Scott: The Dirtiest Footprints, The Shiniest Spoon.

As some of you know, Matt and I are partially able to do this trip because of the managerial duties at "the Spot" in Eugene, OR. Basically we get free room for the daunting task of cleaning up after college students. I do the dishes and Matt takes care of rent collection, emptying garbage, and basic cleaning around the house. In the end I would definitely say it's worth it, but there are times when you think, "What the hell? I hate every guy between the ages of 18 and 21, excluding the biking the states crew and a few others I've met along the way." This brings me to the title of todays blog.

The dirtiest footprints and the shiniest spoon are actual recent events or nouns, what have you. It's what they represent that sums up our stay in Eugene and the excursion we are about to take in two freaking weeks, respectively.

As the year has progressed, people have become more and more lazy. It started out with a few dishes left here and there, but for the most part they were confined to the kitchen. Every once in a while you would get the puddle of vomit from a night of drunken promiscuity the night before, and there would, of course, be the tail end of someones "chew" habit. This is not the wonderful bubble gum chew you remember from your childhood. No. This is the "Sandlot, get wasted go on a carnival ride and let your saliva fly," chewing tobacco that you find in the major leagues, and with people who have lost their tongues to mouth cancer.

Time passes and you get the moldy food that has been festering in peoples rooms for who knows how long. You get the milk that expired last summer. You get the daily spit cups and nightly specimens fit for an impromptu sperm bank. You get the sugary concoctions stuck to the counter tops and everyone burns their food to the pots and pans they cook it in.

All of this leads to the dirtiest footprints - the culmination of every pain in the ass thing we have to do here. Matt mops the floor in the kitchen, leaves for a minute, and returns to find someone has walked all over it leaving mud wherever they went. That pretty much sums up the care people take when they don't have to worry about doing the brunt work. The only thing that keeps me going is the idea of the shiniest spoon.

I live my life by way of the shiniest spoon. (Some would call this anal retentive.) This spoon was given to me by my parents, and was made by the wonderful people who sell the quite popular swiss army knife. The spoon came in a picnic set with a small fork, however I've seen shinier, and a knife to cut the food. This will be my primary cutlery in two weeks when I no longer have to worry about anyones dishes but my own. This spoon is pure perfection down to the size and shape of the oval head, and I know it will carry me through the summer and beyond. I may even take a picture of it for you.

Stuart: Spanish Inspiration

Just got back from two weeks in Spain. It was full of singing, dancing and lisps. I saw a bullfight in Granada and one Toreador tried this trick where he laid down right in front of the gate that the bull was let out. So, when the bull (not yet weakened, stabbed or bleeding) was released, it could run directly at him with full strength. His plan was obviously to dodge the bull and come away unscathed, then thrust his pelvis at the crowd in an intesely masculine display of pride. Unfortunately for him, the bull just smashed into his pathetic (in comparison) body and sent him flying. Luckily, a bunch of men came out to distract the raging animal from further destroying the frail figure it satisfyingly hit. After the toreador gathered himself and did a few pelvic thrusts to make sure he was okay, full of hubris, he tried it again. This time, the bull knocked him so hard his shoe flew off and he had to limp the rest of the fight. It isn't a far leap to think that I am that same silly man with a cape and this trip is beast with horns trying to severely mame me if I go into it too cocky and slightly underprepared. Before I left, I had been riding between 20 and 30 miles every day for about two weeks, so after two weeks in Spain (even with a delightful bicycle ride around Barthelona (Barcelona)), I assume I'm back to square one. I've got some work to do.

Stuart

Ryan: Bike The Drive

So, Andy and I participated in Chicago's "Bike The Drive" event, where they closed Lake Shore Drive to cars, and opened it to bicycles from 5 a.m. to 9 a.m. on a Sunday. IT WAS AWESOME!

I can't express the feeling that overtook me when I was rolling down the middle of the street surrounded by other bicyclists. There must have been a couple thousand cyclists there (easy), all cruising down the "Drive" without a care in the world. What would the world be like if bikes replaced cars? It could happen.

