It’s not all pies and shit-eating grins out here…

Ok, it mostly is. But also this:

I stopped at a gas station for a Gatorade and an ice cream as I was pulling into Grants the other day. While I was checking out, I looked through the window and noticed a guy walking his dog and checking out my bike. I walked out and said hello, and he proceeded with the usual line of questioning someone has when they see a weird looking bike with all sorts of shit strapped to it: “where ya going?”, “where’d you come from today?”, etc.”

When I told him I was riding to Canada, he just stared at me in disbelief (we were standing at a gas station in Grants, NM, and it was 93 degrees, after all). It took him a minute to say anything, and his first response was “WHAT?”, and then “that’s amazing, holy cow,” and so on and so forth. He was so taken aback at the idea he even asked to pick up my bike so he could feel how much it weighed, which only added to his bafflement. “Holy cow, you’re a beast man! You’re a stud! Wow!”

Riding the GDMBR is a big undertaking, no doubt, but my interaction with that guy made me chuckle because, from my perspective, I’m just out here on a pretty pleasant bike tour. I’m riding 70 miles a day, but know someone who’s raced this route and averaged 180 miles per day. My bike’s heavy, but I’ve met riders whose setups weigh probably double what mine does. Point being: it’s all about perspective.

I’ve had people stare at me in disbelief several times on this trip, and have done a bit of staring myself. One time in particular stands out, not because of a feat someone had accomplished, but a comment they made to me.

One day I caught up to a fellow rider on the trail who I’d camped with the night before. We’d had a nice time hanging out, and I stopped to chat with him for a minute before continuing on. He was a bit of a talker, and somehow the conversation turned to family. He asked if I had any kids. When I said no, his immediate follow up was “plans to?”

Rather than some perfect witty comment that my wife would have ready to go, like, “Pretty heavy for a first date, huh?,” I just smiled and replied “no.” At that point, his eyes widened and he exclaimed “OH, you’re the scourge of the earth!”

Cue the staring in disbelief.

I thought about saying a lot of things, but my midwestern upbringing kicked in and all I could muster was a nervous chuckle.

He must have known he’d stepped in it, because he quickly launched into talking about some movie called “idiocracy,” sort of walking back his comment and trying to give some kind of a backhanded compliment by saying “nice, smart people of a higher socioeconomic class like you should be the ones having kids, not rednecks that breed like rabbits.”

Yikes.

After that pile of coded racist word vomit, he gave me the standard “I think people should do whatever they want” line.

Sure bud, I bet you really believe that (he had two grown children, by the way).

Those midwestern sensibilities and the fact that I was alone in the middle of the woods with this guy meant I just sort of nodded along as he talked, changed the subject when I could and then parted ways as soon as possible.

The heat and hard riding that followed made me forget about that conversation, but eventually that “scourge of the earth” comment kept popping back into my mind as I spun along over the next few days—there’s a lot of time to think out here.

Whether or not someone has or wants to have children has always struck me as a pretty bold topic of conversation to strike up with anybody, let alone a total stranger on the trail. It’s a pretty damn personal thing, yet for some reason people seem to love to ask about it and pry—it often strikes me as some folks who have children can’t even fathom another perspective or situation existing.

The classic, seemingly harmless example, which Sarah and I get all the time and I’ve also gotten several times on this trip alone, is “do you guys have kids yet?”

That may very well be a well-intentioned question based in curiosity, aiming to understand a little more about a person… but damn if it isn’t a loaded question.

If you think about it from a slightly different perspective, that one word—“yet”—implies a hell of a lot: “why haven’t you had children yet?” “What’s wrong with you” “surely you’re going to have kids?” “Are you some kind of monster who hates children?” “Oh, you’re young, you’ll see.”

I’m acutely aware of the fact that Sarah and I are in a tiny minority of folks who don’t have kids—we’re ok with that, and get this sort of thing all the time. But, can you imagine if someone told me (or any other member of the “scourge of the earth” club that I wasn’t aware I belonged) they were pregnant, and my response was “yikes! Hope that works out.” Or if they said they had 4 kids and I responded with “wow, that’s a lot. Why’d you do that?”

Clearly, the more I thought about this, the angrier I got (too much solo time on a bike will do that for ya). But I grew angrier mainly because I couldn’t stop thinking that it’s one thing for me as a man to be asked these sorts of questions (after all, in reality men pretty much get a pass in society if they don’t have kids. That burden, like so many other things in life, falls primarily on women). Can you imagine what it must be like for a woman to be asked if/when/why she doesn’t have kids?

The point here isn’t to lambast that guy (though I’m not sad I have a faster pace than he does and likely won’t see him again), or anyone, for that matter, parent or not. It’s just to serve as a friendly reminder that questions about why someone has or doesn’t have children are just questions that shouldn’t be asked (at least not to someone you aren’t dearly close with).

A lot of my friends have young kids. Some tried for a while and had them. Some tried for years and couldn’t, or had heartbreaking experiences before they did. Some didn’t want them. It’s an intensely personal, complicated choice wrought with heavy emotions and all sorts of baggage—to ask someone to distill that down to a simple answer is just heartless.

Perspective is a funny thing. To some, riding a bicycle from Mexico to Canada is an insane feat of athleticism (or just plain insane). To others, it’s something you can do when you turn 70. Having kids is no different—there are lots of perspectives, and they’re all fine, so long as you remember other ones exist.

Alright, onward to Canada!

P.S., The next time you ask someone about whether they have kids, maybe just leave out the “yet.”