a few photos from the ride

8 of us, slightly underutilized at a build site


the very top of Rocky Mountain National Park


actually not as surprising as one might think


my friend, Eric, doing his favorite trick, the Superman


the view if I had been inside a bicycle


a sign as we came into Napa Valley -- "stay alive by staying out"


the peanut butter bin


Kelly O. proving that we can sleep anywhere

a view of the trailer from up above

the end!

As far as I can imagine, this will probably be my last post - I can't imagine that you all want to hear the details of my life as I move back in with my parents, or look for a job, or work out at the Sports Mall.

I wanted to thank you all (my parents swear that people have, in fact, been following me this summer) for reading. It is a summer that I doubt I will ever forget, and it was a lot of fun to have a digital audience with whom I could share the experience.

I would love to see all of you (whoever you are) on September 3rd (even you Abuelita).

Again, many thanks, and stay in touch -- my email remains carriebadanes@gmail.com .

departures and bike boxes

Though we were officially "released" from Bike and Build as an organization when we put our tires in the Pacific, we were unofficially still absolutely affiliated. Accommodations had been arranged for us, and we even had a few meals provided. However, when it came time to get ourselves, our stuff, and our precious (yes, now I say precious) bicycles to the airports, we were totally on our own. However, when I offered to help Carys get to the airport, I had no idea what an ordeal it would be without the help of the van. Though her flight was at 1:00 PM, we left the church at 9:00 AM. We had packed our bikes in huge cardboard boxes the night before, and I was in charge of that, while she carried her over-sized duffel. The subway station could not have been less than three-quarters of a mile away, and naturally, the walk wasn't flat. Most people would have hailed a cab, but no, we were determined to save a buck. We must have been a sight, with the way people stared at us, but I have sort of gotten used to crazy looks this summer.

It wasn't just getting to the subway, but then transferring trains and catching a bus. The whole ordeal took the better part of the day, and I returned back to the church at 1:30, with plans to take my own bike someplace to get shipped. Another girl needed to send hers out as well, and we then set out, again by foot, to walk the half mile to the USPS. Three of us, transporting two unwieldy packages basically stumbled down Alemany Blvd.

I entered the post office, heaving and sweating. The woman behind the counter took one look at me and said "uh-uh, that's too big." Now, the post office boasts that not rain, nor sleet, nor dark of night will prevent them from delivering the mail. But a box measuring 62 inches in length -- apparently that was material to break them down.

I started laughing. Not only had I just walked with my bike, in a box, over a half-mile, but I had convinced another rider that this was the best way to get her bike out of San Francisco.

Fortunately, an old man in line, donning a pair of sweatpants and a scraggly white beard (the type of people you are probably warned to stay away from) had been listening in on the conversation between myself and the teller, and had started to ask questions about our ride. He then determined that "he was in a charitable mood" and that he would be back with his truck to take us to the UPS store. Left without much of an option, we waited patiently for his return. He did, in fact, show up -- with a truck, and we didn't quite know whether we should be nervous or thankful. After the three of us (one guy was just along for the ride) loaded our bicycles in the car and realized that UPS was way farther than originally anticipated, I chose to be very, very thankful.

He dropped us at the UPS store and gave us all (including the boy without a bike) hugs.

the cross-country celebration!

Though the end had been in sight for several days, I think it really hit most of us our last official host location, a very generous church in San Rafael, California. Their driveway was (appropriately) a 25% grade hill and I arrived to the church courtyard huffing and puffing. Once off of my bike, I noticed their incredible view of the San Francisco Bay, with (this remains debatable) the tip of the Golden Gate Bridge visible. Different church members took us to their houses for showers. In the car, our host informed us that the water we saw was, in fact, the Pacific Ocean. I silently contemplated planning a brief escape from the church to dip my tires in the water and be finished riding forever. However, the idea of riding in a 31 person parade to and over the Golden Gate was ultimately just a bit too appealing to turn down.

We were permitted to sleep in that last morning. And when the morning routine started at 7:00 the excitement was tangible. I, for one, was thrilled that it would be the last official "wake-up" call, the last morning where I groggily put on spandex, and the last time I had to fight with my sleeping bag to get it into the tiny stuff-sack.

Our route meeting (or group meeting -- I never figured out what they were calling for in the morning) was followed by group pictures overlooking the water and we set out. We had decided that we would travel all together, and had sort of elected one of the guys to lead us into San Francisco. He was chosen, not only for his patience, but for his concern safety; he's been donning a high-lighter yellow safety vest over his jersey for the better part of the country.

I think that the parade would have been a bit easier to execute if we had been in, say -- one of the plain states. Even the suburbs of San Francisco are notably hilly; but we pressed on, with tires almost touching. Few of us were familiar with the area, so we scanned for monuments with every bend in the road, anxiously anticipating the sudden appearance of the Golden Gate Bridge. Then at mile 17, we turned a corner and we could see the bridge, enormous and so surprisingly close. Before we knew it, we were with the rest of the tourists at the rest stop on the north side of the bridge. It was there that we proceeded to take about a thousand pictures and to take over the entire tourist area.

From there we set out to actually cross the bridge. I was a little disappointed that we weren't riding on the road, but instead on the sidewalk/bike lane with the pedestrians and families on rental bikes. (We later read that there is a company that rents out bikes so people can ride the bridge, and then picks them up and shuttles them back after the mile ride.) Despite the sidewalk, it was pretty cool. The weather was warm and the whole city was visible; and there was a whole group of friends and family waiting at the end of the bridge. I determined that I probably needed a few pictures from this side of the bridge as well, and hopped off of my bike to take them.

Almost directly below the bridge is a city park and we continued down to the water. As I neared the beach, I saw my aunt, uncle and cousin, who said "we were worried when we didn't see you, but your mother said you would be towards the end!" (Thanks mom).

We dropped our bikes and ran into the water. Then got out and grabbed our bikes and ceremonially dipped our front tires. Wet, and content, we had lunch on the beach, with the Golden Gate Bridge as a backdrop. The only negative of the entire celebration was that one slightly over-eager mother had made those eggs filled with confetti and had smashed about nine on my head.

a note from my parents...

For all of you who have supported Carrie on her “one long ride” (and I hope that remains ONE...singular...that another odyssey is not planned), we invite you to a homecoming party. Please join us on Monday, September 3 from 7-9pm. We’ll have desserts, Gatorade and toasts...the bottles of Red Bicyclette wine are already being chilled!

We figured that Labor Day marks the end of summer and this trip has certainly been laborious all summer! The celebration is at the Badanes house- 4342 Ashley Oaks; Cincinnati....All are welcome!

Anne and Harry

the end of I-80

I feel OK about posting an entry in reference to this weeks riding conditions as we aren't headed back onto the interstate for the rest of the ride. Correct, we have been on the shoulder of a 4-6 lane interstate for the entirety of Nevada, or - 400 lonely miles. In short, I have felt totally deprived of civilization. So, yesterday with about 15 miles left, I shouted (to no one in particular) - "would it be too much to ask for the mountains to part and for a sprawling metropolis to appear before me?" Someone was listening because ten short miles later, the entire city of Sparks, Nevada (which, previous to this trip I had never heard of) was laid out before me in the mountain valley.

The interstate at this point is anything but safe. First of all, the shoulder is covered with some sort of shrapnel. If I had a nickel for every blown-up steel-belted tire I have seen this week, I wouldn't need to start looking for a job until 2008. These steel-belted tires are especially dangerous because they are not only a road hazard, but they also deposit these tiny splinters of metal into your supposedly impervious tires. These splinters cause what are known as "slow leaks" and you only realize your tire is flat after a long break off the bike. Furthermore, here was actually a portion where the shoulder was closed and we were traveling in the right lane with the other "slow traffic." Needless to say, I was so thankful when I saw our exit (which was preceded by a "Cyclists Must Exit" sign). Off the exit, Carys and I decided to do a bit of exploring. We found a 7-11 where we had some version of a Delirium Gatorade.