Anyway, We ended up biking around 50-55 miles by the end of the day (which is up there for my longest ride yet), and it was extremely enjoyable. My excitement for the trip grows with each day that passes. T-Minus 24 days! Oh boy.

Ryan C. Kolegas

Ryan: Wipe Out

So it finally happened. I wiped out, and Andy is right, it doesn't hurt that much. This is what happened:

It was a cold, windy, and rainy night, and I was on my way to DMaC practice (DePaul Men's A Capella- my a Capella group) at 9:30 in the p.m. I was getting wet, and glasses in the rain are not great... but it was no big deal. I came to an intersection, checked both ways, then crossed the street. It seemed like a normal ride at first.

Then, as I approached another intersection, I was aware of a yellow VW bug coming up behind me. The light was red, so I slowed and began to check the left and right for the cars... well, apparently I should have been looking at the road harder because before I knew it I was flying over my handlebars after my front tire got stuck in a basketball size pot hole. I landed on my elbow and knee, but nothing was seriously injured (except for my pride of course).

I quickly got up, grabbed my bike and moved to the sidewalk to gather my composure. As I'm assessing the damage, I notice the the VW creep up a little bit... Then it creeps up a little more. Finally, the driver rolls down her window and asks, "are you ok?" My tormented ego replies, "I'm fine thanks for asking." Now that I think about it I could have responded in a more witty manner such as "Haven't perfected that trick yet... or no worries my bike and I are made of steel, or what do you mean am I ok? THAT WAS AWESOME, or at least I wasn't carrying a cake..." She proceeds to say "Well, that just sucks," and then quickly turned right and sped off.

After about a minute I got back on my bike and finished the ride only to spend the hour and a half of practice wearing sopping wet jeans...

It was quite the wipe out experience, and I'm proud to be in one piece... And thank you lady for the kind words...

Ryan C. Kolegas

Scott: My pores left themselves emotionally vulnerable and they got burned by the sun they love.

30 minutes. 30 minutes and I get a sunburn. I'm such a pansy.

Scott: I am a prisoner of my job.

Yesterday I went for a bike ride up McKenzie View road. I'd have to say it's the closest to paradise I think I've been. Some people like the beaches along the coast or the big city life, but I felt like I could do this type of thing for the rest of my life. It wasn't so much the location, although that had a lot to do with it, but it was the culmination of many things. I'm sad to say I've probably wasted the resources I've had here in Eugene for too many months. Although nothing would've been as sweet without this perfect spring weather.

There's something wonderful about riding on a newly paved road. Every revolution of the leg seems effortless, and you really get a sense of the efficiency the bicycle has. I rode close to the sunset. Hills were to the left of me and the river to the right. A nice breeze guided me along the entirety of the ride. Riding through the protection of the trees, I felt oxygen flowing through my body, and an overwhelming feeling of joy. I was content. This was the prelude to my summer.

As I pedaled the short two hour ride I began to think of the upcoming days. Tomorrow I was going to ride out to the coast to have my first sleep over with nature. I've had slumber parties with nature before, but not a one on one sleep over, and not after an eighty mile bike ride. This may have been my only chance to accomplish something like this before the whole BTS crew is together. The day after that I would meander my way back to Eugene, ready to shower and take a much needed nap.

Last night I was getting ready to go to bed so I could get up early in the morning and set off to the Oregon coast when I heard the hopeful ding of my MacBook. If this had taken place a few years earlier I would've risen to the voice of the computer. "You've got mail." But here in the future I rose to something much more subtle. I looked at the computer screen hoping for a message from one of my comrades - something to improve my social standing or my relationships with cross country friends. Instead I found a message from the manager at LaVelle. "We found a band for music on the patio and are extremely understaffed. Would you mind working Friday and/or Saturday night?"

Kind of. Kind of was the answer I was looking for. But alas I cannot say no, so I responded, "That's fine. I will work Friday and Saturday night." I was supposed to ride to the coast in the next couple of days. This was my chance to kick my ass into shape.

