So We're Really Doing this Huh?

8am at the Colonial Inn came way too early... I don't know what it is about 5:59 in the summer, but Sunday September 11th I sure didn't feel like popping out of bed and taking a cold shower. Maybe it was the sore throat, or maybe it was the 2,200 miles we had to go till Miami. Either way I propped up and popped some Airborne & Dayquil, then I rolled "back over" praying that I'd wake up an experienced tour bicyclist... or at least healthy.

"GENA WE'RE GOING!" (a phrase that quickly became a cliché on the trip, even if the boys had to shout the taunt from behind me). Adam (brah/brother Perrier), Pretty boy Floyd (Steve), Adam's mom (Margo) and Adam's mom's mom (grandma) had just come back from church to the hotel room. "Welp, I guess 11am is as good a time as any to wake up and jump on a bicycle", I thought. No excuses. My pedals won't spin without me. I didn't feel especially great about missing church that morning (for goodness sakes Brah Perrier even made it) but I rationalized that a sick & feeble girl could use the extra Zs in bed more than a wooden pew. 

So I got out of bed and we packed up our stuff, kinda. More or less we threw everything that wasn't on our body or beneath our seat in Margo's SUV and biked to the center of town** to Cadillac Mountain Sports where we'd pick up the last few needed supplies and load our trailer from there. 

1.4 miles later

We discover that after being able to fit about 100 lbs of supplies into our trailer... there's at least 100 lbs to go... and it's sitting in the hatch of Margo's SUV. "@#$%. Whadawedonow?" The only thing we could do: CM Sports didn't carry trailers so we called the next closest bike shop (which happened to be a 45 minute car ride away in Bar Harbor) and to our luck discovered they did indeed have a trailer for sale, for sale for $330. It was our best option, we had to get on the road because at this point the only thing worse in our minds than biking, was not biking. And thank God for Margo and grandma, they offered to drive to town to make the purchase and catch back up with us wherever our legs got us. We needed the daylight and we were running short of it now as it was already after 1:00.

So off we went. Adam led the way, Floyd followed in the middle pulling the original trailer (it's worth noting that this trailer was rented for a mere $100), and I patrolled from the back- should any problem arise I'd be in back to spot it (so long as I remained alive and upright on this flimsy aluminum contraption I was to keep between the foot of space know as a "shoulder": the thin white line on my left and the gravel on my right). Vehicles seemed to crowd us with little to no awareness of our presence on their right. I made up for the prayers I missed that morning in the first 5 minutes cycling down High St. Call it naive, but even while being aware of drivers' lack of awareness... I really didn't care, I don't think any of us did. Controlling the controllables: pump your knees and stay between the lines. If I died it sure wasn't going to be my fault.

High Street turned into State, State turned into Bangor Road. We'd successfully made it another 4.3 miles, we were doing it! We'd just accomplished what had taken us more than two days: Starting! The toughest part was over, that was... until Steve's chain fell off... and locked itself into a cockamamy figure eight. Being young. dumb. and motivated wasn't going to fix this problem... Besides breaking the chain (and not having a replacement) our only other option was to take the bike apart. But don't kid yourself, we were smart enough not to try that... after we realized we didn't have the tools to do it anyway. So there we were. We were "there", I think they call it a "rock and a hard place"... 

**but while on the first itty bitty leg of our trip, 0.5 miles in to be exact, I fell. Gracefully, mind you: I "fell" victim to beginners (un)luck(iness). See, I was wearing "clips": special bicycling shoes with metal clips on the bottom that attach themselves to the pedals of a bike, therefore making the cyclist and bicycle one... more efficiency... increased opportunity to lose balance and die. Fortunately in this circumstance it was truly only my pride that took the beating. And with this happening we agreed upon rule #2: (s)he whoever falls whilst cycling and draws forth blood, shall therefore have to purchase shots for the other two companions (rule #1 was "no dresses", it was written before I left Sioux Falls).  

 

Adam and Floyd loading on 100 lbs of resistance to Steve's bike

The Captain with his Golden Gooch aka "BOB trailer" 

Steve's busted Chain

Not the Beginning

We were already one week late! Not like it was all that big of a deal since we had nothing else to do with our fall, so we arrived nonetheless; we arrived at the beginning. 

