Free Markets, Wildfires and Conspiracy Theories; Biking Ontario and Quebec

Jenny and I met Dave in Fitzroy Harbor, Ontario. An 80-year-old retired cop from St. Catherine, he was selling organic produce from his garden at a roadside stand. Dave lives alone in a small trailer tending his “Garden of Eden” and described himself as a DP (displaced person). He showed Jenny where a teenager shot off a small chunk of his ear with a buckshot rifle. When we asked him about the wildfires further north, Dave replied without hesitation, “They were set intentionally by the government so they can develop the land up north. It will make them money on property taxes. And it's where they plan on putting all the immigrants.” When we asked him where the immigrants would find jobs if they lived on cleared land up north, he replied, “It’s a socialist country, so they won't work anyway.” He went on, “That's why the government says it's climate change - they blame it on something we can't do anything about, and that's how they get away with it.” Drawing by Jenny Hershey. Follow her work on Instagram @deeofo.

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Free Markets

“All truth passes through three stages. First, it is ridiculed. Second, it is violently opposed. Third, it is accepted as being self-evident.”

-Arthur Schopenhauer

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Writing by Michael Chase, Drawings by Jenny Hershey

Jenny and I planned our next cycling tour for late June as we rode the train back to New York City last May from Little Rock, Arkansas (read a post about that trip here). Since neither of us had ever been to Ottawa, and because summer is a great time to cycle in Canada, we decided to ride our bikes northwest around the Adirondacks from Albany into Ontario and Quebec. We had no idea what it would be like, but we guessed it would as interesting as it might be challenging. Of course, we reconsidered when New York City broke air quality records because of wildfires in Ontario and Quebec; but decided to go after learning that poor air quality is as determined by wind currents as it is by proximity to wildfires. Our hunches were accurate, and although we grappled with poor air quality in both Ontario and Quebec, we kept reading it was worse in the States. And, of course, we were aware that many others are also suffering from extreme heat in the American south. It’s been a rough summer all around. Like so many other aspects of climate change, there’s nowhere to hide from increasing weather extremes.

Jenny and I started our trip in Albany after taking Amtrak from NYC. We couldn't ferry into Canada at Cape Vincent because the ferry captain retired during the pandemic, and no one has replaced him. Consequently, we had to ride northeast 30 miles to the Alexandria Bay crossing and walk several miles on a narrow pedestrian walkway on the American side. We then rode illegally across another bridge into Canada from Wellesley Island (no one told us not to at Canadian customs). From there, Jenny and I headed north toward the Ottawa River, hopscotching between Ontario and Quebec. We encountered the worst air quality from the Canadian wildfires in the orange areas. We ended the trip in Syracuse, where we took a train back to NYC. Altogether we biked about 1000 miles. Map drawing by Jenny Hershey. Follow her work on Instagram @deeofo.

Some other things needed to happen before we left. In addition to personal care, home projects, and catching up with friends and family, there was a Citizens Climate Lobby (CCL) conference in early June followed by a day of lobbying Congress in Washington, DC. This was CCL’s first in-person lobbying effort since the pandemic, attended by almost 1000 environmentalists from all over the country. Over 465 visits to both Republican and Democratic members of Congress to lobby for climate policies were made in one well-orchestrated day. I joined small teams of other citizen lobbyists to visit with the staffs of NYC Representatives Nydia Velasquez, Ritchie Torres, Adriano Espaillat and Hakim Jeffries. Although there is predictable resistance to the GOP’s continuing agenda to weaken the National Environmental Policy Act (NEPA) and the GOP’s ongoing support for fossil fuels, CCL lobbyists are now able to argue that market forces overwhelmingly favor clean energy over fossil fuels. The clean energy marketplace has found its groove, and if we trust that open competition in a truly free market will deliver the highest quality products for the lowest possible prices, then clean energy will indeed emerge victorious as long as the playing field is even. Renewables are already cheaper than coal, and will soon be cheaper than natural gas (even without factoring in the social costs of carbon emissions and air pollution). Consequently, Republican insistence that oil and gas deserves greater subsidy support than clean energy (usually in the name of “market based parity”) is a less serious threat to long term decarbonization goals than it has ever been.

Tree overlooking Lake Ontario. Photo by Michael Chase. Follow him on Instagram @mjohnsonchase.

Consequently, the overriding concern of CCL lobbyists for this year is permitting reform (with a secondary emphasis on CCL’s signature carbon dividend policy with its carbon border adjustments, or CBAM’s). Both issues are heavy lifts in our polarized political atmosphere, although there is a reasonable chance that both parties might come together in the next Congress to pass meaningful legislation. Effective permitting reform will speed up the permitting process for clean energy projects and streamline the buildout of transmission lines. It will also preserve the input of local communities around quality energy projects, provide lasting jobs and ensure the safety and welfare of American citizens. For Republicans, permitting reform will give all energy projects a bump, including carbon capture, utilization and storage (CCUS), hydrogen manufacturing, and even small modular nuclear reactors.

The sun sets over a bay in Lake Ontario in the middle of June south of Cape Vincent, New York, where the headwaters of the St. Lawrence River begin. The sky seemed clear the day we were there, but this picture indicates there might have been some wildfire smoke in the air. Photo by Jenny Hershey. Follow her on Instagram @deeofo.

All combined, electric utility grids in the US currently transmit approximately one Terawatt of electricity every day. Yet, because permitting new projects now takes as long as four years, there is a large backlog of 1.4 Terrawatts of potential energy waiting to be permitted, so we already have the potential capacity to double the amount of electricity available for our rapidly electrifying energy economy over the coming years. And well over 85% of all project applications in the queue are clean energy projects! This means that if ALL the energy projects (meaning fossil fuel and clean energy projects combined) waiting in the queue were green-lighted today, our energy mix will shift so dramatically toward clean energy that we will make significant progress toward decarbonizing our economy.

So, in one sense, there is very little reason anymore to fight over what NOT to build, and environmentalists can relax a bit because the momentum is on our side. What we can’t relax about, however, is advocating for citizen engagement in the permitting reform process. Whether clean or dirty, the siting, scale and development of new energy projects and transmission lines may result in public health and environmental injustices, eminent domain conflicts, and biodiversity losses and degradation. Local communities should be closely involved in reviews, revisions, and approvals wherever necessary. It’s also time for wealthier communities to step away from historic forms of “not in my backyard” (NIMBY-ism) and accept solar farms, windmills, transmission lines (and even CO2 pipelines and underground storage) into their own neighborhoods. In every way - both good and bad - it’s important for the impacts of the next great energy revolution to be shared equally.

Jeff Mills is a resident of Lanark County in Ontario, Canada. We met him while biking on the Ottawa Valley Recreational Trail (OVRT). A lifelong community developer, Jeff helps to create great biking infrastructure in Lanark and Renfrew Counties. He (and his colleagues) envision a system of rail-trails similar to the Greater Allegheny Passage (GAP Trail) that runs from Pittsburgh, PA to Cumberland, MD. The hope is to create a bicycling destination with global appeal that will help revitalize small communities in northeastern Ontario. Between the OVRT and the Algonquin Trail, they have an excellent start! We were lucky enough to spend a wonderful evening at Jeff’s beautiful home with his lovely wife Gillian and his friends Chandler and Mike. Drawing by Jenny Hershey. Follow her on Instagram @ deepfo.

That isn’t to say that the oil and gas lobby, and the politicians in their pockets, won’t engage in mind-boggling attempts to stop that momentum. Republican politicians in some red states are seeing clean energy handwriting on the wall, and they don’t like it. In fact, the legislatures in both Texas and Florida have recently tried to stop the growth of clean energy projects in their states. Thankfully, because investments in clean energy in both states are so strong (and led by many registered Republicans), the Chambers of Commerce and other business groups, local municipalities, environmentalists, public health advocates and investors have prevailed in their fight against these legislatures to preserve the workings of the free market. It isn’t hard to understand why. According to research by Energy Innovation as reported by David Wallace-Wells in a recent New York Times Op Ed, green energy tax credits in the Inflation Reduction Act are poised to create more than 100,000 jobs in Texas alone by 2030 — which would add more than $15 billion to the state economy over that time. And similar gains are estimated in Florida, where Energy Innovation projects more than 85,000 new jobs and $10 billion in state G.D.P. gains by 2030.

Michael bikes across a covered bridge in Mansfield et Pontefract, Quebec. Photo by Jenny Hershey. Follow her on Instagram @ deeofo.

But it’s not just a couple of red states that are being forced to capitulate to the self-evidence of market forces. Other parts of the world are willing to get serious about the energy transition, as well. China remains focused on cornering the huge new clean energy market, with ever-more massive investments in electric vehicle production, battery technology, wind turbines and solar panels. Europe continues to aggressively wean itself off both oil (through electric vehicle mandates) and Russian gas imports (through energy conservation and the rapid deployment of renewables). Canada established a price on carbon several years ago to incentivize clean energy development. Currently, 90% of the revenue from a federal fuel charge goes directly back to households through the climate action incentive payment (CAIP). This is a tax-free benefit the government pays back to citizens to help offset the cost of carbon pricing. The average household gets back more than they’ve paid into the system. Only higher income households pay more than they get back because they tend to use more fossil fuels.

Al is a retired policeman from Ottawa. We met him in Renfrew while he was tending his garden. He was eager to chat and showed us a stone house from 1865 he had purchased from a family that had acquired homesteading land from the Crown seven generations earlier. Al was proud of his antique collection. Eventually we asked about the wildfires. He believes the fires were most likely started by carelessness, and maybe some lightening. He hedged about the climate but eventually agreed with us the climate is changing. A very friendly guy, Al sent us off with a classic milk bottle and a horseshoe for luck (both somewhat challenging to carry on our bikes, but he was insistent). Michael gave the milk bottle away to our host Jeff Mills, and Jenny left the horseshoe at a farm stand with a couple of Mennonite boys, telling them it might bring good luck. Their father quickly corrected Jenny, saying Mennonites don't believe in luck. But the boys kept the horseshoe anyway. Drawing by Jenny Hershey. Follow her on Instagram @deeofo.

So for all the reasons above, Democrats and other environmentalists in the States don’t need to worry as much about opposing fossil fuel projects as they need to be thinking about getting stuff built, not only to address climate but to keep our economy strong. Yet make no mistake; building out clean energy projects in the United Sates and getting that energy to residents and industries won’t be an easy task, even if that energy is already cheaper and cleaner than fossil fuels. Without a serious effort to streamline permitting and double the size of our utility grid over the next decade (while effectively engaging communities in decision making), we may fail to accomplish up to 80% of the decarbonization goals of the Inflation Reduction Act (IRA).

This photo was taken northwest of Fort Coulonge, Quebec, on an unpaved road called the Chemin du Bois Franc. The road extends north for more than a hundred kilometers and is one of many rugged routes into Quebec’s boreal forest. Although we weren't able to ride north on this road for more than about 20 kilometers we felt like we got a small taste of the forest. It was humid, extremely buggy, and although we were told it was unusually dry, we saw water everywhere. Not only is Canada’s boreal forest rich with trees that sequester huge amounts of carbon, it is also home to one of the most significant stores of fresh water on the planet. Photo by Michael Chase. Follow him on Instagram @mjohnsonchase.

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Wildfires and Conspiracy Theories

“No amount of evidence will ever persuade an idiot.”

-Mark Twain

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We met “Andy” and his wife “Carol” in Cape Vincent, NY. “Carol” invited us down to the Lake Ontario shoreline to share a sunset made even more intense by wildfire smoke drifting toward us from Quebec. As we talked, “Andy” began to share thoughts about how a group of elites from around the world are plotting to eliminate individual liberties to impose a dictatorial, one-world government. He threw out some names: Klaus Schwab, Rothschild, Mayer, Zuckerberg, Bill Gates…. We were curious and a bit uneasy. So, later in the evening Jenny and I did an internet search. “Andy’s” searches probably go directly to “The Great Reset Conspiracy” attributed to the World Economic Forum (WEF); a conspiracy of world control by a select few through Covid mandates, climate lockdowns, space lasers, and ecoterrorism. “Andy” may assume everyone else will find the same information if they bother to look. But that’s a danger of the internet and misinformation. Search engines learn how to show you results you are most likely to like to maximize your eyeballs on associated advertising. Consequently, whatever information we encounter online, we curate online through our own interests and biases. So, Jenny and I had to do some digging. Apparently “Andy” didn’t notice the Star of David around Jenny’s neck; in any case, she didn’t sleep well that evening. Drawing by Jenny Hershey. Follow her on Instagram @deeofo.

As we are all too aware, Canadian wildfires have been burning for weeks. Research shows that record heat and drought creates earlier starts to every season (with this year breaking all records), resulting in wildfire activity that is longer-lasting and more intense. Caused by a mix of human activity (carelessness and arson), and lightning, it is clear that climate change affects the local conditions and fuel available for these fires to spread, as do the decades of fire suppression techniques that have contributed to unnaturally dense forest environments.

This simple bar graph indicates that by the end of June of this year, a greater percentage of hectares have already burned in Canada than any year since records have been kept. Some news outlets argue that climate change isn't the cause of wildfires because the number of annual fires has been decreasing. However, they all ignore the sheer size and destructive nature of the current fires.

New Yorkers won’t soon forget what the air quality was like on June 7th, 2023. At its peak in the afternoon, the air quality index (AQI) for the city reached 405 out of 500; the highest since records began, according to an analysis of the Environmental Protection Agency (EPA). While we have been biking in Canada over the month of June, over 400 wildfires have continued to drive air quality indexes to record levels in many cities across the eastern seaboard and the midwest. Air quality has been equally poor in Canada. Yesterday (7/2/23), four of the five cities with the worst air quality in the world were in North America. New York City had the second-worst air quality in the world with a recorded air quality index of 162, lagging only behind Jakarta. Toronto and Montreal ranked 3rd and 4th, reporting AQI’s of 155 and 153, respectively. The fifth-ranked city, Washington, D.C., is hundreds of miles away from where Canadian wildfires continue to rage. There, air quality was slightly better than the other three North American cities on the list, with an AQI of 122.

Almost 40 per cent of Canada’s 2023 wildfires have been in Quebec, threatening to evacuate more than 15,000 people. Photo: Société de protection des forêts contre le feu; as seen in The Narwhal.

Ten percent of the world’s forests rise up from Canadian soil, and increasingly those forests look poised to burn as our atmosphere grows warmer. Consider the following passage from a poetic and startling new book by John Vaillant called Fire Weather: “Girdling the Northern Hemisphere in a circumpolar band, the boreal forest is the largest terrestrial ecosystem, comprising almost a third of the planet’s total forest area (more than 6 million square miles—larger than all fifty U.S. states). Fully a third of Canada is covered by boreal forest. Continuing west, over the Rocky Mountains, through British Columbia, the Yukon, Alaska, and across the Bering Strait into Russia (where it is known as the taiga), the boreal forest stretches all the way to Scandinavia and then makes landfall on Iceland before picking up again in Newfoundland and continuing westward to complete the circle. It is a green wreath crowning the globe. This colossal biome stores as much, if not more, carbon than all tropical forests combined and, when it burns, it goes off like a carbon bomb. Under the right conditions, a big boreal fire can come on like the end of the world, roaring and unstoppable. These are fires that can burn thousands of square miles of forest along with everything in it, and still be out of control.”

The scale is hard to get my head around. You may feel the same. And if that wasn't sobering enough, here's another important milestone; fires across Canada this year have ALREADY generated nearly 600 million tons of CO2, which is equivalent to 88% of Canada’s total greenhouse gas emissions from all sources in 2021. More than half of that carbon pollution went up in wildfire smoke in June alone. And the fire season here is only beginning.

Jenny (left) and Chandler Swain. We met Chandler at our dinner with Jeff and Gillian Mills. Chandler is a master potter, artist, environmental activist and communications director for the Climate Network in Lanark County, Ontario. Although Jenny rarely draws herself, she felt a strong bond with Chandler, whose enthusiasm, tenacity and buoyant energy is infectious. Chandler’s passion for environmental work has led her to write about network initiatives for the local online paper, The Humm. Her personal website can be found here. Drawing by Jenny Hershey. Follow her work on Instagram @deeofo.

And the causes of the fires? Well, as we discovered through our conversations with some Canadians (but not all, thankfully), blaming wildfires on the unusually hot and dry conditions resulting from a gradually warming world brought on by 250 years of unrelenting greenhouse gas emissions is, well, a bit too convenient. After all, why buy into dry weather that makes human carelessness or lightning strikes the reason (but not the root cause) when you can believe in something far less complex? Stew Peters, the same man who made a film claiming that Covid-19 is caused by synthetic snake venom, blamed the Canadian wildfires on Directed Energy Weapons on June 5th of this year. Apparently he sent out a TikTok video with visuals that made southeast Quebec appear as though hundreds of locations were catching on fire at the same time. This allowed him to claim that “our governments” are targeting their own forests for nefarious reasons.

I'm not sure if Directed Energy Weapons (DEWs) are related to the infamous Jewish Space Lasers that Congressional Representative Marjorie Taylor Greene previously implicated in a wildfire outbreak, but it's clear her theory is followed. Here it is on Donald Trump’s Truth Social. According to the Congresswoman, forests don’t catch fire simply because they are extraordinarily hot and dry. Representative Greene claimed the blazes had been started by PG&E in conjunction with the Rothschilds, by using a space laser to clear room for a high-speed rail project. Really, one cannot make this stuff up. For those of you who don’t believe me, you can read Greene’s entire post here on Media Matters.

We stayed in Alain and Paola’s small cabin behind their home in Mansfield-et-Pontefract. Alain is a retired postman. He started his route after graduating from high school when he was 16 years old. His dad was a supervisor and he wanted to follow in his father's footsteps. Alain walked 20 Km (12 miles) a day, year round, using ice cleats to navigate cold, icy winters for over 40 years. Each neighborhood he serviced brought new friendships and relationships. Alain said, “I don’t get attached easily, but the old folks - they’d wait all day for me. I was sometimes the only person they talked to. It was hard to walk away.” Alain is very devoted to his wife. He is also a superb Airbnb host with a simple philosophy—deliver hospitality! Drawing by Jenny Hershey. Follow her on Instagram @deeofo.

But not all the theories borrow from Conspiracy mongers who make their homes in the States. Alberta Premier Danielle Smith (who is not friendly toward Canadian climate policies) was asked about the cause of Alberta wildfires in early June by Canadian talk show host Ryan Jespersen, and suggested that the more than 175 fires burning in Alberta at the time were all caused by arson, not climate change. Others in Canada have taken the arson theory a step further, indicating that the arsonists are Trudeau government operatives who are out to increase the federal carbon price.

Our friend Andy from Cape Vincent disturbed us with his reference to a cabal with mostly Jewish names, seemingly unaware that he (and others of his ilk) are dredging up the same anti-Jewish theories that preceded the Nazis and the rise of Hitler. “Anti-Jewish prejudice is very old – it goes back to antiquity – but the 19th century was crucial,” writes Matthias B. Lehmann, Teller Family Chair in Jewish History and professor of history at UCI, in The Baron: Maurice de Hirsch and the Jewish Nineteenth Century. “It was the moment when modern-day antisemitic conspiracy theories first crystallized, and those are still very much being used today.”

A view of the Coulonge River looking north. We were told that one of the smaller fires in Quebec was about 75 miles north of here. Photo by Michael Chase. Follow him on Instagram @mjohnsonchase.

Sometimes the enemy is the U.S. government and Biden, or the Canadian government or Trudeau. Or it's a cabal of rich people connected to the World Economic Forum wanting to control the world. Or sometimes it’s wealthy people in general, especially if they are Jewish. Or blacks or Hispanics or Muslims. Or they might be communists or socialists. Or Democrats. Or LBGTQ people. Or Public Health officials. Recently it was the queen of England, believed by a number of people to be the head of a brutal global drug cartel. As Anna Merlen writes in her fascinating book, Republic of Lies, conspiracy theories are, in the end, not so much an explanation of events as they are an effort to assign blame. More than questioning an official narrative, they are aimed at identifying the real perpetrators, the true power behind the throne, the hidden hand pulling beneath the surface.

So, it almost seems quaint that a not-insignificant chorus of Canadians blame the current wildfires sweeping across much of the country on climate activists and laser-less government operatives willing to drive into the woods and strike a match. It’s those pesky arsonists, and not natural forces or human carelessness driven by a hotter and drier climate that’s the real culprit for all the choking smoke that has driven children, seniors and others with respiratory issues inside, blocking out the sun and making air nearly impossible to breathe. 

Whoever, or whatever it is, it's likely to happen more and more often until well after we decarbonize our atmosphere.

Let's get on with it.

Stay vigilant! Thanks for reading. If you haven’t done so, please subscribe to this blog to follow our next biking trip.

Blog writing by Michael Chase. Drawings by Jenny Hershey. Unless credited or otherwise noted, all material is the copyrighted property of the blog post authors.

Here are a few more photos from the trip:

Michael enjoying one of Jenny’s extraordinary meals.Although Michael is a decent cook in his own right, Jenny has become an exceptional cook on the road, and we eat very well using local produce and protein and the microwaves we find in our modest accommodations. Photo by Jenny Hershey. Follow her on Instagram @deeofo.

The Chutes de Coulonge on the Coulonge River in Quebec. Photo by Jenny Hershey. Follow her on Instagram @deeofo.

Jenny with a mosquito net over her head goofing around in Quebec. Photo by Michael Chase. Follow him on Instagram @mjohnsonchase.

Water and a Pipeline; Biking Mississippi and Arkansas, Part 2

We met Jorge outside Jacksonville, Arkansas, just east of Conway. He graciously allowed us to fix a flat tire in his driveway, the third of seven flats we had on this trip. Jorge immigrated to Arkansas from San Luis Potosí, Mexico, 12 years ago, and enjoys a peaceful life with his wife and 4 kids. He told us he was “muy feliz.” He works a 9-5 job Monday through Friday in home construction, and spends the weekends with his kids doing sports. Jorge was a bicycle mechanic in Mexico and masterfully found the leak in our tube before we were even able to look. We were touched by his kindness.

Drawing by Jenny Hershey. Follow her on Instagram @deeofo.

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“Caution is the eldest child of wisdom.”

- Victor Hugo

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Jenny and I planned our bicycling trip through the Ouachita Mountains in the Ozark High Country, following a route from Conway to Little Rock. From there, we will take an Amtrak train to visit family in Milwaukee and another train back home from Chicago to New York City. We used a map the American Cycling Association provided to guide us on our journey.

Writing by Michael Chase, Drawings by Jenny Hershey

After a very satisfying ride across Alabama and Mississippi and the extraordinary delta country of eastern Mississippi and Arkansas (the subjects of Post 1 in this series), we headed toward the Arkansas River and the Conway/Little Rock region of Arkansas. The Adventure Cycling Association has created an extraordinary tour of the Ozarks out of Little Rock that features northern and southern loops collectively called the Arkansas High Country Route.