I love work and I love the people I work with, but I'm getting to the point where that is the last thing I want to think about. However money is money, and there will be life after biking so I have to prepare.


So rather than riding to the coast today, I am sitting in front of the computer thinking about riding to the coast. You know what happens while I'm doing this? I get a call from my second job at Johnny Ocean's Grille. "Scott, would you like to work tonight? I decided it's only fair." I say okay, and within a few hours, my four day weekend turns into a one day weekend. This is unfortunately added on to the fact that my four day Memorial day weekend was reduced to four days of Memorial day work.

There's a time and a place to have the experience of a lifetime, and though I will not be able to take the solo trips I so desperately wanted, I figure I have a summer off when other people don't. I have one job in my life, and that's to make other people's lives easier. If I can work now so other people can enjoy the time they have off then I will do that, but come June 14th I am done. No more jobs, no more worries, and best of all no more dishes. I can't wait to get out of here and really begin life's journey.

Scott: I thought I was getting a tan, but my hairless body proved otherwise.

One thing my brother and I don't want is skin cancer. And though it may already be inevitable with the failing ozone, global warming, and the numerous amounts of burns we've obtained as children, we'd like to fight the burns on our biking the states trip to the best of our abilities. There are a number of ways to do this. Sunscreen is a big one. We've got spf 30, because I've heard it's the best protection for the price. If you go above thirty you'll get a very little bit more protection for a lot more money. The other thing which can prevent burns brings me to the title of my blog today.

Since there is only one month left before our departure, I've tried to do at least one bike related piece of work each day. For the past four days we've been riding in the early morning and today I will ride again. But aside from the obvious physical shape we need to be in, there are other precautions we need to take. So, along with riding and packing and lifting weights to help my strength, I've been tanning.

Everyday I go outside and tan for what I feel like is a couple of hours. In reality it is not nearly this long, but like yoga, I find tanning to be tediously boring and unnecessarily hot. So, to help you grasp how long I'm outside I'll say 4 minutes tanning time is equivalent to 1 minute actual time. In the future I will be numbing the pain of my boredom with a 30g ipod and bose acoustic noise canceling on the ear headphones, but since both are on lone to a co-worker who has never seen Flight of the Conchords, I have to deal with the monotony of chirping birds and passing cars while laying outside.

After a couple of weeks of tanning I felt pretty good about myself. I figured I had a nice base going, and soon it wouldn't matter how long I was outside. I wasn't going to get burned. I could look at myself in the mirror for hours appreciating the tan I had acquired. I would pose, turn around, pose some more, flex left, flex right, kissy face, blue steel, magnum, (Just kidding. Magnum isn't near ready enough for display.) and finally get on with the day. Today I felt especially chipper. Then the midmorning came. Out of the blue I felt something needed to get done. What that thing was, I didn't know yet, but I didn't have work today and Matt was on an overnight trip to some somewhat nearby hot spring, and I felt the shadow of apathy creeping toward me.

Then it hit me. This was it. This was the day I was going to shave my body. I wanted to wait for a more ceremonial occasion with hundreds of spectators, but when a nap is staring you straight in the face you've got to say "Screw you nap," and take the proper action.

Shaving for the first time in eight months is a bit of an undertaking. You can't just dive right in with your mom's stolen "Venus" razor blade snapped on to your mach 3 razor. You have to shorten and then shave, otherwise it's just a tangled lengthy mess. So I started with the electric razor, buzzing up and down my chest until everything was gone. (This was more the icing on the cake than something I thought I needed to do.) "That's interesting," I thought as I removed hair farther and farther down my body.

I moved on to the right leg, methodically buzzing up and down, and inch by inch my woolen leg lost its natural insulation to the floor. Once again my leg felt the sweet smell of fresh air. Each follicle was able to breath easy after a winter in hibernation. For the time being I would only do my right leg. I like to shave in this pattern every time I take on a full body cleansing because it reminds me of the time I shaved half of my body. It was the right half, in case you were wondering. "That's interesting," I thought once again as I looked in the mirror. Le Tigre.

