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