Armin had been biking without five spokes for 80 miles or more; we made it to the Indiana Dunes, despite another clownshoes type woman's best efforts at killing us (more on that below); and we made it to Chicago, where I got to see friends, where I got to eat breakfast at Orange (omelettes, cinnamon pancakes, and frushi were in abundance), my favorite breakfast place in the world, where I got to eat eggless brownie batter at Kitsch'en and where the all you can eat sushi buffet attempted to best me but failed to win!So now that I have a little time on my hands before we pedal off again tomorrow morning, I thought I would attempt to gather some of my thoughts and reflections on the trip.
On Rumble Strips
Rumble Strips=Danger Strips. We hit some rumble strips on our first day of riding as we left New Jersey. These devices, ever so helpful to sleepy drivers, are particularly scary when you are on a bike. I was quite sure at least one retina would detach as I hit these the first time, not to mention the pain in my hands. In Ohio, we spent our last 10 miles of a 90 mile day navigating a 12 inch stretch of shoulder bounded by a danger strip on one side, and a patch of gravel on the other. I had never pedaled so quickly and tensely, just ready to be done for the day, and out of harms way from those danger strips!
On Being Hard Core
For those of you who know me well, you of course know that the whole reason I am doing this trip is so that I can be hardcore. In order to assure my hard core status, I bought one of those cool earings that all the hard core kids wear. You know the ones I'm referring to-a silver hoop with a ball bearing closure. Well, in my infinite coolness, I was unable to get the darn thing into the second piercing I have had in my ear for years now, much less slip the ball into place, which for those of you who are not hard core, I must explain does not merely screw in, but must be popped into the hoop, so that the small divots on either side of the ball fit snugly into the hoop, properly ensuring one's hard core status. As I said, in my infinite coolness, I was unable to get this hoop in myself, but after lying on the floor for 30 minutes at my sister's house in Vermont, as my sister struggled with with my ear, and I finally understood why dog's prefer lying up on the bed to nap, my sister was able to get the earing in. The effect was instantaneous-my swollen red ear, with my new hoop made me a hard core kid. Once I put on my spanking new "Biker Chick" jersey, with a picture of a yellow chick on it, well, I was pretty much unstoppable. I was hard core. Hell, I biked to Chicago from New Jersey in two weeks. Clearly I AM hard core.
Well, that's what I thought anyway, until we got to the bike shop in Indiana. Here at this bike shop, our extremely competent bike mechanic Josh, soon to become Armin's new friend crush, shattered my illusions of my hard coreness. Just when you think a silver hoop, a bike jersey, biking cross country, and not showering for 10 days is enough, you meet the cute, friendly bike mechanic who cycles 40 miles a day to work, and mountain cycles, including a trip coming down Colorado's 14,000 Pike's Peak (I have hiked this mountain, and I promise you that not even the silver hoop makes me want to ride a bike down it), all on a UNICYCLE. Oh yes, a unicycle. And of course it is one of Josh's dreams to to cycle cross country, but not on a bike. On a unicycle. Oh Josh, Josh, Josh. You who are the truly hard core, without even trying, or having any fancy piercings. Armin has truly picked a worthy friend crush. As for me, well, I'm just going to go back to bicycling cross country, and I'll try to think of another reason why I am doing this trip, since it surely won't ensure my hard core status...As for mountain unicycling, apparently this small subculture really does exist, and I am sort of convinced Josh is their leader.
Other hard core people we have come across include the family the doing a road trip from California back to California this summer. As the parents saw our loaded bikes they informed us that they had done a cycling trip through Mexico for 3 months years back before they had kids, until the husband fell sick with malaria and they had to bus it home. When their bikes broke down, they would use rocks to pound out derailleurs and the such. But you know, I am perfectly happy hitching to a bike shop when the time comes, speaking English, and bitching about the non-malaria infested mosquitoes that seem to love me so much.
One more side note on being hard core-another one of Ross, Armin and my hard core friends helped inspire this adventure, so much so that I think he'd be amused to know that some days when we are struggling with something or other, we say "WWRJD?" and make our decision from there. Thanks Ryan, and thanks for the package!
