A Day in the Life

As with any large group, ours has many different types of personalities, so a description of what my typical day is like may not suffice for the others, but since the others are more diligent bloggers than I am, you probably know all about their days.

I usually get up between 4 and 530, depending on how crazy I feel like getting and how long the mileage is for the day.  Breakfast and breaking down the campsite are the first things on the docket.  My tent is pretty easy to take down, but for those of you who know me well, you know that I am a slow mover in the morning.  I have to plan a little extra time into each morning so that I can make sure that I can screw around and stare blankly into space for a little while before I have to start pedaling. 

First breakfast (yes, I think like a Hobbit now) is usually something fairly small.  I have trouble eating anything substantial right at the beginning.  Once that business is out of the way, I usually group up with my compatriots and start out on the road.

When you are beating your body up day after day, and sleeping on the ground as well, it is not easy to start your day eating up the pavement.  The pace is just a little slower than walking for a little while, but who cares, you have all day long to pedal anywhere from 50 – 100 miles, depending on the day.  The best is when there is a massive hill right outside of the town where we slept, so your real alarm clock is the 10% grade waiting outside of your tent.  I have discovered, thus far on the trip, that all towns where we end wither have a hill into them, out of them, or better yet, both.  Who needs coffee with a 10 min ass-busting climb at 6 am.  Well, I do, but I rarely get it since I am a camp-stove idiot and one of the laziest people that you ever met. 

Our days are defined by the water support stops that happen every 20 – 30 miles on the route.  One must be relatively fast to catch the van to get water, but if you are lagging behind, there is usually always a way to find water.  For example, Tara and I were climbing  in the Ozarks the other day, and Tara was resourceful enough to find a spigot in back of a fine dining establishment (I mean it too, the place even had a tiger cage associated with it.  What it was doing in the middle of nowhere in Missouri, I will never know, but there it was.  The tiger was probably asking itself the same question I suppose.)

If we are lucky, the first stop will be at a place where we can find a greasy breakfast (second breakfast to you Tolkien fans).  Even if you aren’t lucky enough to have one at the stop, there is usually one on the route, and all it takes is the will to skip one of the stops, or to be hopelessly behind the lead group (which I almost always am). 

The other stops are usually timed for lunch and second lunch, but the afternoon ones are key for water in these humid and hot days.  Along the way, you are free to take whatever pace you see fit, so if you are feeling like taking 1000 pictures, so be it.  If you feel like taking a nap under a tree (a resource that is dwindling as we approach the prairie), so be it.  Today, we stopped at a river to swim and cool off, take a little nap, and attack the second half of the day with vim and vigor. 

Sometimes we ride alone, and often in loose groups.  The times alone are pensive and introspective for me.  I try and look up and around me as much as possible.  I want to drink in every mile, see the places that we ride through for what they are.  Often it isn’t hard to find the beauty, other times you have to dig a little deep to see it. 

Sometimes, when I’m feeling frisky, I will really go after the mileage between rest stops.  This is called “crushing it,” or so I am told by the kids on the tour.  Kids these days.  Well, in relation to the others on the trip, I have decided that even when I feel like I am crushing it, I am really just squishing it.  Whatever, I am having fun, riding standing up and feeling like I am flying. 

Eventually, I will pull into camp, usually much later than at least half of the group, but it isn’t a race, and that really isn’t my style anyway.  I will be late to my own funeral – though THAT will not be my fault. 

The search for more food begins.  I have totally given up on the pretense that I would cook most of my own food.  I have to admit, although I like to cook, I can think of nothing I would like to do less than cook after a long ride.  Local diners, restaurants, and gas station food have done me well, and have fed my laziness as well. 

Then I will move on to setting up my home – my tent that is.  After a little socializing, and avoiding blogging (as I am sure you can tell), I find my way to the tent by 11.  Because I am both an early riser and a later bedder, I seem to be under the radar in terms of annoying either of these groups.  It’s amazing how much less sleep I need on this trip as compared to at home.  I am running on a max of 7 hours of sleep nowadays, whereas at home I am running on 9 or 10.  I suppose you can tell which of these I would rather be doing.  Well, the sun is down, and that means that it’s bed time.  I love living by natural light – it just seems right. 

