Bike Ypsi--Cycling and Community

Cyclists gather at Recreation Park Pavilion in Ypsilanti, Michigan

Over the last couple of months a small group of Ypsilanti residents have been meeting regarding bicycle awareness in our sweet city. We came together because the police had announced that they would start enforcing the "NO BICYCLING ON SIDEWALKS RULE" in our two downtown areas. Well, in this town a lot of motorists don't know what a bicycle is, so shout outs like, "get on the sidewalk" are normal.

Since the police announced their enforcement intentions, it seemed like a perfect time to come together to raise awareness about where bicycles are meant to be--the road! By the way, the toughen up on enforcement came about cause drug dealing folks have been engaging in "criminal" behaviors via bicycles.

Our first step in making Ypsi a more bicycle friendly place was to plan a fall ride in order to have a fantastic time in this fair city of ours and to get a solid list of people who are interested in cycling in and around Ypsi. The culmination of this planning took place on Sunday, October 21 at 2:10 in the afternoon.

And the people they listen hard and contemplate it all

10/21 @ 2:10--Bike Ypsi(the ypsilanti bicycling coalition) Bike Ypsi's website--this constitutes people who are interested in all things bicycle related in Ypsilanti--put on our first ride. About 62 people turned out which was more than double what we expected. I cannot begin to tell you how amazed and happy I was as more and more people, of all ages, pulled up to the pavilion on bicycles of all shapes, sizes, designs, and kinds.

We broke into 3 very large groups (probably too large--but next time--there is always a next time) and we rode 17 miles entirely in the City of Ypsilanti and Ypsilanti Township.

Riding along a path by Ford Lake--yes there is a "Lake" in Ypsilanti

This was such a good example of community coming together. A small group of citizens pitching in their time, energy, creativity, and a bit of cash--no sponsors (not this time); simple, old fashion posting of fliers; word of mouth; use of email/myspace/and excellent local bloggers; and one brief article in the ann arbor news and we doubled our expected turn out. Of course, the weather was fucking amazing (super windy, but warm, sunny, blue skies at the end of October in MI). A little group came together and now we have fifty emails and more snail mail/phone contacts...

And we rode. And then we drank beer at the Corner Brewery, and socialized and thought about the next ride, and the next event, and the next time we could all come together as people enjoying one another's company.

At the Corner...

Okay, now I am teary eyed...this is the kind of place where i want to raise a wee sugarpatch into a kindhearted human.

Thanks, people of ypsi; you always come through...

For more reflections see:
Mark Maynard's Blog
Fine Bike Ypsi Organizer Georgina's Blog

Oh, the people...

Update on our attempts at making a sugarpatch

me with a jar of jiz--wet and sweaty from my ride to pick it up...








I've been a slacker in describing our most recent experiences in the world of procreation. Mostly, I think I've been lacking in words because the last injection phase was so excellent and I was not sure if I could do our experience justice here.

I will be brief, but give a simple play by play.

1. We got a new donor.
2. He is super great.
3. His lady is super great.
4. We like their family a super lot.
5. We signed some papers.
6. I performed the first pick up by bicycle. Riding through the mist to their house to claim the prize was invigorating and fun. I sucked up the first gift of jiz and shot it up into my baby. His smells different--but still bleachy and unusual with a hint of candy, sweetness.
7. The following evening we picked up another gift and shot it up into kk real quick on the couch. We covered her with blankets and crossed our fingers that our roommate would not arrive while I was under the covers injecting the swimmers up into her body.
8. We tried again the next morning. The NBD (new baby donor) arrived on our front porch with a gift of jiz early. How sweet. Again, I shot kk up on the couch so I could talk to her while I made coffee and toast.
9. We went up north for the fall get away and hoped that the swimmers might take.
10. On Sunday morning, while still up north kk had her SURGE of HORMONES. We trucked on home. NBD gave us a hand off that evening. I shot kk up again.
11. Monday morning our very kind NBD dropped another wad of jiz to us. And once again we did a couch injection.
12. Kk's temperature went up on Tuesday morning which means her egg fell right into some swimmers.
13. We had our fingers crossed for days.
14. I started my period before kk; this does not usually happen, so we thought hmm....(I also got this really cool tampon pouch. It is called Vinnie's Tamp Case--it is cute and makes me laugh.)
15. Alas, while in Nashville, before we came home to find our treasured pumpkins ripped off, kk started her period.
16. Swimmers failed to take this time around.
17. Looking forward to this next round of tries.
18. NBD thank-you for your steady stream of fluids:)

Pumpkin Thieves Beware

pumpkin thieves beware of the clown killer (this photo was taken the day of our pumpkin hauling adventure)

Monday night kk and I arrived home from nashville (I had to go for work). When we pulled up in the driveway, the porch seemed strange. And then I realized that our pumpkins were missing. They had been snatched right off our porch. I reacted badly--well I over reacted to their missingness. I yelled out loud to all of our neighbors, "if any of you stole my pumpkins you are a fucker."

