Day 1: First freedom flag

Day 1

The day finally arrived.  I had been planning this trip for months.  I started planning it shortly after I heard David Batstone give a presentation about modern day slavery and human trafficking at Rice University.  I had been lining up all the aspects of this journey way ahead of time, but then, a series of developments at work seemed to through everything into chaos.  yesterday, the day before departure was quite unsettling.  I found out that some of the motorcycle papers had not been filed after the purhcase.  This forced me into having to visit city and state services offices with just a few hours to spare.  In the end though, this was God’s hand at work.  Had I not found out, having to possible explain things to a state trooper during a traffic stop would have been a lot worst.

Other lessons were to be learned before departure too.  I had to approach someone whom I had never met, to request assistance with a project and some paperwork I needed to process.  I wrote an e-mail to this person, expecting a follow up conversation to get things going.  What I got instead, was a series of insults and accusations, including the suggestion that I was a thief.  The final statement was “I do not know you.  For all I know you are a thief”.  With all that is going on these days, with all the internet scams and cons, I suppose the reaction was not out of line.  It still struck me hard that one’s first reaction to a request for help was that of doubt, anger and even fear.

The paperwork issues, and the reaction to a request for help, met with the above reactions, point to me the kind of unimaginable world that victims of human trafficking and slavery go through.  If for many free citizens, who speak the language and have a reasonable understanding of the system, filing of legal paperwork can sometimes seem difficult and tortous, how does the legal system, which is there to protect victims, appear to those who have been broken through violence, are captive, and do not speak the language?

If a regular person gets met with anger, suspicion and fear, when an act of kindness is needed, what hope do those have, who have had their bodies and minds broken by slave traders?  This is indeed a journey that teaches me new ways to think and feel.

So finally, to today.  I woke up at 5:30, had a quick breakfast, and finished packing the bike.  By seven in the morning I was on my way, after being seen off by Sandra and Joe, who came over, even though he had been running a 102 fever last night.  After a good bye kiss and prayers from Sandra, I was on my way.  The morning air was cool, and grey clouds hung in the sky.  The promise from the weatherman was though, no rain across Texas today.  I took highway 290 North West, rolling past Hempstead, and Brenham.  From Brenham, back country roads took me to Temple, which I was happy to wave good bye to as I rode by.  Less than a year ago I had spent a few hours in an ER in Temple, after falling from the motorcycle and hurting my shoulder.  The injury still plagues me, but I am just happy I can continue riding.

At some point I rode through Milano, Texas, bringing back memories of the 10 days we spent in Italy earlier in the year.  It was a ‘have to take a photo’ moment, which ended up also being an opportunity to take one of the 14 photos that Adelina had instructed me to take, as part of my birthday gift.

Around lunch I made it into the Junction at 36, a local restaurant.  As I walked through the door, I was told that a good part of the restaurant had been reserved by 55 service men, who would show up ‘any minute now’.  I found a seat and ordered a jalapeno burger, and while I waited I heard the 55 service men story told to pretty much every person who walked in.  The burger, which was actually very good, arrived promptly, but while I ate, the 55 service men story continued to be told, not only to arriving customers, but was also given as an excuse for pretty much every complaint that people might express.  While eating I ordered coffee.  ‘Sorry’, I was told, ‘that is the only thing we do not serve here’.  ‘Hmm’, I wondered, ‘maybe I should order a Pisco Sour’, but decided not to risk it and got a cola instead.. I guess Sandra’s argument about the need for caffeine being satisfied by soda has actually made an impression in me.  I sat there for a good while enjoying my meal, and many a customer came through the doors.  By the time I left, they were still waiting for the 55 service men to arrive ‘any minute now’.

At around 2:30 I made it to Albany, and shortly thereafter, into Fort Griffin, just 15 miles North.  I checked into the head quarters, and then proceeded to try to find my campsite.  It took two and a half rides around the small loop to finally see number 6.  The park is quite packed with campers and RV’ers, but my better good surprise is the number of bugs that are all over the place.  The big prize is taken with the ant lions, who seemed to have set their traps all over the place.  These insects are not ants actually, but ant hunters.  They dig connical holes in sandy soil and bury themselves at the bottom,  with their big mandibles sticking out at the center of the cone.  As ants walk by they edge of the cone, the ant lion is alerted to their presence by sand grains that roll down into the hole.  The ant lion proceeds to hurl sand at its prey, making is slip into the cone, and land on the awaiting and hungry mandibles. Tiger beetles, and locusts are also plentiful, and birds are feasting on this entomological buffet.

This afternoon I have pitched my tent for the first time, calling the site camp freedom 1.  Here I have planted the first of the 27 flags for the 27 million.  I pulled it at random from the stack prepared by the social justice CIty of Refuge small group.  It is Galathians 6:2.