"Effy"

It was a short day today, only about 41 miles. My body was still asleep when we first set out, but it felt good once we got going. For the first time since the Berkshires, I stood up in my pedals going uphill. I thought I left all the sprinting I had in those mountains, but I guess I just needed a little rest to build up my strength. Oh and I wore these new camo biking shorts that I got yesterday in Pittsburgh, they're like cargo shorts but they have the chamois built in. They look pretty badass.

As we would only be passing through it for about seven miles, we tried to do West Virginia shirtless, but after a mile or two we decided that the area was too populated and that it would be best to go ahead and shirt up.

Our destination for the day was Steubenville, Ohio. All of the bridges into Steubenville are highways, so we weren't allowed on them. The original plan had been to use the van to shuttle us across the bridge, but when we met up with the van just before the bridge, some members of my group complained that they did not want to do this because of something they called "Effy." I later learned that this was the name of a club, EFI, for "Every Freakin' Inch." As the name suggests, this club is reserved for those Bike and Builders who have ridden "every freakin' inch" of the way from Boston to Santa Barbara on their bikes. While a rider cannot be blamed if he has to ride part of the way in the van because of injury, dehydration, malnutrition, or bike problems, this disqualifies him from membership in EFI. We were all about disqualified because we weren't allowed on the bridges, and that was not acceptable.

Sophie called the local police to see if we could get an escort across the bridge. After she explained the situation, they sent out a squad car, and after some more explaining, five Bike and Builders crossed a bridge into Ohio led by a police escort. It was awesome. I got some footage while riding. (It turns out that traffic on the bridges wasn't half as bad as what we have already encountered, and subsequent groups crossed the bridge without any escort.)

Why go through all this trouble? What difference does it make if we cycle across the entire country less one or two miles? Why did we feel it necessary to get the police involved? Because some things in life are worth fighting for.

Aftermath of the Century

The hardest part of the century was the next day.

Yesterday started off well enough. I rode with a fast group in the morning, and before we knew it we were stopped at mile 35 for lunch. For lunch I had some strawberries for quick energy, a PB&J for some longer lasting energy, and a Builder Bar for protein, so I had all my bases covered. After lunch I headed out with Jane and Sophie, and those girls can move!

Between mile 35 where we had first lunch and mile 70 where we had second was long, mostly flat road. Big open fields stretched all the way to the mountains in the distance. Farms and silos dotted the landscape. Sophie pointed out a sign while we were moving: a silhouette of a horse pulling a carriage and the words "NEXT 10 MILES." We were entering Amish country.

I saw their houses first. They actually looked pretty beaten up. But they do everything for themselves, right? Like if we need to reshingle our houses, we call a professional to do it, and he's got professional skills and professional tools, but if an Amish man wants to reshingle his roof, he does it himself with tools he made. This is just an example, because most of their houses had metal roofs anyway.

I saw two Amish men outside working on something, and they looked exactly like one would expect: short-sleeved button up shirts, black pants, suspenders, beards, and funny hats. I waved, and one of them waved back.

This modern town popped up all of a sudden while we were still in the Amish country, and that's where we had second lunch. I saw an Amish woman go cruising by on a scooter. She was in a dress that covered her from neck to ankle. It was at least 80 degrees out.

As an engineer, one of the things that I have learned is that, when you are bulding something, you can do all the research, solve all the equations, and run computer simulations till you're blue in the face, but when you get out into the field to test your creation, something completely unexpected will go wrong. Yesterday I was counting on my muscles giving out or my joints hurting or my bike breaking or the chafing becoming unbearable, but I did not imagine that my eyes would start bothering me. And around second lunch, that's exactly what they did. It's happened before. Sweat gets in them, they get irritated, and my contacts only make it worse. By the time we were leaving second lunch, I could barely open my eyes.

