My bed

No matter how decadent the Best Western, how ornate the Bed and Breakfast, how grand the continental breakfast of Comfort Suites... there is nothing that matches the warmth and security of my own bed.

So here I lie. 320 miles of bike riding from my parents stoop to my bed. I am a lucky woman. I cannot recount the number of times men we have met have shook their heads hearing about what my dad and I do, "ooee, I wish my son/daughter would do something like that with me." But, I am the lucky one. There is no one else I would rather bike 320 miles with. I honestly do not know if I could bicycle tour without my dad. I feel like such a child even writing that. But, bike touring is dangerous. Trucks come close. Potholes appear out of nowhere. Tires are flattened. I am reassured by the fact that my dad is there. I shared this sentiment with my dad, who of course assured me I would be totally fine on my own. I'm still not so sure of it, but if my dad says so...

Today was the final day on the road. It was a hard day. We only went about 55 miles, but we drove on very busy roads with very small berms. There was some point while biking through Gary that I was really considering stopping. I was just going to get off the bike and obstinately insist that we go no further like I was still a 10-year-old girl refusing to leave the barbie section. But, I am actually a 24-year-old woman so I biked on.

When we hit the south side of Chicago, we felt an ease overcome us. The south side is often painted as a sort of war zone. But, compared to the war zone of Hwy 12, the Chicago south side was a Shangri-la. As we biked up Ewing Ave., one woman looked at us in our matching outfits, and said to her friend, "oh, that's cute." Biking past a small catholic school, a young boy shouted out, "cool bike!" The city beckoned us into it. We stopped on Promontory Point and took in the view. We stopped at my office for a warm hello. We were heading on to our last stop before home, the bar.

1.5 miles from the bar, what do we hear? BUMP, BOOM, WHOOOOOSH. Flat tire. That is right. The first flat of our trip, 1.5 mile from beer. In 15 minutes, it is fixed and we are on our way. Beer has never tasted so good.

Thank you dad. Thank you tandem bicycles. Thank you trucks in Gary for not killing me. Thank you body for not giving up. Thank you Indiana for giving me bike paths at the moments that I most needed the respite. Thank you bed for being hear at the end of this journey. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

Happy Bikers at The Map Room (photo: Chris Brunn)

Oh yes, this day...

After three full days of biking, that fourth morning is tough. As I eased onto the seat to start the ride, my butt literally rejected it. It bounced up and floated in the air above the seat for a few seconds looking below at the taunting triangular black sliver that clearly had no give and no concern for my pain. I tried to settle in again. This time, the reaction was a bit less harsh, but I still wasn't ready to be fully planted. I started to empathize with my mom's claim that if she had a sofa on the back, she'd gladly bike, but the seat as it is just won't work for the way we are built. After a few minutes of riding and readjusting, my butt and the seat had finally found their groove. But on day 4, that routine happens every time you dismount and remount. Your legs also start to rebel. And the exhaustion catches up; there was a moment today where I actually thought I might be able to sleep and bike at the same time. I made sure not to relate this feeling to my dad, but I spent a solid few minutes contemplating how it could work.

On this day, you also start to forget things. At a stop where we were reassessing our location I dropped our headphone splitter. This is a prized possession. It is the device that allows us to simultaneously listen to the same book or music. This is crucial during the long afternoons full of headwind that we tend to encounter. I remember looking down and noting it was dropped. About 10 minutes later we decided to listen to our book. We looked in the bag and of course, no headphone splitter... Turns out I only psychologically picked it up. On this day, you most certainly do not turn back. What is passed, is passed. This also applied to a moment later in the day when we were searching for our motel. Just a mile down the road we realized that we had passed it. Did we turn back? Of course not. We biked an extra 10 miles to another hotel. You just cannot go back. Miles gained are miles gained. (In full disclosure, we also probably didn't turn back because the place was called "Al & Sally's Motel", and we have been on high alert for bed bugs)

That being said, this day is the best. It is the day when you really realize you are pushing the limits of your body. It is the day you most face yourself and prove to yourself you can do it. I think our society does a lot to divorce people from their bodies and nature. This is evidenced in the place we are currently plopped. We are at the Best Western in Chesterton, IN. The hotel is by the freeway because there is no place to stay in the heart of town. To get to the K-Mart (where we went to try and find a new splitter...no luck), you have to cross the highway. There is a stop light. There is no crosswalk. This was probably the most dangerous moment of our day. No one walks to K-Mart.

I have to admit that if I had a car here, I probably would have driven--I'm that tired. But, that is what I mean; this experience forces you to be with your body. I feel so fortunate to be exhausted to my bone. I am full of mediocre Italian food, delicious Dairy Queen Blizzard (now available in mini-size!) and a caramel that my dad said "accidentally dropped" into our Walgreen's bag. I have biked another 70 miles. I have touched lake Michigan and looked out at a silhouette of Chicago. From this angle, Chicago looks more like an island of jagged rock formations than a major metropolitan city. It is nice to see it dwarfed by nature.

