What a week it’s been. I’ll start where I left you, in Athens, on a pleasant sunny Sunday.
I strolled downtown to the campus where I laid simple careless eyes at a flat back dizzy grass napping sky for hours. Smiling innocently as Frisbees flew overhead and great college cries of right on rang in my ears; hanging on then into the evening at dreaming Blue-Sky coffeehouse with the hipsters and the heads, playing long city shadowed bongo drums down lonely empty streets and talking of dangerous travel through Mexico with newfound coffee friends. And all of it winding down far too quickly as I gave in to tired eyes and fading head, eventually slinking back quietly to my Best Western parking lot for another safe evening of Volvo slumber.
As usual another free morning coffee and breakfast were a perfect start to the day; slipping in and out of the lobby undetected before heading off to Raleigh. And you’re all saying why Raleigh, but let me tell you of the long lazy drive across swaying tree North Carolina blue highways. Precious moments of rapture as everything slowed down and became beautiful; humming Volvo wheels drifting to a destination that wasn’t one. Can words do it justice?
The first day in Raleigh was a pan flat road race. We headed out early from Jamie’s, got ready in the lot, and bang, off we went from the gun. I was attentive straight away and made the first split but while pulling through waited a bit to realize the gents behind weren’t coming along and was suddenly gapped. With the leaders in full flight and having just come through at the front it was over. There were 8 places and 9 guys up the road. I figured at this point I would conserve my energy for tomorrow and pulled out after only 10 miles.
We got to the race Sunday only to be greeted by a block long, wall like hill the organizers were planning to send us up for two hours straight. Not really my cup of tea as most of you will know my desperate difficulty with rises in the road. I lined up with butterfly nerves which were instantly quelled when the announcer called a 50-dollar prime on the first lap. Suddenly my mind switched to calculator mode as I figured that would cover my entry fees for the last 2 days and knowing there was no chance of making it to the finish I quickly made the call. I was in the pedals like a shot, out of the saddle, and racing for my life down that first straight. Up the right rise, around the false flat head wind straight, down the far side of the block; rippling tires on shifty pavement and click, click, down shift and kick up the hill completely gassed as the announcer called my name. “Now you can go home son” he bellowed half in jest, but he wasn’t far off. I cracked completely 3 laps later and with embarrassed head down ducked off the course before the hill and rode back along the boardwalk alone to cool down. As I crossed the brick covered downtown path with racing numbers still pinned on a 3 man street band sang Mr. Bo jangles…dance. We smiled at each other as I rolled by, he must have known.
That evening I would finally see the Atlantic. Giggling maniacally as my bare feet touched the freezing water and delicious undertow pulled dark sleeping sand from beneath my feet. All the way across the country; I never imagined I would make it. But as the sun set slowly behind me and I stood alone on the windswept sand staring out into the empty ocean it felt strangely enough as if it were the nothingness itself which held all the answers.