After 7-11, we hopped back on our bikes, only to discover that I had one of those pesky slow leaks. Calculating that we were probably only about two miles from our host location, Carys suggested that instead of fighting to replace the tube, we should walk. So, I started walking my bike along another fairly busy road. After about a mile, Carys saw a shopping cart in the parking lot next to the road and immediately suggested that we try out the whole "side car" thing. When I refused, she jumped in herself. I put my bike on top of the cart and hopped on her bike, pulling -- until we met back up with the main road.

Today was our very last build day, and I was thrilled when I heard that the site had accommodated a group of 120 last week. After an organizational meeting, a few of us were put to work securing the STYROFOAM walls. Apparently, they put these big pieces of Styrofoam up and then pour concrete inside of it, providing both strength and insulation. Albeit perplexed, I was thrilled to have a job to do.

Now back at the YMCA, we have sort of taken over. There isn't much space for us so we have, like usual, draped ourselves over every available square inch of space. Right now, I am sitting in a dingy hall way off of the maintenance room where only minutes ago. Last night, people refused to sleep in the gym on account of rodents, one of which crawled in and out of Carys' shorts a few moments ago.

After today we have only six more ride days. Thank you all for all your support: letters, wall posts, emails... it is fun to know that there are actually people out there reading this.

the local park

Like I have said before, we usually sleep in churches, high schools, RV parks, campsites...

So, yesterday, as I rode into Battle Mountain, NV - I took notice of the fact that we passed up both a church and an RV park for a small shady green piece of land in the middle of town. Kids and families were playing on the swing sets and Bike and Builders were laying on their thermarests on the grass. I couldn't help but laugh. I am not even sure that we got permission to stay there; so all night I expected the cops or the mayor to come and kick us out.

As evening rolled around, we started looking around for places to go to the bathroom and brush our teeth. I asked one leader what we were supposed to do and she pointed me across the street: to a CASINO! Perplexed, I asked if we were supposed to simply waltz into the casino with our toiletries. Equally perplexed, she responded "of course."

Oh, I forgot to mention that we were actually less than 50 feet from train tracks. The train was scheduled to run every 45 minutes, all night. If you can imagine, at this point, I am already laughing at how absolutely ridiculous this host location is. As if the soccer practice wasn't enough, these local kids show up for some type of dance lesson in the park pavilion. Hispanic music blaring, casino lights glaring, trains rolling by and 31 of us, and our stuff draped all over the city park.

There isn't much to do in Battle Mountain, and we had dinner at 5, so when the sun started to set, we decided it was time to turn in. I have made my philosophy on sleeping outside pretty clear, and so I headed towards the tent I had set up earlier in the day. I have to say that we did an excellent job with the tent. It was taut, fly was perfect, everything staked down...beautiful. I couldn't help but smile to myself as I passed the rider who argues that it is always better to sleep under the stars. Additionally, after some debate, Carys and I put our bags into the van. I couldn't imagine it raining in a place this dry, but we had attracted a lot of attention in town, and I didn't know who would be hanging around the park after hours.

9:30 PM: all five of us were zipped into our tent, listening to the train screech by. I don't know how it happened, but eventually we all fell asleep.

4:07 AM: Sprinklers in the park go off. We awake to strings of expletives and squeals of laughter and the spray of water against our beautiful and secure tent. I couldn't help but laugh at the idea that the Israeli soldier was in the middle of the sprinkler bedlam.

We opened the window of the tent to see everyone running around gathering their sleeping bags, thermarests and loose items all while dodging the sprays of about 19 different sprinklers. Then, over all of the noise, bells sounded and the train came heaving and whistling right through the park.

I laughed myself to sleep, and laughed when I woke up in the morning, totally dry and at least partially rested. I also laughed when I talked with the soldier who adamantly (and ridiculously) demanded that sleeping outside was still far better than sleeping in a tent.

the bazaar

When we aren't staying in churches or high schools, we usually camp out somewhere. Wells, Nevada falls into that category. Wells is home to two RV parks, a Burger King and a brothel. Signs for McDonald's aren't labeled with miles, but with time. One read, "McDonald's, turn right in one hour." This is the middle of nowhere. And we arrived here after a long day of sweep. So long in fact, that I actually fell asleep on the side of the interstate

After the scorpion incident, I decided not to mess around and I pitched a tent right away. Several others decided to sleep on the grass. Please note, we weren't in the middle of the woods or anything, our camp site was bordered on two sides by parking lots, one by the main road, and one with another RV. Basically, we set up camp on the front lawn of the RV camp. It wasn't just us, and all of our bikes, and luggage, and food on the site, but it was also laundry day, which meant that we had 90 chamois shorts hanging dry on fences, trees, bushes and cars.

Dinner was especially tasty. Hose-water macaroni and cheese. It took all of two seconds to realize we were going to have to rummage through all of the bins in the trailer for some seasoning.

Then, perhaps the Bike and Build idea that I am most proud of: the Clif Bar Bazaar. As you might be able to tell, our diets aren't exactly ideal. So, in order to mix things up a little bit, we all brought our trade-able goods and started bartering. I made out like a bandit - I traded a Luna bar, a pack of gum, four beef sticks and six MoJo Fruit and Nut Bars for a candy bar, patch kit, someone else to wash my dinner dishes and, the big one, someone else to ride sweep (riding behind all the riders) the next day.

Don't Let the Bedbugs Bite

There are all types of people on this trip. Perhaps the most intriguing is this boy who spent his last three years in the Israeli Army. Nothing here is difficult for him. He claims he could bike 200 miles at once and eat six feet of Subway. He has never had a headache in his life and told me that "better" is not an opinion, it is a fact.

He called me over to his thermarest one morning and pointed out a SCORPION that was crawling around by his bed. Anyone else would have been screaming and running away. He had his hand about a foot away, snapping pictures of the little yellow beast's erect tail. Then I heard him say "I think the yellow ones are the most dangerous." Of course. Then he smashed it with a trash can.

Salty Flats

What is west of Salt Lake City? Nothing!

After the most awesome game of Coast ever (Coast is exactly what you imagine it to be) and hopping through Salt Lake City (including an intersection where 20 of us used the crosswalk) we were back onto I-80.

Coast is just one of the games we play on the road. Back in Kansas I passed the time with a clever play on 99 Bottles of Beer on the Wall. I did all the verses in the song "99 miles of cornfields to go, 99 miles of corn, light it on fire, watch it all burn, 98 miles of cornfields to go..." However, none of these compare to my favorite game: Pull. This is where I pedal up next to someone, usually Carys, and grab the underneath of her saddle, holding on for as long as I'm allowed.

About a week ago, the group stopped for coffee in a cafe in Colorado. Carys and I happened upon the black and white floor of what, I imagine, must have been some kind of restaurant. We threw down our bikes and played a quick game of checkers. As a reward for winning, Carys had to pull me behind her for an entire mile.

The games are important considering the terrain. It seems like the beginning of every ride has a sign that reads "No services for X miles," X being almost exactly the same as the day's projected mileage. This means that we pass nothing along the way. Yesterday's lunch stopped was pushed back a few miles so that we could have it in the town of Knolls. In case you ever consider visiting Knolls, let me tell you what is there: again, nothing. In fact, all Knolls had to offer was one bush to pee behind.

The lunch that day was equally barren. I had spaghetti with potato chips in it. Later that afternoon, we crossed the salt flats. If it hadn't been 95 degrees, I would have thought we were somewhere arctic. It is white as far as the eye can see. Towards the end, the flats turn into shallow lakes. Before the end of the day, we had slipped into the water to make salt angels.

Location: Starvation

Before I begin, I'd like to add the disclaimer that things are probably not really as bad as I am about to make them out to be. Despite the following, I am very content.