Confidant that climate-related stories are now to be found anywhere and everywhere, we already knew about the deadly tornadoes of March 31, 2023, that had moved through a large portion of the south and midwest, including a particularly devastating tornado that hit North Little Rock, only one week after the Amory, Rolling Fork and Silver City tornadoes in Mississippi. Although we didn’t see the neighborhoods in North and West Little Rock devastated (nor the shopping center that took out a Trek Bike Shop, among other businesses), we saw large swaths of park damage on both sides of the Arkansas River. The North Little Rock tornado had winds up to 165 mph and a path length spanning 20-25 miles, which is unusually large. We thought we would likely see more tornado destruction (see Part 1 in this series). However, on our way to Lake Maumelle from Little Rock, we discovered a different water-related climate story that captured our interest.

It’s difficult to photograph the impact of a tornado in a natural setting, and we took many pictures we weren’t pleased with. We must have seen several hundred stumps in one area of Rebsamen Park in Little Rock. We captured these shots more than 5 weeks after the tornado hit. Workmen have been working nonstop to get debris cleared, and there are still many places in the park that are this damaged.

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Mayflower, Arkansas, is a small suburban development nestled between North Little Rock and Conway. You might remember the Pegasus Pipeline oil spill in 2013. Owned by ExxonMobil, and used to carry Canadian tar sands oil to the Gulf Coast, it ruptured and dumped approximately 10,000 gallons of tar sands oil into the Mayflower Northwoods subdivision.

A picture of the spill in 2013, as published in Inside Climate News. Credit:EPA.

Jenny and I were intrigued by this story (and its lack of a resolution, which I will get to later), so we chose to bike to Mayflower, Arkansas, to see the site of the spill for ourselves. Not surprisingly, ten years later there are no telltale signs of the spill short of a pipeline identification pole (see photo below). Yards blackened by oil that we had seen in other pictures are now green with grass and homes evacuated shortly after the spill look intact and peaceful with pickups and SUVs in the driveways. Among the only visible reminders of the leak are a couple of vacant plots on each side of a cul-de-sac at the corner of the neighborhood closest to the pipeline.

The gas pipeline marker sits next to the main road leading into the Northwoods subdivision of Mayflower, Arkansas. About 100 feet later, a road turns to the right and ends in a cul-de-sac partially visible to the right. These houses are the first things one sees. To our eye, all the houses on this street and many of the houses behind it are new and make up the bulk of the homes that were rebuilt as part of the settlement with ExxonMobil. Despite confidentiality agreements, several plaintiffs said that compensation for medical distress ranged from $2,000 to $15,000, depending on the proximity of the residents to the oil spill.

To avoid confusion, please note the pipeline was renamed the Permian Express Pipeline after ExxonMobil sold it to Energy Transfer Partners, LLC (ETP) in 2018.

Photo by Michael Chase. Follow him on Instagram @mjohnsonchase.

Most of the residents that live in the subdivision now did not live there in 2013. According to an article in the Arkansas Democrat-Gazette, Meggie Hardcastle, who recently moved into a home near the spill site, said most people living on her street were also new to the area. Of the two locals we talked to, one had heard nothing about the possibility of the pipeline starting up again, and the other believed the entire pipeline had been replaced. Sadly, they are both wrong; I explain why later in this story.

Things were very different when the spill occurred. It required an immediate evacuation of 22 homes, killed hundreds of animals, and severely impacted the surrounding wetland habitat near the subdivision. Fortunately, the spill was rapidly contained through the efforts of fast-acting first responders, including firefighters, city employees, county road crews, and local police, who successfully blocked culverts to stop the oil from getting into the water system of nearby Lake Conway (an area enjoyed for its natural beauty and recreational opportunities).

Graphic courtesy of Inside Climate News.

Back in the Northwoods subdivision, a few hundred people were sickened by an odor that was almost thick enough to feel; the spilled oil was bitumen mixed with diluted hydrocarbons. Residents complained about headaches, diarrhea, swollen eyes, dry heaves, and burning lungs. But the full extent of the medical consequences didn’t come to light until 2017 when 708 pages of documents were finally released by the federal pipeline safety regulator known as the Pipeline and Hazardous Materials Safety Administration (PHMSA) after a protracted court battle where PHMSA and ExxonMobil squared off with a nonprofit watchdog group, the Pipeline Safety Trust.

Built in the 1940s, the current condition and usability of what is now called the Permian Basin Pipeline are unknown to the public. Although not in use since 2013, its current owner, Energy Transfer Partners, LLC, has no obligation to reveal any maintenance process or testing results, nor does it have to indicate if and when the pipeline is operational. In the fall of 2021, Energy Transfer Partners, LLC began testing the pipeline again for potential deployment. This map shows more detail about the pipeline’s location. The pipeline traverses 13 miles of the Lake Maumelle shoreline in Arkansas and runs through Lake Hamilton in Hot Springs.

Graphic courtesy of Inside Climate News.

Sealed depositions obtained by the trust detail the true depth of health concerns after the spill. More than two dozen Mayflower residents described serious physical and mental harm suffered due to the oil spill. Residents tossed out furniture and ripped up carpets that had become hopelessly steeped with the stench of oil. They talked about the unexplained death of pets and how they became afraid even to take walks through their neighborhood.

We met Hirty Hopper, a lifelong resident of Mayflower, in the Northwoods subdivision. Hirty is a mason and has been involved in masonry work on many homes following the oil spill. He trusted that the pipeline had been repaired, even telling us the entire pipeline had been rebuilt (it hasn’t). Hirty’s greater concern was seeing the construction completed on a railroad overpass nearby. He explained that the subdivision was only remotely accessible to the nearest hospital. It was located near a railroad track with so few crossings that ambulances couldn’t access the subdivision quickly enough, causing deaths because the wait was so long. “Six people passed,” he told us.

Drawing by Jenny Hershey. Follow her on Instagram @deeofo.

Settlements between homeowners, sickened residents, and ExxonMobil took years. The Arkansas Democrat-Gazette reported that, as part of its effort to address the spill, ExxonMobil ultimately purchased and rebuilt 31 homes in the subdivision and demolished at least three. It took the court system about six years to reach a final accounting. Along the way, PHMSA filed violations against ExxonMobil and attempted to fine them. For years before the Mayflower disaster, ExxonMobil had conducted multiple tests which uncovered more than ten ruptures or leaks along the pipeline. According to PHMSA, ExxonMobil failed to address those concerns, although the reports are still unavailable to the public, and the complaint is shrouded in secrecy. However, a federal appeals court sided with ExxonMobil when the oil giant stated, “There is no proof its actions contributed to the spill.” Then, in a ruling that astonished me when I read about it, the court found that ExxonMobil had followed the law in conducting adequate inspections and analysis in accordance with federal regulations and that“despite adherence to safety regulations and guidelines, oil spills still do occur.”

Think about that. The court essentially ruled that pipelines DO and WILL fail - just like any other form of plumbing. Yet, when they do, operating companies may not be held culpable. If they have followed regulatory laws (often legislated by federal and state governments that are anti-regulatory) and the pipelines fail, operators can walk away scot-free. Unfortunately, when that happens, the public is stuck with a lasting burden of recovery that goes well beyond token gestures of compensation by offending parties.

I wish I could say that such outcomes create greater awareness among the public that weak regulations and self-interested companies are not to be trusted. Companies will do what is right for them, but not necessarily what is right. If the law won’t stop them and they can make money doing it, they will do as much damage as possible until a disaster unfolds. Yet, I am often struck by the passivity of those at risk, like the Northwoods resident who lived through the previous spill and assumes the pipeline will never be used again.

Lake Dardanelle is near the Arkansas River, slightly northwest of Dardanelle, Arkansas. Photo by Jenny Hershey. Follow her on Instagram @ deeofo.

In the fall of 2019, after Energy Transfer Partners (ETP) had purchased the pipeline from ExxonMobil and renamed it the Permian Express Pipeline, they notified Central Arkansas Water that they planned to start testing it again for potential use. Central Arkansas Water is the utility that supplies drinking water to approximately half a million residents in the Little Rock metropolitan region. It draws water from the Lake Maumelle watershed and smaller tributaries fed by the Maumelle River. Built in the late 1940s (well before the Northwoods subdivision existed), ETP’s newly named Permian Express Pipeline also skirts along 13 miles of shoreline of Lake Maumelle. Along this stretch, the pipeline crosses bodies of water, including tributary streams and wetlands at 13 points. In addition, several sections of pipe near the lake are above ground, making them more susceptible to damage.

Gary is a 62-year-old log hauler from Clarksville, Arkansas. We met him on Petite Jean Mountain in the Ouachita Mountain west of Little Rock (pronounced like Wichita, except it is Watch-i-ta). Gary was adjusting his brakes under a truck carrying a large load of timber. Gary has been hauling logs for almost 30 years. Still, when Hurricane Harvey hit Houston, he and his wife headed west to help communities by hauling away debris and offering emotional family support. Gary loves to hunt wild turkeys. When we asked Gary about his age, he laughed and told us he was like an overworked mule, “rode hard and put up wet.” He sincerely asked us, “How could we stand living in a city as big as New York?” Jenny launched into her appreciation for the diversity of her neighborhood in New York, and that’s when he told us how much he enjoyed helping diverse folks in Houston after Hurricane Harvey hit. As different as our lives are, we enjoyed learning about our shared values.

Drawing by Jenny Hershey. Find her on Instagram @deeofo.

Surprisingly, ETP is not required by law to disclose whether it conducts tests or if it reopens the pipeline. Notifying the water utility about its intention to conduct tests suggests the company is interested, at least, in the appearance of good public relations. However, it has not been willing to divulge its long-term intentions. The water utility and various community environmental groups have openly worried that the company might consider reopening the pipeline. After all, the stakes are quite high - a pipeline failure within the Lake Maumelle watershed could have catastrophic consequences for the half million people who use the water supply.

In 2020, officials from Central Arkansas Water sent letters to ETP offering to discuss the potential purchase of the section of pipeline that runs through the watershed, but they never heard back.

Stock photo of Lake Maumelle, the reservoir that is the source of drinking water for Little Rock and the water utility Central Arkansas Water. We visited the lake on our last day in Little Rock and tried to find an access point for a photograph but were unsuccessful, so we had to settle for this photo found in Google Images.

The most recent accounting of what might happen with the pipeline is an article in the Arkansas Democrat-Gazette, dated March 27, 2023 (ironically, on the same weekend that media was hyper-focused on the North Little Rock tornado). The Gazette interviewed Raven Lawson, the watershed protection manager at Central Arkansas Water, who said, “The possibility of the pipeline reopening is a top concern.” If oil begins to flow through the pipeline again, Lawson said she believed it would not be a question of "if" but "when" the conduit would rupture again. However, Max Shilstone, director of government affairs for ETP, told Central Arkansas Water in a letter dated May 23, 2022, that his company has "no plans to bring the pipeline back into service at this time." Shilstone said "current market conditions" did not warrant restarting the conduit but noted his company would "continue to maintain the pipeline in a safe, idle condition. Should circumstances involving the pipeline and its future use change, we will communicate with interested parties, of which Central Arkansas Water would be included.”

So, the people who use Central Arkansas Water must wait passively, trusting that ETP will do the right thing. Let’s hope it goes that way. I think it’s unlikely that ETP has plans to run oil through the Permian Express Pipeline. They are more likely to use the pipeline to transport liquified natural gas (LGN) to the Gulf Coast. A methane leak would be less harmful to waterways, making public relations issues more manageable (methane emission disasters are harder to detect and less likely to gain media attention).

However, I think it is even more likely that ETP is quietly testing the pipeline as they bide their time until they can use the pipeline to transport CO2 or hydrogen. Unless the GOP's recent budget ploy successfully results in repealing the recent hike in 45Q tax credits as provided by the Inflation Reduction Act (see our recent blog post for an explanation), the financial rewards for transporting those materials may be quite remunerative. And while that effort might help decarbonization efforts, they are also largely untested and may include unintended consequences. Like you, I would much rather deal with pollution accidents resulting from efforts to decarbonize. But it’s also important that we understand the risk profile for anything we transport, and right now, there is much about carbon and hydrogen transport and storage that is not understood.

But I’m willing to make a solid bet the ETP didn’t purchase the Pegasus Pipeline, so it can lay idle. It’s only a matter of time before it is back in use. And considering that it is over 70 years old and the relaxed regulatory rules under which it is governed, it’s only a matter of time before Little Rock’s drinking water supply is again threatened.

On our way up Magazine Mountain in Arkansas, we met Joey on his souped-up e-bike on a gravel backroad. Joey was born and raised (and still lives) in the Arkansas Valley near Paris, Arkansas. Retired from a job with Bridgestone Tire, Joey enjoys hunting for wild turkeys on his bike. He said that his truck scares the turkeys, and he can sneak up on them on a bike. Turkey season in Arkansas is short; it lasts from April 17th - May 7th. An old back injury haunts Joey, but he pushes through, and at the end of the day, he goes home to a loving wife. Two grown children who don’t live very far away not far away give him much joy. A jovial, soft-spoken man with a gun dressed in camouflage riding an e-bike on a gravel road in the woods; can’t find that in Times Square…

Drawing by Jenny Hershey. Follow her on Instagram @deeofo.

Stay vigilant! Thanks for reading. If you haven’t done so, please subscribe to this blog to follow our next biking trip.

Blog writing by Michael Chase. Drawings by Jenny Hershey. Unless credited or otherwise noted, all material is the copyrighted property of the blog post authors.

This view looks north from Petite Jean Mountain in the Ouachita Mountains. Although this entire region is loosely referred to as “the Ozarks,” the southern border of the Ozark Plateau technically starts at the Boston Mountains, which are visible in the distance. Jenny and I were charmed by the natural beauty of Arkansas and challenged by its ruggedness. Photo by Michael Chase. Follow him on Instagram @mjohnsonchase.

Water and a Tornado; Biking in Mississippi and Arkansas, Part 1

Jenny and I met Brian while he was gazing at the extraordinary amount of surface water flowing through Indian Bay near the White River east of DeWitt, Arkansas, in the Dale Bumpers National Recreation Area. This led to a conversation about how all the surface water we saw was unlikely to replenish groundwater supplies in the Mississippi Delta. Brian was about to say something when a valve spontaneously blew on my front tire, causing it to deflate instantly. Brian owns Pop Pop’s Bait and Tackle in Helena, Arkansas, near the Mississippi River on the Arkansas side of the Mississippi Delta (technically known as the Mississippi Embayment). He was fishing for Skipjack Herring, a great bait for catfish and quite lucrative for his shop. Brian started Pop Pop’s with his father about 12 years ago. He is proud of his daughter who will attend medical school next year. A hard-working man, Brian has lived in Arkansas his entire life.

Drawing by Jenny Hershey. Follow her in Instagram @deeofo.

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“Our very survival depends on our ability to stay awake, to adjust to new ideas, to remain vigilant and to face the challenge of change.”

– Martin Luther King

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Our approximate route was from Birmingham, Alabama, to Conway, Arkansas. Once we reached Conway, Jenny and I entered the Arkansas Ozarks, which will be covered in Part 2 of this trip series. Image courtesy of Kamoot.

Writing by Michael Johnson Chase, Drawings by Jenny Hershey

For the second time this year, Jenny Hershey and I boarded an Amtrak train in New York City with our bicycles and got out in Birmingham, Alabama. Our ultimate destination was the Arkansas Ozarks this time, so we have been riding westward since we got to Birmingham. Fascinated by water issues and how they intersect with climate change, we were initially disappointed that our route wouldn’t take us through beleaguered Jackson, Mississippi, where water issues have become a water crisis.

We talked to a farmer near Friar’s Point, Mississippi, in the Mississippi Delta (not to be confused with the Mississippi River Delta, which is the extension of the Mississippi River into the Gulf of Mexico south of New Orleans). The farmer told us that low-till planting methods for water conservation and soil development are becoming increasingly common in this part of the Delta. When we asked about the water levels in the alluvial aquifer, the farmer replied that the aquifer was decreasing over time. Still, he also thought the issues were more critical on the Arkansas side of the Delta because water-intensive rice farming is more common. Photo by Michael Chase. Follow him on Instagram @mjohnsonchase.

We decided that climate issues are ubiquitous enough that we will discover plenty of interesting stories wherever we go. We were right, of course. The prevalence of climate stories is much greater now than even a few short years ago, in 2016, when I started bicycle touring. Extreme weather-related disasters are now straining American communities so intensely that climate stories are everywhere. Climate-related events are occurring at a magnitude greater than the most conservative climate scientists predicted just a few years ago. However, the truly scary thing is that extreme weather-related natural disasters are only going to keep increasing in quantity, duration, and strength.

It’s no accident that City Hall and the Water Department are the most important municipal offices in Brilliant, Alabama. Access to clean and reliable water and safe sanitation are baseline conditions for health, prosperity, and well-being. Of America’s 145,000 municipal water systems, 97% of them are municipalities of 10,000 people or fewer. More than any other factor, climate change reveals and exacerbates racial and societal inequities in disproportionately small and rural communities that struggle for funding and technical services. Photo by Jenny Hershey. Follow her on Instagram @deepfo.

With that as a backdrop, let’s briefly return to the subject of Jackson, Mississippi (even though Jenny and I didn’t go there). The American media has coveted the drinking water crisis in Jackson as a story of poor management and neglect. But it is also a story about the convergence of climate change, aging infrastructure, water contamination, and rising costs. All those factors make providing clean water to every community in America an increasingly daunting problem. Already, more than two million Americans lack access to running water, indoor plumbing, or wastewater services.

While it is true that Jackson’s water system was poorly managed and neglected for decades (partially related to declining property values due to “white flight” into other towns and neighboring suburbs), the water system reached its final tipping point during a flooding crisis in 2022. When double-digit rainfall fell across central Mississippi in the last week of August, the Pearl River flooded and completely overwhelmed Jackson’s long-troubled water system. Destruction from the flood disabled the Curtis Water Treatment Plant for an extended period of time, forcing residents to go without drinking water for weeks. At the same time, there was not even enough water pressure to flush the toilets or shower.

Jessica is the town clerk in Brilliant, Alabama. She came out of her office to welcome us while we took a picture of the City Hall and Water Department sign. After some pleasantries, we asked Jessica about Brilliant’s water supply. She explained the town is building a new water tower supplied from local wells with help of the governor and a state based economic development organization (and most likely block grants from the 2021 Infrastructure Investment and Jobs Act). This new water tower will supply water for nearly 500 residents and 36 businesses. Jessica, a lifelong Alabaman, proudly waved at a passing school bus carrying the local baseball team (including her two teenage sons) to a nearby high school. Her warmth and hospitality were topped off with a pen from the mayor. Brilliant town promotion in Brilliant!

Drawing by Jenny Hershey. Follow her on Instagram @deeofo.

Jackson is a canary in a coal mine. Even currently “adequate” infrastructure will become increasingly compromised as the climate grows hotter, dryer, and wetter. There are an ever-increasing number of hot spots worldwide where climate change is driving cycles of flooding, drought, water stress, interruptions in agriculture and subsequent famine. Perhaps the most dire situation of all is unfolding in the Horn of Africa, where drought is forcing millions of people into what Inside Climate calls a “raging food catastrophe.” And all around the world major rivers are drying up, including the Rhine and the Loire in Europe. Water flow through China’s massive Yangtze River is more than 50% below the average of the last five years, threatening the water supply of 400 million people. Closer to home, the Colorado River, which supplies drinking water for 40 million Americans and irrigates 7 million acres of our farmland, is suffering through the the worst dry spell in 1200 years. Though an unusually wet winter has provided temporary relief it’s nowhere near enough to fill the deficit. At the same time, many of the western states that saw record-breaking amounts of rain and snow over the winter are experiencing rapid spring snowmelt, which is becoming a massive flood threat. In California, thousands of acres are already underwater and that land area is expected to triple by summer.

Frankie works part-time at the water department in Detroit, Alabama (population of 150 people). Water comes from a nearby well and costs the residents $20 for 2000 gallons. A replica of a check for $350,000 for water infrastructure improvement from the governor hung on the wall behind her, demonstrating the state’s commitment to helping local communities. Frankie served as county clerk for 30 years in nearby Hodges and was blunt about extreme weather threatening the region. A devout Christian, Frankie belongs to a missionary group that rebuilds churches after floods, windstorms and tornadoes. Many of their projects are for African-American congregations. When we asked her what she thought was driving the increase in tornadoes in her area she replied, “I think it’s the end-times.”

Drawing by Jenny Hershey. Follow her work on Instagram @deeofo.

Our route toward Little Rock from Birmingham took us west through the hill country of Jasper and Hamilton in western Alabama and then through beautiful farm country to Amory, Mississippi. You might have heard of Amory for several reasons. For one, a devastating tornado ripped through the town on March 25, 2023. There was widespread damage, and even Amory’s water treatment plant took a direct hit. Thankfully, Amory got its water running after a boil advisory that lasted only about a day. Even better, no one died in the town (although there were three deaths in Morgan County, where Amory is located).

Brenda, a woman of strong faith, prayed hard in her home as she huddled with her two brothers when a tornado struck her neighborhood in Amory, Mississippi. After the storm passed, she walked outside to find her front porch missing, although her home remained intact. A huge tree was lying on her neighbor’s house. Luckily, her neighbor survived by sheltering in the back of her house. Miraculously, no one in the town was killed, despite the tornado’s widespread devastation. When we came across Brenda, she was relaxing outside in a chair where her porch had been only days before, taking in the sunshine.

Drawing by Jenny Hershey. Follow her on Instagram @deeofo.

Other places were not so lucky. Over a dozen tornadoes tore through Mississippi and Alabama during the same storm, leaving at least 26 dead and a swath of destruction 100 miles wide and devastating the communities of Rolling Fork and Silver City, Mississippi. We considered biking to Rolling Fork just as we had considered stopping in Jackson but decided we didn’t want to be in the way or use resources needed by first responders. From what we understand, homes and businesses have been reduced to rubble. The recent tornadoes stretched from the Louisiana border of Mississippi through Alabama as part of a supercell, or rotating thunderstorm - a rare, extended path for such a storm.

We saw at least 3 trailer homes that had been ripped off their foundations and were upside down, making it clear that a trailer home is not a safe place to be during a tornado. Yet, in low income neighborhoods they are very common. The average cost of a typical single-family home in Mississippi is $144,074. In contrast, the average cost of a single-wide mobile home is $37,100 and double-wide mobile home is $73,600. Top photo by Jenny Hershey @deeofo and bottom photo by Michael Chase @mjohnsonchase.

Climate scientists have not been able to determine if there is a link between climate change and the frequency or strength of tornadoes. The primary tool scientists use to attribute extreme weather events to climate change is intensive computer modeling based on large amounts of aggregated data. This is difficult to achieve with tornadoes because of the localized conditions that determine their formation, combined with their relatively small size over a given region. Yet, scientists affirm that tornadoes are occurring in greater clusters, and the region of the United States in the Great Plains where most tornadoes occur (known as Tornado Alley) appears to be shifting eastwards toward more populated regions in the southeast. Therefore, tornadoes may be in the news more because more people are being impacted.

While biking through Amory, we noticed the woman above watching an excavator consolidate the debris below into a pile. When I asked her if she lived in the still-intact house behind her, she shook her head no and pointed to the pile of debris. She clearly didn’t want to talk, so we expressed our condolences and quickly moved on. Photos are by Michael Chase. Follow him on Instagram @mjohnsonchase.

