Becoming

After doing my best to assimilate into Columbus bike culture for the last two years, I think I'm required to reflect on the day that I Facebook posted, with much disdain, about my feelings regarding biking. I believe (Rather, I know, now that Facebook has that lovely timeline feature) that on March 29, 2010, I said, "Talk about your stupid bike again, see what happens". Gee, I bet that instilled feelings of love and warmth from my 800 Facebook friends, a large percentage of which are bike enthusiasts, or at least bike hipsters.

You might wonder what it was in me, other than lack of latte, that would make me jab a community typically characterized by their zeal for outdoor fun. Honestly? It was jealousy. If there's any kind of club, I'm going to want to become a member. This is much like my feelings for running before I became a runner (or at least running enthusiast). I would roll down the window of my car, throw Soft Batch cookies and yell, "What's the hurry?!" I hated them. And, in the end, it's because I had no idea how to become them.

This summer, while on the bike trip, I made a call to my sister late at night from a mountain in Salida, Colorado. She was in Put in Bay, and had had a few drinks, which probably allowed her to say what she did. "Maybe you thought you were faking it before, but you really became the thing you were trying to be".

She was so right. After losing a bunch of weight five years ago, everything I tried made me feel like an imposter. I was a fat, sad, smoker-imposter. And people knew when I coughed through my 12 minute mile that I wasn't an Olympic athlete. But after making it several hundred miles on a bicycle through the Rocky Mountains, I was the thing I had previously pretended to be.

You're acceptance into a community is not based upon your abilities. Your acceptance is based on your attitude. I showed up to a triathlon on a 30 pound steel-framed 70's department store bike. I ran my first race draped in three layers of fleece. (I didn't know I would sweat so much) And I took off on a bike trip with 32 more pounds of gear than I needed. I had to start somewhere. And faking it seems to be a reasonable spot.

Today in My Eyes

8/11/11

GlenDale to Yorktown, VA

Didn't sleep a wink. Like a kid on Christmas Eve. Stared at the wall in the "quiet room" until light saturated and I could make out the sharpie drawing on the face of a Cabbage Patch doll. Slammed some Poptarts, signed the church's guestbook and busted out of there. Rode through the dew-wet forest. Flat, straight road. So unusual.

I have been excited since we first changed the final destination to Virginia rather than Maine to see Williamburg. I visited when I was 11 or 12 with my family and remembered the awesome magic of historical reenactments and candle making. Now, as an adult, it appeals to me in a slightly different way. Shopping, dudes in tights with three pointed hats, mugs of meade.

Crept around town at four miles per hour checking out the Market Square, Colonial Village and William and Mary College. I was transported to another time. Not so much the late 1700's. More like the early 90's.

"Lauren! Isn't this nice? Wouldn't you like to go to college here?" One of my mom's favorite daydreams. I go to a fancy college and she can visit me, and shop. I am sure that I am donning at the time some kind of peasant bonnet, and loving the hell out of it. Perhaps holding some kind of beeswax treat my mother has allowed me. I'm looking at the elaborate Colonial brick buildings and thinking that this is what all colleges look like.

Not surprisingly, my college experience bore no resemblance to that of a William and Mary student. Though, I have a feeling that no 18 year old can truly appreciate the romance of the campus. They probably assume, like me, that this is just what college looks like and drag their feet, desperately hungover from all that local meade, to Philosophy 101 without ever even looking up.

As for me, I'm enjoying it so much I haven't closed my mouth in three blocks. I'm just freaking out over the little soap stores, quilt shops, wine and cheese cafes. We pick a spot for lunch. It has been so long since we have spent any time in a city with a population exceeding 400 that the bustle inside a wine and sandwich shop is making me feel like Encino Man. I am overwhelmed by the noise and girls in Ralph Lauren belts talking about what kind of Chardonnay is best. I just want to yell, "HULK SMASH", grab sandwiches and a bottle of beer and run from the building, arms dangling like a great ape. Instead, I wait, grimacing at five year old twins with blond bowl cuts.

We sit outside and drink four dollar champagne and eat another person's sandwich order. We are 13 miles away from our final destination and neither of us want to finish lunch. We don't want to get on the bikes. We are almost nervous.

When a big exhausted family asks us if we are leaving soon, we know this is our cue. A final champion chug of champagne and we are off. The route requires us to ride through a vehicle prohibited area of Historical Williamsburg. A father and his two young sons are listening as a woman in a homely frock tell a dramatic story. One of his sons tugged his pant. "That man has a solar panel on his bike". Without looking down at his son, or the bike, the man responded, "Shhh. That's impossible."
We giggled.

