the tale of the missing pick-up truck and other adventures

Ah, desolation. There's nothing like it. And nothing in it. No gas stations. No water. No people. No shrubbery. No bathrooms. No nothing.

In New Mexico, it's just you and the bicycle. And the song that happens to be stuck in your head. (Ironically, the one most often trapped in mine was "Fast Car" by Tracy Chapman -- "Baby's got a fast car..." -- and let me tell you, this baby would have settled for any kind of car.) There's also the oppressive head-wind (why did we decide to ride our bicycles east to west again?) and a great deal of physical and emotional strife.

Kidding! The desert is great!

We had a tough couple of days into Santa Fe (where I am now!). 100+ miles, our first real mountain climbs, etc. Bicycling is tiring work, especially when there are no Starbucks or Sunocos or Subways or alligator parks or Taco water rides to keep you motivated.

But we made it. Albeit barely. Yesterday, as we were about to go up a semi-monster of a hill into Santa Fe, Matthew and I decided to take a little "break" (our fourth in a ten minute span) so that I could "fiddle with my chain." "Fiddling with my chain" in this context meant waiting until we caught sight of a pick-up truck. Just so that we could chat with the locals, you know, shoot the shit. (We didn't even consider the fact that pick-up trucks are by definition spacious and roomy and well-equipped to fit a multitude of people and wheels and tired spirits in their multi-purpose, durable flatbeds. Matthew and I would have been just as happy to chat with the owner of a convertible or a VW bug, but everybody knows that pick-up truck owners are friendlier and more savvy individuals. They really have a sense of local culture and tradition. What can I say? They really like to help us fiddle with our chains.)

It was, in true Bike and Build Southern US '07 manner, a matter of trying to get the truest possible sense of the Santa Fe lifestyle.

Don't worry, parents and other concerned elders: no pick-up trucks passed by. (And disclaimer: there has been no hitch-hiking. Yet.) So. We began to climb the wretched hill. As we rounded a particularly steep corner, a gleaming forest-green Chevrolet Silvarado (in truth I have no idea what kind of truck it was) passed us by. Screams were emitted by all, and I think I caught a glimpse of a cackling Satan in the rearview mirror.

A few moments later, the sky darkened most dramatically and a lightning storm commenced. The bolts were in fact rather beautiful, set as they were over the already-picturesque mountains. A sign several miles earlier had warned that "GUSTY WINDS MAY EXIST," and let me tell you, the existence of those gusty winds was indeed confirmed. My bicycle swerved and my self became frightened, but we were only about 2 miles from the Santa Fe Church of Christ (our home away from home) and needless to say arrived unscathed.

All in all, a physically and emotionally exhausting several days. But today we are in beautiful Santa Fe. A day off is a glorious thing. I watched Little Miss Sunshine last night (brought back glorious memories of watching it for the first time with the fam); ate delicious muffins and bagels and assorted Mexican foodstuffs in the past 24 hours; had a vanilla latte this morning; and likely will be able to ignore the dying cat/strangled mouse sounds that my bicycle is emitting, for at least another 5 hours. My tan lines are also looking particularly ravishing at this point in the trip. Apologies too for this picture-less post -- my camera's battery has been low to nonexistent and so I have been reliant on others for photographs. And now this library computer won't accept my USB cord. Ah, technology.

Much, as always, has occurred.

But, alas, I am not extraordinarily inclined to convey it all. So here, for your reading pleasure, is a hodgepodge of pictures and random recollections.

Today we are in Amarillo (Yellow! In Spanish!), TX. We had a day off today -- great, but a bit disappointing, seeing as I woke up at 7 a.m. (damn those Circardian (?) rhythms), and that my big adventures were: going to a bookstore (actually a great time), going to Walgreens, going to the bike shop (new bike shorts! less chafing!), going to Dairy Queen (my first Blizzard!)... and, now, writing in my wondrous blog. Ah, the fabulous life I lead.

Yesterday was pretty amazing, however. At various points, I feared death by boredom or exhaustion, but by mile 50ish, I was feeling good. The highlight of the day was certainly when we stopped at an Amarillo waterpark around mile 82 and rode THE TACO, a ridiculously, amazingly scary taco-shaped waterslide. A picture, you say? Documentation?

