(Note to Readers: The intention was to post every day, but after reflecting on the content, it was important to make it one post. This would allow you to read my scribblings without having to jump to a previous day, or inadvertently starting on the wrong day.)
by D. Brent Miller
Day 1: Looking for an epiphany
How does the poet describe the experience of euphoria encountered on a highway? What words can describe the pull of a pilgrimage to find something meaningful? Is it the mechanics of transportation or the environment?
Consider the hum of the tires on the road, and the sound of the exhaust as a two-wheeled machine motors down the highway past farms, weathered barns in need of paint, and fields of corn and beans. The motorcycle rolls on through small towns with names like Gratis and Pleasant Valley where buildings look like they have seen better days. The motorcycle rolls on past restaurants with franchised names, and buildings that look just like the same building in the previous town. And, I wonder how much of that familiarity is called economic development. How many people are moved to make way for progress.
I wander into Wabash on Old Highway 24 and take the exit to downtown. At Wabash St. (also State Rte. 13 and 15) an urge, a voice says, “Go straight and go around the block.” Then it says, “Go another block,” and I stumble onto Paradise Springs Treaty Park, complete with replica log cabins. Aha! A photo opportunity. But, it turns out to be so much more.
I find myself standing on holy ground, a sacred site–not as a white male, but as a human being who realizes the great sacrifice and relinquished rights a people gave so that they might survive and find peace. I was standing on the site of the 1826 Treaty where the Miami and Potawatomie peoples gave their land rights of Northern Indiana and Southern Michigan to the expanding US territories and white settlers.
One-hundred and eighty years ago, the taking of land was not called economic development, but it sounds familiar. Today, we call it eminent domain. Land rights are still taken in the name of progress. The sense of place still exits, but it has shifted with history.
Day 2: Looking for a sign
A fog settles over the land–not an intrusive one, but enough to cause one to travel in the wonder of its character. The motorcycle hums along the highway, along with other traffic until turning onto a two-laned road with little to no traffic.
Yesterday, I found an epiphany. I stumbled onto history and realized that it is still repeating itself.
Today, I am looking for a sign–a sign for me and how to create meaningful travel, how to find more epiphanies in my daily walks and rides.
The sun breaks through to illuminate the earth, but there is no sign. I look at billboards and road signs, but no answer comes. I gaze at the sky through my visor, but there is no skywriting for my eyes. I watch the landscape pass by as my wheels roll down the road, but still there is no sign for me.
Then, on a back road of northern Indiana, on a little-used highway rolling through a crossroads of a village, where speed limits require you to slow down, a sign appears. A voice tells me, “This is your sign: ‘Relax and listen to the Lord’.”
Day 3: Seeking direction
A thicker fog covers the land as the motorcycle hums towards the next stop. Visibility is low, maybe one-quarter of a mile. At 100 percent humidity, the moisture forms on the bike, my helmet and glasses. When the sun breaks through, I stop to wipe my glasses clean. It is like a another message has come. Before, I was in fog, but now I can see more clearly, and I am waiting, waiting and listening for more insight to come. I am waiting for a command for direction.
I listen for the voice, but nothing comes.
The highway hums with traffic, but the voice provides no direction. The man at the ticket booth provides entry for photos, but no real directions. The lake shore was starting to buzz with vacationers and beach-goers, but no direction comes from them.
So I ask, “Where is this direction? Give me direction that I may know where I am to go, or what I am to do with the rest of my life.” But there comes no answer.
Finally, I plead in prayer, “What direction, Lord?”
And the answer comes: “You decide. You are free to choose. Be respectful and fair to others in your choices.”
DBrent
The day could not have been more perfect. Sunny. Sixty-eight degrees and rising to the mid 80s by afternoon. A slight breeze out of the west. A group of riders who meet regularly–not just on Sunday mornings–to ride some of southwestern Ohio’s great back roads and two-lane state routes.
The back of the building, built in in the 1800s, has a veranda overlooking the Ohio River. We sit, the coffee comes and orders taken. A riverboat cruises by on the river as speed boats and fishing boats zip up and down the waterway.
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