“America, America, even now; everyone wants to come here. That never changes.’
Martin Lucaj came to the United States 1969 from Yugoslavia. He spent most of his life as a truck driver. “I’ve been to every state, except Alaska and Hawaii.” He raised eight children, several of whom work at Fino’s, a family restaurant on Route 125 in Monroe, which he bought three years ago. “It keeps them busy and lets me keep my eye on them.”
When I arrived for an early lunch, Martin was sitting at the counter reading a paper. He struck up a conversation and when I toted my panniers to a booth, brought his coffee and sat opposite me. We talked while I ordered the gyro special, drank three tall glasses of Diet Pepsi, dipped my fries in ketchup, and devoured a gyro too juicy to set down once begun. When the waitress brought more napkins to clean my fingers, Martin picked up the tab.
Martin has an SUV, an RV, two motorcycles and a pair of bicycles. He walked out with me inspect the Surly; most interested in my dual brake configuration. I asked if he ever goes back what was Yugoslavia. “My mother is still alive. I go back, but only because I have to.”
How will we live tomorrow?
“I want to take my motorcycle up to Alaska. I want to get in my RV and travel to Arizona. I love warm weather. What am I doing in Michigan?”
Don’s particular skill seems to be beating up his body and surviving. A bus ran over his arm, he broke his back in five places, lost a finger, shrapnel wedged through a vein into an artery, and his bicep tendon detached. “That was the most painful thing ever. They taped my upper arm to my chest and my shoulder joint froze.” Even more painful than the immunotherapy Don underwent for bladder cancer. He’s five years out from that diagnosis, and confident he’ll hit the seven-year mark of being cancer-free that signifies total remission. “I managed to beat myself up pretty good, but I’m still here. I’ve got a whole list of what can wrong, and how painful each injury is.”
Cathy and Don’s work ethic and integrity are apparent in every aspect of their lives. Regarding politics, Don says, “I like our governor, Kasich. He’s a businessman and runs Ohio like a business. He makes sure that everything stays under control. What happened in Ferguson and Baltimore, it could have happened in Cleveland (referring to Officer Michael Brelo’s acquittal), but it didn’t.
I rolled my bike up the church lawn, leaned Surly against its steps, and stretched out on the porch. I surveyed the world from my perch and wondered what the heck I was doing here, at six o’clock in the evening, absolutely nowhere. Then I realized why we do this, why humans push our endurance and test our fortitude. We take our measure against nature, to understand how we stack up against the great forces. But also to appreciate the majesty of creation; to discover nuance in a place a broad as North Dakota: hearing the shimmering grass, triggering the bird flocks that rise up as I pass, feeling the temperature dip when a cumulus cloud casts me in shade. From the stoop of this postcard church on the High Plains, the earth is formidable, but I’m invigorated by its energy.
I didn’t go any faster the last 18 miles, but they passed with great enjoyment. I sang and wove and laughed at the wind. It was eight o’clock by the time I got to Carrington; I averaged just eight miles an hour. Carrington offered a nice motel and a pleasant view for two more hours of sunlight, but it’s not such an outstanding destination. Today was all about the journey.
two miles outside of town. “I’ll get a waitress job in town to satisfy my extrovert side.” Like many moves in Kim’s life, this won’t be permanent. “The cabin isn’t winterized. If I like the area, I’ll move into town in the winter.” Kim doesn’t even bother to articulate a Plan B. She’s young, energetic, capable, and untethered to conventional notions of career or success. When life in Ouray plays out, another good option will reveal itself.
How Will We Live Tomorrow? 