Home again, Home again, Jiggity-Jigg.....

I had planned on making a last post much earlier than this, thinking perhaps on my arrival home, or the next day, but now I'm here, at the end of my fifth day back and only now do I feel capable of writing anything worthwhile. Re-integration blues. Culture shock in a way I've never experienced before. When I finally opened the door to my home and entered, it looked so different, exactly the same as I'd left it, but somehow the proportions were wrong, it seemed empty and larger than I remembered. I had no idea what to do with myself, and walked back and forth for awhile before running put of ideas and doing what would have to be done eventually-cleaning. The idea that I had nowhere to go the next day left a sense of anxiety in my belly that wouldn't go away, and I put off sleep as long as I could until it could be put off no longer, and when I finally found myself in my own bed after almost six weeks away, I collapsed. Some kind of mental shield fell away, and I slept hard. My first real rest in weeks. I slept for ten hours, and woke up tired.

A few days earlier, my brother and nephew came to rescue me from Niagara Falls. I had expected something much different than what I'd found, and honestly, I couldn't wait to get out of there. The falls themself were spectacular, but the city surrounding it seemed to be lost. All overpriced hotels and half hearted attempts to make it seem as if something was happening besides water falling over a cliff. This is arrogant, I know, but the sights I've seen, the beauty and stillness and chaos and surprise of the the past month and a half left me in no mood to sort through trinkets in a shoddy tourist store, surrounded by bad, overpriced food and masses of people convincing themselves that they were having fun. I couldn't wait to get out of there. I was also exhausted to the point of delirium, and wanted so badly to see a friendly face. It was so good to see the two rescuers when they arrived, to talk with my brother and play with my nephew. It lifted my heart and my soul, and the ride back home, despite some delays and trials, was good. So strange to move so quickly.

And now, back home, I have no idea how to process everything. I saw a side of humanity that I never expected, both in my companions, my hosts, and myself. I was surrounded by the beauty, and sometimes the terror, of our land, and developed a respect for the south that I never would have thought to exist. I know a little more about what I am actually capable of. I feel happy to be myself, for the first time in a long while. I feel different, but I can't say exactly why. It has something to do with an understanding, a new knowledge of the wandering soul. I can see it in others, now. I can sense the road on those who've been there. It's something in the back of the eyes, a serenity and sense of the self that self-preservation instills.

There's one thought that I'll hold onto, as long as I possibly can. It's simple, really. An idea that every child is acutely aware of, an idea that every adult seems to forget. We are responsible for wherever we are. We make our lives into what they are, and can only look to ourselves for direction, or change. There's more ways to live on this planet than one person could ever dream of, and no reason why any of us can't live in a way that would make us happy. It's simply up to us. Every reason you can think of as to why you can't do what would make you happy is an excuse, and also a result of a decision that you've already made. Simply start making decisions that will lead to a life worth living, and you'll find yourself on that path before you realize it. Just remember that there is no real destination, just a long journey that will be either a series of chores and things you think you have to do, or your life as a gift that gives you exactly what you need.

Once again, thanks to all of you for lending an ear, or an eye in this case. I wrote all of this as a way to connect and clear out my mind while on the road, and I do appreciate your being around. Writing this blog has inspired me in other ways, and I will continue to experiment with words, in some way. Short stories, maybe, or something else, I'm not quite sure yet. If any of you are interested, send me your e-mail or other contact info and I'll let you know when the next chapter is written.

Thank you so much. Be alive and love those who deserve it.

-Nicolaus

 

Posted with Blogsy

Last Days

I'm flooded with an overwhelming sense of emotion right now. We are nearing the end now, Jeff and I will be riding the final miles in together, and I've allowed myself to think of home, of everyone I miss, and also of everything I've seen the past few weeks. Throughout the trip I've been given sharp recollections of people I miss, not the ones I'll be reunited with soon, but those I won't see again, whether by decision or circumstance. My Grandfather, my Mothers's father, has sat heavily in my mind during the entire trip. I can't help but think of him and wish I could talk to him about this entire experience. Loves that I've lost, I can't get out of my head. I miss them, and some in particular I wish I could sit and talk with like we did before. Other memories have swung out of nowhere and planted themselves in my mind. I can't explain this, whether it's the physical toll of the riding, the expansion of my mind by cramming so much into so short a time, or a release of thoughts that've been dammed up. All I can say for sure is that I hold everyone I've loved not only in my heart, but also my mind, and I'm happy to the point of tears that I'll be with most of them soon, and that I wish I could tell the others that they are with me. I hope that they carry a bit of me with them as well. The idea is comforting, somehow.

George has left us now, on his way back to Chicago, and that has made the reality of the end clear to me. He invited me on this trip, and I'm sorry that he won't be joining us to the very end, but he has good reason to go home, and I wish him safe and quick travels. We rode together for the last time yesterday, and it was a good one. Ninety one miles to the Pittsburgh Amtrak station, where we hitched a lift Westward. A cheat, I know, but when finished I'll have 2,000 miles on the odometer, and I'm satisfied with that. George simply stayed on the train, and his absence somehow solidifies the closing of this journey. Jeff and I are at odds in a lot of ways, but we've developed a mutual respect, and I'm glad to be crossing the line with him. He's a good man.

We ride the final miles today, into Canada and Niagara Falls, where we'll find lodging together for the last time. Tomorrow I will take a hotel room alone, to decompress and process a bit, not to mention clean myself, before my Brother and Nephew come to meet me on Friday.

I can't begin to describe the beauty I've seen this past month. The swamplands, the forests, the mountains, the Ocean, the cities and the people. I'll need an equal amount of time just to remember them clearly. Having spent the last night on the train instead of sleeping on a floor, make-do bed, or hotel room gave me the first real chance to think clearly about what I've just done, and it's opened a floodgate. Not to mention that I haven't slept after riding all day yesterday. I'll be making a few more posts, I'm not sure who's been reading this or where their interest lies, but the next two days will give me a chance to center, and I feel like there's something I haven't said yet that's at the back of my mind.

Meanwhile, I'll make the final haul down that ol' dusty road. My horse is tired and my knees are buckled, my eyes are weary and full of dust, but there's an oasis down the road and I sure could use a drink of cool, clear water.