As we move west, things become farther and farther apart, churches as host locations become less frequent, and making dinner on our own becomes the norm. Goodbye pot-luck, hello pot-o-noodles. Every morning we receive a cue sheet that has both the route, projected mileage, and a little tiny picture of what the elevation will be like. One morning last week, I received the cue sheet, and felt good about the 75 mile ride. I did not feel good about the fact that we were going to be spending the night at a place called Starvation State Park. Starvation, though a beautiful campsite on the side of an enormous oasis-like-lake, represented the beginning of a long stretch of what I would call a slightly barren part of the country. That night we had burritos, but a leader (perhaps having never eaten a burrito) bought baked beans for the filler. The showers at this location weren't much better. Some other camper had actually used one of the showers as a toilet. Needless to say, Starvation was the first place I wore shoes in the shower.

The next morning, we set out for Park City. Despite the baked beans and the fecal matter, morale was high as we were headed directly for a day off in Park City. I have been to Park City before. They claim to be an Olympic City, but they seem more like the kid brother to Salt Lake City. Except for the mountains. I think we climbed straight up that day. I spent almost the whole day fantasizing about hitch-hiking. By the grace of God I arrived near the front of the group and (you may have to read this twice) got first choice of sleeping location. Thank you Park City Community Church Youth Group for your wonderful couches. Honestly, two nights on that couch felt like winning the lottery.

It was also at this location that we seriously evaluated our own food situation. Having run out of Gatorade mix, one of our leaders thought no one would notice if we just started having Kool-Aid. I, however, being on "Cooler Crew" noticed that we had stopped using any type of sport drink in an effort to save a buck.

That morning, I looked at the cue sheet that indicated an 80 mile ride. At first, today didn't look too bad: only 68 miles, an uphill but then a huge downhill and 30 miles of relative flatness. Then, when we looked closer we saw direction number five which read "right onto some road" and direction number six "left onto another road where some road has a T intersection." This is pretty much the cue sheets way of saying "you will not arrive in the host location tonight."

Sure enough, at mile ten, the entire group had stopped at the intersection of some road and another road, completely clueless as to the next move. So, we did what I think will become more and more of the norm, we hopped onto the nearest interstate! Now, there are positives and negatives to interstate travel. Negatives: six lane divided highways are scary, rumble strips and police cars monopolized the shoulder and most cars aren't anticipating 30 kids out for a morning highway ride. Positives: wow, we took a direct route! The interstate shaved off eight miles of our ride and eliminated one of our climbs, it was also a 5%-3% downhill grade for 10 miles where many riders hit their top speed for the trip. (My top speed remains 47.9 MPH, which was recorded in PA).**


**This entry does resemble the rider journal on the B&B website. Carys and I co-wrote that entry, so I felt OK about posting it here too.

those would be the rockies...

At about 9:00 AM on July 24th the mist lifted and off in the distance I could see the Rocky Mountains ominously peering out of the clouds. Shocked -- I actually stopped pedaling, as they were absolutely enormous even at such a great distance. We proceeded to gain a few thousand feet in elevation before reaching Ft. Collins, Colorado where we spent an anxious evening at the foot of the mountains.

I know that there is a group of people that has had doubts about my ability to actually make it across the country, and I would say that when I saw the Rockies up close, I joined said group. We were told that over the next two days we would be climbing roughly 7,000 feet over about 41 miles. If you are interested in the math, that yields an average MPH of 6. Fortunately for us, climbing has its perks. However, the only one that comes to mind is the scenery. Yesterday, as everyone else pulled out of the church parking lot, I discovered that I had a flat tire. Usually I believe this to be the cyclist's equivalent to waking up on the wrong side of the bed, but yesterday it was about the only thing that really went wrong. At mile twenty we headed up (and I mean vertical) and climbed a canyon that had a river running all the way through it. I quickly reacquainted myself with my lowest gear and starting chugging along. I think we were all surprised at how different these mountains are from the Appalachians or Poconos. Some people suggest that we are better cyclists. I think that might be a part of it, but I also think that the civil engineers learned from their road planning mistakes out east and tried a new method which includes switchbacks.

The day ended fairly early in Estes Park where Dad, Aunt Nancy and Uncle Rick were visiting. Dad had suggested we do a little sightseeing so not really knowing where we were headed, I invited Carys and Carrie. Turns out, Dad wanted to see Trail Ridge Road (the highest paved road in the country and also our route for the next day). We all crammed into the Albertson's car and headed up and up and up. Needless to say, it put the three of us cyclists on edge. Reindeer greeted us at the summit and we entered the visitor's center only to use the bathrooms. Mostly, we kept laughing at the idea that we would actually be propelling ourselves up the same trail the next day.

Needless to say, I didn't sleep very well.

This morning came all too early. When I heard the wake up call, I rolled over and had another nightmare about the lack of shoulder on Trail Ridge Road. Once I was a bit more awake, I witnessed what seemed to be a bit of a Bike and Build fashion show. Everyday we wear the same jerseys and no one really owns more than a few pairs of shorts, so I was shocked when people started pulling out clothing that I had never before seen. The temperature this morning was pretty low, so people wore or packed anything they could find. My two favorite outfits included a flannel shirt and a purple hooded zip-up sweatshirt.

We finally hit the road at about 6:45 and were at the entrance to Rocky Mountain National Park by 7:15. I posed for, what I believed to be, the last picture I'd ever be in and we started to climb. I don't know how many of you have biked the Rockies, but for me, I only thought about a few things. Those being: look how far the road goes, don't fall off the edge while evaluating the road, and why didn't I get a bike with more gears. Several times, I actually jammed my hands into my gears with the hope that I might just get lucky. No dice.

The story is half over when I say that we made it to the top. We lunched at more than two miles above sea level and even climbed by foot to the highest point to take a picture with the altitude sign. People were shocked to hear that we had biked to the top and one woman asked if we were a group training for the Olympics. I don't think she noticed the speed at which we were climbing...

The uphill was certainly a challenge, but the downhill was almost worth it. I cruised down at the speed of traffic and therefore felt entitled to the whole lane. In only half an hour I covered the same distance that I had covered in four hours on the uphill.

We arrived at the host location, a middle school, ready to shower and relax. Like I have said several times before, showering is a total wild card. A few nights ago, we stayed in Stoneham, CO. where there were 9 houses. The road connecting the highway to the town was actually dirt. Without hope of a shower, Carys threw caution to the wind and stuck her entire head into the sink only to realize that the water smelled like sulfur. This, however, didn't stop anyone. By the time I had washed my legs with WetWipes, there were people standing in the sink rinsing their entire bodies with the faucets. Other kids were outside with squirt-guns and bars of soap, and still others using their water bottles. Back to today, the host location, being a school has locker rooms equipped with what I call May-Pole showers. This means to say that there is a pole in the middle of the room with six faucets off of it (apparently this is what the boys have every day). It wouldn't have been bad, except that the water had about the same pressure as a leaky CamelBak. Everyone was apprehensive to lather up, imagining that the soap would never come off until the toilet flushed and water pressure was restored. After some strategic investigative work, we had one girl manning the toilets and sinks to rectify both the pressure and temperature problem.

Very soon I hope to put up some recent pictures (especially from today), but in the meantime you can visit Carys' blog which has most of our state sign pictures.

welcome to colorful colorado!

I shocked myself when we finally pedaled over the Mighty Mississippi River. A week or so later, we stayed in Lebanon, Kansas, famous for being the geographical center of the 48 contiguous United States. Yesterday, we crossed into Colorado. Sometimes, I can't quite figure out just how I got to where I am. I don't mean to praise myself, but I just can't quite figure out how I, and these new friends of mine, have actually biked this far.

