A Spiritual Journey

Cyclist Travels The Trail Of Tears

Michael Black bicycled the Trail of Tears across Benton County last week on the final leg of his more than 700-mile trek from Kentucky to Oklahoma.

Michael Black bicycled the Trail of Tears across Benton County last week on the final leg of his more than 700-mile trek from Kentucky to Oklahoma.

Wednesday, July 24, 2013

Bicycling the trail trod by thousands of moccasins 175 years ago, Michael Black feels the pain of the Cherokee along the Trail of Tears. He crossed through Benton County last week, finishing the journey in Tahlequah, Okla., over the weekend.

“It’s been overwhelming. It truly is a trail of tears. … I’ve cried,” Black said. “Nothing could have prepared me for the pain.”

At Pea Ridge National Military Park, Black followed Glenn Jones to a section of the Trail of Tears that crosses the park. There, he set his bicycle against the pole marking the more than 700 miles already traveled and the 60 miles yet to go. He pulled out a shell, placed sage grass in it, sat cross-legged on the path and lighted the grass. As the smoke rose, he waved it upward, praying, considering those who had traveled that way nearly 200 years ago and grieving for those who never completed the journey.

More than 4,000 people died on the arduous trek from the Carolinas to Indian Territory in 1838-1839 when the U.S. government forced the Cherokee from their homes to land further west. Jones, vice president of the Arkansas chapter of the Trail of Tears and a board member for the National Trail of Tears Association, said people need to remember so they won’t repeat the past.

“They lost their little children and their elderly,” Black said sadly. “So, they lost their future and their past. Their culture has had to fight to preserve.

“They were treated as a lesser people. … Remember, when they made this trip, it was freezing, bitter winter cold.

“It’s been an emotionally draining, as well as physically draining trip,” he added. “They’re (the Cherokee) such a beautiful people.”

Biking 35 to 75 miles per day, Black had traveled more than 700 miles by the time he crossed Pea Ridge National Military Park and then headed south to Springdale. From there, he crossed western Benton County heading to Tahlequah.

Black said he’s always had friends who were Native American.

“I’ve been sweating with them,” he said, explaining that he’s shared their spiritual journeys.

Black grew up in Southern California. His great- great-grandmother was a Native American from Arizona who married his great-great-grandfather, a black man from California, he said. He is self-employed and works on home restoration projects.

“I had the story in my head, but I didn’t understand it.”

“One day, on my way to the dump, I saw an auto-route sign about the Trail of Tears. I lost my breath. I knew — knew — I had to bike it. Driving it would be too easy,” he said.

He rode his bike daily to prepare himself physically for the journey, but he says nothing could have prepared him spiritually.

“I’ve tried to stay as true to the original path as I could,” he said. A friend rowed him across the river to start the journey.

“This is a spiritual journey. It’s not about me. It’s not that I wanted to. I had to. I have to keep spreading the message about the people who lost their lives there.”

Three weeks before he began the journey, Black said he came upon a circle of Cherokee youth riders who had gathered in a circle to pray before riding the Cumberland Trail.

“I prayed with them. I totally intruded on them, but it’s OK; I didn’t make a fuss.”

The journey has been full of adventure and insights. While crossing Missouri, Black recalled encountering a bobcat.

“People told me they wouldn’t hurt you, but that little muscular cat looked like he could hurt you,” he laughed. He said in the same area he saw a dead mountain lion. “That day, I rode until dark. I wanted to get far away from there.”

“Missouri was the longest state,” he said. There were a couple of times when he was overcome with thunderstorms. He said he got wet once or twice, but ironically, there were several times when he needed to wash his clothes and found a laundromat just at the time a thunderstorm hit, so he was able to stay dry in the laundromat.

Along the way, he’s camped out and stayed in hotels. Of the 20 nights he’d been on the road by Tuesday, he had spent four nights in hotels.

“I’ve met a lot of descendants of the ones who walked this trail. It’s good to know they carried on. Along the way, some people have pointed me to the trail or to monuments.”

There was the monument of the grave of Chief White Path near Hopkinsville, Ky. He was 77 when he died on the march.

“When I run into the descendants, they are people who knew that their great-great-grandparents walked this trail. They don’t want them to be forgotten. They (the Cherokee) were a peaceful, loving people. There is no way to make it right, but we can find healing and understanding,” Black said.

Around his neck hangs a round rock given to him by a Native American medicine women in California. “She told me it would always protect me. She said I’m supposed to feed and wash it,” he said.

Occasionally, Black is not greeted with friendliness.

“I’ve gotten some things yelled at me,” he admitted. “It’s their inner ignorance. Sometimes it’s derogatory. A lot of people don’t know, don’t believe. It’s been a very lonely trip.”

“I’ve found myself on this trip. I’m more humble; more confident. I have more hopefulness now,” he said. “I have a little more understanding. I’m a more serene, rational person. I want to try to help build understanding — to give not take, to be a builder of life.”