Tomorrow we bike into Chicago. We will indulge in good beer and good food. We will have reached our destination. But, as I answer my many work e-mails and commute to the office in the coming week, I will not forget this day.

Discovering Indiana

From I-65, Indiana looks rather dull. I have seen Indiana from this perspective almost exclusively. I know the exit with the Wendy's and Starbucks well. I always enjoy passing the wind farm. I regularly mess up when going through Indianapolis, and welcome the scenic rolling hills that usher me into Cincinnati. However, this trip has taught me that Indiana has much more to offer than what can be seen from one of its main thoroughfares.

We began our day in Marion, and soon found ourselves on the Sweetser Switch Trail, a modest 3 mile trail, but full of civic pride. Little placards decorated the tree lined trail. It was clear the community valued this path, and we felt it as it energized us for what would turn into the most beautiful day of biking yet.

From the first little trail, we found ourselves traversing county roads that hadn't seen cars in days. The soy bean fields, tomato groves, fluttering wheat smiled as we passed. The wind had not yet picked up full force. My dad hypothesized that when it is cooler out the wind is less harsh. I was not convinced, but then he brought up some argument about the different temperatures between the air and the ground. Knowing neither of us had any facts on the matter, I let his reasoning stand, and felt blessed to not be battling the wind. Instead, we settled into more of a flirtatious dance with it. Right as the wind picked up, we hopped onto the Nickel Plate Trail.

The first person we met on the path was a man in an electronic wheelchair with two American flags waving from each arm, and a veteran ball cap. As we approached we saw him joyfully popping wheelies. We did the obligatory nod and smile. As we rode away, he jokingly said, "don't break the speed limit." Those little moments are just the fuel I need to keep going. We got a bit too immersed in this beautiful trail, ending up beyond the google maps directions. That is where I have to give my shout out to GPS smart phones. Yes, that's right. I love it.

The phone helped us chart a new route into Logansport that took us along the bank of the Wabash River. This might have been my favorite part of today. The river on one side. A windy road that actually had a few hills. Horses and cows decorating the other side. Lush forests. It was truly divine. The strip malls of Logansport and the semi-trucks carrying supplies for them were a harsh awakening after such a delightful interlude. I was ready to just get lunch and go. My dad's bike cleat had other plans...

We rolled up to the diner. I dismount, my dad has his left foot out, but his right foot is literally stuck to the pedal. He had to untie his shoe and pull his foot out leaving a rather ridiculous scene. It seems one of the bolts had come out of his cleat, and the clip out function of his cleat was shot. But, not to fear, Jim rolled up on his motorcycle ready to save the day. I have a theory that there is a special bond between touring bicyclists and motorcyclists. Our experience with Jim definitely added data. It seems we had our malfunction directly in front of a "bike shop." I put that in quotations because this bike shop was really more of a guy's tinkering garage. But this guy, Mark, was one hell of a guy. Mark and Jim made it their personal mission to fix our problems free of charge. They accomplished their mission and when we offered money, Jim refused telling us to just pay it forward.

So we biked on. We found ourselves on a busy road we did not like, and went to find an alternative route when we accidentally happened upon the final bike path of the day, The Panhandle Pathway. This took us all the way to our final destination, Winamac, IN.

In Winamac, we went to the local pizza joint, strapped a pizza to the back of the tandem. We then rolled across the street to the grocery store and picked up a bottle of wine we stuffed into one of our paniers. And we rode 3 miles to the Tortuga Inn. The Tortuga Inn is owned by two artists who are clearly artists first, and then B & B owners. Everything is a little rough around the edges, but there is character here. It sits on the Tippecanoe River, and we could sit outside to enjoy our celebratory feast.

I will never again judge Indiana by the views from I-65.

Back in the saddle

On Thursday night I was in Boston reuniting with my good friend Ari. On Saturday night we were in New York City where we giggled/cried/therapized late into the night. Sunday night I was in Cincinnati "ooing" and "ahing" at what is quite possibly the best fireworks show in the world (an unbiased opinion of course). Three cities, spending time with loved ones does not necessarily add up to sleep. Having agreed to a five day bike trip from Cincinnati to Chicago starting Monday, I was looking for a way to delay.

On Sunday evening, I sheepishly mumbled to my brother Ben (who would be joining us for just day 1), "maybe you and I could just hang out in Cincy on Monday, and Dad and I can leave for our ride Tuesday..."

"Aha, dad said he was worried that you might say you would be too tired. We aren't going to have it. We leave tomorrow," Ben replied.