The thief/thieves stole 3 large pumpkins and a very special banana squash that I brought back from up north. I planned on eating off that banana squash for days.

So, some people, and it had to be at least two folks cause our pumpkins were big, took it upon themselves to steal our pumpkins. I cannot express how peeved this made me (and continues to make me as I re-hash the story). K, T, R and I all went to the farm together on a hot october sunday. We hiked into the fields and stacked a little cart full up of pumpkins. Then we hauled that load back out. R did a lot of work pushing the load along and then I took over. I was dripping with sweat when we got back to the main entrance.


Choosing the best ones

All of this picking and hauling and sweating while spending time with good friends in a field makes me very connected to these pumpkins. I would have preferred for the culprits to take my television set.

Alas, we cannot choose what gets taken from us.

But Pumpkin Thieves Beware...

this godlike mystery

a view from the top of all seasons resort

I realize I’ve been kind of missing in action. Life is too busy, but all in all it is marvelous. Even though I bitch and moan almost every single day about the shit of injustice, inequality, and destruction that I see falling all around, I cannot dismiss the fact that I am able to see the billowing, steel gray clouds of a Michigan Autumn and breathe in the chill air as I sail over the roads on my bicycle.

I am blessed. Amidst the pain and suffering I see all around me, I can still catch ever-cascading glimmers of joy and mystery. Two weekends ago we traveled up north in Michigan to kk’s cabins. Her family owns a “resort” on Paradise Lake in Carp Lake, MI. Her dad and mom bought the place over twenty years ago, and now we are fortunate enough to travel up there every fall for a getaway with many of our dear friends. We also go up for a one-week vacation every summer.

My heart moves to a steady stillness when I am able to sit in the cleaner air of northern Michigan. We are surrounded by such beauty and quiet in the ever-changing landscape of the north. By ever-changing, I mean that we move from thick, forested areas to sandy coasts within minutes. I can hike through forested dunes and end up on the edge of Lake Michigan; I can cycle over paved hills and look out on apple orchards, corn fields, sheep farms, bee hives, wooded plots and still beyond the horizon see the Straits (the place where Lake Michigan and Lake Huron meet).


a far-away view of the straits--at the top of a hill on bicycle ride

During this year’s Fall Getaway hike, we took a 3-mile trek over a Harbor Springs’ Chapter portion of the enormous North Country trail. We entails a group of 6 friends, k and me, and Pookah—the whippet—and Turner—the standard poodle.



a walk in the woods

The hike was full of fungi. Mushrooms of all varieties busted up out of the loamy earth. Some seemed as if they had just erupted, right before the humans and dogs bounced by; gray sand-dirt was practically trickling of the smooth, strangely colored surfaces—the mushrooms in motion.


mushroom on the rise

It is this privilege of seeing the mysterious unfurling before me that makes me yearn to create life more than ever. What a joy I anticipate in the sharing of all things mysterious with a wee mystery—a child. To be up north in the company of michigan’s lakes and dunes and forests and animals, is to be in the company of that which is bigger than human understanding.

The pieces of something godlike re-surfacing in my heart are deeply connected to the joy I find when sitting, walking, biking, hiking, or swimming through the bounteous land and water that I am fortunate to call home. If there is a god, it roams somewhere within all of this beauty.

www.free-burma.org

A New Ride

The past couple of months have been void of sperm. We have not injected since July. The distance of the don don and the insane business of our lives have proven to be major obstacles in our attempts to get pregnant. So, here, in public, I give a shout of thanks out to our don don. Thanks for trying with us. Thank you for familiarizing me with sperm—its smell, its texture, its elasticity. Your sperm will always be the first I ever sucked up in an orange syringe and let fly.

But now, we must move on to closer swimmers. Some very gracious people have offered up the male half of the couple’s sperms. And we have found this arrangement to be comfortable and to make sense. Laughing about the process with these folks has made me love the adventure even more. Now, fresh sperm will be just a few blocks away, and I will be able to pick the stuff up via bicycle and ride it home to my sweet girl’s eager cavern.

I cannot stress how happy I am that I can ride my bicycle to pick up the life giving liquid. Riding my bicycle makes me incredibly happy. Every morning I wake up excited to get on my bike and ride to work. Many mornings I meet my dear friend T and we take off for the wild world of Ann Arbor. Riding my bike to work makes me feel like a kid; riding my bike to work with a friend makes me feel like a super kid out on a play date rather than on my way to the stress riddled realities of social injustice that I become submerged in throughout the day. The ride in prepares me for a long day; the ride home helps take my mind to the present moment.



my single gear-redline 9.2.5.

