Tour De Route 17

The quest began when I received an email message from my dearest mother informing me that my friend of seven years was having his twenty-first birthday on Saturday, and his parents invited me to take part in his "surprise" party. I was thrilled, but alas! He lived 190 miles away in a li'l place called Woodbridge-and I had not a car; my despair mounted as I realized that Mother's Day was that Sunday. I had no money, no card, no flowers...no stink'in drum--ba-rum-ba-bum--and I was in the depths of desperate brooding until an idea dawned on me. (Now I would like to take a sentence to say this was not the greatest "idea" in the world.)

Idea: Hey Jes! You just got your bike fixed didn't you?

Me: Yes, I sure did.

Idea: Well...it's got two wheels don't it?

Me: Yes it does.

Idea: And you know how to use it...

Me: Where are you going with this?

Idea: How far is it to your house?

Me: About 140 miles.

Idea: That ain't bad.

Me: Maybe not for you...but you're nothing more than a brain impulse...a flux of energy flowing through my cerebellum. The farthest you have to travel is to my madula oblongata...and that's nowhere near 140 miles.

Idea: Relatively speaking it is. I am very very tiny...going to-

Me: I'm not sure exactly what you're driving at here, but I have other things I'd like to think about rather than some crazy combination of 140 miles and a bike.

Idea: Such as?

Me: What I'm gonna do for Mother's day, and how I'm gonna see my friend on his big day...and when I'm gonna have--

Idea: I have the solution.

Me: Oh?

Idea: Bike home, borrow dad's car, see friend, take mom out for mother's day.

Me: Bike home?!

Idea: Yes!

Me: No!

Idea: (Common Sense Override) Yes!

Me: Okay! Super Duper! I'll bike 140 miles! Wee!

All that in about 2.5 nanoseconds or so. Immediately my friend knows I'm coming, mom knows to expect me, and I have declared my plans to my most intimate confidants.

They laugh at me.

To be expected I suppose. They tried to come up with some lame arguments about it being a "Tour de France" and how people train to go all that way, and how I wasn't ready...and blah blah...nothing really convincing. So it was set; I was gonna go.

For the sake of time (mine and yours) I won't go into all the details leading to the trip...this is known as the Exposition...background...and it's done.

Chapter 2: A Spiffy Beginning...

4:00am...I awake to a horrible noise. "Must be my buzzer;" I decide. "What a racket...better turn it off." Turned out it wasn't my buzzer, but the new release from DMX. They sound amazingly similar. Go fig...

I fly into action...shower, shave, dress, and stuff my face with a healthy bowl of Macaroni & Cheese and Tuna Fish (the kind soaked in distilled water). The air is crisp and cool, perfect for catching pnemonia. I breathe it in...taking in the tranquility of the early morning and bit of pollen. After a mild coughing fit, I adjust my helmet, make sure I forgot something important and begin peddling to my destiny. It is shortly after 5:00am.

I love Newport News when no one's on the road. So peaceful. I pedal at a steady pace in twenty-first gear, and think, "Man, I hope this gets harder...I won't even break a sweat at this rate!" In a surprisingly short time, I'm out of the city and moving on to Yorktown. The sun is just beginning to rise as I cross the toll bridge. The sun in its crimson glory peaks out over the calm water, casting thin red rays of light over the small swells. I drink in the scene, and my mind lavishes itself in nature's picturesque kaleidoscope. (Thank you Thoreau.)

I cross the toll without incident or payment, and continue down a scenic parkway, looking at the wonderous trees and shrubs that grow and flourish in this part of the country. The novelty lasted an incredible minute or so. "Wonder what time it is?" I bemusedly wonder to myself, as I glance at my wrist. "Wonder how the heck I forgot my watch?" I bemusedly wonder to myself...

Chapter 3: Trouble on the Horizon...

I would like to say I'd been on the road two hours, but being without a watch, I really have no schtink'in idea. I was in the middle of Glouster...which is another word for "Middle of Nowhere". Nothing but grass, grain, and road kill. I had counted one deer, four raccoons and two housecats to that point. Also about seventeen rusted tractors, three farms, zero people and zero signs of life. I began to feel a burn in my legs. This made me curious. Fatigue so soon? Peddling became harder, and I had to switch to a lower gear. Curious, I stopped peddling. Moments later, I stopped moving.

Now, for those who don't know about movement, let me explain something to you. When one is going downhill, peddling is very easy. In fact, one may stop peddling and still make progress. If the ground is level (as it appeared to be, and as I assumed it would be) peddling is also easier, as momentum takes over and helps you coast. If you stop peddling on level ground, you slowly come to a halt a good distance afterwards. Now, if you are on an incline--be it ever so mild--you must constantly be peddling or else you come to a halt almost immediately. This all being said, it is safe to say I was on an incline.