 

Another Strange Turn

Once again, I'd like to advise everyone to stay away from Cumberton. One of the strangest places I've ever seen, with a populace of trashed-out, in-bred, shit-talking freaks. The whole place creeped me out.

So, with that out of the way, I have to say that todays ride was one of the more beautiful we've been through. We started with a 25 mile climb to the Eastern Continental Divide, rising into the clouds early this morning as mist rose from the surrounding mountains, blending into clouds as we ascended. Deer everywhere, some turning and running, others watching first, curious. A wild peacock, strutting proudly. Dark tunnels driving through the mountains, one over a mile long. The relief of hitting the peak after over two hours of steady climbing, finding ourselves moving downhill, our just reward. A path wide enough for two bikes with 50 foot drops through the trees on either side. Bridges spanning rivers flowing a hundred feet below us. True beauty in America. A good ride.

Now we rest in a small shack in a trailer park. Confluence, PA will be our home tonight. Tomorrow, a ninety miler to Pittsburgh.

Some strange news tonight, as well. We'd been thinking of hitching a ride on a train on the way to Buffalo, which lies only 225 miles from Pittsburgh, since we have family meeting us and we don't want to go past schedule. It was discussed and we decided to allow ourselves the lift, it's a short one and we'll bike the last leg in, and have time to ride into Canada. Unfortunatly, George won't be joining us, he's decided to stay on the train and return home early. He has good reason to do so, and leaves with our blessing, but I'm sad he's leaving us, especially so close to the end.

Only Jeff and I will be left after tomorrow night, and the trip will be coming to a close in a few days. I'm not sure how I feel about that. Happy to see my loved ones, and a little sad to give up the road.

On the other hand, the thought of sleeping in my own bed is a wonderful dream, and I miss my nephews so much right now it kinda hurts a little.

Maryland in relief

We've made our way back to civilization, of sorts, tonight. After a few days following the Towpath out of D.C., creeping slowly through the woods, we entered an area that showed signs of human life, farms, flat open campsites, and other people on the trail. Mennonite territory, the women tucked away in long dresses and little hats, pulling their kids along behind them. We saw a family of four on one bike, a tandem with a double seat behind, a little boy and girl pedaling behind their parents. So awesome. Maryland has a beauty similar to WI, understated and calm.

We've been sheltered, though, and we came out of our wooded pathway to lodge in Cumberland tonight. Lynch would feel odd in a city like this. It has a look from the 50's, quaint and inviting, but as we strolled through the town square and looked into the shops and diners, we realized that more than half were shut down, the dollhouse has failed, and though everything is kept up, it's also done amd over. We found a mexican joint with outside seating, and as we ate, got a good glimpse of the populace. Shirtless, tattooed, skinny and toothless, all waiting for the meth train. Pitbulls on loosely watched leashes. Sideways stares at the strangers, a sizing up I know all too well. All at odds with the Christmas-village look of the city itself, so clean and kept, stains on the china, a ring around the tub of Cumberland. We ate, thought briefly about a bar, then thought better, were told that no liquor was to be found on a Sunday, and retreated back to the hotel we'd rented for the night, content to wait out the night, sleep well and prepare our legs for the last 25 miles of ascent before we begin to move downwards, on the other side of this mountain range.

I'll miss the trail, it was a unique part of our trip. Today we went through a pitch black tunnel, seven minutes of silence as we moved with only our headlights guiding. I saw a gigantic weasel of some sort crawling up a rock wall, shimmying up quickly and clumsily. Water and turtles and lilypads and more empty shacks, some falling apart, some waiting for the right visitor. I'll miss everything we've seen. So much I can't even remember any of it, not now. I'll process everything when I'm home. When I'm able to think again.

We picked up a fourth rider, at least to Pittsburgh. We stopped earlier to eat in a park, and as a vacationing Marine treated us to some ciders from his cooler, another tourist came riding in, a Japanese man travelling from New York to Los Angeles, his first time touring, his first time in the states. Barely speaks english, and has been sleeping in a tent in parks along the way. He'll ride with us through Pittsburgh, where we'll head North and he'll continue West. When I asked why he chose to ride through the states, he said it's because he wants an American girlfriend. Women are the reason we men do pretty much everything besides sleep and eat, I guess.

We can't help but think of home now. Earlier on it was a longing, a loneliness, a craving. Now that we're almost there, it's more of a comfort, knowing that our love ones are waiting for us, that our beds are ready and we can rest. It'll take a moment or two to reacclimate after being part of the road, I know. It's changed me a little, but I still can't say how, exactly.

 

 

 

Baba Yagas' backyard

It's strange to be in the forest all day. I'm starting to hear things, noises from off to the side, rustles as the woodland critters duck and cover. The noise of tire on rock and gravel creates a constant white noise that blurs the senses a bit. We talk to each other now and then, trying to pass time or wake each other up as we constantly pedal, pedal, pedal, but we're too far from each other to have a real conversation. The danger of the trail, the roots, holes, dips and rocks force us to keep a distance, so we can see what's ahead of the tire, move out of the way if needed. Constantly, the road shakes us and numbs our hands. On either side, we're surrounded by water, tepid green mossy stillwater on the right, almost level to the road, and on the left is the river, powerful and strong, below us mostly, a drop long enough to hurt if anyone were to fall. Climbing, always, to some degree, we can't stop pedaling, on the rough ground we'd come to a stop. We see others, once in awhile, more often as we approach the small towns that come up occasionally. Some are day trippers, decked out in gear and oufits, and others look like they live there, bearded and dressed in mossy colors, watching as we roll by. Every once in awhile, a house or cabin lies off to the side, sometimes inhabited, other times it's hard to tell. We approached a small, two story shack out of curiousity and the shuttered window opened suddenly, a woman at the sill, calling her husband downstairs to greet us.

There's beauty everwhere. Water at our side. Trees reach over and protect the path. Small dams, occasionally, creating little falls. Several deer have come across us, full grown and long legged, bounding away at our approach, graceful and silent. A turkey ran into the path and zig-zagged for 25 feet in front of us before finding an opening it could escape into. Rock formations carving the land in half, splitting the trail away from everything else. The sun making itself known once in awhile, blasting through the canopy and warming us, who weeks ago hid from it when we could and now crave its warmth.

