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.
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