The Contributing work of Jordan Moore

On the way down, back and multiple times since our return I have asked Jordy to send me some writings of his perceptions of our adventure for my blog. When I woke this morning the following essay was in my box. Enjoy.

HIS FAULT? MY FAULT? ASPHALT!

Falling backwards across a wave into the Hotlantic Potion I relax and feel the edge of the watery world embrace me. When I stand up the air is warm compared to the waters cold. I go back in for another. When I come up again this time the stars are staring at me. They’re alive beyond time, or our understanding of such, just like me. The spot where I am is roughly 220 miles from the city where I live and I was just a part of a traveling bunch of bicycle riders making a one-day-dash for this spot. When the twelve of us crossed the bridge onto the island I knew we had just done something that was going to impact the course of my life; change how I perceived and reacted to existence.

For them it stopped here but three of us were going to try something new. We were going to attempt to go home. And in the ocean under the night sky was the perfect spot to try and reel in that information and face it. To admit that what was happening was something that I was going to be a part of because its written that I be a part of it. To quote Duncan, one of the fellows who had just ridden down with us, “No matter what, tomorrow is going to be cosmic.”

The alarms were set for 3:30am. Multiple alarms. It took me a while to figure out how to actually set mine. My mind was slow to react to anything. Thinking was a chore. Upon completion of the first 220 miles I knew it was the hardest thing I had ever done. Thinking about doing it again was weird, but I couldn’t rule it out because I didn’t have the chance to go to sleep wake up and try it. I couldn’t rule it out because it wasn’t there to rule out. What was there now was the need for sleep and relaxation.

THE TIGERS EYE IN THE SKY Imagine an onion, sliced in half, revealing how it had grown, a tight core symmetrically radiating out into geodesics. This is what it looked like when the sky opened up and began to speak. Amid a triangulated pattern of stars I saw a something, IT if you'll call it that, LOVE if we need to find a common ground. IT, too, saw me.

I travel with a moonstone. Right now it is in the back office of singlespeeds.com. It was given to me in Durango, CO this past summer as I began my one-day 1,200-mile trek via auto across the US to attend the burial of my grandmother Edith Morrow at the Ryan’s Steakhouse in Conway, AR. The healer who gave me the stone was working on my body. I laid on my back in my sleeping bag and placed the stone on my chest, never needing to close my eyes to fall away to a deep, restoring rest. The Tiger's Eye in the Sky began pulsating at an even faster rate and I was experiencing life as blood flow, as organ bounce, as flesh felt gravity and the mind finally dissolved to pure experience. A hand silently lifted my skin and rearranged my organs, unblocked blocked blood, moved the day’s foods and pains. Love was a Doctor, a bedside cosmic nurse; I was in the Operating Room of the Cosmos. . .

A screen door slamming, "F***in, Guys! Guys! What the F? Guys, you can sleep inside, you don't have to sleep on the porch. . . get inside! Guys!"

The less-than-man in a polyester "might-get-you-laid-by-a-busboy-at-an-all-you-can-eat-seafood-buffet" shirt was, like the majority of people alive, mistaking dollars over time-share rented space for hospitality and insisting that we remove ourselves from warm outside sleep to go in and breath whatever he was offering in the doors. A lot of people have said that they would have killed him and though I agree he deserves nothing shy of a Roman Crucifixion I somehow maintained that holding onto my spot on the Operating Table of St. Anna's Cosmic Hospital was more important than quietly getting up, approaching and judo slinging him off the front porch. Yay, the mind cannot know what the heart does for it would only label and analyze and the operation was over, flesh forming in reverse to leave me lying under the normal constellations on a hardwood deck in my sleeping bag with a cell phone alarm clock aimed at my head like a cocked crossbow.

WHAT YOU ARE LOOKING FOR IS ALSO LOOKING FOR YOU

The day before had taken us thru 43 miles of rain and cold that felt like being in the produce section of a grocery store under the misty spraying things. It had led me past a trashcan that made me laugh out loud at its overflowing nature. It introduced us to a man with no teeth drinking King Cobra from a plastic cup and openly admitting, "Cobra ain't good for your teeth." It had me nearly off the back and stranded, had me throwing away unnecessary clothing, in a pace line 23miles/hr into a headwind. So what was today going to be?

Trying. Once I was away from the Comfort Not Comfort of the rental home and back out on the streets of Isle of Bougentoon I realized that I was a part of trying something that to my knowledge had not been tried before. My dream? Maybe. But I wasn't the only one there and looking up and seeing the hulking masses that were my two riding partners lit my spirit. Things began being real again. Organic. Windy, dark, wet and salty. Knowing that they were going to give it a shot meant that I had the chance to too, and the gratefulness set in. Suddenly I was more thankful than ever that Life had led me to this, like its led me to loss and learning alike, IT was giving me this opportunity now, and I was in for the long haul.

Enduring is a big part of endurance sports. It is often promoted as something that is elite-class-athlete stuff. Like if Nike hasn't noticed you then you should not be out there in the way of people who have genetic capabilities to actually audibly sweat that song "BitterSweet Symphony." If you're sitting at a desk for 10 years telling yourself that 5 more years equals comfy-cozy retirement then your enduring. If you're doing the right thing instead of the easy thing than you're enduring. If you've got really big questions that keep you up at night asking for an answer than you're enduring. If you're squinting to see whether the ticket says "Egg Whites Only" or "X-Tra Salsa" you're enduring. Now all you have to do is apply the sports part. The movement. The using your actual body and blood, mind and heart in one focused and intense direction. It can happen over any space, and time, any elevation, any climate and any terrain. This is where I found my thoughts when my pancakes arrived at the Huddle House. . . Why go to Mt. Everest when South Carolina is so close?