This was unexpected. The ground looked level...I hadn't anticipated an incline. "Well," I thought, "not to worry. The whole road can't be an incline. I'll go down again soon." Let me tell you something right now. The road is evil. It never goes down...never. If this road was on a mountain, it would go to the top, then carry over to a taller mountain and keep going up. When it has hit the highest mountain, it would just keep going. It never goes down. Never. (I am relying on fierce repetition to make my point as to how impossible it seems, but how real it was.) The idiots who made this road knew nothing of flat surfaces or declines. The laws of physics were rendered null and void for this road. Nary was there a moment I could stop to rest without stopping completely.

It was around this time that I began to notice something else as well: the very narrowness of my bike seat. Now, the seat proudly bears the label: "GT SUPERSOFT". It was about as soft as a brick. Let it be known that I have one of the boniest posteriors on the planet. In fact, I don't really have a posterior...I sit on my backbone. So I need some serious padding. I had none. My cheeks began to protest under the weight of my muscular upper body. This meant I had to stand up to pedal so the pain would subside. I did this off and on for a good hour, until I heard a pop! and realized something had decided to give in my right leg. I had to sit as much as I could.

It didn't take long for my butt to go numb...and then begin to burn. I tell you honestly...until that day, it had never hurt to excrete gaseous surpluses from my backside. The tuna fish and cheese that had sat dormant until this time decided it was time to make an exit...and my sweet goodness how it hurt. I cannot describe the torment, the sheer agony. I hope none of you will know what it is like to have such fear. Every time I broke the proverbial wind, it felt like my backbone was going to snap.

Traumatized? Yes. I can no longer fart. It is beyond my ability. Fartless. Infartable. Anti-Fartacious. Fart-Deprived. Fartfully Challenged. I am a freak...driven to recluse from fear and shame. How could things get worse?

Chapter 4: An Answer to my Query at the Very End of Chapter 3:

I was panting. The sun that had been so friendly earlier that day hit on me like a plague of drunk old women. I began questioning my rational. I remember thinking at the beginning: "140 miles at fifteen mph...with stops...that'll only be about ten hours max!" --Only? What the heck was my brain doing?! Ten freak'in hours on a bike seat the size of a silver dollar with the padding of astro-turf...under a sun that generates heat and cancer!?

I would have laughed if I wasn't so pissed at myself. 'Only ten hours.' I can't sit on a sofa for that long...I probably couldn't make out with Jessica Alba for that long! Having no idea of the time, I searched the horizon for a sign-how much farther? Panting, I examined my surroundings. They were the same as the surroundings eleven miles ago: grass, fields, old farms...that's about it. That may be scenic if you're fly'in by at 75 miles an hour, but to crawl by them at eleven mph is torment. Why had God and Progress forsaken this land? Where the heck in Hell and Hades were the supermarkets? The malls? The Starbucks?! I refused to believe that the vast coffee empire stopped here...but there was no queer little fairy on a khaki colored cup with the typically café colored liquid on the inside anywhere. Even the enchanted kingdom that is Wal-Mart dared not venture this far. I was in the middle of a grassy desert that God and all sane men had abandoned.

I began to resent the cars that flew by at a casual 70 mph, and the speed limit signs that said "55" seemed to mock my plight. Oh good...you mean I can go that fast? "No! You can't, but everyone else in the world can! Muhahahaha!" I began yelling at the truck drivers who flew by me. It was amazing:

Truck Driver: Hmm...look at these two pretty lanes of highway. Wow...I'm the only one on the road. Hey! There's a bony kid wobbling by on a bike...looks like he's about to fall over. Should I change lanes so my dust and backdraft won't kill him? Nah...

Those semis would wiz right by me, not more than a foot away from me. The strong gust of wind they left behind would send me struggling for control. -And they never traveled alone. There were always two of the turds together. If one flew by, you could bet your bippie there'd be at least one more coming by just as fast and just as careless. Cars did it too. I began yelling hoarse taunts to the drivers: "Get outta your new fanangled automobile and step out here with your out-of-shape self! I'm about to die and I'll still kick your butt, you lousy sack of road kill!" They never heard me.

The worst of course were dump trucks. Catching a whiff of refuse in a car is nothing like inhaling sewage for four miles. But that paled in the shadow of sun-warmed road kill. The count had doubled by this time, and that was only the ones I saw. But I could smell many more. Oh yes. Road kill has a distincive odor that comes from fly larvae and rotting intestines. You could catch a whiff of it a mile away, pass it, pass out, wake up, pass out again, keep going...two miles later be free...three miles later there it is again! I'm sorry if this is graphic...but this is real life ladies and gents. The real world outside our sheltered college walls. This is the terror. This is the truth.