On Being Clown Shoes
In attempting to describe some of the wacky, zany people we have met on our adventures, I often refer to individuals as "crazy." Bernadette, a friend who is a mental health professional, and who I am staying with in Chicago, politely pointed this out to me, and it has become my quest to find a new way of properly, and less-offensively describing these people, while still maintaining the color of their personalities and Ross, Armin and my interactions with them. So, another friend suggested a better term might be clown shoes. I think this term really is appropriate in so many instances, as it speaks to the strange comic relief many of the clown shoes people we have met have provided to our trip, as well as their quirky personalities, while also alluding to the fact that their actions and our interactions with them are sometimes just a bit too out of the ordinary to leave us entirely comfortable. If I am being offensive to any clowns out there, I do apologize, but you have to admit guys, a lot of people think you're creepy. I don't want to reinforce stereotypes, but if the clown shoe fits...
Ross seems to attract a lot of clown shoe personalities. While Armin and I are carrying our gear in saddlebags, Ross is towing a bob trailer. As he is the fastest biker of the group, he usually gets to towns first. His trailer really seems to draw the attention of the clown shoes, and I often ride up to find some man or another asking Ross all sorts of questions about his trailer, including if he thinks you could stick a motor in it, so you could motorize your bicycle, and get over some no doubt draconian laws preventing mopeds from going over 30 mph, or some such thing. As Ross does have a degree in electrical engineering, but not law, he can clearly only answer a part of such questions.
My interactions with clown shoe folks had been quite limited, until we hit Indiana. There had been one reporter in a small town in Pennsylvania, where Ross was getting his bike fixed, who was a little clown shoes, but the interview was brief, and a good way to the pass the time as we were waiting for Ross's bike. But in Indiana Ross, Armin, and I went to stay with one of my Mom's second cousins. Sandy and Tom were super friendly folks, but turned out that they were uber helpful in the most unhelpful of ways. They insisted on meeting us at a gas station off of route 20, rather than just giving us directions to their house, as it was too complicated. So, they very kindly met us at the gas station, and then led us, with their flashers on, to their house 10 miles away. At the 5 mile point they said they were going to pull over to give us a breather, as we quickly yelled "no!" We just wanted to get there, and following a car at 12 mph, while others cars were whizzing by at 55mph, hardly seemed safe. Once we got to their house, and settled into the back yard, where we would be camping for the night, Sandy and Tom regaled us with stories about life in Northern Indiana; fed us dinner; introduced us to their 80 year old Dutch neighbor, who wore wooden shoes, and kept fish and pigeons in his back yard; and let us get to bed. In the morning Sandy insisted that we sleep in, as we needed a bike shop, and they wouldn't open til 10. So she got us breakfast, called the bike shops, and told us that they were backed up for days-seeming to imply that we would have to stay there for a few more days. We couldn't handle this. We needed to go. We felt as if our freedom had been taken away from us. After convincing Sandy to give us directions, rather than lead us back to route 20, we decided to chance finding a bike shop along the way, and left Elkhart, IN behind, luckily finding a bike shop 6 miles up the road (see above for details on Josh) that helped us out, and let us get back on the road, able to make our own decisions again, until...
On Clown Shoe Drivers
We were almost to our campground by the Indiana Dunes, biking along a 55mph two lane road, with a decent shoulder, when a car made an erratic turn in front of me, but rather than turning, the car pulled onto the shoulder. I gave the car a wide berth, as the driver side door flew open, with utter disregard for my biking safety, and all of a sudden I hear a woman's crazed voice scream, "Excuse me, Ma'am!" I was petrified. Ross and Armin were far enough behind me that I couldn't see them, and I was convinced one of them had gotten hit. She comes closer, looking a little frenzied, in her early 90s one-piece button up (with several buttons missing) floral skorts outfit, with her long wispy hair whipping around, and proceeds to tell me that there is a much nicer route to be biking on. And then asks me where I'm going. By this time the young boy, maybe 4 or 5, who was in the car with her has climbed out of the car, playing on the shoulder of the road, and Ross and Armin have caught up. Explaining that she is a biker too, otherwise she never would have stopped us, she gives us directions to a bike path and a road that have less "pollution" than the road we're biking on. We are a mere 3 miles from our campground at this point, but rather than asserting myself with kind clown shoes offering advice, I accept this alternate route, just as I accepted Sandy's offer to meet us at the gas station rather than giving us directions to her house. We bike down to the bike path, and it is unpaved shell and limestone, and looks incredibly unappealing to ride on at the end of our day, with our loaded bikes. So we continued on to a different road she recommended, while also realizing the woman is following us with her flashers on. What is going on? Of course, just as this is happening, fate would cause the vegetables i'm carrying on my back rack to come flying out from under my bungy cords, causing Ross, Armin and myself to stop, at which point the woman asks us again where we are going. We are not clear if she is intending to make sure that her directions were correct or if she wants to follow us there, but luckily after this interaction, we didn't see her again.
