Strange Strangers

September 16th, 2011

Brunswick park: full undercarriage support.

I think Steve was starting to think we'd never make it out of Maine, let alone Brunswick, or even Helen's home. After spending three full days with this wonderful woman, and being stuffed silly with rainbow variety sherbert it was time to hit the road and continue our trek down south. Other than "in the general direction of Miami", we had no idea where we were headed. We hopped on our bikes and booked it down hwy 1. We shot through Freeport and past the L.L. Bean Headquarters (I got a little soggy eyed when I saw the outlet malls and dozens of signs for Starbucks- oh how I missed these little luxuries), managed to dead-end at I-295 in Portland, adding hours and miles to our day, but eventually, about 49 miles later we found ourselves in front of a big blue house in an itty-bitty corner called "Waterboro".

I always got so nervous around the 4 O'clock hour. I had 3 simple responsabilities: 1. pedal and stay upright. 2. Don't die. 3. Find a place for us all to lay our heads each night. (And it was the third that concerned me the most.)

I hated picking the homes, I made Adam and Steve do that, the less I had to think about it- the better. God knows I wasn't afraid to knock on doors... it was just the last thing I wanted to after burning up every enzyme in my body (i.e. open myself up to rejection). But I liked this house, it had a big ol' yard and the home was large enough to provide a some distance and protection from the highway.

I started waving with big swoops from my arm just in case the residents were watching as I biked up their driveway (when you appear homeless it's also best you appear harmless). I skooched off my bike and skipped to the back door. The screen door shook as I pounded on its hinges. I heard the interior door to the home open to the sitting porch. Even though I couldn't see who I was speaking to I proclaimed, "Hi!". I didn't hear a response so I quickly spewed out the details as to why three randos were standing at on the lawn, "...all we really need is a place to plop shop and set up camp for the night..." *cue crickets* There was a glare from the sun setting and I couldn't see through the screen, and I was definitely frustrated because they weren't responding! So I said, "I'm sorry I can't see you, I have no idea who I'm talking to" (ha... either did she).

"Oh, you can open the screen", Paula said sweetly and as I stepped on to the porch I quickly realized I was in the midst of a quiet, heavy-set women just beaming with the traits of a good Samaritan. She offered up any spot we'd like in her back yard, and when I asked about a bathroom... this was the odd part- she said there was a coffee shop just a bit down the road ("mmmmm coffee") OR we could make use of their largest lawn ornament: an old Astro Van that had a toilet installed at the back of it like a port-o-potty. Heck, it sounded better than squatting!

Within about 20 minutes of setting up camp and changing out of the day's bicycle spandex the sun had tucked behind the trees and the sky had completely clouded over. The three of us were pow-wow around our mini camping stove waiting for the water to boil when a truck rolled up. I saw it was a man and shouted "Hello!" from about 30 feet away, he quietly responded "hello". I couldn't really make out the man's face enough to tell if he was older or younger than Paula, his face was so badly scarred so I asked, "you must be family?" He quietly replied, "yes". That didn't get me what I was looking for so I asked again, "husband or son?"

"Son" he answered, and I realized my lack of being able to distinguish this fact might have offended most, but oh well and oops! So I proceeded to explain why the heck there were three scouts in his backyard. He didn't respond with too much excitement and wished us a warm night as he retrieved supplies and tools out of the back of his pickup truck. As he took one step toward the house he quickly pivotted back to our direction almost as if he forgot something and asked, "Would any of you like an iced coffee?".

Without a moment to lose I sprang to my feet! God had answered my prayers! "SURE!". I instantly teleported across the 30 feet and as I reached him I introduced myself, "My name is Gena by the way, what's yours?" He told me his name was Conrad and I asked if I should follow him inside...

The best worst day ever

I huffed and I puffed and I found a convenience store small enough to have a makeshift bathroom installed into one of their closets.

Instant relief!!!

Ahhhhhh the "annoyance" was as least 82% better and I strolled outside the door to see the boys riding up to me. "Feel better Gene?" Adam shouted.

"Like you wouldn't believe! Let's get out of here". 70 miles down and 60 to go. I couldn't close my eye, every time my lid hit the spot on my eye the inflammation got worse, so I let the wind have it's way with cyclops.

We were about 10 miles out of what I guess we'll call "that town", and we were riding at a strong pace when a loud explosion went off beneath my bicycle seat. Startled, I stopped immediately and looked down the road in hopes to find the item that set off said reaction. I followed the yellow line on the shoulder closer and closer to my bicycle right up to my tire and there it was... bye bye tire. I can't even imagine how it happened. Somehow the tube INSIDE my tire erupted and blew a hole THROUGH my tire. We only had one tire casing and fortunately it was mine (yes, my father packed it), there was also only one tube left. So I raced like Nascar to flip that bitch so we could get rubber to the road and back on our way again to Saint Marys, GA... only another 50 miles.

