Fun Stuff

So, I’ve been writing a lot about my daily routine, but there’s some other stuff I thought I’d share with you about my day-to-day experience.

1. I’ve been doing a lot of biking, but I’ve also been doing a lot of eating. We burn 3500-4000 calories each day we ride, on top of the 1500-2000 we spend just breathing and thinking. So that takes a lot more consumption. I’ve lost about 15 pounds, despite eating more than I’ve ever eaten, aside from Wocks trips to Wes’s. Heck, we all eat a lot, leading to these alternate titles:

-Bike & Binge
-Bike & Bulimia
-Bike & Filled
-Bike & Blah
-Bike & Killed
-Bike & Barf
-Bike & Burp

2. I’ve also been playing a lot of music. Almost every night I pull out the ol’ geetar (Ah, if this ol’ geetar could talk… ‘Duh.’) and play for at least a half-hour. My finger pickin’s getting stronger, as well as my knowledge of the Beatles songbook (thanks for “I Will,” Bronwyn) and my ability to play bedtime music for sleepy riders. Turns out it’s easy to put people to sleep with an acoustic guitar when they’ve just come 92 miles by bike.

And almost every church we stay in has at least one piano (more like three…) so I’ve been getting in my required piano time. And I’ve been playing a lot more original stuff, since I don’t have my Real Book (sheet music). I’m thinking I’ll start recording some of them, as an alternate way to remember the trip.

It’s cool that an experience that I thought would be detrimental to my musicianship has actually been both inspiring and good for my technique.

3. I’ve been to three driving ranges en route, in Massachusetts, Pennsylvania, and Ohio. Turns out the stiff plates in the bottom of bike shoes also make them really good golf shoes. My stroke’s back, and I can hit 250+ yard drives now.

Tiger, watch out. You too, Dad.

4. The post-college “what am I gonna do with my life?!?!?” anxiety wasn’t really there too intensely post-Brown, but it certainly occupied a corner of my mind. It’s lessened considerably over the last month (this is our TWENTY-SEVENTH DAY together!) because I’ve seen such happy, generous, caring people in small communities living such respectable, ordinary lives across this country. The whole “I need to end up in New York with a career” train of thought suddenly seems quaint, or at least panicky. I’ll be happy somewhere, doing something cool, somehow. Could be Charlotte, NC. Could be Wellsboro, PA. Could be Seattle.

5. My Vermont-instilled belief that peeing outside is rewarding and enjoyable has been strengthened. As noted by all of my fellow riders, cornfields make great pee-stops. Also, roadside shrubbery, but it’s not nearly as fun.

6. State signs make for fun pictures. Thus far, poses have included:

-Thrusting bikes victoriously in the air, partially obscuring the state name itself
-Flexing arms, legs, and grimacing
-Spelling out state names YMCA-style
-Climbing up supporting poles like monkeys
-Climbing up onto the TOP of the state sign and laying out like a pin-up
-Mooning oncoming traffic, narrowly avoiding indecent exposure charges
-And, of course, grinning like an idiot because you’ve just ridden through 7 states, more than 1300 miles, on a bike.

*Note: I have participated in some, but NOT ALL, of the aforementioned actions. I promise.

7. Everyone in America knows how to make Pasta Salad. Variations include: color of mayonnaise. Temperature of salad. Red peppers. Type of pasta used.

8. The most offensive thing to do to a biker riding across the country is to honk from 20’ back, drive by three inches from their handlebars at 65 mph, holler something about “nice shorts!,” and flick them off immediately after tossing an empty cigarette pack in their general direction. Bonus points for revving the engine as you accelerate into the distance. Bonus points for narrowly avoiding oncoming traffic as the driver swerves to investigate the resulting withering look.

9. The most satisfying way to respond to the gesture mentioned in item 8 is to smile, wave, and loudly thank the offending motorist as they disappear over the hill you’ve been climbing for 14 minutes. Trust me.

10. Declan/Maya/Nan/Bevin/everyone: there is NO SUCH THING as bulletproof tires, but the ones I bought are nearly puncture-proof. I hope. And there are 30 riders in the group, now that Derrick's back. My brain's not in a blender, and I can't wait to see you guys!

11. More to come, and more pictures. I’m out of stuff to talk about for the moment. Tomorrow’s the fourth of July, though, and promises to hold many hysterical games and escapades. Huzzah, and Happy Independence Day!

Lafayette-Gilman

Today was an exhilarating day—we rode really fast, with a tailwind, for about 44 miles, and then waited for lunch behind a truckstop diner, with a tilting incinerator and a towering turbine and a grease dumpster.

In the sun.