All these truths entered my consciousness at the same time as I saw my fifth doe. Well...I dunno if it was a doe, but it was a deer, a female dear....ray-a buttload of unwanted sun. Me-a name...a stupid name that came to mean "moron who tried to bike to Fredericksburg". Far-a long long way to bike. So-what if I collapse and die? La-stands for L.A. and I wished I was there in a big pool with a martini and film contract...T it rhymes with B which stands for "butt tired" And that brings me back to the doe...

Chapter Five: Not dead yet...

My thighs were about to rip through my skin. I began to feel light headed. Then...I saw a sign. I opened up my eyes and saw the sign. A big, green beacon of encouragement. "Tell me I'm home!" I begged.

Sign: Fredericksburg: 76 miles.

Me: Oh crap.

Yes indeed. I had barely gone half the distance and I was about to perish. I stopped my bike and fell to the ground. "God" says I, "I'm going to die if you don't do something. My legs are gonna fall off, I've got a non-functioning butt, and this accursed road refuses to slope down. I need help!" After a few minutes, I began biking once more, determined not to die just yet.

Chapter 6: A bunch of stuff...

At long last I saw a Texaco on the left hand side. Nothing else. Just a stink'in gas station in the middle of nowhere. I doubt the stupid thing had gas, but it had a convenience store and that's all I cared about. I bought some Gatorade and some fatening pastries to give me an energy boost and started again.

Shortly thereafter, I realized that Wal-Mart must make both a water-bottle and a Gatorade-bottle. When I had water in my water bottle(one I purchased the night before at Wal-Mart) the thing never dripped. No water exited unless it was directly into my mouth. However, once I filled that little plastic cylinder with the purple Gatorade Frost ™ it couldn't stop leaking. I put the nozzle up to my lips and the stuff flowed out of everywhere but where it was supposed to. Consequently, I had Gatoraide on my hands, my back, my chin, and my legs. Oh, and some spilled into my mouth too. I guess having my fingers stuck together wasn't so bad, but ten miles later I was to find out something else about Gatorade-something that would leave me in serious pain.

Chapter 7: The secret ingredients of Gatorade...

The road decided to change. The incline was no longer subtle. You could see several hills in the distance, twice the height of Apllo's Chariot and three times as long. If I wasn't so worried about dehydrating, I would have soiled my knickers. Everything on and in my body ached. It was only about 11:30am (Texaco had a clock)...not even the heat of the day...and I was at the end of my proverbial rope.

Just then, I saw a small silouette of some insect behind me. Thinking it was a bee, I immediately had an adrenaline rush. I hate bees...wasps...hornets...anything with a toothpick protruding from its anus can't be friendly. I biked faster. The shadow was still there, following me. I went as fast as I could, using up much-needed energy...but it was to no avail. The little sucker was after me. I began swatting at it, swerving left and right. After about five minutes it was gone. Breathing a sigh of relief, I once again turned my focus to the daunting task before me.

The next time I looked up, I saw seven little shadows flying behind me. Wheeling around, I caught one smack dab in the eye. There was a swarm of them! And they weren't bees; they were horseflies. Yes...those fat little flies with a mouth bigger than Aerosmith's. It didn't take me long to figure out why they were after me: the Gatorade.

Quickly, I looked at the bottle. Sure enough, it contained Chloride Risomate Aphorasic Phosphate or C.R.A.P. for short-a combination of chemicals known to attract horseflies in heat.

It amazed me how fast and persistent the li'l buggers were. Kinda reminded me of cops. You know, a lot of em look so outta shape--love handles n' all--but man they sure can turn it up a notch when they're after someone (or something). So I was to the horseflies as a 6'2, 170 lb jelly donut is to a law enforcer.

(Disclaimer: I live with a very nice, very thin officer...I'm not promoting stereotypes.)

Now I couldn't stop, but couldn't continue. If I stopped, the heat, lack of water, and horseflies would kill me. I had to press on. Cue dramatic music....

Chapter 8: Of Old Women and Resolve...

It was a good five miles before I saw another gas station. As I was dousing myself with bottles of water, and old woman says "Excuse me. Are you the young man who's been biking since Glouster?" Fighting gravity, I nodded yes. "You're doing a great job." "

"Thank you," I mumbled back. Hey, that was random...coming outta left field, it's the old woman! I guess that passed as encouragement.