280 MILES IN, TIME TO GET IT RIGHT

The thought that potentially we were going to be labeled "HEROS" was discussed over our HH brekky. I think HEROS are shaped like rats asses. Pink, tiny, shaven, disconnected asses of the one rodent that metaphorically bears the brunt of society’s disgust with itself. I think they are shaped just the same, packaged in plastic things hung on racks in Isle of Wants all across DisneyLand. It was established that there were murmurs, people we knew who knew what we were trying forming expectations (hyperlink) and wanting us to be the physical manifestations of those. Too bad. This felt too good to ever care about what anyone else ever thought of it or judged it as. Which is why I was able to find the honesty to blurt out a problem I was having. My pedaling had gone from fluid-grin-bearing forwardness to an up/down chopped dance of pain and stiffness. It was my seat post height v. my seat position. It was wrong. The minute I mentioned the two hulking masses of seasoned riders I was with knew what I meant and went to fixing it for me, a luxury I will never take for granted, for ever be indebted to, and will remain a goal as to never have happen again: namely, the comfort of me being provided by another. Back on the bike and again a gust of wind in my sails. It wasn't too late and I hadn’t turned myself into a morbid gimp.

LET'S GO! (THE WRONG WAY)

When the question was posed, "Does any of this look familiar?" I heard myself answer, "Not TOO familiar." There was our answer. It's funny that what I was calling not familiar was a stretch of sprawl that included Italian-themed restaurants and gas stations and places to buy athletic socks and a variety of item-huts. Ah, America, the distinct. The individuality. What do our generations en masse look like, Mr. Whitman? Like a face first dive into a plastic ball pit at a Chucky Cheese. But somehow we knew it wasn't a part of our route. Somehow we knew we needed a map. Somehow we knew we were going the right way.

So, we're 17 miles out of our way. A little training loop post-brekky to knock off a few extra calories. Great! You, Dear Reader, know where that took us? Jedburg. Uh huh, root word "Jedi." No problem. You got to understand, its right around here that time and space truly lost their grasp. Where they may have had their expectant glare on us before was only a small tear in our collective jersey's where they had lost their hold and spilled into oncoming trucker traffic. Time and space are tools; WE were alive outside their norms.

A Greek villa was our sudden urgent destination. Pineopalous. I'll try to explain. The Cosmic Surgeon that I see is Greek. Accent and all. When she says "Awesome" in English it carries so much translated meaning mostly because it has this little noise that carries from the AHH to the SUM with a slight shhh sound. You know how sounds can really make you fall in love? So as we approach the Greek villa in the middle of South Carolina I realize, not only are we going the right way, were going the only way. Evolution v. Creation = do you care whether the book is being written or that its published? That’s where I'm at. Motorist and expectant hero-worshipers may be gearing up for the SuperBowl, but i'm right there. And at this point in the ride it’s all getting clearer. A creshindo is building.

In a store called "Not Just BOOTS" Billy got the info we needed to find a short cut. That info took time. That time gave us pause. That pause gave me rest. That rest gave me a moment to talk, laugh and feel. The blood was pumping through my veins. Billy emerged info in head and we set out to follow him. He told us to look for a school, a guy who had been a foster-care worker in NY/USA for 31 years had told him a cut. There was still a chance of getting back on track. We were looking for a school, and again, maybe it was the collective minds focus on something else that gave us the chance to experience this, but dropping down in front of us was a bird of prey with a gigantic wing span and lunch in it's talons. We took off and for one and one half minutes we got what can only this day and age be described as an IMAX experience, following it down the center lane of traffic, watching it struggle with the weight of it's cargo, feeling it feel us as a threat to it's hunger, seeing it maintain it's speed and plot a plan to drop it's excess. We were birds of flight too, Bird. We were birds of flight too.

The Good Greek Cosmic Doctors RX from the previous nights dreams was panning out. In a small Greek villa in South Carolina looking for a cosmic Short Cut we were reflected, reflecting our own hearts, heavy with so many fishen needs.

A NEVER EVER LUNCH/STRIKE COORDINATES CALLED IN FROM FIELD FONE

So I ate hot dogs. It was better than the McLunch I was insisting on. I knew all I wanted was cheap, fast, salty calories in my blood. Call me American; you wouldn't be lying for the time being. Anywho, I had weird conversations with the man behind the counter. I'm sure it looked like I wanted to take a bite out of his forehead, my eyes all over the place, mouth and expressions attempting to keep up with racing/cracked out thoughts. I wanted to tell him he had a motherly vibe. I think he may have judo slung me off the balcony. He noticed that I left my helmet by the hot dogs. So I did, Sir, so I did.

Outside Billy was doing odd Rohloff math equations on his fingers and looking at a map. Jesse was setting his camera on a trashcan. Ansel Adams would be jealous. We were in Santee. Where we ate lunch yesterday. I thought of what it took to get to lunch yesterday, effort-wise, and I cringed. Time and space are tools, and ours needed oil. A thundercloud overhead gave way to its potential, green lit insides of lighting wobbled our eardrums. A kid obviously on vacation with his family was staring at us. Tacit communication, eyeballs as senators and congressmen, make the call Captain, we've got to save our skin.

Mercer was called in. It's so appropriate. It's so written. If you don't have faith by this point in the story judo sling yourself off the balcony. Mercer went to Camden Milly Tarry Academy; we were a four-hour push away. Night would have implications. Darkness. Our third in 40-ish hours. That's some Biblical undertones. I did not want to go into a third Darkness. Rephrase, I would not have EVER gone into a third darkness. This would all be reconsidered in a few short hours.