It was actually a very pleasant lunch spot. Perfect Americana. People kept going in to the diner for slices of pie (pecan, peach, strawberry-rhubarb, and blueberry, I think, though there were more cooling) and when the van got in, finally, from Lafayette, we feasted on donated Subway coldcuts and Panera baguettes, which I think is against sandwich chain rules or something. And it was 72 degrees, and cloudless.

After lunch we got the inside scoop from Ed, a really nice electrician who told us that Route 24, which we were planning on taking, was the state’s official thoroughfare for wide-load trucks. And that we’d be better off taking “1700N,” which was apparently a paved backroad through the cornfields, to Gilman. If you’ve never seen a state map of Indiana or Illinois, they look like checkerboards. Or circuitboards. All the roads go in straight lines, all oriented in cardinal directions, around gigantic corn- and soybean-fields. So all we had to worry about was that, once we got going, rights were North, and lefts after that were West. So we tried to take a few rights, and a few lefts, and make it in one piece to Gilman. Marie and Courtney both had cheapo drugstore radios, so they tuned to the same station for much of the ride, and we all danced/rode along. One of the stations had a “Sugar Ray Greatest Hits” playlist or something, which, unfortunately is just two songs. But they’re great songs, especially for the summertime.

We all agreed that the cornfield roads were like 2-lane bike paths, like limbo on two wheels. There could have been no time, or hours could’ve passed; no miles, or hundreds. The whole crew was struck by the same simultaneous euphoria, again and again.

We made it into Gilman after crossing a state line (many hilarious pictures) and a time zone, Eastern into Central. Every state that we enter since Pennsylvania will be a new one for me. Despite my earlier, somewhat grumpy blog post, OhIndianIllinoIowa reminds me a lot of the Connecticut River Valley—fertile soil, friendly people, and no pretensions. And lots, and lots, and lots, of corn. And soy.

All for today. More to come tomorrow.

OhIndianIllinoiowa

Say that one aloud.

But seriously, these states are running together. In the last three days, I've ridden 76, 85, and 92 miles, averaging about 18 mph. I've pushed my body harder than I had previously, trying to maintain paces of 23/4 over 10-13 miles at a time, sometimes with others, sometimes by myself, and that's an enjoyable diversion, but overall, riding bikes through cornfields is about as exciting as it sounds. It's meditative, and, as Terra says, you can just "put it on autopilot, put your head down, and go," but I can't do that for too long without nearly falling asleep on my bike. There isn't even anything fun to see out here. Just roadkill, and a headwind.

That said, our hosts have been ridiculously generous, and we've just biked into Lafayette, Indiana, and our first OFFICIAL rest day-- we'll hang out in town tomorrow, with no responsibilities, and then get out of town the next day. Lafayette's home to Purdue U, and a cool bike shop where I picked up some bulletproof tires and some cushy gloves. I also found out that my chain's "nearly dead," but so's my cassette (rear gears) and it's better if I just "wear them down to they die." I love bike mechanics. Especially smarmy ones. I get the feeling they'll "die" on the side of the road in Nebraska. That'll be cool.

Last night we had a great dinner in Hartford City, Indiana, where I came up with the ideal biking food: a bread bowl, filled with mashed potatoes, and topped with chicken 'n gravy. And then, today at lunch, I came up with the other ideal biking food: a triple-decker french-toast sandwich, stuffed with peanut butter and bacon. Nate added popcorn for crunch. I like the way he thinks.

That's all for now-- I'm sharing wi-wi, and don't have much else to say about OhIndianIllinoIowa. More to come tomorrow.

Love to all.

Gambier, OH--> Columbus, OH. 52.3 Miles. 17.4 mph average.

Well, today marks our third official build day, here in Columbus, Ohio. Ohio, according to the locals, is round on the sides and HI in the middle. I’m convinced that everyone here looks like Drew Carey, making them round on the sides and wide in the middle.

Just kidding. So far our time here has been quite idyllic, and has been marked by a few surprises. They are, in no particular order:

Derrick, our compatriot who was yanked off the trip due to a seemingly intractable broken pelvis, has rejoined the group and will ride the rest of the way with us just two weeks after he fell off his bike, going 30, down a hill. We are all in awe of his tolerance for pain. I'm convinced he's just cultivated a masochistic streak from his time on UVA's crew team.

Nate got hit by a car. An hour and a half ago. But he's fine, and the 17-year-old-girl-who-cut-him-off-in-traffic's dad gave him a hundo for any bike repairs he might need. Mildly sketchy, but we're all entirely relieved that he's alive and unharmed. His bike tire's tacoed, but that's fixable. According to witnesses, his first words upon rising from the asphalt were "My arm hurts. Shit, my bike's jacked up." Or something like that.

