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Bonkariffic

By Chris Thompson - 2008-11-20

I wake in Dan Wallace’s house, huddled under a few blankets. The night before had been spent talking until nearly three in the morning. Pulling on clothes, stuffing gear into my bag, I prepare for the day and stagger downstairs to Mr. Wallace’s coffee and oatmeal. His secret recipe: three sticks of butter and a pound of sugar…perfect. Starting to wake up, my bag is packed and re-packed several times, discarding extra weight that will not be needed during the day. I finally decide on a light jacket, two liters of water, some bike tools, a bright red bandanna, my camera with a 50mm lens, and two energy bars.

The four of us slowly trickle outside, leaving the comfort and warmth of the house, the smell of food, the softness of carpet. We drift into a cold Pennsylvania fall morning, the wind cutting through our clothes, sixty five miles of road in front of us. Springing and bounding down the road, the first ten miles spin by in a sweaty and grinning blur of fall colors and black asphalt, brown corn fields, and small brick houses perched on the sides of hills. Soon we’ve shed layers and forgotten the cold, climbing and cursing the hills, flying down the other side, almost passing cars.

As the hills roll on, the miles slip by slower and slower, and each hill seems a bit steeper and longer than before as we start to climb the hills between us and the Lehigh valley. Instead of slipping by, the hills become long grinds. We suck air, sweating while the climbs get harder and harder. We’ve been slacking off over the last few months, and it’s starting to show. Poor training hits us for a second blow. We’ve forgotten to bring any sustenance besides a little bit of water and some energy bars, and no one is eating. First Mike, then Daniel, then Wallace, we all start to hit the wall. Spasming muscles, empty muscles, painful knees…how are we going to make it 15,000 miles?!

Still, the rolling fields, crisp blue skies, and fiery autumn colors are beautiful. Despite pain, hunger, tiredness, I believe none of us would want to be anywhere else. We keep rolling through Kutztown, moving eastward towards Allentown, and Mike’s parents’ house. We know that food and family are waiting for us at the end of the day. These are not things that will be there for us when we’re worn out in the Andes.

Only a few more miles through Allentown. Wallace suffers a catastrophic muscle cramp while climbing up a hill. "Chris, go ahead and pass me," are his last words. It’s a long steep hill, and his legs turn into wood halfway up. He goes over like a tree, and I can’t help but laugh. It’s been a long day, and the site of Wallace falling over sideways is too much to handle. He can’t even get out of his pedals. It’s a comical site, but he’s done for the day. Heroically, he manages to keep going. Only 5 more miles to go!

We end the day pushing our bikes up a steep hill through the woods. Twilight is settling over the hills. Down in the forest, darkness settles like a cool blue blanket. Our voices pierce through the dead cold branches like shafts of light. Mike’s dad is waiting for us on the front porch, a night watchman, guarding against marauders from the forest, draped in a blanket like a cloak. The day ends in hot food and cider, soft clothes and hot showers. Now all we have to do is ride back tomorrow…