The people are different as well. Friendly but aloof, with a flatness to their speech, a strange accent. I miss the sway of the Carolinas and the roundness of Georgia. We came across two bikers in need of help, both of whom turned it down. We're being recognized now, most people guessing Minnesota (when Jeff's speaking), but someone nailed us as Wisconsinites today. Far enough away to be a foreigner but close enough to be known.

Watching the change in the people, the trees and the feel of the land has been a high point for me, something I'll remember.

Tonight we'll sleep well, beat up and tired, our legs feeling all of the last four weeks of abuse. Tomorrow we head to Cumberland, MD, and ready ourselves for the final climb to the peak of the Eastern Continental Divide.

 

 

Do not stray from the path.....

We entered Mirkwood forest yesterday, and began a whole new style of riding. Two trails, actually, the C & O towpath and the Allegheny Trail, both connected and leading us to Pittsburgh, out of traffic and covered with shade from overhanging trees. So far it's been beautiful, a welcome change from the city streets we had to contend with from Richmond to D.C. On our right is the towpath, where barges were pulled by horses through the water years ago, and to the left, the mighty Potomac river, while we follow a narrow path that goes for miles and miles, interrupted once in awhile by a camping site or well pump. It's serene, calm and a little creepy, at least for this city boy. I have to say, I welcome the change. No checking over the shoulder constantly for traffic, watching out for bolts and nails on the shoulder, or dodging large vehicles.

It does come with it's own set of challenges, however. We need to carry all our supplies with us again, there's no place to stop for food or tools. The rough trail, mostly stone, doesn't allow for coasting, and although the wind is cut and the sun blocked, we have to pedal constantly, as soon as we stop we come to a crawl. The trail follows the rail system, so we're avoiding the extreme steepness of the mountains surrounding us, but in trade we're on a constant, gradual climb, always moving upwards to some degree. It doesn't seem like much, but after a few hours it can get to you, slowly wearing away at your energy, chipping away your leg strength. Tomorrow it comes to a head, as we'll enter a 25 mile incline with no break. No one's looking forward to that one, but the reward is that when the peak is reached, we'll be heading downward all the way to PA.

We spent the night in a hostel in a city that is bordered by Maryland, W. Virgina and Virginia. Today we ride to Hancock, MD. We have to move out now, I'll post some photos later.

 

 

 

Oh Yeah, due to popular demand, here's me and the gate that tried to take me out. Jeff snapped this immediately after it happened, so it looks much worse than it actually is.....

 

 

 

Obamarama

No presidential sightings today, at least not in person, but we did see his helicopter rise and fly away while resting on the steps of the Jefferson memorial. We walked through the Capitol area, seeing the sights, the Smithsonion Musuems, the Memorials, the White House, and all the rest. It was good, and some of these things are inspiring, but this is not among my favorite cities so far. I think it's the population. A little unfriendly, cold and pushy, hurried and angry. I can't blame them, it's partially just a side effect of living in the city, but I don't want to be a part of that, and coming from out of the South, where everyone seemed to actually care when they said hello, it's a reality jolt.

The traffic sucks, as well. No mercy on the road.

Alexandria, on the other hand, is beautiful, and full of people from all over the world. We ate dinner there tonight, a relief from the Capital, and walked, soaking in the history and watching the people, residents and tourists alike.

In other, more personal news, I received the first real injury today, not from being on the bike at any great speed, or a run in with a farm dog, but from walking face-first into a gate that was silently(I think) closing in front of me, splitting a chunk of my nose off. I've got a great picture of it, thanks to Jeff, who's first instinct was not to help, but to yank out his camera and get a reaction shot. At least the photo's good.

Now we rest, our bikes are waiting for us to head out in the morning, onto the C & O towpath, out of traffic and following the Potomac river to Pittsburgh over the next few days, where we'll route again and finalize our wanderings in Buffalo by next weekend. I can't believe how close we are now, but this should be a perfect way to wrap it up, in hilly country but out of traffic, following a river we might find time to fish in?

I suppose I'll have to start thinking about what I want to do when I get home.

 

 

Up and down and up and down and...........

Ouch. We've used muscles the last few days that haven't been touched this entire trip. The rolling hills leading into Alexandria, where we sleep tonight, were joined by a nasty Northern headwind today, making this short day (53 miles) into one of the most physically demanding. I haven't had to climb like this in a long while. We all did much better than I expected, toughing it out without complaint, even when rush-hour traffic came up from behind and amped up the riding demands with mental stress. Those of you who don't ride don't know the focus it takes to climb, to spin in a low gear as your bike moves so slow, sometimes as fast as a slow trot, knowing that if you slow down, stop pedaling for a second, or slow your breathing, you'll never regain your momentum, and the hill won. It has been a long time, and even though my legs are still in recovery now, a few hours and a healthy meal later, I must admit it feels good to have had a real workout. It just takes a little internal lubrication, to get your legs spinning without thought, knees almost hitting your chest as you slouch over the top tube, upper body used only to hold the bars in place and breath, deep and completely, even when you don't think you need it, thighs like pistons pumping up and down, forever...

The work had some small rewards, however. A few amazing descents, rolling down through tree-lined pathways, 33mph as cars followed at the same speed, unable to pass from the 25mph speed limit. The relief of topping the hill and regaining your breath, holding on to the top before bolting down again, unable to use the declines' momentum because the wind stops you cold at the hills foot. Then, a good meal after, somehow more delicious because you earned it, and your body actually needs it.

And tomorrow, a day off for the legs, as we wander into our Nations' capitol and see what we can see. Alexandria tonight has treated us well, I love the feel of the city. Old, or as old as America gets, like Boston or New York. A feeling of history, not just schoolbook history but the real stuff, knowing and sensing that people have lived in these buildings for a long while, and many stories are held in their walls. I feel at home in places like this.

