Since my last post, we've travelled a few thousand miles through Illinois, Missouri, Kansas, and Colorado. To narrate the details of all that time away from my blog would be an immense task. We've gone through more miles of corn and wheat than I wish to remember, a couple of mountain ranges, a little desert, and some land in between geographic regions that I'm not sure I could categorize other than barren. We've lost a total of three team members to number us fifteen. The routine of riding has completely settled in, and I expect that this part of the ride--the third fourth--will be the most difficult. I've met several hundred people at gas stations, churches, restaurants, and on the side of the road, and all have been receptive to our cause. I also finished my AMCAS application, which has given me a time surplus to read and write and do other things.
As we're about to enter Utah and the hot desert, I'm apprehensive. Everyone heading eastward tells us the sun's gaze is oppresive and the towns sparse. I've been to southern Utah before, but the weather was mild. We also rode in a car. To traverse hundreds of miles of broad horizons and red rock mesas on a bike, which is to be exposed and slow-moving, will probably be grueling for many of us. We'll be camping more than we have yet, and we'll meet far fewer people every day. We will have ourselves for company and support, and San Diego will become a tantalizing goal. And so tomorrow will begin.
Saturday, July 7, 2007
Monday, June 11, 2007
Chicago-Champaign
We arrived in Chicago at Millenium Park Friday to greetings from several family members and friends of the team. After snapping a few pictures in front of "The Bean"--a polished chunk of bean-shaped metal in downtown Chicago--we organized our bikes for travel to Homewood in the van, and I left with Allison and Mike to attend a wedding of one of Mike's high school friends.
Mike's mother picked us up from the train station in Lisle in a very well maintained '91 White Cadillac, which I became enamored with for its retro electronic displays, plush leather interior, massive size, and general air of American sophistication. After showering, I borrowed some ill-fitted clothes from Mike and tagged along to a small wedding at which I knew no one. The wedding, quite honestly, was tacky and beautiful. The tackiness was due to the ceremony itself in which some rather mundane vows were taken ("I know that I will hurt you, but I promise not to do it intentionally." I assume the vows were written or modified by the bride and groom who seemed to desire an air of dreamy informality.) and in which a guitar-strumming, flower-child rendition of "All You Need Is Love," was played for the recessional hymn. The beauty was provided by the arboretum of Lisle, and I am dissapointed not to have been to explore the park more. Instead, I had a few drinks, talked to a few people, listened to some nervous speeches, and finally broke it down on the dance floor but only with the greatest self-conciousness. It was obvious that Mike, Allison, and I were outsiders, but none of that stopped us from putting on a show for the fifty or so guests.
The following day I drove from Homewood to Chebanse. I met Hatim who drove a second support vehicle, an almost-member of the team, and an excellent conversationalist. We spoke at length about religion, particularly Islam and Christianity, and I was thankful to have spent a day with another person interested in serious intellectual affairs. The breaks between conversation I filled by improvising routes and providing water and food for the team. Driving the support vehicle was more busy than I anticipated, but I still don't care much for it, simply because a day-off breaks the routine of riding, physically and psychologically. Arriving in Chebanse to the hospitality of Jon's family was refreshing, and they provided us with perhaps the best meal yet on the trip.
Yesterday, we rode from Chebanse to Champaign, and the course was boring. Illinois is mostly a homogenous landscape of field after field. The wind blew from the west, and the monotony of pedaling through a plain region with the steady rush of air through our ears was broken only by the guest riders. Several alumni traveled with us from Homewood to Champaign, and their temporary presence on the team gave us a break from ourselves. Even more riders joined us for the last leg (~15mi) into Champaign, where a welcome party had assembled at the Alumni Center. All in all, it was a solid day of riding that felt more familiar than any of our previous days.