We fled like banshees to make up for lost time. The sky was starting to burn, the sun was setting and the horizon's edge was turning to amber. It must have been about 7 O'clock right then and my phone started to ring. I reached into my fanny pack (yes, if by now you didn't realize I was wearing a fanny pack... you should have. Because it was awesome. And yes, sometimes I wore it to the bars. Because I could) and pulled my phone out. It was Brian Ross, a connection from a friend in Denver, friends with the Brian from last night that helped us get our day off to such a fast start, and our "host dad" tomorrow night in Jacksonville, FL. "Gena! How's it going!" I couldn't do anything but burst out laughing knowing good karma had to be waiting for us around the corner. However, we'd have to wait a few corners, because this corner let out a hisssssss. We were maybe 15 miles beyond the tire blowout and I thought... SNAKE! Firecracker! ah! Steve shouted from behind me, "GENA. PULL OVER". What now...

I rode to the side, unclipped from my bike and looked down to see a Nine Inch Nail... no just kidding, it was only a 2 inch nail piercing through my tire... twice. Yes. My brand new tire now had breathing holes and our last tube was shot. "SSSSSSHIIIIIIIIT!!!!!!"

Steve told me to calm down, which was actually very hard to do while standing in a swarm of evening mosquitos. I google mapped for a bike shop but nothing was nearby and they were all closed anyway. Should we thumb a ride? At first I didn't know what to do, I stood there in a daze just thinking, "really?? today of all days...". But then instinct and common sense kicked it. We still had the back-up. Thank God for Derek and the Bunny Hop Bicycle shop 800 miles back. Our "host dad" and BMX guru, Derek, 11 homes back in Richmond, VA made us keep a tube with a small leak, "you never know when you'll be in a pinch with no access to a fresh tube. Just keep it, this will be an easy one to patch" Thank you Derek.

30 minutes later we were back at it, the sky was fading back to blue and gray by this point. Traffic was getting heavy too as we were edging further into another community. There were a lot of corners to take and street signs to watch for, but I let the boys take the lead on this one. In hindsight... looking back... no, looking up at Adam from a tangled mess of aluminum, bent handle bars, and blood on my knuckles made me wish I hadn't been the one following. See we must have taken a wrong turn, but without a map or the ability to read Adam's mind there would be no way for me to know this unless one of the guys shouted back or signaled "turning". Which of course they didn't, thus why I was tangled in aluminum (I'd ran into Steve's trailer tire as he turned right. Since I was riding on Steve's right and his bike discontinued forward motion it was basically an obstacle just waiting to be hit). I looked up at them with disgust. Severe disappointment. I was in the smack dab middle of the lane and a car was heading straight for me, but I didn't want to get up until they could both see how extremely PISSED OFF I was! Argh!

I scraped myself up and drug my bike to the corner and very quietly and full of contempt said, "next time you turn... make sure you signal". Adam burst out laughing! "You so want to kill us right now don't you?! You are so angry. You know you owe Steve and I a shot right? Your hands are bleeding." I could hardly contain myself... I wanted to be mad so bad! but I couldn't keep from smiling, "You idiot, let's get outta here".

Starting the Day that'd Never End

9:15 am- After passing down Victory for a few miles through the historical mansions and moss covered oak trees Savannah and the "Secret Garden" are famous for, we jetted into the industrial segment of this society and more importantly- breakfast. No day would be complete without a balanced breakfast- so no deal shopping at 7-Eleven, no, we chose Burger King. 8 blueberry muffins and 4 cinnamon rolls later we filled up our koozies and drenched them with cherry gatorade powder... It was 10:00 am and we were still struggling to begin the day we wouldn't be able to end.

But alas, there comes a time when you've gotta clench your butt-cheeks and buck up buttercup. And we were off. The ride started off normal as most days do, especially the bad ones, but after about 20 miles of riding I began experiencing a rather bothersome itching that I'll refer to as chaffing. 5 miles later we'll pulled off to look at our maps and refill our water. I jumped off my bike and stormed into the bathroom. I walked out awkwardly after having been indoors for longer than what Adam or Steve would consider normal... Adam called me out, "Yo Gene, you okay??" My waddle may have given me away. I whipped around and stared at him, almost shaking. I couldn't stand myself, my skin was crawling and the pain had grown from annoying to agonizing. Adam knew I wasn't playing around and we decided that the next large station or grocery store we saw, we'd be pulling over, "Unless... Gene, wanna see if the second-hand store across the street has a tube of vagasil?" Idiotic comments like these throughout the trip helped me to keep my perspective, reality, and sanity. Thank God for the Adam Berriers of the world.

Time seemed to lapse for hours, but we'd only since covered a couple miles since the last stop. My body was inconsolable, I couldn't sit right, I couldn't stand right... but we had 105 miles to go. Standing however was more comfortable and for the next 5 miles I rode my road bike like I was ready to pop a wheelie.

Then suddenly through a clearing I noticed after a scattering of homes a large rectangular shaped building which had to be one of two things out here in the middle of knowhere-Darien-Georgia 1) A dollar General or 2) a grocery store. I squealed with joy- heaven seemed to be reigning down it's blessing on me as I came to realize I was approaching a Piggly Wiggly... instead, Heaven seemed to be raining down a different sort of something, right into my eye. I screamed. I'd literally watched a speck,  a sliver float down from a giant oak tree and slip right beneath my Oakley's, and into my left eye.

"@#$%!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

This was it. My camel's back was broken. I literally kept a running pace as I threw my bike to the ground and screamed for Adam and Steve (let's just clarify that I was being a big baby... but I can look back on this day and still say I've never been more uncomfortable in my life). They turned around with smurks on their faces. I screamed again, "Get over here and dump my water bottle in my eye!"
"What happened?!", they had no idea.

