Scott: A Plethora of Smells

Plethora is one of the most misused words in the English language. I know this because of the extensive surveys I've done on the subject. Other words often used incorrectly are ironic, cleft lip, and psychiatrist. Plethora actually means too many, and not the widely believed “many.” Therefore when I say a plethora of smells, I refer to there being too many smells. Some are good and some are bad, and some of the worst are the ones that come out of Matt. ( I don't think he'd be mad I'm saying this. His methane excretions are more a matter of hilarity and pride in his eyes.)

In springtime Oregon we've passed fragrant flowers and pungent plants. I'd say the plants are more like factories, but I wanted to make use of my alliterative abilities. I noticed a theme. Every factory we passed brought the urge to hold our collective breath, which proves to be very difficult while riding a bike, and push through the pain. There's a basic system of smells, and it's far easier to produce a bad one than a good one.

My favorite smells were those of campfires, fresh muffins, allergenic roses, and nightly dinner. My least favorite were road kill, dirty jerseys, Matt's digested food, and a particular factory along St. Helens Road - It was mostly bad with a hint of sweetness, which made it far worse than anything else. Here's to far more fires and far less factories, but no factory fires. That would be the worst.

Andy: Face Race

There's been a lot of races in our time. The Indy 500, the Tour de France, the Kentucky Derby, Egyptian, Lebanese... But never, in the history of man or beast, has someone intentionally chosen to shave their face and head at the same time in order to see which grows faster. Never. Not even when cavemen were in their caves just hanging out, building forts with couch cushions. I know, because I've been there.

Anyways, I guess I'm pretty cool because I did it. Well, my girlfriend did... after I got her pretty drunk. There will probably be some sweet facebook pics of it someday... (By the way, if you shave just the top of your head and keep the mustache, you look like a total perv. (At least I did.)) Anyhow, the race began about three days ago, and (place your bets now) It's a pretty close race. I've got my money on face over head. If I'm right, Matt will owe me a million dollars, and I can buy that island I was checking out on craiglist. It's looking to be beard all the way as of late, but I've seen a man with six fingers on one hand, so I guess anything is still possible.

Love and Kissys

Ryan: Funky Knee

So its been two days, 145 miles... I feel pretty good, minus my sore thighs, and exhaustion... However there is one big worry already. My knee seems to be mad at me. It is swollen and hurts- in a bad way (mostly when I'm riding)... I pushed through it yesterday and will probably do the same tomorrow, but today I'm relaxin' all cool. Stu and Andy made it to Portland, and Scott and them are going on a Gelato ride with Pedalpalooza. Its sounds sweet (literally, for the taste buds), and the gelato here is stellar, but I'd rather be able to rock tomorrow... Send my knee some good vibes, please. If I'm gonna make it 7400 more miles it needs to buck up...

Ryan C. Kolegas

Scott: The Best First Day of Anything Ever

You may go through life chasing the dream of pure perfection - A day to begin a journey that will change the rest of your entire being. It may be your wedding day, graduation day, or the day when you finally retire from a job you love to begin a lovely retirement. Our day was June 14, 2008. The beginning of our “Biking the States” adventure. This was truly the best first day of anything ever. I'd be willing to bet anyone ten cents and pay the first person to challenge my bet, or more likely, to reap the rewards of the thousands of ten cent challenges I prove wrong.

The day started out with me not doing dishes, Matt not taking care of managerial duties, and Ryan not cutting off his beautiful braided pig tails. We began at 9:30 a.m., riding to Springfield to pick up some last minute items from Rick, a generous bike-friendly donor. What we did not prepare for fully, he supplied. Tubes, chain lube, pumps, tire levers, and sealant among other things. That's when the real trip began.

Some of the riding is definitely monotonous or strenuous, what have you. However, between those moments of struggle you get endless rewards. The second came when a bull dog began chasing us down the street. Normally when a dog starts this hunt, you think “Oh my Lord. I am going to get slowly eaten from ankle to head after crashing on my bike.” (Dogs love the smell of blood. Luckily none of us were bleeding yet. That came later in the day) But, this dog was wonderful in everything he did. He trotted over to us, smiling like a well trained pig, (I hear they're very intelligent), introduced himself, and began eating a snake on the side of the road. He followed us for about a quarter mile when we decided we should probably turn around to guide him back to his owners. If I were to have a dog, that's the kind of dog I would like.