Going for it

Do you remember when you were a kid, out on your bike, or out running around - you would be going for the entire day, and on and off, you would pedal or run as hard as you could.  I'm not even sure why I would do it, maybe just because the hill was there, or because I wanted to feel the wind in my hair, or maybe just because I wanted to.  Whatever the reason, it was a way of life, attacking physical feats with tenacity, only to slow down and enjoy the small victories.

A few of the more hardcore cyclists on the trip have talked about going after a hill, and I hate to confess that I was mystified by the idea at first.  Over the days that we have been riding, we have all been getting stronger, and with that, we have developed the attitude of going after it, whether it's a big hill, a little hill, a long straight away, you name it.  It came with our development and of our comfort on our bikes.

I love rediscovering things that I knew so well when I was a kid.  I knew how awesome it was to fly as hard as I could go, spend myself, and collapse into a reasonable pace as I recuperate.  I think they call it interval training now, but, as with many things, adults have just renamed something that kids have always known.  In fact, we have just come up with a fancy name for playing.

And that is what it has been.  Many of you have asked me how I could possible do this.  It's easy, I try to remember what it was like when we were kids, riding our bikes all day long, stopping now and then to take in the scenery.  I try to remember what it was like to play.  Children are so much better at life than we are, and they know so much more than they even know they do.  This isn't a job, it's an adventure, and I get to play every day.

Don't get me wrong, there is a very serious aspect to what we do.  There is an inherent danger to riding on the road, a gravity to our cause, and responsibility to those wonderful enough to support our trip, but in some way, we have the responsibility to have fun and to rediscover ourselves, the world, and inevitably, a love for play and exhaustion.

The next time you have the chance, whatever it is that you are doing, go for it.  Push it as hard as you can, and then push it a little more.  Feel the blood pumping through your veins, the air heaving in your chest, the purifying aspect of exhaustion.  Return to your childhood, even if just for a minute, and spend some exhausting moments there.  Remember how to play.

Appalachia

Today we left the Appalachian mountains behind.  In total, Eastern Kentucky may not have been the prettiest or most welcoming of places, I was reminded of an important point - one must live in the moment. Yesterday, was a very hard ride through the heat and rolling hills of Eastern Kentucky.  I won't pull any punches - the day was pretty miserable, a little bit of rain, but not enough to cool the day off.  Lots of mileage over fairly steep hills with traffic and crappy pavement throughout it all.  The trick is to not let such things ruin an otherwise perfect experience.  I was lucky enough to be reminded of this point part of the way through the day.  I was riding with Pepper, our friend from Damascus, ailing after a hill climb, when he says that he needs to stop to change out his tube.  He said that I could go on if I like, but I was in  no hurry to keep on moving after the hill.  We stopped on a small road off the highway, in front of a one-room church, a "Regular Baptist" church.  As near as I can tell, a regular baptist eats fiber frequently.

While sitting there in front of this tiny church in the sweltering afternoon heat of Eastern Kentucky something wonderful happened.  A song floated out the open doors of the church through the thick air.  It was "Amazing Grace", and how sweet the sound.  There we were alone in the wilds of Kentucky, and in a perfect "Appalachian" voice (think oh brother where art thou) one of the more powerful songs written was our treat for a difficult day and even more difficult conditions.  I am trying to figure out how to post the video of this, but I have been unsuccessful thus far - apparently, my camera is  too advanced for the blog. Go figure.  If I do not get this video up, ask me to show it to you the next time I see you.

I feel very blessed for having had the chance to be witness to this scene.  We came into Kentucky with a cloud hanging over our heads, but even though it was not as nice as Virginia, if I had hurried through, kept my head down, kept my heart and mind closed, then I would never have heard that song, on this day, in the most impossible of places.  Miracles happen all over the place every day - you just aren't looking close enough, or you ask too much or your miracles.  I like to say that I learn something new every day, but I often forget those thoughts with time.  This trip has been great for reminding me that this world can always amaze you, just keep your eyes peeled for it.

So, it is with irony, that I leave the Appalachians with a certain amount of nostalgia, despite the snarling dogs, coal trucks, and decrepit pavement.



"Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound,
That saved a wretch like me....
I once was lost but now am found,
Was blind, but now, I see.

T'was Grace that taught...
my heart to fear.
And Grace, my fears relieved.
How precious did that Grace appear...
the hour I first believed.

Through many dangers, toils and snares...
we have already come.
T'was Grace that brought us safe thus far...
and Grace will lead us home.