TRANSFER COMPLETE/TIME-SPACE GAP CROSSED/INTERNATIONAL IMPLICATIONS

Everything got used. Ilan's spare tire, two tubes, CO2, electrolytes, shitbloks, goji berries, walnuts, turkey sandwiches, Boot's magik powder of Love. . . it was all used. When going into the field, bring what you think you'll need. Find a way to justify using it if you must, but have it there with ya. After two flats we were headed straight for the dirt-track section of the day. Off-road, fun in the overcast, lilac fields, ancient language molecular orange tire sand drifts. Maybe it was here that I began wondering if I felt this good because our field coordinates had been called in or because I really felt this good, this alive? Was I bunny-hopping puddles on a road bike because I knew I could burn the energy or because I knew I could? Off the dirt track, into Europe. South Carolina has a very colonized feel still, very old buildings leaning this way and that under the years of contemplation they've given the space-time question. But we somehow worm holed it straight to another continent. No cars, no billboards, no political signs importantly placed next to adverts to get your windows washed, no Huddle House or anything else. Only us and a strip of asphalt big enough to glide on. Only Earth.

We crossed an intersection on a yellow light like we were at Trade v. Tryon 365 miles in at 22m.p.h.

If anything was successful, that was.

We're down the road a bit, off the bikes, looking at the map, resting in front of an Electronic Battle Area, whatever that is. Were talking about whether or not we call off our rescue party. No way. I say no way. I know I could slog on in the dark, in the rain, in the cold, in the time-space void to woefully and pitifully hang a ribbon around my vain neck, but why would I? Were on hour 29 in the saddle and I want no part of night riding. But somehow were talking about it?

ARE CHURCHES INDEBTED TO THE METAPHOR MAFIA OR SOMETHING?

South Carolina does something that would be one of the few laws I would make if I were ever a powerful white American man. Here, I'll give you my top 3, the South Carolina one being the third:

1. You want to spend over a million? You got to count to over a million.
2. No new houses built over 1,000 square feet.
3. Caution signs in front of churches.

South Carolina does this. Maybe to warn motorists that people are pulling slowly and reverently out of the driveway, maybe not. Either way they are a good idea. Most churches do however have cheap plastic marquees out front usually with some saying that I can't help but read. The two that stick out from the weekend are "God is like Wal-Mart, He has everything" and "Death to the Christian is like a transfer to the home office." Why ARE they targeting the corporate workers/buyers... oh yeah. Any who, this led me to a thought, and I'll try to end on this note. First let me say that eventually a honking truck that brought delight to my heart and Mercer to my cortex passed us and both of those things were AWW-sh-UMM. Let me also say that the paradox of whether or not I was riding hard because I knew backup was on the way or because I was just a Herculean legend was answered when I sat in the front seat of Mercer's F-150 and felt happiness and warmth radiate all from my spine and heart. But what I really want to say is this, and if you own a church you can plagiarize me all day long, but somehow I don't think this resonates well with consumer culture, but if you want to make a man feel like he is going to hell, take away his feeling of his spirit being free here on earth.

08 Double Down and back: The Final Push and Spiritual Transfer

Don't cry Jordy, it is going to be okay Rock on!

The phones ringing were the next thing I remember through the empty dreamless darkness ruined an hour and something ago by the big little drunk fellow. "Jordy, Dude(he came out to our sanctuary right after the meat head left), it's time", I said in disbelief. The three of us never really moved for the few minutes, I remember mental confusion wanting so desperately just to close my eyes and hope all of this would go away. Rest, ha. Don't fall out Bill, the time is now or you will be stuck here on the Ballentoon Isle. Ten minutes had passed while we chit chatted the potential excuses before Dude jumped up and went down the outside ladder way to the ground floor mud room. In the sleeping bag I put on my new clean kit of the day just like I had planned to do and had done 24hrs and something ago back in Charlotte before I left the house for the Double Down. I Stuffed my bag then headed down to the mud room to pack up and stage my jump bag for return trip by the garage free Sequoia. Seemed as if the troops were milling about each thinking something not said which is why I guess they call it thinking. Then it started to pour down rain shortly after 0420hrs hrs. I could not help but wonder what Dude and Jordy actually had bouncing around in their skulls at that point but I knew that I was ready to ride in the now, not sure about 15 or 18 hours from now but in the now all I need is my helmet, the bike was powered and ready. Later on in the ride after the sun came up when I asked Jordy what was on his mind in the mud room as we were getting out of there he openly and honestly admitted that he was considering crying out loud and for real. According to him, he figured it may be the only chance he had to talk me out of leaving, if he cried how could I not say, "It's okay Jordy, we can stay here and get back to sleep in our bags." Whatever. Dude with Pizza in one hand and the mid shocker in the other apparently was ready to rock. I took one shot of Jordy in his tearful contemplation, then 3 shots of GU for morning chow and I walked out with bike waiting on my wing men, it was 0440 when they walked out. We rolled after one last BM the Dude had to make on the Isle at exactly 0450hrs. Not that it made a diff but my original plan was to have already been up the road 15 miles by that time.

The streets off the Isle were wet and the bridge came up in front of us, how daunting it appeared in the dark 10 hours after I had last seen it. I was out in the front with my big bright light that folks thanked me for bringing the day before and now after fresh charge we were grateful as well. It was not me to thank though it was none other than the 2006 24Hour-Solo Single Speed Mountain Bike World Champion Rich 'Team Dicky' Dillen who was smart enough to know how much we were actually hanging it out and was thoughtful enough to temp loan me his brand new Night Rider TriNewt. Just as the climb started I saw a blinky high up on top of the bridge going in the same direction as we were just over mile in to the ride. I thought to myself, "Andreas"?, has he come to pull us back?" I went hard after the blinking red light like a man possessed in the dark knowing that it was him. Dammit, it is just some crazy guy who did not say a word when I rolled by fully lit shouting over the wind at the top of the bridge, "Hello!" Onward and off the Isle following Smoot's cue sheet from the day before exactly backwards which I had been studying for a few weeks and even understood the backwards math vs. the mileage which I had to count on Dude's computer for. The wireless I had mounted special for the trip started acting funny in the cold rain the day before and completely quit at the lunch stop. It went to sleep and never came back.