Ellsworth, Maine (this time we didn't have to mumble or guess). Don't ask how we picked it, (not me at least) it was Adam (the map master <-- sarcasm) that chose it; I believe he based his decision off adventurecycling.com... which is really not a bad place to go off but it was the only time we accessed their "guidance". Everything was foot loose and fancy free: no training, no directions, no maps either (not in the beginning), no clue... young. dumb. and motivated.

2 months, that's what we gave ourselves "as long as I can hop on a plane in MSP to make it to Mexico by Nov. 19th!" it'd all be good. So we woke at 6am Saturday, November 10th and started packing. "Where's the bug spray?", "do you think we'll need pots/pans? matches? reflective tape?"

We were not ready. 

Really we knew this, but we had no idea to what great extent. For example: yesterday, the day we arrived we payed a bike shop attendee $10 to show us how to change a popped tube/flat tire (that $10 turned out to be the best investment of the trip after more than 15 flat tires). We didn't know how to change a tube/tire! Not at least until after we became the victims of thus mentioned mishap on a hwy in NY the day before our arrival in Maine (got my first flat on a "practice ride" in Herkimer, NY on our drive up to Maine).

Fortunately we were aware enough to realize our predicament... we would need to begin tomorrow.

Our last time at "home". Leaving Steve's in Elgin, IL.

First ride together. Somewhere in IN, on the way to ME... a whopping 15 miles.

The Backstory

Am I ever happy I decided to crash my new Sales Managers promotional ski trip in 2009. Sunday, February 22nd turned out to be a very unsuspecting evening and an even greater story two and a half years later...

We'd spent $120 and the last three days skiing Breck, Beaver Creek, and Keystone; our stellar weekend out west was coming to an unfortunate end as most endings usually do. More than satisfied with the pow that had been shredded that weekend and equally as sore, the group decided to stay in the cabin for the final evening and polish off the frozen pizzas and boxed wine left over. Something about it being free... Shenanigans! How many days out of each year do kids from the midwest get to spend in the mountains and mingle with laid back locals and other pow hungry pros?? Fortunately one friend saw things my way, "I'll go out with ya Gene".

I didn't know Adam well at all, we'd never hung out one-on-one before, let alone spent much time around one another even in a group. Who the heck cares?! This was Breck and I was down for a good time. I was searching for a story...

At the door frame of the cabin, all that stood between us and an uncertain night were 7 blocks and 3 inches of snow, about 15 minutes... The first block's conversation revolved around how lame the rest of our friends were for staying back and as we walked toward downtown Adam turned to me and with blunt respect said to me, "You realize tonight is either gonna be the worst night, or the best night ever"

...

My gut reaction, "Well let's make it the best night ever!" I didn't disagree with Adam, I had my doubts, we were just a couple shmoes from SD and WI that hardly knew each other... I knew we needed a story. For the next 6 blocks we fabricated a story built off lies and a handful of half truths. Adam and I, brother and sister, the Perriers, from Marshfield, WI had always been scolded by our parents Matt and Cindy for neglecting one another and our sibling bond. As the older sister I had just graduated from college and Adam took the year off from school to stick it to our parents... to bike across America. Maine to LA. (We didn't know where in Maine but decided that shouldn't be a problem because in my 22 years of life I had never met anyone from the upper most Eastern state and IF we faced confrontation for the facts we'd just garble some noises until the confronter dropped it or told us where we began **note: this was before the age of the smart phone) Not only that, but we started on Huffys (what else?!) and upgraded as good samaritans gave us bicycles. We posted signs of "need" on our bikes for food and shelter and that's how we made the venture. Oh... then we threw in a couple "book stories" and voila! A masterpiece

We made our way into Rita's, a quaint but sassy looking taco bar... and yes, we found out firsthand they had killer Margs. After ordering a second round it was game on, we needed to find someone to tell our epic story. Adam gave me the option of a set of four chicks or the set of two dudes, two chicks... No brainer. We walked across the room (a whopping 10 feet) and plopped shop awkwardly close to our hopeful new friends... after sitting there for too long giving eyes back and forth with head nods trying to indicate to "break the set" Adam finally whipped to his right and spewed out in what took no more than two seconds, "HEY. My names Adam and this is my sister Gene, we just biked across America and now we're driving home and trying to make as many new friends as possible" We could tell we'd caught them off-guard but by the raised hair of their eyebrows... we were in.

