Canada, eh?

I hate leaving Keuka Lake - it's like leaving home for college all over again. There is no place in the world where I feel more at home. Because of my dad's job, I've moved seven times in my lifetime. The one consistency in my family's life is vacationing at Keuka, where our family vacationed every year since I was born.

But our departure today was long overdue. After spending a week with family and friends; swimming, drinking beer, tasting wine, tossing cornbags and dealing cards, I couldn't ask for more.

The time I spent with my friends and family at the lake was irreplaceable. This year more than any other, I appreciated the little things, like drawing constellations in the star-filled sky, skipping stones in the still water and cooking a fajita dinner for the entire family with Chet and John.

Friends John and Adrienne joined Chet and I at the lake - Adrienne for three days, and John for six. There wasn't much room for a better possible roster of family and friends. There were a couple Keuka regulars that weren't present last week - my old friend Davis, who, for the first time in six years couldn't make the trip, and my Aunt Pat, who I missed seeing by one day.

As July 11th approached, I was more and more okay with leaving the lake, especially knowing that Chet and John were joining me.

John decided to tag along for a few dews on our bike trip when he agreed to drive us to Niagara Falls, Ontario. Johns car trailed dads car on the two-hour trip. My dad drove with my mom to Toronto, where my dad recently transferred on a promotion.

Chet and I kept a close eye on our bikes as they hung from a bike rack on my dads SUV on the drive to the falls, and all three of us kept close ears on the World Cup game on the radio. Spain verses Netherlands was a game not for Americans. Many Americans fell asleep due to the lack of goals, fights and cheerleaders. Usually, I'm one to appreciate a competitive soccer, but I admit, the lack of goals gave me the snores.

We reached Niagara Falls, New York in time to listen to Spain's overtime goal while we put together our bikes for a four mile ride into Canada. Chet and I crossed over the --- bridge where we got our first glance at Niagara Falls.

I've read tales and heard stories about the monstrous Niagara Falls, and I even imaged them on google. But I truly didn't understand the beauty of them until I saw them in person. The roaring thunder of the falls crashing onto the rocks from ## feet high signaled a slight vibration under my feet. The three of us grew excited about seeing the great falls from up close on the Maid of the Mist.

Before we could visit the falls, we had to find our night's shelter. Chet and I quickly reaped the benefits of having John and his car on our trip, as John was able to drive ahead to scope out prices of campsites and motels. When we couldn't find an affordable motel or campsite in the highly commercialized Niagara Falls, John saved the day and called his dad, who had hotel points saved. The three of us stayed at a Super 8 for free.

After dropping our luggage off at the motel room, we tracked back to the falls. On the way, we stopped at a car show in a grocery store parking lot. John has a deep fascination for American muscle cars, which the show had plenty of. As we walked from muscle car to muscle car we heard the thick Canadian accents of locals. The three of us got a good chuckle out of a lady who was trying to sell me my very own dream car - a 1973 Mercedes convertible for eight grand. "Eh, you'd look good in this car, don't you know," she said.

We finally managed to pull John away from the many cars that he declares he will purchase if he becomes a millionaire. The water falls were only minutes away from the auto show. As we neared, we saw lights peaking over the falls, and explosions. Coincidentally, every Tuesday and Sunday fireworks are lit from the water that the falls splash into. Thank God it's Sunday!

Appreciate the Unexpected

Lesson Learned: Living every day as it was the day before can lead a pilot to an abyss of boredom and regret. Don't let today and yesterday look the same, smell the same, hear the same or taste anyway similar.

While planning our bike tour, I desired most the absence of schedules. I often dream of freedom -the ability to not be suckered by consistency. I like to organize my own schedule. I do admit that I am spoiled. I live a very free life, and I know that there are millions of people who's lives are much less free than my own. But after being strapped into a strict college schedule of sports, classes and work, I am ready for a break. It felt like every day was the same. Looking back, I can't distinguish one day from the next.

Today was much different than yesterday. I began the day with expectations, and ended with confusion and question on how Chet and I were so fortunate to end the day the way we had.

There was one thing that we expected in the beginning of day six, which came true: we knew that we would ride a bus from Goshen, New York, to Binghamton.

Before we caught the bus in Goshen, Chet and I looked at the New York state map in a cafe, which we went to with Adrienne. We calculated the time we were capable of riding from when we were dropped off in Binghamton, to dusk; about four hours. We estimated the miles traveled and where we would end the day; 40 miles, in Waverly.

Nothing today went according to plan, which was why today was such a great day.

I left Adrienne with a kiss and a hug at the bus stop where Chet and I waited for our connecting bus that took us to Middletown. An older, homeless-looking man, mid-sixties, snuck past me to grab the last seat on the bench next to Chet. So, I stood.

