From Owensboro, Kentucky, the bike route followed the Ohio River west, and I arrived at Riverview Park on its bank. Many escaping enslaved people navigated north, using the river as a handrail and the North Star in the darkness. I stood at the shore at dusk, looking over free-state Illinois, imagining fugitive enslaved people waiting for the darkness to cross the river without being seen. They were determined. They were strong. They put their life on the line for freedom. It was a clear night. I looked up at the sky and found the North Star. For me, the North Star is a metaphor for concrete direction, guidance, and purpose, even when I am confused or in difficult times. My North Star is embedded in my name, Miho, meaning to become a person who values democracy and acts to protect people, culture, and the environment. My name will guide me to fulfill my life purpose on this planet. It put me on this incredible journey, and the new knowledge I acquired will become a source of energy and motivation to fulfill my purpose.

The next morning, I walked down to the river at dawn, waiting for the sun to rise. The trees blocked the sunrise. I left without saluting the sun, but I enjoyed the quiet morning, watching the fog roll over the river. I rode through the Land Between the Lakes National Recreation Area and then to Dover the next morning.

Hurricane Isaias brought heavy rain for a day, and I was glad to be hosted by David and Emily, the Warmshowers hosts, just outside of the town. It was such a last-minute arrangement. I called him from the library in town, feeling anxious and worried that the rain would start at any moment. David said, “I know your situation exactly! We’re not home, but I’ll give you the house code to enter the house. Just go in there and make yourself at home. We don’t have much food, but whatever we have, help yourself.”

I was astonished. By now, I am used to the incredible hospitality of Warmshowers hosts, and David was the first one who told me to go into his house without him being there. What an angel, I thought. I felt enormous gratitude and rushed to his house and made it right in time before the rain. I was exhausted, hungry, and relieved at the same time. I took my time to recollect myself and took another day off at David and Emily’s home.

There was a heat advisory for the following 5 days straight. I left Dover and rode in the hot and humid weather all day long. There was no town with a public library between Dover and Waverly, and I rode 44 miles without any break in the hot weather. I was desperate to find a cool indoor space to have lunch. I made it to the Waverly local library, looking forward to having lunch in the cool indoor space. I saw a sign that said no food or drink on the entrance door. Oh, bummer! — I thought. I went to the front desk and introduced myself and asked if there was any way I could eat indoors. The librarian checked in with her co-worker, and she said, “Come on over this way.” She showed me a conference room and said, “You can eat here and take as much time as you need.”

Such an act of understanding and kindness meant a lot to me. It reminded me of many Underground Railroad conductors who were public officials and often bent the rules and laws to support fugitive enslaved people. This library understood my basic needs and was able to flex its rules to help me. I appreciated them tremendously. When I was leaving the library, Kapua, the first woman who listened to me, came outside. Her eyes were tearing up, and she said, “I just wanted to say good luck, and maybe when our paths cross again, we can make Japanese food together.” She was originally from Oahu, and we connected instantly when we talked. She gave me a hug and wished me a safe journey.

Kapua’s prayer probably reached the universe and the hearts of others. Toward the end of the day, I noticed that my gear didn’t change smoothly, and it became worse and worse. I made it to Cuba Marina, where I thought I would camp for the night. When I made it there, the gear stopped shifting completely. “This is trouble,” I thought. I could no longer shift the gear, and that meant I could not ride the bike anymore. I guessed the gear-shifting cable broke, and I knew there was nothing I could do about it, and I had to take my bike into a shop to get it fixed. I quickly searched for the nearest bike shop and found out that the closest ones are in Nashville, Tennessee, an 80-minute drive from where I was.

A few days ago, I reconnected with my friend Julie, who lives in Nashville, on the phone. We tried to coordinate a chance to see each other, and it didn’t work out. She texted me and said, “You have my number now in case of emergency.” I called Julie, explained the situation, and I told her I would find a ride towards her. She said, “I’ll prepare your bed.”

There was a guy who was loading his boat onto his truck nearby. I checked him out from a distance, and he had a non-threatening vibe. I approached him and said hi. He asked, “How are you?” I said, “I have a problem.” I found out he was driving towards Nashville. I asked him for a ride. He was hesitant but in a good way. “You got to be careful around here, asking for a ride from a random guy,” he said. I told him that a bad guy would not advise a woman not to ask for a ride, and he laughed. He said, “That’s true. Are you safe?” I told him yes. “My name is Miho. I’m just a cyclist who needs help.” He said, “I’m Austin. Call your friend to meet us in Dickson. Let’s get your bike on the truck.”

Within an hour, we arrived at Dickson, where Julie came to pick me up. Julie said she jinxed me in a good way and we were supposed to see each other. I was grateful for Austin and Julie. My bike just so happened to break down right along I-40, a straight shot to Nashville, and I had Austin, who happened to be at the dock, and my friend Julie, who happened to live a few miles from a bike shop in Nashville. When things work out like this, I know I’m following my North Star, on the right path, to fulfill my purpose. People like Kapua and perhaps you are all praying for my safe journey. The universe hears the prayers and places an angel in a key location where I may be in trouble.

