The riding portion of this day was demoralizing to say the least. We left Richmond Hill and were making great time. We only had about sixty five miles to go for the day so the SWAGon went right ahead to our host family’s house and left us to our own devices. We were about five miles away a little before one pm, excited that we were going to beat the heat for the day. All was going well until we got to a bridge which the town had started construction on just the day before. Phil tried talking to the construction crew about letting us cross but there was literally no bridge for us to cross. We retreated a mile or so back to a gas station to reevaluate our plan. The road we were trying to cross paralleled I-95. The SWAGon could have picked us up and taken us across the interstate but we decided that doing so would be in violation with our mission. There was a third road that paralleled the road we tried to cross and I-95. that would be a thirty five detour. We the restocked on food and water, enjoyed the last moments of air conditioning within the gas station convenience store, and headed back out to what was now the hottest part of the day. It was days like this where we biked from gas station to gas station, stopping every ten to fifteen miles to re-hydrate and recuperate.

We eventually got a bridge- the Sidney Lanier Bridgeto be exact. With four lanes of traffic, it was a pretty intense bridge but we pressed on as we usually did. As climbing to the top I took a second to take in the view and snap a photo before descending down the other side. I actually hate going downhill on my bike. The guys loved it just about as much as I hated it. Sameen how many mph he could rack up on his odometer as Phil would ride with no hands trying to get more Gopro footage. Given this, they were way ahead of me as I tepidly made my way down the bridge. Halfway down of me silently cursing to myself and trying not to feather the breaks, my front tire blew out and I swerved into traffic.  A tire blowout occurs when the inner tube of your wheel suddenly pops, as opposed to a slow leak that usually occurs when one gets a flat tire. At this point I was completely stuck so I walked my bike down the other side of the bridge while trying to call everyone else. I found Ricky but Brendan, Sameen, and Phil were pretty far ahead. Ricky and I couldn't fix the tire ourselves because we spread out all of our supplies between the five of us so while I had a tube, neither Ricky nor I had a pump. We walked for almost a miles on a desolate with very little shoulder and lots of bugs. The rest of the team finally circled back and we got to work fixing my tire. In the process of doing so we managed to pop our three spare tires and blowing a c02 tank. With a little ingenuity, Phil managed to pieced together a usable tube with some crazy glue and a Clif Bar wrapper to get me to the Denay’s house fifteen miles away. We were doing alright until Ricky got two flat tires in a row, one of which was two miles from our final destination. Once again, Phil engineered a patch with a Clif Bar wrapper and crazy glue.  

The plan was to spend the night in a church in Myrtle beach that Gabby's aunt put us in contact with earlier in the week. Originally our arbitrary mapping at the start of our planning, we wanted to end in North Myrtle Beach, putting us at about 80 miles for the day. We didn't realize until the day before when we were looking at the day's map that this church was actually south of Myrtle Back in a town called Pawley's Island; This put is at over 100 miles. Well we were up for it. We had done over 100 before we were not worried. But it was a long day, a hot long day, and by 6 o'clock, the well-oiled machine that we were all forming into after days of cycling and living together, imploded. There's really no other word for it. Tempers flared and words were delivered like punches. It was over as quickly as it started, but our progress for the day was halted in North Myrtle Beach far from our planned destination (about 30 miles short). Honestly the earlier part of this day doesn't matter too much. This was the challenge for the day and probably the biggest one we faced yet. It was our first breakdown as a group and we got through it. We went to the beach or got food or just walked around so that everyone had a chance to cool off before I found a hotel and we crashed for the night.

I cannot begin to explain how excited I was to leave that godforsaken campground. It rained throughout the night and as I tossed around on the incredibly rocky ground, a single drip of water kept trickling onto my head. We all woke up with back aches and bug bites (the campsite was on a swamp), ready to get out of Sealevel. Aside from our less-than-stellar sleeping accommodations, that morning was actually very exciting as we were about to hit the seven hundred and fiftieth mile of our trip. The SWAGon ollowed us out of the campground for the two or so miles we had left before (what we thought was) the halfway mark.

As one might imagine this was a huge milestone for us. The first few hundred miles were just drops in the bucket and even when we hit five hundred miles, we still knew we had over one thousand more to go. But on this day, the day that marked the halfway point of our trip, we knew we were making substantial progress. Sure we had more than eight hundred and fifty miles to go, but we were stronger, smarter, and more skilled than we were when we started. We had our routine down pat and everything ran relatively smoothly on a day to day basis.

Bonus! It was Ramon’s birthday! The riders stopped off at a gas station halfway through the day to film a little birthday greeting for him to find when he went through our footage at the end of the day. Video link

We are so indebted to (jumping) Ramon for everything he has done for the Dream4TK project. He has taught himself videography in order to film and edit the content of our documentary. Our trip was the most well-documented month of my life and I am dying in anticipation to see the final film.              