Our daily routine consists of so few things, it feels strange at this point to be around people doing everyday things, workers and tourists alike. We basically wake up, eat and discuss where we want to end up, and start biking, with the only real goal being to find a place to sleep. So far we've slept in shelter every night, whether given freely from a request to a church, visiting relocated friends and crashing on their floors, or being the guest of a stranger who approaches us, something that's happened more than I could ever imagine, but not as much as the offers to feed us. We are always hungry, and we have continuously been offered food, somehow everyone senses that we need it, and feels moved to share with us. This is as close to being a Nomad as I've ever come, like being a hobo on a thousand dollar bike. It's a new feeling for me, and it took awhile to get used to, but now that I know it I'll never forget it, the feeling of freedom and the experience of others' true generosity will remain a part of me, and I'll come back to the road, from time to time. I have to, now.

 

 

Me, Myself and I

6:10 am

I had decided early on in my commitment to this ride that it'd be a good chance to let myself go.

My vanity had no small part to play in saying yes to a trip that'd involve riding around 2,600 miles, not when I realized what the benefits of that could be to a belly that's been fattened by beer and soft living. Getting my health together, 'gettin' back into fightin' shape', as the kids say, has been on my mind for a long, long time. This whole thing seemed like a great opportunity to start back on that road, to regain the shape I was in prior to my current gig, back to my courier days. That probably isn't going to happen, I have to go home someday and do some more standing, probably followed by some beer drinking. I do feel stronger, though, and the muscles are getting just slighter tougher, at least in the lower half of my body. I simply need to continue working at it when home, and avoid falling into habits both pleasurable and deadly. Really, I just need to live like we're supposed to. So simple, yet so impossible.

Anyway, I digress. Despite my newly clean lungs, lower alcohol intake (so easy when not in MKE), and daily abuse of my legs, I haven't had a haircut or a shave since a month before leaving. Being a Barber, this is something you simply don't do unless in my situation. Even Barbers with long hair keep it neat, that's just part of the trade. I originally planned on getting a cut a week or so before departure, and shaving before I'd leave, but it never happened. Like the mechanic whose car collects grass on the lawn, a barber getting a haircut can be almost impossible at times. So here I am with bunches of growth along the sides, not much more on top, and my version of a beard, which is really a goatee with scattered patches here and there. Luckily, we've been able to clean up pretty regularily, and wash our clothes every once in a while. Everything's easy when you feel clean, even biking from one border to the next.

We slept in separate rooms last night, which gave me a chance to think, escape the snoring, and look at myself, honestly. Despite racooned eyes, arms still scorched from Florida (which is why I have the sun screens on my arms), and numerous bug bites, all I see when I look in the mirror is a man who needs a haircut and a shave.

 

11:20 pm

I realized today that I've been talking to my legs. I'm not sure if the guys have noticed it at all. It seems like we're all developing little routines, little quirks. I know we've all developed a non-linguistic form of communicating, cave-man style, when roads are good or about to get bad-Jeff has a deep grunt, George has a longer groan, and I give a death-rattle sigh. We all know what the others are saying. But as far as the legs are concerned, it started with a morning greeting, "Morning legs! What do you feel like doing today?", then became a firm command, "Alright legs, time to get leggin!", and then today, the hills we ran into made me aware of real communication going on. This was our first real encounter with serious rollers, and we spent 30 miles going up hills, straining at 8 mph, then down hills (I topped out at 38, 1.5 below my high of 39.5 mph so far), over and over and over, and it took a good 10 miles of torture to get the rythym back. I got a little ahead of the others, and started to hear myself telling my appendages what to do, to tighten up, relax, or let the thighs work, rest the quads, whatever. At least they didn't respond. Yet.

Tonight we're sleeping in Fredricksburg, and tomorrow we'll roll into D.C., where we've decided to stay a day and decide on a route, though I think we've got one picked out.

The route has been on everyone's mind for two days now. Continue to Bar Harbor and ride for another 3 weeks? Head north-east to New York, then turn left to avoid the mountains on the way to Buffalo? Cut right through those mountains and shave a few days off in return for unimaginable pain? These ideas bounced around our heads all morning as we rode through hills whose roads were packed with unforgiving drivers and rain poured down from above. After the first twenty five miles, we were already beat, and stopped for breakfast. It was a dismal start to the day, and no one was able to reignite any positivity. Finding a place to sleep is pretty much our only real mission for any particular day, besides eating and riding, and we were having mo luck with the churches, probably a result of being further North, where no one is trusted. So we sat, digesting and wanting a nap, not sure of where we'd end up, or how we'd survive the mountains after dealing with these little hills, when it all turned around. A good friend from Milw, Chris, sent me a link to a trail leading 325 miles from DC to Pittsburgh, following old rail tracks up the Potomac river, and what seems to be the flatest route imaginable for the area. We were elated, finally having discovered a way through PA that wouldn't cause any of us to die, when Jeff got a callback from a minister whose church was too busy for us tonight, but decided that they'd put us up on a hotel. Everything changed then, and we were in a mood so good even the next 30 miles of punishment hasn't gotten us down.

I've got a little under 1,500 on the cyclometer now, and with around 5/600 left to go now, the finish line is in sight.

 

What was it that Virginia is for?

Last night I wrote a lengthy and probably needlessly wordy update about how we came to Virginia (Suffolk, to be exact) , how I was chased by a dog who followed me at 25 mph, how the temperature is changing so quickly and suddenly, and lots of stuff about me that you probably don't want to know, or already do know, depending on who you are. I tend to forget that people are actually reading this thing. Regardless, it's gone. The great Blog in the sky, the Blog Hole, or maybe the Blogfather has claimed my entry and banished it to the Netherworlds of mediocre writings.

Maybe it's for the best. We took Sunday off and I spent the majority of the day sleeping, catching up on phone calls, and tuning up ol' Midnight, who's developed a creak in her cranks (earning the new name of Ol' Cranky) something I've hopefully cured. I can't tell you how good it feels to have a well-tuned bike, especially after riding in grit, sand and rain for days. It's like brand new underwear.

We spent the night at the home of another fellow bicyclist and former navy Seal, who caught wind of our arrival through the owner of the bike shop we tuned up in. He's an experienced tour cyclist, and it was great to hear his stories and get his take on the road, especially considering that he chose to do the Trans-American route alone. Everyone I've met who's also been on the road seems to have a different take on how they move, and what the best approaches are, but they all seem to have a similar attitude about what's found, and that generally involves the human contact that's made, how it opens things up a bit. I've had a few people tell me this before I left, but I really had no idea what they were saying. It's almost as if I've discovered and become a part of some sub-culture; a cult with no firm structure or governing head, a true commune of sorts. I already feel the need to extend the same kindness and generosity when I'm back in Milwaukee.