Yesterday we had 100 miles to ride, so we were up at 4:30 and on our bikes by 6:00. I can't lie, I did not think I was going to make it. My seat (the one on me, not on my bike) has been really bothering me lately, and I was envisioning riding all 100 miles standing in my pedals. Fortunately, (or unfortunately), after 20 miles of riding near tears, my butt actually went numb. It was also about this time that we crossed into the Mountain Time Zone, enabling us to arrive at our first lunch of the day at 8:30 in the morning. This is a perfect example of how I think Bike and Build has shocked us out of all kinds of normalcy. Waking up at 4:00 sounds far more normal than 7:00; having less than five meals a day sounds ludicrous; getting dressed up means putting on jeans; and the most important part of the day is applying diaper rash cream. So, at 8:30 yesterday morning - I had two sandwiches, tortilla chips and apple pie without batting an eye.

I, for one, had been dreading this century ride. People kept talking about the winds, the heat, and the stench of slaughterhouses. However, I think most riders would agree that yesterday's was one of our easiest rides yet. We woke up and it was chilly outside (an unexpected surprise). There were storms brewing that had caused the headwinds to turn. In June, there were days that I'd ride 65 miles in over seven hours. Yesterday we went 100 in five! We arrived at the church with plenty of time to take showers, read our mail (an enormous thank you to all of you who sent love and encouragement), nap, eat dinner, nap and then hit the town.

Today is our second of four REAL days off. So last night, we decided to check out all that Holyoke, Colorado had to offer. I haven't ever experienced night life quite like this. We walked into the only bar in town, and were the only customers. Some of us played pool, some break-danced to country music, at one point we brought out a broom for an official Bike and Build Limbo competition, and we even had wheelbarrow races on the dance floor. We each celebrated, in our individual ways, the fact that we would not be sitting on a bicycle a short six hours later.

Without much that we need to do, today has been delightfully uneventful. We sat at a coffee shop this morning and labored over a kid's crossword puzzle. Then most of us went uptown to a Chinese restaurant for lunch. Right now we have projected High School Musical onto the wall of the church, later we are going to do a little bit of tye-dying and, who knows, maybe even de-grease our bike chains! So far, Colorado has been very good to us, but all too soon we will be at the base of those Rocky Mountains - putting our hiking boots back on.

a typical day

For those of you who are still curious about my cyclist lifestyle, I'd like to share a bit about my daily routine.

We used to wake up at 6:00. Now it has become essential that we are out of our super comfy sleeping bags before 4:00 in the morning. I can't tell you how defeating it is to wake up to the realization that you are now about to spend more hours on your bike than you did in your "bed." Like most summer camp-like ventures, we each have a morning chore ranging from packing our trailer to packing all of our food into coolers.
After we have all pumped our tires, filled our Camelbaks with water and lubed our shorts with chamois butter we head out on the road. The morning usually passes relatively quickly and today, I had done my first 40 miles and was at the lunch stop at about 9:00 AM. The afternoon is where it gets difficult...

I noticed that before I came on this trip, everyone had expert advice for me and wanted to let me know just how and where I would run into trouble. Funny, I think only about four of these people had actually ever ridden a bike for any significant distance, and no one had done a trip like this from East to West. However, I listened to the advice, warnings and general information hoping either that it wasn't true or would come in handy. Several people tried to tell me that the middle of the United States is flat. Well, you should be able to tell (even if you are in a car) that this place is not flat. In fact, it seems that these hills rise out of nowhere just to torture us. That said, by the afternoon we are usually quite exhausted by the terrain right about when the headwinds pick up. It's about this point that a few of us have come to adopt the ritual of the "delirium Gatorade." Delirium Gatorade happens at the point of the day when delirium has actually set in. Anything is fair game at these stops as I once happened upon a group of several riders actually sitting on the floor inside of a BP sipping thirst quencher. If you'd like to experience it for yourself, you could just run around outside for 5-7 hours and then stumble into someplace with both Gatorade and air-conditioning. I think that would give you the gist.

Fortunately, shortly after Delirium Gatorade, we hit the end portion of the ride which has affectionately become known as 10 Miles of Fun. Sometimes its fun and sometimes it isn't, but we call it that anyways. Though you might think you have it figured out, 10 Miles of Fun does not necessarily end at the host location as there are often detours, re-routes and added mileage at the end of the ride. It is funny that we all love 10 Miles of Fun, but fume when we hit 11 Miles of Fun.

Once into the host location, we set up camp by throwing our stuff pretty much everywhere, finding nooks and crannies to sleep in, and falling asleep. If you are lucky, someone usually wakes you up for supper. This has to be the best time of the day because every night is a new potluck. After dinner, we often do our Bike and Build presentation on affordable housing.

After writing this, I realize that my life here sounds horribly boring, but I wanted to post this anyway to give you a sense of my daily routine.

bike and build blog

Today I was responsible for the official Bike and Build rider blog so I wanted to include my post from there. You can check it out at:

bike and build blog!

lord of the flies

My friend Carrie Porter (who graduated in 2005 from Mariemont High School) convinced Northwestern to give her a grant to participate in Bike and Build, recording and blogging about small town America. For a little while, it seemed like the people and sights of, say, a town in western Missouri that claims its 12,000 lbs pecan is the biggest in the world, would be the most riveting aspect of the trip. However, I might argue that the social dynamic within the group of riders is far more interesting.

This is truly the most "fend-for-yourself" lifestyle that I have ever been a part of.
We subsist almost entirely on donations, which, when it comes to food becomes pretty interesting. For example, when there is something good to eat, it will literally be gone before you blink your eyes. So, the faster you ride to lunch, the better your options are, and so, I often see only the discarded remnants of the tasty morsels I missed out on. One afternoon, there was an empty spaghetti container with 4 forks in it glaring at me as I made my peanut butter, marshmallow and corn flake sandwich.** One day, soon after we had received a lunch meat donation, I overheard one girl say, "I really don't like cheese all that much, but, there probably won't be anymore tomorrow..." before throwing three slices onto a piece of bread.

Carrie and I have begun to refer to the disorganization as a Lord of the Flies-esque society. I am pretty sure she will be more eloquent in truly capturing the essence of the group dynamic, so I will try to link her blog to this one.

**Yes, I actually ate this several times in the beginning of the trip. I stopped only because we ran out of cornflakes.

thank you thank you

A HUGE thank you to all of you for the packages, letters, phone calls, emails and support in general. It is especially fun to read your postings on this blog, so thanks to those who have figured that out. On Thursdays we receive the booty from the weekly mail drop and every week I am so encouraged by hearing from you.

those pesky mountains...

Sometime back in those underestimated Appalachian mountains this trip, for me, changed from Bike and Build to Hike and Build. Early in my climbing experience I decided that if I was going slow enough that walking would actually increase my average MPH, then I would (gleefully) get my seat off my saddle and walk a few miles. Little did I know that in some of the more mountainous areas of the country, I seemed to be out of the saddle more than in it.

Despite the fact that while we were in the mountains, my average daily speed was in the single digits, I did have fun. I think I laughed harder walking up those hills than I have on the rest of the trip. It wasn't wasted energy though, this picture, which doesn't give my speed justice, is of me walking my bike at the same (3 MPH) pace that Kelly is riding.

At the top of the hill, Carys and I finally found a street sign that seemed to be specifically for us. I guess we were crossing the Appalachian Trail, but for us, it was like an invitation to hop off those bikes and walk.