Tornadoes form inside large rotating thunderstorms when the ingredients are just right; a perfect mix of temperature and a specific moisture and wind profile. This suggests that an increase in water vapor and precipitation, indicative of climate change in the southeastern region, may be contributing to the shift eastwards. In any case, when air is unstable, cold air is pushed over warmer humid air, creating an updraft as the warm air rises. When the wind speed or direction changes over a short distance, the air inside the clouds starts to spin. If the air column begins spinning vertically and rotates near the ground, surface friction can accelerate the air even more. All these features must come together to cause a tornado to form. And despite their small size compared to an atmospheric river or a hurricane, they can be quite devastating. I certainly hope Jenny and I are lucky enough to avoid them on our travels, and my heart goes out to anyone forced to live through a direct hit.

A large tree rests on a home in the northwest section of Amory. Sadly, the tornado’s path tore through the least affluent part of town, underlining the reality that the most vulnerable among us are often the most affected during weather-related disasters. Photo by Jenny Hershey. Follow her on Instagram @deeofo.

In Amory, and especially for Rolling Fork and Silver City, recovery from the tornado damage is uncertain. FEMA is out in force, but the devastation is quite extensive. Here’s how to help those impacted.

Another photo from Amory, Mississippi. Interestingly, meteorologists measure the strength of a tornado by the destruction it leaves in its wake because it is almost impossible to measure a tornado while it is active. Photo by Michael Chase. Follow him on Instagram @mjohnsonchase.

The second reason you may know about Amory, Mississippi, is more fun. Two residents from Morgan County are competing in the 21st American Idol contest: Colin Stough and Zachariah Smith, both of whom have wowed the judges in their solo auditions. It’s striking that so many fine American gospel, blues and country musicians have come from the rural South. Still, Amory has the distinction of also having the 2015 American Idol winner, Trent Harmon. This is a good news story, and you can check out the contestants at the links above.

Bill’s Hamburgers sits temporarily closed after the Amory tornado, where 2023 American Idol contestant Zachariah Smith flipped over 400 hamburgers every Saturday. Photo by Jenny Hershey. Follow her on Instagram @deeofo.

Stay vigilant! Thanks for reading. Part 2 of this series will come soon. If you haven’t done so, please subscribe to this blog to follow our next biking trip.

Blog writing by Michael Johnson Chase. Drawings by Jenny Hershey. Unless credited or otherwise noted, all material is the copyrighted property of the blog post authors.

Although coal powers 18% of the electricity in Alabama and only 8% in Mississippi, coal still powers 50% of the electricity in Arkansas. We are a long ways from “electrifying everything,” but the vision and template to get there is a big part of the Inflation Reduction Act. If we care about young people, public health, and economic well-being, we must all work hard to utilize this bill's opportunities. Photo by Michael Chase. Follow him on Instagram @mjohnsonchase.

Hope and Despair; Biking the Western Upper Peninsula

Carly, her boyfriend Paxton and his sister Ali all moved from Minneapolis to Ontonagon, Michigan, in the Upper Peninsula in August of 2021, and bought a small motel. Renaming it after their black lab Griswold, Griswold’s Lodge is their hope and promise for the future. They believe in this area’s potential for growth. Drawing by Jenny Hershey. Follow her on Instagram @deeofo.

When you’re at the end of your rope, tie a knot and hold on. - Theodore Roosevelt

It’s been a rough news cycle. The names of two American towns say it all: Buffalo, New York and Uvalde, Texas.

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Thank you for taking the time to read the latest blog post from carbonstories.org. I apologize for the long hiatus between posts. In March, a bike trip to the Ozarks (which would have resulted in a posting) was upended by a family emergency that required consistent attention for several months. Yet, happily over the same period, my daughter Saren had a second child. ….Welcome to this very troubled and extraordinarily beautiful world, Kaia Spire!

A proud grandfather holding Kaia Spire, born April 5, 2022.

After meeting my new grandchild over a week ago, my intrepid cycling partner Jenny Hershey and I left my daughter’s place in Wausau, Wisconsin, and headed north on our bicycles to explore the western Upper Peninsula of Michigan and the Lake Superior shore of Wisconsin. So far we’ve biked about 500 miles from Wausau, Wisconsin into the Lake Superior shore in the state of Michigan, up the Keweenaw Peninsula to Copper Harbor, and back to Ontonagon, Michigan just east of the Porcupine Mountains Wilderness State Forest. Next we will head to Ironwood, Michigan and then to Ashland, Wisconsin and the Apostle Island area. If we are lucky, we’ll make it to Duluth, Minnesota, before heading back to Wausau and Milwaukee to visit family before our return to New York City. The copper ridges, mountains, wet valleys and innumerable lakes of this country - mixed with cool temperatures and copious rain that keep the insects in check - are making for a bracing and energetic trip (with occasional unplanned layovers as we wait for storms to let up).

Wausau is to the south on this map. The circle is Ontonagon, Michigan. Near the end of the long peninsula to the northeast lies Copper Harbor, where we were several days prior. From Copper Harbor or Houghton, Michigan, one can take a ferry to Isle National Royale, a US National Park wilderness area. We wanted to go, but were unable to make the ferry schedule work out…. Another time! Map by Guru Maps Pro.

I’m a lucky man, and I try not to take my good fortune for granted. I have loving and wonderful friends and family. I am healthy enough to do most everything I aspire to. I get enough to eat, and I usually sleep where it is dry and warm. When I experience physical discomfort, I know it won’t last and I will be comfortable again soon. I have lived a life of privilege; among other forms of good fortune, my gender, race and education have always worked in my favor. I suppose you can call me “woke.” Well, so be it, especially when the alternative is to be not-woke, which really means “asleep.” A lot of sleeping folk are in Houston right now, railing against the possibility of meaningful gun legislation. They are “asleep at the wheel,” as far as I’m concerned… on gun control, on climate, on constitutional protection from religious persecution on a woman’s right to choose. They are loud, but common sense will always be louder, even if it arrives too late to mitigate some of our pain.

I had polio as a child (and am so grateful for the polio vaccine). I’ve had several major illnesses and surgeries as an adult, and I am managing post-polio syndrome as I enter my “golden” years. I’ve lost people I loved a great deal. I’ve had other setbacks. But on the whole, life has been very good to me. I worked hard at several careers and was rewarded for it; now in retirement, I bike the world and live a life of adventure. Given how challenging life has been over millennia for most humans, I regard my good fortune as remarkable.

Heading north on the Bear Skin State Trail south of Minocqua, Wisconsin. Photo by Jenny Hershey. Follow her on Instagram @deeofo.

Yet, the future of humankind weighs heavily on my imagination. I worry for my grandchildren. I worry for the human species. I grieve for the many people experiencing life-altering and deadly extreme weather events now, for those trapped in extreme poverty, random inexplicable violence in so-called “safe communities,” and those unfortunate enough to be living under wartime conditions. I grieve the rapidly accelerating loss of so many animal, plant and insect species all over the globe. At times, witnessing the extinction of the earth’s magnificent biodiversity makes me overwhelmingly sad.

The emergency report published in February by the International Panel on Climate Change (IPCC) - the largest peer reviewed body of climate scientists in the world - was grim, concluding with this paragraph: “The cumulative scientific evidence is unequivocal: Climate change is a threat to human well-being and planetary health. Any further delay in concerted anticipatory global action on adaptation and mitigation will miss a brief and rapidly closing window of opportunity to secure a livable and sustainable future for all.”

Jenny Hershey takes a break on Five Mile Point Road in the Porcupine Mountains Wilderness. Lake Superior is behind her… Photo by Michael Chase. Follow him on Instagram @mjohnsonchase.

This report coincided with the sidelining of the most aggressive climate legislation ever attempted by the US Congress, and then was quickly eclipsed by an immediate humanitarian catastrophe - the Russian invasion of Ukraine. Geopolitical concerns are now displacing climate change among world leaders as the most critical issue on the global stage. Some decades ago we might have had enough time to solve one global crisis and then move on to another - but now we are facing twin crises of equal magnitude that must be solved simultaneously. Which world governments will remain democratic and which ones will embrace or collapse into authoritarianism? And can governments work collectively to reduce emissions rapidly at the same time they are struggling to preserve their geopolitical identities?

We don’t yet know how such dilemmas will resolve themselves. But I, for one, wouldn’t place my bet on things remaining the same. I think our reasonably immediate futures are going to look vastly different from our reasonably immediate pasts. Change is speeding up. In fact, I think those who try to keep things the same are fighting the wrong battle. My biggest objection to “conservatism” the world over is that “stopping or slowing down change” at a time when change is increasing exponentially in speed and scope - whether we like it or not - is essentially useless. There is little point in being nostalgic for a past that no longer exists (and didn’t work for large numbers of people anyway). The best we can do is “direct change” so that we survive, first and foremost, and hopefully do so in a way that is somewhat to our collective liking. We might be able to survive with some dignity in a harsher and less predictable climate while we create an equitable and sustainable way of life and help others less fortunate than ourselves. But we can no longer sustain massive climate destroying autocracies and pseudo-democracies that coddle carbon intensive behaviors by wealthy individuals, encourage racial inequality, accept massive poverty and wantonly destroy our earth for personal gain. Those days are over. Either we adapt or we perish.

And what might adapting look like? In my last blog post, as Jenny and I rode through the southwestern desert just before the massive spring fires of 2022 set in, I wrote about the formal movement of Deep Adaptation. Deep Adaptation argues for a deeper accounting of adaptive processes. This perspective assumes that extreme weather events and other related climate stressors will increasingly disrupt power, food, water, shelter, and social and governmental systems, and that society and local regional governments need to prepare for such occurrences.

Dick is a wood grader who has lived his entire life in Marenisco, Michigan (population 250). He cheerfully explained the difference between White Pines and Spruces and detailed how Jack Pines form their weird cones. When we asked if he knew of any COVID cases in his town, he thought a minute, and then replied, “Yea, a couple people croaked from it.” Drawing by Jenny Hershey. Follow her on Instagram @deeofo.

However, we’ve come across another form of thoughtful climate adaptation while biking in the upper Midwest. Among the leaders in developing scientific and analytical tools for anticipating human migration in the United States is the American Society of Adaptation Professionals, a ten-year-old group of resilience scholars and practitioners based in Ypsilanti. ASAP, as it’s known, is collaborating with Ann Arbor, the National League of Cities, Florida State University, and the state of New York to develop the first scientific models for anticipating economic and population shifts under changing climate conditions. Their work focuses on migration in the Great Lakes region.

Near the summit at Porcupine Mountains Wilderness State Park. Photo by Michael Chase. Follow his work on Instagram @mjohnsonchase.

It isn’t hard to find opinions on the internet about which American cities might be the best (and the worst) places to live as climate change advances. For example, the insurance broker website Policygenius published a study in 2020 listing the top 10 best and worst places to live over the coming decades. Interestingly enough, the top two best cities on this list are San Francisco and Seattle (while the worst are Houston and Miami). However, air quality issues from fires close to both San Francisco and Seattle over the past few years plus the unprecedented heat dome over Seattle in the summer of 2021 challenge the wisdom of these choices. Additionally this research was based on the largest 50 metropolitan areas in the US, which suggest that Policygenious is thinking more about where large numbers of people may suffer or do slightly better, meaning those who are most likely to need insurance products.

ASAP - as a group of adaptation professionals - isn’t focused on how communities will come apart (and which ones to avoid), but rather on where human societies may do better through the lens of social justice and equity as climate change accelerates. Quality of life issues such as availability of jobs and affordable housing are emphasized in the communities studied, as are livability concerns such as good transit, walk-ability and bike-ability. Although this research is still in early stages, ASAP has teamed up with the New York State Energy Research Development Authority (NYSERDA) to anticipate trends of climate migration throughout the Great Lakes region. This approach is notably different from the more common images of climate migration in developing and underdeveloped parts of the world, which typically reference patterns such as those driven by large numbers of Bangladeshi farmers fleeing into nearby countries as their delta disappears, or South Pacific Islanders abandoning islands submerged by sea level rise, or farmers in sub-Saharan Africa moving to cities to escape desertification of their farmland.

In contrast, the migration patterns under study through ASAP imagine the possibility of a reversal of the last half decade of American population expansion into the south and southwest, and consider how Great Lakes regions might be affected by refugees from other states fleeing fires and water shortages and in search of cooler temperatures. This analysis now serves as a prescient preview to questions gaining relevance for human migration: will fierce meteorological turbulence cause Americans to move — away from danger and toward safety? Will people stay or go?

I wager they’ll go. Most Americans have always sought out better places to live. With the exception of Native Americans, it’s in our DNA as a nation of immigrants.

The flowage from “Lake of the Clouds” heads towards Lake Superior at Porcupine Mountains Wilderness State Park. Photo by Michael Chase. Follow his work on Instagram @mjohnsonchase.

And it turn outs the northern midwest, which has been losing population for decades, is a likely destination. As is true everywhere, there are significant contemporary challenges that climate change presents for land and water, communities and governance in the Great Lakes region. Still, the northern midwestern region is now viewed by scientists and social theorists as one of the more ecologically resilient regions in the country, so it makes perfect sense to think about how business, government, and culture can evolve to accommodate the climate-altered seasons. That’s why the American Society of Adaptation Professionals is …convening researchers who anticipate that warming winters, ample reserves of fresh water, and forests not prone to wildfire are ecological benefits that will attract millions of new residents to the Great Lakes and reverse decades of slow population growth.

Here’s an example of a climate professional turned climate migrant (Jamie Beck Alexander, the Director of Drawdown Labs at Project Drawdown,) who choose to leave California with her family for a safer, more sustainable life in Duluth, Minnesota. Our Ontonagon hosts Carly, Paxton and Ali may be leading a similarly smart migration from a larger to a smaller town. Perhaps population density will also factor into quality of life issues as we reshape our communities for climate adaptation, just as COVID reversed a decades-long trend of people moving to cities from rural communities. As residents of New York City, this definitely gives us something to chew on… how about you?

Gaylynn, our server at Syl’s in Ontonagon (population 1400) has spent her entire life in this small town, except for a period of service in the Navy. She is happily upbeat about life in the Upper Peninsula, and a proud citizen of Michigan. An energetic and attentive waitress, it was a pleasure to watch her interact with townspeople she knows very well. Drawing by Jenny Hershey. Follow her on Instagram @deeofo.

Stay vigilant! Thanks for reading. More to come. If you haven’t done so already, please subscribe to this blog, so you can follow our next biking trip later in the summer of 2022.

All material, unless credited or otherwise noted, are copyrighted property of the blog post authors.

Hauling Bees, Growing Soil; Biking the Dakotas

Gabe Brown shows us a map of his farm. Drawing by Jennifer Hershey. Follow her work on Instagram at deeofo.

If you want to make small changes, change how you do things. If you want to make major changes, change how you SEE things.

Don Campbell (as quoted by Gabe Brown in his book Dirt to Soil)

When I began long-distance bike touring six years ago I was enthralled by the sense of freedom it offered; I learned how to carry very little to meet essential needs, I relished the sensuality of riding as fast as I dared down a hill with the wind to my back, I experienced deep satisfaction in conquering long uphill slopes, even while riding directly into a headwind. Those very simple experiences - the rush of freedom, the pride of accomplishment - made touring on a bicycle worthwhile. Beauty, however, was a generalized experience. Mountains, lakes, rivers, clouds, rain and rainbows caught my eye, while most small things went unnoticed. A small town boy turned long ago into a city slicker, I was a “big picture” observer. If it was dramatic, I was likely to appreciate it. Most small things went unnoticed, and my curiosity was limited. I was content to not know the particulars of a landscape or what was growing in a field unless I could recognize what I was looking at without much effort. Yet, my experiential palette broadened as I continued to cycle, and my observations began to sharpen. So did my curiosity.

Horses in a field near Lake Oahu (the Missouri River) north of Mobridge, SD. Photo by Michael Chase.

At about the same time, Jenny Hershey started joining me on biking adventures, and it wasn’t long before we began to recognize how many different things we each see in the same landscapes. Jenny - as a visual artist - is drawn to detail, and her observations fueled my curiosity even more. I began to appreciate that no matter where I am, there is more to observe in any landscape than I can ever fully digest. I am not discouraged by that perception; rather it is an incentive to stay with it, to see (and potentially understand) all I possibly can before that day arrives when I am no longer able to lift my leg over a bike seat. And there is continual progress; I see and learn more every day. My skill as an observer is growing. I think Jenny would say the same about herself.

The Missouri River from Standing Rock Reservation. We cycled the entire length of the Reservation on Highway 1806 and were deeply impressed with the beauty of the environment. At one point near Fort Yates, a woman waved Jenny over to point out the Sitting Bull Sacred Horses on a hill. An omen of good luck for those who see them, these wild horses are regarded as descendants of Sitting Bull’s horses. Photo by Michael Chase.

Climate change is both the biggest conundrum humans have ever faced, and simultaneously the ultimate challenge to our observational capacities. It is the result of millions and millions of small things that humans do. Most of those things can be seen in small measure by observant people, yet many human actions are at a scale beyond that which is perceptible to individuals. One housing development becomes many and hundreds of acres are lost to food cultivation, an oil derrick becomes thousands strewn across a vast region, a tanker truck becomes hundreds of miles of pipelines, a bare field in the wind becomes tons of lost topsoil, an application of synthetic fertilizer on crops becomes ruined waterways and destroyed municipal water systems, an application of pesticide on crops kills insect pests and simultaneously their beneficial predators - including the honeybees the same crops rely on for pollination.

Wind erosion on a conventionally tilled field in South Dakota. Photo by Michael Chase.

Small things become big things. All these things happen right in front of us, day after day after day, and many of us fail to notice them or their consequences until it’s too late. Some people do notice, however. Proverbial canaries in a coal mine, some are well known and in the news a lot, such as climate scientists Michael Mann or Katherine Heyhoe, or environmental activists Greta Thunberg, Bill McKibbon or the Standing Rock Water Protectors.

An inflow into Lake Oahe just south of the Cannonball River in South Dakota, where the Standing Rock protests of 2016 took place. Water Protectors have tried to protect groundwater sources from the probability of pollution, which in turn protects soil that nurtures healthy plants that feed bees and other pollinating insects. Although they were successful in getting the Obama administration to cancel the DAPL pipeline, Trump immediately approved it. Oil now flows under Lake Oahe and the pristine nature of this region is still under threat, yet, there is hope among Standing Rock residents that the Biden Administration will reverse Trump’s action and halt the flow of oil. Photo by Michael Chase.

Others don’t seek attention but attract it anyway by virtue of what they do, or how they see. John Miller is one of those people, as is Gabe Brown. While these two men (who are the primary subjects of this blog post) may be unlikely allies, they share a deep concern for the future, a love for the land, and a deep faith in nature as the greatest role model and teacher for agricultural practices.

We met Mylene, the town historian of Enderlin, North Dakota, about 70 miles west of Fargo, the day before we got to Gackle. She greeted us in her bright green pant suit and shared with us the history of why this town was more diverse (in its European ancestry) than most other North Dakota towns. This says something about diversity in North Dakota, since the 2010 census indicates Enderlin is 98.6% White, 2.4% Hispanic, 0.2% African American, 0.8% Native American, 0.1% Asian, and 0.2% from two or more races. When asked, she said the population was exactly 884 - unless someone she didn’t know about had died the night before. Drawing by Jennifer Hershey. Follow her work on Instagram at deeofo.

This post is a story of our interactions with these remarkable people as we cycled west from St Cloud, MN, to Bismarck, ND, down the Missouri River (aka, Lake Oahe) to Pierre, SD, and back east to St Cloud, MN, in May 2021.

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Gackle, ND, is the only stop along the 110 miles between Enderlin and Napoleon, ND, on the Adventure Cycling Association “Northern Tier” route through North Dakota. Although Gackle has a bar and a Tasteefreeze, there are no motels. However, we weren’t worried. We had learned from the ACA map there is a wonderful place for cyclists to stay called the Honey Hub. Located in the back of a split-level ranch house that sits empty for 9 months each year, the makeshift bedroom and bathroom also features a hot plate and refrigerator stuffed with drinks. The guestbook revealed no one had stayed there since late summer of 2020 (apparently, only the most intrepid of touring fanatics biked the iconic Northern Tier during the pandemic).

Jenny and I were greeted in the front yard of the Honey Hub by John Miller, the father of Jason Miller. Jason owns the house (and now, with a partner, the Miller Honey Farm) but lives in California most of the time. John is the colorful protagonist of The Beekeepers Lament by Hanna Nordhaus. We had no idea who we were talking to as we unpacked our gear, although it didn’t take us long to figure out John Miller is an unusual man. There were clues all around us: a stack of Hanna’s books for sale, a large display of honeystinger cycling treats and other forms of honey swag. “It is called the Honey Hub after all,” I told myself.

Miller Honey Farm created a winter home for their bees in a climate-controlled warehouse lit with infrared lighting that helps keep the bees dormant. Drawing by Jennifer Hershey. Follow her work on Instagram at deeofo.

I grabbed a copy of The Beekeepers Lament before we ambled over to the nearby Tasteefreeze for dinner, and read the book out loud to Jenny while we waited for some astonishingly good cod sandwiches. Our education was rapid, and we were transfixed. Turns out we had a complete misconception about how modern commercial beekeeping works. (It’s funny how something that seems so obvious after the fact, isn’t so obvious beforehand.)

As we thought, most beekeepers own just a few hives, and typically raise bees as a hobby. Some make extra money by selling honey, pollen, and beeswax. Commercial beekeepers, on the other hand, are responsible for thousands of hives and millions of bees. These colonies produce large amounts of honey and related products for profit, and are the primary means of large-scale agricultural pollination. Commercial beekeepers are distinct to the developed world; globally only about 5% of beekeepers run commercial operations, mainly in northern latitudes and Australia where industrial agriculture flourishes, and where (sadly) very few bees remain in the wild. Beekeepers elsewhere keep a much small number of hives in countries where farms are smaller and more diverse. That said, commercial beekeepers are responsible for as much as 60% of the world’s honey crop. Interestingly, the production, importing and packing of honey generates 22,000 jobs in the US, about half the amount of the total jobs created by the US coal industry.

Extra beehive pallets line the wall in the Miller Honey winter storage facility in Gackle, ND. Photo by Michael Chase.

As we had expected, the Miller Honey Farm sells the honey their bees make. They normally ship their honey to a major supplier in Lancaster, PA. But honey and beeswax-related products aren’t their most important activities. Like the 1200 other commercial beekeepers across the United States, John (now in charge of the Modesto pollination region) and Miller Honey Farm essentially “rents” their bees out to different growers over the season for pollination services. And also like many other US beekeepers, their year begins in the almond groves of the California Central Valley.

Every year in January and February the world’s greatest pollination event takes place in the valley. Over 2 million hives from around the US are put on flatbeds (at least 2,600 truckloads of those bees come from outside California) to pollinate more than 1 million acres of almond orchards. That includes Miller Honey Farm hives. Before John retired and took a back seat in the company he owned, he used to transport his hives from Newcastle, California, where he once owned a ranch. Now the farm winters their entire colony in their climate-controlled warehouse in Gackle over 1500 miles from California’s Central Valley.

Barrels for transporting honey line a wall at the Miller Honey plant in Gackle, ND. Photo by Michael Chase.