There was an immediate uproar among our new friends, we could tell they loved the idea, "Bloody hell! No way!" one of the guys shouted with and english accent (he obviously wasn't from Maine and knew we were safe) "Where'd you start? I lived in Maine a few years back!" Are you kidding me?! I looked at Adam and laughed knowing that I was indeed prepared for this, "Minne, Ma, My, uhhhh"... he wasn't picking up what was I putting down but fortunately he had enjoyed the Margaritas just as much as I had and couldn't care less. The girl sitting next to me was a harder case to close. She looked me dead in the eye and asked, "Did you really just bike across America?" fortunately Adam caught wind of the question and stepped in offering our thighs as the sacrificial lamb for her curiosity. Remember, we'd  just finished three days on the slopes, groping our tight and toned vastus medialis was enough to take care of her disbelief.

The rest of the night I suppose was like any other great night out. Unfortunately a lie and getting away with that lie with great success was what made this night different from any other. Everyone loves a crazy story; they have their way of bringing strangers together... Fake it till you make it right?

And that's just what we did September 11th, 2011 when we began our trek to Miami from ELLSWORTH, Maine. I'm a woman of my word and Breckenridge was foreshadowing.

Rummaging

I just ransacked a memory box a best friend made me 5 years ago. The shabby bits of paper, pesos, and misc notes might be junk to anyone else, but to me it's irreplaceable.

Closing the chapter...
Moving on from Southwestern is a whole lot more like trying to put down a really good book right after the plot has thickened. On one hand I feel totally confident moving on knowing that I've been more than prepared for the "real world"; but on the other hand, being a door-to-door solicitor was also the easiest decision I'd made for the past 4 years became it was normal... Different is by no means bad but it sure is scary... I like that... Yes there's a risk involved: my dignity? Proving to myself and others that I'm doing the right thing. Proving that I'm growing. IMproving. I truly believe that the more difficult something is to start, the more difficult it is to quit: I really feel like I'm giving up a lot moving on and that's good... giving up but not missing out. Not missing out because the relationships and the lessons will always be there. That's truly priceless. And boy oh boy has this new chapter been a process to start.

I'm still totally at the front of the trailhead(s) trying to figure out which path to venture. Careless traveling? Short-time experience? Career? Time will tell, time will, or God will. And what a blasty blast "whatever will be, will be" will be.

What's next?!

So normally I'm not a dry brain... I guess it's when you want to try to be creative that you can't be- got to get those natural juices flowin'. I thought about letting you into the secret world of that which happened only a few hours ago: Ladies' night... but how secretive is it really when boisterous females at the bar are shouting across the room laughing as a call for attention. ehhhh I hope I don't fall into that category.

Then maybe I could talk about how tired I am of being asked "what's next?!", but then I don't want you to have any kind of impression that I'm a complainer.

I think instead, tonight, I'm going to give you the impression that I'm not persistent, or maybe I'm just realistic... but I don't have politics, religion, or economics to discuss... so I'll wait for tomorrow to do something philosophical.

Introduction

Hola, mi nombre es Gena (mind you I speak no spanish, an unfortunate truth... although my father may not agree... however I did just arrive back from Mexico).

Figured an introduction would serve as well as anything. Don't really know if friends, stalkers, business colleagues (of the unemployed??)... future business colleagues (that's it), or no one will be reading this. I only suppose someone will and you may want to get to know me, just as I'm trying to re-connect with my "writing style". (I like parentheses, quotations, and those little "...", in fact I'm a fan of all punctuation.) I attempt to write just as I think.

Why did I start blogging? Well I suppose, although amateur, this is not my first (thanks to Xanga, myspace, and facebook). I guess I like the idea of an online journal that's quasi private but not really (kinda risky or better yet "risqué"). I think best when I write so there's that benefit. Also it almost seems like something you could put on a resume... with all the importance placed on written skills (I'm a huge believer in communication, but an even bigger believer in the face to face, but I'd like to show I'm multi-talented... hope that works out for me). On the note of "resumé", don't judge me or my grammar... we were all young once and I plan on staying that way (aaaand I studied art, the running joke is that I'm very creative with the way I use my punctuation, but I guess that comment also makes me redundant). Why else? Well truly I wish I would have kept better track/ written documentation of my life. I'm a very visual person so I've got plenty of snapshots to recall from, but I don't think you can beat your own words. Oh! and mostly, it's really hilarious to read your own written spew like four years later. Come 2015 I'll be ROTFLing.