Mi Casa es Su Casa

The Fuller Center for Housing

The Fuller Center, headquartered in Americus, Georgia, has a mission similar to Habitat for Humanity. However, the delivery is different.

Fuller Center (FC) relies on local community organizations to identify worthy housing (new builds and remodels) recipients and offers financing to complete the projects. Local organizations drive the construction.

FC offers the funding and financing to the recipient homeowner at zero interest, with services and a payment schedule to fit the recipient’s ability to pay. They refer to their program as “Jesusnomics” (apt, I think). Local people, including the recipient, do the building.

A primary fundraising vehicle is bike rides, where riders raise money. Only 10% of the funds go to overhead, and as the recipients pay back the loan, the money is used for another recipient, multiplying the effect of a single donation.

The rides are low-cost, and local churches provide the riders with sleeping accommodations and food. Showers and laundry are also donated, and during a ride, the riders donate 250 man hours per week on house builds! Costs are low, and adventure is high!

Pictures below are sleeping accommodations and a wonderful dried fruit plate that accompanied a baked potato and chili dinner at the first two churches in Washington. The church members were wonderful hosts and provided evenings of fun and laughter. We are required to attend the evenings with our hosts (of course), and the motto of “living simply” so others can “simply live” is also apt, I think!

It’s not About the Bike(ing)

Ride to Date Scorecard
Day: T-0 (launch date is May 23)

• Location: Somewhere, California

• Today’s Mileage: 0

• Total Mileage: 0

• Today’s Ascent: 0 feet

• Today’s Time on the Bike: 0 hours

• Total Time on the Bike: 0 hours

Lance Armstrong was right (apologies for the blatant theft of his book title).  Twelve hours into the train trip from the Bay Area to Seattle, my long train is snaking through a narrow gap of pines reminiscent of the Lionel train set of my youth: the train cars swiveling slightly on the fixture between them to negotiate the curves.  

With snow on the adjacent slopes, the Shasta National forest blew cold air into the train cars, and I was grateful for Annie’s insistence on a new gortex rain jacket and my faded, worn Pittsburgh Pirates cap purchased with Chip on a decade-ago adults trip to Disney World.

Between gaps in the sloping hillsides, the fog of winter shrouds the trees in a Sherwood Forest-esq dampness, and the seemingly endless blue mountains loom as far as I can see. I am grateful not to be riding through those 40-degree shaded canyons. They seem sharp in spite of the caps disappearing into the fog. “Stevens Pass in Washington will come soon enough,” I thought as I contemplated the appropriate gear to wear, verifying their inclusion in my checked bag. Always on the edge of my consciousness is the fear of rain, trucks, and narrow lanes with small, deep cinder shoulders- and “I can always bail now,” I think, immediately trying to fight my fear of failure.

The first night, experiencing oft-interrupted sleep with a snorer on one side of me and a snorter unable to stay off his cell phone on the other, the big Amtrak seats in coach, while soft, still are no comparison to my soft, warm bed where Annie lay alone tonight.

It has been so difficult to say goodbye for 11 weeks and now, smarting from the realization that my dreams frequently involve pain, suffering, and the unknown, I try to remember that I’ve wanted this field trip since I was 16, between street hockey games with my 10th-grade friends as we dared one another to try something fantastic!

I realized as Anne and I avoided our goodbyes that “the why” (always the most difficult question) has changed in the past 52 years.

In 1972, having seen very little of the country and none of the world, “the why” back then was the fascination with what lay behind the mark on the map of Pittsburgh, Pa., aka The Steel City, home of the Three Rivers and the founding by William Penn of Fort Pitt.

Then, we realized that the novelty (although I will certainly see new towns, states, and, yikes! mountain ranges) of seeing the US has dimmed in importance. Even the proof of attempting a physically difficult feat has faded, as I’ve done many punishing endeavors physically, mentally, and intellectually exploring my personal boundaries.

I’m reminded of a song by one of our few personally known favorite artists, Antsy McClain (of the Trailer Park Troubadours), who, as an artist, poet, and musician, has delighted us with stories ringing so true they conjure personal memories of similar times of which he sings.

One of the tunes we saw him perform recently in Felton, CA, is the pensive, poignant, personal recollection of “ Going on a Field Trip” as a 2nd grader. It is in this song, along with the shyness of being an 8-year-old, the fascination of the adventure of being free, out on your own, and the wide-eyed experience of the release from normalcy to just shed the shackles of his day-to-day life living in a trailer park in Tenessee with his mom.

Like his Mom, Annie has carefully packed a lunch (and snacks, and dinner— hell, it weighs 20 pounds it seemed) replete with napkins, wipes, a love letter and the recognition that she was happily releasing me to scratch my itch of freedom, wonder, relationships to be made on the road, and most importantly the freedom to try.

While Machu Pichuu, Ironmans, Kilimanjaro, or a foundation in Africa, night school, building a house, or paddling to Monterey all have similarities in the planning, gear, and practice, this adventure is about stepping away from your comfort zone of familiarity and trying something that includes the freedom of adventure, failure, and dreams. Also, it will highlight the beauty of the kindness of strangers already realized in Kevin, a round-bodied 30-something porter who loved Anne because she shared his mom’s name, taking our kissing picture before we said our final goodbyes.

No, this is not about the bike. And those baggies of delicious succulent water-filled sweet watermelon and cherries in my snack bag are so heavy— and delightful.

