One hour…

One hour remaining until I leave, and it’s about time I wrote a blog post. Before leaving, I’d like to thank everyone who’s been so supportive of me and the Illini 4000. A special shoutout to my parents, whose tales of bike trips inspired me to take this one and who have been unimaginably supportive all the way through this year.

I got my bike a few weeks ago, and haven’t gotten that much riding done on it. The largest hill I’ve seen so far has been in Hinsdale, so the Appalachians are going to be really fun. A name for my bike doesn’t occur to me yet- I’m waiting for that moment when bike and I become linked and I can feel its pain. Then the name will come to me. Regardless of any spiritual connection between us, we’ve ridden the Lakefront Trail, the Salt Lake trail, a few paths that are nameless to me, and a twenty-mile journey through the west side of Chicago, which I’m convinced has the most broken glass per square mile in the U.S.

Now I can check “write blog post” off of the to-do list, leaving only “leave”. I’ve packed my bag and duct taped all holes in my sleeping bag. A part of me wants to draw this packing process out, and another part just wants to leave right now. Who knows, maybe the world really will end tomorrow and we won’t be riding after all.

I do find it kind of funny that the rapture is supposed to start as soon as we arrive in New York (6 pm, according to Harold Camping. Our train pulls in to Penn Station at 6:30). It’s not entirely untrue; for a lot of our friends and relatives, we’ll be dropping off the face of the Earth for two months (excluding this blog, but who says the raptured can’t blog?) We might not be ruled by demons for five months, but this summer will be very different than the usual fare.

Now there’s a half an hour left, and I’m ready to go. Bring it on, America.

Comments (1)
  • David's mom says:

    Hey – who’s criticizing my daily bike route? One of the Harrison bike commuters’ terms for the route is The Big Ugly. That’s from the pessimists. The optimists (i.e., Buck, me) point out that the bits of glass sparkle like diamonds.

    But that’s a good motto for your adventure. Remember, il y a toujours deux possibilites.

    So here’s to a wonderful summer. I love you. Whenever you need a boost up another darned hill, imagine Dad or me there with a push or a pull.

    Your immensely proud – and anxious – mother.

Leave a Reply