In early morning twilight I was alone out ahead noticing every few miles these huge stone and iron gates on the left side of the road. I would coast by and look through the gates down the long tree lined grassed surface entrances to these huge plantation properties from a century and a half past. The estates appeared lifeless and abandoned, perhaps the owners far away in a newer and more convenient version of their extended property surrounded by their own outside Atlanta or Charlotte for that matter. When I went over the tracks in the strange small swamp town of Cordesville, SC I stopped at the Post Office, sat down and took my self portrait before Dude and Jordy rolled up. We sat for a few and took in the sun rise before mounting back up to ride the next Stay Alive into Moncks Corner for some breakfast. It rained hard halfway there until we came over the last bridge for the Huddle House where we walked in to the stares of those who rarely get to see such humans as us dressed all scary with clean eyes and huge grins. We ate eggs, toast, potatoes, Dude had bacon and Jordy Pancakes with grits. Our lovely waitress hooked us up with plenty of coffee and water all for a fare price and with a smile. The stares kept coming but who can blame them? If I saw us as cracked out as we were I would have stared too. The only difference is I would have came up to us and asked some questions. Like WTF? Yum, warm fooding. I led us out of there an hour after we stopped knowing our route was the road HWY17/52 and then HWY17 Live Oak Blvd across the street. I barely remember asking Dude for a mileage count to gauge the next turn but I know I did because we lined up and headed out.

We had 2 Stay Alives to go for the next turn and shortly there after Jordy noticed a very important pain in his knee that was now 280miles old in the 2 day adventure and the burn was becoming a problem so we pulled over less than 30mins after leaving Moncks. After noticing that his saddle was all out of wack both height and knee over spindle Dude hooked Jordy up with a curb side roady fit that would have made any pro pass out at this point in this type of ride. Thankfully no pro race team here just some guys doing something on their own without the team support of a trailer and/or fitting machine. Dude, seriously, great work at that stage of our ride. While he did that I made a call north to the camels and let them know that we now had pain. Once we got rolling again Jordy felt much better and we tightened up with him in the middle of Dude out front and me on his wheel.

Just before 21 miles and 1.5hrs since we left Moncks I realized that I did not recognize anything that I was seeing so I asked my mates to confirm. I made a navigational mistake within a mile of Moncks that now had us 28miles off of the Cue. No wonder why we had been fighting another morning of head wind when it was supposed to be at our backs. We had been going away from Charlotte rather than towards it. Neither one of them or I ever freaked. Special map purchase at Summerville, let's get this thing back on course and figure out why my intuition which I have really come to love and trust has us where we are. Map in pocket, direction known and we are alive and finally heading north. Two and a half hours later when we officially got back on the cue we were 2 miles from the Huddle House. Thankfully I was the only one(I know Dude never saw it) who noticed the signage because as bad as that made me feel I could only imagine that either one of them would have thrown a brick through a window. When I went in JR's store at the corner of the Cue and not the Cue the wonderful lady inside confirmed my wide eyed self that we were indeed where I thought we were and to boot she told me about a short cut to Santee Cooper not really on the map that would save us 5 or 6 miles of the original 28 I had us off by. I asked her husband for the mileage to Santee with the Short cut on his wife's hand written map, "31, I drive it in the truck once a week, 31", he said and smiled at the exact same time. Great, in three Stay Alives we will be 135 miles or 13 and a half Stay Alives from the our destination where the Red Sea is. They told me the short cut off the map road would come up on the left just after the Cross Elementary School and Cross Fire Station off of the Route 6(I grew up off of Route 6 in Brooklyn CT) we were traveling. I came out laughing and onward we peddled for this ubiquitous short cut.

On that 6 approaching the Elementary School shortly before we came up on our off shoot short cut to the left I noticed movement drop out of a tree from above to directly in front of us. I screamed something like, "Guys look a bird of prey with an animal!!" It was on, we were chasing a large bird of prey(at first I thought eagle, then osprey) that had a huge piece of flesh in it's talons which slowed it's escape from us down Route 6. I saw silver color on the under belly of the prey, Dude got closer than I and said that it looked like a fish. What ever it was, was dead for sure being flown down the road in front of us at about 7ft off the deck. The bird fatigued and drifted left before dropping the weight to escape our more efficient attack. After he dropped the meat, he took off to the right and perched up to wait for us to leave so he could continue his meal. We never stopped, we only laughed and rode on up to the school and then the fire house where we found our short cut to the left exactly where it was supposed to be. After the firehouse and before Henry's road side market the road was clearly marked, Short Cut Road. We stopped in Henry's and were greeted by Karen who took great care to fill our bottles and give us fresh out of the oven home made southern style extra chocolate brownies. Thank you Karen! We left there with 3 Stay Alives to Santee which seemed to fly by.

It was a raining and coming up on 1600hrs, three hours later than it should have been but 11hrs after we had left the Isle when we rolled in to Santee Cooper for a hot dog, map assessment and had or first serious discussion of planning for an extraction. I basically stood my ground and said that I will not be on 521 above Camden for Lancaster and then the Jar after dark. Dude asked if I was afraid of the dark and I said, "Yes, at that point 16hrs in my second day of riding I will be terrified." At that point Mercer Fabrications was contacted who was very familiar with Camden SC and could be there from the QC by 4 person truck in an hour and ten. I let him know our status and he said as long as we covered his gas he would meet us in Camden between 1930 and 2000hrs which meant that we had to keep going for another 6 Stay Alives or 60 miles before then. Okay fellas let's get over that Old I-95 Bridge and get on up State. Jordy flatted twice within the next two miles and we gleefully helped him out in the constant rain and dark gray sky.