John’s hives stay in the California almond orchards until the growers no longer need them - usually mid to late March, when he takes them away to pollinate another crop. Pollination is a critical part of growing almonds, so removing hives too early can result in reduced yields. Keeping them too long can delay Miller Honey’s commitments to other growers, resulting in risks for honey bees to find alternative food sources when the almond bloom is over - or worse yet - subjecting the bees to pesticides when the almond growers start spraying. Some beekeepers believe that pesticides are responsible for Colony Collapse Disorder (CCD), while others blame an invasive mite known as Varroa destructor. We got the impression that John Miller is agnostic about the subject of CCD as a persistent issue. …He once told Hanna Nordhaus the primary reason for massive bee collapse is PPM (piss poor management) by beekeepers.

Miller Honey bees placed in a field near Napoleon, ND. Photo by Michael Chase.

That may be true for some. But while modern industrial agriculture is the hand that feeds him, John is not the greatest fan. He works closely with the Honeybee Health Coalition, and is on the Board of Bee Informed. More than once he mentioned to us that regenerative agricultural practices would considerably help his bees. He even gave us bumper stickers that say: Farmers Feed Bees. For bees, greater diversity in available plant life makes for healthier bees and richer honey. Monoculture - a primary feature of modern conventional industrial agriculture - is a definite buzzkill for bees and their honey. Pun intended.

John Miller and Jenny Hershey in the Miller Honey winter bee storage facility in Gecko, ND. The light is infrared and won’t disturb resting bees. Photo by Michael Chase.

Besides, trucking bees around is no fun. I can’t imagine a beekeeper who wouldn’t be excited by placing bees in an environment so plant-rich he or she would never need to move them. The payoff would be considerable. One could even say that bees feed farmers.

As Hanna Nordhaus writes in The Beekeepers Lament: Farmers depend on honey bees to pollinate ninety different fruits and vegetables, from almonds to lettuce to cranberries to blueberries to canola—nearly $15 billion worth of crops a year. Although wind and wild insects pollinate some plants on a small scale, only bees promise the levels of production needed to meet the needs of the nation’s grocery shoppers. Like every aspect of American agriculture, beekeeping has, by necessity, joined the global economy of scale. Bees are pollination machines, and many of America’s farmers need them just as much as they need their tractors, threshers, and combines. For problems with water, labor, pest control, and soil quality, there are irrigation systems, big machines, pesticides, and synthetic fertilizers. Today the biggest factor limiting the amount of produce grown is, for many crops, the number of bees available.

We saw this placard outside of Pierre, SD, at the Oahe Downstream State Recreation Area. Photo by Michael Chase.

Indeed, more pollinators (in the form of bees) are required if ever greater yields are the goal - especially if the type of agriculture practiced is fundamentally antithetical to the well-being of bees. And that is the conventional agricultural model. An unrelenting focus on yields has been the primary driver of industrial agriculture for decades, without regard to the health of the resources required to produce it. What if the predominant paradigm were to shift from chasing ever-higher yields to profits based on lower inputs based on increased soil health? Might we have happier farmers, cleaner water, richer soil, healthier consumers, less carbon in our atmosphere, and an abundance of bees? That, in essence, is the primary focus of regenerative agriculture.

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We organized this entire biking trip around a visit to Gabe Brown’s farm near Bismarck, ND. Our curiosity about regenerative agriculture had been heightened by our last bike trip through the Carolinas and our subsequent blog post on land trusts, where we learned about the potential importance of carbon sequestration through land use practices. So the opportunity to meet a successful farmer who is recognized as a leading practitioner of regenerative agriculture was a big lure. We weren’t disappointed. Nonetheless, much that happens on a biking adventure is based on serendipity, and our encounters with both John Miller and Gabe Brown were about as serendipitous as could be. Before we met him, we didn’t know John Miller existed, and although we intended to visit Gabe Brown’s Ranch, we really didn’t expect we’d get to meet the man himself. I don’t know if being able to spend precious time with each of these men was intervention by the gods or simply good luck. Gabe Brown told us he thinks people make their own luck; whatever the case, things definitely worked out for us.

The entrance to Gabe Brown’s Ranch, about 11 miles northeast of downtown Bismarck. Photo by Jenny Hershey.

As we rode up the long gravel driveway to the Brown Ranch, it looked empty. I wasn’t surprised. It was mid-May after all, and I expected every available hand to be out in the fields. Yet, I had made a bet with Jenny that someone would be there, selling many of the remarkable products Gabe and his son had figured out how to direct market over the years, and describes so well in his book Dirt to Soil. Obviously, I was naive about how the Brown Ranch markets its products. Roadside stands are not common on the plains, and it’s much easier to market through the internet. Gabe Brown’s outlet is called Nourished by Nature.

Gabe Brown’s farm looking west. Notice the perennial grassland and the size of the herd. Photo by Michael Chase

We arrived at a small ranch home, next to a barn and an equipment shed, and a few more buildings I didn’t recognize. In the distance near the shed, we saw a man get into a small off-road vehicle, and start driving toward us. Gabe Brown is a bit of a rock star because of his formidable presence in the movie Kiss the Ground (watchable on Netflix), and his ubiquitous presence on YouTube. We recognized him immediately. He was the only person around; we couldn’t believe our luck. Gabe seemed equally surprised. His first comment when he got close enough was, “That’s a first - I’ve never seen anyone arrive here on a bicycle before, much less a couple of older folks!” He was easygoing, but we were worried he might be really busy, so we quickly explained to him why we were there, and said we’d be happy looking around on our own. He replied, “I have a few minutes, so why not get out of the wind?” We went into a small building on the opposite side of the road - which, it turns out, is where Gabe Brown holds “soil health” seminars.

Perennial rangeland on Gabe Brown’s farm. Gabe is very thoughtful about where and how long he pastures his cattle so he can optimize the nutrient density and carbon content of his soil. Photo by Jenny Hershey.

Our conversation was quick and to the point. Gabe was a panelist on a Zoom call in about 20 minutes, so we covered a lot of territory quickly. My biggest takeaway was that while Gabe thinks the potential for sequestering carbon in soil through the use of cover crops, no-till seeding, and effective grazing of ruminating animals (his most profitable products), the science is still not clear on how to effectively measure the storage capacity of carbon from the atmosphere into soil. What is clear is that there are many other benefits of regenerative farming. As Gabe explains on his website: Our belief is that if we have healthy soil it will provide for clean air, clean water, healthy plants, healthy animals, and healthy people. Our soils are much more resilient than they once were. They now harbor billions of life forms that in fact “feed the food” we raise. Soils that are biologically active produce foods that are higher in vitamin and mineral content and when we eat these foods, these vitamins and minerals are passed on to us. These soils are also able to store more carbon and water which has a positive impact on the environment.

After a short while, Gabe handed over the keys to his off-road vehicle (apparently he thought if we were crazy enough to bike to his farm, we could certainly be able to drive his Polaris) and sent us off to see his pasturing chickens and his son’s iconic eggmobiles (described in Gabe’s book), where the Browns raise eggs and chickens, and integrate both into their soil development and management routine.

Chickens grazing in a section of field on Gabe’s land. When all the chickens are laying there is no need for fencing; the eggmobiles (where the chickens go to lay their eggs) are simply moved to another part of the field. The chickens don’t need to be fed, eggs are collected and sold, and the soil is naturally fertilized. Photo by Jenny Hershey.

A half hour later, he returned in a truck. Although Gabe had another Zoom call in an hour (we later learned it was with a major American retailer who is interested in supporting regenerative farmers by marketing their products), he wanted to show us more of his farm. We spent the next hour touring his remarkably beautiful perennial pastures and checking on his cows with him. We shared his delight as we saw some of the 11 new calves that had been born overnight. It was a wonderful way to spend an hour.

As a concept, regenerative agriculture aims to be more all-encompassing than or other types of agricultural practices, including organic. A recent article in Sustainable America lists five main principles that regenerative farmers agree upon: improving soil health, increasing biodiversity, aiding in carbon sequestration, incorporating humane treatment of livestock and farmworkers, and improving the overall larger ecosystem as a whole. These practices include:

• Incorporating crop rotation and cover cropping

• Increasing plant and crop diversity

• Practicing minimal or no-till seeding to prevent erosion and increase soil health

• Integrating managed grazing and pasturing of animals

One of the biggest potential benefits of regenerative agriculture is that it can help combat climate change. The hope is that regenerative agriculture’s strong focus on soil health and reduced tilling efforts will lead to more carbon being sequestered into healthy soil instead of being released into the atmosphere. However, many experts in addition to Gabe Brown agree: the science isn’t quite there to support the claims yet. Yet, whether regenerative agriculture ends up being a scientifically proven way to fight climate change or not, its methods still offer many benefits to the ecosystem, producers and consumers.

Gabe Brown relaxes on his no-till planter after explaining how it plants seed with minimal disruption to soil. Drawing by Jennifer Hershey. Follow her work on Instagram at deeofo.

Gabe Brown agrees, and it’s hard to imagine John Miller would disagree. The people at Understanding Ag, the Natural Resources Conservation Service (the NRCS is part of the USDA), and the Soil Health Academy also agree, as well as many more organizations that advocate for sustainable practices in modern agriculture. But the most stunning approval right now is bipartisan support coming from the federal government through the Growing Climate Solutions Act. This proposed legislation was reintroduced this April in the U.S. Senate by a large bipartisan group of senators, led by members of the Senate Agriculture Committee. Senators who are sponsoring the bill include 17 Democrats and 17 Republicans.

The bipartisanship toward this bill is almost stunning in our divided politics, and its potential should not be underestimated. In addition, more than 60 agriculture groups and many environmental organizations back the bill (but not all; some have a bad taste in their mouths because of previous problems with other voluntary carbon markets). As it is currently written, this bill will create a certification program at USDA to provide technical assistance for farmers and forest owners to enroll in a carbon-credit market. The USDA will provide guidelines to farmers on how to qualify for carbon-credit programs, and the carbon-credit program will then become "USDA certified." The legislation comes as an array of companies have started enrolling farmers in carbon sequestration programs to quantify and pay for farming practices that minimize tillage and increase organic matter in the soil.

Clearly, we have a lot more to learn about how to most effectively incentivize the agricultural sector to manage soil better, and policymakers must get this right. Yet, there is no time to waste and the potential for doing good is enormous. Let’s not forget: If you want to make small changes, change how you do things. If you want to make major changes, change how you SEE things.

In closing, I would like to add that Resources for the Future is one of my favorite go-to organizations for current information on large-scale climate solutions. Here’s what they have to say about carbon sequestration and storage in the land. Time will tell what we can accomplish. In the meantime, keep noticing the small stuff. It adds up.

Walter, a retired railroad engineer, is the Enderlin, ND, Friendly Tavern’’s Wheel of Fortune champion. Drawing by Jennifer Hershey. Follow her work on Instagram at deeofo.

Stay vigilant! Thanks for reading. More to come. Follow our next biking trip this July (while places are still under consideration, land use and carbon sequestration will be likely subjects).

All material, unless credited or otherwise noted, are copyrighted property of the blog post author.

Jenny Hershey took this photo in South Dakota, and she really wanted me to add it to this post because she likes it so much. I do too.

The Renewal Blues; Biking the Mississippi River Trail, Post 2

Dwight is 11 years old, and quite a drummer. We met him at the Pleasant Chapel M.B. Church just north of Memphis, TN. He was really proud to be part of the church gospel band.

Drawing by Jennifer Hershey. Follow her work on Instagram at deeofo.

What a great trip we’ve had during this time of change in America! Jenny and I have spent three weeks biking along two routes: the Mississippi River Trail (MRT), a fabulous Open Cycle Map bike trail that runs along or near the Mississippi River from north of Minneapolis to south of New Orleans; and the iconic “Southern Tier” route mapped out by the Adventure Cycling Association (ACA) that runs from San Diego to St Augustine, Florida. We biked along the MRT south from Ste. Genevieve, Missouri through Memphis, Tennessee and south through the Delta country of Arkansas and Mississippi to Vicksburg, then down to Natchez, Mississippi, where we turned east on the ACA’s “Southern Tier” and made our way along the Gulf coast through Mobile, Alabama to Orange Beach, Florida on the panhandle coastline.

An armadillo seen in the St Francis National Forest near West Helena, AR.

The American South didn’t disappoint us. Although it’s been unusually cold and intermittently rainy in the southeastern United States this winter, we were glad to avoid the harsher weather to the north in our hometown of New York. We biked through areas rich with wildlife, occasionally stopping to admire the countryside or take in the extraordinary cacophony of countless birds and frogs. We also biked through both dull and very interesting human environments in the form of villages and small to medium-sized cities.

The Pearl River forms the far eastern border of Louisiana and the southwestern border of Mississippi.

Experiencing the social vibe just after the recent presidential inauguration has been both heartening and sobering. Today, in southern Alabama we passed two abandoned semitrailers with “stop the steal,” “the election was stolen”, and “Trump is our President” graffiti painted across them. They were too far away, and we were moving too quickly to be able to photograph them, yet they definitely echoed the spirit of insurrection at the Capital. We have also seen signs that both puzzled and amused us.

Seen near Perryville, MO.

It’s interesting to speculate how long Trump 2020 signs will remain up. We've seen a few Biden/Harris signs as well, but - in these parts at least - the folks who voted for Biden aren’t as overt about their preference as those who voted for Trump. But whatever their beliefs, I’d wager most Americans are wondering how the coming weeks and months will play out.

A sign in Natchez, Mississippi. Apparently vote selling has happened there in the past, and the local Democratic Party wanted to make sure that was not a problem in the recent election, as per the following quote from an October, 2020 article in apnews.com by Tim Sullivan: By at least one measure, it’s harder to vote in Mississippi than any other state. And despite Mississippi having the largest percentage of Black people of any state in the nation, a Jim Crow-era election law has ensured that a Black person hasn’t been elected to statewide office in 130 years. After years of being shut out of state races, Democrats hope mobilizing Black voters and recruiting Black candidates can eventually give them a path back to relevance in one of the reddest of red states. But sometimes, it can seem that voting rights in Mississippi are like its small towns and dirt roads, which can appear frozen in the past.

When an African-American from Mississippi is finally elected to Congress (as almost happened last November) it won’t be for the first time. That happened in the late 19th century when Hiram Revel was the first African-American ever elected to the US Senate. You can read about that here.

As much as we enjoyed occasional sunny warmth on the Gulf coastline, we found the Delta country of Arkansas and Mississippi the most interesting part of our trip. We followed the famous Mississippi Blues Trail as we progressed downriver on the MRT in the Delta country, taking in the birthplaces of blues legends such as Conway Twitty, Eddy Taylor, and Ike Turner.

A shot of our rig in Friar’s Point, Mississippi. We haul our food in a car because we chose to minimize our exposure to Covid by not eating in restaurants. Our conversations with locals usually take place outside when we are riding our bikes. We drive an average of 100 miles a day and bike an average of 50. We call this method of travel carbiking. It’s almost as satisfying as touring exclusively on our bikes, although we can’t wait for Covid to be neutralized enough to leave the car behind…

But as rich as the history of the blues and religion is in those parts, I found myself more intrigued about the local economies reflected through their physical environments.

A decaying mansion returns to the earth in Mayersville, Mississippi.

I’m used to seeing one or a few shuttered buildings in most small towns all across the Midwest and West. Since my childhood in the farming town of Galesburg, Illinois, I’ve been witness to the decline of rural America. But what Jenny and I saw in the Mississippi Delta country is on another level altogether. Every town we passed through, from Helena - West Helena, Arkansas to Friars Point, Mississippi to Gunnison to Rosedale to Greenville, Mississippi has a surprising (and distressing) number of abandoned buildings. It looks like 50 to 60% of commercial buildings are shuttered and maybe 20% are in disrepair with broken windows, damaged walls and collapsed ceilings. What is even more startling are the considerable number of boarded up and destroyed residential buildings. In many of these towns there are entire blocks full of abandoned homes. It seems like people have been leaving these towns for years, and no one is claiming their property. Apparently, the cost of demolishing a home or commercial property often isn't worth the land it sits on.

The welcoming sign on the way into Gunnison, Mississippi.

Just past the welcoming sign in Gunnison, Mississippi.

Our first encounter with "lost" cities on this trip was Cairo, Illinois, which has lost about two-thirds of its population since the late 1960's. That trend is playing out all along large sections of the Mississippi River south of Cairo, all the way down to Baton Rouge.

Helena, Arkansas, is home to the longest running daily radio program in the US, King Biscuit Time. This photo was taken on Main Street near the recording studio. Most of the buildings on the four block-long Main Street are shuttered.

The abandoned Delta Oil Mill outside of Helena, Arkansas. Losing a local industry was particularly harsh for Helena after mechanization beginning in the 1950’s reduced the need for farm workers. The city also lost the Mohawk Rubber Company, a subsidiary of Yokohama Rubber Company, in the 1970s. Unemployment surged shortly after, starting a long economic decline that has lasted for decades.

Much of the Delta country sits on the remarkable Mississippi alluvial plain, which boasts some of best crop land in the country. Alluvial soil has many functions, the greatest of which is serving as the earth’s kidneys. Alluvial soil removes sediments and captures nutrients flowing in adjacent water, so it is very fertile and makes excellent crop land. As a result, the Delta region has been a prime contributor to our country’s agricultural based economy throughout most of the past two centuries.

A harvested cotton field near Alligator, Mississippi.

Before the Civil War, farm products comprised up to 82% of all exports, and cotton was especially important on the international market. Agriculture remained the most important activity in the Delta region’s economy for nearly 200 years, and cotton was king. But farming in the Delta was harsh. Between 1910 and 1970, 6.5 million African-Americans went North, leaving the South, the cotton fields, and sharecropping behind. Five million more African-Americans left after 1940, creating the second great migration to the North. By the end of World War II, much of cotton farming had been mechanized, and most of the remaining sharecroppers were forced from the land.

We met Clyde in Mayersville, Mississippi. Although he was on his way to a haircut, he stopped his truck after passing us navigating our bikes down a rugged gravel road, and waited for us to catch up. He told us he was a Vietnam Vet, and when he came home from the war he wanted to be the biggest cotton farmer in the state. He said he now wants to be the smallest. He explained that with the latest machinery two men can farm 2000 acres of cotton, but that level of production is no longer of interest to him. Unfortunately, he was late for his haircut, so we were unable to learn why…..

Clyde lives in Issaquena County. He told us he knew every family there. We checked Wikipedia and sure enough, “As of the 2010 census, the population was 1,406, making it the least populous county in the United States east of the Mississippi River”.

Drawing by Jennifer Hershey. Follow her work on Instagram at deeofo.

I understand how the mechanization of farming would displace thousands of workers. I can also understand how related factories like cottonseed oil mills will close down when agribusiness can cheaply truck goods to larger cities, or even ship raw cotton overseas for cheaper processing. But it’s hard to imagine such distressing trends playing out for over 100 to 150 years. But that’s the reality of the Delta region in Arkansas and Mississippi. Technological unemployment may be thought of more often as an urban problem, but it has been happening in Delta country for decades. And nothing has replaced what has been lost.

A John Deere cotton harvester. Photo from Wikipedia.

We were deeply impressed by the beauty of the land, the bird life, and most especially the friendliness and soulfulness of the locals we met in the Delta country. We had some really touching conversations with local folks. And our hearts are heavy. What can be done to help people there? Or will most everyone be forced out eventually as homes, commercial buildings and abandoned factories are gradually reclaimed by the earth? Will the Delta become a no-mans land visited by solitary individuals driving massive agricultural planters and harvesters, plus a few intrepid motorists, rugged cyclists or passionate birding enthusiasts? It would be so sad to see the tapestry of such a rich human past die out. Clearly, a major reset is needed, although there are many small attempts at resetting. One example of positive change we came across is the green technical training program in Ocean Springs on the Gulf Coast of Mississippi.

We met this remarkable woman named Tammy in Friars Point in the delta country of northern Mississippi. The park nearby has a walk named after her father, who was a pastor at a local church. Quite a churchgoer herself, Tammy told us she had learned how to “’pay no mind” to the locals who displayed confederate flags. Her church had taught her to forgive others and let them be. She and both her kids had caught Covid, but fortunately for all the cases were mild.

Drawing by Jennifer Hershey. Follow her work on Instagram at deeofo.

This brings me to the end of this blog post, and the beginning of whatever is next for the Mississippi Delta region and beyond. I believe we can already visualize the next great global economic transition and the primary features of its potential success. Three major accomplishments are necessary: 1) our energy system must transform from fossil fuels to renewable form of energy, 2) we must switch from till-based, high-fertilizer, carbon-intensive forms of farming to no-till, low-fertilizer, carbon-mitigating forms of farming that replace dirt-with-soil, and 3) we must set aside one-third of our world’s land and oceans to restore the rapidly vanishing wildlife and biodiversity our species depends on for our own survival.

We are finally making some headway, at least on the national level. President Biden’s first few weeks have bern dynamic and productive. For those who worry about how our rapidly changing climate will continue to wear down our already vulnerable economy, many of his climate-related executive orders are very welcome.

Also, you may have read about the lackluster oil lease sale in the Alaska National Wildlife Refuge (ANWR) in the final days of the Trump administration. Even as the Trump administration failed to acknowledge climate change, many corporations are finally recognizing our changing climate as a true threat. Finally there's a visible mainstream momentum toward a healthier, more reliable renewable energy supply. Jobs may not be that far behind, nor will be agricultural and wildlife restoration. In the meantime, the Mississippi Delta region will continue to languish for its inhabitants while delighting many of its visitors.

Stay vigilant! Thanks for reading. More to come. Follow our next trip this coming March, 2021.

An Episcopal Church in Lorman, Mississippi.

All photos, unless credited or otherwise noted, are copyrighted property of the blog post author.

An Inauguration; Biking the Mississippi River Trail, Post 1

Waiting for something new… For the pandemic to end? …Is the economy to improve? …Social justice at last? ….Climate action that will make a real difference? …An election? …An electoral college certification? …An insurrection? …An inauguration? The dialing down of the great American political feud? ….None of the above. … Instead, two of my grandchildren wait for ice cream.

Drawing by Jennifer Hershey. Follow her work on Instagram at deeofo.

There is no real ending. It’s just the place where you stop the story.
Frank Herbert

Welcome to another inauguration. Americans are deeply divided right now about where we have arrived and where we should go, and I am hopeful that a new beginning is underway. As challenging as 2020 has been, we may have grown stronger as a nation. Some of us were either privileged or lucky enough to survive the past year without loss of life or the destruction of our livelihoods, while others of us have experienced great hardship. And our public health travails are far from over. At the same time, we’ve watched our economy slow down so much that shuttered buildings and “out of business” signs are now as commonplace in cities as they have been for decades in small towns. We don’t know yet if we have a minor problem with domestic terrorism that will fade away, or a full blown crisis that may destabilize our government and communities in frightening ways. In the meantime, the issues of racial justice and a changing climate hover around us like a dense fog.

A view from Rib Mountain in Marathon County in central Wisconsin, where Jenny and I made a trip to visit my daughter’s family and my son’s family in Milwaukee before beginning our Mississippi River Trail Trip.

Jenny watches while I take a photo of the Mississippi River Trail (MRT ) sign about 20 miles north of Memphis. The Mississippi River Trail (MRT) extends from Elk River, Minnesota to New Orleans, Louisiana. It is a conglomeration of roads that traverses the Mississippi sometimes on both sides, sometimes only on one. We are very impressed by the beauty and peacefulness of the route, which can be found on opencyclemap.org.