"Something just flew into my eye! or it bit me! or stung me! Get it out!!!"

Steve could see nothing and we flushed my eye with the san-gatorade water bottle. It didn't help. So I marched off to Piggly Wiggly.

I couldn't see very well as my tear ducts were welling up, but I could tell as soon as I walked into the foyer I was standing in front of multiple lines of people. With a soaked face I asked the attendant where the bathroom was. She said it's out of service. I told her it was an emergency. She said it was out of service. I asked where she went to the bathroom. She said try the Goodwill next door. So I huffed and I puffed... and I stormed over to the hygiene aisle. I stared at the reflection of my eye in a Goodie-brand mirror. There was nothing there, just a small flat puff right on my eyeball. grrrrr... so I went to search for what had been my main priority 15 minutes ago. ointment.

7 long minutes later I found myself handing a container of "ointment" to a young adolescent cashier standing behind the counter, it was when the tube passed to his hand I realized, "this sucks". See, moments earlier he'd watched me walk into his store crying and begging for a bathroom. I now realized just how ironic this uncomfortable and embarrassing situation truly was as he scanned my tube of saving grace. I took solace in the fact that I'd never see the clerk again and yelled to Steve and Adam that they'd find me at the next gas station.

The morning that came to late...

8:45 am, October 27th and the pounding in my head was clouded by massive sleep deprivation. Last night would be approximately 793 times more fun than the next 14 hours... not really a great way to wake up to your second century day, not to mention our longest yet- 105 miles. I woke up next to a forest of Victoria Secret models in Savannah, GA. Yes you read that right- our fabulous host mother had decorated the wall I was sleeping next to, her son Ross' wall with an enormous magazine like photograph of a babbling brook that covered the entire 7x12 foot canvas, and she adorned the currents, rocks, weeds, and trees with Victoria Swimsuit models. Awesome, not something I'd do for my son, but awesome. The scaling was quite realistic.

I scraped myself out of bed and took a cold shower, all the lights were off in the home so that meant I hadn't actually overslept by 2 hours and 15 minutes... not if Steve and Adam weren't awake. Once I'd cleaned up a bit and caught more of an awareness of the pounding against my brain, I bundled my  gear and moped into the living room where my four friends were sleeping on one couch. I had to laugh. Only 5 southwestern alumni from NY, ND, SD, IL, and WI would end up in a city like Savannah at random. "We were supposed to wake up at 6:30 right" I stated.

"Shit what time is it?", Adam popped up.

"Close to 9:00" I replied

"Best be on our way", Steve agreed. However we all wondered if it'd be possible. This was an incredibly late start for us and we need to tackle our biggest trek yet. Well yeah it's possible, we'd just have to do some night riding and I knew there's no way it could be worse than the night we barely made it through Yonkers/ New York City. We just needed to gauge the milage to get an idea of what time exactly we'd be arriving at our next host family's home in St Mary's, GA.

Bakken whipped out his iPad. "Uh guys?"

"Yeah how far"

"well it looks like you've got a big day ahead of you"

"What the hell does that mean?"

Steve, Adam, and I stared at Google Maps...

ONE HUNDRED AND THIRTY MILES?!

Are you, what! I mean is that, c'mon man! Who's the idiot that calculated this one??! I burst out laughing. Seriously you've got to be kidding me man. Dammit. Well here's the deal- we have to be in Jacksonville by tomorrow, that's 170 miles. Why not just be insane today and lolly-gag into FL Friday afternoon? Hm... because that's crazy. So we tapped into our resources, Bakken knew of a woman only 90 miles away and gave us a few numbers of people we could call to get in touch with her. Apparently when he'd sold in that part of Georgia, he had teammates stay with this woman.

Regardless of what we would choose to do... we needed to move it. So we packed up, tied down, clipped in, and began peddling into the day that would never end.

House 103

"Hey guys, I think this is it", I slowed down as I saw the numbers decreasing... 161, 149, 137, 125, one-oh... three. I looked to my left and growing out of a courtyard of foliage stood Helen's home: full of beds, sherbet ice cream, electrical outlets, spaghetti, stale cereal, and hot running water.

After a much needed scrub and a changing into a pair of shorts that didn't have 1/4 inch of padding in the crotch, I exposed my gnarly spandex tan line and I met the boys and Helen downstairs for dinner. One spoonful in and I swear I saw a tear squeak from the crevasse of Steve's eye. It was. the best. meal of my life. Note: I'd been eating tree bark and slurping on flavored water for the past 3 days so anything would appear to be a feast and in comparison taste like spiced lamb shanks, and yes it was so so enjoyed. Helen even indulged us in wine!

After dinner was over we sat and reflected in a pool of our newfound obesity listening to Helen talk about her college summers counseling at the all-girls camp, the prestige of Bowdoin College, the catholic church, cats, poverty and education for about two hours... we could tell she enjoyed having us; she was an amazing thoughtful and giving woman that was quick to volunteer to the needs of her community and she definitely kept herself busy with said activities... however I couldn't help but wonder how lonely that'd be to spend 50-some years all on your lonesome... but when conversation left the space for my lungs to yawn instead of just my head nodding, and I was able to time my dismissal from dinner and march upstairs with the boys for a slumber amidst coils and springs. Heaven.