After tidying up the house and locking the door behind us we were off to start on the leg of the trip that I was definitely looking forward to- we were headed to the Outer Banks. Being the route planner I made sure that we took this slight mileage-adding detour. Regardless of how many times people warned me of hurricanes I felt the decision was worth it. This was our chance to experience some different scenery and possibly enjoy a day or two at the beach. For this leg we used our Adventure Cycling maps as it provided a route from Elizabeth City along the Outer Banks and even provided some information on good placed to stay. Our destination for the night was about halfway down the coastline where we would camp at a RV park/campground. 

The start of the day was just like the others. I remember it being a little more dicey than normal due to construction and the condition of the roadway leaving Elizabeth City. We eventually made it onto a pretty major roadway headed out towards the barrier islands. Even when we were over 80 miles away we saw billboards for campgrounds in the area where we were staying. These were reminders of how far we had to travel, but the anticipation was also exciting. We were going to the beach! As excited I was for the destination, the ride that day actually was a lot more mundane. After navigating to the shore, we were on one road, Route 12, for our entire time which was over 100 miles in a straight line. This would later cause some issues but in the beginning we were too busy visiting the Wright Brothers Memorial in Kitty Hawk. None of us actually realized that we would be biking right past it. While I knew a little bit about the Wright Brothers I didn't think that Kitty Hawk was at the beach. I mean it seemed so strange to me that this serious part of American history would be so close to your beach town standards of inexpensive hotels, shopping centers, and unnecessarily fried foods. Anyways even though we were on a mission to get to our campground we took the time to bike to the museum and admire some history.

After that, there really wasn't much notable about our ride, and as I alluded to before this banality mixed with a rouge trash can would eventually cause us trouble. We were biking through one of the more populated beach towns with houses on either side of us; Gabby was in the front, followed by Phil, Brendan, Sameen, and I in the back. We were on auto pilot; the ground was flat and it was windy so we were drafting off each other. Our tires were inches from the cyclist in front and we would just mimic any changes in course that the lead made. Since visibility was an issue when drafting we used hand signals to communicate any potholes or obstacles to one another, without them, riders in the back would not be able to move out of the way in time. Writing this, it sounds like we should have expected something to go wrong. About 20 minutes after settling into a nice biking rhythm, Gabby passed a trash bin that was a little too far out into the road, Phil had to avoid the can, Brendan couldn't notice it fast enough and had to twist his body narrowly missing it, and then Sameen just slams right into the thing. He goes down and falls from his bike. I'm right behind Sameen so I see the whole thing happen, but I'm also right behind Sameen so I can't do anything to prevent me just crashing into his bike. I flip over my handlebars and bounce onto the pavement. It all happened so fast everyone was pretty rattled. Other than a few scratches on my freshly shaven legs I was fine. Sameen had somehow landed on his feet after falling off his bike so he was also okay so the only casualty was Sameen's bike. Our collision had resulted in his large gear getting bent in half making it impossible to keep riding. We called the SWAGon and they met us at our crash site. Until then we just hung out on the side of the road.

Side note, so we were in a pretty populated tourist town and a bunch of people had to have seen us crash, yet only one guy asked us if we were okay. What's up with that? Through some sort of magic or compact with the bicycling gods Phil managed to fix Sameen's bike. He used his pliers to bend the gear back into a presentable shape and while it wasn't perfect, the bike could move forward! After talking it over with Ramon, Jovelle, and Natalie Sameen decided that he would try to make it the rest of the way with us and if anything happened then we would load him and his bike into the car.

From that point on the road ventured into more isolated territory. We biked through the part of the island that was a state park and it was beautiful. There was nothing but sand, dunes, and surf. I was actually pretty disappointed that we weren't camping in one of the parks that night because it would have been awesome. The most notable feature of this stretch of road was the wind. We were biking directly into the headwind and we were going to do it for the next 30 miles. That was terrible. As much as I disliked hills, at least they required intermittent and relatively short bursts of energy. Biking into the wind is like riding uphill constantly so that part was pretty miserable.

Another major challenge was the bridge because it completely exposed you to the wind and there was not a very big shoulder. For the entire ride we had to draft off of one another, otherwise it would have been way too tiring. After a few miles the lead would switch to the back and the rider in the second position would be in front. We settled into another rhythm and eventually made it through the wild beach territory. It took us until 5pm. Weary, we celebrated by visiting our favorite symbol of civilization, Diary Queen, and each ordered giant ice cream cones. I actually had to buy Sameen his cone because I lost a bet about how many miles the day would be- I was under by less than a quarter mile.

We got into the RV park and made camp. We then ran into the ocean and swam until we were hungry. That night Ramon, Jovelle, Natalie, Brendan and I laid down on the dunes watching the stars and the ocean. We could see families along the beach lighting campfires that seemed to extend in either direction for miles, dotting the coast with flickers of light. We were off the next day and while there were many chores on our to do list, we didn't worry about them at that moment. We just talked for what seemed hours. Best of all it was about things that really mattered. It's funny that for all the time we spent with each other, we really didn't have many moments during the day that we shared details about our lives with each other. A pattern started to emerge of long, uneventful, tiring days and hectic nights trying to prepare for the next day. It was nice that this day mixed that up a little bit. 