One boy said that I really broke the ice when it came to "giving up" on your bike. I didn't really know how to take it until he explained that when he got frustrated in the mountain lands he thought to himself "I bet Carrie is already walking" and it made him feel a little bit better about walking his own bike. And, I think I will be completely satisfied even if that is my only contribution to this trip.

new blog title

More than once I have thought that my blog title is totally inaccurate. It should probably read: one long ride - day after day, or 49 long rides or something like that. I have, however become pretty comfortable at the back of the group. There are two people who are assigned each day to ride "sweep" which means they have to stay at the very back and carry the med kit and wait while I change my flat tires. At the beginning of the trip, someone suggested that I try and ride with as many different people as possible to really get to know everyone. For lucky me, this has been kind of built in as sweep rotates day to day. During dinner one night, I was commenting that it takes me so long to get into the host location each day. A few people jumped on me and said it is probably because I take such long breaks. To this, I pulled out my cycling computer and showed them that I had actually spent 7 hours and 55 minutes on my bike that day (a full half-hour than Carys, who rides WITH me). That is to say, even the people I ride with wait (usually at the top of hills/mountains) for me while I chug along in my granny gear. To this, another leader asked me if she could tell a story.

She said, as inspirationally as she could muster, that "once upon a time, there was a marathon and after the marathon the guy who came in last went to congratulate the guy who came in first. He said, 'I just don't know how you run so fast,' to which the champion runner replied, 'I wanted to congratulate you, I just don't understand how you can run for so long.'" Apparently, the moral of the story was that I should be proud of myself, that by the time we bike across the United States, the fastest guy on the trip could probably have turned around and been back in southern Indiana. I must say, it is nice to think that when we cross the Golden Gate Bridge, I will be able to think to myself "Mom would be proud of me, I think I definitely got my money's worth out of this bike."

the disorganization

When I say disorganization, I don't mean the disorganization that goes hand in hand with any organization, disorganization has actually replaced the term organization in regards to Bike and Build. Various incidents and events suggested that we were, in fact, biking with a disorganization, but the event that solidified the term occurred the day we crossed from West Virginia into Home Sweet Ohio. The directions read that we should cross into Ohio and continue for 62 miles on Route 7 West. Unfortunately, Route 7 wasn't labeled as clearly as one (on a self-powered vehicle) would hope, and as a result, Carys and I thought it wise to call the van to avoid unnecessary miles. Cooper, who had recently taken a concussion-causing spill, was resting in the van and assured me that we should take a left at the bridge. He added that the van wasn't far behind, and we should be passed relatively soon (usually a sign that you are headed the right way.) Satisfied with his answer, we kept riding. About 15 miles later and no sign of the van, we got a bit nervous again. We stopped on the side of the road to call the van, and Cooper answered again. Sensing my concern, he delved into an explanation. I was surprised but not shocked to hear that the van had been pulled over for having stolen plates. I laughed to myself, wondering why Bike and Build had to stoop so low as to steal plates off of another NY vehicle, but Cooper continued, Bike and Build themselves had reported them stolen, then found them, reattached them to the trailer and failed to notify the police. It seems that it was just a matter of time before we were caught "stealing" the trailer.

Cooper also wanted me to amend my blog entry from a few weeks ago where I talked about the scenery/pavement across the United States. After his second hospital visit, he swears that his bike is actually trying to buck him off and kill him. Needless to say, the concussion has left him a bit cynical. "Carrie," he said to me, "it isn't enough to suggest Bike and Build is like sitting on a bike on the pavement. Suggest that they [you] take your bikes out of your garage but instead of the cul-de-sac, head to your local gym and go inside of the sauna. Then, while you sit on your bike looking at the ground, hit yourself in the face with a hammer, for charity." I think Cooper offers valuable insight into the "frequently-injured" contingent of this B&B trip.

siding, sure.

Not often enough, we spend a day building with a local Habitat for Humanity group instead of biking. Our last build day was in Harrisburg, PA with one of the most organized Habitat sites I have ever seen. Our site leader spent over an hour explaining how we would be attaching siding to the house, and all of the skills necessary to do so successfully. He then asked for volunteers to climb up and do the siding on the part only accessible from the roof. I volunteered, climbed up, saw my life flash before my eyes before spending 15 minutes trying to get back down and requesting another task. I sort of ended up floating around the build site and helping with the siding from the ground. I think the site leader recognized my uncultivated talent and pulled me aside, giving me a lesson on some advance siding techniques. Boom, right then I became the siding supervisor. I think some of my subordinates thought the title went to my head, but by the end of the day, the six of us had done a beautiful job of siding what one professional could have done in an hour or two. But, what a sense of accomplishment, and hey, we're free!

you can get yourself clean...

Last night, and tonight (today is our first real day off), we are staying at the Christian County YMCA in Taylorville, Illinois. So, naturally, I have had the song YMCA in my head for the last 15 hours. We rolled into the Y last night around 7:00 after almost 100 miles of cornfields, soy beans and, well, corn fields and soybeans. Southern Illinois isn't much for scenery. However, this is one of the nicest host locations we have had as there is an enormous swimming pool with a water slide about 15 feet away from the work out room we are sleeping in. Thanks to all the time spent at the rec center this last spring, I feel right at home.

It is surprising how quickly I have gotten used to sleeping in a different place every night. Perhaps it is because, for the most part, our host locations have been taken care of by our leaders (usually ahead of time). We have stayed in all kinds of churches, a few YMCAs and even some campsites. What isn't quite so well organized is the taking of showers. Upon arrival in Middletown, NY, a smelly heap of us piled into the van to drive to the local Y to take showers only to discover that they close at 5:00, a good hour before I finished cycling. The leaders looked at each other, and then looked at us and said, (if I remember correctly) in unison, "well, no showers tonight." I have never really been over zealous in regards to personal hygiene, but something about the hot sun, 75 miles on a bicycle and chain grease coating both my hands and right leg demanded that we find a place to bathe. Carys had the same look in her eyes and after we returned to the church, we suggested to a few of our van-mates that we find showers on our own. Armed only with determination and our matching jerseys (which we thought added some legitimacy) we headed up Main Street prepared to knock on doors. Before we got too far we saw another church with several people outside and decided to take a shot. A few non-English phone calls later we were offered the showers at the Portuguese Cultural Center of Middletown, NY. At this point, the poor woman thought she was helping out the 8 of us. Little did she know we had 26 other sweaty friends waiting back at camp... Needless to say, we got a few interesting looks as our enormous van, following this kind woman's van, pulled into the Cultural Center's parking lot 15 minutes away, and 16 tired bodies were escorted into the locker room of the fairly lavish country club-esque center. Sometimes, I don't think know what they are getting themselves into when they offer to help us out.

In Knobbsville, PA, I arrived pretty late to the church. As I was pulling in, there was a man waiting in the parking lot. This was a very small town, I think the church was the only non-residential building there. Before I had a chance to wonder where we were going for showers, we were sitting in his living room, waiting one after another to use his own shower. This happened again in western, PA when the pastor offered us his "Man's Shower." I couldn't have imagined what it was going to be like until I actually got down there, but he wasn't kidding when he said "it isn't much to look at but it gets the job done." Imagine a dank basement hallway with a bathroom at the end of it. One light bulb with a string cast an eerie glow on the cinder block shower with no door or curtain. The cement floor, covered with some type of red metallic residue was complimented by the bricks sticking out of the walls to hold what I believe to be the remnants of an aging bar of soap.

There was even one town where we bought a hotel room to shower one after another in the tiny bathroom. It was a lot like little league softball where one person was in the shower, one person was "on deck" in the bathroom, naked, and a third was "in the hole" right outside the bathroom door. Even though 20 or so of us showered in there, I think the water was actually only running for about half an hour.

legs?

