The Carnegie Library in Portland is a beauty, an A-plus despite an addition to its rear. It was a rare addition that enhanced the Carnegie experience, as it included a large reading area with cushy den chairs looking out through towering curved windows upon nothing but forest. It could have been the dream den in some wealthy industrialist’s trophy house, complete with a fireplace. The back wall of the magnificent native-stone of the original building could be seen over one’s shoulder looking back from the den in the addition. Patrons were still welcome to enter through the original entrance up a set of stairs, though a sloping ramp had been added to one side.
The library was the crowning glory of this small town that had been uncontaminated by present-day franchises, maintaining its idyllic aura of by-gone times. I could breathe deeply and freely, unburdened of current concerns in such a setting. All was fine other than those out with their leaf-blowers, one of the worst inventions ever, marring the quiet tranquility. Whatever happened to the joy of raking? How had the invasion of leaf-blowers happened even here? They are among the many culprits of the rampant obesity plaguing the land. Each of those wielding the noxious blowers had bulging bellies.
It would have been nice to linger all day at this library, but I had fifty miles to ride to Battle Creek and Kirk. I was lucky it wasn’t sixty-five miles, as I had ridden an extra fifteen miles the day before in the rain, forcing me to stay in a motel, rather than retreating to the forest when the rain began at 5:30, ninety minutes before dark. I was hoping the rain would pass before long so I could dry out and camp, but it was not to be. I was too cold and soaking wet to camp and was lucky enough to be in a town large enough to have a motel at dark—Ionia.
On to Battle Creek I was able to avoid the busy numbered roads and take quiet byways, some unpaved, through colorful fall foliage. I was out of the pines, so all the trees were turning. My route took me through Vermontville, settled in the 1830s by a religious group from Vermont. With the abundance of maple trees, it holds an annual maple syrup festival, which Kirk attends whenever he can.
A strong wind from the south reduced me to my slowest daily average speed for the trip, just ten miles per hour. But I still arrived at Kirk’s well before dark, on the outskirts of Battle Creek on Limit Street, the former limit of the Cereal City. His boxer Digby was delighted to see me, maybe remembering me from my last visit in April of 2018. I arrived in an ice storm then. It was too inclement to camp, so I was happy to rectify that this time, especially after having to sleep indoors the night before.
Kirk had a heaping spaghetti dinner awaiting me and a line-up of football and baseball to watch as we ate and chatted. He knows cinema as well as anyone I know having served as the projectionist and manager of the Facets cinematheque in Chicago for a couple of decades. He was happy to report movie theaters had reopened in Michigan this past weekend and he was able to have his first movie-going experience in months. If he had been truly desperate he could have driven an hour south to Indiana where in the border towns ninety per cent of the movie-goers were from Michigan.
I was hoping I might be able to join Kirk for an hour or two of making food deliveries, as he has been working for Grub Hub and Door Dash, but I had no energy left for that, nor did he care to leave me. Like me with the bicycle messengering, he started delivering just for for the fun of it. He was visiting his sister in North Carolina for Thanksgiving last year and ended up staying through Christmas and was looking for something to keep himself busy. He enjoyed it so much, when he returned to Battle Creek he checked to see if Door Dash had established itself there and was surprised that it had. Grub Hub came in a bit later, which he prefers, as it pays much better, guaranteeing at least $11 per hour, though he always does considerably better than that.
Even though he grew up in Battle Creek his deliveries have greatly expanded his knowledge of the area. Most of his deliveries are from McDonald’s, Taco Bell, Red Lobster and Wendy’s, sometimes as little as an order of fries or a coffee from Starbucks. When he receives an order he knows exactly what it will pay, including the tip and mileage. If it is too little, as happens with Door Dash three dollar payments, he can refuse it.
With the pandemic he just leaves the delivery at the door of the recipient and lets them know it has arrived. With a business he must take it in. His favorite delivery is to a strip club where the strippers, whose livelihood is centered on tips, always give him a twenty dollar tip. They generally order a couple slabs of ribs and come out in their skimpy outfits to receive the order.
At the outbreak of the pandemic business was so hectic Kirk was kept out on the job much longer than he would have liked, sometimes with a backlog of five or six orders after he had been working for eight hours and was ready to call it a day. The job was losing some of its luster, turning into a job, but it is no longer so hectic so he can enjoy it once again as I enjoyed the bicycle messengering. Before the pandemic he had to open each bag of food he was picking up to verify it’s contents, a time-consuming effort. Now he doesn’t have to take the time to rummage through the bags he’s picking up, just grab them and head out.
Digby always accompanies him on the job, so he has no concerns of making deliveries in shady parts of town late at night. He’s never offered food at any of his pick-ups though if he’s given a bad address and the right one can’t be found he can keep the food. Unfortunately the couple times that has happened he wasn’t interested in the food and lost time while headquarters tried to find the correct address. And time is money, even when one isn’t doing it for the money.
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