Julie gave me a ride to the REI bike shop the next morning. The mechanic said there wasn’t anything I could have done on the spot. My diagnosis was correct: the shifting cable snapped, and it was from wear and tear. After the repair was done, I began riding towards a famous bike route called Natchez Trace Parkway, a 444-mile, commercial-traffic-free scenic byway stretching from Natchez, Mississippi, to Nashville, Tennessee, through Mississippi, Alabama, and Tennessee. This route diagonally goes southwest from Nashville, reconnecting with the UGRR Bike Route just south of Tishomingo, Mississippi. Instead of hitchhiking back to Cuba Marina, I decided to take this route to return to the UGRR. In the unusual heat for the fall, I rode the first 14 miles to the home of John and Renee, the Warmshowers hosts, in Franklin, Tennessee. They had a garden and treated me with fresh, home-grown salad and pasta. After dinner, John was generous with his time, helping me learn more about my route.

I knew it would be very hot again the next day. I left at dawn and enjoyed the first 4 hours of my ride. The nice thing about the Natchez Trace is that there are no traffic lights and the speed limit is 35 miles an hour. There were signs on the road that said to pass a cyclist, giving them a full lane. Not only was there very little car traffic, but also seeing cars passing me in the other lane made me feel safe and peaceful. The hills were reasonable, and I enjoyed an uninterrupted, smooth ride. I decided to listen to a book on tape called James, a novel by Percival Everett that reimagines Mark Twain’s classic Adventures of Huckleberry Finn from the perspective of the enslaved character Jim. This book was recommended by a few people I met along my bike journey. I thought Natchez Trace would be a perfectly safe path to listen and ride, learning about an adventure and escape story from the enslaved Jim’s perspective.

I listened to the book all day long. Two scenes struck me particularly. The first scene is from Chapter 2, when Jim, the main character, was giving a language lesson to enslaved children (by the way, it was illegal), and it goes like this:

You’re walking down the street, and you see that Mrs. Holiday’s kitchen is on fire. She’s standing in her yard, her back to her house, unaware. How do you tell her?”
“Fire, fire,” January said.
“Direct. And that’s almost correct,” I said.
The youngest of them, lean and tall five-year-old Rachel, said, “Lawdy, missum!
Looky dere.”
“Perfect,” I said. “Why is that correct?” Lizzie raised her hand. “Because we must let the whites be the ones who name the trouble.”
“And why is that?” I asked.
February said, “Because they need to know everything before us. Because they need to name everything.”

It was like an epiphany — is this why I see names of the street, our national forests, mountain peaks, and so on were changed from the original indigenous names to the current names? Is this why the people in power positions are still unsettled with the idea of bringing the original names of the land back in place? Is this why the first ascent of so and so peak or route, or the fastest known time to hike/run the trail, are worshipped among the majority of outdoor enthusiasts? I wondered if thru-hikers’ desire to name themselves with trail names comes from this need to name everything?

The second part is from Chapter 4, after Jim caught and feasted on a 55-pound catfish:

There were a few hours of light left, and we chose to rest before walking along the river at night. It was clear that the people we had escaped on the beach were not following us; they were too concerned with being survivors. White people often spent time admiring their survival of one thing or another. I imagined it was because so often they had no need to survive, but only to live.

It articulated why we see very few BIPOC thru-hikers and outdoor adventurers. Not only did we not have equal rights and access to the public lands and outdoor spaces until the Civil Rights Act of 1964 was passed, but also many BIPOC and white people without resources continue to struggle and survive. Those who get to live are the ones who pursue adventures; thus, it is a privilege. On the Appalachian Trail, we carry a pack, water, and food, and tolerate the discomfort of humid weather, thunderstorms, mosquitoes, and Lyme-disease-carrying ticks — a choice we make to have the experience on the trail for whatever reasons people have. Listening to James on Natchez Trace gave me a full-circle moment to make a connection between the story and the thru-hiking experience on the national scenic trails.

Another full-circle moment happened when I crossed the Tennessee/Alabama border and saw a cotton field for the first time in the United States. I stopped and stared at the field, still listening to James, but my mind wandered off. I can no longer look at the cotton field the way I did in the past. After learning about how cotton, sugar, tobacco, and rice plantations were the driving force to keep slavery in the system, I now see the cotton field and feel differently.

The heat was intense, and I was glad to stay with Kevin and Priya, hosts from Wamshowers, in Florence, Alabama. Kevin kindly came to pick me up from the junction of the Natchez Trace and the highway, and they let me stay another night so I could wait out the heat wave.

This morning, I left in the cooler temperatures and made it to Fulton. Right before reaching the library, I saw a cluster of familiar flowers: Higanbana (彼岸花) in Japanese or red spider lily in English. They bloom around the fall equinox, and these bright red flowers took me right back to my home country in Japan. Higan means “the other shore” and is a metaphor for crossing from this shore of ignorance to the other shore of peace. Seeing these flowers reminded me to self-examine my own ego and keep the mindfulness practice of generosity and kindness alive. They also struck me as my journey followed the river, which divided between slavery and liberty, and many enslaved people made it to “the other shore” of freedom.

As usual, I went to the local library to take a break. I introduced myself, and they were very welcoming. They let me bring my bike into the library instead of leaving it outside in public view. One librarian checked in with me a couple of times and made it clear that I could rest as long as I needed. She asked me if there was any meaning to my name. Just like Kapua, I thought. She asked me the meaning of my name too! I said, “It is a Japanese name, and it means to become a protector of people, culture, and the environment.” She said my name carries a beautiful meaning.

I added, “You know, it is my North Star. It guides me even in the darkness to fulfill my purpose on this planet.”