Packed like sardines in a moist South Philadelphia college apartment with feelings of uncertainty for the next month. It's only been two days.

I wake Ramon, no doubt he was dreaming of cool air,  and a quiet breeze at the beach. What a way to open your eyes, to sweaty eyelids. He briefly stumbles around for his camera equipment. We have to get the trailer from the parking garage. Of course it is exactly at this point when we consider: What the heck we are doing?

It's 5 a.m. and the camera starts rolling. The streets permeate finger-long blotches of a wood-stained sun, while there are sounds of misdemeanor and workforce engines. Like us, the city is waking.

The parking garage doesn't open until 6. Our tiredness is masked by the lamination of a Starbucks, but fortunately, for only one hour. We grab the trailer and make our way to our grateful sauna. 

Undead movements in our living space. “Wakey, wakey, RISE AND SHINE!” Phil ignores his existence and captures a few more dreamlike images. Ricky wants to get out of the apartment, well we all do, and decides to cook our breakfast. Oatmeal. We split into groups, one for unloading the bikes from the trailer, the other for bringing items to the trailer. I go out to the trailer and unpack each bike. Little did I know that this process would become one of those memories that in some ways symbolizes the whole trip.

Here I was unpacking a bike that I would ride 1,615 miles. A bike that would sometimes stuff itself into the trailer amongst seven other bikes., would be greased in its vital joints, burned against the pavement, and bruised from wear, all the while I would sometimes stuff into the Pilot with 7 other companions, massage my knees and thighs, tear my skin against rubble and stone, and bruise from wear. The bike was an extension of me, as I was an extension of the bike, both at the whim of each other. After two hours of packing, we proceeded to our ceremonial thanking-of-the-host. Everything was so new. There were silent questions of uncertainty, “How should we do this?”

But we didn’t create this audio. Rather, we just did it. Like most things on this trip, we just did it. We took group photos, distributed the Dream4TK shirt, and geared up out front of our now-dry sardine can, preparing for six hours of salt rims around our mouths.

The camera rolls and we are off to Havre de Grace, Maryland. The first hour is spent careening around Philadelphia streets — a tough task for our navigator of the day, Ricky.

The transition to suburbia was instantaneous, without a moments notice. We are beginning to hit a groove.

Outside Wilmington, and after a brief relieving of bladders at a neighboring cemetery lot, we hit 30 mph on a downward hill. This would be our fastest speed so far.

Wilmington presents the feeling of a big city trapped in the bubble of a small world. It is busy, a one-horse city I suppose. The home college looms as its facilities are vacant and student-less.

Our team has discussions on what it will be like in Orlando. Phil and I share a conversation on missing our girlfriends, we make jokes. Humor I suppose is the best drowning of sadness.

Our move from Delaware to Maryland is negligible. After only spending two hours in Delaware, it would be a quickest passing through a state.

Sameen makes note, “Hey guys, that's one less state, we won’t be dealing with Delaware again.” We cheer and move forward to Maryland.

The sun is past its peak, and our cadence slows.

The hills become a series of parabolas, and due to an imbalance in team strength, we do not hit the requisite speed on the down slopes.

We strain up each hill.

Our rests quicken, but our urgency to finish remains.

We are still giddy with the adventure of everything.

We make it to the designated gas station, rush in, hear our first southern accent, but become more obsessed with the savory richness of chocolate milk. The SWAGon arrives and tells us to meet them at an abandoned parking lot. The team celebrates, laughs, and rejoices in another day complete. We were beginning to grow closer. Rider portraits, small tidbits of documenting.

We dismantle our packs, pack them in the trailer, then we pack into the trailer. The car is filled with anecdotal musings. We entered the Susquehanna state park and set up our first camp site. This would be our most pleasant camping experience. We gathered wood, assembled the bikes, set up the tents, thwarted the bugs, ate together, and quietly stood around a fire.

Dreamers, We have completed 400 miles. There is a great deal of trust that comes with a week of riding. Since instituting a rotation with head navigator, we learned to accept each others personality traits, and trust the head navigator to lead us to our destination for the day. Any slight mishap could push us 10 to 20 miles too far west or east. We hit some brief bumps in Philadelphia, Baltimore, and enclosing darkness in a late night Fredricksburg, VA ride. Now that we are southwest bound from Richmond to Willamsburg, the going will be a tad bit easier (of course most of this is due to terrain, for our challenges continue to change from hills to temperature).

When working with a team, as we are now learning, you must learn everything you can about your teammates, how they eat, drink, and sleep. With close sleeping quarters and no where to run, we are forced to get to know each other, fortunately this is coming willingly from all Dream4TK members. We are preparing for our departure to Willamsburg tomorrow. I'll be talking to you again in North Carolina. Keep Dreaming,