As I compared one flexed calf to another, I realized something I had experienced in years past. I wasn't tan. I wasn't even really close to being tan. My body was covered in a facade, lying to itself that it was more beautifully bronzed than it actually was. It was not my tan skin, but my tan hair, and without it I'm just another susceptible fool. I suppose in the end I would sacrifice my falsely tan body for smooth skin.

So I went back and shaved the left leg. Nothing is sexier than symmetry. I'm happy I did, because there is only a bit that gets me in the biking mood more than sleek aerodynamic legs, and there is little I love less than unwanted hair.

We still have a month left, and by golly I'm going to use that time to build up my base.

Andy: Wind. (As in: "Blows bikes over," not "the old pocketwatch")

I recently (and by recently I mean a while ago) went on a short overnight tour to Bloomington IL from my hometown in Downers Grove IL (which, by the way is a very nice place to raise a family if you're interested). The plan was thus: ride 75 miles one day, then camp, then ride the remaining 75 miles to my destination. I had a train ticket back because time constraints wouldn't allow a return trip.

While checking the weather, I made sure that I would not be encountering rain, snow, or storms of blood like Jesus used to make. seeing none of the above, I geared up and left.

If this were a disaster movie, at this point the camera would pan from the window (where you would see me leaving fully loaded and confident) to the computer screen still open to the weather. Tomorrow's ignored forecast: Wind. (it was in italics, too.)

Day one, easy schmeasy. What a joke biking is. Its so easy. Even a baby with no brain could do it. I said " SHUT UP LEAVE ME ALONE!" to my original goal of 75 miles and busted out a full century. Screw you 75, you suck and are an orphan. I figured I was in great shape to finish the 50 miles remaining and show up early in Bloomington to make out with my girlfriend.

I find an abandoned park and set up my tent for the night at 7:30, planning on getting an obscene amount of sleep and waking up so rested that my eyes would shoot pure beams of energy like Cyclops from X- Men. * Little did I know, that Wind was coming.

It was my first time setting up my tent by myself like a big kid so I screwed up and did it bad like a dumb little kid. My tarp was loose, which, under normal circumstances would not be an issue, but the circumstances were far too windy to be normal. The tarp detached and beat my tent mercilessly. The constant slapping reminded me of a three stooges movie (one with Joe or Shemp). I tried to sleep but the cold weather and the BANG BANG BANG of my tarp on the side of the tent said "Hey Andy, wake up, If you wake up I'll give you free candy." But it was lying. It didn't give me any free candy and I fell for it so much that I only slept two hours the whole night.

Day 2 was hard. I was tired, and the wind was still being an idiot like an idiot is. Luckily for the wind it didn't have to worry about blowing too hard because I was stopping it with my body and my bike. All 45 miles per hour of it. While riding directly into the wind (which composed a majority of the day's travel) I was able to reach blinding speeds of 5 to zero miles an hour. At one point a gust physically stopped my bike from moving forward and I had to walk for two miles. Now I know how Helen Hunt felt during "Twister" She's so talented and brave, don't you think?

Two hours later I had moved a whopping 5 miles. At least now I was traveling perpendicular to the wind instead of directly into it. I was in an empty field waiting to be planted with the summer crops so I had miles of flat land all around me and nothing else. Seeing a house was more rare than a disease that they would talk about on the show "House." At this point I was hit by another massive gust of wind and my bike capsized. Goodbye balance! You were taken by the breeze. Goodbye map, you left with the balance.

Hapless and mapless, I rolled into a ditch defeated and called my girlfriend at 8 am crying like a baby and asking for a ride. I didn't know where I was, but I knew I was somewhere between Bloomington and Downers Grove. Eventually I was found, but I lost more than just my map on that fateful day. I lost my pride.... And my balance.... And my map.


*Cyclops didn't get his powers from being fully rested though, he was just born that way.*