Uncovering America Mile by Mile

Day Two: Hero to Zero

So here it is, finally. I think setting a date to post this made it later, rather than earlier, because once that date went by, I though "I might as well wait longer, since I've already missed my deadline..."
Anyway, this isn't as edited as I was hoping. I've been sick on and off a lot these past few weeks, and I didn't get to do any of the things I wanted to try. Maybe next time? We'll see. For now, I just wanted to make sure I posted *something*. So here it is.
As always, if you're new to NakedMiles, please use the links at the right to read the introduction and/or to start at the beginning.

Day 2- June 14th - Sebastapol to Sonoma

          We wake to chocolate chip pancakes and eggs, which Rachel made in the Yurt’s kitchen, whilst flirting with the yurt’s inhabitants. There’s nothing like getting stuffed on a good solid breakfast to slow us down for the morning. It’s delicious!
          Jennifer, Bunny and I plot the route with the help of the farm’s excellent maps. It will be a short ride of only 40 miles, so we take our time getting ready and leaving.
          Waiting for the pod to assemble takes a little while, but we eventually get going. The ride is pleasant, though it is hot, and I have ridiculously sunburned legs. They look like they should be served with a slice of lemon! It seems I overlooked them the yesterday when going through the sun-screen ritual. Mentally slapping myself I have applied SPF 60 today, plus I’m wearing long pants over my bike shorts to cover my calves and ankles, despite the heat. I’d rather sweat my brains out than get even more burned than I am already!
          A long segment of today’s ride is on a bike trail. It’s a trail that runs not through nature and trees and chirping birds but through the back yards of suburban homes and small business establishments. There are sections of trail that are inhabited by those in the community that can’t afford the homes we’ve been riding by. As we pass, a woman is relieving herself, squatting right beside the trail. I turn away quickly, embarrassed for her, but she shows no shame. I guess you’ve got to do what you’ve got to do.

          It’s not long before Slava is making a fuss again. Apparently the GPS and directions don’t agree on when we are supposed to get off the trail, which is not surprising, since the trail isn’t even on the GPS’s maps. We decide to compromise and wing it, and eventually find our way through town to the next road in our directions, where we find the SAG and with it, lunch.
          The comfort level we have with each other and with being sweaty and grimy is rather high, considering that we’re only on the second day of the ride. We are already sharing plates, cups, utensils, everything. When I can’t find a fork, I just wait for Kristen to finish eating and then take hers, sans washing.
          Kristen is still an enigma to me. She’s a spunky California girl who races triathlons when she’s not partying at school. She’s got book smarts, but her common sense runs a little short sometimes. She’s fun, usually, but sometimes I need a break from the little-girl style antics she gets into. I can’t decide if she’s serious, half the time. I guess that’s something that will come with more experience talking with her. I hope. I hate being in the dark about someone.

          Lunch is good, filling, and not too long. We’ve learned from yesterday. We’re back on the road fairly quickly and having a good ride. There’s a steep detour up a hill, and around and down, circumventing a section of closed road. It confuses us for a bit, but we get over it. Literally.
          As the day wears on and the sun begins to settle down toward the trees we end up on a road that keeps getting smaller and smaller. What started as a reasonable rural back road is suddenly a one-lane, two-way road. The weathered ribbon of pavement winds it’s way up to a ridgeline and follows the ridge over, up, down, and every which way. I’m hoping this is the right way because it is a hard ride and not the safest road around. It seems to be exactly where the directions tell us we should be, though, and even the GPS agrees. Still, I didn’t realize we’d end up on such a small back road, and I’m wary of making a wrong turn.
          I stop at an old brown refrigerator that I find lying discarded on the side of the road. Aside from the fridge–actually, even with the fridge–this is a beautiful little place. The foliage is dense, and everything is a dark verdant green, with sunlight spilling through the leaves and falling mottled on the ground below. The musky odor of fresh soil is evident with every inhalation. We spend a few minutes enjoying the serenity of the natural ambiance and to hydrate, and then it’s back on the bikes.

          I’m a hundred yards or so up climb in front of us when I hear commotion from behind. Justine has fallen. It’s a hard thing to get going up such a steep slope, especially when you have to click into the pedals. Justine apparently has discovered this the hard way. She seems okay, though. Her yelp was an exclamation of what she found while getting back up: Kittens.
          They ran skittering out to “rescue” her when she fell. Little gray puffs, they make their way eagerly toward her. These kittens are obviously homeless, either left by a thoughtless owner or having run away—although almost certainly the former. Do we just leave them? Do we take them with us? Kevin offers to clear the stuff out of his bike bag so we can carry the kittens to safety. This sounds like a good idea at first, but it’s a hot day, and we have no idea how long it will be before we’re somewhere that we can safely drop them off. The kittens aren’t strong to begin with, and the heat could quickly do them in. Eventually we decide to flag down a passing car, the only one to come by in ten minutes. The driver, a young woman who fortunately shares our concern for the mewling little furballs, agrees to take them to the animal shelter. They drive off to safety. We are about to leave when we discover there are more kittens! It pains us, but they will have to stay. There’s really nothing else we can do without becoming ridiculously late, and we can’t have that again.

          Under way once more we make it to the top of the next ridge-line. It’s an amazing view, looking out across vineyards and orchards and open land. I stare in awe as I wait for the others to catch up, many of them walking their bikes up the hill after seeing Justine fall.
          My reverie is interrupted by the square-wave melody of my cell phone. It’s Jen. Heather has taken a spill and needs the SAG, but they can’t reach the SAG driver, who happens to be Kristen today. Kiona was ahead of Heather and has continued riding, not knowing about the accident or where the rest of her pod is. She’s either still riding on, oblivious, or perhaps wondering and worrying about where everybody is. I tell Jen I’ll be right there, let everyone I’m with know where I’m going, and race ahead to find out what I can do.