Other than those unwelcome surprises, the last three days have been marked by some stupendous rides and luxurious accommodations, including couches and beds (gasp!), fresh fruit, cheesecake, cheapo/delicious Amish cuisine, and North Carolinian BBQ (thanks to the Rhynes!), friendly locals, the gorgeous Kenyon campus (shoutout to Emily), and an idyllic hour in a pool outside of Columbus, a few hours ago. I'm in good spirits, although a bit grumpy thanks to a crappy 95-degree ride through rush-hour traffic into Columbus, marked by Nate's lil' accident, irate drivers, dozens of stop lights, and an anonymous passenger who decided to throw a 3" chunk of metal at me from his window as he drove by. We're here at the JCC now, though, safe and cool and clean, and we're about to leave for a triple-A minor-league ballgame-- the Columbus Clippers vs. the Indianapolis Indians. Tomorrow we're building here, staying another night, and getting out of town again.







Love to all.

Borderline

Franklin, Pennsylvania is an amazing little town. We’ve been here for two days now, and both of them have been memorable. Two days ago we coasted down from the Allegheny National Forest and the Kinzua Reservoir to Warren, PA in sun-drenched 75-degree weather, and we’ve been basking in it ever since. Yesterday, we rode from Warren to Franklin (which is weird to me, given that I knew a kid in grade school named, of course, Warren Franklin… just realizing that now…) and met up half way with Sam Gibb, the pastor of Franklin’s First Presbyterian Church. Sam is about 45-50, I think, and rides about 40-50 miles a day on a ridiculously cool Cervelo bike (the same one that CSC rides). All the girls agree that he possesses a “Paul Newman” look. He kicked all of our asses up some pretty monster (12% grade) hills, and is going to France this summer to ride the Tour de France route with some friends. He’s also a long-time home brewer, loves Phish and all other jam bands, and has a sandwich named after him at the local Subway, where he tries to conduct all of his business during the day. The sandwich is whole wheat with double Monterey Jack cheese, toasted, with all the veggies minus olives and hot peppers, parmesan, garlic salt, oregano, and raspberry vinaigrette. Our vegetarians were, needless to say, rather enthusiastic about the sandwich. I was, and I don’t even like vegetables.

Just kidding.

Basically, I think Pastor Sam’s the man. I gave him some of the amaaaazing Grafton Cheddar we had donated from Wendy Brewer (see pic!) because he’s a vegetarian who loves cheese (needs the protein, obviously) and we talked about Trey Anastasio and different Hop varietals during our group dinner last night (Subway, obviously). And then I told him about Pandora and Wolfgang’s Vault. And for the last two days he’s been fixing/fitting people’s bikes and taking us on rides around the area. And he also let us work on the church’s pseudo-habitat home site in Franklin today because our build day in Youngstown fell through. More on that later…

The moral of all of this description, nay, adulation, is that this trip has really checked my skepticism for organized religion. We keep meeting warm, open, idiosyncratic, hilarious, genuine Pastors, Fathers, Reverends, and churchgoers, and I keep being pleasantly surprised. I know that there are church leaders out there who are dour and pedantic, or stuck in their ways, but we haven’t run into them yet. The closest we came was the priest from Scranton who told us to maintain hope, because it’s what keeps us human. And then told us that the reason he knew that was that, as a Marine in Vietnam, he had to “extract information” from hostages and in order to do that he had to “take away their hope.” It was thanks to this little life experience that he came to understand the value of hope, and he shared this lesson with us at 8am last Sunday, right before our ride.

Even though that speech was a bit, well, off-putting, it was heartfelt, and pretty gnarly. That day I imagined that each hill that day was a hostage and it was my job to “extract information” from it by reaching the top, taking away its hope, and in the process bolstering my own.

Well, not really.

But the fact that this righteous speech was the weirdest thing we’ve heard so far from a church official is a reason for optimism, or hope. Or renewed faith in the institution of religion. I’ve been agnostic for a long time, but only realized that that was the term for it right around the start of college. I don’t need a religious community in order to gain a sense of spirituality, and I don’t need an authority figure to analyze or explain religious texts or dogma on a weekly basis. But over the last coupla weeks (hard to believe two have already gone by!) I’ve lost much of the disdain or mistrust with which I viewed religion before this trip. Except for the evangelicals and most fundamentalists, who still freak me out.