One story of note is drawn from an experience near Paxton. We stopped at a gas station in this tiny town to fill our bottles and wait for the arrival of the caboose. While waiting, a long-haired, hoary man pulled up to the station on a lawn-mower. The hood of the machine was held fast by a bungee-cord, and the local parked in a spot reserved for cars. While he went about his business inside, another man pulled up in a maroon BMW-convertible, and despite the other available parking locations, he stationed his car directly behind the lawn-mower. The most perplexed expression remained upon his face as he stared at the lawnmower and moved his car back and forth a few inches at a time. He paused for what must have been three minutes, and during the entirety of the episode, the contortion of his visage remained as in stone. Then, suddenly, without apparent reason, he sped off down the highway, accelerating at a rate high enough to burn the rubber from his tires. A few minutes later, the owner of the lawn-mower stepped out of the station store with a case of Bud in his hand and spoke with us about our trip for a minute or two before giving us a $3 donation. He flirted for a few minutes with what appeared to be another local, a middle-aged woman who drove a real car, and then put the beer on his grass-cutter and putted off at 5mph across the adjacent railroad tracks. I, with Anish and Jon, stood silent.
Mike's mother picked us up from the train station in Lisle in a very well maintained '91 White Cadillac, which I became enamored with for its retro electronic displays, plush leather interior, massive size, and general air of American sophistication. After showering, I borrowed some ill-fitted clothes from Mike and tagged along to a small wedding at which I knew no one. The wedding, quite honestly, was tacky and beautiful. The tackiness was due to the ceremony itself in which some rather mundane vows were taken ("I know that I will hurt you, but I promise not to do it intentionally." I assume the vows were written or modified by the bride and groom who seemed to desire an air of dreamy informality.) and in which a guitar-strumming, flower-child rendition of "All You Need Is Love," was played for the recessional hymn. The beauty was provided by the arboretum of Lisle, and I am dissapointed not to have been to explore the park more. Instead, I had a few drinks, talked to a few people, listened to some nervous speeches, and finally broke it down on the dance floor but only with the greatest self-conciousness. It was obvious that Mike, Allison, and I were outsiders, but none of that stopped us from putting on a show for the fifty or so guests.
The following day I drove from Homewood to Chebanse. I met Hatim who drove a second support vehicle, an almost-member of the team, and an excellent conversationalist. We spoke at length about religion, particularly Islam and Christianity, and I was thankful to have spent a day with another person interested in serious intellectual affairs. The breaks between conversation I filled by improvising routes and providing water and food for the team. Driving the support vehicle was more busy than I anticipated, but I still don't care much for it, simply because a day-off breaks the routine of riding, physically and psychologically. Arriving in Chebanse to the hospitality of Jon's family was refreshing, and they provided us with perhaps the best meal yet on the trip.
Yesterday, we rode from Chebanse to Champaign, and the course was boring. Illinois is mostly a homogenous landscape of field after field. The wind blew from the west, and the monotony of pedaling through a plain region with the steady rush of air through our ears was broken only by the guest riders. Several alumni traveled with us from Homewood to Champaign, and their temporary presence on the team gave us a break from ourselves. Even more riders joined us for the last leg (~15mi) into Champaign, where a welcome party had assembled at the Alumni Center. All in all, it was a solid day of riding that felt more familiar than any of our previous days.
One story of note is drawn from an experience near Paxton. We stopped at a gas station in this tiny town to fill our bottles and wait for the arrival of the caboose. While waiting, a long-haired, hoary man pulled up to the station on a lawn-mower. The hood of the machine was held fast by a bungee-cord, and the local parked in a spot reserved for cars. While he went about his business inside, another man pulled up in a maroon BMW-convertible, and despite the other available parking locations, he stationed his car directly behind the lawn-mower. The most perplexed expression remained upon his face as he stared at the lawnmower and moved his car back and forth a few inches at a time. He paused for what must have been three minutes, and during the entirety of the episode, the contortion of his visage remained as in stone. Then, suddenly, without apparent reason, he sped off down the highway, accelerating at a rate high enough to burn the rubber from his tires. A few minutes later, the owner of the lawn-mower stepped out of the station store with a case of Bud in his hand and spoke with us about our trip for a minute or two before giving us a $3 donation. He flirted for a few minutes with what appeared to be another local, a middle-aged woman who drove a real car, and then put the beer on his grass-cutter and putted off at 5mph across the adjacent railroad tracks. I, with Anish and Jon, stood silent.
