From the mundane to the sublime

Legs tightening, shoulders aching, eyes blinking and staring intently at the horizon that just gets farther away, I couldn't help but ask myself, "Why did I decide to ride the 75 miles from Baton Rouge to New Orleans?"

Find out what the heck I was thinking after the jump.

This. Exactly like this.

Ever since I discovered that such a ride was possible, I've wanted to tackle it.  Last year, I had the opportunity to go on a 45-mile group ride in New Orleans.  To get out to the starting point for the ride, I rode out from my parent's house, which turned out to add 16 miles to the distance, giving me a 60+-mile ride that day.  It was a lot of fun - very fast, but very laid back at the same time.  I was most proud to be able to keep up with these much more experienced riders (let's face it, they were just taking a pleasure cruise while I was winning the Tour de France).  The big problem, however, was that I failed to bring enough water or anything to eat.  So, once the group ride was over and I was left to ride back by myself, the adrenaline wore off and my body stopped functioning.  I've "hit the wall" (run out of readily available energy stores) twice in training.  It's no fun.  Imagine your car engine trying to run, not just without gas, but without oil to keep it lubricated.  It'd seize up, right?  Now do that to your body.  Oof.  I've also experienced mild dehydration before - you feel as if your body has lost it's ability to regulate temperature and every movement aches.  Again, imagine your engine, this time without coolant.  I got to experience both of these at the end of that ride.  I found myself 3 miles from home just standing over my bike trying to decide which home owner would NOT shoot me for drinking from his garden hose.  How much would a taxi charge from here?  All this with just 3 miles to go.
And yet somehow this experience made me want to go farther, and this time, alone!

Our plans for Easter weekend, and most holidays, for that matter, involve a trip to New Orleans.  Since both of our families live there, the wife and I always enjoy the opportunity to bring the kids to town to visit with their extended families.  This particular trip, my wife decided to drive the van down the morning of Holy Thursday to have lunch and more time with her parents.  Since I had to work, I would come up separately on my own that afternoon.  The stage was set.  Looking at the plan, which involved a half full van making a trip to and from New Orleans, and a mostly empty sedan making the same round-trip, it seemed against the spirit of this entire project.  I initially had the happy thought to ride my bike down earlier in the week and had mentioned it to my wife in passing.  Of course, she didn't like the idea, but she saw the value of it and had no real argument against it except that it was dangerous.  Which, by the way, is everyone's great concern when it comes to this trip.  Almost everyone to whom I suggested the idea was appalled at the very thought!  Many folks assumed I'd be riding on the Interstate, which is an understandable concern, as for anyone who lives in New Orleans of Baton Rouge knows, I-10 is the fastest way to get between those two points.  We do, however, have an alternate route in Airline Highway, which is also a straight shot (more or less) between the two cities.

Airline in not, by any means, an ideal bike path.  The speed limit is 65 mph in some areas, which of course is terrifying!  The presence of a wide, comfortable shoulder, however, transforms the ride from a death wish to a merely ill-advised bicycle trek.  Regardless, I was confident that it would be a good ride, so I started the planning.  Anything that I needed for the weekend in New Orleans would need to go ahead in the van.  Also, I would need spare inner tubes (in the event of a flat), plenty of water and something to eat (refer to the photo above if you've forgotten the risks of being under-fueled or dehydrated).  I stopped at the bike shop to pick up some spares, gave my bike a once over for mechanicals, and started packing up.

My pack (photo NOT from this ride)

In my pack, I had:
1) 4 spare tubes
2) 1 frame pump (designed to be attached to the frame, but safer in my pack)
3) Tire levers (used to change a flat)
4) Wrench set (just in case)
5) 1 spare bottle of water
6) 2 bottles of gatorade
7) 2 Clif Bars (just because)
8) 2 Double Stacked PB&J's (if you've never done this...do it.)


Thus prepared, my journey began with my commute to work that morning.  The weather in the morning was gorgeous, and the light headwind in the morning betrayed the promise of a strong tailwind in the afternoon (headwind coming at you, tailwind pushing you forward).  And honestly, if the forecast was giving me a headwind for the entire 75 mile trip to New Orleans, I wouldn't have done it.  And it turned out to be a God-send, by the way, as I was able to average about 21 mph for the entire trip.

All day, I was excited and nervous about the trip.  I suppose I knew what to expect, but at the same didn't wasn't sure what the ride would hold.  As the last minutes of the work day approached, I was pacing with anticipation (it's okay, I'm a teacher, so pacing is kind of WHAT I DO).

