“Love the animals. God has given them the rudiments of thought and joy
untroubled. Don’t trouble them, don’t harass them, don’t deprive them of
their happiness, don’t work against God’s intent.”
Fyodor Dostoevsky
“The Brothers Karamazov”
Around the time the film Toy Story first introduced the world to extremely realistic animation, I turned on my TV and began watching what I thought was an impressively realistic animation involving a desert lizard. The lizard was brightly colored and the desert appeared somewhat stylized which led me to think I was watching an animated program. I am embarrassed to admit that I watched this lizard do his lizard thing for several minutes before I suddenly realized with a jolt that the lizard was actually real. This wasn’t an animation. This was an actual nature program!
The lizard I was watching had developed a very impressive adaptation. He carried a short stick at all times. When the hot sand started to burn his feet, he would stick his stick in the sand and climb onto the stick to relieve his burning feet. After a brief respite, he would scurry several yards before stopping for another foot cooling. The reality of this lizard’s behavior was far more amazing than any animation! We have entered a “virtual” age in which we exclaim about how incredibly realistic the latest Pixar production is rather than observing nature first hand by simply walking outside. (Or by watching an awesome nature documentary!)
On my bicycle journey, the wildlife I have encountered have inspired me with their grace and beauty. On the first year of my journey, I was beginning to realize the extent of the challenge I faced. I was tired, hot, thirsty, hungry, and emotionally fragile. It had rained for days and everything I owned was filthy and wet. In short, I felt like quitting. I approached the Audubon Bridge near New Roads, Louisiana in order to cross the Mississippi River. The sun was setting behind me and the bridge appeared golden in the misty light. Just as I approached the bridge, three, enormous, white cranes took flight in tight formation on my left. The grace and beauty of these majestic birds in the golden light was indescribable. Their presence provided encouragement in my moment of doubt.
I crossed the bridge and discovered a welcoming forest on the right where I camped for the night. The morning arrived with plenty of sun and a blue sky. All my gear was dry in no time. After a hearty breakfast, I resolved to continue my journey. I have since crossed the Audubon Bridge several more times on my annual trips around America. Each time I cross this beautiful bridge, I think about how the cranes encouraged me when I felt like giving up. So far there have not been any repeat flights, but I always look to my left just to make sure. Based on my experience, wildlife encounters are usually one of a kind affairs, never to be repeated.
The most memorable encounters with wildlife I have had on my journey include a coffee table sized snapping turtle slowly crossing the highway like some kind of ancient dinosaur; the unforgettable scream of a small rodent pierced by an owl’s talons and suddenly lifted into the sky; and a friendly encounter with an enormous elk who paid me a visit while I was setting up my tent near Cherokee, North Carolina. On one trip, in Joshua Tree National Park, I could see traffic stopping up ahead on the highway. I thought there might be an accident. I was surprised when it turned out the traffic jam was caused by a tarantula crossing the road! Several people had exited their cars to take pictures of the giant spider!
Only once have I been attacked by wildlife. During the dry season, near Astoria, Oregon, I spotted an intriguing camping spot. Marsh grass surrounded an island with a giant cedar tree. Normally, stepping into the marsh grass would have left you ankle deep in marsh water. I tested the grass with my foot and realized it was dry enough to walk on. I made separate trips to the island with my trailer and then my bicycle. As I started to prepare a spot for my tent under the cedar tree, I was suddenly attacked by a vicious swarm of yellow jackets. The stings were so painful, I retreated in fear for my life, leaving my gear on the island.
I had received five, painful stings which gave me plenty to think about as I realized I needed to return to the island and retrieve my gear. After about thirty minutes, I decided to make a mad dash to get my gear. I received three more stings. I was able to find an alternate camping spot nearby. By the next morning, the pain from the stings had subsided and I had regained my sense of humor. I decided I had received a “free” acupuncture treatment! Maybe it would cure my allergies! After all, the benefits of acupuncture were probably discovered by someone who observed beneficial effects from the aftermath of insect stings.
