Reality sets in...

Well folks, we've got four days left till we reach Seattle. Time really has a way of catching up to you when you're blissfully unaware that it's been passing.

I've had a few conversations about what other riders think about when they're on their bikes. I've already talked about Terra's random mantras. Bronwyn says that she prays a lot. She also spends a lot of time thinking about farting, judging from the many conversations we've shared on that topic. Nate said "I don't think about anything. No... I take that back. I actually spend a lot of time thinking about what I've been thinking about." Candace sings selections from "Oklahoma" at high volumes, leading me to believe that she's not thinking about much at all.

Lately, I've been thinking about how bizarre the transition from fantasy to reality is going to be. Or, rather, from one reality to another. It's amazing to consider all the things we've come to accept as mundane, everyday occurrences. Before this trip, my earliest class was at 1pm, a pleasant fact that allowed me to wake up at about 12:30.

PM.

On B&B, there have been days when I've ridden 103 miles before noon. We get up at 5, or 6, and promptly rub any number of the following substances on our bodies:

-Butt-Butter/Chamois Cream/Vaseline/Gold Bond Cream on to the most private places you can imagine, in staggering quantities.
-Deodorant for the most considerate riders.
-Gold Bond Powder for those who prefer the "dry" solution to chafing.
-Sun-Screen, anywhere from SPF 15 to SPF 50 (for Emily and Greg, whose shared skin tone falls somewhere between alabaster and eggshell).
-Moisturizer/Aloe Lotion for those who have forgotten the above step and wish to retain their outermost epidermis.


We also pray to all that is holy that our spandex and jersey have managed to dry fully overnight. Putting on wet spandex, over cold (sometimes mentholated) butt-butter is second only to vicious plaque scrapings in my list of the most dreadful physical sensations I've ever experienced.

I've already sketched out the ridiculous amount we eat in numerous postings. Coming down from our carbo/calorie-loading high will be tough, too. I think we've all got the metabolisms of gerbils by now. Save Logan, whose energy consumption is probably on par with most of the towns and cities we've visited. Combined.

I won't get into the initial crotchety creaking and cranking it takes to contort our bodies onto bike seats and into clipless pedals at 7am. The sounds that come from 30 people doing bike/person origami are often funny, and sometimes heartbreaking.

At some point in the day, we reapply gels and creams and lotions and ointments to our nether-regions, and often top it off by ingesting other similar substances, called "GU" or "Hammer Gel," or "Honey Stingers." These have the consistency of motor oil or whale snot. I would imagine. But they sure getcha up the hills.

When we reach our host site, we explode the contents of the trailer into the most sacred spaces of whichever church is generous enough to host us, and a fine mist of bike grease and butt-butter-vapor settles delicately over every surface. As soon as showers are located, we rush off, dropping socks and twice-worn boxers in our wake. These showers are usually communal, and Greg usually does something ridiculous. We've all become more... open? comfortable?... with our bodies and those of others on this trip, as seen from previous posts. After all, we've all got 'em, right?

After we've eaten about 3 gallons of food each, we fall asleep at 9:30. Now, I haven't fallen asleep at 9:30 since I was 8. But I sleep like a baby every time. And then we get up and do the same thing the next day.

It's bizarre to describe this insane routine and feel nostalgia, but that's just what it provokes in me. In all of us.

As I said before, time oscillates on the trip-- when on bikes, it passes incrementally and then, all of a sudden, the day's over.

Okay, in Nebraska time passes at the same lethargic pace no matter what you're doing.

Lately, when friendly strangers ask where we're coming from, I tell them "Providence. We left yesterday morning!" It usually gets a laugh, but for me that answer tells it all. That's how it feels.

We left yesterday, and tomorrow's here.