For much of the past year I have been preoccupied by how differently our political parties think about freedom. That said, I don’t know any American who wouldn’t fight for the rights so clearly outlined in the Declaration of Independence: … that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.

However, I have heard a lot of disagreement over the concept of liberty (and its synonym freedom). Freedom to a conservative seems to means freedom from government intervention, and the freedom to do as one pleases - even if the long term outcomes are not necessarily helpful to others. (Popular examples used at the RNC are the freedom to drive any car you want, or to eat as much meat as you like). In contrast, freedom to a liberal means the freedom to solve shared problems through collective action (such as using a mask during a respiratory based pandemic to protect the health of others). As long as the rights of individuals are not egregiously abused, liberals expect citizens to be mindful of others as a condition of being part of a community.

We began this cycling trip just south of St Louis near a small Missouri town called Ste. Genevieve on the Mississippi River. It was settled in the early 1700’ as part of New France. The post-in-ground style was one of the timber construction methods used for French colonial structures. It was called poteaux-en-terre.

There is much more to write about on this topic, and I hope to follow up in future blogs. To my mind, a workable sense of freedom is neither easy to understand or articulate. Struggling to write about it makes me appreciate our nation’s founding fathers and our historical civil rights leaders more than ever. They seemed to understand the potential interplay between individual and group rights so much better than we do at this moment in our nation’s history. Our most pressing problems - addressing the pandemic effectively, creating equal economic opportunity for all, addressing climate change on a much bolder level than individual consumption - will surely test our ideas about individual liberties. For example, the freedom to go maskless when that action threatens the health of others is not different from a society's choice to use forms of energy that adversely impacts the health of others.

“Lots of people in Missouri believe in freedom so many of them won’t wear masks. I’m mean though. I tell them they can’t stay here unless they wear one.” Dee runs the Triangle Motel in Ste. Genevieve, Missouri. Originally from India, Dee immigrated to the states from Zimbabwe with her parents, who live with her at the motel. She is a mother to several boys, and knows a lot of people in her adopted town. A warm and friendly person, she works hard and tries to never miss a town funeral.

Drawing by Jennifer Hershey. Follow her work on Instagram at deeofo.

In spite of the considerable problems we face on both the national and global levels, I am optimistic about the future. Although I certainly don’t expect the divergent political viewpoints among Americans to go away, adversity can bring people together to solve problems. I think that the sobering events of the past few weeks (an insurrection on our nation's Capital) have shocked us into recognizing our discord has gone too far.

…As will COVID-19 after a robust vaccination program. And hopefully the sharp divisions between so many well-meaning Americans will eventually disappear as well.

Like the presidential transition, this blog post is also a form of commencement. Clearly, its been hard to celebrate the extraordinary experience that biking through America (or anywhere else for that matter) can offer. Most of our biking this past year has been closer to home, or tied to several stressful trips to help out a family member. Although we have learned how to use a car to support our biking habits, it took us more time to figure out how to travel while staying socially isolated than we had anticipated. Consequently, Jenny and I have only recently gone looking - once again - for the story of America. And we are finding it.

“Yeah, some parts of Missouri are east of the Mississippi and some parts of Illinois and Kentucky are west of it. People don’t know how much the river has shifted over the years”. Rex has been working hard for years running ferries on the Mississippi and local canals. We talked to him at a ferry crossing at Ste. Genevieve, Missouri, and expressed our puzzlement at noticing that the original Capital of Illinois, Kakaskia, was on the west side of the Mississippi in land we thought belonged to Missouri.

Drawing by Jennifer Hershey. Follow her work on Instagram at deeofo.

Rural America is just as distressed as it has been for the past two or three decades. If anything, economic conditions seem worse. There are plenty of abandoned buildings in the smaller towns, both commercial and residential, and there doesn’t seem to be a whole lot of activity. We haven’t yet found a motel that was fully booked. We’re cooking our own food in order to isolate ourselves from exposure to Covid, so we have no idea what the local restaurant scenes are like. That said, grocery stores are predictably busy.

An abandoned barn near Blandville in far western Kentucky,

It seems to us that people who might not have connected a few years ago are now more open to talking. We certainly feel that way. We find ourselves trying to engage in conversations with everyone we meet. Because we are traveling largely in what was Trump Country (Missouri, Kentucky, Tennessee, Arkansas, Mississippi, and Louisiana) we’re slow to reveal how little we trust Trump and believe Biden is a better choice for the nation. However, we are finding that people enjoy talking if we ask questions in an open-ended way.

I worked on this post on our National holiday to celebrate Martin Luther King’s birthday. Interestingly, while I was sitting in Jenny's car writing, she was on her bike in Memphis, and through an accident of fate rode past the Lorraine Hotel where King was shot, where she took these pictures. The first shot is the marquee of the hotel, and the second is the balcony of the motel where MLK was shot (now part of the National Civil Rights Museum).

We spoke to an 81-year old farmer today named Don who was delighted to chat with us about growing up in Marianna, Arkansas, and his many years working on a farm nearby the town of Helena-West Helena. He told us nostalgically how the local economy in the delta used to be more dynamic - there was a tire and a clothing factory, and a chemical manufacturing plant as well as lots of family farms. The plants left long ago, and now there are fewer family farms. Don voted for Trump twice, believing Trump would make things better. After he talked awhile, Don paused and reflected, “I feel real bad about how things turned out. I really don’t understand what’s going on anymore.”

We met Mike Major in Hickman, Kentucky, while we were eating lunch at a gazebo in a local park (which commemorated construction funding from Mitch McConnell). Mike was a farmer his entire life until his recent retirement. He grew up in Hickman and lives nearby on his farm. Mike is tolerant of McConnel’s stand against Trump in the GOP, and seemed as relieved as we are that Biden will soon replace Trump. It wasn’t lost on us that just across the river in Missouri many citizens are rallying behind a very different senator - Josh Hawley. We learned from Mike that Hickman had a bustling downtown when he was growing up, but the town had fallen on hard times through successive floods on the Mississippi. The most recent floods were in 2011 and 2018. In the 2011 flood, the Army Corps of Engineers blew up a dike in Missouri to provide a spillway for floodwater in order to save what is left of Hicksville. But the flood of 2018 was the final nail in the coffin when all but two of the remaining buildings near the river were abandoned. Below is a picture of one of the remaining occupied buildings and another photo of a workshed in a field in Missouri after the 2011 flood.

Drawing by Jennifer Hershey. Follow her work on Instagram at deeofo.

The mostly abandoned downtown in Hickman, Kentucky.

A Mark Twain mural on one of the few occupied buildings in downtown Hickman, Kentucky.

Remains of a building in Missouri on the other side of the river from Hickman after the 2011 spillway flood.

Like everyone else, I look forward to a time when Covid is behind us and we are able once again to congregate, worship, learn, teach, perform, dance, sing, and celebrate together. And it will be even more joyful when our nation becomes recognizable - when Americans appreciate one another because we share a continent and a unique and durable constitution. And hopefully we will enjoy other things many of us used to take for granted - domestic peace, an enthusiasm for innovation and problem solving, a healthy atmosphere and oceans, clean water, economic opportunity for all, and of course - life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness.

I’ve been writing posts on this website for almost five years, and no prior post has been as hard to write as this one. Perhaps it’s covid, perhaps the election, perhaps it’s the sheer overwhelming magnitude of this historical moment. How about you? Do you yearn for reconciliation? Do you want America to get her mojo back? I think the answer is yes. I think we are all aching to connect with each other. I think we want to heal. I think we want to celebrate what unites us. Let's do that. This inauguration is a good place to start.

Stay vigilant! Thanks for reading. More to come.

Taken just below Union City, Tennessee. I’ve seen Confederate flags displayed underneath American flags with Trump/Pence signs, but never before an American and Confederate flag blended together.

All photos, unless credited or otherwise noted, are copyrighted property of the blog post author.

Louisiana/Texas, Post 4

“I work up at United Ag in El Campo. I live at this hotel. Spend Sundays off in Bay City.” Drawing by Jennifer Hershey. Follow her work on Instagram at deeofo.

“Don’t go around saying the world owes you a living. The world owes you nothing. It was here first.” — Mark Twain

Most everywhere we’ve been in Louisiana and Texas, we’ve encountered people who believe deeply in the concept of hard work. I don't know if the importance of work is stronger in the south than elsewhere (it’s hard to imagine a more frenetic work environment than New York City), but its virtue came up repeatedly in our conversations with locals. Often the merits of working seem linked to another highly prized value in these parts - self-reliance - the pathway to the most exalted of American values, our freedom.

Big sky country in Texas between Corpus Christi and San Antonio.

One of our first conversations with a local in Louisiana centered around the concept of a strong “work ethic.” The man we were speaking to was a small businessman and boss of six employees. His perspective made a lot of sense. What boss wouldn't want productive workers? He went on to explain he wasn’t a fan of freeloaders - people too lazy to work, who wanted a handout from the government. I’m sure he’d fired his share of poor workers, but when it came to individuals wanting handouts, it seemed more like he was talking about an idea of what people are like than a reality. Maybe others know people who don’t seek the meaning that work brings us (even when they are unemployed or underemployed), but I do not. I can’t help but wonder if that experience is a reflection of my own cultural viewpoint, or an indication of a lack of exposure to reality seen through a cultural and political naivety.

One thing is certain to me: it is fundamentally human to seek meaningful activity. We all must live. And even in an age of extraordinary inequalities in wealth and income, the majority of us still must - and want to - work. So while there may be poor workers, are there really folks out there who think they deserve something for nothing?

“We don’t get many bikes down here— just make sure you walk ‘em onto the ferry”! Drawing by Jennifer Hershey. Follow her work on Instagram at deeofo.

Although southwest Louisiana and southeast Texas are equally flat, the land between Corpus Christi and San Antonio seems especially vast. Perhaps it’s the steady 150 mile rise from the coast to San Antonio (which is 650 feet above sea level). Or perhaps it’s the unrelenting expanse of open, uninterrupted fields. Perhaps it’s the long, straight roads. Whatever the reason, it's BIG.

Taken on Texas State Highway 181 between Corpus Christi and San Antonio. Prior to the invention of barbed wire in the 1870’s, fences couldn't reliably contain cattle.

At the same time, both the land and people between Corpus Christi and San Antonio are hardscrabble. Pickups are normal, sedans are unusual. Regular folks are used to fishing and hunting. Although they don’t rely on their catches to stay alive, fish and animal wildlife seem to be part of the rural Texan diet, at least among the people we talked to. And the land is used in every way possible; for agriculture, farming, fishing, hunting, wind power, oil and gas extraction, compression stations, pipelines, home building, junkyards, storage sheds, telephone poles, auto graveyards, human graveyards… The Texas countryside is a hodgepodge of so many competing uses I often found it as overstimulating and confusing as a Wal-Mart Megastore.

Texans fishing off the causeway between Aransas and Port Aransas, Texas. The birds nearby are Pelicans.

There's also a lot of workers. A surprising number of people work for wind farms and quite a few work in agriculture, but most of the people we met work for oil and gas or petrochemical companies. And there are a lot of companies. Thirty one new petrochemical plants have been approved for construction or reconstruction in hurricane prone areas on, or near, the Louisiana and Texas coasts since 2016. In our last post, we wrote about two large LNG exporting plants under construction in Cameron, Louisiana and nearby Port Arthur, Texas. These are among those 31 new plants.

One of hundreds of refrigerant tank cars lined up near the Occidental Petroleum, Chemours, and Nashtec Plants at Gregory and Ingleside, Texas, not far from the Gulf Coast on the way inland to Beeville, Texas.

Tetrafluorethane is regarded as a “sustainable” refrigerant because it has lower carbon emissions than previous versions, and a minimal impact on ozone.

As much as we were profoundly charmed and cheered by the warmth of the people we met, the omnipresence of these facilities contributed to our uneasiness. In the face of climate change, does this boom really make sense? There’s something profoundly unsettling about the trend. I’m not so sure the locals feel any different. In Texas, even cognitive dissonance is BIG.

Interestingly, Jenny and I arrived in San Antonio on the night of the Nevada Democratic caucus, and we had the opportunity to drop into the famed Cowboy Dance Hall to catch a raucous, youthful and well-supported Bernie Sanders rally. Just for the record, we both appreciate Bernie’s concerns about climate change, but worry he is over-focused on what we need to achieve and under-focused on how to do it without causing a destructive backlash.

Northerners may not be aware that Texas is the leading U.S. producer of both crude oil and natural gas. In 2017, the state accounted for 37% of the nation's crude oil production and 24% of its marketed natural gas production. NPR.org reports that Texas currently supports a total of 163 natural gas production plants, and Texas has the largest processing capacity in the U.S. In addition, there are 29 petroleum refineries in Texas that process more than 5.7 million barrels of crude oil per day. These plants account for 31% of the nation's refining capacity.

A hydrogen sulfide (H2S) flare near a gas pad. Flaring burns off gas that is deemed uneconomical to collect and sell. It is common to flare natural gas that contains hydrogen sulfide to convert the highly toxic hydrogen sulfide gas into less toxic compounds. Although the practice of flaring is decreasing as pipeline efficacy improves, the following air pollutants may be released from natural gas flares: benzene, formaldehyde, polycyclic aromatic hydrocarbons (PAHs, including naphthalene), acetaldehyde, acrolein, propylene, toluene, xylenes, ethyl benzene and hexane. Taken from this source.

On our next trip to the southwest, we hope to visit the fast growing, second most productive oil field in the world (as of 2018), located in the Permian Basin in western Texas and New Mexico.

Just above Gregory we encountered a large wind farm on agricultural fields that spanned to the horizon on both sides of the road for almost 8 miles. Later we learned it is run by E.ON Climate and Renewables North America, one of the worlds largest developers, owners, and operators of renewable energy projects. EON owns and operates over 1,900 MW of wind farms in the United States. The wind on these flat plains are intense (we learned that the hard way), and there are quite a few more wind power companies in the area.

Perhaps more surprisingly, Texas leads the nation in wind-powered generation. The state produced one-fourth of all the U.S. wind powered electricity in 2017. Texas wind turbines have produced more electricity than both of the state's nuclear power plants since 2014. And equally interesting, Texas produces more electricity than any other state, generating almost twice as much as Florida, the second-highest electricity-producing state. All combined, Texas is the largest energy-producing state in the country. It’s also the largest energy-consuming state in the nation. In fact, the industrial sector, including its refineries and petrochemical plants, accounts for half of the energy consumed in the state.

Cooling Towers on the Dow Chemical Plant in Freeport, Texas.

Given our lowbrow method of bicycle travel to offbeat roads and towns, we had lots of opportunities to speak with locals. We didn’t meet one person who spoke of his or her job in disparaging terms. We were often met with gratitude for the opportunities that seemed to be available. Truth is, Texas is humming. The unemployment rate is 3.4%, while the national average is 3.6%. Louisiana’s rate is slightly higher at 4.5%, although it was 6% in November of 2016. By most measures in both states, employment is looking up.

“Me?- I’m Norberto. Me an’ my brothers, Ivan and Freddy cook our meals for the week out here. We take our lunches to the plant.” Drawing by Jennifer Hershey. Follow her work on Instagram at deeofo.

Norberto and his brothers had traveled from their home near Brownsville to work at a plant near Kenedy, Texas. There’s a lot of available jobs there. We counted 9 oil and gas plants in this town of 3500 people.

The evening we hung out with Norberto and his brothers, I fell into a conversation with one of their friends, an oil worker named Jose. An Hispanic transplant from Indiana, Jose was happy to be finding so much work in a part of the country that he preferred. He educated me for awhile about H2S flaring and modern pipeline construction methods, which I appreciated. It was comforting to hear the industry was actually trying to lower methane emissions. After a while, I asked him about his politics. Jose was unabashedly straightforward about supporting Trump because Trump supported his industry. I turned the conversation to climate change. He hesitated a bit as I gently expressed my concern about carbon emissions and what might happen to the world my grandchildren will be inheriting. He didn’t have children, so I kept the conversation a few generations out. I could also tell Jose was aware lots of folks felt like I did, and I could feel him becoming defensive. So I changed tack. I told him I didn’t begrudge anyone working in any industry who was trying to achieve his or her fair share of the American Dream.

“I used to be an intelligence analyst for the army in Germany. I moved back here to be close to my military family. I pray everywhere and anywhere because God is always where I’m praying”. Drawing by Jennifer Hershey. Follow her on Instagram at deeofo.

I remember how isolated veterans felt when they returned from the Vietnam war many years ago. Coming back to a divided country after having served in an unpopular war was a miserable experience for so many veterans, and their shame and degradation cloyed deeply at those of us who opposed the war. Consequently, it was a relief when Americans did not do the same thing to vets when they returned from the second Gulf War - a war equally as unpopular as Vietnam. It seemed that Americans understood had that our vets were not the perpetrators of an unpopular and ill-advised conflict, but were instead brave men and women who had been asked to do something unpopular and counterproductive by their superior officers. In that case, the right people were held accountable for poor choices.

Just as those of us who are deeply worried about the growing climate emergency are realizing that meaningful change has little relevance to the consumer-based choices of the average middle class, we also need to avoid blaming our brothers and sisters who work at low and mid-level technical jobs in an industry that has brought us so much, but is also causing us great damage.

Looking south from the causeway between Aransas and Port Aransas, Texas.

Jobs matter. They are a necessity. At the same time, we need policies that will aggressively curb and eliminate carbon emissions. I've heard conservative Republicans say that it’s not fossil fuels that are the problem, it's emissions. In response, I say …. great! If one really trusts the free market, then put a price on those emissions (and return the proceeds as a dividend to taxpayers to mitigate additional costs), and trust the market to work its magic. And if that intervention doesn’t do the work fast enough (at the rate that science tells us we need) then let’s put our money where our mouth is and trust the market enough to increase the price of carbon until it’s enough. Let’s bring the emissions down! If we can use the market to stimulate innovation that will help us save a lot of our oil and gas jobs, that’s terrific! If not, then let’s accept the truth of our situation and create a different kind of economy.

As one of the people we met kept saying, “I'll tell you what” …Using the ridiculous excuse that the science isn’t settled isn’t acceptable. The science of climate change is as verified and verifiable as the concept of gravity (about 98% of scientists agree both are happening). Climate change isn’t convenient, that’s for sure. But just because we don’t like that it’s happening isn’t a reason for denial. Let’s deal with it.

Yet another Pelican poses for us near Corpus Christi.

This blog post concludes our latest trip from New Orleans to San Antonio. I am writing this on an Amtrak train, with our bikes safely stowed in the baggage car. It’s been an extraordinary trip. If you haven’t visited the 4 missions on the San Antonio River, we enthusiastically recommend them, especially Mission San Juan. A few key pictures from there are posted below.

Below are links to this entire trip. If you don’t have a Garmin account you will have to create one to see them (it's worth it if you're a biking geek or map lover).

1) New Orleans Road Cycling, 2) New Orleans Road Cycling, 3) Donaldsonville Road Cycling, 4) Morgan City Road Cycling, 5) St Mary Parish Road Cycling, 6) Abbeville Road Cycling, 7) Lake Arthur Road Cycling, 8) Cameron Parish Road Cycling, 9) Port Arthur Road Cycling, 10) Galveston Road Cycling, 11) Freeport Road Cycling, 12) Matagorda County Road Cycling, 13) Refugio Road Cycling, 14) Port Aransas Road Cycling, 15) Bee County Road Cycling, 16) Kenedy Road Cycling, 17) Floresville Road Cycling, 18) San Antonio Road Cycling, 19) San Antonio Road Cycling, 20) San Antonio Road Cycling.

Thanks for reading! There’s always more to come, but this particular trip is complete.

All photos, unless credited or otherwise noted, are copyrighted property of the blog post author.

Louisiana/Texas, Post 3

“My wife and I take turns praying at our altar. We are Hindus. But we love this motel. It’s all ours”. This drawing of a proprietor of a mid-century motel in Freeport, Texas was done by Jennifer Hershey. You can follow her work in Instagram at deeofo.

Welcome from Port Aransas, Texas, just slightly southeast of Corpus Christi, Texas.

—————

“It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of light, it was the season of darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair.”

-from a A Tale of a Two Cities by Charles Dickens.

Such are the times we live in.

On the way to Freeport, Texas. We learned later the smoke in the background is from a Dow Chemical plant that removes magnesium from sea water.

Our trip continues to be an extraordinary exploration of exquisite natural landscapes, occasional encounters with wildlife (dead and alive), great conversations with diverse and friendly people, navigating delightful and terrifying roads, dealing with sublime and challenging weather, and periodic confrontations with seedy and startlingly ugly industrial landscapes.

Texas is definitely big sky country, and southeastern Texas is as flat as a pancake on a hot griddle.

Perhaps we can borrow from Dickens, and instead of symbolic cities substitute citadels, or communities of people who live inside of self-imposed walls. Like any citadel that is protected from others, we can only see what’s inside, and have no idea of what’s on the outside.

The Dow Chemical Plant near Freeport is situated just above the Intercoastal Waterway on a vast marsh.

In a way, Fox News and CNN are the storytellers for two distinct narratives that reflect two separate citadels: urban and rural America. Our cities are the center of our intellectual, artistic, entertainment and media capitals. Our rural areas - especially evident down here in southeastern Texas - provide access to our natural environments, produce our food (and also increasingly produce electricity through wind-power on the same land), and also extract and move our oil and gas providing our cities with both food and energy. Consequently, they also are the sites for some of our most polluting, dangerous and economically critical industries.

A close up shot of the Dow Chemical plant in Freeport. Locals say this is one of the largest chemical plants in the world.

As I mull over what we are encountering, I find myself thinking the challenges on the Louisiana and Texas coastlines result in a mixed landscape not unlike our home town of New York City. There’s an abundance of both beauty and squalor, and avoiding either one gives visitors an incomplete understanding.

View from the San Luis Pass-Vacek Toll Bridge, which spans San Luis Pass into Brazoria County, Texas.

Clearly, I love the natural beauty of this coastline and its inland marshes, farms, and woodlands. But the story told through the industrialization of the Gulf Coast sticks in my craw. As a northerner, I’m struck by my own complicity in a type of NIMBY (Not in my Backyard) reality. I enjoy living in a city that has (with some exceptions in poorer neighborhoods in the outer boroughs) enjoyed increasingly cleaner air and water over the past several decades through stricter environmental regulations and a shift in focus from industrial production to digital technology.

Temporary oil derricks next to the Corpus Christi shipping channel. The local community was told they would be there for six months, but are still there after almost 3 years. And it’s a big bone of contention in this community. Picture taken from the Port Aransas Ferry.

Yet, the nasty stuff used in so many of our industrial processes, plastics and household products has to be made somewhere (at least in our current economy), and some of those places are along the Louisiana and Texas coasts. And like all poor and moderately poor neighborhoods, when jobs are at stake the nature and consequences of those industries matter less than the jobs they bring.

“Well I’ll tell you what—they got the best seafood right on that Seawall”. Drawing by Jennifer Hershey. Follow her on Instagram at deeofo.

Occasionally locals will resist. We met a local at a great Mexican restaurant in Freeport who had worked in most of the nearby plants over his decades long career (he was probably in his 60’s). He did a short stint at the nearby Dow Chemical plant, but didn’t stay long. The plant officials said it was safe, but he told us that it sure didn’t seem safe to him, so he moved on.

