Choose The Bear Tour Begins

My plane landed at the tiny Houghton airport on the Keweenaw Peninsula. I found my bike box in the baggage claim and dragged it outside, under an overhang. The afternoon was cool and cloudy, and drops of rain speckled the parking lot. I took a deep breath. This journey would be a wild, winding path, and I knew it.

I went over the plan in my head: for the next eight weeks, I’d pedal over a thousand miles across Michigan, zigzagging across the Upper and Lower Peninsulas. Along the way, I’d meet with frontline organizations that help women recover from abusive relationships and gender-based violence. Our goal was to stoke useful conversations about domestic violence, economic abuse, and women’s safety. It would be a true adventure.

But first, I had to build my bike. I ripped open my bike box, lifted out the frame, and started bolting things together. The airport was quiet, and a few people trickled in and out of the front door. I loaded my panniers with my sleeping bag, water filter, twig stove, repair kit, and camping gear. It all felt familiar. The hardest part of this trip wouldn’t be the miles or the camping–it would be the complexity of conversations about women’s safety in a world where violence against women is still an open secret.

Finally, everything was packed. I zipped up my jacket and pedaled into the rain. The air was wet and windy, but I felt a giddy warmth grow in my chest. After about a mile, the road merged with forest and I turned onto a dirt track. My tires rolled along muddy earth, my legs pumping. I breathed in the trees, the rain, the clouds, the sky. What a gift to be there, moving forward under my own power. What a joy to experience the world in its raw elements.

Joy is part of what makes us human. It’s what gives us a sense of self and belonging. And it’s the foundation for every conversation we have about how to feel safe with ourselves and each other.

We live in a beautiful world that also contains hard truths. About a third of all women will experience some form of physical or sexual abuse in their lifetime. In Michigan alone, a woman is killed by her partner roughly every five days. By the end of my ride, that will be about eleven women. Domestic violence shelters serve every county across the state, and they’re often full or past capacity. Gender-based violence is not a small or isolated issue–it’s an epidemic.

At sunset, I arrived at a forest where I could camp for the night. The trees rose around me in a network of silver, leafless branches. I set up my tent under the bow of an evergreen, and snuggled into my sleeping bag. Light filtered through the tent fabric, then faded into darkness.

Nature has taught me that everything changes. Clouds fall as rain, flow into streams, then rise again into sky. Day becomes night, then day again. We live in cycles that move us through time and shape us along the way.

In a changing world, we still have choices. Society is not a fixed entity, it’s an ever-shifting collection of structures and voices. When we look closely at difficult truths, we grant ourselves the opportunity to change them.

As I drifted off to sleep, I felt the comfort of solidarity. Michigan is home to an extraordinary network of organizations that serve survivors of gender-based violence. These organizations provide resources, shelter, hope, and community. Their work makes all of us safer.

Over the next eight weeks, I’ll talk with survivors and hear their stories. As I pedal forward, these stories will come with me. It’s an honor and a joy to ride in solidarity with survivors.