Logical Policy; Emotional Pull

The bike shop has continued to be busy. My absence was noticed in both bike shops when I went to Virginia two weeks ago. It feels good to be missed because then I know that the work I do is appreciated. I gave out a lot of bikes in this last week and a half.

A friend of the house donated some very nice bikes to the Elkhart shop. I was inclined to sell the one, as its value when was around $300. A lot of people had been asking if they could work it off and I had been telling them that I was going to attempt to sell it. The bike shop could use more cash flow. After a week, one man (Mark) who had a striking resemblance to a character from the Lord of the Rings movies had helped out around the shop for a few hours without working towards anything. At the end of the day, Mark said he wanted to work it off. I knew that what the shop needed was for me to sell it, but I also knew that this man had probably never had a really nice bike. Who was I to deny Mark something nice that I knew, were I in his shoes, that I would appreciate?

I let Mark work the bike off, with the promise that he would trade to me his old bike. He came the next week and spent the whole afternoon working for it (unfortunately not being very productive). I gave him the bike, he gave me his old one, and he went on his way. The next day, someone else came into the shop and worked for a few hours for Mark's old bike. Happy transactions all around.

Yesterday, Mark walked up to the shop. Uneasiness turned my stomach turned. When I asked him where his bike was, he shrugged his shoulders. He said that it had been stolen while it was locked up. I gave him an incredulous look, to which he told me of the camera, the security guard, the unidentifiable hooded figure who had been taped stealing the camera. I didn't believe it, my theory was that he had sold it at a pawn shop. That's because Mark wasn't looking sad at all, not even a bit disappointed. He was more interested in looking at the other bikes to see what the next one was that he could fix up and take. But this one wasn't for him, this one was for his girlfriend. Why did she need another bike, hadn't I already given her one? Of course, her bike has been stolen as well. Doubtless.

I let him know that I wasn't going to let him work off another bike, for neither himself nor his girlfriend. At least not for a month. I explained that this was policy to prevent people from taking bikes and selling them at pawn shops. At this he got a bit flustered, said that he understood, and walked off. Several hours later, he came back, this time on a bike. He asked me if I recognized it. It was his old bike. He said that the guy who worked it off was actually his friend, who was going to let Mark work it off from him. Mark said the other guy didn't want it because it had been too long since he had ridden a bike and he was really sore.

Another story, a little boy (6 years old maybe?) has been trying to buy a bike from me. I said I would sell a decent BMX bike to him for $10, a stellar bargain. He brought me his money, $3. I explained that it wasn't enough, he had to bring me $10. So he came back soon, this time with $6.14. Apparently he hadn't learned how to count money as of yet. It was too nice of a bike, I couldn't let it go for less than $10, so I told him that he should come back the next day with $10. When he showed up the next day with the same $6.14, I told him that he could do some work then I would give it to him for the money that he had.

Have you ever given a 6 year old child work to do? What a weird feeling. I gave him some steel wool and a rim to scrape. And wow did he work. Most adults don't work that quickly or that well. He did an awesome job scraping for about 20 minutes until his older brother showed up and yelled at him for leaving the house when his other siblings weren't home. He left and I didn't get the chance to give him his bike. I guess it'll have to wait.

This one is difficult because I feel torn because of so many different things. I know that his family is poor and I want to give him the bike. I don't want to give it to him for free because then he won't treat it well (true for almost anyone) and he won't be as proud his accomplishment. He also might tell his friends that he got it for free and they would then demand the same thing from me. What really threatened to break my heart about this situation was that this boy was so committed to getting this bike that he was willing to one, give his live savings (three dollar bills, eight quarters, and a few dimes, nickels, and pennies), two, work for it, and three, be committed enough to remember and to actually come back several times over the course of two weeks. Stress the heart some more with the knowledge that since he's 6 years old and around 3.5 feet tall, hes probably going to get this fairly nice bike stolen from him by an older kid faster than you can say 'I think I'm going to cry.'

The combination of these stories provides a lens to view the difficulties of operating a community bike shop and dealing with real people who have real needs. The cash-only policy for nice bikes exists for a reason, as does the requirement that people do work or give money for bikes and parts. But often the emotional reasons behind bending policy can play the strings of your heart like a harp. I'm sure Mark needed whatever money he got from the two bikes that I assume he sold but I wish he and his girlfriend were enjoying the bikes as they carried them so smoothly around town and to work. Maybe all is well because both bikes will be eventually recycled back into the community, a few other bikes are in better condition because of the work he did, maybe he learned something, and hahahaha, hes still on the same trusty steel steed that originally brought him to my shop.

Hard Knock Life

Business has been picking up at the bike shop. Well, not business as you normally think of it, but people have been coming in to fix their bikes and a few have asked if I have bikes to sell. Its notable that the people coming by aren't just wide-eyed neighborhood kids trying to get their hands on whatever they can. These people have been adults who use or will use their bike as their primary mode of transportation.

Meet Brian, a tall, thin anglo man. He is soft-spoken and very humble. He rides a black Huffy mountain bike, the kind that you buy at Walmart for $90. Today, Brian has his long, wavy blond hair bunched upwards into a beanie. He is a Bible student at Bethel College in South Bend. Luckly, he only has one class per week on Monday nights, to which he rides his bike. He is so serious of a student, so passionate about what he does, he carries all of his books 15 miles or more each way in a hiking backpack. Recently his seat post had to be replaced because his body weight combined with the books had bent his first one down to his rear wheel (I find that hard to believe, but he wasn't joking). He came by on Tuesday as well to work on his bike a little and check to see if I could help him install a 49cc motor inside his bike's triangle. Today he is here to install it.

