Some Thoughts.

Today was a quickie, 45 miles start to finish, wayyyy up a hill (a 2,424 ft. hill, to be exact) and then way down it, into the sleepy town of Coudysport (pronounced howdy, sport). We’re staying at the “Alliance” church, which seems to be a new-ish blend of casual, non-denominational religion and community. It’s one of the friendliest churches we’ve been to (and that’s saying a lot) and it also features the only Pastor (Pastor Bernie) to come out and meet us at the bottom of that really, really big hill and ride us into town on his own vintage 18-speed Schwinn.

The day marked our first experience with real headwind, which went something like this:

“Phew, I’m FINALLY done with that hill, now I can coast down this stretch and gain some momentum into the next one.”

-30 feet later-

“Hmm, I appear to be on a downhill, but I’m pedaling steadily and firmly, and my speed is a mere 11 mph.”

-50 feet later-

“I’m on an uphill grade of about 3%, which I was cruising up at 17.5 mph a half hour ago, but right now I’m at… 6 mph, in granny gear, and my legs are burning. This sucks.”

-At the top of the mountain-

“Oh. That’s what a headwind feels like.”

So that’s what a headwind feels like. In the words of the wise Jeff Thomas: “A headwind is like a really long, nasty hill that you ride up all day, without the redemption of a downhill to look forward to.” Or something along those lines. We couldn’t stop talking about it. It was staggering, depressing, humiliating.

On the positive side, we beat the headwind, at least for now. And on the way up the hill (about 10 miles long) I averaged 17.2 mph, and got to dunk my head into the type of mountain stream I thought we only had in Vermont. And, after that punishing headwind bit, we cruised down into “Coudy,” right before a big ol’ thunderhead cruised into town, too.

We showered at the Denton Ski Lodge, which sports “some of the steepest terrain on the East Coast,” which, loosely translated, means “a 66 degree steep,” which is purportedly THE steepest slope in the Northeast. It looked pretty cool. I’ve attached pictures.

I’ve been thinking a lot about the nature of this trip. I think of this blog as a way to communicate, to you (family and friends) a few meaningful or meaningless stories from the road, so you have some idea what we’re going through out here. Before this trip, the darn thing seemed so insurmountable that I was most curious about what the day-to-day motivation would consist of—how riders can get on their bikes, every day for more than two months, and make it that 70, 80, or 90 miles to the next stop. And now I’m figuring it out. And trying to show you.

But there was initially another reason for doing this blog; for myself, for my own memory. I’ve been trying to “journal” (a phrase I hate) but I’m either exhausting my thoughts on this blog or I’m just not in the mood to write it all down by hand. Regardless, I’ve decided recently that I’m not too worried about capturing it all on film and on paper—this trip isn’t about those individual memories, it’s about the overarching experience, and the overall feeling I get at the end of the day. In another entry I mentioned the mini-dramas we go through every minute during the ride. Those all coalesce into one big impression of the day, usually positive. No matter what ridiculous stuff happens during the ride itself, it all washes away when you hit the home stretch and see that final stop. The same thing will happen with this trip.