Finding Community Cycling Across America

by Kelsey Quinn (United States of America)

I didn't expect to find USA

Take a pulse on world events and it’ll reveal the fragmentation of the U.S. Though this is nothing new. In a country already divided politically and economically, the sense of community, camaraderie, and togetherness seems antiquated. There’s no We anymore. Rather, You and I. And in this separateness, disagreements stew into dislike and empathy disintegrates. Almost weekly acts of violence blare across the news. But despite this bleakness, or maybe motivated by it, I set out with my boyfriend, Taylor, to cycle across the expanse of the U.S. To experience our country from the slow speed and inherent vulnerability of a bicycle seemed the perfect way. By the time we made it halfway west, our bikes and bodies are worn down by the road. We stumbled into a corner store just outside of Rapid City, SD as the unrelenting sun baked our skin and boiled our water. The Black Hills were kicking our butts. While we gorged on the AC and refilled our water bottles, the woman behind the counter eyed our loaded-down bikes. “How far ya goin’?” “To Seattle,” Taylor responds with a laugh. It still sounds so ridiculous. “I can’t ever understand what makes someone decide to ride that far,” she says. The motivation seems so obvious to me. It’s hard to fathom why anyone wouldn’t want to do it. We continue chugging water. I pace around thinking about the next leg of our journey. The elevation change looks like an EKG reading. And with a potential hailstorm on the horizon, and no definite place to camp for the night, worry invades my mind. As we’re walking out the door, the woman calls out to us. “Where you guys headed tonight?” “Ehh, somewhere around Custer probably. We’re not sure with the hills,” Taylor says. “Oh that’s where I’m from!” she says and waves him over. Taylor returns with a yellow Post-It note. Written on it is her name, phone number, and address. “If you guys don’t find a place to stay, give me a call,” she says. “I have a spare room in the loft. You’re welcome to it.” After cycling miles of roller coaster ups and downs and waiting out a staple mid-west hailstorm in a park bathroom, we took her up on the offer. This wasn’t our first encounter with selfless strangers. A mother and daughter treated us to ice cream in a town so small no sign told us the name on our arrival or departure. We’d been offered water from truck drivers in the middle of nowhere. And since the east coast, countless drivers had honked their horns in encouragement as they passed by. Across the state’s 383 miles, we met almost no one who shared lives similar to our own. Political views, careers, hobbies—almost every element of life seemed novel, if not refreshingly different from our own. But despite the lack of similarities, we were met with curiosity, selflessness, and an eagerness to help. When Taylor broke a spoke rendering his wheel useless, a doctor picked us up and shuttled us to the closest open bike shop, some 200 miles away in Sturgis. Waiting for the tire to be mended, I made a peanut butter sandwich, sat on the curb, and watched the black clouds of an impending hailstorm blanket the sky. Despite my disheveled appearance, the nearby tattoo shop owner offered me shelter from the storm. We shared a beer with the bike shop owner and a young farmer explained the hardship the rain had caused his harvest. Though our differences far outweigh our similarities, this matters little. It’s not the external elements of sameness that build the foundation of community. It’s also not the differences. Rather, it seems the human condition is the rallying point. It’s an understanding of suffering—empathy that really precipitates the soothing balm of selfless compassion and generosity. Throughout our journey, countless others expended time, energy, and sometimes money—all commodities in too short supply these days—to help two strangers on bicycles. In a pocket of the country distant and odd to me, I felt like I belonged. We were not alone in the west, nor in this country, but rather a part of it.