We open the boxes to check out the parts. Several are very heavy, others are complicated to the point of being intimidating. I spot the manual at the bottom of the box. Drawings cover a few pages of the manual, speckled with hundreds of scratchily handwritten, hardly visible numbers. On one page, there are a few paragraphs written in far-from-perfect English describing installation sequence along with a picture of the finished product. Looking at the sketches, into the box, and at the tired little Huffy, I have a feeling of uncertainty. Brian suggests that we pray about it and I chuckle. I always pray once I've messed a project up, rarely before I even start. I turn to look at him and see that he is serious. I drop my hands and close my eyes, admitting that he has a point, then Brian prays that God will give us what we both feel is lacking, the ability to complete the project.

We didn't finish the installation, but we came really close. It'll make for an inspiring motored bike. The experience of just meeting this man was already plenty of inspiration for me. He used to live with some people close to where I live now, but he moved out when some chemical dependencies showed up in his housemates. Now he lives in a storage unit where he says he plans to build himself a loft set-up, like a dorm. He says living in a storage unit is fine, except sometimes you just want some light, like in the mornings when you want to get dressed. His light is currently a few LEDs on a utility battery. It blows my mind that he can live in a storage unit and bike 30 miles once a week to take a class.

I stayed at the Catholic Worker house in South Bend. Their commitment to simple living goes beyond ours over at the Jubilee house. Thirty of them eat nearly all donated food together every night, they work real jobs and contribute all of their earnings to the house, and on the weekends they voluntarily run a busy soup kitchen. When I commented on how busy their lives must be, I was corrected, full, not busy. One of them was gone and I stayed in his room. The only decorations in his spacious room were a crucified Jesus on the wall and several big piles of books. Yet it almost felt like home. How are these people renewed, where do they find life, how are they filled?

I puzzle over that question. I think that either of those lives would exhaust me. I am filled by many things, singing, eating with people, working with people, praying, exercise, working with food in all of its stages, going to church, being with people, reading books, and other things. I guess I could still be filled by all of those things if I was in either situation, but I'm not sure about that. I am reminded of the Liberian A Capella, a singing men's group that has gone through civil war, the loss of friends and family, and surely are familiar with looking despair in the face then staring it down. These men sing songs of freedom, joy, and peace despite witnessing atrocities and intense heartbreak. Could I still sing if my family had been killed, my friends raped? The resonance in their voices stands as a testament to the power of faith. Also, it stands as a reason to be thankful for all of the people in our lives, for the good times and for the hard times. One struggle helps to give us a cheerful perspective during another, when we know the beauty and triumph that comes out of the pain.

What a Wonderful Aurora

I was just in Elkhart for three and a half weeks, and it was incredible. I biked around 350 miles, I did a bunch of yard work, and I made a lot of new friends. Most of the biking was to and from Goshen to visit some new and old friends. I stayed at Morgan's house at Goshen College. Stayed is a pretty weak word, I think lived is much more appropriate.

What a life it was! For one, it was really reviving to be in a Mennonite college context again. It was nice to be accepted and loved the way I came. After all the biking, I'm sure I didn't smell good whenever I was there and I generally didn't have clean clothes for the time I spent sitting around all of the next day talking, reading, eating and sleeping. The most amazing part about Aurora House was that my lovely house mates expressed their affection for each other very easily and openly. I think the physical closeness and acceptance that they showed each other is one of the most powerful tools around for building community. I think physical contact is directly related to trust and, obviously, love. It was great to see their honesty in sharing joys and sorrows and how they relied on their house community when they had things to deal with. Apparently they had house meals almost every day during the school year. The one that I got to be a part of was a perfect time for them to build relationships and identity as a group. That kind of life, the kind where you're living every day, is an blessing that is worth so much.

When there was a Critical Mass bike ride in Elkhart, seven of the Aurora community showed up. We went to my house and had a bonfire with Jubilee House (the Mennonite Voluntary Service House in Elkhart) members. I experienced another great community builder there as we sat around the fire and sang all of the good singing songs we could remember. Like my opening post on this blog, I want to fill beautiful and ugly places with powerful and weak voices joining in song. Acceptance, belonging, physical contact, group meals, singing.... all of that is a dream, one that feels like heaven to me.

Silly Cars

I ran some errands today on my bike. The agility and precision that I have on my bike makes car-watching hilarious by comparison. Cars have to run through all kinds of complex maneuvers to get out of tight spots, sometimes people even do all the maneuvers for spots that aren't that tight. Thats because the driver generally doesn't have a good understanding of how long or wide their vehicle is, so they end up cranking on their steering wheel for a couple minutes doing 20 point turns, 15 cm (6 in) forward or backward at a time. Whenever I see cars driving slowly they always remind me of stupid animals. I had to laugh when I saw a Neon or something like it that looked completely bovine as I was going through a neighborhood. It only makes the analogy better when you see the faces of drivers sitting at stop lights or rolling slowly through neighborhoods because they always look really bored and a fair bit bovine themselves. Occasionally I get the people who see me on my bike and then sit frightened at the stop signs from when they spot me until I pass since I'm not driving a car and therefore must be insane. That behavior reminds me of cows too.

That being said, I have nothing against drivers. I do my fair share of the bovine driving and parking thing as well. I think its tragic that we've all become accustomed to traveling 30 km (19 miles) to find friendly people to eat dinner with. Not that long ago, travel was a time that you spent your days outside and had plenty of time to look at and appreciate nature. At nights, you would stop and spend the evening sitting or meeting people. Now our cars cut us off from all of that. We travel in climate controlled boxes playing canned noise to counteract the noise from our vehicles. We stare at the stripes in the road as they fly by. If we're not on highways, we might even catch glimpses of the communities that we thunder past. Cars are another example of the paradox of technology, they are meant to connect us with each other and increase our quality of life, but they actually disconnect us from and often destroy our communities and the nature around them.