Patriot Games

Pa∙tri∙ot \ Middle French \ 1605 \ one who loves his country and supports its authority and interests.

Pa∙tri∙o∙tism \ 1726 \ love for or devotion to one’s country.

Both from Webster’s 9^th New Collegiate Dictionary published in 1991.

Today is an interesting day for all true American patriots. Our President Obama was awarded the Nobel Peace Prize, and the reactions from people across the country and around the world are fascinating to observe. Much has been made on the political right in this country over whether or not the President has done anything to deserve this honor. I am not interested in that particular point so much as I am intrigued by the dilemma this drama poses, and saddened by what I think it truly means.

If we consider the meanings of the words patriotism and we value those who are true patriots, the simple truth of the matter is that we should always be glad when anyone from our country, in any field or endeavor, wins a prestigious international award like this. For any American President to be so honored, or any citizen in any field, it symbolizes American authority and it advances our national interests. All people who purport to be filled with love and devotion for the United States should by right be pleased when an American wins the Nobel Prize for anything.

Of course, many people in America, of all political persuasions, have forgotten what patriotism is, and have difficulty recognizing our patriots. The tendency on the extremes is to demonize those who sit on the opposite side of the political fence. So-called Right wing Conservatives charge so-called Left wing sympathizers with sympathy for Socialism and Communism. The so-called Left in America sees Nazi partisans across the aisle in return. The real truth is all of the people in this country, politically, are basically moderates who cluster around far more shared perspectives and values than we usually admit. We grew up saying the same Pledge of Allegiance, we like living in the suburbs, we want our 401(k) plans to earn lots of money and we all like to vacation in Orlando with the kids. Some of us may have traveled abroad but most of us would never choose to live there. We speak English mostly. We eat too much. We love sports. We are Americans, all of us, for the most part. We may think that our differences are monumental but in the grand scheme of things the American political landscape is about as flat as Kansas.

For my part, I am glad that the President won the Peace Prize but it seems to me to be far less about this President than it is about the last one. The reason the committee awarded the prize probably had much more to do with how our last President behaved and how our country has come to be perceived than it did with the man currently in office. Given the power of our nation, our position in the world, the committee seems to be saying with this selection that they value an American President who is open to talking first, and who is willing to listen to them. Surely, demonstrating that willingness advances our interests in the world. Their recognition of this renewed willingness supports our authority on the international stage. And for all of us who love this country and are devoted to it, today should be a day for both celebration and reflection about those developments.

Cycles of Life and Death

I’ve been thinking a lot about cycling, life, and death recently. In the town where I live, Apex, North Carolina, we recently lost a cyclist in a motor vehicle collision. His name was Bruce Rosar, and he was a well known active leader in bicycle groups across the Research Triangle Park. He was a bike safety instructor, someone who taught cyclists the importance of riding according to the rules of the road. He was an advocate of Share the Road efforts designed to raise the level of awareness of motorists about the presence of bicyclists on the road and the need to respect their right to be there. And somehow, inexplicably, Bruce turned left in front of an oncoming vehicle and was struck, and killed. Not two miles from my house. The driver was not at fault.

I have been a cyclist since I got my first bike at age 9. Since I am 45 years old, that means I have been riding for 36 years now. Sometimes more, sometimes less, but I have logged a lot of miles on my bikes. I had a Giant Sedona hardtail mountain bike that I recently retired after 19 years of service and several thousand miles on roads and trails together. I have a road bike that has taken me from Houston, Texas to Austin, Texas in two days. They call that ride the MS 150 even though you have to ride 189 miles. Believe me, you do notice those extra 39 miles that second day as you climb the hills into Austin. I’ve ridden in Texas, North Carolina, Arkansas, Georgia, Missouri and Massachusetts. I’ve ridden in France. I’ve had a lot of encounters on the roads and trails with dogs, pedestrians, children, deer, squirrels, horses, and motor vehicles of all kinds.

I have been injured riding my bikes as well. There isn’t a single bike I’ve ever owned that I didn’t crash at one point or another. “Road rash” we call it, and I took my most recent spill just over a week ago riding my new bike on a dirt surface, losing the front wheel while trying to avoid hitting a little girl who was weaving all over the place while she rode her bike. I’ve jammed against boulders and flipped over 8 foot drops. I’ve had flat tires that made me lose my balance, gone into ditches being run off the road by stupid drivers. I’ve had people cuss me, throw drinks at me from their cars, and once I had a bunch of drunk red necks pull over in front of me and get out of the car wanting to start a fight. I’ve had people sic their dogs on me and tell them to chase me as I rode past their property.

