To my dear Aunt Mary:
Here we are, the Illini 4000. When I first decided to ride across America, it was little more than a fun tidbit to share with people. “What are your plans for the summer?” “Oh me? I'm riding across the country... on my bike.” It was cool, and people thought I was cool for saying it. Who really has a chance to say that? The doing it part is entirely different. Now, all of those people who I told with a calm smugness that I'd be pedaling my way from one ocean to the next are at home, sipping beers and playing video games in air conditioned living rooms. The hardest part of their day is getting out of bed before noon; by then, we've climbed 30 miles of mountains and we've got another 50 ahead of us and the promise of a hotter sun with every minute that passes. It's hard, and we all know what that really means now.
I came into this trip thinking that it would be a great way to see America - to really get to know what's out there. I wasn't really correct in that regard. I'm gaining a basic understanding of what the topography of America is like and where certain cities are in relation to others, but this isn't a sightseeing opportunity. Every stop we make mid-ride is another roll of the dice. When you're uncertain whether you'll be able to take another stride with momentum on your side, starting from a dead stop is really tempting fate. The exhaustion we've accrued isn't wiped out in the time between the end of one ride and the start of another. Muscles still complain just as much as they did the day before and that lingering sense of uncertainty still resides in the back of your mind, asking whether you're sure you need to climb this hill because you most certainly do not want to. That keeps you in the saddle. It's one foot down, and then the other, and after so long your head drops just to make sure that your feet keep doing what they need to be doing to get you closer to your next sleeping bag. As it turns out, exhaustion trumps curiosity in the reptilian core of our brains that keeps us pedaling day after day.
That's not to say that I haven't been taking in my surroundings. While New Jersey was, as far as I could tell, a suburb of New York, Pennsylvania is a majestic expanse of rolling hills, mountains, fields and forests. The farmland surrounding Lancaster was breathtaking and the Amish people working on horse-driven plows and threshers were picturesque. Our very first mountain climb was appropriately shrouded in fog, giving the entire experience a sort of eerie stillness punctuated only by the incredibly fast moving traffic that has been a constant so far, no matter how far off the beaten path we go. We had really ought to do something about all of these cars in America. There's nothing like gasoline smell and perpetual fear to ruin a perfectly beautiful scene.
So that's what my trip has been so far. It's been extremely challenging both mentally and physically, but I've proven to myself that I can do it. We had a team meeting last night in which a lot of opinions and emotions were shared, and I think I'll try my hand at riding with some other groups from here on out. It's been fun and extremely rewarding personally to push myself and redefine my own limits and now I think I'd like to spend some time exploring my role as a teammate and (if I'm lucky) maybe even an honorary member of the Lady Pack.