The Lord has promised good to me...
His word my hope secures.
He will my shield and portion be...
as long as life endures.
Yea, when this flesh and heart shall fail,
and mortal life shall cease,
I shall possess within the veil,
a life of joy and peace.

When we've been here ten thousand years...
bright shining as the sun.
We've no less days to sing God's praise...
then when we've first begun.

"Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound,   
That saved a wretch like me....
I once was lost but now am found,
Was blind, but now, I see

Eastern Kentucky

We left Breaks Interstate Park on the border of Virginia and Kentucky today.  Actually, if you ask me - and you did just by reading this blog - Kentucky got the short end of the stick with this park deal.  About 99% of the splendor is in Virginia.  The irony was not lost on me as the horror stories about Kentucky rolled off the tongues of the cyclists that have been here before.  A dark cloud loomed over our descent into the true Appalachia - a place unfriendly and unwelcoming to cyclists, or so it was said.

I have to admit that it wasn't as bad as it was painted for me - that isn't saying much though given how negative the portraits of this state were from last years' riders.

Dogs, and coal trucks, and no shoulders - oh my.  Well, they were all there, the chasing dogs, the barreling coal trucks, and the shoulders were non-existent, or worse yet, buttressed by rumble strips.  All that aside, however, this place is damn hilly!  It's amazing how the fear of all of these other sources of despair overshadow the day's work.

I think I took the smart road by staying in the middle of the pack - all of the dogs were tired by the time we came by, and it's a good thing too since I did not have the energy to run for it.

The coal truckers were crazy, but they were more respectful to riders than I thought would be the case.

One area where the reports were particularly accurate was the crushing poverty.  That was no joke and may even be worse than what I was told - perhaps hyperbole would have been appropriate here.  TO add insult to injury, they are raping the landscape to extract coal.  I suppose I don't have an answer to that question though.

I just wanted to give you all an update before we plumb the depths of eastern Kentucky.

Out of Doors

So, I have quite a bit of free time to think when I am on the bike.  This is particularly true since I have a hell of a time keeping up with the rest of the riders when we are riding in a group.  

There is an unbelievable sense of freedom you have when you are taking something like this ride on.  I am sitting there on this bike, seeing, smelling, tasting, and living fully.  Sometimes it’s exciting, sometimes it’s not as exciting, but it’s always an adventure, always just a little out of my control; it’s life, out loud and in full color.  It’s not dimmed by glare resistant glass, screens, or other false faces.

Go outside soon and often.  Seriously, if you can, go outside right now if you can.  I would rather you do that than read this post.  Honestly, there isn’t anything in the next lines that you can’t read on the face of a mountain, in a river, or just in your backyard. 

Breathe deeply of the fresh air, turn your face to the sun, whatever.  The point is to be out of doors.  Rediscover wilderness, pastoral landscapes, and sinuous country lanes.  And, when you feel that you are ready, climb something high – not ridiculously high or dangerous, just high enough to put the world in the proper perspective.  Climb it with your own power though, by foot or pedal, but definitely on your own steam.  When you look down on the world, notice how small it is, how insignificant.  Now you have perspective, now you see your link in the chain. 

Get out there and be a part of the world.  Let it permeate you, rejuvenate you.  I think you will find that you will like it.  You may even love it.  I know I do.  

Community

I did warn you that I wouldn't be all that good at this right?  So, we are now in Blacksburg on our rest day after climbing over the Blue Ridge and coming down the valley to the burg.  I realize that there are several blogs out there, and I suggest that if you are interested, you should read the others...after you have read mine of course.

When we left from Charlottesville the other day, the mood was somber to say the least.  The elevation profile for the day's ride was very scary, beyond scary.  Afton Mountain, and it haunted our dreams and our ride through the beautiful countryside of Charlottesville.  I am sure that others have done a much better job of describing the trials and tribulations of climbing the mountain, perhaps the majestic beauty of the Blue Ridge Mountains (by the way, if you have never seen them, you should.  Let me say that you will never ask why they are called what they are called when you see them, particularly from the parkway).  I will not pull any punches - it was one hell of a day of climbing.  It was a hard-fought view to say the least and the most meaningful view I've ever had, particularly when you consider that I rode all the way from the coast to see it!

We descended the mountains on a hair-raising road that would have been fun had I been invincible or crazy, but as it was, it was a white-knuckled ~40 mph roller-coaster ride from hell.