First things first... gotta stretch the quads... check out that face... and that tan-line

Sleep GOOD tonight!

Tuesday, September 13th, and day three of our adventure I gradually came to consciousness around 7 am. Steve and Adam had already finished sugared mush, I mean their oatmeal, and had begun unpacking and repacking all the supplies from both B.O.B. trailers. Even though I woke up stiff, cold, and grungy... I was in a good humor because I knew there was a chance we'd have a bed and possibly even a shower that night.

Dew sucks :) we got to wipe off those golden drops of sun each morning

We slipped away around 7:45. I didn't notice my knee or any pain that morning. I knew having the brace and icy hot would help... however I wasn't very optimistic. Brunswick would be 9 miles further than we'd biked the first two days, and if it already bothered me then how couldn't it on the third? I did my best to put those thoughts out of my mind as we pulled over quickly for the morning ritual/ sit down... you know what I mean... My phone was dead that morning as I had been unable to pick up a charge in the "woods" of John and Mary's backyard so while Adam and Steve were in the restroom I plugged my mobile unit into an outlet and almost immediately and unknown number popped up on my screen. That must be her... it must be Hellen. My heart flittered with excitement as I whipped the phone to my ear,

"HI! Is this Hellen?! Oh my goodness it's so... blah blah blah... Spaghetti?? (my heart dropped and sprung though my throat in one simultaneous moment) Would we eat spaghetti??? We would eat ALL your spaghetti and we will love it. LOVE IT." That was it, it had been decided, 45 miles to Brunswick or bust. I was stuffing my face something crazy tonight.

a hill. a big big hill.

3:07 and 35 miles later we were on the outskirts of Brunswick, best yet- my knee was holding up. Adam and Steve convinced me to pull over for 10 minutes as badly as I didn't want to... something about being tired from hauling 100 lbs of my "shit" around all day. MY what? I had to remind both Adam and Steve that they both packed more clothes than I had and I'd held up my end of the bargain for the past three days so their complaints we not acceptable.

easy does it

THE BARGAIN: Since Adam and Pretty Boy Floyd lacked the social skills to get someone at a door to like them... well, no... maybe it wasn't that... something about me being too weak to pull a trailer and them not being cute and ditzy enough to land some grass for the night. (Every time they'd imitate my housing approach they'd obnoxiously whip the heads around, bat their eyes, and flap their wrists... however I feel pretty confident I looked nothing like Flipper). It was my job, the female, to find a place to rest every night... it really did make sense.

3:17, after an amusing rest we hopped back to it, until someone got us an extra 3 miles lost. My bad.

3:36 met a cyclist biking home from work that put us back in the right direction and back up that big ol' hill we just glided down. I wish I could say the confusion ended there, but after passing through a tunnel, under an interstate and over 5 sets of railroad tracks we couldn't find ourselves. The directions from the locals made little to NO sense at all and we were wandering aimlessly through the touristy side streets of northern Brunswick, a mere 12 miles from Helen- SO ready to be done. but nope. We were looking for a gazebo in a park, a library, a five-way stop and "well-known" invisible bike path (that apparently only the woman that informed us of this path was the only one that knew about it, she and all the bicyclists we couldn't find that were probably riding on it). But somehow by the grace of God we found it. Right? Of course we did! Would I have built this up so much if we hadn't?! That's not to say Steve and I weren't snapping at one-another, apparently my GPS sucked and I'm even worse at reading it... it may have been fortune that it died, so I just shut up, I was fed up, sore, sun-burnt, tired, cotton-mouth, and HUNGRY...

But yeah you guessed it, we found our path that lead straight into the city's clearly marked bike path and yeah, as we reached the end of the trail (7 blocks from out destination) we sure did run into the Brunswick City Cycling Club.

Nearing the end of the Brunswick Bike Trail

Honestly, as we were flying off the path and through the parking lot and when I first saw them waving at us, I couldn't help but think, "YES we ARE biking somewhere, Miami, YES we know it's FAR, YES it's cool, now stop bothering and let me finish" but with no sympathy to my negative attitude, fate, well... actually Adam took a hard right straight to the crowd. Damnit Adam... don't you know I'm STARVING. So I eased my brakes and held back from the crowd hoping the boys would notice I wasn't in the mood to mingle... again to no avail. So I sczootched forward, straddled the steel and listened to their stories. And yes, I was wrong, it was great to meet them... they fixed my handlebars that had been ganked out from my fall 115 miles earlier, adjusted my seat, and pointed us in the direction of a bike-shop (Steve learned from them he desperately needed a new seat) and that evening's home. God is good. His timings perfect while mine is not. Looks like getting lost was all part of the plan. One thing was for sure...

SLEEP GOOD TONIGHT.

The Answer Lies Behind the Next Door

The Door

I held my breath until I heard the footsteps. I opened my mouth ready to resell my story but before the words could come I had to hold back a tug at my eyes. What was that?! I started to speak and noticed myself fighting the crack in my throat. This came out of nowhere, the day hadn't been emotional... guess I just really wanted a place to stay. Welp, emotion sells and we locked it down with John, Mary, and their fuzzy dog Sheba.