Now the smart thing to do would have been to stop and say, "I can't see, somebody call the van." But I wanted my century, and so I long as I could still crack one eye open I was determined to get it. It was a miserable 30 miles, but I did it. We were actually only at 96 miles when we arrived at the host location, so we decided to ride around a little more. By the time Sophie, Jane, and I got back to the host location, my calves were shaking.

All things considered, I'd say the day went well. No equipment failure, body was mostly intact, and eyes were feeling better by dinner. But I, and indeed everyone on the trip, would not feel the full weight of the century until the next day, today.

It was 76 hilly miles from State College to Johnstown. There were some challenges before lunch, but things went smoothly. Muscles were weak, joints hurt, saddles chafed, but spirits stayed high. After lunch, though, there were some real heartbreakers. At mile 45 a 1700 foot climb started. I was with Lyndsay, Charlotte, and Katie, and normally they have plenty to say during a ride, but going up that hill, they were silent. Our pace slowed to a crawl. The pain and fatigue were really starting to set in. We stopped part way up the hill for a break, and I said what everyone already knew: "This group has zero energy right now." We were dying. Things were looking pretty dismal.

We did make it up that hill eventually, and a few miles later, we found an ice cream stand. After explaining what we were doing to the proprietor, the girls all got free ice cream. (I wasn't hungry.) I finished out the day with another group. There was still more climbing to do, most notably a 700 foot climb at mile 68. It was tough, but I took it one stroke at a time and eventually made it to the top. The final stretch before Johnstown was a 1.5 mile descent with a grade of 18%, making it easily the steepest descent we have encountered. It kind of took me by surprise and before I knew what was what, I hit 45 mph. On a huge, flat, country road I might have kept going, but those not being the conditions I started using my brakes.

We are now at the YWCA in Johnstown, PA. Our kind hosts prepared for us a feast of such magnitude that we will likely be enjoying it for days to come. We are tired. Aches and pains are setting in, saddle sore is getting worse. The smell of Icy Hot fills the air. But these are just challanges to be overcome, and we will take them on as challenges must be taken on: headfirst.

Fear

The truth of the matter is, I am afraid. As much as I would like to say that the opposite is true, that simply isn't the case.

Tomorrow we are riding into State College, PA from Berwick, PA. The official distance is 96 miles, but after getting lost once or twice it is sure to become a full century. It will therefore be our longest ride by 20 miles.

I have already resolved to push myself for as long as I can. That's all I can do. But there are still a lot of unknowns in the equation. The mind can be strong, but at some point the body simply gives out. At one level of fatigue, pain makes it difficult for the mind to tell the body what to do. At the next level, the body simply cannot perform anymore. It is this that I fear.

I am afraid of accidents. I've had flats, and I've bombed down hills, and luckily these two events have never coincided. Going 40 miles an hour down a hill is fun, but what if I have a blow out? How horribly mangled would I be? I might be able to ride a bike again someday. And of course there is always the possibility that a drunk driver will plow into us, not unlike what happened in Monterrey a few weeks ago: http://www.cnn.com/2008/WORLD/americas/06/02/mexico.bikers.ap/

I am afraid of equipment failure. All I want is a fair chance, but sometimes the tools I am equipped with do not allow this. If my body stays strong but my bike should fail, I will have to call the van and ride around in it for the rest of the day. This is not acceptable, but it is beyond my control. I fear this.

But I am also glad for my fear, because fear triggers the fight-or-flight response, and me, I'm a fighter.

Our host location in Berwick is the Berwick Area Middle School. It reminds me of my middle school, only nicer. This got me thinking back to some of the people I knew when I was a kid and what ever happened to them. Usually when I go home to McAllen Mom gives me any updates she has. Some of them are good, some of them are bad. I like to think that if the other kids could hear about what I'm doing now, they would nod their heads and say, “Yeah, that sounds like Jorge.”

Trip Journal

Fans of "The Mongoose Flies" may be interested to know its author wrote the June 16th entry for the trip journal, to which all riders contribute. It may be found here:

http://www.bikeandbuild.org/cms/component/option,com_wrapper/Itemid,262/

A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to Port Jervis

These girls continue to amaze me. (Just to set the record straight, there are 23 of them on this trip and only eight guys. So one could argue they have a presence.)

