By this time you may have heard rumors of the h2o ride’s first of October. It was a day that I’m sure everyone in the group will remember for some time to come. With temperatures in the 40s and steady rain falling, no one was excited to head out on the road. But as the saying goes, if you have a mountain to climb, waitin’ at the bottom don’t make it no easier. Abraham turned these words into action and left before the rest of us, not to be seen again until well past dark.
Eventually we rolled out in to the grayness. The twenty mile jaunt to the south end of Lake Champlain was hilly and a punctured tire early on had me concerned about catching a chill from being stopped for too long in the cold wet air. A quick change of the tube had me back on the bike before any shivers set in and we pressed on to the first break. After some time at the break, it was clear that we as a team would not be leaving any time soon. When I overheard the options for local laundromats being discussed, I knew I would have to go rogue if the day’s destination was to be reached. I informed the team of my intentions and pedaled over the Whitehall Bridge in to Vermont.
The rest of the story of the first of October can not be properly told here. All combinations of zeroes and ones are inadequate. The story can only be properly told over a pint or two of ale in the company of good friends and strangers alike. I can convey that it turned out all right in the end, as I sit here typing in a finely appointed living room in quail hunting country with a German short-hair pointer at my feet. Rest here in the woods on the Florida/Georgia border has been good and we have occupied ourselves with things which we don’t usually have time for such as reading, completing our final media campaign, napping, posting updates, and attempting to secure gainful employment upon the completion of our journey.