I have also had amazing and wonderful experiences riding my bikes. I have watched the sun come up over the Texas Hill Country on a quiet Saturday morning and watched as a coati crossed the road furtively as I approached. I have ridden past Great Horned owls and red tailed hawks sitting on fence posts. I have ridden with comrades on the road where we found a rhythm together, encouraged one another, swapped war stories and helped each other out. I have had the thrill of riding with 10,000 other people as we charged out of down town Houston and rode past cars and trucks of people who either had MS or knew people who had MS, cheering for us like we were pro riders in the Tour de France. I have had the experience of being caught out on the road by a group of pro riders, as they flew past me on their multi-thousand dollar machines going twice as fast as I can ride on a good day. I have been eyed curiously by emus and long horned cattle as I rode by, and I have been encouraged at the summit of long climbs by total strangers impressed that I was able to make it up that hill without getting off to walk my bike. And, in France, where the people are supposed to be rude and drivers aggressive by reputation, I’ve seen truck drivers halt traffic so I could make a tricky left hand turn, and I rode across the Rhone River bridge during rush hour traffic without anyone giving me a hassle at all over the fact that I was slowing them down on their way home from work.

Of all the places I have ridden, I have to admit that I have found the drivers in North Carolina to be the least accepting and least courteous drivers I’ve encountered. North Carolina is the only place I have ever been deliberately forced off the road by motorists, and that has happened twice. Our shoulders and roads are less bike-friendly than the roads I was used to in Texas. For those reasons, I have tended to ride more now on local hike & bike trails and left my road bike in the garage.

I did not know Bruce Rosar personally, but I did see him frequently on the roads in my town. I saw him when I was riding and I saw him when I was driving. I drive past the spot where he died every day, and see the memorial shrine that has been placed there. I am truly sorry for his friends and family that he is gone. We will never know why he executed that turn right at that moment. There really isn’t an obvious lesson for any of us in what happened that day, other than that we all need to pay attention out there, whether we are riding or driving.

Life is precious. Doing what you love to do is why we live, in the first place. Here is my prayer for Bruce Rosar, and for all of us who take the risks of living in stride each day. Be at peace.

Today I took a day off from work to try and get a few things done that are hard to cram into a small window of time either in the evenings or on a Saturday. It was just a normal sort of list of things, involving repairing a freezer door, dealing with a car service issue, taking the dog to the vet for his annual exam, and having a locksmith come to the house to fix a broken deadbolt lock. The idea was to take one day off and deal with everything that needed to be done.

It was all going to be smooth until the freezer door replacement part didn't show up on the truck yesterday. And the voicemail alerting us about that didn't reach me as a message until after 10:00 pm last night. And the repair guy still hasn't called me back although I paged him so we can reschedule.

It's all a small inconvenience, but it calls to mind how many things in life we makes plans about. We plan our careers. We may plan our relationships. Our retirement strategies. Whatever your thing is, I am sure that at some point you planned it out in your mind, how you wanted it to go even if the outcome was not something you could control.

I recently taught a course at UNC in Chapel Hill, or at least a portion of a course I share with some other guest lecturers. My assignment has the students write a paper explaining how they think they would respond to a given disaster scenario. The course is part of a Disaster Management Certificate program. One student wrote a paper that had the most elaborately articulated plan for organizing a response I have ever seen. It was a tour de force of confidence that any situation could be easily managed if you just had the right plan in place to handle it. I cautioned the student to remember a saying the Marines have: Don't Fall In Love With Your Plan. It often won't work out.

The poet Robert Burns had a more eloquent way of expressing the same thing, and through serendipity today I was reminded of that. I'm not saying that we shouldn't make plans, but I do think we need to hold on to a measure of humility when we do it. And, I may say, allow for the possibility that something unexpected but even better than we planned could happen too. It might not happen, but then again, who knows?

Here's the Burns poem. You'll recognize the key phrase when you read it, even if you've never read it before. Imagine a Scottish accent when you read it.

To A Mouse

Wee, sleekit, cowrin, tim'rous beastie,
O, what a panic's in thy breastie!
Thou need na start awa sae hasty
Wi bickering brattle!
I wad be laith to rin an' chase thee,
Wi' murdering pattle.

I'm truly sorry man's dominion
Has broken Nature's social union,
An' justifies that ill opinion
Which makes thee startle
At me, thy poor, earth born companion
An' fellow mortal!

I doubt na, whyles, but thou may thieve;
What then? poor beastie, thou maun live!
A daimen icker in a thrave
'S a sma' request;
I'll get a blessin wi' the lave,
An' never miss't.

Thy wee-bit housie, too, in ruin!
It's silly wa's the win's are strewin!
An' naething, now, to big a new ane,
O' foggage green!
An' bleak December's win's ensuin,
Baith snell an' keen!

Thou saw the fields laid bare an' waste,
An' weary winter comin fast,
An' cozie here, beneath the blast,
Thou thought to dwell,
Till crash! the cruel coulter past
Out thro' thy cell.

That wee bit heap o' leaves an' stibble,
Has cost thee monie a weary nibble!
Now thou's turned out, for a' thy trouble,
But house or hald,
To thole the winter's sleety dribble,
An' cranreuch cauld.

But Mousie, thou art no thy lane,
In proving foresight may be vain:
The best laid schemes o' mice an' men
Gang aft agley,
An' lea'e us nought but grief an' pain,
For promis'd joy!

Still thou are blest, compared wi' me!
The present only toucheth thee:
But och! I backward cast my e'e,
On prospects drear!
An' forward, tho' I canna see,
I guess an' fear!

Robert Burns