No. More. Biking. Please, dear god, no more.

August 8, 2010

Now that the shunning has officially taken place, we are ready to take our bicycles, hack them into miniscule little metallic bits, pour the remnants in a jar, throw the jar off a cliff, set the rocks on fire below, and watch it all burn long into the night.

That being said… Day 80, plan: Bike South-ish.

Reality: After parting with our friends Ethan and Mikey, we began pedaling South with one thing on our brains: TRUCKS. Semis. Beautiful, majestic, sixteen-wheeler flatbeds, and people who would transport us hundreds of miles in mere hours and without all the back-breaking hills, profuse sweating, cussing to the wind, and flat tires. We wanted to hitchhike – we wanted it bad. Oh so bad. You have no idea.

There is apparently only one truckstop in the entire Bay area. And luckily, that one truckstop is only 5 manageable miles from Ethan’s house. We got there, loitered a while (we’ve gotten very good at loitering by now), and collected some dust as nothing happened. Because it was a Saturday, business was slow at the truckstop and the clerk behind the register estimated a 10% chance of successfully hitching a ride. In mad desperation, we remounted our steeds and hit the road. But only for three blocks.

In favor of cutting out 20 miles, we took BART as far South as BART goes. This landed us in Fremont, CA, and it took twenty minutes instead of two hours. Thank you, public transport. You rock.

Colleen is very happy to be riding the twilight train. Perhaps... too happy.

In Fremont, we went to a Mexican restaurant and bought some cheap quesadillas before biking 11 extra-super-duper-long miles to a mall in Milpitas, CA. Having been tipped off by a dude at the restaurant, we hopped on the tram into San Jose, and knocked off another 25 miles or so, riding all the way through town to Campbell, CA. (But not until after we had been thoroughly verbally molested by some drugged-out twenty-something-year-old kid with a serious case of the munchies and just about the most horrible racist and obnoxiously ongoing commentary we’ve ever personally witnessed on a public transit train platform. He offered to buy our bikes from us at $20 a pop at least twenty times. Thanks, but no thanks. We’ll keep our wheels, for now. Anyways, destroying the bikes and watching them burn would be far more emotionally productive than a twenty dollar bill.)

Thus it took place that Liz and Colleen covered approximately 60 miles, 16 on bikes and the rest on public trains. WE ARE SO BADASS!!! YEAH!!!! BIKE ACROSS ‘MERICA!!!!

We can’t stop laughing. Everything is so funny and ridiculous. We are delirious at this point. We’ve been doing this so long… We want to be home. But we’re stickin’ with it because we “have” to. We’re stickin’ with it because we’re mulishly stubborn. We’re stickin’ with it because we already put our money down on this stupid f***ing race in Vegas, and we can’t get it back.

We descended upon a gas station restroom late last night aftering disembarking the train. There, we did the whole hygienation process thingamajig. We then camped across the street in the bushes. Because that was, like, a good idea at the time… or something. And when we woke up in the morning, we revisited the gas station in order to re-hygiene our night-filth away. This is how pathetic we are.

Camping in the bushes across the street from the gas station. Yup.

Day 81, plan: Bike to Santa Cruz.

Liz changes a flat. Once again. BLEGHHHHH.

Reality: Liz popped her 7th or 8th flat tire, (We’ve lost track of how many it’s been… Her crummy Terry Tellus tires aren’t exactly carrying their weight. At all. Colleen, on the other hand, has had one flat the entire trip. Yeah, Vittoria! Everyone, buy Vittoria tires!) beginning the day on a positive note. When we got on our bikes after fixing the tire, it was nothing but grumbling, hurting, whining, and complete disinterest in being on bikes.

Something snapped in our brains as we rested in Oakland, and we realized that the actual biking isn’t all that much fun anymore. We’re still into the idea of our trip, but if pedaling is going to be torture, it simply isn’t worth it. As we said in the last blog entry, you’ve already been shunned. Thus, our new plan is to have crazy adventures from point A to point B, however the hell we can.

About 3 miles down the road, we decided to hightail it into the first place with Internet we could find and consult Craig for help. Craig is a wonderful man who must exist somewhere, for he has a very useful list. We’re thankful that Craig posted his list online, because upon his glorious list, we saw a posting for a ride all the way down to San Diego. And you know what, dawgs? We’re doing it. We are ridesharing the whole damn way down to San Diego tomorrow. We’re currently in Los Gatos, CA, and we’re going to bike into Cupertino, CA tonight (after we’re done chatting with this awesome bum at Starbucks who’s telling us fabulous stories about his life’s meanders.  The current story is something about hanging out at a bar with a very-wasted Hunter S. Thompson in Colorado). Our ride leaves tomorrow afternoon from Cupertino.

So, with this unexpected turn of events, we have a new plan. Ride to San Diego. Cross the Mexican border and maybe take a bus to inland Mexico, doing how we do. Get back into the USA, and bicycle one final 3-day, 150-mile stretch into LA. Hitchhike or rideshare from LA to Vegas. Run our flippin’ race. Head home. Sleeeeeeeeeep forever and ever, at least for a couple days before hitting the books and graduating college.

(A very beautiful) Moment of Zen

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2 Responses to “No. More. Biking. Please, dear god, no more.”

  1. Ian said

    For what little it is worth, I support both your new plan and your choice to eat pizza. Pizza is always the right choice, unless it involves Sbarros.

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