A good tune or ten really pushes me through the tough miles as much as it provides a little comfort during evening camps. Straight up, I don’t think it’s possible to do the amount of required riding and resting without music. Shoutout to all of the artists on my covid canal tour playlist. Notable mentions Run The Jewels 4, Gil Scott-Heron, The Sonics, Santigold.

And also the beautifully talented Norah Jones. Specifically a few songs off the “Little Broken Hearts” album. Danger Mouse slayed the production on that record and the whole thing was unlike what either of them had done before. I wonder about whether they’ll ever do another album together.

¡Numero dos, amigos!

Increasingly, bicycling a route that facilitates a minimum number of turns is growing on me. Less turns means less backtracking a missed turn, which can be a ride-ender in shit circumstances. Less of other shit too. It’s a good goal to strive for with nothing ever being perfectable.

Butt.

While the Natchez Trace and C&O/GAP are spectacular examples of turn-free two-wheel-living, its not the norm out there. So. If I’m not floating past mile markers somewhere between 7 and 17 miles per hour, my mobile device generally serves in a secondary role as a relatively reliable navigational tool. Whew. It’s what us map nerds call maps. I like maps. Not to be confused with naps. Which I also really like. (Where my nap nerds at?) I digress…

When there will be turns, Google Maps’s “bicycle” layer generally works wonders for me. Within the US and A. I find plenty of hard green or dotted green lines without plugging in directions, and that’s been the best way to connect whatever else I’m following. Poppin’ directions in gives me altitude climbs and descents as well. It’s just like poppin’ a cap in that ass, except that it’s not… because that’s something completely different. A paper map is certainly fantastic, but unless I’m strictly following an ACA route, most maps aren’t intended for cycling and don’t provide me the detail or services I need.

Three is the magic number. And if you don’t know, now you know. Three Little Birds. Three Stooges. Threesomes. Third times a charm. Three flavors of Neapolitan ice cream. All great. Third and final on-tour mobile device usage is to scribble (whoa, with my thumbs!? 🤯 ). You know. Writing. More writing. And more writing. I like writing too. Like it’s a job. Shit… would this be “job” number six or seven? I don’t know if I’m ready for another yet, at least not until I get this cloning myself thing down.

It took a month to write this. I write on my phone. Some form of thumb jotting. If you’re still reading this, then you no doubt notice that I tend to thumb jot more often while out on tour. When my only responsibility is to pedal and replenish calories. The place and time that my phone addiction only manifests in three ways. Instead of five thousand ways. No maybe that’s not true. I only seem to write at all when on tour. So it’s not more. Wait, any amount is indeed more than zero. People tell me it’s good. I know they’re lying. It doesn’t really matter. Riding is more important than writing. I certainly love it more than most anything. Maybe this can be the start or more writing whilst not riding. Maybe not. Maybe I should smash my mobile device against the wall and head out back out on bike with a harmonica, a notepad and a Rand McNally road atlas.

PS. Yeah I know my phone is a camera. So photos too. But four is not the magic number, and I’ve heard that a photo equals a thousand words anyway

Posted in bicycle touring | 1 Comment