(This picture sadly does not do the Taco justice, but I will let you see the true thing for yourself the next time you are in Amarillo.)

We also had a nice side-trip to the home of the free 72-ounce steak:



Other notable trips in the past week include a GREAT trip to the only museum of HOUSE-MOVING in the country. Seriously. A museum devoted to the art of house-moving, an art which now relies largely on hydraulics but which in the past was reliant on the synchronization of sheer (hu)man-power to lift levers at precisely the same time to prevent buckling.... And yes. I have found my future occupation.

We also took a detour to Oklahoma:


...and had a joyous post-thunderstorm photo shoot:


For other fun-filled photos and adventure-stories, see Matthew's blog. I am the most exhausted one. Leave me comments, especially if your surname is not Daniels. Seriously guys. I feel as though I have not one non-blood-related friend. (That said, family, continue with your comments. I have no faith in my non-blood-related friends.)

Also send me care packages.

ahh so many interesting things(!!)

A now-oldish picture from the Mississippi Border.

Many things about which to speak.

Since I last updated (thanks for all your comments, ahem ahem), we have traveled to New Orleans (for almost a week), Baton Rouge, Lafayette, and now, a lovely little college town whose name I forget.

First, New Orleans. Allow me to whet your appetite with several choice pictures, most of which are of me. Another exciting thing about these pictures is that I AM NOT WEARING MY LITTLE BIKE AND BUILD ENSEMBLE IN ALL OF THEM. WOW!

Here is a picture of me and my flared-out* bike outside the church we stayed in:



*Here is a close-up example of flare:

(Matthew's mom sent this cow-horn to me, and for that I am forever grateful. Especially considering that my own mother never sends me mail. LOVE YOU MOM. Material goods do not make you happy, material goods do not make you happy.)


So happy. AND MATTHEW I AM SORRY FOR THE DOUBLE POST OF YOUR PICTURE.


On the banks of the Mississippi. Ah, the beauty of the industrial.

I have several other pictures of NOLA (as those in the know -- not me -- call it) but by and large I failed in the picture-taking department. Luckily a word says a thousand pictures (false).

The ride into New Orleans was fine -- long, hot, lots of flat tires -- but riding through towns that had been demolished by Katrina put everything into perspective. The number of driveways with no houses at the end was astonishing. Getting into the city, we rode though parts of the Ninth Ward. People were on their stoops, and life was continuing, but the devastation was readily apparent. And this is two years after the hurricane. I wasn't sure how to feel. Pity seemed condescending -- but thern and again I felt pretty damn condenscending already riding through on my shiny bicycle in my special matching jersey.

The days that followed helped to clarify my emotions at least a bit, and I began to feel less like a tourist to the destruction, and more like a participant in the rebuilding. I mostly helped paint on our "build days" -- god can I roll a paintbrush. The last day was especially great: the homeowners were there and they were so appreciative of our help. The mother gave me a hug when she walked in and then fed us a delicious lunch.

All in all, the city is amazing -- we got a chance to walk around a bit, go do the touristy things (Bourbon Street is a nightmare), see some jazz, EAT FOOD THAT WAS NOT PEANUT BUTTER AND JELLY, etc. I want to go back sometime for an extended period of time. There's an amazing volunteer community in the city now, and an incredible amount of optimism and spirit. There are so many more things to say but I am having trouble balancing my ever-meaningful coming-of-age life-changing-experience observations with day to day details. So. Moving on.

Here are some more pictures of our post-New Orleans rides.


Great road sign.


WE FOUND PUPPIES. And irrationally wanted to keep them as our mascots. But ended up giving them to someone who "worked for a vet for 6 years". Some claim that he was in fact a taxidermist. One thing is for certain: the puppies were the least clean in the land. One peed in my Camelbak.


WE FOUND A BURNING BUSH. Go down, Moses? (Or something like that. My biblical studies were halted around the second grade.)


And this is not from the road. But we found this dress hanging on the door of our room this afternoon. YES.

And with that, I'm off. The time I have on this library computer is running out almost as quickly as your attention span.