21 May 2012

Williamsburg to Glendale VA 49 miles  (TransAm 70)

Gina is sleeping in the nursery. I suppose that’s proper, given that she’s the second-youngest cyclist on the trip. It’s nice to see from the photos that she’ll be in good company tonight. Besides her peaceful neighbors in the graveyard outside her window, it looks like there’s a pretty pink dolly in the swinging chair that she can rock to sleep with and maybe a stuffed animal or two she can toss into her bag for pleasant company. And if she can’t sleep, I see there’s ample age-appropriate reading material on the bookshelves.

It’s been a big day on the first “real” day of TransAm riding, finally departing Williamsburg for a 49 mile ride to Glendale, VA. Apparently the route thus far has been rife with suicidal squirrels, darting out in front of Gina’s front wheel, gunning for a quick if not grisly death. No notes left behind, just a little squeak as they roll under. No, not really. She didn’t hit any of the little guys, although it’s possible by the third one she may have been trying. But that would be cruel and when one is headed to a night’s accommodations in a church, one keeps their sins in check.

One also prays it’s not a breezy night, for the outdoor shower is made out of nothing more than rungs and tarps and a bota bag of warm water. By all accounts it was quite nice which I would believe, given the alternative of no shower at all.

But truly the highlight of the day was the Man in Brown. I don’t know what was being delivered but I bet that young Virginian UPS driver did not expect the paparazzi to be waiting for him. Take one former UPS helper, add in a former UPS driver, and you get a congregation of happy campers. Pass the donation plate, I think Gina has found her calling.

Here at home, I could use a few prayers for my now aching back. Sitting at my desk might be slowly killing me but my experiment in standing there part of the day might prove a more direct route to the grave, as my spinal fluid blows and I crumple to the ground, laying there on the carpet next to those still faint indentations marking the place my beloved chair legs once occupied.  No one to hear my whimpers of pain or cries for help. Just a little squeak as I roll over …