For the remaining miles, we dance, we cheer, we swerve through traffic. A glorious 13 miles. Felt like 2. We didn't mean to, but we ride so fast we are out of breath. Here it is, the last mile. We are making our final turn, and as we do, we see Brigit's silver car. It makes a fast U-turn and follows behind us. Brigit and Charles are shouting and honking. Congratulatory balloons fly from windows. Brigit pulls up along side us and hands us plastic crowns. She is holding badges with WINNER printed across the middle. She has fake gold medals and all kinds of other victory goodies.

When we arrive at the water, there is much merriment. I am so astounded, I cannot even cry. We walk the bikes to the water's edge. Brigit blasts bottles of champagne and dumps them on our heads. We are elated. Stunned.

After all of the hullabaloo, we got in the car and head for the campsite, which is an hour away. I call my father, wanting to share the news. I hear a big laugh, which I realize shortly after, is a sob. Darn it, Dad. I was doing so well up until now.

"I am so extremely proud of you." We are both crying now, as hard as we can. I did not anticipate this moment, not in the least. Between the desperation of missing my father and the triumph of completing this journey, it was all I could do not to hiccup like a small child.

"Thanks, Dad." Brigit is in the back seat with me and she is wiping off my tears. I feel silly, but also great. I am holding a bouquet of flowers, wearing a plastic crown and my clothes are wet from jumping in the ocean. I'm having one of those moments.

Some people will regret not doing the things they have always dreamed of. I have the incredible fortune of having accomplished one of my biggest dreams. Often I have felt like I have been afraid of doing anything adventurous. I sense my own mortality in a way I don't think many people do. Somehow, the closure of this trip has made me less afraid of death. I am so grateful and so happy. I could leave with today in my eyes.

The Love is Implicit

8/10/11 Mineral to Glen Dale, VA

Took our sweet time on our 80 mile ride today. Met two ridiculous dudes who had already done east to west and are now headed to DC. Archetypal stoners. Like extras from Dogtown and Z Boys. One American and one Englishman, strangers before they met on the road. They could not be better suited for each other. They smoked a victory blunt when they got to the coast. We cannot relate to these guys.

We told them where we had stayed the previous night. "Oh, sweet. Yeah, Mineral. They didn't let you shower or stay inside?"

"No! They made us camp without showers. They said some skinny dirty dudes tore through the place and now no one is allowed to stay there anymore."

Insert foot directly into mouth. It was clearly these guys who "tore through the place". Sounds like their m.o.

We took pics, high fived, finished our iced coffe and carried on down the road. Todays stretch of land covers the Seven Days Battle and if you're interested in history, you should look that up.

We savored every minute of today. We are sucking the marrow out of these finals days. And we are doing so by buying forties and sleeping in a church.

Listened to white people butcher Baptist songs at choir practice while we chatted up a Dutch touring rider. Leave it to the Methodists to take a soulful gospel song and make it a dry waltz.

Ate fresh picked tomatoes and cookies. Slept in the church "quiet room" where kids go when they can't stop screaming through the homily. It's pretty cozy.

Here I am. Last sleep. I am sad. I stacked up all the business cards and return address stamps we have been given by people who have helped us along the way, thinking of the thank you cards I will write. I hold the stack tightly. A collection of people, a fat little treasure in my hand. I want a bigger stack. I want an endless collection, rooms full.

Just yesterday I finished reading "You Shall Know our Velocity". (A one point two pound book and the only luxury item in my bag.) Eggars says something squarely in the middle of the story that made me shut my fingers into the crease and clutch it to my chest, gasping. He says, "Love is implicit in every connection. It should be".

I am often keenly aware of my ability to become overly intimate with people too soon. I cannot help myself. I want to know everyone. Some people are uncomfortable or skeptical of this trait; worried that I want something from them. But I promise it is an ernest attempt to know you. And I know that I tend to smother or talk too much. But I want to listen. I want to know you, very honestly. I am excited for anything new. And though it appears I am consuming everything in my path at a fierce rate, I promise, I am loving you.

I have every intention of continuing on in this manner. I want to see it all. And if it seems gluttonous, perhaps you should cultivate a similar hunger in yourself. If a desire to know people isn't in your blood, well then, maybe it should be.