Like I said earlier, I realized a long time ago that this adventure would provide me with an out for any conversation regarding my future, life goals, career expectations (at least for the time being). I guess, then, that I shouldn't have been at all surprised this weekend when the recurring topic of conversation started with "CARRIE! How are your legs?!" Now, if you were at the wedding, I apologize for being redundant but for those of you that were not in attendance, I want to make sure you all know that my legs are sore. I have been entirely surprised with how we actually make it to the host location each night, that our legs have actually carried us hundreds of miles, but in return, it seems like they remind me, every day, that this is not how they would have chosen to spend the summer. As you might imagine, we have invested a good deal of time and money into trying to ease the pain in our angry muscles. One technique that you see a good deal of at our camp is the "rolling pin massage." I don't know who exactly came up with this, but all of a sudden we had a rolling pin (typically used in the kitchen) in our trailer. With it, you can perform an incredibly painful massage that has almost destroyed several friendships. One person takes a rolling pin to another person's broken lower body. Usually there is screaming or crying, gnashing of teeth and the like. If you don't believe me, try it. If you still don't believe me, roll it harder. The other remedy that we have come to swear by is a tiny jar of potent ointment called Tiger Balm. Apparently it is just like heavily concentrated IcyHot, but around here it is almost as valuable as gold (or chamois butter, the lubricating lotion that we apply to our shorts each morning, which has actually been referred to as white gold). Each night, before we go to bed, we apply little dots of this Tiger Balm stuff to our most sore parts (which usually includes our sit bones, quads, calves, shoulders, necks...). Before too long, the entire sanctuary, nursery, tent, or wherever else we are sleeping begins to smell like a peppermint stick as our bodies go tingly then numb (or, if you aren't careful start to burn).

Several strangers have taken interest in our legs/bodies as well as we have traveled across the country. At a gas station in Pennsylvania, one man came over, uninvited, and started to touch our bikes telling us that he could ride forever except for seat discomfort. Before long, I believe he was actually trying to convince us that we too would be incapable of long distance cycling. It was about then that we shared that we had already traveled several hundred miles and had no real plans for stopping any time soon. With heightened concern, he added that there is a "nerve" (read with an extreme southern accent), that runs "all the way through" and that "surveys have proven that there can be permanent damage." As I tried to thank him for his insight, he turned from the guy riders and looked right at Carys and me, and with an incredibly serious face he said "you'ins too, PERMANENT damage." Nothing makes you want to jump back on your bike more than an old man citing surveys that prove cycling will do permanent damage to our nerves regardless of gender...

A more welcomed stranger happened upon us a few days ago in Paris, Illinois. We all arrived into town much earlier than usual and decided to treat ourselves to Dairy Queen as a reward. There, a young woman, with her daughter, asked me where we were headed on our ride. I commented (perhaps a bit sarcastically) that we were on a pretty long ride, actually from coast to coast, but that we were there in Paris for the night. She explained that she works as a massage therapist for cyclists. I laughed at the coincidence, told her to stop over at Twin Lakes Camp Site if she felt like practicing, and then asked where we could find a nice swimming hole. She gave me directions to the local lake and I thanked her, and after our Blizzards had at least partially digested, we got back on our bikes for the final mile or two of the ride. As we pulled into our campsite, I yell to all of the Bike and Builders that there is a beach, not too far away, where we could swim for the afternoon. At that point, someone yelled to me to say that they had already heard about the beach, and as I got closer, I recognized my new friend, Valerie, the massage therapist, was setting up her table right there in the midst of our camp. She stayed for a few hours giving free massages to most of us riders. I think we are all still in grateful awe of her generosity.

promises...

I know I have seemed sort of lax in posting stories from the ride, but this is the first time in the last 10 days that we have had broadband access. There was this one time that we went to an internet cafe, but somehow, be it miscommunication or simply lack of communication we arrived long after closing time and then fruitlessly tried to access the wireless from the street corner outside of the Chocolate Cafe in Reading, PA. In fact, right now we are outside of a wilderness outfitters store in Ohiopyle, PA mooching free wireless from these suckers as the sun sets over the mountains. That said, there are more than a few people waiting in line to check their email but I promise that I will have several new posts, especially over this weekend when I attend Dave and Ginny's wedding (read: heaven-sent rest break).

Carys' Blog

For the sake of efficiency, I linked Carys' blog in the case that you just can't get enough of our adventure. You can click on it to the right.

on the road...

When I signed up on this trip, I thought to myself, "wow, it will be so great to see the country from a bike seat!" Let me let you in on a little secret - if you want to know what the country looks like from a bike seat: pull your bike out of the garage, sit on it, and stare at the ground. So far, the pavement all seems pretty standard, but I will patiently wait for the "scenery" to change.

I should start at the beginning. Yesterday morning we went down to the Brown Boat House on some estuary or something (I was told it was salt water, so it suffices for the Atlantic) and we ceremoniously dipped our back wheels into the water. When you see the picture you will probably laugh because we all have these goofy grins on. I can't be certain of what everyone was thinking, but all that was running through my mind was "If I drop this into the water, I probably won't have to bike today..." For whatever reason, I kept a firm enough grip and after a hundred pictures, we huddled up, shared a few words with one another, and set off. Cruising through the city was a lot of fun. We felt like a force to be reckoned with and I was thrilled going 9 MPH. But, as we all know, all good things must come to an end and soon enough we were on what I would call hilly (what the legit cyclists would call a ride with some inclines) ride. I had a bit of a problem with my chain and ended up with grease all over myself, including on/in my nose. At lunch, one of the boys who shaves his legs offered to teach me how to fix my chain while riding. To do this, he had to hold me on my bike like you hold a preschooler learning to ride for the first time. Nothing like feeling like you are five-years-old as you embark upon a journey like this... Fortunately, despite any inconveniences, we rolled into St. Stephen's with plenty of time to lay in the grass, take showers, do laundry and a little bit of hitch-hiking, before they cooked us an amazing potluck dinner. One of my favorite conversations so far transpired between this really sarcastic kid and one of our more serious leaders. When she asked how our ride had been he replied that he was certain that he had been told that the Providence to San Francisco trip was a strictly downhill route and that he hadn't been expecting the hills.

St. Stephen's happened to be a tiny church and most of us opted to sleep in the carpeted sanctuary versus the fellowship hall. As we went to sleep in the aisles, many people commented on how peaceful they though this night's sleep would be, inside of a chapel and all. I just kept thinking to myself "haven't you guys ever slept in church before?"

This morning was much more routine than yesterday and we received our directions and hit the road. For a frame of reference, the boy that I was following ran both the Boston and New York marathons this year. After 12 miles this morning, he told me that this had been the hardest work-out of his life. Awesome. During several of those hills, when I was in my lowest gear, averaging 6 MPH, my friend who shaves his legs would come up behind me and give me a push. It took me a little while to sort that out in my mind, but yes, that means he is cycling with enough force that he can pass me, carrying all of his weight, and push me at the same time, thus carrying half of my weight, while casually telling me a story or giving me advice. So, you can imagine that lunch at mile 25 was a slice of heaven, especially because we received the mail from the first mail drop (so thank you so much to those of you who sent love.)

Tonight we are staying in Middletown, CT (that's right, we are already out of our first state!) and tomorrow we jump up to around 70 miles.

*I just checked the B&B website and after yesterday and today, we still have exactly 3500 miles to go. Each day seems to be merely a drop in the bucket.

orientation!

I apologize for to those of you who work office jobs and have been desperately checking my blog for updates. I have been a little bit busy bicycling across America. The best news is that we are all alive. Just last night, the leaders commented on how thankful they are that we are an extremely athletic group...however, let me tell you - it is hard to pat yourself on the back when every muscle in your body is aching.

Monday was our first day and it got off to an awful start as Carys and I found ourselves lost in downtown Providence with only an hour or so to buy a whole bunch more gear and then lug everything to the quad on Brown's campus. Desperate, I pulled up next to the only cyclist we had seen in 20 minutes, slowed, and rolled down Carys' window. Lucky us, not only could he point us in the right direction, but he was on his way to work at the same shop that we would visit during Bike and Build orientation. Talk about Providence.

Orientation was filled with name games, something called amoeba tag and plenty of trainwreck (think Art Davies' Field Day meets William and Mary orientation). We also attended clinics on everything from bike maintenance, safety and a crash course in "on-the-road" first aid (where the EMT told us that we could use a rain jacket to make a boat...I think I have gone crazy). As a result of the lack of space, I guess, we were sent to run drills in a parking garage. Somehow, it was difficult for me to pretend that the half-tennis balls were really objects worth dodging.