We soon started gaining momentum again in a northerly track. I had been back on the cue for awhile and there were no more nav problems, Dude watched the computer and I watched the paper and helped with the math. We were doing crazy math forward together, so crazy I felt we were on the verge of our own new theory. The rain let up a bit and the vistas were amazing, in spots so void of the car viper for such long periods of time I thought we were having a euro transfer. At around 140mi or 14 Stay Alives for the day and still positive 24 miles in the wrong direction my left foot started burning. In all past physical challenges I had never felt anything the like. So when we rolled in to the tiny country store at Boykin SC on that HWY261 for our last bottle refill just before a wet gray sun set and an hour before meeting our on coming extraction I decided to sit on the gas pump island and have a look. The feet of a dead man I tell you, complete trench foot Marine Corps style. I laughed so hard that Paige and her hunter friends decked out head to toe in camouflage decided to see what we had been in to for the previous 36 hours or so. When we told them they gathered round and pulled off of our energies while they gave us theirs. It was nice, they were nice and very sincere in their admiration for what we had been through to that point. Nothing was hidden, it was all true and brilliantly planned when earlier in the day my intuition took us away from here. We wound up leaving with dead feet and rejuvenated souls but not without hand shakes, high fives and no kidding cosmic individual hugs from a stripper who worked at Boykin's(population 2,773) only topless bar, Double D's. Like Double Down. Before she came around with the unsolicited hugs she said that we deserved them and she was happy for us to have them for free of charge. I laughed out loud and rolled away smiling.

The last Stay Alive was in rainy darkness but I was once again lighting the way with the TriNewt blaring a beam out front. There were some rolling climbs and fast wet descents where I think and Dude will have to confirm but we may have hit 40mph fatigued but not dead. The cars kept coming and at 2000hrs shortly after completing 160miles on day 2 with over 85 to get back to Charlotte our extraction vehicle came flying by us just below Camden. Yes, we are not going to die tonight on 521 after all!! Jeff spun the truck around and we loaded up at an Old Cemetery attached to this quiet and brick church. It was good to see my crazier than thou friend, it had been over two months since I saw him last when I helped him pick up his truck. As we drove off North towards the jar everything felt right to me, no sense of accomplishment and no sense of failure for we were alive and living it. Just as I was getting warm about three miles up the road I screamed, "Dicky's light!, Shit, I left it at the church!!". Jeff completely understood my lack of frame of mind and wheeled the truck around allowing me to quickly recover the 400$ piece of borrowed euipment and thankfully he had not run it over when we backed out the first time. We were back in the Ballentoon area at the Earth fare where Dude's 283 was waiting and very close to Jordy's dwelling by 2200hrs. We dropped them off and on his way home Jeff let me out at my house 30 minutes later. Jeff Mercer, I cannot thank you enough for your instant support and internal understanding of what we had been through and what we we were trying to do.

initial observations:

Between Friday 0400hrs and Saturday 2000hrs Dude, Jordy and I covered just over 380(38 Stay Alives in two days) self supported road miles, basically the distance from my house here in Charlotte North Carolina to Washington DC.

I love riding my bike.

The Double Down and Back has not been done, leaving opportunity for next year.

Dude laughs and it is real.

Jordy makes me laugh and that is real.

LATE EDIT: Read more about the East Side Stay Alive HERE

More to follow and still yet hopefully some contributing works from the other two.

Wet darkness Day 2-Photo Dude

Me going over low creek bridge-Photo Dude

Good times, business ahead-Photo Jordy

Really, it was Short Cut Rd-Photo Dude

About to get back on the dirt track

Feet of a corpse

Dead feet and pain/hr15 Day 2-Photo Jordy

08 Double Down: Day 1/Part 2- Sun, Swim, Pizza and Sleep Interruption

Let's pick up from where we left off when I had the realization that complaining was useless. The sun started to make a break for the first time on the ride and we were now 11.5hrs in turning a more southerly course, closing on Moncks Corner S. Carolina face into a few hours of constant strong head wind that I kept thinking would be at our backs on the morrow. Even looking at the photos I do not remember anything specifically grand happening other than my nutritional problems were gone,the pace was still strong and I looked a lot happier than I did earlier in the day. Come to think of it at around Moncks I actually felt almost normal and the Hammer nightmare was just about gone. Through the Moncks Corner we were now on the route 402 going towards Cordesville town, a small hamlet of maybe a couple hundred across the train tracks and along the low swamp. In the middle of this swamp trees popped out as far in as I could see, most of them covered in abundant light green Spanish Moss. It was when we hit the Hwy 41 South off the 402 that Ilan announced, "17 miles of this and we are home free", home free being 2 miles of Hwy 17 South and maybe three miles and something over the last bridge to the Isle. As we made the right hand turn on to 41 I had a flash back to last years Double Down and realized this was it, the last hour and change of the epic ride. As we rode in single file my energy seemed to come back well enough to get me back towards the front and regain some of the pulling time on this last push in. I felt alive during this part of the ride from the front view. Seems as if Duncan was close by at this point so I shared my required jokes with him and then he gave me two of which I can only remember one but I laughed at both. Double Down Rule 11A: The Duncan Satchell Rule: Everyone has to bring a good joke and/or a good story. So I held mine until the last under 2 Stay Alives and he laughed at both, at least I played by the rules.