My red white and blue color scheme is finally coming into it's own

as we move further north.

 

5:30pm

Alright, we just rolled into Williamsburg, and for the first time had a taste of the rollers (hills) that will be our nemesis and friend for the remainder of the trip. Everything has been pretty flat so far, but that'll change drastically as we move North. It was great to take a day off, and the chance to tune up makes the ride so much more fun, all the strange noises and creaks now minimalized or gone completely.

Our options are opening up more as we move, in correlation to our attitudes, which have all changed drastically as we continue on. Jeff, who was bound and determined to do 90 miles a day with no breaks at all, has become relaxed and easy going, flexible in scheduling and routing. George, on the other hand, was a wanderer at first, taking his time with everything, in no hurry at all, and now is looking for the quickest route, determined to rise early and hit the road while I'm still waking up. I'm not sure how I've changed, exactly, the others might be able to tell you. You can only analyze your own evolution correctly in hindsight, I've found. I can say that I am aware of something. I feel calm. Or maybe that's just exhaustion.

So, the options? We've pretty much decided that Niagara Falls will be our final destination, and now have only to determine an exact route. If we stick to the original plan (or rather the 3rd original plan), we'll continue on to the Western side of New York and then head West, which'll take around 2 1/2 weeks. Another option which was brought up would be to head to the Falls directly out of DC, which would probably cut that time in half. George seems up for option #2, but I'm not sure if he understands the pain involved in climbing the hills on that path, since we'd be going directly through Pennsylvania. It looks shorter on paper, but we might end up climbing all day at 7mph.

I'm open to either path, having decided long ago that my plan is to enjoy each day as it comes. The idea of being home soon brings a bit of comfort, and I miss my family and friends, but when we were talking about it earlier I felt my heart sink a little. I'm getting used to living like this, and although I'm completely aware that I have to come home at some point, the idea of getting back to my regular routine seems as intimidating as this trip did before I left.

 

Some thoughts about human essentials

I've re-learned the basics all over again, things that I knew as truth when I was younger, but had somehow forgotten. Life basically comes down to a few very essential items, most of which we already know...

 

1) Food is delicious. Even the things that you might not like so much, that's good too, you just need more appetite to realize this. Also, never turn down cake, ice cream, cupcakes or any other kind of dessert. You never know when you'll be offered some again, and even if you are, it probably won't be the same.

2) Sleep is also delicious, in it's own way. Full-on sleep is always the best, but if you have a chance to take a nap, do so. There's no losing in this kind of situation.

3) If there's someone you've been thinking about lately, call them and let them know. At the very least, write them a letter or an e-mail (although the letter is so much better). This is very important.

4) There's pretty much always something funny, in almost every situation. When you realize what that is, make sure you share it with whoever's around you. It makes them less uncomfortable when you're laughing.

5) Patience is a quality that everyone appreciates. It can open many paths.

 

Today we ride to Plymouth, NC. Tomorrow we'll be in Virginia, if all goes well. It's looking like a beautiful day.

 

Entering North Carolina

I went into this trip with the primary intention of self-exploration, thinking that a long distance trip would give me the time to work out questions I've had in the back of my head for a long, long time. What I've received, so far, is nothing of the sort. I've been blindsided by a view of my fellow humans that I don't think I've ever quite had before, or trusted myself to have. Every day since I arrived in Key West has brought me into contact with people who've given freely, whether it's food, advice, a shower, or a place to sleep. I'm in shock, every night, as we sleep under a roof that's been given, in complete trust, to shelter our smelly, loud, and Northern selves.

Until the last few nights, we've been using the church connection, as I've explained, and our hosts have been more gracious and trusting than I ever could have imagined, but the events of the last two nights/days have brought it into a much sharper perspective.

We'd been dealing with rain and heavy traffic for a few days, so when the clouds broke again yesterday, mid-morning, we holed up in a Starbucks tucked into a long, long highway of strip mall after strip mall. In all honestly, it was the first chance I'd had to think to myself in days. There've been many times over the last few weeks that I've sunk into myself as we pedal through forests and swamp, long stretches of solitude with little to no traffic, Jeff's constant talking the only sound other than the land itself. Cycling through rougher conditions requires a bit more focus, however, and the intensity of making sure you or your compatriots don't die under the wheels of a logging truck or spin off the side of the road doesn't allow for much reflection. We sat for two hours, and I spent the first getting my thoughts and my legs together. The next priority was making a few phone calls, one to my sister and one to a friend whom I'm missing terribly right now. While standing outside, talking to my loved ones in the drizzle, I made a discovery that turned the gloom around in an instant. The previous day had been harder than usual on my legs, and though I felt alright, no soreness or fatigue, I just couldn't seem to get my speed up without a stuggle. That morning had been the same, and I was honestly worried that I was losing steam, but as I was routinely going over my bike, I noticed that a rear brake pad had shifted, and lodged itself just so slightly on my rim, just enough to make contact. I was so happy that it wan't some physical glitch, and so pissed at myself for making such a rookie mistake. When the rain cleared and we rode on, happiness won over as I pedaled on air, barely feeling the resistance after training for a day and a half with brakes on.