I had made my bed. I had to lie in it. Or ride in it.

So, Monday morning came, and at 6:45am, I was rubbing my eyes, pulling up my spandex and getting ready to ride. We drank coffee, lots of it. We ate eggs, fresh from Kathy's farm. We packed up the bikes and we left our home. No loading bikes into cars or planes. This trip is a door to door ride. My parents' home to mine.

We set off. Dad and daughter reunited on the tandem bicycle that had previously carried us from Mobile, AL to Cincinnati, OH. Big brother riding solo. Never mind that tickle in my throat. Richmond, Indiana was calling for us. The ride was beautiful and serene. Apparently, not many people leave their homes on Labor day, making the roads clear. The weather was ideal. We barely broke a sweat. We rolled into Richmond around 2pm with 62 miles accomplished. A short day for us, but it was day 1.

After eating a gluttonous Italian linner (where the lunch portions could feed two), Ben left us and I died. The four days of flux had truly caught up with me. Stuffed up, feverish, lethargic, I laid down in my bed and breakfast bed (dad was scared of bed bugs, so we splurged) and slept from 4:30-7:30. I awoke and filled myself with drugs, we perused the maps for a good hour, and I was back asleep.

This morning I had the expected crusty nose and itchy eyes, but the worst had certainly passed. And so we rolled on... 80 miles to Marion, IN. Today was truly a treat. We spent the majority of the day on the Cardinal Greenways, soon to be the longest bike path in Indiana. Parts of the path we were treading were freshly paved, making it seem as if we were the inaugural riders. The path is beautiful. The tree-lining protected us from the terrible winds we encountered briefly as we rode between Gaston and Jonesboro. We expect a duel with the winds tomorrow. We found our rhythm on the bike, we began listening to the ever-so-popular Girl with the Dragon Tatoo, and we talked to strangers (or at least my dad did).

Now, we are settled into the Comfort Suites. We considered the Economy Motel across the street, but when I called the Comfort Suites man, he warned me that the Economy Motel was "basically a crack house." Obviously the source is tainted since he was talking about his competition, but my dad and I decided not to risk it. We made a night of Marion's offerings taking in the local steakhouse and the 5 dollar movies. I am thankful for this bed and my dad's heavy breathing in the bed next to me, but I am also thankful to be moving on across the state. There is something to biking through less than compelling towns--it keeps you moving.

On we go. Man, it feels good to be back in the saddle.

One of those days

It strikes me that most days can end with the sentiment, "It's just been one of those days," yet we never really define what those days are. I just looked it up. One of those days means a bad day. Why is it that we have defined "one of those days" negatively? Do we have a universal saying for when it's been one of those fantastic days? When someone tells you, "oh, it's just been one of those days," you nod knowingly. We can all connect on the shit in life. Yet, we don't have a similar phrase that is met with the same deep knowingness for one of those damn good days. It's like we are afraid to celebrate life. You wouldn't want to look like you were showing off.

If someone asks you, "how are you?" One is expected to say, "fine." If you say that you are not so well, that elicits sympathy and concern. If you say that you are doing great, the other person may smile, but likely is thinking, "who the fuck does she think she is?"

I think today was one of those days for me... but it was not bad. It was full. It spent most of my emotions to the limit. I began the day with the simple pleasure of deck coffee and homemade granola. I spent the day engrossed in ideas, planning, meeting, doing, coaching and deciding. I saw a good friend and processed, I dealt with a hard situation of one of my students. But the moment, the moment that is the most vivid lasted only 5 minutes.

There we were, Leah and I, sitting and talking. Debriefing from the various emotions that one of those days holds. Unweaving the complexities of urban, young professional life. I was listening intently, but found myself distracted by these two little twins running around the park with their parents in tow. The twins were excited by EVERYTHING in sight. True delight is hard to avoid staring at.

Eventually, the little girls came close to us. Their full smiles were infectious, halting Leah and my conversation completely. As they approached and retreated we attempted to maintain our trains of thought with little success. Then, then the moment happened. Little Sarah (I later found out her name) approached with a sly smile. She stumbled her way through our bags, leaned in toward me and gave me a huge hug. She then turned around and plopped down in my lap.

Her dad looked at me apologetically. As adults, we see this kind of behavior as completely inappropriate. But, I smiled back at him assuringly. This is just what I needed. My little friend returned to hug me several more times. She also showed me how neat grass is and how one should definitely not eat it. We laughed and sighed. It occurred to me in our interactions that she did not yet understand the concept of "having one of those days" or holding back your own joy. She brought all the joy in the world to every interaction and I didn't react by thinking, "who the fuck does she think she is coming around here all happy and shit?"

No, no. I smiled back. I hugged back. I forgot about my day and joined her in hers. There is a lot we can learn from 1-year-olds.