We were just less than an hour from our goal over the first low creek bridge when we stopped for one last bottle fill, 5 miles left on 41 was it and it seemed to fly right by. Together the peleton turned right on to 17 S for the 2 miles to our final left hand turn. At this point in the day some 215miles or 21.5 Stay Alives in approaching 15hrs since we left the fine QC I perceived the sprawly development and over sized speeding traffic as a cartoon image of the scariest thing ever. It was completely not real compared to what we had been witnessing, there is no way it could be. The pace was cautious, we stuck together and changed to the left lane for the final turn on the 517 towards this really big bridge up over the Intracoastal Waterway and onto the Isle of Palms. The mood was light, the 12 of us were smiling and enjoying the view as we approached the bridge. At the bottom of the climb a sprint for the top started with two or three led out by Matt laughing. Although I did have something left for one more reindeer game I saved it to take in the view and stop on the apex of the bridge at exactly 1900hrs. I got off my bike, took out my camera, made some manual adjustments and snapped the above header image you have been looking at since Sunday.

A few hundred meters down the bridge and the220 miles or 22 Stay Alives were done for the day with grand thoughts of what was only hours ahead for the morrow. We were welcomed by some folks who passed out some beer, smiles and words of praise for what transpired in ourselves during the day. Jordy started doing yoga while I took out my camera, passed Dude a beer and took some post ride pictures on the lawn of the big house. Around dark Ilan helped us find his house a few blocks down on the Isle of Bouge then we dropped gear in the mud room and chatted with the friendly people in the friendly house. Jordy and I excused ourselves for a dip in the Hotlantic ocean just a few hundred meters away with Dude in tow. We walked in to the water under star lit skies and felt the power of the ocean as the thin white waves contrasty against all darkness kept coming, one after the other. A dip under and out, time to get the pizza on it's way from over in Mt Pleasant. Sometime passed and the Pizza was there, two large one medium and the three of us dined on the grass outside the mud room.

After chow around 2300hrs Dude hit his couch and Jordy and I sought outside refuge in our sleeping bags up on a porch like thing one flight up. I had multiple phone alarms set at my head for 0335hrs as Jordy and I laughed for a bit listening to the Ocean talk and watching the stars do their trick before we fell asleep. I was chasing dreams of left to right moving stacked thunder clouds being under and side lit by pink and orange sun light when all of a sudden I was rudely awoken by a drunk poop stain who yelled profanity at Jordy and I in an effort to be agro-hospitable at like 0200hrs. The clouds left as I sat straight up and in their place were meat rolls on this huge mesomorph's forehead as he yelled, "Guys, What The F, go inside there is plenty of F'n Room, why the F would you be sleeping out here, come on guys, go inside!" His voice seemed even louder than mine and infinitely more abrasive indifferent to the still of the night. Somehow I never wigged out, I managed softly to say, "Man, I have been sleeping outside since I was a kid, please leave us alone." He offered once more the chance for us to come in if it got too cold and then he finally went away. I looked over at a shadow version of Jordan and asked if that had really just happened, of course it was my 2am rhetoric, we both knew that what had just happened was as real as what we were about to take off on in around two and a half hours from that minute.



Into the wind near Moncks Corner-photo-Dude

Typical SC low country-Photo Dude

Dude's self portrait, look closely at the lime green shirt up front, that's me-Photo Dude

Low creek bridge, uner a Stay Alive left to go~

"Follow me guys, we are almost there, is this not my best Idea ever?!!"

Lined up for the final lefty onto 517, me explaining to Jordy that the bridge is as big as a big building up in the Jar-Photo Dude

Ilan and Duncan headed for the bridge, Matt's arm to right getting ready to sprint for the hill!

Paul completing his goal just before I took the Header Image

Day one over, Jordy immediately started getting ready for the morrow with a sweet Yoga line

Day 2 will be here soon and the story is amazing!

EMERGENCY BLOG UPDATE

This morning just as St. Lissa was taking Ms Arcen off to school in the little car, I heard the oncoming motor of the barn storming plane on it's first run of the politically endorsed spraying of the Charlotte Metro area. The physical matter being sprayed over us today is reported to be a low level bacteria named BT designed to kill the Cankerworm but is harmless to humans and pets, as printed by the Charlotte Observer on Thursday April 3, 2008. I had already known it was coming but the thip energy reinforced by the weekends ride that overtook my body in the now was real. I yelled at them to get in the car, roll up the windows and drive away as fast as they could. As I helplessly watched them leave I witnessed the plane flying less than 500ft over our house with pipes along the back of the wings emitting a visible matter out the back, I saw the pilot's head. I called all dogs in then started freaking out as I was shutting all the house windows that were open. My mind fell to the Persian Gulf when everything seemed so potentially air borne lethal and I had a gas mask with multiple replacement filters close by. I was scared to get on my bike and get on the Stay Alive commute because no matter what the Local News was reporting I had no idea what was falling out of the sky which would obviously wind up inside my lungs. The plane made 4 passes quickly when I called a friend to vent on and then I grabbed my camera on it's 5th and 6th run over our little hood ten miles over to the east of the buildings. There is a small airport off of Harrisburg Rd less than 4 miles east and north of here which is where this plane is most likely being fueled and loaded with the spray. I waited until I could wait no more, I had to go to work, did I not? What a strange morning and day it has been indeed. I have seen the yellow and black mechanical bird all day at least 3 dozen times including late in the day when Andreas and I were gassed over near Selwyn Ave when I was trying to get my car from where I left it before the Double Down Friday morning.