The day turned over from here on. We entered North Carolina, embraced by it's sweet smell after two days of rain. The ride was smooth, the drivers were helpful, and everyone we rode past waved and wished us a good afternoon or good luck. It was cake. We continued on, coasting like we had all day, and found a Dominos' pizza tucked into a road station. Not being the kind of people that'd turn down pizza, we ordered a big one and sat down to wait. Around five minutes into our wait time, 5:45 to be exact, I mentioned that we'd be cutting it close on getting to the ferry that we needed to catch, they probably didn't run all night. George responded with agreement, "no, the last ferry's at 6:15." . We were all silent for the next few moments, all of us doing the math in our heads. It was now 5:50. 19 miles to get to the ferry, buy a ticket, then get on board. A pizza in the oven for us. We all knew that we should've left right then, that the chances of doing 19 miles in an hour with full panniers and a constant headwind of 12 mph were slim, to say the least. Now, I know some of my fellow bikers are reading this and thinking, "sissies...", but after 19 days of being in the saddle all day, 19mph into a headwind is basically a one hour sprint. We readied up, and when that pizza was done we ate it in two minutes flat and jumped on, sprinting into the wind for a full hour, exhausting our lungs and our legs, spurred on by the knowledge that if we missed this ferry we'd be stuck right where we were. We moved as a unit, we didn't want anyone to get left behind, but when the clock was coming closer, we sprinted faster, thinking that if one of us made it in time we'd figure out some way to stall the boat. At 6:13, Jeff and I rolled into line, waved up to the front by attendents who were turning down cars, no room left except for bikes. We paid for three tickets and began to explain that there'd be no way we'd leave without our partner, when George rolled up, exhausted, and we rode right onto the ferry, which immediately shut it's gates and rode out. I still can't beleive we made it.

We rested our legs and spoke to a young couple from Wilmington on the ride over, and moved slowly on when arriving on the other side. Things just got more beautiful from then on, as we rode through narrow roads lined with cypress, watched a doe and her fawn walk alongside the road with us until a car came and spooked them, and watched the ocean crash along the beached rocks.

This is where I began to think differently.

We stopped at a park where a children's soccer game was going on, just needing a drink from the fountain and a stretch of the legs, and I was approached by Janet, a woman who's daughter was playing on the field. She asked where we were going, and after I told her and talked for a moment, she offered us shelter and a shower. Out of the blue. We were welcomed into her house that night, fed, cleansed and given a place to sleep. Also, her ten year old daughter beat me in five consequetive games of Uno-she wanted me to mention that to everyone. We had good conversation, slept, had coffee and rode on the next morning.

Within the first 15 miles we came across a diner that drew us in on smells alone, just inside Wilmington. Again, we were offered shelter by a fellow biker who'd travelled across the states himself, from Seattle to Key West (which totally put us to shame), but since were headed North, he offered his assistance, handing us his cell number in case of trouble. The owner of the diner made the rounds a little later and visited with us for awhile, and when we got up to leave, told us that our breakfast was on the house.

Now, as I type this I'm about to sleep in Surf City, NC, in the home of a marine biologist, who we met outside a gas station, and also who's planning a tour through Michigan later this year, and wanted to hear advice and routing schemes.

As I stated before, Everything we've been handed so far has been church-related, but the last two days have taken us off of that grid, into the realm of the general populace, where I feel a little more in my comfort zone. It's given me some Thoughts, and I'm realizing that I don't need or have to think about myself.

The view from the deck of the home we're sleeping in tonight.

How We Roll....

 

Though we're definitely out of the pure swamplands of Okefenokee and the lower SC areas, we haven't escaped the mud, or the rain. The last two days have covered me in grit, road debris, grease, oil, spit and the occasional mouthful of mud, depending on the quality of fender the rider in front of me has. Yesterday was full of spotty rain, just enough to coat us and our bikes with grime, which we all took the time to clean off as well as we could, having access to a gymnasym-like rec room on the side of a church. With showers! All the care and lovin' we gave our steeds was washed away quickly this morning, as heavy drizzle swept in an hour into the ride and escaladed into a full on downpour for the next fifty miles, most spent riding the white line as trucks hauling freshly cut pine trees crashed past, spraying mist and mud everywhere. I could've reached out and grabbed those logs. Somehow, we also had our first cool day, down to the mid sixities, which normally would be awesome, but none of us have our cooler gear yet, it's arriving in Suffox on Friday, and when you've been sweating through the humid nineties for two weeks, sixty-five can be absolutely bone chilling. I absolutely has a blast today, the challenge of riding on wet roads in close quarters was terrifying at times, but somehow so much fun at the same time. I got great footage of the ride as well (which my mother will never see), especially when we accidental found ourselves on an interstate with a 12 inch shoulder in rush hour, rain-drenched traffic. Holy crap, that was tricky. I haven't had to ride like that since the courier days, but somehow the old instincts kicked in just fine. I think that ride may have changed George's life a little bit. Hopefully for the better. Jeff just blasted through, a cannonball with one direction, hoping no one would splatter him.

So, in review, probably our most mentally exhausting day of riding, but maybe the most fun at the same time. Nothing like when we trudged through ninety eight degrees and seventy percent humidity, slowly dying as we counted the miles off in Florida.

And as a reward, we found an awesome diner in Conrad, SC, just outside of Myrtle Beach. The other two-Kevin moved on early this morning, suddenly turning away as his road split off, a quick goodbye-began their scan for a mcdonalds, which we've had enough of already to last forever, but a quick question to a passing postal worker led us around the corner to Skips, where we were welcomed with kind and open arms. A miracle, considering the state we were in when we entered. We were fed, treated to homemade cake and allowed to charge up as the cook, a British transplant and a traveller himself, sat with us and talked. If anyone happens to pass through this little town a few miles from the ocean, stop in and say hello to the family running this place. They were our benefactors today.

As we ate, Jeff made a random call to a church here in Mrytle Beach where we were referred to the Sea Palms hotel, which we were told would be a friendly place.

I feel like I should explain how we find our lodging here, I'm not sure if I ever really explained that detail.

When the tour was originally set up, by Jeff, it was to be a journey of Spiritual discussion, in a purely Christian context, for college students out of Marquette U back home in Milwaukee. The original plan was to travel the Southern Tier from Key West to San Diego, discussing religious matters with a younger generation and hopefully coming up with some kind of plan, idea or thought process that could be applied, etc. to life. The students bailed one by one, as George discovered the ride and joined in, putting the bug in my ear in the process. We both signed up, for our own reasons, as Kevin and Dirk contacted Jeff from their own cities. As the time to ride came, the only riders who remained committed were the old guys, myself being the youngest of the five.

This changed everything.