We plotted out a place for our two tents beneath a pair of trees. Steve and I set up the tents once again and our designated "Emeril Lagasse" popped a squat with a boiling pot at his pants... w-w-wait... I've got that wrong, Adam sat down to prepare "Knorr Pasta Sides" and prepare he did not. Poor three pasta packs into a cold pot of water BEFORE bringing it to a boil? Why yes, yes that's about how it went. Thank God Margo and G-ma pulled up around that time with blueberry pie, a knee brace, and icy hot: An answer to at least 2 prayers. And that was it, or that was at least the last of Margo and G-ma... they'd saved our asses a WHOLE lot... but I really felt we had our feet underneath us (minus the whole food prep thing) and I was pumped to see where we'd end up ALL on our own with nothing more than our blind naivity and unquestioned commitment to make it to Miami. No doubt there were crazy challenges ahead... hahaha, crazy challenges... but I knew we were up to it. We said our goodbyes and off they went. And then there we were, left to our own resources.

"You have to boil the water first Adam"

Feeling slightly motivated to start taking care of ourselves and plan for better-off welfare: I scrolled through my cell-phone contacts and messaged a friend about contacts in Maine. She sent me a number of a boy that had lived on the east coast of Maine for the summer- I texted him and he replied with the info of a potential host mother for the next evening. Holy crap, I hadn't showered in 2 full days, it'd be 3 by tomorrow, and... and potentially... food?! REAL food?! Not granola, peanut butter, or mashed noodles? I said my prayers all sorts of real good that night, for tomorrow, I'd call Helen of Brunswick.

Plans? Who Need 'Em!

Plans: as in knowing where we'd be sleeping that night (which we didn't), much-less which town we'd end up in.

The knee had been popping all day and in return I was popping pills like Anna Nicole Smith. By 3:45 that afternoon my body had had enough of the day's adventure. 4.6 miles before we'd passed though Thomaston, Maine, placing us in, well, the middle of nowhere obviously. We had pulled over on the side of the road a few hundred yards beyond a Baptist church. We were all in the mood for a break, "Yeah, &$^% these hills". Steve's adamant disposition put a smile on my face. I pulled out my droid and opened Google Maps; yup 4.6 beyond Thomaston and 7 miles North of the itty bitty town of Warren, Maine and there were 6 homes and that church within sight. Used Google Maps to call the church- no answer; so we hobbled back onto our bike seats and began looking for the next car in a driveway.

Didn't take that long. The second trailer on the left wasn't too far down and there were huge pine trees protecting a decent sized yard, seemed like a decent home to prospect.

We drug ourselves on to their gravel driveway and I hopped off my bike and explained I wasn't going to approach... I wanted to see what the boys could do. Steve and Adam stared at one another for a while before Steve stepped up to the plate, we waited just long enough for the homeowner inside to reach his front steps before Steve could even reach his porch. The man gave us a good stare-down, but that didn't hold Steve back: Pretty Boy Floyd jumped right in there. It went something like this...

HI. MY NAME'S STEVE. WE'RE BICYCLING ACROSS AMERICA AND WE NEED A PLACE TO SLEEP TONIGHT. CAN WE STAY IN YOUR YARD.
...

The man just stared at him. "Maybe you know of somebody" Steve finished.

The man scratched his head, "Nope. Sorry. Can't help ya."

       **Cue awkward silence

I looked at Adam; I didn't even need to speak it, he could see my eyes saying, "shit".

So we jumped back on our bikes, well Steve stomped around for a bit through the gravel, then he and Adam awkwardly drug their bikes/trailers in a U-turn through the gravel. We'd crossed traffic in order to knock on that last door, so indeed we did the same thing so we could ride on the right-hand side of the road and wouldn't have to chalk up "head-on collision" to our rough day. (It's difficult not to laugh out loud when I think about this next moment) I'm pretty sure Steve was already ready to stab somebody...

Then as he was crossing the road, Steve was nearly impaled by an oversized pickup truck. She slammed on her brakes and slammed on her horn... peeling out once Steve got out of her way. Sorry Steve, but I couldn't help but laugh knowing how pissed you were :)

And then there she was, the next house on the left. A home. A BIG yard. A CAR! I looked back at Steve and Adam for approval and saw them adamantly waving me on. I threw my bike down and waddled up to their back door.

Mary answered the door. I gave my approach and she just stood there, "uhhh I need to go ask my husband" (never heard that one before), so we stood, and we waited...

Ignorance is Bliss

We had our own little sendoff crew to begin our second day: Chief LaHaye, Margo, G-ma, and a city councilman (from the town hall building that nooked us next to the Public Safety Building) we're all there by the flare of their wrists. We said goodbye to everyone and pedaled right on down HWY 1. This time- the right direction.