This afternoon, my riding group took a wrong turn and followed it for several miles. No biggie, when you're already going 60 miles, what's four or five more? So we head back to the intersection where we made the wrong turn, only we cross paths with almost everyone in the trip as we head back because we had marked the turn on the pavement and they followed it. As we crossed paths, they realized our error, turned around, and followed us back to the intersection. By the time we arrived at the intersection, almost everyone on our trip was with us.

Before we turned (again) at the intersection, Skip wisely advised us to go in groups of four to five rather than the entire pack moving out at once. I rolled out with the first group to turn, which also included Kay-Rud, Sophie, and Lenny. “Alright,” I was thinking, “Three people who will go fast and won't take breaks every 10 miles. We'll be at the host in no time.”

We flew through a long, winding, downhill road through the woods. I think that stretch right there was my favorite of the day. So the road levels out, we emerge in some town, and Lenny is way ahead of the rest of us. I see him approach another cyclist in the distance. I figure that since we were the first group to leave the intersection, and since there is no way that one of our people got ahead of us, that this cyclist in the distance must just be some random person. I get closer, and - “Butterfield?”

Lauren Butterfield is one of the young women on this route. I usually pass her in the morning then don't see much of her until she arrives at the host location that afternoon. She has thick, muscular legs, which definitely work in her favor on the bike, but she is also less than five feet tall, which definitely works against her. I always just figured she didn't go faster because she couldn't.

I noticed that she was not at the intersection when the rest of us were. I figured she hadn't gotten there yet. Imagine my surprise when, after tearing through the downhill stretch, I find her ahead of my group, on course, and not even breaking a sweat. Kay-Rud was as astounded as I was. He looked at me as if to ask, “What the hell?” We asked her how she got ahead of us. “I just followed the cue sheet,” was all she had to say.

Not bad, I thought. From there I figured Lenny, Sophie, Kyle, and I would leave her behind as we blazed the rest of the trail. We were going pretty fast, but here's the thing: Butterfield hung with us! I was having trouble keeping up at times, but Butterfield just chugged along, seemingly without breaking a sweat. We arrived at the church in Port Jervis without further incident.

Good day of riding, Butterfield.

Rain

Conditions were lousy this morning. Rain. Not the cool, refreshing South Texas rains that serve as a relief from the heat. These were the cold, harsh New England rains that soak a body to the bone. And it wasn't just that it was cold and rainy. The roads between Andover and Fitchburg were awful, poorly marked, winding, and often uphill. And as a testament to how complicated the route was, consider that the cue sheet was a page long. Basically, it was the worst New England had to offer. It was a miserable ride.

But in a way I liked it. It was like New England was saying, "Well look at what we got here, little Mexican boy from Texas thinks he can handle my roads. I'll cut him down to size." And instead of getting discouraged I was just like "You want a piece of this, New England? Come get some!"

Despite the conditions, things went more or less smoothly for me. I cannot say the same for everyone, though. I passed several riders on the side of the road, kneeling next to their bikes. I heard that the grand total for flats on the day was 13. I also heard that Kay-Rud and Julia both got two.

Actually my group got lost for a bit and ended up doing about 5 extra miles. I started feeling that sharp pain in my side after we had been out there for a few hours, the same one that I feel when I run. I think it goes back to that damn neck injury from football. Just as it was becoming excruciating, we pulled up to an ice cream place on the side of the road where some B&B alums had laid out a feast for us. I helped myself to some fresh fruit, nature's candy. Our riders trickled into the stop a few at a time. It was always exciting to see who would be next and cheer them on as they pulled into the stop.