Jeff had put in a ton of work coordinating stops along the way, places we could crash and get clean, rest for the next day. This couldn't have been easy, especially in the more desolate areas, and unfortunately it was all tossed to the side when the heat took George out of commision in the first few days. We made the decision to move Northward instead, where the weather would be easier to handle and civilization was close at hand. For the most part. So, we were left with a friendlier route, still from one end of the states to the other, but no plans for lodging. So, every night from that point has been completely up in the air, maybe one of the reasons Kevin left us. Jeff and George go through churches in the towns we figure are close to where we want to be any given night, and randomly call, asking if shelter would be possible. All we ask for is a floor, and so far we've been given so much more than that.

Tonight, after a harrowing, gruelling day, we are sleeping in a hotel room donated to us by a woman who owns several places here in town (Mrytle Beach, not North Mrytle Beach) who fed us a chicken dinner and claims she can help for a few more days still as we travel. All from randomly calling a church, whose receptionist knew that Karen would br willing to help out, and did. I will never forget the kindness and trust of everyone who's allowed us into their churches, businesses and homes. It's mind blowing.

Today, we lost Kevin, got our first chill, ate some mud, had a great dinner and walked through one of the most bizarre vacation spots I've ever seen. We broke one thousand miles, and will hit our halfway point at the end of the week. Tomorrow we ride to North Carolina.

 

Three left for the road to devour

I feel like I've lost an ally today. Last night we settled into the theater/auditorium of a church in Andrews, SC, made some delicious pasta topped off with ice-cream, showered (you just don't know how good that can be until it's a luxury), and went over the maps for the next days ride when Kevin suddenly announced that he'd be leaving us, heading up to his Uncles' place in Virginia, where his wife will join him and take him home. That leaves three of us out of the initial five. Maybe I can't count Dirk, he flaked out before we even left. I can't blame Kevin, the thought of home is always somewhere in my mind, but I will miss him. I feel that we're more on the same level when it comes to certain decisions, like where to stay and what to eat, as well as larger issues like the spiritual discussions we've been having constantly. In that regard I'm now on my own. I hope he's making the right decision.

On the other side of that particular coin, it'll be easier to travel as a trio, and we'll probably make good time with George back to full health.

As far as the dynamics of the group go, we'll see where we end up. I felt like we'd just worked out some kind of team solidity, everyone has their strengths and weaknesses, and now we're minus Kevins' rational and calmness. We'll reform easily, I know, but Kevin was a good mediator, and helped me stay calm myself. He said he just couldn't take Jeff anymore, that the trip was soured. I can see where he's coming from, but in reality it's up to each one of us to get what we want from the experience. This mix'll be much more volatile, but sometimes that's a good thing, it makes things happen much more quickly.

Other than that, It was a rough day to ride, rainy all morning and most of the afternoon, road grit and grease coating us all, as well as our steeds, and a large section of our road squeezed itself into a two-lane with little to no shoulder, which translates as no room to move as gigantic lumber trucks barreled past, showering us with road spray and debris. Jeffs' front rack twisted in and lost a bolt, sending a bag flying into the roadway, luckily rescued before being squashed and not sending him over the bars. The kind of day that gives both mental and physical fatigue. Probably cementing Kevins' decision to leave.

Honestly, days like today are the minority, and as we move farther North, closer to our destination, the weather is easing up, the mornings and evenings are wonderfully cool, and I feel a little more comfortable existing in constant motion.

Tomorrow night, we walk, eat, and sleep in Myrtle Beach.

 

There's so many abandoned

houses in the South...

New thoughts about older cities

There are fewer and fewer cities left in the United States that can claim to possess an identity of their own. As all national travellers know, great swaths of land are being eaten alive by monotony, an effect of the automobiles' impact on our land. The great freedom to travel captured not only our passions and dreams, but also the interest of corporate America, and our national treasure known as the interstate system became a massive tunnel of advertisements, chain stores and restaurants. The idea of breeding familiarities between distant and distinct territories resulted in one long road to nowhere. Every Mcdonalds is the same, everywhere. Except the one we stopped in yesterday, which served mcbiscuits and gravy. But every other one is the same. Every Starbucks sports the same colors, serves the same drinks. This works because it gives comfort. We know what to expect, we don't have to wrestle with new choices, we know what we're getting before we even walk in the door. This works and a lot of people actually appreciate it. The sour effects are evident, though. The obvious, such as the death of the local store, and the insidious, such as the death of a citys' soul. It starts along the edges of an area, the outskirts of town, where the bland infections run unchecked. The monotony slowly works its' way into the citys' bloodstream, strangling the limbs and working its way to the heart, which will either shrink and harden if strong, or wither and die if weak. I'm seeing this every day as I travel, and have learned to appreciate and love the desolate areas, the places where few if any live, because these places have been left untouched, not enough consumer base to warrant any attention. Quiet places where I would never live, places where the animals turn and look at you, not having had enough contact with mankind to be afraid, or just simply not afraid. When you're that deep in, you're in their living room, and if someone is going to be asked to leave, it will probably be you.

Having said this, there are cities that exist with hearts so strong, geographic genetics so resistant to corruption, that no illness will erase their soul. San Francisco, New York, New Orleans, Boston, even old Chicago all carry on, oblivious to the disease that surrounds them, they've built up anti-viruses as strong as any outside influence. Sometimes stronger. Sometimes more poisonous.

I've seen two cities that fit this bill so far. St. Augustine, a place I'll revisit some day, and now, Charleston. Beautiful architecture, a completely unique accent, the ability to blend old and new, beautiful and friendly women, and somehow one of the friendliest places I've ever been to. You can't do anything here without getting into a conversation of some kind with someone. American history. A southern city that doesn't seem to mind yankees. It's nowhere near perfect-you can see it's history still clearly marked in distinct lines. The civil rights movement wasn't that long ago for most of us, and down here, it sometimes seems to have just entered into a reality, of sorts. There's a lot of work to be done, but in all honesty I could say the same about Milwaukee. It's just easy to ignore it there, simple as not leaving your neighborhood. Regardless, I felt good here. Not at home, like some places have felt, but like visiting a siblings' house, maybe even a close cousin. You know where the dishes are, and don't have to ask before looking in the fridge for a snack.