Riding is like that. It turns a mind and body to the presence of air and ground and wind and gravel and concrete and grass and rivers. Riding over roads and paths, consumes the senses with all that surrounds the body. I have to become consumed, because I have to pay attention to every detail happening around me. The wiz, wiz, wiz of too many cars becomes a mantra of refusal to be clipped. The ferocity of the wind can set the pace and make me feel like I am riding in the midst of something miraculous.

Riding in a rainstorm initiates a deep satisfaction in my soul. It is like swimming on land. We are able to delve into the mystery of water while breathing in oxygen. Even the freezing months’ rides deliver a thrill. While it may be difficult to get my ass out of the house on those 20-something degree mornings, once we are on the road the anticipation of warming up by mile 5 speeds up the heart, warms the muscles, and breathes life into our blood.

I am amazed and blessed and thrilled that I can now combine my love of being out in the world on my bicycle, traversing the landscapes and moving through the present moment, with this sugar patch creation adventure.

Again, thank you dear don don.

And now, onto the new ride

don't read if you don't feel like hearing a vent about injustice

Today I am furious. Today I am sad.

The reservations that arise in my heart about having a child are intimately connected to the injustices I witness day after day after day.

Below is the story of a man that wrote to AFSC, the organization where I work, with a request to get him a tent and sleeping bag so he could go live in the desert once he maxed out of prison. I should point out that this stint he has served five years and spent almost every single one of those days in solitary confinement. That amounts to 23 to 24 hour lock down 7 days a week, 365 days a year. The 23 hours gets referred to cause five times a week people in solitary get let out into a dog run for one hour. If a prisoner exhibits “bad” behavior, he/she gets the one-hour out privilege revoked.

Anyhow, this fellow was serving prison time on a non-violent crime for a B & E. He’s been in and out of prison since 1974 all for B & E type crimes (all because he has mental health issues and has been homeless his whole adult life).

Through our good American practice of punishing to the max, we have intentionally contributed to the exacerbation of this man’s disconnection, isolation, and mental anguish. We, and yes it is us and if you don’t feel responsible then you are even more responsible, passively stand by and watch the planet gasp for air around us, the animals of the planet disappear, and the human animals of the planet stumble about in the throngs of unnecessary suffering. That is suffering we create folks, not that suffering inherent to being alive. I mean for fuck sake there is no reason, no matter what, to keep people locked up in 10 by 12 cages with no freedom of movement for years on end. And I do not want to go into how the justice system is predicated on a racist, classist foundation that renders behaviors that deviate from the norm as criminal, but I will say this more than ¾ of the people incarcerated in MI are in there for no good reason (not that there is ever a good reason to lock people up)—and yes I pulled the ¾ figure out of my ass.

So, we keep this man locked up for most of his adult life and then dump him on the street. Except this time we, people at AFSC, have been able to minimally intervene. This minimal intervention amounts to the following:
Correspond with him and ask what he wants out of life
Ask the DOC to transfer him downstate so that we can pick him up from the prison gates upon release
Ask the Psychological services at the DOC to evaluate him so he can get back on the mental health medications he wants to be on (or at least he did want to be on)
Ask the DOC to help him fill out his SSI paperwork so that he can get some assistance from the state upon release
Ask the DOC and him to help us get a copy of his birth certificate so he can re-establish his identity upon release
Ask the Michigan Prisoner Re-entry Initiative in Washtenaw County to try to get him hooked up with services upon his release

What happens with all of this intervention?
Not a goddamn, fucking thing. Oh, except my director spoke with this man’s counselor at the prison today. The counselor was kind enough to pull the man out of his segregation cell and report that the man is doing okay. He needs a haircut; does not smell too bad; and won’t come close to the counselor even thought the counselor told him he could. Counselor stated, “I can tell he’s been in segregation a long time.”

And the other thing—my director will go pick him up at the prison gates on Monday and bring him to where?? Good question. He has no place to go.

So, here it starts. He hits the streets; he might use some illegal substances if that shit makes him feel better; he might just keep to himself. But when no money is coming in, he might end up taking something from the self-righteous citizenry. And then one of us might call the police on him cause some dirty, long-haired black man is snooping through our trash looking for bottles. Or maybe he walks into your unlocked home and steals some of your home appliances made in china and then you call the police. And then he gets picked back up and sent to the jail where they discover his long rap sheet. And then he gets tried on some B & E. And then he goes back to the state prison. And then he gets no psychological help. And then he ends up back in solitary confinement.

And five years from now, maybe I’ll have a little kid on my lap and another letter will arrive at our office asking for a sleeping bag and tent so that this same man can go live in the desert by himself.

Or maybe—if I can muster a bit of hope out of the cavernous mess of gloom I seem to have fallen into—we will have found a bit more compassion for one another and he can go live with some people who will show him what it means to be loved and cared for and safe no matter what.