Sorry about this rant. Once again I'm blown away by what is going on around me. Back to the rest of the Double Down and Toon to Toon to Toon Transfer sometime tomorrow.
For now pics of the fly by. Double click to fill screen....

08 Double Down: Day 1/Part 1- Oh the Complaining

"Early morning April 4 a shot rings out in the Memphis sky, free at last they took your life but they could not take your Pride, for the Reverend Martin Luther King-sing, in the Name of Love"
Bono's lyrical interpretation of MLK's assassination.

After not very much sleep Thursday night(from 2230hrs'ish to 0215hrs) the alarm sounded my reveille for the first day Double Down to the ocean north of Charleston South Carolina. I sat up, put my kit on, walked into the kitchen, fired the water on the stove and commenced my mentally rehearsed 30 minute out the door morning routine. I was out the door into the pre-loaded Montero headed for Sport by 0245hrs, I know that is earlier than I needed to by like 30mins but after last year's debacle when my car died on the way there I could take no chances to be that guy. I pulled in behind the shop at 0311hrs and laid back in my seat listening to the BBC and sipping a light tea/honey/lemon brew in the darkness. At some time later I may have even drifted off to sleep when Dude rolled up with a grin and his big road bike. Within a few minutes there after was Jordy with the ever loving chauffeur support of Ron(he is not gay, Ron is his dad). At 0405hrs and 43F it was now time to roll out of town with the other 8(Ilan, Duncan, Matt, Doug, Paul, Lat(who told me he had voted for Team283 in last year's UXC), Chris and Ryan) riders and within a few miles we scooped up lucky 13 Dave who jumped right on. The rain, did I mention 43F rain started around then, the road was wet, it was coming down and we were not even really out of town yet. The nicest thing about the chill rain was that I was wearing regular short length bibs, a base sleeveless, a short sleeve jersey over and then a long sleeve poly. For some reason I knew that although it was a little chilly, the rain could not last long and the forecast had it being between 73-76F by the middle of the day. That must have been why I left my light weight packable gore jacket in my messenger bag at the house. I was however very happy that when I asked Dicky the other day if it were smart to strap on a fender knowing that rain was imminent he said , "Yes". Happy too was Duncan who may have found himself looking at my rear wheel for dry face support.

Still dark around 3 and a half stay alives(the distance between my house and the jar, roughly 10mi) we lost Ryan and Doug. I do not know Ryan but Doug was an original Double Downer and I have been fortunate enough to ride on three Spamerton out of the county loops with him in the last few years. Not Doug, hay sticks!! I'm cold, wet and I want to go with them but I could not bail knowing that my only excuse would be my own regret which came to me as an original thought a few days ago when I considered telling Ilan that I was out over nothing. Anyway, shivering I watched them turn around into darkness and find warmth to call their camels for extraction support. Within 3 miles of that or just over one third of a Stay Alive we as a group of now 11 stopped for the first assessment at a bumpkin store where someone found hunting gloves inside for 2.5 US dollars. As much as I wanted to drop the tiny coin I could not because I had some sweet soaking wet thin Fox Incline mountain bike gloves already on my numb hands.

Shortly there after, at Lancaster I think, we were passed by a car with a Purty Lemond on the roof just as the rain started to let off and stop. The driver was hard Corey who had over slept and decided that it would be smart to chase us down in his warm auto viper and join the ride to the Hotlantic ocean after all. Him on and in the front strong, clean and dry heading south we now made total 12 riders. Finally the sun came up behind a cloudy and drizzly sky which gave me positive thoughts of the oncoming warmth and how happy I would be when it arrived. It seemed as if the temp came up 12 or so degrees Fahrenheit within an hour of the grey sun rise.

Yea, happiness again but with affect. Just as I was warming up something happened to me that I can say I had never experienced exactly. It was light out and Jordy was on my right in the column of 2 when I stood up for power my left wrist completely gave out causing me to shiver the bars in an uncontrollable twitch at around just under 2 Stay Alives an hour. I thought I was going down and possibly taking someone else with me in a one thousand of a second but my survival instinct very much in tact took over and I gained control of my cockpit. Rolling south in the country through the green hills and pastoral farm lands of the past holding on to the present. At one point I realized we were in the same corridor that Cornwallis used to march his troops from Charleston to meet the Revolutionaries holding the hill in the center of present day Trade and Tyrone, Charlotte NC. The history here is amazing.

The peleton was just past the century mark when we, in other words Ilan made a GPS navigation check thanks to hard Corey's machine who let us know we were going in the right direction and a dirt track, that's right dirt track would be coming up on our right. Ilan and I have only ridden a few times in the trail and it has been an over due long time ago but in the middle of this, how F'n cool is 1 and a half tenths of a Stay Alive in the dirt to connect us to the next hard ball road! It was semi hard and soft sand. I think at least two riders went down in the time it took us to get through the curvy track earning themselves top crash points for the podium and the dirty jersey of the day. Back onto hardball with dirt thoughts on my mind when I felt my first Hammer stomach inconvenience that once again I had never had happen to me. Thanks to Boots' Love I had a big jug of something I had never tried but thought with love may work for me. NEVER EXPERIMENT BEFORE RACE DAY~whew, this was not a race but my stomach felt bizarre coated with my 6th bottle of 1.5 scoops of some sort of grayish brown powder. I was so used to using a very, very light Gatorade water combo on big physical efforts just like Bill Nye told me about when we climbed El Pico de Orizaba better known to the people that were there before the Spanish conquest as Citlaltepetl in 2004. It works so well that at that minute before the old I-95 bridge I wished I had never told Boots what I was doing even though he is the coolest courier to ever hit the Jar and more importantly he was just trying to help. Hammer is crap to me but then again I'm not a professional racer or any racer at all for that matter. I'm just an adventure clown who already knew what worked for himself in a physical challenge and instead of going with that norm I had trusted some plaster of Paris fabrication powder in a 55 gallon drum that came from Denver by plane with my friend Boots who ironically enough was in town this weekend with an amazing 283. Oh well, we were over the bridge and sitting in Wendy's eating transported meat and fries. I felt guilty for the waste I created which I have been conscious of for some time now back in the Jar and normally avoid as much as I can which is nothing against the problem. Plastic cup. Dammit, I wanted the tall coke and felt like I needed it, why could they have not let me have it in a wool sock or something else. I am now back on the thoughtful program even though I showed no morals over the weekend during the Toon to Toon to Toon Transfer. Next year I will do better.