After our little run in we continued on, spinning the best we could with a fully loaded bike and a fully annoying headwind. Our energy was quickly depleting, and we had no concept of when the next town was coming up. We pedaled and pedaled, and our speed went down and down. Finally, after twenty more miles we came across Brownsville, which has to be the best town around named after a color. As we rode through downtown, a man directed us off of our main path. Being to the point of exhaustion, we had to oblige. At the bottom of this street there was the “Strawberry Century.” A hundred mile through local towns and country. Matt began turning around when they call us back to food. “No no no. We don't care if you're with the ride. You're welcome to eat whatever you'd like.” We did.

We went from pasta salad, to Spongebob go-gurt, to string cheese, to bananas, to scones and brownies, and pb and j bagels, and strawberry pastries, and seconds of everything. Then we slept.

We awoke to a multitude of cyclists from all around Oregon. Every bite was heaven and every person seemed just as friendly as the last. It was the most welcome brake anyone could ask for. The only problem with me was I fell over. Mind you, I wasn't riding. I was simply setting my bike down and it brought me down with it. That's when the blood came.

But alas, we had to get moving to reach our destination for the day. We didn't know what that was exactly, as we aren't going off of the adv-cycling maps yet, so the goal was the nearest town around 70 miles. We pulled into this small, one restaurant, town and ate at the one restaurant they had. My favorite moment came after dinner. It brought us to where we are now.

During dinner we noticed a nice house across the street, and in an attempt to sleep somewhere we were going to ask them to let us set up camp in their yard. As we're about to ask this woman shouts from the parking lot, “No no no. (as they seem to do in these parts.) Go to the house next door. She's a biker.” So, we took her advice and knocked on the door of this beautiful 1913 house. That's where we met Roger and May Garland, two retired teachers from a local community college. As Roger taught film and has his photography, we couldn't have really found a more fitting couple.

Without a moments hesitation they invited us into their home to spend the night, offering food, drinks, showers, and towels. Roger just returned from a bike tour of the Underground Railroad, and was sympathetic to our needs. He's been across the U.S. four times, and has the self developed pictures to show for it. May had her first cross country trip just two years ago, and enjoys quilting in the extra time she now has. We exchanged stories and showed them the website, and you could just see the love between them. They were like two young newlyweds wrapped in each others arms. When I'm to the age of retirement, I would love to live the type of life they're enjoying right now. All in all this has been a fantastic day, and tomorrow we're starting with an old fashioned pancake breakfast. Until then, good night and good riddance. I was going to say “good night and good luck,” but that reminded me of a movie I'd never seen, so I put in an off putting way, and in to a Green Day song I've heard. I hope you're not offended. I enjoy all of you.

Oh, and I almost forgot. We helped a woman get her car out of a ditch. It was pretty stellar, and she was nice, though she may reverse her car into ditches.

Scott: A Week of Partying at The Spot

This is finals week at the University of Oregon, and I was just awakened at 3:21 a.m. The only nice thing about being jolted awake at this time is the lovely descending "3-2-1" I see when I look at the clock. (What a pretty time.) I'm going to try to go back to bed now. I have work in the morning. As Jemaine from Flight of the Conchords would say, "It's' business time."

If there are any typoes in this blog posting, I'm sorry. I was just woken up at 3:21 a.m. I'm going to the bathroom. (note the clever typo in "Typoes".)

. . . 5:00 a.m. Still awake. At least I got the dishes done. Three days left. I can't wait.

Stuart: Snaking Paths

I had my first major wipe out today while riding the snaking gravel paths of Waterfall Glen. Took a turn too fast. It was wonderful.

Also, I rode over a black and yellow snake and learned some lessons. It was slightly terrifying. I thought it was a stick, and the path was full of sticks, so I thought I'd just ride over it like normal, until I saw its true colors with about a foot before contact. I screamed loudly in fear that it would leap up and attach itself to my ankle that was so firmly clipped into the pedal. My adrenaline kicked in and I sped over it and felt the snake twice (front tire, back tire), cringing in fear of the attack. The adrenaline boost kept me riding pretty fast for about thirty seconds, after which I fully realized what happened and how little danger I actually was in. The poor snake probably got a little hurt, even though when I looked back, it didn't look bent out of shape. I learned a few lessons:
1. Don't ride over things that you think are sticks. Even if they are sticks, it isn't that fun, and if they aren't, its just scary.
2. If I am ever riding too slowly, all I have to do is find a way to fear for my life in order to speed up.
3. I would be perfectly willing to suck the blood and venom out of one of my friends' wounds if they got bitten. We would be blood brothers like the little boy and the Indian from the book "The Indian in the Cupboard" only more romantic, and not involve both partys' blood, or Indians.

Stuart

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.