Thank you for following this journey. Plan on seeing Antsy McClain at our home in an intimate evening with a wonderful troubadour this September. Enjoy his music on iTunes or on www.unhitched.com

Leaving on a Jet Train

or, Back to the future: 49 years 8 months ago

Child of the Day: Amani

Amani on left with his buddy Nestory and below at Tupendane Orphanage during a semester break from Green Valley School in 2015

sponsored by Ryan and Laura Bushek

Age: 15

Day: T-1 (launch date is May 23)

• Location: Capitola California

• Today’s Mileage: 0

• Total Mileage: 0

• Today’s Ascent: 0 feet

• Today’s Time on the Bike: 0 hours

• Total Time on the Bike: 0 hours

As the humid air enjoyed the last gasp of light on an August night in Mount Lebanon, Pennsylvania, the fireflies hung on the slight breeze and began their evening task of creating memories for this 18-year-old. Craig, Bill, Fred, Dave, and Steve lay pensively on the sloping lawn where snowballs in winters passed had been mischievously thrown at cars. A willow tree was beginning to drop its leaves, revealing the perch of solitude I’d enjoyed since the Third Grade. The gentle sound of a small creek with the smell of the damp crepe myrtle I was supposed to clean hid the comforting sound of a frog playing with salamanders.

“Sea Weed” (algae), yellowing because of the low August water level, smelled damp and somewhat moldy, scenting the air. We lay quietly contemplating the change, and crickets thick in August were beginning their evening sounds. Though a half hour from darkness, with a reddish sky highlighting our youthful, almost adult faces, we weren’t preparing to assault our normal haunts dragging illegally purchased 6-packs of Iron City beer as we had all summer and, in fact, much of the last couple years. We were, in fact, ruminating about our futures in some form.

Yes, change was in the air. As every passing car on Cochran road whisked by without paying homage to that beautiful, Monticello-inspired home I had lived in for 10 years and where the late summer dew would fall on the green myrtle beds lighted by mushroom lamps my dad had installed years ago, creating a regal path to the proud, bright red front door, we contemplated our future, knowing that life as we knew it would be different…..very soon.

Nixon had resigned from the Presidency, and Gerald Ford was three weeks away from pardoning him. He left disgraced, and our leaving would be scary, sure, but also exciting. In a few short months, our unknown futures would open up wide, and like the house landing on the wicked witch, they would reveal a technicolor future of unimaginable beauty and wonder.

Mom and Dad had divorced earlier that year, Mom had already had a garage sale, and she and my two younger siblings were preparing to move across town. She to a new husband, and us to a new life with a new stepbrother and sister.

Memories of graduation, a July 4th party, Pink Floyd’s “Dark Side of the Moon” as a soundtrack for the summer, and lifeguarding at Mount Lebanon’s public pool took a back seat as we chewed on blades of grass and contemplated our very unknown future. I was leaving in the morning for college at DePauw University. I was scared and excited.

I was scared because of the unknown and the realization that nothing would be quite the same the next time I saw my buddies. I was also excited because I knew I was embarking on an adventure bigger than any I had tried before.

We couldn’t really know how the adventure would shape our lives. I couldn’t have known the lifelong friends I would make, the fun I would have, or how this opportunity would shape the rest of my life, but a faint realization that “this was a big one” rested on our sweaty foreheads as we tried not to talk about it.

The Pittsburgh Pirates would win the East but lose to the Dodgers in mid-September. The televised Watergate Hearings had wrapped up but had captivated the country for the previous 6 months as the melodrama of political change played out. Anything but confronting our upcoming separation from our comfort zone seemed urgently necessary to break the melancholy.

As I recall, we all shed a tear, me probably more than the others, ‘cuz, well, I’m just that way I guess. The moment seemed worthy.

Today, I boarded a train with my bike to Seattle. I have 37 pounds of baggage in a duffel, almost like I did that August evening in 1974. I think I have some idea what lies ahead. I will meet up with 45 others and begin a 10-week journey from church to church, covering 4000 miles, traveling across the United States, whereupon I will meet my beautiful wife after a long summer of separation.

Like my Mom, I suppose, she has carefully marked all of my gear and, in some ways, made certain I have done my homework, supporting me from a short distance. It’s been easy to avoid thinking of this aspect, but as with my Mom on that August night, I know I’ll miss her terribly and 10 weeks gone is something I’ve never done before. I know whatever happens, life will never be exactly the same. Except for our love.

The feeling is electric, and this night, I’m up at 4 AM, unable to sleep, almost tingling with opportunity, wonder, and anticipation. I hope I will see those fireflies under the moon in a few short months, hear the crickets, and be in her loving arms once again. Thank you to all my friends: the support that I feel is not unlike that of Craig, Bill, Fred, Dave, and Steve. And we’re still friends today. They will attend our 50th High School reunion and celebrate some of those times.

God’s Speed. Damn the torpedoes. Just keep pedaling, Dorey. This will be fun.

My beautiful wife, Anne seeing me off on my adventure

Meet our ETF Featured child, Amani. Here is a picture from 2015. He is now 15, one of our best students, and frequently the “spokesman” for his class of 26 kids we have attending Scolastica Secondary School.

He is one of our original children as well, sponsored by Ryan and Laura Bushek (our oldest son and daughter-in-law). Amani has so many friends, and he is fun and funny. A quiet young man, he is a great observer, polite and a bit shy.

In Tanzania, it is said the quiet ones are always the strongest. His life has not been easy, and he is a boy’s boy playing basketball and racing around. Now, tall, slender and handsome he has a wonderful future ahead of him. We can’t wait to see what he will do!