Erie Canal Ride, continued...
The bubble of 800 migrant bicyclists moving across 400 miles, east to west, of upper NY State, like a caravan of Grateful Dead followers, or Phish, or any group of people who travel from place to place independently, but joined by direction or mission. The idea that the group is pedal powered, commune camping, facing the unexpected elements together, cooperating, exercising - the whole endeavor caught me off guard in how quickly and completely I was commuted out of my ordinary concerns and priorities.
When you are camping and pitching tents with 800 people, spread out across only an acre or two in 300+ tents, sharing limited port-johns, showering in semi-trucks with trailers rigged with showers, eating together under a tent in a buffet style, it’s just a very different experience very quickly.
First, to be out there doing it takes a certain type of person - you have the veterans who return every year for a decade, you have the ones like me that bike frequently but never tried something like this - long distances and overnight, and unaccustomed to camping -, you have the people who shouldn’t be out there - some who power through and some that tap out. Your ass definitely hurts and you seek that meditative rhythm of pedal stroke cadence, breath and speed.
Many days on this trip, the temps were in the 90’s and more oppressively, climbed throughout the day so dinner time and beyond were the hottest times of the day. Too many tents for the limited shade trees so typically the tents - set up by others and aligned with militaristic precision - were out in the open, each a little greenhouse hut, starving for a breeze. At night, there were the snorers, the coughers, the farters, the rustlers, the frequent bathroom visitors with the slam of the plastic portojohn doors, the late night talkers, the sounds of tent zippers up and down (but not the music players).
First light, people start rustling, so days are starting at pre-5am, first slowly and then cascading into a movement of people. The only thing missing was the bugle call. Sleepy people, unkempt people, slow walking people through the dewy grass, people preparing for breakfast and then 4-6 hours on a bicycle, taking down their tents, packing their gear, fueling up with conversation, coffee and camaraderie under the buffet tent. Making their way to the porto-johns and the water stations activated by a foot pedal. Many cultures don't have the space or the affluence to offer day to day privacy, but we do here in the USA, so to pierce that protective veil of dedicated personal space is jarring.
One thing I noticed, since I also notice the inverse, was the lack of public noise from phones or devices. Whereas I can’t even eat pizza in peace anymore without someone listening to their phone on speaker, here you had nearly a thousand people more or less quietly going about their business. It seemed anyone attracted to a mass event like this came with an elevated sense of noise propriety.
I employed (2) 16 yr olds all summer, teaching how to work, how to show up, how to put some coin in their pockets. They did good - it was hot, weedy work but project by project they made their mark. Tomorrow is their last day of the summer, and I'm treating them to a round of golf and bought them Beats headsets as a bonus.
Lulu knows how to enjoy the grounds, always seeking out new perches, angles and elevations.
It's that time of year. Lucas is vying for the starting QB role, - not just vying for pole position, but then having to keep it, maintain it, earn it week after week.
