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Déjà Vu "How many roads must a man travel
down before he admits he is lost?" We pedalled toward Long Lake, and came across a road not on our map. The newly paved surface looked great. As we puzzled over our finding, a car stopped to see if we needed assistance. We asked the fellow if the road went to Long Lake. He assured us it did, and he threw in directions to a nearby county campground, as well. "They have showers," he added with a knowing wink. He certainly knew how to entice cycle tourists after a hard day's cycling. We headed off in the new direction and soon intersected a road with a name we thought we recalled our direction-giver saying. The road was gravel, but we pushed onto it anyway. The promise of showers holds a powerful allure. A few kilometres farther, our fears were confirmed: we were definitely mislocated. A body of water appeared on our left when we expected it to be on our right. Even Sharon, able to navigate by sun or stars, had to admit she had no idea where we were. She studied the map. After some time, she declared, "This thing is useless!" She scrunched up the paper and tossed it at me. The map's remnants bounced off my helmet. I stooped and retrieved it. Maybe I'd have to start a fire later. A ways down the road, we spied a fellow working in his manicured yard; the lawn glowed an otherworldly green from abundant fertilizer and recent generous Michigan rains. A profusion of begonia-filled baskets hung from the soffits, throwing colour in every direction. Rose bushes, splendid in fragrant bloom, bedecked every corner of the property. We stopped to ask directions. The fellow introduced himself as Martin. He was curious about our travels and asked questions. Whatever we answered, Martin seemed to find incredibly amazing. "We cycled over 2,000 miles last month." "Gee whiz! Can you believe that? Why, that's more than I drive!" Martin exclaimed. "Wait here," he instructed and disappeared inside. "Maybe he has to confirm that what he's hearing is really what he's hearing," I said. Sure enough. Martin reappeared with his wife, Ann. Shoving her to the forefront, Martin asked the exact questions he had moments before. "Are you having an incredible sense of déjà vu?" "Yeah," Sharon laughed. "Like all over again." A rousing session of astound-the-homeowners concluded when Ann and Martin invited us to join them for supper. At the kitchen table, we plunked ourselves down to large helpings of chili and roast corn. Dessert was even better. We tucked into hot cherry pie topped with mountains of vanilla ice cream. After dessert, Martin's 92-year-old Grandmother appeared from a back room. She spoke to us briefly, then shuffled away. Watching her go, Martin's eyes lit up. "She had me buy her a cane," he whispered. "She said, 'I'm getting old now; I should have a cane.' So I bought her one. One day, I was out working in a corner of the yard, hidden from view. I saw her come outside. Hobbling. With her cane. She looked all around. When she didn't see anyone, she propped her cane by the door and then went zipping around the yard, here and there, like Flight of the Bumblebee, checking all the flowers." Martin tilted his head back and roared. "Hell," he continued, his belly shaking with laughter, "I figure she goes jogging after we leave for work ... probably throws in a few push-ups and some cartwheels, too!" It began to rain. Martin looked at the overcast sky and falling drops. Without hesitating, he invited us to stay. "We have an enclosed atrium that'll suit you perfectly," he said with a smile. "I'll show you the shower." Sharon and I scrubbed ourselves pink as two crazy pigs in luscious scalding water, then floated off to slumberland, warm in the knowledge of being well-taken care of by our new friends.
We arose feeling more rested than we had in ages. Ann served up crispy bacon, over easy eggs, toast with strawberry preserves, and homemade applesauce "from transparent apples." "Huh?" I said. "How come I can see the applesauce then?" Ann raised her eyebrows. I figured she'd either get used to my weird humour ... or she wouldn't. Well fed, we said goodbye to Martin and Ann, and headed down the road in good spirits and with fresh directions. Martin and Ann, on their way to work, soon
overtook us in their vehicle - they honked up a storm and waved
as if they hadn't seen us in years. We watched in silence as
their tail lights disappeared around a bend. "I think we
ought to get lost more often," I said, patting my stomach. |
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