BRENDAN, DAY 3: FROM PHILADELPHIA, PA TO HAVRE DE GRACE, MD
Packed like sardines in a moist South Philadelphia college apartment with feelings of uncertainty for the next month. It's only been two days.
I wake Ramon, no doubt he was dreaming of cool air, and a quiet breeze at the beach. What a way to open your eyes, to sweaty eyelids. He briefly stumbles around for his camera equipment. We have to get the trailer from the parking garage. Of course it is exactly at this point when we consider: What the heck we are doing?
It's 5 a.m. and the camera starts rolling. The streets permeate finger-long blotches of a wood-stained sun, while there are sounds of misdemeanor and workforce engines. Like us, the city is waking.
The parking garage doesn't open until 6. Our tiredness is masked by the lamination of a Starbucks, but fortunately, for only one hour. We grab the trailer and make our way to our grateful sauna.
Undead movements in our living space. “Wakey, wakey, RISE AND SHINE!” Phil ignores his existence and captures a few more dreamlike images. Ricky wants to get out of the apartment, well we all do, and decides to cook our breakfast. Oatmeal. We split into groups, one for unloading the bikes from the trailer, the other for bringing items to the trailer. I go out to the trailer and unpack each bike. Little did I know that this process would become one of those memories that in some ways symbolizes the whole trip.
Here I was unpacking a bike that I would ride 1,615 miles. A bike that would sometimes stuff itself into the trailer amongst seven other bikes., would be greased in its vital joints, burned against the pavement, and bruised from wear, all the while I would sometimes stuff into the Pilot with 7 other companions, massage my knees and thighs, tear my skin against rubble and stone, and bruise from wear. The bike was an extension of me, as I was an extension of the bike, both at the whim of each other. After two hours of packing, we proceeded to our ceremonial thanking-of-the-host. Everything was so new. There were silent questions of uncertainty, “How should we do this?”
But we didn’t create this audio. Rather, we just did it. Like most things on this trip, we just did it. We took group photos, distributed the Dream4TK shirt, and geared up out front of our now-dry sardine can, preparing for six hours of salt rims around our mouths.
The camera rolls and we are off to Havre de Grace, Maryland. The first hour is spent careening around Philadelphia streets — a tough task for our navigator of the day, Ricky.
The transition to suburbia was instantaneous, without a moments notice. We are beginning to hit a groove.
Outside Wilmington, and after a brief relieving of bladders at a neighboring cemetery lot, we hit 30 mph on a downward hill. This would be our fastest speed so far.
Wilmington presents the feeling of a big city trapped in the bubble of a small world. It is busy, a one-horse city I suppose. The home college looms as its facilities are vacant and student-less.
Our team has discussions on what it will be like in Orlando. Phil and I share a conversation on missing our girlfriends, we make jokes. Humor I suppose is the best drowning of sadness.
Our move from Delaware to Maryland is negligible. After only spending two hours in Delaware, it would be a quickest passing through a state.
Sameen makes note, “Hey guys, that's one less state, we won’t be dealing with Delaware again.” We cheer and move forward to Maryland.
The sun is past its peak, and our cadence slows.
The hills become a series of parabolas, and due to an imbalance in team strength, we do not hit the requisite speed on the down slopes.
We strain up each hill.
Our rests quicken, but our urgency to finish remains.
We are still giddy with the adventure of everything.
We make it to the designated gas station, rush in, hear our first southern accent, but become more obsessed with the savory richness of chocolate milk. The SWAGon arrives and tells us to meet them at an abandoned parking lot. The team celebrates, laughs, and rejoices in another day complete. We were beginning to grow closer. Rider portraits, small tidbits of documenting.
We dismantle our packs, pack them in the trailer, then we pack into the trailer. The car is filled with anecdotal musings. We entered the Susquehanna state park and set up our first camp site. This would be our most pleasant camping experience. We gathered wood, assembled the bikes, set up the tents, thwarted the bugs, ate together, and quietly stood around a fire.
The day was done, but the real challenge of the ride would not be for another two weeks. With cool air and full tummies we slept in spacious accommodations.