As the homeless-looking man began lining up the eight beverages he had just boughten, I realized that there was something different about this man. With his sagged, dirty slacks, stain-filled collard shirt and nasty teeth, at first glance, he looked homeless. But when he began conversing with Chet and I, there was nothing about this man that I could assume.

"Do you fellas want a drink," he asked. "No thanks," I replied.

The man seemed hungry for conversation, so, he talked, and talked, and talked. We at first listened, then chuckled at his weird, obscure jokes, or sighed to his devastating life stories of being arrested a dozen times, getting diabetes, and losing his wife to divorce.

The man obviously had issues. In fact, he admitted to having issues. But he was seemingly and surprisingly optimistic about life. With a cigarette in between two fingers and a lineup of soda drinks, the man declared that he would live until we turned 90. "I'm gonna quit smoking next week," he claimed.

When the bus pulled up, Chet and I were hopeful to escape from this man. Up front he didn't seem all too dangerous, but after hearing his stories, we weren't completely confident of our own safety.

So, Chet and I planned to let him on the bus first, so we could first see where he sat, then we could know where not to sit. The man sat in the front; we passed him to sit in the back; he stood up and followed us to the back. There was no escaping this man.

For the 30-minute connection to Middletown he talked our ears off. When we stopped in Middletown, we finally escaped.

We had two more bus rides - to Montpellier, than to Binghamton. We met more interesting people on the rides and witnessed many interesting interactions. There was a war veteran who secretly drank beer in a seat behind us, and a talkative women in the seat across from the veteran. The talkative woman took the vet's offer for a beer.

Finally, we arrived in Binghamton, and we were happy to escape another shady upstate New York city.

We took many flat roads to Owego, where we began seeking sleeping locations. We turned down cemeteries and motels that we passed when out of the blue, a women shouted out her car window as we rode past, "where are you headed?" "Keuka Lake," we yelled back.

The women pulled out from the side street where we passed her, passed us, and pulled to the road's gravel shoulder. "Are you looking for a place to sleep tonight?" she asked. "Yeah," we replied. "Do you know of any places around here?"

She wore an American Red Cross shirt, and with the questions she asked, seemed incredibly kind. She was also curious. "I've always wanted to this," she said after we told her our journey. It didn't take her long to offer us a place to set up tent in her and her husband's backyard.

Chet and I looked at each other in disbelief. In all honesty, we aren't used to such civil kindness. To offer two strangers her backyard takes total human trust.

The women introduced herself as Renee. After Renee gave us directions back to her house, she said that her husband Brian had made homemade pizza, and that they were going to a bluegrass concert nearby after dinner. She then asked us of we wanted to join. "Of coarse!"

As Renee pulled away, Chet and I both smiled at the luck we had encountered.

Brian stood at the top of their driveway to greet us, and direct us to their laundry room where we washed our sweaty clothes. Thank God, I thought to myself as I took a giant wiff of my biking jersey.

I couldn't have been happier when Chet and I joined Brian and Renee at the dinner table. There waiting for us was a plate of homemade pizza, a can of Coors, and a glass of water.

Perfect, I thought to myself.

Halfway through dinner, Brian stood up from his seat to grab a jug. "Would you like some whiskey?" he asked. "Okay," I thought to myself. "Now this is perfect."

I couldn't help but think where Chet and I had been just 30 minutes before - on the road, smelling the death, and looking for food and shelter. Now, we felt like kings.

We quickly scarfed down dinner so that we could make it to the greater portion of the bluegrass concert. The concert was nothing like I expected; picnic benches were seat, children were climbing a jungle gym next to the pavilion where the band played, and the band members stood side-by-side, in front of their microphone, jamming. Chet and I sat listening to bluegrass, while drinking whiskey for a few songs, then joined Renee and some of her and Brian's friend's children who were playing frisbee. What a perfect evening.

We went back to Brian and Renee's and took refreshing showers. Brian had told us about his love for music and bluegrass, and then gave us a tour of his studio in his house where he recorded albums.

For the next hour, we stayed up talking to Brian and Renee about our bike trip and the bike trips they had been on. While Brian told us of their many adventures, I could hear the excitement in his tone, and I was pleased. Throughout our trip we shared the story of our journey to many people. Many of those people told us that this was the only time in our life to take such a trip. Here was Brian and Renee, both almost as old as our parents, telling us of their recent adventures to Montana. I am hopeful hat I can have similar stories as they.

Day 5: Sleeping with the Dead

Starting Point: Newburgh, New York

Ending Point: Goshen, New York

Distance Traveled: 30 miles

A Super 8 motel has never felt so luxurious. After a half a day’s sleep, Chet and I woke up at the crack of 10 to begin the day; but not the bike ride.