During our time in Providence we stayed in the Great Room at St. Martin's Episcopal Church. Basically, that means that I slept in the hearth. My thermarest took a little bit of getting used to, but I think that I am starting to get so worn out during the day that falling asleep is one of my smaller issues.

On Tuesday, we had a bit of a crash course in "getting-to-know" one another as we were ushered to the Brown Recreation Center to shower. Athletes always argue that communal showers foster a sense of cohesiveness, bonding...whatever. Having to wait in line, naked, for the communal shower didn't really make me feel like part of the team. It made me feel like a first-class weirdo.

In our spare time, we painted the trailer. On one side is the Golden Gate Bridge - the seemingly unattainable. On the other side, the right side, the side we will always see as it passes us, is a picture of a cyclist climbing uphill - the seemingly inevitable.

Fortunately, all the kids on the trip are really wonderful, eccentric characters. There are boys that shave their legs, boys that wax their legs, boys with leg hair and girls. The people who came expecting to "push it out" all trip have actually been very helpful to those of us who are just praying that we "at least make it."

On our last day of orientation, we volunteered at a local Habitat for Humanity Build. While there, I not only dug post holes, but I created a gravel pit. Needless to say, that song has now been in my head for three days. It was a lot of fun pitching in there, and the house was started two years ago by the Providence to Seattle route. Next week they are turning it over to the homeowners. I believe that the building aspect of the trip is not only to ensure that we are working for a cause, but also so that we aren't just getting our legs sore. On our "off" days at the build site, it seems that we will work the other muscles that aren't affected by biking.

oh hello, bike trail

Now, I knew that when I came home, my mother would be eagerly awaiting a few training rides. What I did not know, was that she is deathly afraid of biking on the road. That's right, I am basically about to go pro in amateur road-cycling, and it's "hellooo bike trail!" There are a lot of nice things that mom pointed out about riding the trail: tree lined (just like Kansas, I'm sure), you feel more intense than most of the other people just because you aren't carrying a Blue Chip Cookie bag, and it is absolutely, completely, hold-a-level-to-the-ground, flat.

Now, all of this would set me up to feel totally confident about hitting the trail, except that my sister (athletic enough) and three of her friends took to the trail a day or so earlier to check it out. They rode four miles, to a McDonald's, where one vomited as a result of exhaustion (or heat exhaustion) and two of them had to rendezvous with a parent to get a ride back into town. (For all those concerned, Abby did, eventually, make it home on her bike).

Our ride was a little different. We drove about 15 miles to bike out to an ice-cream shop (nothing like chocolate-chip cookie dough to light a fire under you) and back. All was going well and we were cruising back from Miranda's Ice Cream Shop, having already tackled chain problems and the brutal heat of the day, when a woman comes flying out of nowhere. I hear mom chatting and I think to myself, "she makes friends with just about anyone who shares an affinity for physical fitness." Boy was I WRONG. This woman was none other than my mom's good friend/fitness instructor. As she introduces herself to me (while we are clipping along at a decent pace) I realize that my own mother has sicked her personal trainer on me, either in hopes of improving my form, or perhaps getting a break from riding alongside me.

Well, any confidence I had was instantly shattered as I heaved next to her maintaining my fastest pace ever and she made casual, composed conversation. You can bet I used up all of my energy on asking open ended questions and replying to hers with one word answers. After a few miles, I think she sensed I was actually dying and she told me she needed to check up on mom. I don't know if I have ever been more relieved.

Thank you mom -- you're always looking out for me.

MAIL DROPS

For those of you wondering how you will be able to get in touch with me (or with Carys) during our trip, I am posting the mail drop schedule. Like I said in my email, feel free to send anything: words of encouragement, cookies, clean socks, prescription drugs...

INSTRUCTIONS

Bike & Build groups will receive mail approximately once a week while on the road, and welcome letters and packages from friends, family, and supporters. Mail will be delivered through USPS General Delivery. Please be sure to send mail in ample time to arrive prior to the pick-up date and only through the United States Postal Service (The Post Office will not accept mail from any other carrier). Address mail to:

Bike & Build
Attn: CYCLIST NAME
General Delivery
CITY, ST ZIP

Please mark the envelope or package with "Please hold for pick-up on DATE."
Late mail will be forwarded to the mail drop two weeks ahead. Late mail from the last two mail drops will be returned to sender.

Providence to San Francisco

June 14 Plainfield, CT 06374

June 21 Harrisburg, PA 17112

June 28 Hillsboro , OH 45159

July 5 Taylorville, IL 62568

July 12 Lawrence, KS 66044

July 19 Holyoke, CO 80734

July 26 Steamboat Springs, CO 80487

August 2 Wendover, UT 84083

August 9 Sparks, NV 89431

and then we graduated...

I wish that I had the picture to post of Carys and me in our regalia on our bikes. Or even better would be a picture of both of our moms trying to get us to pose for a picture in our regalia on our bikes.

I think it summed college up nicely: I worked for four years to earn a hood, parade around in it for a day, and then immediately regress to childhood where you spend all day playing on your bike.

As many of you may have experienced, this trip has definitely given me something to talk about. Little did I know just how much I would appreciate that until I was home for a quick break in late March. As most of us know, somewhere around junior year of college, adults change their conversation from "have you decided on a major" or "you still don't have a boyfriend?" to "what on earth are you going to do after you graduate, especially with that, what was it? Oh, yes, history degree?" Typically, I would respond "hmmm, good question," to which the adult would say "graduate school" and I would reply, "oh no, well at least not yet. And definitely not in history." To this, the adult, perplexed would ask, with just one word: "teach?" and I would say "I hope not," and the adult would say "law school?" and I would say "no way," and the adult would look at me, totally confused as if I didn't know that my parents had spent about a million dollars on my education in hopes that someday I would find gainful employment.

Fortunately for me, Bike and Build has dramatically changed this conversation. Now it carries on in one of two ways. The first, where the adult again asks "what on earth are you going to do after you graduate, especially with that, what was it? Oh, yes, history degree?" My reply has become a casual, "oh, well, I plan to bike across the country." Genius. No one (but my big brother who constantly asks about life beyond the saddle (as if I can imagine that)) probes further into my future plans. They either sense that I am fundraising and change the topic to something like how Abby is getting along at Work Forest, or they ask about every detail of the trip (most likely thinking the thoughts recorded in the post labelled "an introduction to the summer"). For those of you who stuck around, intrigued (or at least faking it) thank you for your interest in my life after William and Mary, (but know that I can't help but think that I fooled you, at least a little bit).

It is my sincere recommendation to anyone future graduate that you find something like Bike and Build (after this summer I will let you know if Bike and Build as a conversation topic was really worth the work) to keep all those 'adults' off your back. It probably has to be a pretty wacky idea if you want to keep them wide-eyed, so don't settle for travelling across Europe, if you want to keep them occupied, tell them that you are living in Atlantis, or traveling to the former planet Pluto, or, the faithful fall-back biking across the one of the seven continents.

Performance Bike

I just wanted to make a quick plug for Performance Bike. I am thankful for their incredible return policy, both online and in store. For a while there, I felt like a gear dealer. I mean, you want padded shorts: meet me in the parking lot, I have some in my trunk, oh no, it was 6 different sizes of the same pair of shoes: check underneath my bed, wait, no; gloves, arm warmers or leg warmers in almost ever size -- closet, desk drawers, dresser... I am sure you get the picture.

the FUNraising BBQ!