As soon as the dismissal bell sounded, I was on my way to change and hop onto my machine for my longest point-to-point (and heck, just LONGEST) bike ride I've ever taken.  From the moment my backside touched the saddle, I could tell it was going to be a great ride.

"May the road rise up to meet you.  May the wind be always at your back."

It had to be a REAR flat. Yuck.

Those words which inspired the title of this project echoed in my consciousness as the traffic, the weather, the efficiency of the machine and the surprising strength I found in my legs coalesced into what would be a perfect ride.  As I passed the turn off that would take me home on a typical commute, I thought to myself, "This could happen."  When I passed through the intersection 8 miles later (the last road I KNEW OF that would take me straight home), I thought, "This might happen."  As I changed my only flat tire 20ish miles in (that's Gonzales, for you locals), I thought, "This is happening."  I was all in.  It'd be ridiculous at this point to turn around, as I'd end up having wasted close to three hours (almost 40 miles of riding plus a 20-30 minutes stop for tire/snacking).  So, I hopped on the bike and just kept pedaling.

There isn't much to distract you when you're riding for that distance.  When most of us drive in the car, we look for things to keep us occupied.  We just get so bored!  Talk Radio.  Music.  Singing.  Texting.  Chatting.  Driving is a task that I sort of expect to take care of itself while I am entertained.  We tend to drive a wedge between ourselves and the exceedingly dangerous task in which we are (ever so slightly) engaged.  I wonder if there's a way to measure the amount of concentration the average driver places on the task at hand.  Like in a percentage.  Give yourself 100% focus and then divide that appropriately into driving, day dreaming, taking care of the kids in the back seat, etc. and I wonder what you'd come up with.  No matter what the percentage, it scares the hell out of cyclists, because it will not be 100%, which is very near to what I'm putting in out there on the road.  This whole concept fits well with the quote from Zen in this Sunday's post, "...the whole experience is never removed from immediate consciousness."  Of course, Pirsig is referring to a motorcycle, but the idea carries over:  the tin can in which we sit tends to separate us from the ever-present reality of the world around us AND the effects that we cause in that world.  Fascinating.

Perhaps that's part of what causes so many to worry about me when I go for such a bike ride.  Sure, I've had people shout at me from their cars before, but those verbal barbs are as nothing when compared with what some have had thrown at them.  There's the story of the 14-year old kid hit by a glass bottle thrown from a passing truck while riding his bicycle down the street.  This was an actual concern of a family member.  That I'd be hit by a beer bottle.  I couldn't help but think, "What kind of world do we live in that a driver might think this is ok?"  Let's also not forget about the 13-year old cyclist attacked by an enraged driver after the kid asked him to watch out for cyclists and quit texting after nearly being hit.  Finally, and perhaps most famously, is the story of a large group of cyclists hit by a speeding car during a "Critical Mass" ride (to be fair, Critical Mass is a controversial movement in which big groups of cyclists ride through city streets, sometimes blocking entire avenues - I do not approve).
**WARNING** THIS VIDEO INCLUDES GRAPHIC CONTENT AND IS TERRIFYING

What is it about being in a car?  Does it make us crazy?  Is the windshield just one more wall that we place between ourselves and our fellow man?  Just as I can scream through the glass of the television screen and troll through the glass of my computer monitor (which, as far as I can tell, also lends me a modicum of anonymity and can drive my boldness when it comes to verbal and written abuse), so too is the glass and metal box on wheels another screen, on the other side of which are people who do not exist.

This is not a motorist

Awareness.  Awareness, not just of the road below me, but of the invisible people behind those tinted windows.  THAT is what I'm after.  True, deep, and lasting awareness of my surroundings, of myself, and of others.  It just so happens that the bike is helping me to get there.  This is why I enjoy catching the attention of otherwise preoccupied drivers sitting at red lights.  I don't wave or tap their cars, but I do look over my shoulder to see.  And in seeing, maybe I know.  I know that there is a person in there, with hopes and dreams just like mine, who is maybe running late for an appointment - I don't see an evil car that wants to kill me.

My entire 75-mile bike ride ended as it began: without incident.  In fact, I was pleased with the generous spirit with which every motorist regarded my presence.  I was given a wide berth (often an entire lane-width), never honked at, never shouted out, never cut off, never accosted in any way.  When I stopped for dinner at a gas station, I was not mugged, only viewed with a mild curiosity by customers and gas station attended alike.  I could not have been happier with my experience.  I hope and I pray that every ride is just as productive and peaceful as that 75-mile trek.