Jenny and I standing in front of the Hotel Blessing.

The downstairs interior of the Hotel Blessing in Blessing, Texas, population 861. Blessing was named in the early 1900’s out of the gratitude for local agriculture, railroad and coastal development.

Yet, lots of folks down here are glad for all that Texas has to offer. I’ve heard more than one person boast about being “Texas born and bred”. And even one town has named itself after its good fortune. By sheer coincidence, we found ourselves needing to stop at the one hotel about the right distance between Freeport and the Corpus Christi area (we couldn't stay on the coast because the old coast road was washed out by Hurricane Ike). It’s called Hotel Blessing, named after the town of Blessing.

“Oh I’ve been doing this for years. If they keep coming....I’ll be here”. Drawing of Helen Feldhousen by Jennifer Hershey. Follow her on Instagram at deeofo.

We didn’t know what we were in for at the time, but after a restless night at the Hotel (we could hear everything - yep, everything - going on during a busy Valentines Day evening) we went to breakfast at the Hotel Blessing Coffee Shop. We were greeted by the intrepid Helen Feldhousen and a cast of other folks - some of whom who show up in the Texas “Bucket List” broadcast below.

I am thinking quite a bit about the concept of “the tragedy of the commons”. This is a situation where individual users, acting independently according to their own self-interest, behave contrary to the common good of all users by depleting or spoiling the shared resource through their collective action. “Not in my Backyard” (NIMBY) actions are related conceptually. For example, my own life is made better by situating so many large petroleum chemical and oil and gas plants so far away from large cities on either the west or the east coasts. At the same time, the people of southeastern Texas gain through employment opportunities where the only other options would be tourism or agriculture. Yet, their very livelihoods are put at risk by the significant carbon pollution of the industrial activity here, because it contributes to the extreme weather that may ultimately destroy those plants, along with their jobs.

A very mellow Pelican stares us down on the beach at Port Aransas.

Additionally, citizens around the world gain nothing by the carbon these plants and their related industries have added to our atmosphere. It’s worth contemplating that although America contains 5% of the worlds population, we are responsible for 25% of the carbon put into the atmosphere since the dawn of the industrial revolution. And although China is now the world’s greatest carbon polluter, we remain the world’s greatest carbon emitter on a per capita and country basis combined. That fact alone suggests that our way of life is a big part of the tragedy of the commons that climate change is extracting. It's clear that staying with the status quo is the worst thing we can do. It’s time to step up to a different plate.

Our bikes in fog at the beach on Port Aransas Beach, Texas.

A few of you told me you missed the links to the Garmin maps showing our journey day by day, so I include links below to our entire trip to date. If you don’t have a Garmin account you will have to create one to see them (it's worth it if you're a biking geek or map lover).

1) New Orleans Road Cycling, 2) New Orleans Road Cycling, 3) Donaldsonville Road Cycling, 4) Morgan City Road Cycling, 5) St Mary Parish Road Cycling, 6) Abbeville Road Cycling, 7) Lake Arthur Road Cycling, 8) Cameron Parish Road Cycling, 9) Port Arthur Road Cycling, 10) Galveston Road Cycling, 11) Freeport Road Cycling, 12) Matagorda County Road Cycling, 13) Refugio Road Cycling, 14) Today we are in Port Aransas, Texas, just slightly southeast of Corpus Christi, Texas.

Thanks for reading! More to come…

All photos, unless credited or otherwise noted, are copyrighted property of the blog post author.

Louisiana/Texas, Post 2

“Yes Ma’am...it’s alive. They be millions of them in pots out there in them rice fields”. Drawing by Jennifer Hershey. Follow her on Instagram at deeofo.

Welcome from Galveston, Texas, where we arrived from Louisiana by way of the coastal towns Cameron, Louisiana, and Port Arthur, Texas. Most of south central and southwestern Louisiana below the I-10 corridor from Houston to New Orleans is less than 20 feet above sea level. On both sides of the Intercoastal Waterway this land of marshy prairies, bayous, forests and intense wetlands supports many wildlife sanctuaries, cattle ranches, sugarcane and rice farms, and crawfish trapping. It was a pleasure to cycle through. People are friendly, and the inland towns are small and attractive.

A rice field east of Lake Arthur, LA.

We had an interesting encounter with a very busy and successful woodworker named Mark near New Iberia, Louisiana, who showed us his shop, and introduced us to some of his workers. After we got settled into a motel in nearby Abbeville, he and his wife Dona picked us up and took us out for a sensational seafood dinner. We enjoyed Louisiana hospitality at its best, with good food and plenty of libation and conversation. Although we could sense we weren’t all likely to be on the same page politically (even though we shared a concern for rising sea level and the fate of the lowlands), a strong and jovial spirit of acceptance and friendship remained intact. Interestingly, the next day Mark read my recent blog post, and texted me “Great post. Observe more, judge less. Good way to live. Just remember, sometimes you have to step up to the plate”. Jenny drew his picture, and I thought about what exactly he meant.

“I got three good sons in laws. I want my family to be healthy. But I worry that the land to the south of here is going to be under water”. Drawing by Jennifer Hershey. Follow her on Instagram at deeofo.

Michael biking through historic Jeanerette, LA.

Jenny with her bike on the way to Lake Arthur, LA.

In addition to their beauty and the warmth of their inhabitants, southern Louisiana and Texas can also be disturbing places to bike through. This bucolic landscape is riddled with debris, machinery, abandoned oil wells and new fracked gas compressor stations. It’s crisscrossed by pipelines carrying oil and gas from conventional wells found underneath the marsh, and an abundance of fracked gas piped in from the north. Much of the fracked gas in western Louisiana originates from the nearby 9000 square mile Haynesville Shale, a large shale play in northwestern Louisiana.

A view of Lake Arthur, LA.

Given the low elevation and the marshy characteristics of the land, it’s obvious that this area is very prone to coastal erosion, storm surges, tidal flooding, and extreme weather events such as hurricanes. A few days earlier, just west of New Orleans, we had contended with tornado warnings, which are quite unusual for the area. Locals agreed, although no one we spoke to suggested a changing climate as a possible cause.

Just south of the Intercoastal Waterway on Highway 24 in southwestern Louisiana. Under these marshes lie a maze of pipelines carrying oil and gas from local deposits and the shale play in northwestern Louisiana.

The sheer vulnerability of the lowland coastal areas of the Gulf Coast seems hauntingly palpable. It’s clear to any thoughtful observer that Louisiana is deeply and complexly affected by our changing climate.

A fishing boat moored near the site of the new LNG global exporting plant at Cameron, LA. The flag on the boat says Trump/Pence 2020 . The entire port area just south of this boat (which used to be public land) is now privately owned by the company building the incoming plant. We weren’t allowed to see it.

The town of Cameron, LA, (once a bustling resort town of 3000 people that was devastated by Category 3 Hurricane Audrey about 60 years ago, and slammed again by Ike in 2008) now only has a few hundred permanent citizens. However, it is now a site for a large liquified natural gas (LNG) global exploring plant that will compete with an equally large LNG global exporting plant under construction in nearby Port Arthur, Texas. This much larger blue collar town lies just across Louisiana's southwestern border, where the Spindletop gusher was struck in 1901, setting off an oil rush that resulted in nearby Houston eclipsing Galveston as the primary port for southeastern Texas.

Gas flares in the marsh about a mile from the Liousiana Coast.

Each new plant currently employs about 3000 construction workers. When complete, the Cameron plant will support 160 permanent jobs, and the Port Arthur plant will support about 200 permanent jobs. That is, of course, unless a major hurricane hits this part of the Gulf Coast, in which case operations will either be temporarily or permanently interrupted.

Abandoned oil wells in High Island, Texas, about a half mile from the Gulf Coast.

The reasons for this activity make economic sense in the short term. Cameron has been quite poor since Hurricane Audrey hit, and jobs are scarce. Consequently, the new plant is very popular among locals. Port Arthur is also poor, although it has more economic diversity than Cameron. However, the proximity of its site for a new receiving terminal will have additional benefit to Houston, so it’s popularity is even greater. Interestingly, in Houston, there is tacit, if not public, recognition among local officials that climate change is real. Based on a conversation we had with a local in Port Arthur, it seems there is hope that new sea walls east of Port Arthur across the Sabine River and further west across the Houston ship channel will mitigate storm surge issues for awhile, at least for southeastern Texas. …For how long, we wondered?

Jenny’s left arm marks the water line for Hurricane Ike in a bicycle shop we went to in Galveston. This 2008 hurricane holds the record for storm surge in Port Arthur, cresting at 22 feet.

So why do so many people in Louisiana and Texas embrace the very industry that may ultimately do them in? Isn't one definition of insanity, “doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results?”

“I moved one time..in 1954...from next door to here.” Drawing by Jennifer Hershey. Follow her on Instagram at deeofo.

Jobs are important, and 460 permanent jobs might have lasting value for your communities. But at what cost? When your home is losing land to coastal erosion at alarming rates, when scientist are warning us that sea level rise is occurring faster than their previous conservative estimates indicated, when extreme weather events such as hurricanes and tornadoes are becoming more frequent with every passing year, when scientists are looking at establishing a Category 6 for hurricanes because they are growing so much more intense, …..when does that community cut its losses, and change its economic base?

Yes, life will be harder in the short term, but potentially much more livable and rewarding in the long term. Maybe that’s a plate that’s worth stepping up to…

For those of you who geek out on map routes, please email me and I will happily include links to the Garmin maps in this blog post. Frankly, I simply don’t know if they are very important to my readers. If I’m wrong, I’d love to know.

Thanks for reading! More to come…

All photos, unless credited or otherwise noted, are copyrighted property of the blog post author.

Louisiana/Texas, Post 1

“I come after the grande hurricane...10 yrs ago.....from Guatemala . I fish for mi familia every day from aqui.” Drawing by Jennifer Hershey. Follow her on Instagram at deeofo.

The Amtrak Crescent from New York City to New Orleans is a small and somewhat understaffed train. Given their size and cultural stature, it seems like the Big Apple and the Big Easy deserve something more robust, if not all of America. Train travel is low carbon, pleasant, and offers so many other benefits to our transportation system. Apparently few people train between these cities (at least in the dead space of early February before Mardi Gras), so the train not only was small (9 cars total), it was challenging in its lack of basic amenities. Dining cars have been replaced by a limited option of previously prepared food that wears quite thin after a few meals. Bathrooms are few and poorly cleaned. There was no observation car. Yet - as always - I was appreciative of Amtrak’s efficient and inexpensive roll-on bike service. It is both easy and a joy to use. You roll your bike to a baggage car, remove your gear, and hand over your bike to an attendant. When you arrive at your destination, you do the same thing in reverse. Retrieving your bike takes minutes, and after restoring your gear, off you ride.

Jenny Hershey with her gear standing beside our bikes as we board in NYC.

I don't always make New Year’s resolutions, but this year I did: “Observe more, judge less”. It was simple once I said it out loud, although I had been struggling to articulate the thought to myself for quite a while. In addition to an unusual bout of self-reflection inspired by the quick and successive deaths of both my parents, I’d been reading the fascinating book “Why We Are Polarized” by Ezra Klein; a look behind the extreme politicized polarization plaguing America.

The Cathedral in Jackson Square, New Orleans, LA

I was coming to understand that just as we hide parts of ourselves from those we love, we are hidden from one another in a country we love, partly because we assume others should see the world as we do even if we cannot see the same world they do. I had been unsettled by several attacks on FaceBook about my apparent ignorance of the South based on a few inquisitive posts about life in North Carolina. Out of defensiveness, I found myself questioning how much conservative southerners understand, or care to understand, about my identity as a multicultural urban northern liberal. Conversely, I was forced to admit to myself that I knew, or cared, equally little about the identity of white rural southern conservatives.

Oil plant just northeast of NOLA on the Mississippi River.

In anticipation of this trip, both my traveling partner Jenny and I felt trepidation about biking in the Deep South. I hoped Klein’s book would help me frame an approach that would go beyond my own self-perceived static and somewhat predictable liberal perspective. It has not disappointed me.

Just east of NOLA off the Mississippi River levee. Quite alive.

A dead fox. Roadkill.

I admit that we partly chose to explore Louisiana and Texas on bikes because it is a warm place to go in early February. In addition, it is accessible by train (we thought other choices would be more carbon intensive, and low carbon travel is part of our objective). But our country's current form of political polarization also begs for greater interaction between our vastly different political cultures. Interestingly, as a northerner, I often feel greater affinity with European countries and cultures than I do with the political and social cultures of the American south. But since the 2016 election, I’ve come to believe that America is in need of a giant reset (or “rebooting”) and that if I - and other people like me (i.e., members of my group) - don’t grapple with our entire American identity, we are very likely to misunderstand how we arrived at, and might get out of, such a highly polarized present moment.

Near Donaldsville, LA.

My interest in climate change is a case in point. There’s so much about our changing climate that seems obvious to me that I simply cannot fathom the abyss in logic or understanding between me and climate deniers. While I’m very confident the science supports me, I’m learning that facts alone don’t change behavior. Even in an area devastated by Hurricane Katrina, and after numerous recent warnings that the sea level is especially troublesome on the Gulf Coast, plenty of locals remain willfully cavalier, if not downright defiant about taking action.

“I was 13....they took us out by boat. I slept on a bridge for a week with my Grandma. “ Drawing by Jennifer Hershey. Follow her on Instagram at deeofo.

Ezra Klein makes the same argument about rationalizing, or recasting, facts within political cultures. Essentially, his fundamental point is that identity is a far more important driver of political viewpoints than is logic or “facts”. In fact, logic may be the least important attribute of political identity - far less important than cultural, familial, socioeconomic and racial identity. I’m reminded of James Carville’s famous quip during the Clinton administration, “it’s the economy, stupid”. Maybe in the age of Trump, “it’s the tribe, stupid”.

A petrochemical plant just outside the bayou town of Donaldsville, LA.

Stupid, perhaps, but true nonetheless. And so very, very human. So, I’ve decided - and Jenny agrees - that the most useful way to explore Louisiana and Texas right now is to observe more, and judge less. For readers who hope we will brightly burn the climate emergency torch with the message that the apocalypse is well upon us and our southern neighbors need to wake up lest they suffer sooner than their northern neighbors (even though we think that’s true), we may disappoint you. Our agenda right now is simply to understand.

“Yes Ma’am...they got all kinds of plants here. Chemicals and oil and I don’t even know what they got. “ Drawing by Jennifer Hershey. Follow her on Instagram at deeofo.

Maybe a lot of folks just don’t believe that good jobs from a “green economy” will really show up when chemicals and oil companies have been the only big games in town for multiple generations. Or maybe they just don't feel like they can change anything anyway.

Bayou Country about 150 miles southwest of New Orleans.

We talked to a middle aged black man in White Castle, Louisiana, named Orville outside the local grocery store, who told us he had voted for Obama but didn't vote in 2016, and was probably not going to vote in the next election also, even though he thinks Trump is a crook. When we asked him why, he went silent. So we (thoughtful northerners that we are) explained “logically” why he should - since the federal voting power for a Democrat in Louisiana is arithmetically more powerful, given the Senate and the Electoral College, than a vote by a Democrat in New York. Orville looked dubious and replied, “them politician’s all gonna do what they want to anyway.” Jenny and I exchanged glances. We had failed to convince him. So, as we mounted our bikes and road off, Jenny yelled back at Orville, “If you don’t vote in the next election, I’ll come back here and kick your ass”! Orville laughed. Maybe he’ll remember that part of our conversation more then our logic.

Tractor in a fallow sugar cane field near Baldwin , LA. Photo by Jennifer Hershey.

Maybe Orville is right. Yet, Congressional behavior during the impeachment proceedings teaches us that politicians will do just about anything they think the majority of their constituents want them to (with a few exceptions). And maybe that’s a good thing, especially if we want them to do what’s right. But more agreement on what “right” looks like among us constituents would be very helpful, especially when the prevailing view seems so very wrong. And how will we achieve that? I used to think I knew. Now I no longer do… so for myself, I'm trying out the follow idea: Observe more, judge less. And please know, dear reader, it's myself that I am encouraging.

For those of you who geek out on map routes, here are the last four days of our rides on Garmin: Day One, Day Two, Day Three, Day Four.

Thanks for reading! More to come…

All photos, unless credited or otherwise noted, are copyrighted property of the blog post author.

Getting Real About Global CO2 Emissions

“The fear is real”. Drawing by Jenny Hershey, on Instagram at deeofo.

Greetings from New York City. For those of you who wonder what happened to me and Jenny Hershey along the GAP Trail as we left Pittsburgh last October, you can find a short blog post about that ride in the Archived Cycling Tours for 2019 in the drop down menu. And please look forward to following our next ride beginning in New Orleans and heading across southern Texas in early February, 2020. It’s an interesting time in the U.S. for blue state urban northerners to mix with red state rural southerners. We are certainly curious as to what our fellow Americans are thinking about climate change (and many other subjects), and we hope to see and learn some things worth sharing.

But let's attend to a present concern. Previous readers of these blog posts may have wondered about the CO2 icon in the upper left hand corner of this page above the carbonstories.org logo. That is a widget from the CO2.earth website, and is a reference to the latest annual average of parts per million (ppm) of carbon dioxide in the atmosphere as measured at the Scripps CO2 research project at the Mauna Loa Observatory in Hawaii.

This is the famous Keeling curve, which demonstrates a 25 percent rise in carbon levels in our atmosphere since 1960.

This research project was initiated in 1956 by Charles Keeling, and operated under his direction until he died in 2005, when his son Ralph took direction of the project. The iconic “Keeling Curve” chart shown above is a result of their work, and is a well known and accurate record of the rise in CO2 levels since the 1950’s.

As of this writing, the most recently reported measurements of carbon dioxide at the Manua Loa Observatory are:

Jan. 18, 2020:  413.39 ppm

Jan. 18, 2019:  410.26 ppm

It is a widely understood, and easily verifiable physics experiment to demonstrate how increasing CO2 levels causes air temperature to rise; in fact this was proven well over 100 years ago by both the Irish physicist John Tyndall and Swedish physicist Svente Arrhenius. Tyndall is widely credited with discovering the greenhouse effect that underpins the science of climate change by publishing a series of studies on the way greenhouse gases, including carbon dioxide, trap heat in the Earth's atmosphere.

Following their leads, other scientists established a clear link at least 30 years ago between the accumulation of greenhouse gases in the atmosphere and increases in surface air temperatures. Scientists have established that temperatures increase 1.8 degrees C for each 3.7 trillion metric tons of additional CO2 in the atmosphere. (Emissions are expressed in metric tons, each of which is equal to about 2,205 pounds). Today's CO2 concentrations and global average temperatures are typically measured against levels that prevailed before the Industrial Revolution, when humans began to have a meaningful impact on the planet's natural chemistry.

That influence has been extraordinary. As you can see in the graph below, current parts per million (PPM’s) are above 400, even though CO2 levels have consistently hovered around 280 ppm for the last 800,000 years until quite recently. The upward explosion in the line graph below begins in the late nineteenth century, corresponding to a rapid rise in the production and use of oil and natural gas in addition to coal. Where the graph ends in real time is anyone’s guess; it depends entirely on what we humans decide to do.

Sourced here from NASA. Note that although current parts per million (PPM’s) are currently over 400, CO2 levels have hovered around 280 ppm for the last 800,000 years until the late 1800’s.

Over the past few decades, scientists have come to understand that carbon dioxide emissions must be reduced to hold human caused global warming below levels that may cause dangerous changes in our climate. As a result, carbon budgets have become a staple of climate change analysis. One excellent source for immediate ongoing tracking is the Global Carbon Project.

Sourced from Climate Central, this chart shows the increasing impact CO2 levels are having on global average temperatures.

Clearly, we are running out of time. Here’s a simple countdown clock from the Guardian that has been in use since the Paris Accord goals were established. It is as specific (and accurate) as the current science will allow. When it comes to global CO2 emissions and greenhouse gases in general, well …it’s time to get real.

Continuing our steady rise in fossil fuel use without capturing emissions is essentially a march toward oblivion. Not only will we experience life-threatening escalating temperatures, sea level rise, increasing diseases, and widespread crop failures, we’ll most likely experience a breakdown of civilization as we know it. For a current and quite sober assessment, see the most recent report by the World Economic Forum, Global Risk Report for 2020.

“Sure, they’re rebuilding in Ocracoke because of Hurricane Dorian. So what? It’s always been like that here”. Drawing from the Outer Banks, North Carolina, by Jenny Hershey. On Instagram at deeofo.

So what do we do? Talking to others is a start, especially policy makers. As you may know, I am active with the Citizens Climate Lobby (CCL), a global organization of over 100,000 volunteer citizen lobbyists who advocate for specific legislation (HR 763) to establish a price on carbon in the form of a fee that returns dividends directly to citizens to mitigate increases in energy costs. This group works hard to convince conservatives that climate change can still be addressed through aggressive market mechanisms. However, the need to act is a nonstarter for those who historically deny climate change science. CCL has been active for over 11 years, and while this ambitious and hardworking citizen lobbying organization has changed many minds in Congress, their legislative agenda remains unmet. If we are lucky enough to get a Democrat in the White House in 2020, CCL’s legislation will most likely prevail, and a decade of effort will finally pay off.

However, the current science tells us that global carbon emissions MUST be cut in half over the next ten years for us to maintain a climate anywhere close to what we humans have enjoyed in our comparatively short time on earth. If we end up with four more years of Trump plus a Republican Senate, we will lose 40% of the time we have to create aggressive changes in national (and global) policies to effectuate change. Considering the stakes, avoiding that outcome is essential.

Anyone who understands climate science agrees that Trump's policies are dangerous, and that his willfully ignorant characterization of those faniliar with the science as “prophets of doom” is patently ridiculous and beyond pernicious. As a result, many environmentalists argue that trying to convince his Republican supporters (especially in Congress) to think effectively about climate change is a complete waste of time and energy. Among them are activists in the interesting and global new group “Extinction Rebellion”. I think this group deserves credit for articulating an approach to the climate emergency that might push policy makers toward meaningful action. They focus on mobilizing people who are already passionate about climate change, and then work to consolidate progressive support for drastic action. Their approach is explained more fully in the following PBS article.

Their philosophy is summed up as follows: “We have finite energy, and spending energy trying to win over the people who are absolutely not going to be won over to your side is peanuts compared to mobilizing the people who would be active or passive supporters,” said Leah Francis, an organizer with the Extinction Rebellion U.S. national team. “We really want to shift people’s perspective on what constitutes normal, socially acceptable behavior around responding to climate change.”

Maybe that's exactly what we need. Maybe, just maybe, those of us who are alarmed by the existential issues of climate change are being just too damn nice.

I’m curious to know what you think…

Thanks for reading! More to come…

All photos, unless credited or otherwise noted, are copyrighted property of the blog post author.

Illinois to New York City, Post 2

Remains of a home in Brookfield, Ohio, in a populated suburb after a tornado touched down in June of 2019. When we saw it, nearby homes were fine and people were going about their business.

This house is on Main Street in Cambridge City, Indiana. It was intact until July of this year, when it collapsed. A local resident we talked to didn’t know why.