On Sacrificing Safe Driving Because of Being a "Biker Too"
Other bikers really seem to feel a kinship with us, such as the woman above, as she sacrificed safe driving to provide us with helpful directions. Similarly, a couple in Pennsylvania pulled up to me at the top of a large climb, as I am topping out at 4.5mph. From their large truck, which is pulling some sort of large trailer, they slowed down to my speed, and decided to have a conversation with me. As i struggled to push my pedal around each time, they asked me where I'm going, where I'm coming from, and informed me that they were "bikers too," and that the drivers don't really like bikers out here for the next stretch so we should be careful. Great! If the people that do like bikers are stupid enough to talk to me at the top of a huge hill, where there is little shoulder, what were the other drivers going to be like? Fortunately though they told me this was also the last of the hills, so it seemed as if my luck was turning around. However, the hills seemed to last for at least 10 more miles, but interestingly enough all the cars gave me a wide berth on that road, leaving the "helpful" couple to be the most unsafe car I had to deal with.
On Finding Housing
It often falls to me find housing for us at night, although Armin is certainly not shy about asking. But after our second night of looking for places to pop up our tents, we found that people are generally more receptive to a female asking for lodging. Also, I kind of get a high when someone finally gives us a place to sleep for the night, so I volunteer to go up and talk to people. So far so good, and we've met some really nice folks. We always try to leave a thank you note, and one of Ross' cards with a link to his blog, so that people can follow our progress if they like. Thanks to everyone that has allowed us to sleep on their property so far, or who has pointed us in a helpful direction. What was initially the scariest part of the trip for me has now become the most exciting.
Get Out Now
So, I think that's as much as I can muster right now. We are heading out again tomorrow morning, and it is definitely time. You've been great Chicago, and Chicago friends, but after spending an hour waiting in line today at the post office I realize I am ready to "get out now." This saying is apparently an old running cheer my brother in law's cross country team used to yell to one another. I find it helps me to yell this as I'm climbing a big hill, or when it's time to leave Chicago. So bring on the numb hands, and the sweaty bike clothes. Back to the pedaling.
6 comments:
yah hoo! get out now! you seem to have a penchant for attracting the clown shoes -- don't put all that blame on others. perhaps it's your clownshoes roots, but you just can't seem to say no or be rude to them.
hee hee. you are funny.
Well placed "Get out now", I was getting antsy just reading about it. Plans almost in place for Seattle trip, hopefully seeing you in September on the west side!
Julie, I think you will agree that there is a difference between people who look hardcore and people who walk the walk (or bike the bike, so to speak). The truly hardcore have friends (me) who regale their friends with stories of what their hardcore friends are up to, and the twice-removed friends gasp in awe and wish they could be that cool some day. Josh may be hardcore (and would I be wrong to suggest that his unicycle obsession may make him a little clownshoes while still cute?) but you are also hardcore fo sho. You don't need a badass earring to prove it, though it doesn't hurt.
yeah hilary. ditto what she said. also, do i get to be bad ass because i sweated for 30 minutes trying to get that blasted little ball bearing with two teeny little divets in it to fit just right? i better be badass by association.
just ready ross' blog -- holy crap you guys are logging a lot of miles. jennie and i ran 5 miles on sunday and 3.5 today... what wimps we are compared to you!
I appreciate the use of Clown shoes, and I shall definitely be trying to pass it on to all of my friends. I find clowns creepy too.
I miss having you here, but I, too, like being hardcore by association, so keep on keepin on.
Are you in Minneapolis/St. Paul yet? what's it like with the whoel bridge thing? Stay safe.
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