Lunch is consumed. 8.5 or so Stay Alives left to go and Dude basically took control of the ride for awhile with huge pull of over 20mph while I found myself somewhere in the middle with a gut bomb of mutated flesh and 6 bottles of powder from hell churning in my gut wondering if anyone else realized what I was feeling, especially Dude. The problem with being in a long haul pace line of people is that as Ilan would later point out, "It's not about you, anymore Bill". It never really is, if you cannot keep up on this type of thing you are out, it's over and they keep going. It is better to swallow your own vomit just like I did in a 21mph nasty post lunch vurp than it is falling off the back and leaving yourself stranded. I washed the bile taste down with light Gatorade and mostly water which I switched to for bottle 7 and 8 at the lunch break. Even though the bad feeling was starting to go away these guys kept hammering and I was complaining twice verbally and once with a tacit message to Ilan. He said out loud when I first expressed my own lack of wellness that in his whole life he had never heard me complain. Hmmm, he is so smart. I need to be quiet and all will wind up alright, this shit will be out of my system hopefully by tonight and the Gatorade water combo tastes like orange tang, way better than that powder nightmare. Do not complain in front of this ride again, how could I for Life is Good.

Doubled up on the Double Down
Dirt track! First crash points?

Lat in the dirt

Hard Corey and I hitting the base of the Old I-95 bridge

Duncan and Dave with Dude and Jordy for a backdrop

Riley on bridge

SUNDAY SPECIAL edition

From left to right the second annual 2008 Double Down(Dude, Matt, Paul, Riley, Ilan, Duncan, Lat, Corey, Chris, Me, Dave, Jordy)The day after the day after the 220 mile Double Down which happens to be the day after the 3 person attempt to will the return in to the Jar or as Jordy more simply and accurately calls the ride, "The Toon to Toon to Toon Transfer" calls for a Sunday edition post. First off we are all alive and well considering the circumstance that each of us had experienced with our own selves between Thursday morning and waking up an hour ago in the now. There are tons of details as you can imagine that will come out in the next few days or perhaps weeks that will appear here but in this minute I will let you know this. The Double Down is indeed Ilan's best Idea ever and the return of it may very well be the silliest Idea I have ever had because right now I am laughing.
Emotional shift: I had not cried out the emotional weight of such a pull until just now after a friend just sent me a message to let me know that last night she was babysitting another friend's baby who is real little. My friend told the wee one about what Jordan, Jesse and I were trying to do and all of a sudden I started shaking picturing this little baby looking into the chase of a personal dream of someone else. That was all I needed, I have been crying now for under ten minutes and plan to get it under control soon so my family will stop asking me if I am okay. Of course I'm not okay, I just finished the most spiritual experience I have had since Trans Germany Day 4, how could I be okay?

The above picture was taken by me with self timer at the old original I-95 bridge approaching Santee Cooper for lunch with Something like just under 10 Stay Alives to Isle of Palm in front of us yet to go. More pics and the entire story will follow soon.

It's on, Renegade Style!

So the story goes Ilan had an idea that he tried and liked so much that a year later it turned in to his best idea ever when he offered me the chance to road ride down with 12 human forces of nature to Isle of Palms South Carolina 230'ish miles away. The ride was fantastic lack the crash at Heath Springs that somehow Mike Perry and I flew through the debris of three riders and bikes on the floor without touching the tracks in bedded in the asphalt ourselves, our grace was the force of our combined Jedi training. Later that night I was laying on the floor of Mike and Steph's room on James Island listening intently to my ever beating heart occasionally being interrupted by Dave snoring and scratching himself on the pullout when I had an idea myself. The lub dub of my heart pumping blood through to my brain 4 hours after the ride gave me cause to consider better yet realize that as Dicky said minutes after my first double century with him 9 years ago, "Hey, we could still be riding, right?" Of course we could, especially after 8 or 9 hours of rest. So the idea was now in my head as I stared at the ceiling that next year I would figure out a way to ride back as an alternative option to the car viper.

Fast forward to the now and it looks as if some undetermined amount of folks will take off from Sport at 0400hrs tomorrow with a loose goal of completing our slightly shorter route of 220 miles to the Atlantic Ocean via the Piedmont, the sand hills and the never ending coastal plain by 1800hrs. Once we arrive there will be a small celebration including fireworks, cannons and pizza. Ilan has been gracious enough not only to transport our jump bags ahead and back but he is letting Jordy, Dude and I sleep on the floor of the garage as long as it is not raining. If it is raining we have to sleep outside or under a bridge that way the Sequoia and BMW won't get rained on. Saturday morning the three of us will wake around 0325hrs and be rolling off the Isle by 0400hrs headed back the 220mi for Charlotte and the Red Sea where I plan to meet my camels and enjoy the present my folks sent us. There is not much to say right now because all the preparations have been made, the bike is ready, gear is packed and I think I can sleep well early tonight knowing that I understand what is about to go down. I will be incommunicado through the weekend but should have something interesting to report by Monday. Have a great weekend, I know I will.