It was late in the afternoon when I rode into a Michigan McDonald's. After finding an appropriate spot against the windows to lean my rig, I was approached by a three-generation family inquiring about my trip. After chatting the same chat I had come accustomed to, we made our way inside to make our orders. The kids had to decide, so I went ahead of them. I had left my wallet with the bike and so I fished through my pockets to pull out whatever change I had. Enough, as it were, for a one dollar burger.
I made my order, got my burger -- underwhelmingly sitting alone atop the large tray -- wished the family well and sat down. Within a minute of finding my place, the eldest of the family walked over to me. "We would like to help you on your trip," he said, handing me a five dollar bill. "Go get yourself a real burger. Go order a Big Mac."
A few days earlier, I had decided to take a short day and stop in Ironwood, MI. I had found a fellow touring cyclist online who hosts travellers like myself. When I contacted him, he said he wasn't around, but was happy to guide me towards the hidden key and let me stay in the house by myself.
The generosity I have encountered on this trip is beyond anything I could have expected. Indeed, I have read about the level of kindness experienced by touring cyclists all over the world and knew that some would come my way along my journey. But I never could have predicted this. The preceding two examples are only the tip of the iceberg.
The generosity continues to surprise me at every turn. And I can only hope it stays this way. The danger of exposing yourself repeatedly to something is that you get used to it; you might even come to rely on it. My recognition of this, I hope, will prevent me from taking anything for granted.
There is also a strong likelihood that the spoils of generosity are more common for a solo cyclist. When in a group, or even a partnership, people might look at you in a different way. In times of need, at least they have each other. And helping someone out all of a sudden becomes a heftier affair. When you offer to feed someone, that is now two extra, very hungry mouths to feed, not just one. It's a second set of towels, more blankets, someone else taking up time in the shower. When you see two cyclists struggling in torrential rain in your pickup truck, it all of a sudden becomes far more challenging to fit a second bike and second set of gear in the truck. The likelihood is even less when you add even more people.
To some, of course, this is of little concern. Any number is OK. There are never many too mouths to feed. But these folks, I can only guess, are few and far between. To the average person, a solo cyclist must draw greater sympathies.