I headed out with a few from my original group after a while. I was glad to. I was getting antsy just standing around. We stuck together for a while, then I believe Jane, Lenny, and Oliver pulled ahead while I stayed with Jess Robertson and Amol fell back. Now I knew there were a few cycling black belts in our group, but beyond that, I did not have much of an idea of anyone's prowess. Black belts aside, I fancied myself one of the better riders. Now just looking at Jess, I would not have placed her at the same level as myself, but after today's ride I know that she may even be better. I could not believe how hard I was working to keep up with this girl. I kept thinking to myself, Where is she getting all this energy? Hats of to you, Jess.


So here we are in Fitchburg. This time our host is the First Church Parish. After most of us had arrived, Sophie led another 8 minute abs. Most of the group participated. I imagine that this occurrence will become so commonplace in the future that it will not be worth noting. Sophie also wanted to go for a run, apparently she is interested in competing in a triathlon in the fall. Dave, Jane and I went with her.

Our hosts cooked dinner for us: pasta, meatballs, sausage, baked ziti, salad, ice cream... Once again our hosts have proven to be kind, caring people who show us the same warmth that they would their own family. I can only hope that we are lucky enough to have hosts this wonderful at every town we stop.

31 Strangers

Three days ago, 31 strangers met for the first time in Revere, MA.

Or perhaps they weren't all strangers. A few of them might have lived together, 2 or 3 might have met at a build site, but by and large, their knowledge of each other up to that point had been a picture and a paragraph. It was a strange relationship. They knew they were bound to become friends, but for months they only knew each other by a few short introductions.

Bonds were quick to form in Revere. Pictures had become flesh and blood human beings. Static paragraphs gave way to warm personalities. Though they hailed from all different backgrounds and walks of life, they quickly realized what they all had in common: they cared about more than just themselves.

The next two days were used to bring these individuals up to speed on everything they would need to know to cycle across the country: nutrition, hydration, hygiene, stretching, technique, gear, safety, and responsibilities on the road.

This morning, 31 acquaintances cycled out of Revere and headed for Andover. Their ranks were bolstered by friends, family, and sympathizers for the Cause. It was not uncommon to see 15 cyclists stopped at a red light. A few wrong turns were made, but they never strayed too far from the true path.

And now we are here at the Pike School in Andover that kindly agreed to host us. The bond between us grows with each passing hour. After we made it to the school, Sophie led us all in an 8 minute abs routine. A few of us heard that there was a lake in the area in which we could go swimming. Our thirst for life being as unquenchable as it is, we mounted our bikes again and headed out for the lake. The family of Chris Webber had our entire group over for dinner tonight. A warm summer night with good food and good company - there was nowhere I would have rather been. I look forward to a summer with these...acquaintances?

Hopefully, we will ride into Santa Barbara 31 friends.

Declaration of Intent

This is a declaration of intent. It is my intention to aid the affordable housing cause in this country and to raise awareness for said cause. To this end I have pledged my summer to Bike and Build, Inc. As part of this pledge, I have raised over $4,000 from various donors on Bike and Build's behalf. I have also volunteered my time at a Habitat for Humanity build site in Virginia and done research on the history of housing practices in this country.

These prerequisites having been fulfilled, it is now my intention to ride my bike with 30 other young people from Boston to Santa Barbara. As I have not trained for this endeavor nearly as much as I would have liked to, I intend to suffer a lot. However, I do not intend to quit.

En route to Santa Barbara, I intend to stop at several Habitat for Humanity build sites and volunteer my time there. Just like the paladins from the days of old, at every township I stop, I will spread the Word - the Word of Affordable Housing. And with the proper humility I will ask the townsfolk if they would care to aid the cause in the form of a monetary donation.

I intend to ride into Santa Barbara content with the knowledge that I have aided the cause - or not at all.


I'm not doing this for fame or fortune. There isn't much of either to be had. Cycling across the country is an exciting challenge, but that's not why I'm doing it either. I'm going to get in shape and learn about cycling. Surely there are friendships to be had and wonderful and beautiful things to be seen along to way. But these are all just fortunate side effects.

I am doing this because sometimes, doing the right thing is its own reward.