Day 2 - Virginia Beach, VA

After a short night's rest (George played the guitar for a LONG time) we awoke to a bright and early 7 AM wakeup call.  We were required to practice packing up (we are vagabonds, remember) so naturally we started with our bedding.  Eventually I found out that thermarests are a lot like space blankets in that once you take them out of their packaging, they never fit back in.  But after about 30 minutes (extremely productive, right?) I got mine to fit, and decided that the extra quarter of an inch saved was not worth the half hour wasted, so I threw away the packaging and now have a rampant green roll of comfort floating around in my bag.  After packing, some new friends and I walked down to a coffee place where it was rumored that Bike and Builders could get some free caffeine.  That rumor was a lie.  We attempted to ask for donations--but that really requires about a week to finesse (and we had only had a few hours) or the compliance of Eli Schwartz, master of free food/clothing/bike gear/etc.  So then we had more safety talks and watched a particularly funny video of a man who really shouldn't have been on a bike learning about safety.  And we all mocked him because we are such professional cyclists, right?  But then two older gentlemen show up to give us more safety talks, and we begin to cringe.  One semi-professional adventure cyclist (which is now what I am considered, minus the semi-professional part) was once biking down a kind of busy street that had a lot of parked cars when one of the doors to that car opened, and so she swerved...but then got hit by a bus and died.  And then a married couple were hit from behind waiting for a red light, but they survived.  And then we were warned with the final words, "while you are biking, EVERYONE is trying to kill you."  And then we went on a warm-up ride!

15 miles never hurt so much.  Virginia air, believe it or not, does not suit asthmatic lungs.  And of course everyone was trying to impress each other with our speed and prowess, so an average of about 18 to 20 miles per hour was maintained and I got really nervous about the next two and half months.  And then as we pulled back into the church we were staying at, I clipped out incorrectly and fell.  Of course.  

And then we stuffed peanut butter and jelly sandwiches down our faces.*

Then we were shipped off to the YMCA where I enjoyed my first communal shower and all the girls got comfortable with each other really fast.  Nothing like failed attempts to remove bike grease from legs to really bring a group together.  Then we walked over to the post office and mailed back all the extra stuff (ex. a fourth t-shirt, a third pair of socks...makes me reminiscent of The Jungle Book and that bare necessities song) that I packed.  Then off to the bike shop* to bond with the owners and haggle some gear and be commended for our outlandishness.  

Dinner at the church* was incredible.  People are so supportive of what we are doing the the leaders do an amazing job of organizing where we stay and letting the hosts know what we are doing with ourselves.  After that one of the guys from the bike shop inspired us to love our bikes even more, and two alumni from last year's trip frightened us with even more stories of pain and punishment from the road.  One girl broke her collarbone the first week, was hit (hard) by a car a little bit later, developed drug-resistant staff infection in her saddle sores (which, I'm not sure if you know, are in your crotchal region and are quite similar to severe diaper rash, I have found out), among other things.  Later I found out that I am probably this girl's equivalent on my year of the trip.

*This is a common theme throughout the summer.