We all slowly pulled into Vesuvius VA behind a restaurant named "Gertie's."  If you happen to fall off the end of the map and end up in Vesuvius VA, go to Gertie's - if you like greasy food, you will NOT be disappointed.

Ok - so this was a long way round to tell you the story that I really wanted to tell you.  As the riders trickled into the backyard of Gertie's from their hours long struggle with Afton Mountain, exhausted and sweat-drenched, I noticed something amazing.  The 25 strangers that peered up the eastern slope of the mountain with fear and woe had become a team of individuals that flaunted the west slope with disregard and confidence.  I have been fortunate enough to see this type of miracle before in my life, where the impossible suddenly becomes possible, doors fly open in front of you and a whole wide world that you never dared dream of is layed out in front of you like a red carpet.  Unity and a healthy dose of hubris were our gifts to ourselves as we rocketed down the mountain.  The strangers had become a team.

In my years in Academia, I have heard talk of community throughout, something that we must build, forge, or you pick the verb, but the point is that community is hard-fought like all the best things in the world.  Our community was built on the blood, sweat, and tears (literally this time) of these amazing people that have decided to use their vacations to do something miraculous - to destroy their bodies day after day in the service of others.

I am having the time of my life!  A friend asked me why I looked so different, and I told her that this is my face without stress - something no one, not even I have seen in the last ten or so years.  The worst issues that I worry about each day are getting enough calories and what that noise my bike is making is.  Amen.

Oh - I almost forgot, I made a friend on the trip over the Blur Ridge Parkway - apparently this Fritillery (a type of butterfly) had a thing for my helmet, stayed there for like 10 min!

Misdirection

So, apparently I am competing for the most neglected blog.  I think I am just the man to do this.

Yesterday we passed from Glendale to Mineral, VA.  Thankfully the state of VA is pretty good at marking it's bike routes - maybe not perfect, but good nonetheless.  As we left Glendale, one large peloton (yes, I learned a word) left early, I left solo a little later, and then a peloton left after me.  It was a great day to solo ride with a thin fog settled over the VA countryside.  We wove through the battlefields outside of Richmond, the 7 days battle I think.  It's a little hard to read interpretive signs on a bike, well, and stay upright that is.

So I was pedaling at a reasonable pace, enjoying a solo tour of the countryside and unbeknowst to me, I passed the first water station and kept on trucking.  I arrived in Ashland, VA (very cute town by the way) and I found one of the support vehicles but no one in it and no other cyclists.  I stayed around for about 20 minutes, waiting for someone to show since I was 40 miles in to an 82 mile ride, and I was fresh out of water.  The second support vehicle pulled in a few seconds later, and I was informed that I was ahead of everyone!  What!?!?

Apparently, the other groups got a little lost (read very lost).   They ended up on the interstate!  For any of you that have never cycled long distance, the interstate is the scariest idea ever.  Everyone made it out ok thankfully.

I miraculously did not get lost the entire day, which is funnier when you hear about the next day...

So, I pulled up a little lame on the first day, which put me at a severe disadvantage for the day.  That is a long way of describing that I was alone on my way into Charlottesville - the most confusingly signed city I have ever been to, and I have been to cities where the signs were in another language, one I didn't speak.  I now have a much greater knowledge of Charlottesville than I ever will need probably.

Now we are absorbing the hospitality of The King family in Charlottesville, preparing for an epic climb up Afton Mountain.  Let's hope that my knee holds out.

Glendale, VA

We finished the first leg of the trip from Yorktown to Glendale.  The route was flat and the day was beautiful for riding - not too hot and just a slight headwind.  I am so glad that this experience has begun.  It's not as if I think this is easy, far from it, but the waiting had become excruciating.

We traveled through the historic triangle (Yorktown, Williamsburg, Jamestown).  With the exception of a few wrong turns, mostly my own fault, the trip was smooth.  We have settled down for the night in Glendale in a church yard.  The folks at the church have been nice enough to open up the church for our use and to sleep inside.  Although it is a little early for me to be coveting AC and an indoor sleeping arrangement, I know that these chances may be few and far between.

The camp stoves are lit, and the crew is cooking the first nite's dinner.  I am sure I will say this many times, but I wish I were a better writer so I could let you all know how wonderful this trip is.