          Not much, it turns out, except to find Kiona and the SAG and let them know what’s going on. Heather is conscious and whole, though her arm may or may not be broken. I call the SAG again to see if I have better luck getting through with my cell phone service. We still get no answer, so I ride hard toward our destination for the evening, looking for Kiona and for the SAG the whole way. I’m on a mission, a potential hero saving the day.
          I find neither Kiona nor the SAG, though. What I do find is that I have missed a turn. I’ve gone nearly five miles past the road that I should have taken. I race back, take the right road, and find myself catching up with another pod. I pass them to make it to the SAG as quickly as possible so that we can send help to Heather, but taking another wrong turn puts me behind again, and by the time I reach the SAG at our day’s destination, the other group is already there and Kristen is starting the engine and pulling away to go help. I feel useless, dejected. All that hard work for naught, because I was too pre-occupied with doing something to get the attention of a girl to keep from getting myself lost. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. It’s been a recurring theme in my life.
          In the third grade, I was so desperate to get a girl’s attention that I cut off a small chunk of her hair when she was looking the other way. The result? BIG trouble, and the first ever lie to a teacher. In seventh grade, I was so desperate to have a date to my first ever school dance that I asked and went with a random girl, and then convinced myself that I was in love with her. The drama that followed set the tone for a long time after. In tenth grade, I was so busy trying to impress a girl in my math class that I I failed the math class. Only class I’ve ever failed. Senior year of high school I dated a co-star in the school musical. I was so thrilled to have the attention of a pretty girl. She was a freshman. It wasn’t good.

          I help unpack the gear that had been hastily emptied from the van. We’re staying at a community garden. It’s a nice little place of loosely organized plots separated by wood-chip laden walking paths. Community gardens are such a great idea. So many people don’t have the space or the conditions to have a decent garden on their own property, and thus end up relying on the grocery store for even the simplest to grow of vegetables and herbs. A community garden remedies that situation, putting people back in touch with where food really comes from. Plus, it’s a great way to meet people and rebuild America’s oft failing sense of community.

          We set up camp in a grove of figs, a green cave of spotted sunlight, and start dinner in the Garden’s “Community Kitchen”. We take turns washing off the day’s sweaty grime with a hose and mint-scented Dr. Bronner’s, wearing our swimsuits because although we may be fine with sharing dirty eating utensils, nude bathing in wide open spaces is still a little uncomfortable. Even though it’s getting late, the sky is quite light and we’re right in the middle of the outdoor kitchen set up. Excellent visibility. It’s nice to get clean, but the water is frigid, and even wearing my swimsuit I’m not all that comfortable showering in public.
          Rachel cooks us a dinner while we wash. We take turns helping. Sitting there chopping vegetables, Justine and Bunny are really starting to hit it off. Bunny stops chopping for a while in order to give Justine a hand massage, and she can’t stop going on about how good it is. They discuss the possibility of him opening a Filipino style message parlor here in America, and it sounds like the drunken conversation of recently re-acquainted old friends making plans to do something big, together, sometime, somewhere. Meanwhile I play guitar over by a cold clay woodstove and hope to be noticed. Yeah, it’s a bit pathetic, but it’s all I can do right now.

          After a brief presentation by one of the people who help to organize the gardern, we think about renting a movie. Someone, it may have been me, had the bright idea that we could use Slava’s projector and speakers—which he brought to do some sort of presentation about the Israeli-Palestinian conflict. None of us knew the presentation was going to be happening during the ride, and many of us feel more than a little uncomfortable being associated with a presentation that we know nothing about and may or may not agree with. The movie idea quickly falls apart though, when we realize that not enough people want to do it and that Slava wasn’t really asked permission to use his gear. So I sit with the guitar once more.
          Heather arrives, back from the hospital. I’m not sure what to say or do. Her arm is in a cast. What happens now? Does she stay with the ride? Apparently she does, for now. She’ll ride in the SAG until we know what is really going to happen. I try to say something to her but my mouth won’t form words that make any sense. I think Kevin P. may have noticed, since he comes up to me later to thank me for trying so hard to help out with finding the SAG earlier. “We really appreciate it,” he says. I know that should make me feel good, but instead is strikes some sort of jealous note that I didn’t realize was in me. Who is the “we” he referred to, anyway?

          It’s time for a Group Meeting. Using our new consensus “skills”, we discuss all sorts of logistical issues and safety issues. Do we keep the pods? Is it Safe—big “S”—to ride alone? How long can we ride after dark, and what exactly is “dark”, anyway? The usual consensus debating begins, and we settle in for a long discussion short on results.
          Meanwhile I work with Jen and Bunny on the route planning. Well, I try to work with them. The two of them are pretty much handling it, and there’s nothing for me to say or do but watch and try to insert a helpful comment here and there. Bunny is our GPS and mapping expert, and Jennifer planned this section of the route in the first place. Who am I to step into that dynamic duo?
          The meeting over, the routing done, we all begin to slowly wind down for the night. I make a cup of ginger tea, feeling at once both peaceful and melancholy. The ride has been great. The land is gorgeous. The people I’m with are fun and lively... But something feels slightly off. I’m not sure what. I sit staring at the moon and stars, sipping my tea, and eventually wander over to my bedroll and to sleep.

posted by Unknown @ 2:08 PM