All of that deep stuff aside, Franklin is really nice. And so are Sam and his wife. We lucked out and were given the chance to stay tonight, rather than leaving this morning for Youngstown, because the church here bought a 3-story home and are renovating it, without Habitat’s help, to create more affordable housing in the area. Not that they necessarily need it; the house was had for $12,900 (bargained down from a starting price of $24,000). It was a real junker and needs some work, but it’s a 3-story in a normal part of town. In Brattleboro, it’d probably command $120,000ish, in Providence’s East Side probably twice that. We were supposed to be in Youngstown right now, but the build day tomorrow fell through. They’ve been having trouble pouring their slab, so we would’ve just had a rest day, and many of the riders (all of us) have been grousing about too much Bike-ing and not enough Build-ing in the ol’ Bike & Build equation. So today we got to rip up some shot shingles and tear down attic ceilings and generally create a big mess and cover ourselves in black soot. And Sam treated us to more Subway. And tonight the 21+ crowd got to hang out on Sam's porch and try some of his ridiculously good Pale Ale. And tomorrow we leave bright and early for Youngstown, where we’ll be staying just one night, thankfully.

All in all, I’m in good spirits and in good health, on a beautiful night in a boring laundromat in a quiet town. Doing group laundry SUCKS, but it at least gives me the opportunity to craft an extensive blog entry. Hope you weren’t too bored by this one.

Lots of love from Western PA. We’ll be in Ohio tomorrow!

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.

Where's Dunder-Mifflin?

I'm writing from Scranton, PA. Outside Scranton, PA, in Clark Summit, PA. About 8 miles North of Scranton, PA, actually. Yesterday I had my hardest (fastest) ride yet, from White Lake, NY to Clark Summit-- 74 miles-- in about 4.5 hours of riding. I rode with Logan and Bronwyn, two of the strongest riders on the trip, and we really killed it. My body felt right, although a little tight, and I was mentally prepared for a hard push with the knowledge that we'd have a rest day today. We ad-libbed a lil' bit (including a 4-mile stretch of actual, 80-mph "Motorized Vehicles ONLY" highway) and really attacked the hills above Carbondale. We made it to Our Lady of Snows church at 3:20, about 45 minutes before everybody else, and hit up Manning's Ice Cream, which is apparently some of the best stuff for miles. I had a pint of "Caramel Critter," which may have been too much, but it sure tasted good at the time. Last night we had free pizza (we killed 12 pizzas in about 13 minutes), and then a lot of the 21-plus club went out for a few drinks. It feels good to embrace this absurdly healthy lifestyle, but every once in a while a good, cold beer is completely necessary.

Today we got up late (8:45, wooooo!!!!) and had a car wash to support the local Habitat for Humanity chapter with a youth group from the church from 9-1. It involved a lot of sun and sneak-attacks with the hose, and goofily waving signs along the road leading to the church. We had a purty good system down and washed a lot of cars. The final tally for the day was-- hold on to your hats-- $840. It was far and away the most the youth group had ever raised, and it was also the most I've ever heard about for a simple car wash. Needless to say, we all felt great about it-- it was fun getting to see the community members and cool to meet the kids. I've been walking around the area looking for wireless since then, and it's, well... boring. But nice. We're along a huge commercial strip leading into town, so our surroundings aren't very pedestrian-friendly and it's also really ugly. The church is nice, though, and I got to play piano last night in the main chapel-- beautiful acoustics in there.

The community members we've encountered have been staggeringly friendly; they're generous and so excited to share their towns with us. Every night we're amazed by the sheer volume and variety of the ubiquitous potlucks, and by the enthusiastic conversation and interest in our backgrounds and reasons for undertaking this trip. I've decided that one my favorite experiences is getting to know someone pretty well over dinner, establishing connections and good will for the program for years to come.

So far, the days all seem to stretch out and run together. I've realized that it's because each day is so profoundly full of mini-dramas, of fatigue and recovery, optimism and pessimism, uphills and downhills, conversation and solitude. Each day feels like five days, so the last five days feel like a month or so in the real world. Time telescopes, slinkees, oscillates, when you're on your butt on a bike on the road for a day. I'm still trying to get my head around the whole experience. Two days ago I rode the whole way with Terra (plus/minus a few other riders), and at one point, on a looooong stretch of road that reminded me of Rt. 100 in VT, I paused, then asked her what she was thinking about. Or what she'd been thinking about. And she paused, and then said that she'd been repeating a billboard slogan that she'd seen about 4 miles earlier over and over again, ostensibly emptying her mind of anything else. I hadn't been thinking about anything in particular, either. This trip is an elemental experience in that sense-- despite the hundreds (thousands) of dollars worth of gear that we've got on and around us, all day, and the cell phones and computers and bike odometers and blogs, we're all engaged in a pilgrimage of sorts, one in which we have to listen to our bodies and ignore the minute details. I hardly know what day it is. I hardly know where we're going tomorrow. And I love it.