Thanks to all who came out to the BBQ! Furthermore, thanks to everyone who came out, brought a side dish (or two, or three) and then made a donation in order to eat said side dish. Special thanks to Mrs. Curtin who made all 80 servings of that delicious macaroni and cheese. If I ever get the recipe, I will post it here; it is worth sharing. I think it is safe to say that no one went home hungry, and that the Theta house was thankful for all of the leftovers. In fact, the only thing that was gobbled up right away was that mac and cheese... Also - thank you to the grill-meisters. Without you, it simply wouldn't have been a BBQ (and Andrew, it was nice of you to share your birthday with Carys).

There is nothing like having 80 of your closest friends come to support you and your crazy adventure to make you realize that there really is no turning back. That night, with your help, we FAR surpassed our fundraising minimums!

limited building experience, yep - that's us.

Bike and Build requires all of its participants to complete eight hours of sweat equity, volunteering for an affordable housing organization in some capacity.

After a good deal of communication with Habitat for Humanity branches in Williamsburg, Norfolk and Virginia Beach, Carys' and I were on our way down 64 to swing some hammers, test my rafter-climbing skills and even learn how to do a little bit of fancy cutting with a circular saw.

The build we were participating in was an all-women's build in a string of three Habitat houses in progress. As soon as we got there, we were put to work undoing the job that some other volunteers had done the week before. Nervous that our work would be undone one short week later, we were determined to do everything right. This task required for us to stand on ladders, in the misting rain, and hammer boards out of the walls as (it felt like) we dangled precariously out of the second story frame. Thankfully, I continue to learn about myself, and this time it was that I have a bit of a fear of heights. However, we did catch the eye of the photographer who seemed to record our every move. I keep checking the Norfolk Habitat site in hopes that I might someday add a picture of me dangling over those rafters to this blog.

Unfortunately, because the three sites had one shed of communal tools, Carys and I were asked to cut our work short so that some pressing adjustments could be made on the house next door.
I am really looking forward to this aspect of the summer (in part, of course, because you can't ride a bike if you are hammering a nail).

build THAT? wear WHAT?

It was a big day when my bike arrived to the Carriage House in the biggest cardboard box I have ever received. (As a result of a promise I made to Carys regarding waiting to open mine until hers arrived) it was an even bigger day when Carys' bike showed up in the mail a short while later.

Now, imagine this: two completely inexperienced bikers, two brand-new, but completely unassembled Trek 1000 road bikes, two allen wrenches, four pedals, two seats, two wheels, one very small bedroom, and one manual. Technically we had two manuals, but Carys and I differed in our assembly strategies. Unfortunately, the manual didn't really seem to help me much.

It wasn't too long before we had each, in our own individual ways, created a ride-able two wheeled, two pedaled, vehicle that we promptly rode about 1/3 of a block before realizing that while riding a bike always comes back to you, riding a road bike with tires as thick as my little toe was going to be a completely new challenge.

However, we persevered and that next Saturday we proudly rode our brand new bikes all the way down the street to the bike shop. I was planning on strolling in, receiving accolades for my stellar assembly job and being sent on my way to the Colonial Parkway. Well, we strolled in, but let's just say that instead of the Colonial Parkway, we visited the beloved rec center.

Needless to say, we ended up coughing up the money to have our bikes checked out (read: re-assembled) before actually taking that maiden voyage. Once we had our sweet bikes in riding condition, we felt that they deserved the best. Which, according to the two of us, and our twisted senses of humor, was a completely costumed ride, complete with team USA bibs, jerseys and jackets (compliments of Carys' Colorado cycling buddy).


Now, it has taken us a little while to get accustomed to the gear and the inevitable hollering from the TV room as we exit the Theta house continues to keep me on edge. We still have a long way to go though...there is something out there called chamois butt'r and I'd rather not describe how we will be expected to use it...

insight into my training world

Regularly, I am not one who trains, for anything. So, it was a big BIG personal step, in January when I actually decided that this spring I would strictly adhere to the training manual provided to me by Bike and Build. In fact, at the gym, it only took about a month for people to stop gawking and saying things like, "CARRIE BADANES, what are YOU doing here?!" or "whoa, I didn't think you knew where the Rec was" or "two days in a row, eh? What's the big occasion?"

Fortunately, I have been blessed with the ability to be able to smile and shrug off such comments. (Read: I was typically so out of breath that I honestly had no other choice.)
I have quickly learned that the gym is a funny, funny place. I used to laugh at my mom when she told me about her Sports Mall friends. I mean, how can the gym foster a sincere relationship with any depth whatsoever.* It is true though. For example, I run into the same friend of a friend every time I go to the rec here. I mean, our relationship is typically her saying hello, me (on a bike) grunting, her asking about training, me smiling (similar to above paragraph).

The other terrible thing that happened at the rec is that I started to get bored. I mean, if the televisions and constant visitors can't keep me entertained, what is to be said about the vast plains of nothingness that you see when you hit, oh about PENNSYLVANIA! Recently, I was notified that we are not permitted to listen to anything (except the rush and whirr of traffic) as we pedal. There goes listening to the entire Bible Experience this summer.

I really should be heading back to the rec center, it has been about 4 hours since I was last seen sweating and heaving on the stationary bike.

*Conversation about mom's gym friend went as such: "Wow, mom, you and your new friend speak in Spanish at the gym together?" Now, if you understand my mother's Spanish skills, then you would realize that her idea of a very close friend is one to whom she says hello, and then smiles at, while neither understands what on earth is going on.

an introduction to the summer

Before I get started, let me introduce my co-idiot. I think it takes a unique (or crazy) type of individual to decide that months of training all in preparation for a grueling 2.5 month bike ride sounds appealing. Therefore, it is incredible to believe that in my little dorm room, there ended up being not one unique individual, but two crazy girls who both decided this was a desirable summer adventure. So, for further reference, Carys (my roommate at William and Mary) has been my training partner, gear consult, personal motivational speaker, and yes, co-idiot.

Some would say that she single-handedly duped me into signing up for Bike and Build, but I maintain (perhaps only for the sake of my self-sufficiency) that she merely planted the seed. Fortunately for me, as I mentioned earlier, she is my co-idiot, meaning that even if she duped me, she accidentally duped herself in the process and all summer long we will be trudging through this adventure together.

For those of you wondering how I ended up like this, here's the story:

Over a year ago, my roommate Carys, casually mentioned that she was planning on biking across the country to advocate on behalf of those who did not have adequate housing. Just as you might have, when I said the same thing, I laughed, then I said -- WOW, good for you, then I thought "man, I am SO happy that I am not doing that." Funny how things change...

Now, before people start to think that I am an irrational decision maker, I'd like everyone to know that I made this decision over a very long three or four month period. In October, I called Abby and asked her if she wanted to do something together this summer. She jumped at the opportunity to spend the summer with me (perhaps traveling abroad), and then being ever more realistic than I am, stated that we couldn't leave because we had a duty to our big brother and his June wedding. Those plans foiled, I mentioned the Bike and Build trip. Abby didn't bite, but I think this was the first time I actually spoke the words aloud that I might--perhaps--be considering death by pedal this summer.

From there, I started the application process. Now, I understand how colleges can have strenuous application procedures, and even study abroad programs, but let me say -- it absolutely blew my mind that I had to write three essays and pay a deposit for a trip where I was providing all 4,000 miles of transportation. It is hard for me to imagine that they really had so many people dying to do this trip that they were turning people down for poorly written essays.

Carys kept suggesting that I apply to at least save myself one of those coveted spots on the trip so I could keep my options open into the spring. Though I am now excited about the B&B trip, Carys' advice led to one of my all-time backfires. What I didn't know was that as soon as you apply for the trip, they accept you (I don't think my essay really mattered at all) and before I knew it my face and biography was right there on the page of riders. I could refer to that day as the beginning of the end. Once my name was up there in lights, I was committed.

This lengthy decision-making process might be one of the reasons that I constantly ask myself "how did you get into this?" and "when did you decide THIS was a good idea?"

I guess we will see.