I really don't want to be a negative Nancy, but there's truly no other way to say it: HWY 1 through Maine sucks. What sucked about it you ask? A 6in or less shoulder (think about it- a sidewalk is probably at least 30in... and some of you can't keep on it even in those perameters... I'm not excluding myself. So yeah, 6in was tough. (That's what Guadelupe said) SO- a 6in or less shoulder WITH constant semi traffic to our left(semis are not allowed on the interstate in Maine therefore they all ride HWY 1, ha!). Oh! and on the right side of the 6in shoulder was a never-ending deep dug ditch, death would be imminent should one of us fall. But we learned to roll with it, there was nothing I, or Adam, or Steve could do... except growl. Literally growl. I growled a lot. At least it was "mainely" flat...

for the first 15 miles that day. Around lunch we pulled over in Camden, ME. It was beautiful and a visually epic spot to dine. We could touch the ocean and just a few hundred feet behind us were the reason for the the up-and-downs 15 miles into the trip: mountains. When you think about it... besides the west coast, Maine is one of the only places in America you can experience a view like that.

So we plopped. Next to a lobster house. Sitting oceanside we altogether looked to the smoke billows on our left circling from the outdoor steampots, we couldn't help but notice how delicious another juicy meal of bottom feeders would taste inside our clif-bar filled stomachs. But instead I pounded another handful of granola.

While I was lip-deep in a spoonful of peanut butter, Adam and Steve got chatted up by a gentilmanly tourist. I overheard he used to be a cop. He used to bike.... wait what??? He USED to bike until people started throwing glass bottles at him on the road in NC. Dammit. Something to look forward to if we actually made it there alive. I quickly came to realize that just like in every other area of life ignorance truly was bliss. Experienced cyclists we bumped into along route were always perplexed as to why were so positive and excited about what we were doing... because they knew the dangers, the risks. They feared the known and we feared learning about it. Hence why we never asked questions and why not nearly one moment was planned.

Gena, We're Going.

^^^^ was the first of many wake-up calls. I won't say I ever grew accustomed to it either. The ringing of Adam and Steve chimed in at 7am...  however this was East Coast time so it felt like 6. I rolled over in my sleeping bag and across Adam's in the center of the tent to reach into the trailer to see what kind of grub we had for breakfast, but quickly remembered that the reason the dudes ate cold stew the night before was not merely as a result of fatigue... but because we didn't have the right propane canister to fire up our travel stove.

Skipping breakfast I walked over to the station and knocked on the door to see who was there this morning. The head Chief (LaHaye) greeted me and let me use the rest room. As I was walking back out to the dudes I started small talk with LaHaye and he followed me out to meet the rest of the bicyclists. He'd asked how we were able to afford the time or money to take a trip like this. Adam spoke up as he always does to this question, "We sold BOOKS. DOOR-to-DOOR" (while violently nodding his head in agreement with himself).

After about 2.5 hours we were all unpacked and repacked (keep in mind this was a true first day with both trailers as we had only received the second trailer once we settled down at the station the night before). I honestly can't fathom why it took so long... ohhhh yeah, there was the point blank confusion of how the heck to fit everything in the trailer bags... collapsing the tents, shaking the dew off the dents, laying them out to dry in the sun, the morning sit-down, refilling our water bottles and adding "electrolytes", the rationing of the cliff bars, and then finally figuring out how to attach all the little extras to the trailers (coats, tents, sleeping pads, pans) with bungee cords... yup, that was it. So at 9:30, we were ready. Ready to begin again.

                                       Yes, all of this went into those 2 "Bob" trailers

Spending a Night with Local Law

Never in a million years would I have imagined spending a night like this. I'd been relatively successful up to this point in my life at avoiding any kind of interaction with any kind of law enforcement (even while I was a door-to-door solicitor as a college student I'd only had one blue light special in 30,000+ knocks), but after knocking on only 4 doors and talking to only 2 people, here we were: the 3 Amigos lined up at the Searsport Public Safety Building.

"Hey there... ummm... this is gonna sound kinda weird so I'll just ask," the EMT was just staring at me with this confused but somewhat sympathetic look on his face. I suppose he was just trying to figure me out as I hadn't really given him much info up to this point so I spit it out, "Myself and these dudes, well... we're looking for a place to stay tonight. We'd spoke to someone in the neighborhood that recommended we stop here and ask about setting up shop here for the night. All we have is two tents. The only thing we'd need to figure out is where to go to the bathroom".

"So let me get this straight, you're bicycling somewhere... where are you going by the way?"

"Maine to Miami" we all chimed in

"Maine to Miami... you've got a ways to go" he rebutted

(golly gee, ya don't say)

He continued, "well I don't think it'd be a problem, we do have plenty of space out there. I do have to clear this with chief LaHaye though. I'll see if I can get ahold of him; be right back".

I turned around to Steve and Adam and gave 'em the "holy crap can you believe this?! this is awesome I hope this works out I just wanna crash and call it a day" face.

"You're good to go". We learned our new EMT friend's name was Mark and shortly thereafter Roger emerged from the building. I solicited them for a photograph and had them walk me around the corner and show me where to plop shop with the tents for the evening. Then they led us inside the station to relieve ourselves and fill up our bottles with water.

But within those 10 minutes spent indoors, it was nearly pitch black; I'm not really sure if it was a lack of daylight or whether it was the pit of mosquitos swarming us. I started digging for the Deet haphazardly, Steve started setting up the tents, and Adam called his mom to let her know where we were staying so she could drop off our second trailer before she and grandma retired to their comfy cozy motel room for the evening.

She arrived seconds later as she was only around the corner (and cars are faster than bikes). "I seriously can't believe you guys! This is great!" cheered Margo. I agreed.

