Teacher on Two Wheels

Above: Morning of departure, before all the exhaustion stuff started

10/9/07

I’m sitting at a crumb-covered table in a Burger King in Bel Air, Maryland, two days into my ride. Two days. Two long days.

I’ve ridden 50 miles each day and have struggled doing it. I must admit: So far, things are much harder than I had anticipated. The heat over the last two days has left me drenched in sweat for six to seven hours of each day. The roads that run over the hills of Pennsylvania and Maryland are undulating ribbons of asphalt that make bicycling with a fully loaded trailer a hellish ordeal. Every sweet downhill descent invariably bleeds into a seemingly steeper uphill ascent. I’ve resorted to pushing the bike uphill dozens of times already. For those of you who are interested, when I dismount and start pushing, I usually travel at a tortoise-like three to three-and-a-half miles per hour.

****

Yesterday, as I was trying to figure out a way to push my bike and trailer up a steep ramp on the steps that led to the pedestrian walkway on the Ben Franklin Bridge, a wiry, bedraggled homeless man approached me and noticed my vulnerability.

“Hey man,” he said. “That’s a real nice bike. Man, that thing’s beautiful!” He fidgeted and swayed in the early morning heat. His eyes were glazed over, from what I couldn’t tell. “What’s it cost, like five hundred bucks?” he asked.

“Uh no, no. Less than that.” I said honestly. “Sorry, I’m kind of busy.” No one else was around and I felt a bit nervous. I started pushing. With my arms completely extended, with all the strength my legs could muster up, I was able to move the bike two feet up the ramp. I felt the man’s eyes on my back. I grunted and put all my energy into pushing, moving the bike two more feet.

“Less than five hundred? What like four hundred?” he called out to me as I moved the rig up a few more steps. “You need some help?”

I couldn’t tell if his offer was sincere and decided to push the bike up myself. After two close calls where the whole thing nearly pulled me back of my balance and slid down the steps, I made it to the top of two flights of stairs, drenched in sweat.

This ordeal would set the tone for the rest of the ride that day. After getting slightly lost in western Philadelphia, I ended up in a neighborhood where most of the women on the streets were wearing four inch heels and shorts that seemed uncomfortably tight. Men lounged on front stoops at midday and looked lethargic with boredom. I kept riding and eventually made it past the city limits to an area where I would spend the rest of the day: the rolling hills of the rural Kennett Square area.

As the odometer rolled over to the 50-mile mark, I stopped to ask a woman in her garden if I could get some water. Lonely, tired, soaked to the bone with sweat, I was desperately hoping she’d take pity on me and invite me to set up my tent in her backyard and let me take a shower. I didn’t drop any hints and as you’d expect, I had no such luck.

A half-mile down the road, I found a little clearing in the woods and set-up camp for the night. I showered by standing under my suspended water bag. A thin stream of cold well water washed grime and various small insects from my face, neck, hair, and legs. I cooked a simple meal of pasta, carrots, and onions.

Above: Stealth camp site, night one

Although my surroundings were beautiful (an owl watched me eat, and through the trees, I could see rolling fields of corn), I felt incredibly alone. And I was. But for some reason, I was surprised by the degree of solitude that washed over me. I felt a sense of achievement for making it through my first day, finding a secret camp spot easily, and making the 50-mile mark I hoped to make, but I felt a knot of doubt growing inside of me.

I wondered, Will I really be able to do this six days a week for months on end? Have I bitten off more than I can chew with this trip?

Just after sunset, after the clouds glowed like the embers of a dying fire, sleep came fast and quick, and thankfully, as the stars awoke, I wasn’t scared by my desolate surroundings.

****

Today, I rode a smooth 25 miles by 10:00 a.m. Despite dripping sweat within moments of mounting the bike, I enjoyed moving along at a good clip past fields of hay and corn and stubborn, weathered silos. As the sun went high in the sky, my progress slowed and I started struggling to keep a nine-mile-per-hour average. Like yesterday, I easily went through three liters of water by mid-afternoon. The humidity and hills sapped my energy and left me feeling weak. I started feeling stupid for ever having imagined I’d be able to succeed on a trip like this. Again, as I hit the 50-mile mark, sore and weary, I looked for a campsite.

I set-up camp in the woods out behind a closed-down auto body shop. I showered and took a nap, laying shirtless on my sleeping pad in the open air. Looking up, I watched clouds float by and envied their seemingly effortless movement.

I cooked a filling meal of squash, onion, pasta, and split peas. After I cleaned up my pot and plate, I checked the messages on my cell phone. I listened to the voices of my friends and family wishing me luck. The moment I shut the phone off, I burst into tears and started sobbing. I cried the way someone does when they’re truly alone: loud and passionately. Again, I became overwhelmed with feelings of doubt and loneliness. As the tears came and came, I could hear my mind telling me to get a grip, to take things one day at a time, but for five long minutes, nothing could comfort me and bottle my emotions.

Having wiped my eyes and prepared the tent, trailer, and bike for the rain weighing heavy in the looming thunderclouds, I took my laptop a half-mile up the road to the Burger King I’m now sitting in.

I hope this post doesn’t lead readers to believe my will has been broken by these rough first two days. I’m going to keep plugging away and will continue to try to take things one mile at a time. That’s all I can do.

The idealism that clouded my mind in preparation for the trip has now dissipated and the firm reality of what I’ve chosen to embark upon is slowly setting in.

But I can do it.

I just saw that the heat wave that’s been melting the northeast for the past week is supposed to break tonight and tomorrow. I’m looking forward to riding in the cool mornings ahead. Time is on my side…

Goodnight,

Andrew