It was then that I afforded myself a chuckle. I remember thinking at 5:00...before all the hardships, that physical limits and strains were so much easier than emotional ones. How I could set and break limits of a physical nature, but held myself back in terms of going the distance in non-concrete areas. (End of Semi-Sensative-introspective mumbo jumbo).

I remember thinking about this gal I know who lives about 270 miles from Newport News, and how I had vowed that I would (tee-heee) bike (heheheheh) to her house...(ahhahahahh!) just to see her...(Heheaaaaaahaha) every weekend!!! (Ba-HahAha!) Yeah. There's no way in Heck or Hades I'd ever do this again...ever. I'd just get a picture of the girl or something.

But this resolve didn't help my current situation. I was still 55 miles away. The horseflies were gone, but needless to say nothing else improved.

Chapter 9: Warping to the Final Bit...

I won't go into all that happened between mile-marker 55 and mile marker 15. Lots of fields, a deer being eaten by vultures (and they looked at me and said, "You're next!") a last stop for water, and Abu the store clerk who spoke no english. But there I was...at last...15 miles from home.

By this time I've had it out with the road and all the people who drive on it, completely embittered by my struggles. And there, 15 miles away, I faced the biggest and longest hills yet. Four of them. "I've just biked 130 miles across Hell...you think these piddly hills are gonna stop me? Bring it on!" I yelled out to the road. It was all I could do to keep peddling.

Struggle struggle struggle, hills, hills, hills, random profanity, declaration of my determination to finish even if I die, dillusions of grandure, more angry words at the road for it's hardships...yadda yadda yadda...

Ten miles to go.

Chapter 10: The Weather Forecast: 84 degrees with a chance of hail...

Just as I was beginning to calm down, I hear a loud "honk-honk!!!!" followed by a "Hey!" I look up to see a bright red VW Jetta barreling down the road. Oddly enough there's a girl sticking out of the sunroof from her waist up waving at me. I smile, and begin to wave back. Now, it's times like these I wish I had my glasses, because only a split second before the car passed me did I notice that she was wearing absolutely nothing at all. Her body was devoid of all clothing. Naked. Nude. Exposed. There she was just....uh...bouncing down the road as it were. I guess my mouth dropped and I looked back to the road. Now that was interesting. A red jetta, a sunroof and a nude gal. Almost sounds like the chorus for some cheesy alternative punk song. I would love to embelish on such details, but really what can you say? Besides, it's late and I'm sick of typing. This is conjuring up too many memories...my butt's starting to hurt again...

Not more than five minutes later, I hit the biggest hill yet. I ranted and raved the whole way up about my resolve and how I was unstoppable, and then, just as I cleared the hill, I yelled "See!? I beat the best you got! You ain't got nothing left! I'm unstoppable! I have won!"

Just then, without warning, the hail/rain started. Yes indeed, in the blink of an eye, the 84 degrees faded into a fierce wind blowing into my face accompanied by a deluge of precipitation. I couldn't see...I could barily keep my balance. Within eight seconds my entire body was a soggy mess and I was pretty much blind. I wiped my eyes the best I could and put my helmet further down to see. I had snot streaming from my nose, rain dripping off my helmet and into my tear- stained (not really) face.

But I kept going, my threats and taunts now directed against the hail that threatened to knock me out. Good thing I's wearing my helmet. The stuff still stung though; it was coming down hard and fast.

Fortunately, it stopped after twelve minutes...and I was back in civilization.

Chapter 11: That's about it...

Yeah...not much of an epilogue I suppose. After that storm, I was tired, drenched, scarred for life (Jetta girl didn't do a whole lotta good...), hardened...but I was a mere five miles from home. I tackled the last two huge hills before my house and that was it. My family killed the fattened calf and rejoiced. I slept for 13 hours, and awoke to find nothing worse than eight bug bites and a slight sniffle remained of my journey. No burn, no soreness, no nothing. The twenty-first B-day went okay, me and mom had a great Mother's Day, and all was happy ever after.

But I learned--oh how I learned--never ever ever to try to bike that far again. I think it's safe to say that's the only thing I've learned in college so far. Sigh. Well...I appreciate you taking the time to share, in some small way, my travels. This kinda sputtered out 'cause I don't think 10.5 hours deserves seven pages, and frankly I'm sick of it and need to go to bed. So I hope this has encouaraged you in some way...maybe you want to (cue sappy music) go tackle your own giants or hills...to rise up over the odds and overcome...to let grim determination and fearlessness run your destiny.

Or perhaps it just made you say "I'm glad I'm not as dumb as that guy is." And that's that.