The dudes were pretty stoked too. However, the hills had gotten our best that day and we were wiped. Steve and Adam each ate a cold Hungry Man Beef Stew that night for dinner and I slathered a chocolate coated chocolate chip granola bar with peanut butter. I quickly washed my face (soap and all) with the icey cold water from my water bottle... just one more realization what "we were really doing this, huh?". I jumped into my most expensive piece of equipment, my sleeping bag, and scribbled down some notes about the day... really really terrible scribbles:

     1. Woke up sick
     2. Did not go to ^catholic church (even with Adam)
     3. Rode to Cadilac sports the wrong way on a 1-way and fell over while strapped in (lost balance)
     ...
     ....

There was nothing left, not even enough to beat Adam in a game of his uncle "Tim's Game" of cards... Sleep good tonight!

                                                                    Mark and Roger

Door-to-Door Homeless Solicitation

It was 5:00 and we'd pulled over for the night in Searsport, ME. Steve had been dropped off the hour before and finished the last 8 miles of the day with us, we were now confronted with in an all too familiar mental and physical location: homelessness.

So we did what any sane person would do and headed a few blocks east toward the ocean where the homes and the yards progressively grew in size. We noticed a park... thought about it for a second, but our common sense told us we'd have better luck knocking on doors for a place to camp that night than taking on the local law enforcement and wildlife next to the city merry-go-round.

To our right was a gorgeous home, something large and victorian with an equally spacious yard. We peddled a few rotations before we landed in their gravel driveway, and looking at one another I could see what all of our eyes were asking, "who's going to knock?". I volunteered. I figured I was the most non-threatening in appearance (not to say that pretty boy Floyd wasn't pretty). I waved at all the windows as I walked up. Knocked. Took three steps back. Turned side-profile. Waited. Rang the doorbell. Took three steps back. Turned side-profile. Waited... waited... knocked. Turned around and looked at the guys, "?"

"on to the next one then huh?" said Steve.

We looked across the street, but didn't see a car in the driveway, so we decided to knock on the neighbor's home next door. It was a small ranch styled home, but they had a yard, and there was indeed a car in the driveway. As we scooted across the sidewalk up to their walkway, I noticed them both sitting their in the window so I threw up my arm indicating an exclaimed, "hello!". She looked confused, so was I, and so I told her when she opened the door, "Heyyyy... you must be the homeowner?" I asked

"Yeeeees?" she replied

"Well, this is gonna sound funny, so I'll just tell ya. Myself and these two guys behind me, we're all from the midwest..."

"The midwest?! Where from? I lived in MN."(awesome, I thought, time for rapport)

"MN!?" I exclaimed, "Me too! But I'm from SD. Adams from WI, and Steve is from IL."

"Ya don't say, well what are you doing way out here in MAINE of all places???" She wondered

"Well, I imagine you see a lot of this through here, but we're obviously cycling... across America. We just finished our first day and we've planned to camp. Soooo we're wondering if maybe you know someone that wouldn't mind us staying in their yard for the night. We've got everything we need to take care of ourselves and we're leaving early in the morning... possibly even yourself?"

"Oh no, not me. That wouldn't be fair to my tenant. You see he enters through the backyard and that just wouldn't work."

I asked if she knew of anyone.

"Well, there's Marge across the street, she'd probably love to! Got a big yard, a hose, I'm sure it wouldn't be a problem... she's just not home right now."

Anyone else? A pastor?

"Yes! You might try the presbyterian church and Pastor Graves, his home is actually right next to the church, you know, right on Main St"

"Well thanks for the help, it was nice to meet a fellow midwesterner" I said, and off we strolled.

On our way to the church, we biked past Adam's mom, Margo. As we slowed down nearing her car her eyebrows raised as if to ask, "any luck??"

"Nothing yet, but we're going to go check out a church. We'll keep you posted."

"I can't believe you guys" Margo laughed. I agreed.

...or so it seemed

At the base of the parade, less than an 1/8 of a mile into our true route (literally in those last two hours we'd made it all the way nowhere... and yet I wouldn't have had it any other way... because look at the pages of information and feeling we would have missed out on!), we found ourselves at the base of the 7th or 8th steepest & longest... most intense... hill of the entire trip (I was going to say it was the second... but then I remember we biked through the entire state of Connecticut. Damn she's as beautiful as she is painful).

"So we're really doin' this huh?" Adam shouted again with a smirk on his face. It was then that we discovered our new tag-line for the next two months; almost as if to say: "this is crazy shit, but so are we... and since we have no better common sense let's get to it".

I committed to the hill *ahem* I committed to the first 2/3 of the hill. This biatch came out of nowhere! What are you thinking Maine?! The lactic acid built up in my thighs so tight I couldn't figure another way to make it to the peak than to pull to the right and take a breather. That's when a car full of mangey teenagers drove toward us and passed us from the oncoming traffic lane shouting, "get on the sidewalk idiots!".

Didn't they know?! We are on road bikes, excuse me, we don't take these on the sidewalk... hence ROADbike. Mind you, I would have loved to be on the sidewalk. I would have felt MUCH more comfortable with the curb protecting me... we were traveling quite slowly. But as I believe I've already mentioned, I, and by "I" I mean "we" all had some naive version of protection clouding our minds that made us able to ride inches close to cars... and semis... and turtles. (I'll save the turtle story for later)

For every uphill there's a downhill... well except this one (and 6 others in Connecticut). This hill, however, leveled off. and we continued.

mile.
after mile.
inch.
after inch.