Tuesday, June 5, 2007
A New Blog
Hey Everyone!
Due to a malfunction, the previous blog will be replaced by this one.
Since I've last posted, we've gone from Manhatten and across New York, Pennsylvania, and Ohio. We are now resting in Huntington, Indiana.
The routes the first week were typically hilly with perfect weather nearly every day. Wind was minor, and it seemed like everyone adjusted quickly to the daily effort.
More recently, the roads have become level, and the western wind has left us gasping. Yesterday was our longest yet--125 miles (including several unanticipated detours)--and several storms punctuated an already challenging day.
My only cycling related problem has been inadequate nutrition, and I've resorted to indiscrimate eating. I eat all day, and I measure food not by taste but by caloric content. High sodium, high fat, high everything foods have become the norm, and I'm not sure if I'm preventing a loss of weight.
The team is composed of 18 generally friendly riders, but only a few have much cycling experience. It's been exciting to watch everyone cultivate a passion for the sport so quickly and refreshing to be in a fairly non-competitive environment. The social drama has been minimal and confined mostly to petty concerns that arise when so many people live together for so many hours every day. In all honesty, fun and fatigue are the two most common shared experiences.
The people we have met and who have hosted us are more generous than I could have ever expected. Whether it be a church, house, or campsite, we have been given a home at every stop. The hospitality is just shy of overwhelming.
The portraits project has been sobering. It is a compilation of stories of cancer victims nationwide, and these victims may be survivors, family, or friends. Members of the team interview, rather, listen to them for anywhere from five minutes to an hour or more. Sometimes understated and sometimes tearful, these people and their stories reflect a profound understanding of human suffering and the peculiar need for hope in a world just hobbling along.
We'll be in Chicago by the end of the week, and I hope to post again there if not sooner.
Cheers,
Mark
Due to a malfunction, the previous blog will be replaced by this one.
Since I've last posted, we've gone from Manhatten and across New York, Pennsylvania, and Ohio. We are now resting in Huntington, Indiana.
The routes the first week were typically hilly with perfect weather nearly every day. Wind was minor, and it seemed like everyone adjusted quickly to the daily effort.
More recently, the roads have become level, and the western wind has left us gasping. Yesterday was our longest yet--125 miles (including several unanticipated detours)--and several storms punctuated an already challenging day.
My only cycling related problem has been inadequate nutrition, and I've resorted to indiscrimate eating. I eat all day, and I measure food not by taste but by caloric content. High sodium, high fat, high everything foods have become the norm, and I'm not sure if I'm preventing a loss of weight.
The team is composed of 18 generally friendly riders, but only a few have much cycling experience. It's been exciting to watch everyone cultivate a passion for the sport so quickly and refreshing to be in a fairly non-competitive environment. The social drama has been minimal and confined mostly to petty concerns that arise when so many people live together for so many hours every day. In all honesty, fun and fatigue are the two most common shared experiences.
The people we have met and who have hosted us are more generous than I could have ever expected. Whether it be a church, house, or campsite, we have been given a home at every stop. The hospitality is just shy of overwhelming.
The portraits project has been sobering. It is a compilation of stories of cancer victims nationwide, and these victims may be survivors, family, or friends. Members of the team interview, rather, listen to them for anywhere from five minutes to an hour or more. Sometimes understated and sometimes tearful, these people and their stories reflect a profound understanding of human suffering and the peculiar need for hope in a world just hobbling along.
We'll be in Chicago by the end of the week, and I hope to post again there if not sooner.
Cheers,
Mark
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