Hello from South Pittsburgh on the historic GAP (Greater Allegheny Passage) Trail. We biked here yesterday from Steubenville, Ohio, an old steel and coal town about 25 miles north of historic Wheeling, West Virginia. The night before we were near Morristown, Ohio, in the rolling western foothills of the Alleghenys.

Both yesterday and today we encountered numerous hills, a few with grades as steep as 15 degrees. But what goes up also comes down, so we enjoyed some great downhill runs. Although it’s grey and rainy today, the past few days have been sunny and warm, and the hill country has been spectacular.

The Cardinal Operating Company, a plant north of Wheeling where coal is made into coke for steel manufacturing. In the 1990’s there were over 100,000 jobs in the steel industry in this valley; now there are about 10,000 jobs.

Fall colors on the way.

After some reflection, Jenny and I decided to take the historic GAP bike trail from Pittsburgh, PA to Cumberland, MD, and then a portion of the C&O (Chesapeake and Ohio) Trail before heading up to Lancaster, PA, on our way back to New York City. Today we are resting and waiting out a rainstorm near the western end of the trail. We chose this alternate route instead of the northern ACA Route to NYC because it is less climbing (by about 20,000 cumulative feet)! I’ve done this route before, and remember it very fondly, so I'm looking forward to sharing it with Jenny. We have currently traveled over 800 miles total, and tomorrow we will start the 150 miles that make up the GAP trail.

This memorial is for 16-year -old Olivia Starrwallace, who ran off the road and into a tree in eastern Indiana while driving near the National High School (which she attended).

Jenny’s drawing of our bartender Dennis at the Pike 40 Bar and Grill in Morristown , Ohio. You can see more of Jennifer Hershey's work on Instagram at “deeofo”.

While such a distance is not new for me, I must compliment my biking partner Jenny. She’s never biked this far, and she has done so with great joy and resolve. She’s tackled intense hills, aggressive and threatening traffic, poor road surfaces, lousy and non-existent shoulders, cold and rain - all without losing her cool or diminishing her spirit.

A tired cyclist rests after lunch.

Locals tell us we’re in Trump country, and we’ve definitely seen a few 2020 campaign signs. The TV is on in our motel. It’s hard to imagine the nation isn’t focused entirely on the impeachment investigation and the Turkish invasion of Syria. But frankly, those issues are not the topic of conversation in most of the places we’ve visited. The Americans we are encountering seem more focused on the basic logistics of making their daily lives work.

Earlier today I found myself wondering what the connection to the outside world was like in small midwestern communities during WWII? Was our nation so focused on winning the war and supporting our troops that you could feel history being made even in the smallest of towns? Did the overwhelming majority of citizens feel like their daily actions were contributing to the creation of a better world?

Some new driving jobs have been created in the Ohio River Valley in the last decade as fracking has expanded. That said, isn’t all traffic (except for electric vehicles powered by renewables) essentially “oil and gas traffic”?

Or did life in rural America then seem more like now, when the unrelenting noise of the outside world seems so far away? Perhaps those who had a close relative involved in the war effort felt involved, much like farm families further to the west might feel more concerned about climate change now, after experiencing several very tough years of extreme weather. Yet, I don’t know how to reconcile the sense of urgent hopefulness I felt last month in New York City as I participated in the Youth Climate March, attended numerous panels at the ever busier annual Climate Week, and followed the extraordinary appearances of Greta Thunberg at the United Nations Climate Summit. It all seemed so significant, and a signal of shifting perspectives.

But in the Ohio River Valley, there’s still plenty of pain (and anger) over decades of economic losses. Worrying about climate change almost seems like a luxury… until one thinks soberingly about an even harsher future. So, as always, lets keep our resolve to change our trajectory. The future is waiting to be invented.

A bridge to another bike path near OSU in Columbus, Ohio.

Speaking of a bright side, we have encountered many long, beautiful and very well maintained cycling trails. About 20 miles west of Dayton, Ohio, we picked up a rural “Rail to Trail” cycling trail, and with a few exceptions of unfinished sections, followed the trail until we left Columbus, about 90 miles later.

The Olentangy River Trail makes its way through much of Columbus, including this lovely park.

This was a remarkable and incredibly pleasant run. We encountered another long section of cycling trail later the same day from Granville past Newark, Ohio, making our total run on trails well over 120 miles. Then, we enjoyed another 20 miles of trail along the scenic Ohio River out of Wheeling, West Virginia, as we headed north to Steubenville, Ohio.

Finally, we rode the Panhandle Trail most of the way into Pittsburgh, capping off a series of great trails through much of central and eastern Ohio.

So we are happy and content, and looking forward to another stretch of dry weather once the current storm passes over. The GAP trail awaits!

Thanks for reading! More to come…

All photos, unless credited or otherwise noted, are copyrighted property of the blog post author.

Illinois to New York City, Post 1

Soybeans wait for harvesting in Greenfield, Indiana.

Back in the Saddle Again

Greetings from my bicycle! My last blog post was in May, and I apologize to readers who may be curious about my disappearance in rough weather somewhere near Westgate, NV, on a cycling trip from Palo Alto to Salt Lake City.

If you’ve been wondering, you might be pleased to know that I did get back home to New York City. In fact, I spent a great summer there. While there, I wrote a blog about how I got home: backtracking to Reno, skipping my plans for Salt Lake, shipping my bike and flying back to New York City. But alas, I got distracted and never posted it. So much for the best laid plans of mice and men (and me).

Even so, I took a few more photographs in Nevada in May that I think are still worth sharing, even if the trip back to New York no longer seems relevant. I include these because I am fascinated by extreme weather events. They are increasingly part of our lives, and I think there is value in bearing witness to what we see around us. You may remember from my last blog that I was fighting my way through a very unusual rain and snow storm in a part of Nevada that is usually hot and dry in May. Along with many other folks I was surprised and challenged by the inclement weather I encountered. Below are a few more shots from that trip that I’m particularly proud of…

Water in the Westgate Bar parking lot on the day I left in late May, 2019.

Flooded salt flats east of Reno.

Rain clouds above the salt flats.

As the summer progressed, I made plans for future cycling with my friend Jenny Hershey, who had just retired from a 31-year career running building operations for Jujamcyn Theaters on Broadway. A founder of the Broadway Green Alliance, Jenny is both an environmentalist and an avid cyclist. To get our feet wet, we took a car camping/cycling starter trip to New Brunswick, the fabulous Cabot Trail in Cape Breton in Nova Scotia, Prince Edward Island (PEI), and explored traveling together on bikes for multiple days at a time. If you’ve never been there, I strongly recommend cycling in PEI. There are numerous rail to trail conversions that allow cyclists to get everywhere one could want to go. The shoreline is vast and beaches are beautiful. The islanders take great pride in their environment, and they enjoy rich local culture. Prices are reasonable, and the pace of life is remarkably comfortable. At the same time, internet services and other modern amenities are easy to come by. Don’t miss it!

Jenny by the roadside in PEI. She is wearing a mourners ribbon signifying the period of shiva after the death of her mother Merle Weisman.

Michael gesturing toward the Northumberland Straight in Cape Breton.

Near our campground in Chetticamp, Nova Scotia.

The coast near Chetticamp, Nova Scotia.

Moving On

In addition to being busy, last summer was emotionally eventful. In June and July, as my brothers and I recovered from my Dad’s recent death, we helped our Mom move from an assisted living facility to a nursing home in Galesburg, IL. She didn’t like losing her independence, but is gradually getting used to both the irritation and value of full-time long- term care. Like most older people, my Mom has good days and bad days. A good day occurred recently when Jenny and I arrived via train to meet up with my daughter Saren and her family from Wausau, Wisconsin. My Mom was able to meet her new great grandson Landon.

My Mom Sue Chase and her great grandson Landon Spire.

As I joyfully watched my Mom, my daughter and her son, I realized there were four generations of us in the same room sharing our love. And of course, I found myself wondering what life will be like for Landon when he is my Mom’s age (it will be 2106). Will civilization as we presently know it even exist? Will animal species other than humans and their pets and feedstock still exist? Or will our species be gone as well?

There is increasing scientific evidence that we are quickly running out of time, and we must significantly turn the tide on greenhouse gas emissions over the next decade. I am so pleased that all the Democratic candidates for President are acknowledging climate change as an existential threat, and are developing policy proposals for meaningful change. Personally, I cannot think of a more important way to address our climate emergency right now than to back whatever Democratic candidate is nominated, and to work my heart out for his or her election. And if we are lucky enough to have an administration that understands climate science, then we must put our shoulders to the wheel for national policy that supports carbon pricing and returns dividends to citizens to help bear the increased costs of fossil fuels. We will also need policies to help build the next great economic expansion in renewable energy, carbon sequestration through changing agriculture practices, and carbon technologies to include air-based and flu-based greenhouse gas capture and carbon recycling through manufacturing of inert products such as polymers, fuel and even food. These nascent, yet promising technologies are very hopeful. We only need the will to make them happen. For more information check out the Circular Carbon Network.

——————

Today I'm writing from a motel in Richmond, Indiana. Jenny and I began this cycling trip about a week ago from Galesburg, Illinois. As I’m sure you are aware, the fall has been unusually hot in the Midwest and the northeast. That changed suddenly last Friday, just as we left Bloomington, Illinois, for Gibson City (with the help of a local Samaritan who drove us 37 miles in his pickup to avoid rain as the temperature plunged to the high 30’s). The next day was even more inclement. By Saturday evening, after Jenny and I had biked 72 miles to Attica, Indiana, we were very cold, wet, miserable and tired.

But the joy of biking is often in the recovery phase. The last two days have been lovely, and today was exceptional. Our trip has become glorious again. Galesburg is about 400 miles west of us at this point. We’re tired and windblown, and enjoying the pleasant and peaceful endorphin rush that comes after several days of hard cycling. It’s nice to feel used up.

The rainy view outside our motel in Gibson City, IL.

Fossil fuels are like this as well! We enjoy now, our grandchildren pay later….

Thanks for reading! More to come…

All photos, unless credited or otherwise noted, are copyrighted property of the blog post author.

The Highway of Life; A Tribute to Kim Chase

Sand hills east of Fallon, Nevada.

Storm clouds forming to the east of Middlegate, Nevada.

Greetings. I am writing this from Middlegate, Nevada, in a pleasant ramshackle motel that must date back to the 1930's. It doesn't have a name, other than the motel. 

This building across the parking lot does have a name - the guest house.

I am traveling by bike from Palo Alto, California to Salt Lake City, Utah, where I will catch a flight back to New York City. Since Carson City, Nevada, I've been on Highway 50; a road once marketed as "The Loneliest Highway in America.." It's part of the "Adventure Cycling Association's "Great Western Trail." It's raining today. A lot. It rained and hailed on Carson Pass. A lot. All along my entire route, locals have been saying it's unusually wet and cold. I wasn't expecting this - I took this route on my GRID Tour in 2016, and enjoyed pleasant and reasonably warm weather the entire time. But with extreme weather on the rise everywhere, cycling is impacted more and more by increasingly greater unpredictability in weather patterns. The same is true for outdoor industries such as farming and construction. Much of our knowledge - which is based in being able to make reasonably accurate predictions - is becoming less useful. 

Outside and inside the bar at Middlegate.

Close up of the ceiling in the bar.

I didn't intend to take this trip a few months ago. I had a different plan in mind. But circumstances changed things. On May 4, a few hours after I had arrived for a visit, my Dad passed away. I was fortunate enough to be with him, along with my stepmother Dawn  - my Dad's wife of 53 years. Our entire family and so many friends are devastated, of course, but after an amazing life that lasted over 100 years, there is also so much to be grateful for. My Dad lived a long and active life, much of it on his own terms, and he died a reasonably peaceful death with only a few weeks of a troublesome decline. Few are so lucky. 

On May 19, many friends and family came together to celebrate my father. My brother Steve did a masterful job as "Master of Ceremonies", and the stories and eulogies for my Dad were very poignant and touching. I think we said goodbye well, in a manner that would have pleased my Dad. The next day a small group of us took a scouting party to a lovely nearby park in the coastal mountains to identify a place where we will disperse his ashes when the time is right.  

On the following day I left Palo Alto to cycle to Salt Lake City. I wanted a challenge, and I wanted solitude. I am getting both. At the same time, this route allows me to stay near the California Zephyr train-line so I can easily get to my home town of Galesburg, Illinois, if need be (where my elderly mother lives) with my bike in tow. I guess I'm feeling a bit fragile, and don't want to be very far away if my Mom takes a turn for the worse. 

Below is the eulogy I delivered at my Dad's commemoration. Perhaps it will mean something to others who weren't able to attend his memorial. 

 May 19, 2019, A Tribute to Kim Chase 

• Love and Loss

My Dad could be quite funny. One day, while I was stressing out about something, he put his hand on my shoulder and looked me straight in the eye. Then he grinned and said, "Stop worrying Michael. You'll get from one end of your life to the other".

Well, I haven't done that yet. But he has. And boy, I miss him.

We all know there's a shadow that comes with loving someone. That shadow is called loss. To love someone deeply means that, sooner or later, you will lose them, and they will lose you. There's no getting out of that experience.

Some of you may not know that Dad's first wife died during the polio epidemic in the early 1950's. It was a staggering loss for him, as it was for me and my brother Chris. It was 1953, and my Dad was just starting his teaching career. There he was, having lost his wife, with two toddlers to care for. But that was only one of many loves and losses. My Dad married again, and had another son, Steve. And then some years later, he married Dawn, bringing her into our lives. Yet, by the time he died at 100 my Dad had lost every other member of his immediate family except those of us in this room, and all of his friends from his own generation. Still, he lived and died surrounded by people who loved him, most notably Dawn, with whom he was able to share 53 wonderful years.

There's no remedy for losing a loved one. It happens to us all. We love, we lose. But still, we can do what Kim Chase did - we can love full out, completely present, gently, quietly, regardless of the cost. We can just keep showing up. My Dad was good at that.

• Acceptance and Support

I should know; I tested him quite a bit as a young man. For a time, I was quite angry at him for ways I thought he had let me down. But my Dad would stand his ground, and gave me something to push against. And even though my harsh words and actions would hurt him, he remained steadfast. And I can say that I never, ever doubted his love and commitment to me, even when I was testing it in every possible way I could. No matter what I did or said, he'd come back for more, he'd keep fighting the battle for us to become whole - as father and son, friend and family, mentor and protege. Our relationship in those days was explosive, but I always encountered a man who believed we have it in us to find our own way in life, and we don't need to be coddled or indulged, we just need steady acceptance and support.

• Luck and Opportunity

My Dad would often say he was very lucky. Some of you may know he attributed his luck to having been loved so unconditionally as a child by his mother, Elizabeth. She definitely doted on him, and he grew up knowing that - at least in her eyes - he was special.

I don't want to suggest that fortune and misfortune always distribute themselves equally. Clearly they don't. But fortune smiles more often on those who are ready to see and run with the opportunities that life offers up. My Dad's natural optimism and buoyancy allowed him to make the most out of any moment. He had an amazing life force. He lived through the Great Depression, the rise of fascism in Europe, WWII, the Korean and Vietnam wars, peacetime expansion, the civil rights movement, hippies, LSD, Reagan, the Gulf War, 9/11, Osama Bin Laden, our first black President, the age of Trump and the dawning of the age of climate change. He saw it all, with his eyes wide open.

And all the while, he kept learning and adapting. As many of you know, Dad was a backpacker. When he got old enough that he had to pee every few hours, he figured out how to build and use a pee jar in his tent at night. (God forbid he should drink less booze.) When he could no longer hike, he rode a mule. When he could no longer ride a mule he started going to aquatic exercise classes. When he was no longer steady enough with his cane, he got a walker on wheels. When that didn't get him around quickly enough he got a tricycle. He just kept growing. He even learned how to use Facebook, although he complained that he'd be damned if he'd ever do something that used the word "friend" as a verb.

Nothing stopped this guy. I am so proud he was my Dad. Kim Chase was an amazing man who lived an amazing life. I miss him so much, and I am filled to the brim with gratitude for the life he lived.

Lucky him. Lucky me. Lucky us.

Thank you.

And thanks for reading this blog.  

Kim Chase, December, 2018

Kim Chase, December, 2018

Kim Chase, December, 2018, drawing by Jennifer Hershey

More to come. 

All photos, unless credited or otherwise noted, are copyrighted property of the blog post author.

Phoenix to El Paso, ...no, Tucson, Post 3

Twilight behind a sugaro cactus in Tucson.

After a one day layover in Portal, AZ, where I hiked near Cave Creek Canyon, I woke to a very cold day. The wind was clocking about 24 miles an hour out of the southeast, so I decided to head northeast to Silver City, NM, thinking that I would then zag southeast the next day to Columbus NM, and then make my way eastward into El Paso. 

The Chiricahua Mountains on the way to Lordsburg.

Life has a funny way of making us change our plans. The wind shifted to the east. Rain clouds gathered. The temperature dropped. After a very difficult slog of a ride directly into a punishing wind, I arrived in Lordsburg about 45 miles away from Silver City. I wasn't sure what the weather was up to, but I was worried. I found an inexpensive motel and downloaded another wind app for my cell phone, hoping it would give me better capacity to analyze and predict what the next few days were going to be like. I knew there was a raging storm in the Midwest (the Nebraska bomb cyclone) and I assumed its outer edges were the cause of the wind and cold weather coming out of Texas. So I sat in my motel room, finally warm again, thinking about what to do. Near as I could determine the winds were going to remain out of the east/southeast at approximately 15 mph for the next 4-5 days. Additionally, rain and some snow were forecast for the entire region for the next few days. I knew I could make it to El Paso one way or the other as planned, and I also knew the trip was likely to be difficult and miserable. 

The wind stirs up dust on the way to Lordsburg.

I called my Dad in California, and my Mom in Illinois. I also called my kids. That might seem like a strange comment coming from a grown man in his 60's, But for those of you tracking older parents and grandkids, you'll recognize the behavior. I wanted to be certain my eastward direction under such conditions didn't make it difficult to get to either parent should the need arise. And I wanted to know if changing my itinerary and visiting my kids and grandkids a month or so later than previously planned would be ok.

I was improvising based on weather, just as humans have done for thousands of years. That is, before we insulated ourselves from it through our technology. Yet, our very attempts to tame it have only made it more foreboding. As the recent bomb cyclone in Nebraska - and the even more devastating cyclone in southeastern Africa - remind us, the weather will always humble us. We can't defy physics.

After discussions with various family members, I decided to return to Tucson where the weather was milder, and catch a train up to San Jose to my Dad's place. Right now I'm sitting in a lovely Landmarked train station in Tucson. I travel tonight on the Sunset Limited and will arrive into LA the morning in time to catch the Coast Starlight up to San Jose tomorrow. As usual, I will roll my bike up to the baggage car. For only $20 more a ticket there's no better way to get a bicycle somewhere (other than riding it, of course). 

One of my intentions, for now, is to avoid an effigy in my honor. I came across this one on "A" Mountain east of Tucson.

Seen in western NM.

Seen in eastern Arizona.

Seen near Douglas, AZ

The new plan made me breathe easier, and sleep a bit more deeply. That said, I'm sorry to have missed exploring route 9 and the towns of Columbus, NM, where Pancho Via "invaded" the US at the battle of Columbus in 1917, and Antelope Wells, NM - which I am told is a hot spot for Border Patrol action. I'll be back. 

The border near Nogales, AZ. Photo credited to USA Today.

I can't say that I've seen much near the border that suggests we have a crisis of "invasion". Where I've been it seems quiet, "normal" and only subtly militarized. As per the pictures I've already posted, the fences are ugly and the concertina wire is threatening. I've been reading an interesting book titled "Storming the Wall; Climate Change, Migration and Homeland Security" by Todd Martin. If the numbers of illegal immigrants on our southern border are actually increasing (recent reports suggest that is true) they are mostly immigrants from Guatemala, El Salvadore and Honduras. And, according to Todd Martin, these countries are experiencing devastating drought, and are climate refugee "canaries in the mine" for what lies ahead.

Apparently, migrants from these countries turn themselves into Border Patrol at their soonest opportunity with the intention of applying for asylum. Most are farmers who are no longer able to survive on their land. If they flee to nearby cities, they and their families are subject to horrific gang violence. So they come north, hoping they can gain asylum in the United States. If there is a crisis, it's a humanitarian one, and one that a wall might even exacerbate. Here's an article in "Scientific American" that explains the underlying issue more deeply. 

One of hundreds of checkpoints on a north/south road just south of Interstate 10. They are intended to keep migrants from gaining access to our interstate system. I've passed through several. Each time I've asked the agents if it was busy that day, and each time the answer was no.

Fields of daisies are common here this time of year.

A view to the south about 50 miles east of Tucson.

A rattlesnake seen on a bike trail near Tucson. As it gets hotter, they get more active.

Next week I fly back to New York. It will be another month or so before I start my next cycling adventure, so you'll notice a lag in my blog posts. But, as always, there's more to come.

All photos, unless credited or otherwise noted, are copyrighted property of the blog post author.

Palo Alto to Tucson, ...no, Phoenix, Post 3

The roads of America are scattered with effigies. My guess is they are missed by most motorists, even though they are most likely responsible for their presence. On a bike, they are hard to miss. They are almost always poignant, and sometimes strikingly beautiful.

From Niland, I headed to Brawley, CA, a reasonably significant town in the Imperial Valley, about 22 miles north of the border town of Calexico.

A stockyard north of Brawley. Kind of makes one wonder what our feedstock endures to becomes a hamburger.

I turned left on Main Street, and headed several blocks toward what is identified on Google as the least expensive motel in town. It all seemed familiar, and I knew I had passed through Brawley on my "Southern Tier" trip several years ago. But I wasn't prepared for what happened. I turned right into a parking lot for the Townhouse Inn and was instantly flooded with memories. I had stayed here before. In my five years of long distance cycling adventures, this was the first time I had ever repeated myself. It was a comforting experience. Slowing down time on a bike means ratcheting up experiences. It's impossible to remember everywhere you've been. I've stayed in hundreds of cheap motels, RV Parks and campgrounds, yet until this moment I had never come upon the same place twice. 

I remembered the proprietor - an industrious South Asian. I instantly felt safe and secure. I love mid-century motels, and they are in abundance in small towns in the southwest the same way that mid-century drug stores can still be found thoughout NYC.

Memories from two years earlier came instantly: almost falling off my bicycle upon arrival, talking to my Dad on the phone while standing next to the washing machine that I knew was still hidden on the upstairs balcony. I remembered the flyboys from the nearby Air Force base I had eaten lunch with earlier in the day, I recalled my initial amazement by the fertility of the highly irrigated Imperial Valley, and the surprisingly good dinner I had at the one "hip" restaurant in Brawley that served draft beer - "The Inferno." I knew I'd have a nice stay.

Apparently the part of the cortex that a memory center is also active in imagination. Brain scientists think that we form memories as an act that occurs in the present moment from isolated and distinct fragments of sounds, smells, sensations, feelings, thoughts and other bits of information that are stored throughout the brain and body, and we reconstruct - in the very moment we have the memory - this pastiche of unconnected information into a coherent narrative. In that way, remembering is an act of imagination.