The natural world is as ruthless as it is beautiful. If one looks closely, however, one can find beauty amidst the savagery and ruthlessness of nature. Camping every night, you soon realize that the whole world is a vast cemetery. I can’t count the number of times I have encountered animal bones laying around, bleached white by the sun. I heft an elk femur and am amazed by how light it is. Nature’s engineering is very impressive!
Road kill often strikes me as being strangely dignified and beautiful. A fawn is killed and is tossed onto a sturdy bush to decay. Months later I pass by and look down on the bush. The fawn’s skin is draped into a cradle like shape. Inside this protective cradle, I can see the fawn’s entire skeleton still perfectly pieced together! I think about the artist Damien Hirst who is famous for displaying as art a dead cow preserved in formaldehyde. This fawn is no less a work of art! I think about Whitman’s comments about death in “Song of Myself”:
The smallest sprout shows there is really no
death,
And if ever there was death, it led forward life, and
does not wait at the end to arrest it,
And death ceased the moment life appeared.
All goes onward and outward…and nothing
collapses,
And to die is different from what any one
supposed, and luckier.
Has anyone supposed it lucky to be born?
I hasten to inform him or her it is just as lucky to
die, and I know it.
Wildlife offer us joy and wonder and help remind us that we share this planet with others.
Pandemic
I include a description of my experiences cycling across America during the Covid19 pandemic in this chapter about nature because viruses are part of the natural world. Certainly, the “quality of eternity,” which I discussed earlier in this chapter, is especially poignant during a pandemic. As I am pedaling, I think about my life and ponder the possibility of my early demise. The experience is sobering. It feels like I am “waiting around to die” to borrow a phrase from the great singer-songwriter Townes Van Zandt.
There are certain advantages to traveling during a pandemic. Traffic is lighter and the air is cleaner. I make excellent progress because I am not stopping for breaks at coffee shops along the way. My solitary life on the road, lived mostly outdoors without companions, is well suited for coping with pandemics. I stop and interact with the world only to refill my water containers and to purchase groceries. I worry, though, that camping in my tent will not qualify as “sheltering in place.” I express my concerns about “sheltering in place” to a Park Ranger I happen to meet. She tells me not to worry!
At the state line separating Texas and Louisiana, I see Texas state troopers turning back cars with Louisiana license plates. Folks from Louisiana are currently persona non grata in Texas. I am headed towards Louisiana, however, and no one tries to stop me. A few days later, the tables are turned. I am in Vidalia, Louisiana and I want to cross the bridge across the Mississippi River to Natchez, Mississippi. I am worried that Mississippi state troopers will tell me to turn around and go back to Louisiana. I breathe a sigh of relief because there are no signs of law enforcement on either side of the bridge. I continue on my way without a hitch.
When I encounter road barriers closing the Blue Ridge Parkway, I worry that I will have to seek an alternate route. I visit a bicycle shop in nearby Cherokee, North Carolina, however, and they inform me that the parkway is still open for hikers and bikers. It turns out to be a wonderful experience to ride the parkway without cars. I see lots of deer and wild turkeys hanging out at the overlooks because traffic is no longer frightening them. They look at me with curiosity rather than fear, perhaps because my mode of travel is so silent.
A pandemic motivates one to consider one’s place in the world and to think about one’s life. The philosopher and essayist Michel de Montaigne was the mayor of Bordeaux in 1585 when the plague struck the city, ultimately killing one third of its residents. He decided to “rely upon myself in distress.” He abandoned his duties as mayor, left the city with his family, and focused on writing his essays. He was accused of dereliction of duty and cowardice, but he made the decision to focus on “what could be changed.” The idea is to align oneself with reality. One necessarily becomes unhappy when one lives a life that is not aligned with reality. The greater the misalignment, the greater the unhappiness!
The recognition of what can and what cannot be changed necessarily leads one to focus on the self. This is because it is always possible to change ourselves whereas it is usually difficult or impossible to change the world. In his final essay, “On Experience,” Montaigne writes that, “Greatness of soul is not so much pressing upward and forward as knowing how to circumscribe and set oneself in order.” My bicycle journey might accurately be described as an attempt to “circumscribe and set myself in order.” The pandemic adds a sense of urgency to this endeavor.