I spent most of the day alone, and enjoyed the solitude so much, even though I spent most of my time talking with residents, all curious about where I'm going and where I came from. I must have hit the point in any long, hard travel where you start to look like a nomad, like you're not from anywhere near. Also, I haven't shaved since I left, and haven't had a haircut in over two months. Also, I'm walking around with a fully loaded tour bike.

Everyone seems a little tired tonight. A little on edge. Not quite at the halfway point, the sensations of thrill and excitement are dying down, replaced with our daily routines. We can never really relax, we're always moving somewhere, even when sitting still, going over maps or figuring out distances, not to mention where we're going to end up sleeping any given night. Dealing with each other, all of us capable of strengthening or demoralizing the others so easily in our conditions, physically tweaked and mentally exhausted from constant motion and stimulation. I must admit, there's been several times when the idea of turning off and continuing on my own, even if it was to ride straight back to Milwaukee, almost became a reality. And then, we sit down together, someone tells a joke or a story and we're back on track, a team again, and we know that we all have to make it to the northern border together.

The actual riding, the physicality, has been adapted to, and now the new challenges are arriving.

Charleston, and a bit of rest.

I underestimated a little. We broke 900 miles today, well over a third of our distance covered as we sailed into Charleston. It was one of those days when riding seemed effortless, helped along by wind, a sudden burst of strength, or a twisting of the mind, a way of dealing with riding all day, every day. You can get used to anything, I suppose. Whatever it was, I broke into a sprint without even thinking while climbing a small hill outside of Ridgeland, and kept moving for a half an hour, keeping a steady 22mph, not meaning to leave the others behind, but reacting to my body, sprinting and stretching the legs. It felt great, and I'm taking it as a sign that I'm returning to some semblance of the condition I used to be in. I'm not sure if I'm losing any of the belly the past years' beer consumption has built up, but I feel great, and my legs feel back to speed after two weeks. So, in part due to my accidentally punishing the others, we arrived in Charleston early today, and took a motel about 7 miles from the downtown area, nothing closer because we happened to arrive in the middle of some art/music festival, and anything closer is way out of our price range.

We've decided to set up camp through tomorrow, take a day off from riding and enjoy this Southern treasure, a city full of beauty, history and denial, as evidenced by rebel flags hanging in every bar I've entered so far. Now that I've typed that, I just realized that today's the first time I've stepped into a bar since this trip began. Probably a good thing, but it does feel good to be around some kind of social atmosphere outside of our own little circle. Everyone's getting along as well as we can, though there does some to be a pattern of trouble spots, certain times when energy levels dip and hunger levels rise when we all seem a little pissed for no real reason. Or maybe that's just me. I'll have to ask the others.

So we checked into the room, and Jeff and I rode into the city to scout, leaving George and Kevin behind to rest from the ride and us. Jeff and I have our differences, most pronounced in our demeanors and reactions to stress, but I'm liking that he's willing to explore and keep moving, while the others are more reserved, content to ride and rest. I'm realizing more each day that I have an advantage as a rider because I ride everyday, the others are more recreational and not used to being on their steeds so much, or dealing with traffic and heavy weather. They all have their strengths, I don't mean to downtalk at all, I'm just glad that I'm not the one complaining of a sore ass or tired legs at the end of the day. I guess not having a car does pay off once in awhile.

Tomorrow I get a chance to swim in the ocean, and think. I was concerned throughout the last few days that I wasn't getting a chance to sift through the thoughts that I wanted to clear out, but when I sat down earlier to write a bit, the words spilled out, and I'm a little more aware of what I need to think of. I need to not only decide what I want from the future, what it is I hope to glean from my future relationships, but I need to do some self-examining, to really go into my past relations and think about what they brought me, what I put into them, what I refused to take from them and why exactly they came to an end. Nothing I'll be writing about here, but thoughts that need to be thunk regardless.

I feel the need right now to thank Paula for the little joga that I allowed myself to learn-it's come in handy more than you'll ever know both after and before riding-I'd be in knots without it. Kitty, thanks for the dietary advice, I've been eating more than I thought I ever would, I'm still hungry, and it's awesome. Emily, thanks for listening. You're beautiful in every way. My family, I love you more every day. There's no way I'd be sitting on the oceanfront in view of Fort Sumner, writing to you all about riding a bicycle every day, on my way to somewhere in a northernly direction, without the steady flow of love my blood has given me. I truly am a blessed man. Please give Sam and Julius a hug for me, I miss them so much.

 

From swampland critters to woodland varmints

We made our way into South Carolina earlier today, and although my Northern bones are aching to cross that division line, I must admit that I love this land. The tall trees lining every road, the narrow pathways in front of ancient, crumbling houses where folks sit and wave to us as we pass, the constant rustle of life in the woods, snakes, turkey vultures and falcons, even the three dogs that chased us today will settle in my mind for a long time. These people are different from what I'm used to, that's a solid truth, but they've all been gracious at the least, and their generosity, whether in simply caring about our welfare, feeding us, or giving us a place to rest for awhile, is blowing my mind. It simply doesn't exist in our cities. It can't-the giver would be chewed up and eaten alive. I just wish they'd stop telling us we should be carrying a gun.

Tomorrow, we ride to Charleston, a long trip but with the reward of a day of rest. I plan on spending most of Sunday at the oceanfront, trying to even out these tanlines and racooned eyes. I need some new supplies as well, since we're heading northward and I mailed my desert/scorching heat equipment back home this morning. Today was our 12th day of riding, with one day of rest, and tomorrow makes 13, which should bring us to around 885 miles, which is a little more than a third of our total trip. I think that calls for a little fun to be had.

The rest of the guys all seem to agree, in their own ways. George is looking forward to some time with his thoughts, Kevin is looking into historical spots and Aquariums, Jeff's just happy to be able to pick up his new Iphone, which was sent to the city as we travelled, and I want a taste of the city itself. We've fallen into a good riding pattern after two weeks together, and although we all want to stab each other once in awhile, we haven't, and I'm thoroughly amazed and impressed at that. Although, as I type this the other three are all sleeping, and have somehow created a grand symphony of nasal meandering, each taking their turns at the solo, sawing away and away. We'll see who makes it till morning...

Sitting in a swing on an abandoned porch, ready to bolt if someone opens that door. I've seen this movie before....

Some swampy, beautiful waters.