Adam and I pulled over for a break at the top of a hill to rest. We had no food, so we just chatted. All I remember is that I needed the restroom... but there was nothing, just a parking lot and some public forest building that was closed on a Sunday. We just chilled for a moment and it was back on the saddle.

I had fun chasing the hills, believe me there were plenty of them. I also enjoyed watching Adam shake ruthlessly each time he coasted past me due to the extra 100 lbs he was trailing. Each downhill Brah Perrier shook like a leaf. Each time we hit the downhill I expected him to barrel-roll 100 times over (if you would have seen him you would have thought the same), and if this were to happen he'd take me out with him like Bowzer and Princess Peach in Mario Kart, but we were relentless. Relentless and dumb. Exactly what we needed to be.

That whole afternoon I thought about the conversation Adam and I had had the night before we embarked on this trip. I remember sitting in Adam's garage in Marshfield, WI; looking at him straight in the eyes, "There's nothing that's going to stop me on this trip", Adam agreedm "Oh absolutely, nothing". I'd already accepted what obvious toils we may encounter: I imagined we'd get sick, I imagined we'd fall, I imagined someone would end up in the hospital, and everyone told us we were going to get hit by cars, kids up to no good would come searching for our camp at night to ransack us, I figured we'd knock on a few creeps doors, and we also found out we were trailing the wake of a hurricane (I don't know how we missed that bit of news, must have been delivery week or something). These things we accepted... must have been that cloud of naivety.

But hills? Duh. No brainer... we KNEW there'd be hills. Keep on and carry on my friend. One more hill. One more mile. That motto got us 39 miles that first day. By the end of our trip that was peanuts, but to someone that'd never exceeded 21 miles... those were 18 very literal milestones.

15 Seconds of Fame

So we did what any good-hearted, unbreakable, and determined kids would do. We kept on and carried on. I started to notice things though… people… everywhere.

“There’s something going on here”… with the use of a little common sense I determined that the crowds

lining the street of 1A on September 11^th must indicate some sort of town gathering; some sort of celebration, something like a parade.  I thought we’d be in the clear once we got off 1A and back on the right track, but as we hung a Ricky onto US1 (YES. Heading the right direction SOUTH), we realized… we were IN it. Men and women in uniform lined the street with the presentation of the American flag. We didn’t know what to do but we sure as heck didn’t want to stop so Adam quickly shouted, “can we bike here??” and the servicemen shouted back, “sure! But you’ll be leading it!” So we did. And although no one would probably remember the weirdo pulling a wobbly yellow trailer and an awkward looking girl in an orange neon jacket, that didn’t stop us from playing the part. This seemed like the REAL perfect start to a very crazy trip.

Surprising Signs

The essence of Floyd started to wear off, his body was shrinking in the distance. We left him there, left him there to rot… well actually no not at all. Margo (Adam's mom) was on her way to pick up Floyd, she was halfway to the bike shop to snag our second and new trailer that was waiting for us, but had to turn around. We were proud problem solvers and this almost appeared to be the easy way out, but it was indeed the most efficient, and it was however the reason (to trail) Margo and G-ma were still in Maine… so save our sorry asses… at least for the first 2 days.

So then there were two. Adam in front now with the trailer while I followed. 

I don’t know why we stopped, but we did… in fact it may have been because I saw the highway sign for 1A. “Uh Adam”,  I had no idea truthfully where we were going, there was no plotted destination for the evening… we just wanted to get as far as possible while we had the light to do so… however, I had a sneaking suspicion and a decent memory that reminded me, "you’re on the wrong road dumbass".

That put us seven miles outside of Ellsworth in the wrong direction, and three miles beyond Floyd. “Well shit, guess we’re just gonna have to turn around then aren’t we?” I thought and wondered if Steve is still there. We crossed the road and the dividing lines in order to head back due East, back to Steve, back to Ellsworth, back to highway one. Back to the drawing board as they say (has anyone ever figured out who "they" are anyway?). Backtracking to our start.

Rotting? What, Steve? No. Not rotting, rather sitting rather confidently right where we left him, Floyd was pounding his face with a hoagie. “You holding out on me Steve!” Adam yelled and haphazardly wobbled across the highway to go taunt Steve. My stomach was consuming itself, it was 2:30 and I hadn’t eaten since my bowl of oatmeal at 9:00 AM… I was wishing I had a plate of bacon. Totally perplexed and wondering where in the “H” Floyd had landed such a feast (in the middle of nowhere!) I waited… Adam jumped back over the highway to take back his lead and we headed back toward town. He explained that the owner of the steel building of the parking lot that Floyd was occupying came to his rescue. Floyd refused the offer of the man’s truck to get back to town, but made use of his toilet and the buffet inside his warehouse. Mother F’er! Now I was hungrier than ever. I guess that’s what you get for leaving your friends behind.

                               

                                              This is where we left Steve/ FLoyd

Adam, probably not even looking to oogle Steve

Steve and his delicious hoagie