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.