I’m going to ride my bicycle across America, from Los Angeles to Boston.Again.
You might ask why; you’d not be alone.
Why would I want to pedal more than 3,400 miles in all winds and weathers, when I could just as easily (a lot more easily, actually) get a plane?
Why would I endanger myself on a trek that’s filled with risk of everything from simple injury to death?
Why would I take months from work and pay to cycle from the Pacific to the Atlantic in 7 weeks?
For sponsorship? To prove something? To lose weight or to get fit?
No.
Because I can.
I am not a fast rider and not particularly fit. I expect to be the last one to each hotel, especially at the beginning. But did you notice that one single word – 'again'? Does that indicate something? A certain level of madness?
Perhaps. Not content to suffer once, this will be my third time. Same bike, same route, same company, different shirt.
After breakfast on Sunday May 10th, over two dozen cyclists wearing yellow shirts proclaiming 'Crossroads', will line up, two by two outside the Marriott in El Segundo. We will pedal gently to Manhattan Beach Pier, sit for some photos and then ride across the continent to Revere Beach, Boston. At each end, we will dip a wheel in the ocean.
There, easy. Nothing to it. A day at the seaside, a few pictures and a bit of cycling – what could be nicer?
Except that not everyone will make it all the way; some will suffer injuries and some will give up. Statistically, about 25% won’t be there 7 weeks later for the photos in Boston.
But that’s not the end of it.
When the hangovers have faded and other riders go home to brag about their new figures and reunite with lonely spouses, I shall re-mount my bike. Alone, I will ride another 2,000 miles south to Fort Myers by way of the Skyline Drive and Blue Ridge Parkway and then put my bike on the ferry to Key West.
After a week of living like a hippie I’ll get back on the bike for a third time and ride the last stretch up the Florida keys, across the Everglades and Aligator Alley and home to Tampa. (Unless that nice Mr. Obama has fixed things with Cuba, in which case I’ll take a week out and flit over to Havana for a cigar).
By the time the welcoming sign of the local pub comes into view, I expect to have worn out 8 tyres, patched around 50 punctures and burned off as much as 40 lbs. My legs and bum will have climbed more than 150,000 feet - even without the Blue Ridge Parkway and Skyline Drive - and transported my bike, my gear and myself more than 6,000 miles.
I will also have posted about 40 entries to this blog, many of which will appear in OVI magazine at : www.ovimagazine.com.
A voice recorder will travel with my bike and posts will be recorded as events occur, colored by mental state, heat, exhaustion and isolation, written up later and uploaded when a wi-fi signal is available.
Nothing controls the subject or how I will express it. My comrades on wheels, Crossroads staff, the environment, Americana and culture, personal history – all are blog fodder, should by mind wander in those directions.
I will be sometimes frustrated by the curious and illogical actions of my new friends and I expect to frequently desire the removal from this earth of many a fool who drives as though cyclists need culling. Such items may be a familiar occurrence here.
This blog is not intended as a travelogue. Amusing tales stem more often from disasters and confrontations with stupidity, not from a smooth, daily journal like a schoolgirl’s diary, so don’t expect much about scenery and blue skies. Perhaps a little – it would be false to write as though there’s nothing of interest in the two deserts and three mountain ranges through which we will pedal.
Be warned. If you cringe and insert @#$ to avoid spelling 'butt' or ‘tail’ or substitute false phrases like n-word or find offence in religious, racial or gender slurs, you may want to read with one eye closed. Words are meaningless alone, it is the context that matters and, whilst my vocabulary is not controlled by street slang, it is occasionally appropriate.
Read on; or perhaps that should be, ride on…..
Mike J.