So then, what's the purpose of an effigy? Maybe first and foremost, it's a warning. It tells those passing by that someone died here, and they are also not immune. But for the artists who constructed the effigy, maybe it helps them construct and reconstruct their own memories of the departed. We know the dead speak to us, maybe they do it in our very own imaginations as we remember them? 

I cycled the section of the Southern Tier route I am doing now between Brawley and Phoenix a few years ago. The sand dunes above loom large in my memory. The little town of Glamis, which sits right in the middle of the dunes, looks like a set in Bladerunner.

I thought an easy day to Brawley and a good rest would help me to easily get to Paso Robles the next day, even though much of the 61 mile trip is uphill and known as brutal for the many rollers on both the ascent and the descent. I got an early start. But at Glamis I was enjoying the scenery of the Algodones Sand Dunes National Wilderness just a bit too much, and after a leisurely conversation with a couple of other long distance cyclists, I abruptly realized I had to climb 30 miles up a pass notorious for its rollers, and I was going to run out of sun in 3 hours. I wasn't scared, but I knew I had to push. Then, after 10 more miles or so, I remembered something I learned during the last trip along this route. There were no accommodations in Paso Robles. In fact, I'd be lucky to find a restaurant. I tightened up a bit. How had I forgotten THAT in my planning, when I had remembered so many trivial things about the motel? How had my memory/imagination failed me? It was 4:30. The winter sun was beginning to set. It began to rain. Now I was scared. 

Was I going to become an effigy? 

The short answer is not this time. The gods were kind to me, and forgiving of my poor memory. I was saved by some very helpful people in a small trailer park community in Paso Robles. It rained hard that night while I slept comfortably on a couch in the community room. 

I was kept from a wet and chilly evening by the good people of Tamarisk Park in Paso Robles.

Ironically, as I write this now, the remarkable evening I spent in Paso Robles seems far away. So much can happen in a few days and 100 miles! Today I fixed my fifth flat since Quartzsite, AZ. Now in Wickenburg, I'm about 50 miles west of Phoenix. A few days ago decided to return to New York City from there. I will be leaving my bike in storage there for a month or so until I return for more cycling in the great southwest. 

Just west of Wickenburg, AZ.

We have a lot of knowledge about death in our culture. Although children and adolescents (if they are lucky), don't imagine their own deaths, the rest of us do sooner or later before we die. Probably, many of our fears can be traced to an underlying fear of death. That said, I've always found it odd that (beyond certain theological myths about judgement days) we seem to have no contemporary narrative for imagining the death of the human species. Yet, climate change is a genuine threat to our existence. But look around. Doesn't it seem that we are living on our earth as if our species is adolescent? We take extraordinary risks with our earth, and we ignore those around us who are likely to be wiser about what we are doing (ie, climate scientists). And somehow, we persist in the folly that our way of life will remain stable. Yet, as individuals we understand our mortality. Why do we not imagine that as a genuine possibility for our species?

We behave as if our entire species has a smoking habit, while the world's best oncologists are telling us that continuing to smoke will drastically shorten our collective lives. Yet, we make only half hearted and ineffective efforts to change regardless. Are we crazy, or just foolish? 

But there are signs of hope. You might enjoy reading an article that was recently published in Bloomberg about the growing conservative support for a carbon dividend plan at the federal level. Of course, there's so much more we can do as well. But large systemic change is critical. Let's move those "Energy Innovation and Carbon Dividend" bills in Congress forward! 

Hope is about 20 miles east of Quartzsite. There's a church there. It's called "The Little Church of Hope". 

My rig, before my fourth flat.

I'm comfortable and happy in Wickenburg, AZ, at the Aztec RV Park as I lay over for a day, and try to sort out why I keep getting flat tires. Interestingly, there are no bike shops on the Southern Tier between Brawley, CA and Phoenix, a distance of about 270 miles. Ingenuity is called for. How like life. 

Here are some Garmin Maps: 

Wednesday  

Thursday

Friday

More to come.  

All photos, unless credited or otherwise noted, are copyrighted property of the blog post author.

Palo Alto to Tucson, Post 2

The church still remains at Paramount Ranch; it and the railroad station also survived while the main set was destroyed in the Woolsey Fire. We've all watched countless westerns filmed at this constructed town setting since the early 1900's.

The Los Angeles River Cycleway.

Once I got to Ventura from Santa Barbara, I called my old childhood friend Debra Dralle in Woodland Hills in north LA. I was in luck. I had stayed with Debra on my GRID trip two years back, so she and her husband Richard weren't surprised to see me arrive the next day on a fully loaded bike. Getting to Woodland Hills from Ventura presented a small challenge - such as the Santa Monica Mountains. It was raining, and I was challenged by the climbing, so I didn't notice the clues I was passing through the Woolsey Fire area. Fast moving and capricious, that fire was one of many that has turned life on its head. Much has been written about the intensifying and record breaking fire seasons in the American and Canadians wests. Here's one example. Of course, climate scientists tell us this is only the beginning. Record droughts, warmer temperatures, longer fire seasons, and encroaching development are the new normal, which isn't going to be normal at all. There's no normalizing the future when it comes to climate. 

A saloon and hotel?

A storage room?

Fortunately, I had a chance to rectify my poor observations the next day when Debra drove me back to the Paramount Ranch, which - sadly - had burned to the ground in November of 2018. As we drove, I asked Debra if she knew of climate deniers living in the area. She said no; in fact, her view is that southern Californians are united around climate change - the fires of the past several years have diminished any doubts.

A large burnt out camper van sits by a highway near Delta, Ca. The Woolsey and the Delta fires took place in September and November, 2018, respectively.

Today I read a comment by Tom Di Liberto, a scientist who worked on a well publicized Ocean Warming Report. He was quoted as having said that he thought we wouldn't reduce GHG emissions meaningfully until 2040. His comment made me wonder. 

A water pump?

More debris.

There's something beautiful about a fire area in recovery. Only 3 months after the fire, a hillside in the Santa Monica Mountains near Paramount Ranch makes a comeback.

What will our "pain point" be? Because climate change is as real as the sun, the shoe will drop on climate denial at some point, and we will finally unite in our understanding of what we are up against. But how many people will die first, how much degradation will we endure, how crippled will our economy have to become? Hopefully sooner, rather than later, Americans will say, "enough is enough", and put their shoulders to the wheel of change in a serious way, joining the many other countries attempting to transition their own economies. Some days that seems a long way off - especially as I cycle through the desert near the Salton Sea in January. But there's nowhere to hide. Check this out. 

The northern and eastern shore of the Salton Sea is remarkably empty. The first 20 miles of the coast from the north shore are protected by at least three county parks. I was surprised and delighted to see this.

Some days there is progress. I've written in many previous posts about the Citizens Climate Lobby, but I have not yet mentioned that CCL has helped two carbon dividend bills become introduced in Congress. Here is the House Bill, and here is the Senate Bill. Please check them out. If you find these thoughtful bipartisan climate bills hopeful, let your Representative and Senator know you support them. We know that politicians respond to popular will, so we must make it clear to policy makers that we expect them to be effective leaders on climate. 

Looking east away from the Salton Sea toward Joshua Tree National Park. Someone told me that Joshua Tree poachers were in the Park because of limited staff during the government shutdown. If that's true, it's heartbreaking.

This is no small task, as we all know. The world's largest economy (ours) is dominated by policies favoring corporate interests and rich corporate-bought climate deniers who are outside mainstream thought, and insulated from extreme climate events. Imagine what this must feel like in smaller countries. 

I have some adventurer friends, Ken and Fi Morton, who wrote the following in an email to me: 

"Interestingly, we are in Ecuador right now where everyone acknowledges climate change as an obvious event, and not a divisive partisan issue, where private industry and gov't are investing in "clean" infrastructure like solar, and electric/LPG public transport. Also, sadly, is the realization that it, like most developing countries, they are powerless to slow or curb global climate change, as despite all efforts, the world's biggest economies will dictate how climate change plays out... which doesn't give one cause for optimism, currently."

The pass from Banning to Palm Springs is quite windy and there are hundreds of wind turbines along the way. They can be attractive, and far less noisy than traditional oil wells.

There's so much to do. And I think the most important thing of all is not to capitulate to dispair or cynicism, no matter how large the obstacles seem. We've proved the resiliency of our species over and over. Yes, we may be entering the greatest challenge we've ever faced, because none before now has required no less than global economic transformation. Clearly this is no time for "me first, or us first" policies. Let's screw our collective heads back on straight and meet this historical moment with clarity and resolve. 

For those of you who like the Garmin maps, here are the past four days of riding: 

Wednesday  

Thursday 

Friday  

Saturday  

More to come. 

All photos, unless credited or otherwise noted, are copyrighted property of the blog post author. 

Palo Alto to Tucson, Post 1

Fog on the Guadalupe River Trail, which extends from San Francisco Bay to downtown San Jose, near the Amtrak Station.

Hi. Greetings from Ventura, CA. I am warm and dry in a Motel 6, after having spent three days cycling here from San Luis Obispo. I got to SLO by train from San Jose, after attending a family celebration in Palo Alto.

Irrigation on a basil field just north of Lompoc.

A stretch of cycling path along CA Highway 101.

I am beginning another cycling adventure toward warm and sunny weather, and intend to enjoy the Pacific Coast route as mapped out by the Adventure Cycling Association (ACA) and then the lovely Southern Tier route as far as Tucson (see my archived blog posts on a Southern Tier trip I made a few years back). If time allows, I hope to get as far as Big Bend National Park in Texas, but family matters may intervene. But no matter how far I get, I will be returning to the Pacific Northwest in the spring/summer. This coming summer I am aiming for Alaska. 

The California coast just south of Santa Barbara.

I enjoy loving connections on both generational sides of my life - my parents are still alive, and I stay close to them (trying to be "a phone call away") and my two grandkids (with a third about to arrive) as I split time between cycling in beautiful (or climate stressed) places - which I adore - and New York - which I also adore. Between those activities and my friends in many places, my parents, my kids and my grandkids, I'm a very lucky man. 

A drawing of my Dad, Kim Chase, by Jennifer Hershey. You can find her work on Instagram under "Deeofo.".

On December 30, 2018, my Dad turned 100. When I asked him how he felt, he said, "the same as yesterday." When a neighbor asked him how he managed to live so long, he replied, "Well, I haven't died yet." At a Christmas dinner a few days before, he told someone else who asked a similar question, "it's an accident."

A good moment on the bike on my Dad's 100th birthday.

So much for formulas. That said, my father has been unusually active all his life. He took up backpacking at 60, and didn't stop until he was 87. He owns a three-wheeled bicycle, which he still rides. Last week, I took him over the pedestrian bridge that spans highway 101 to the Bay Lands that border the San Francisco Bay (he needs another person to push his bike up the bridge while he walks up with his cane). It's sensationally beautiful at the Bay; a mixture of grasslands, marshes and tidal mud flats teeming with shorebirds. 

When the tide recedes, the birds dig for food.

A Great Blue Heron takes flight.

A snowy egret.

Sunrise on the Bay Area Trail, a bike trail that will eventually follow the perimeter of the entire north and south bays.

Whatever his secret is, my father's longevity has been widely celebrated by friends and family. His life has been a rich one, characterized by adventure, lots of hard work, plenty of love, a healthy dose of common sense and good daily practices. He was born just as the "War to end all Wars" (WWI) started, lived through the Great Depression (the family story is that he had only one pair of shoes and set of clothes all through high school), was a naval officer in the South Pacific during WWII, went to Columbia for a Masters degree on the GI bill after the War, then got his Doctorate, had careers as a professor and college administrator, raised three kids and had three wives. Now, near the end of his life, he is witness to the Trump Presidency (according to him, the mayhem is unparalleled), and even more unsettling, the dawn of the age of climate change.

I don't know how much my Dad thinks about climate change, although he seems to have no problem understanding it. If he was still driving, I'm sure he would own an electric car (he loves Teslas), and would have installed solar panels on his home. But he's a realist (and an existentialist of the Sartre vintage: "Three o'clock is always too late or too early for anything you want to do."), so he's never been particularly optimistic about civilization's prospects.

A climate stressed place - I took this shot in last month near Redding, CA. It's from the Delta Fire, which took place several weeks after the CARR Fire was contained. Locals refer to it as "the forgotten fire".

But my Dad is not a gloomy guy. I'm sure he holds out some form of hope for the future, as we all do. Still, every once in a while he jokes that he's lucky he'll check out before the worst is upon us. And he means it. 

I think he's right. In some ways, his generation's retirement (with an intact pension, decent healthcare and reasonable wealth) may turn out to have been the pinnacle for the developed world. Subsequent generations may not be able to enjoy the same stability, quality of care and basic prosperity that some in his generation have. 

We're likely to face global challenges that are unprecedented. I am reminded of the recent IPCC report on climate, which warns us starkly and unequivocally that the scale of the climate crisis will be beyond anything humans have faced before. Climate Change is unique in that its causes and its impacts are global. Greenhouse gas molecules disperse into the atmosphere, equalizing their distribution everywhere. In one way physics makes climate change extremely democratic, although its impacts are neither geographically nor socially equal. Some geographic areas are more vulnerable than others, such as low lying areas near the sea. And some people are more vulnerable, such as those who live in compromised housing, drought stricken or flood prone areas, or those who depend on livelihoods that cannot tolerate significant climatic shifts, such as fishermen or farmers. 

We have to change our way of life. What an extraordinary challenge. Has this ever been done before? Some people bring up the Marshall plan after the Second World War as an example. I find it an apt but incomplete metaphor. In short, over $12B (in 1946 dollars) were put into rebuilding the industrial economies of Western Europe. But the world needs a plan with a global impact. We need a Marshall plan on steroids. Could it be the Paris Accord? Time will tell. 

To see my cycling progress over the past days, look here, here, and here. 

More to come.  

All photos, unless credited or otherwise noted, are copyrighted property of the blog post author.

Electricity and a Wind Farm, PR post Maria, Post 3

You know how a song can get hopelessly stuck in your head? So can a promise to a stranger. Like a song, when the promise surfaces it has a way of circling back, nagging gently and sometimes causing irritation. Unlike a song, a promise stops nagging if it's kept. So the result of that simple moment when a stranger says, "Promise me you'll go to Utuado", and one answers without thinking, "I will," is that the promise becomes a song one can't get out of one's head. Until one keeps it. 

So I had no choice. I had to return to Puerto Rico to go to Utuado. 

Not that fulfilling my promise to visit Utuado was my only reason for returning. There are many other good reasons. To flee cold weather in the northeastern US for just a bit longer, to put a little money in the economy as a student at a Spanish language intensive and to explore how communities rebuild after extreme weather disasters are among them. Besides, the island needs people to visit - FEMA, of course - volunteer utility workers - church assistance groups - aid societies - maybe even Tesla to build those microgrids Elon Musk talked about in late September of 2017.

("Did Tesla come? Are they here?" I keep asking, but no one I've asked thinks they did.) 

Tourists need to come here as well. Especially now. And, in spite of these blogs (or maybe because of them), I'm essentially a tourist on a bicycle (for the most part). I'm not a big spender, but for what it's worth, I believe my presence has some value. 

In the not too distant future, when predictable stages of extreme weather post-disaster recovery are more widely familiar, those stages may look something like the following: 1) relief, joy and gratitude at having survived, 2) mourning who, and what, has been lost, 2) making sure oneself and one's community have what is needed to survive over the coming days and weeks, 3) restoring essential communication infrastructure and cleaning up enough debris so that transit is possible, 4) restoring basic services such as electrity, plumbing and drinking water, 5) returning to the tasks of daily life that help one to normalize - such as going to work, socializing and entertaining, and hopefully - 6) rebuilding in smart ways to meet the next extreme weather event with greater resiliency. 

Most of Puerto Rico now seems focused on steps 4 and 5. An islander told me yesterday that he thinks 85% of the island now has power. That might be true on a per capita basis, but I doubt that it's true geographically. The more developed and populated coastal areas have had power for several months, but many of the more remote rural areas are still struggling.

I had the good fortune to share a meal in Quebradillas with Jeff and Virginia Toussaint, owners of The Flowing River Farm near the village of Orocovia, which is located in the center of the Island. Their farm recently joined WWOOF (World Wide Opportunities in Organic Farms, a "worldwide movement linking volunteers with organic farmers and growers to promote cultural and educational experiences based on trust and non-monetary exchange, thereby helping to build a sustainable, global community.") Jeff and Virginia are currently hosting farm worker volunteers even though they have no electricity and are using a large "life-straw" water filtering system to draw water from a local stream. They seemed weary when I talked to them, but perked up as they shared their vision to create a self sustaining, net-zero energy farm that could provide food for their family and the surrounding community. And as we spoke about climate activism, carbon pricing, energy independence, permaculture and our shared antipathy toward car dominant transportation systems (having very poor public transportation and few protected bike lanes, PR is completely car dependent) we re-energized one another to continue fighting for sustainable organic farming, smart infrastructure and clean energy solutions in spite of the obstacles. 

There has been a lot in the news about the presence of poor drinking water since the hurricane. But Jeff and Virginia tell me that water hasn't been a consistently potable resource on parts of the island for years, so poor water is not a new phenomenon. On the coasts, it's been relatively easy to purchase bottled water for a few months. But when roads are out, obtaining bottled drinking water is difficult and can be cost prohibitive in poorer, more remote communities, so residents have been forced to drink substandard water or devise filtering systems, such as the Toussaints have. 

Just past Utuado, a reasonably large and spread out Pueblo south of Arecibo and north of Ponce, there is still no power between Rio Pellejas and Adjuntas in the communities accessible from Highway 123, a distance of about 25 kilometers. This area has received a lot of attention from the press, although that hasn't seemed to help PREPA get electricity beyond Utuado (which has had power since early February). PREPA is the Puerto Rican government run electric company, and you may have read that it will be sold later this year in an effort to privatize and modernize operations. Clearly, PREPA needs to be reimagined, so privatizing it may be helpful. It's essential that PR's electric grid becomes more responsive to the requirements of climate change. This is no mystery to Puerto Ricans. I encountered no resistance anywhere on the island to the notion that climate change will create more frequent and extreme hurricanes, greater ambient temperatures, increased precipitation, and storm surge flooding based on sea level rise. The average Puerto Rican seems to know what's coming. 

I met Manolito, a Puerto Rican of Taino descent, as I walked through Rio Pellejas to inquire about electricity. There were new electrical cables on poles outside his house, but he and his neighbors were not connected. He didn't know if the cables were live, and he didn't seem too worried about it. His plumbing was fine, and that mattered much more to him. In fact, he mused that after five months, he had become accustomed to life without electricity. He'd be glad when it was back, but he wasn't that bothered by its absence.

From time to time I find myself reflecting on the reality that we humans have lived with electricity for only about a hundred years, and have enjoyed civilization without electricity for almost 10,000 of the 40,000 years our species has been around. Is its absence really such a crisis? Perhaps so when it comes to health care - modern medicine certainly cannot function without it. But in most other ways, I'm not so sure. (I do appreciate the irony of writing that statement while composing a blog on my cell phone.) 

In spite of PREPA's overwhelming reconstruction challenge and their bureaucratic inefficiency, they have made some good choices. The government talks about establishing a portfolio standard with a goal of 30% renewables, which seems reasonable in an environment with an unlimited supply of wind and sunshine. Currently 13% of PREPA's full load is delivered through renewable sources. In 2012, PREPA contracted with Pattern Energy (headquartered in San Francisco, the company has 20 industrial sized wind and solar facilities all over the globe that generate more than 4000MW) to construct a wind farm slightly east of Ponce near the pueblo of Santa Isabel on the south coast. With 47 turbines, the Santa Isabel Wind Farm has a full capacity of 101 Megawatts, and is perfectly situation to take advantage of the constant and vigorous trade winds that blow from the east and southeast. Although the wind farm was built in 2012, the greatest capacity that PREPA has ever solicited has been 75MW (about 8% of PREPA's supply), which is what the farm was supplying to PREPA just before Hurricane Maria hit in September of 2017. There is another wind farm on the southeastern coast of PR near Naguabo called Punta Lima that was built and is run by Gestamp Wind, which had 13 turbines and a full capacity of 23MW. Unfortunately this farm was directly in the path of Maria and had to contend with winds that reached up to 200 mph. So, most of the turbines there were seriously destroyed by Maria, and the farm is not at all functional at this time. The Santa Isabel Wind Farm was also damaged, and some turbines are still being repaired. But its construction and fail safe technology allows it to survive 150 mph winds, and the blades can turn 180 degrees so that higher winds will be deflected and less damaging. At Santa Isabel, Maria's winds averaged 135 mph, with a few gusts that matched or exceeded 150 mph. As a result, about half of the turbines are currently online and the farm has a production capacity far greater than PREPA can currently utilize. At this time, PREPA is only taking 5MW. In spite of some ongoing repairs, the Santa Isabel Wind Farm will be able to supply at full capacity as soon as PREPA can absorb it.

I was impressed and delighted to learn that in this context the word "farm" has a double meaning. While fracking pads and oil wells are extraordinarily noisy and restrict terrain because of toxic exposure and protection from machinery, it is possible to grow crops directly underneath a wind turbine. The Santa Isabel Wind Farm is a "farm" in the truest sense of the word. Underneath its 3400+ acres are highly productive tomato fields, mango and papaya orchards, peppers, onions, eggplant, pineapple and approximately twenty other crops. The 800 acres of tomatoes can yield enough harvest in one day to supply the island for a week. The fields are shared with approximately 25 farmers who lease the land from the government at a beneficial rate, and also work closely with PR Farm Credit. In spite of Maria, the farms are fully functional now - which is very good news, considering that In the aftermath of Hurricane Maria, the New York Times reported that 80 percent of the crop value on the island — about $780 million — had been lost to the storm. Puerto Rico imports about 85% of its food, so the quick recovery of enterprises like this help lessen that dependency. 

Behind my host Rueben Rivera of Pattern Energy and next to his truck, is a white trailer, which can be joined with other trailers to create a "train" pulled by a large tractor that can bring crops (tomatoes, in this case) to market. 

While Rueben and I toured the farm, workers came in from the tomato fields for lunch. The Santa Isabel Wind Farm creates hundreds of sustainable jobs, primarily through agriculture. Interestingly, Ruben Rivera studied agronomy in college, even though he is now an operations manager for the wind farm. It was a pleasure to watch this capable man in an environment that aligns so closely to his values, way of life and skill set. 

As we drove past the tomato fields we entered mango and papaya orchards. I cannot express how fulfilling it was to see how a clean source of energy could be paired with intensive food production. And, for skeptical readers, I want to make it clear that I took some time to get out of Ruben's truck and intentionally stand near a turbine while I listed to the white noise of the rotating blades. I have also stood near fracking pads, and I can assure you there is no suitable noise comparison. Anyone who complains about the noise of a wind turbine has never listened to an oil well or a fracking pad. Oil wells are irritating. Fracking pads are deafening. Wind turbines are neither. 

These were my capable and warm hosts at the Santa Isabel Wind Farm, Carlos Roman and Ruben Rivera, respectively. 

All good things must come to an end. These last photos were taken west of Quebradillas on the northwest coast, where in spite of obvious hurricane damage, the beaches are spectacular. I spent my last day biking along one of PR's few designated bike paths. And although I had to contend with a ferocious wind from the east, and dodge sand dunes altered by the hurricane, I was happy to be warm and sunbaked.

I recommend you go, if you can.