The night before, Chet and I discussed our willingness to take out time with the rest of our journey. Days before, we caught ourselves stressing about the miles traveled, and reaching Keuka Lake on June 3^rd. But we went back to the roots of our bike trip; to be on our own, to live life stress-free, and to appreciate the little things. If we can’t make it to Keuka on the third by bike, we can by other modes of transportation.

Today we found ourselves in a true state of stress, and mental toughness. The late start to our day’s bike ride was delayed further when I heard a leak in my tire tube. A quick tube change and we were on the road for about an hour before Chet felt a stutter in his pedal. When he checked his bike he found that his chain was on the verge of broken.

Our day’s ride was in danger of being extinct, until three men, across the street from where Chet’s bike broke down, offered a ride to the nearest bike shop – a five mile back-track from where we were.

The man who drove us had a deep, New York accent, and was big and bald. At first glance, he was a bit intimidating. But as we hopped in his pick-up truck, he greeted us with a firm handshake and a light-hearted joke. The man decorated his dashboard with a statue of Mother Mary, which put me in a comfortable state of safety. Questions were exchanged, and so were many answers that truly defined who this man was. He had retired a few years back, and was living on the last bit of his retirement fund. He continued to do “small projects” with lawn and construction businesses since retiring to survive. His open personality furthered the conversation to his divorce. “I’m sorry to hear that,” I replied, in an attempt to disrupt a long silence. “Haha, nahh, I’m happy,” he quickly responded. Now I can get all the toys that I want.” By “toys” he meant a Harley Davidson motorcycle.

Lesson Learned: Life has some difficult moments. To survive, I can’t drown in my own tears. There is something great that can come from every bad experience.

So, the man gave us a lift to the bike shop. We unloaded the bikes from the truck that followed the one we rode in, and escorted the bikes to inside the shop. My chain was on its last miles, so Chet and I both bought new chains. The two men who worked the shop were very helpful. They charged us for the chain, but dropped the maintenance fees.

With new chains, Chet and I were finally underway at 2:30. In just over three hours, we biked over 20 miles to Goshen. It was there were we made the strategic plan to catch an early bus to Binghamton in the morning.

I think this was the smart, realistic decision that will give us a chance to make it to Keuka Lake by the third. Keuka is roughly 250 miles from Goshen – 150 miles of which are hills. For the sake of time and money, we will take a bus to Binghamton.

The post-bike ride on day five couldn’t have been more perfect. I had looked at a map at the motel on day four and realized the short distance from Goshen to Chestnut Ridge, New York, where Adrienne lives. There is nothing that makes me happier than when I see Adrienne. Adrienne is one of those people who I feel completely comfortable being my crazy self around. We make each other happy.

Adrienne made the trip to Goshen and joined us for beers at a local Goshen bar, and was convinced to stay the night with us; in our tent, under the stars and on top of Belderly. Belderly is the name of a man who died in the early 20^th century. We set up tent on the top of his dead body at Slate Hill Cemetery. Throughout the windy night, I anticipated Belderly’s fleshless hand breaking through soil and reaching at the three of our feet. Thankfully, Belderly didn’t mind. I think he enjoyed our company as Chet and I enjoyed Adrienne’s company on day five.

Day 4: Goodbye See-Tee, Hello En-Why

Starting Point: New Milford, Connecticut

Ending Point: Newburgh, New York

Distance Traveled: 65 miles

The Great state of New York welcomed two cowboys with flat roads and blue skies – just what the doctor ordered for day four.

Chet and I were very unoptimistic before the ride this morning. Both of us made the assumption that the roads ahead were uphill. But the two of us were wrong, again. About 10 miles of empty, Connecticut roads took us to a downhill. At the bottom was a sign that read “Welcome to the Empire State.”

Passing state lines is such an accomplished feeling. Each of the fifty-nifty, beautiful united States are so large and unique – even Connecticut. Entering into New York meant that Chet and I could throw out one dirty, damp map and take out a fresh one. New York is the last state we travel before our first destination – the beautiful Keuka Lake.

After New York greeted us, we biked 10 miles before our first uphill of the day. The slant was long and gradual, but we conquered, thanks to a filling breakfast at American Pie, a restaurant recommended by a local. Also, Chet and I enjoyed a good eight-hour, good night sleep, lakeside on Candlewood Shores.

Chet and I enjoyed a New York-style lunch at a pizzeria, which energized us for the ride on route 55, through the valley of New York state mountains. At the pizzeria, I discussed the comparison of New York state pizza to Chicago, and authentic Italian pizza with the restaurant manager. He argued that New York-style pizza is the best pizza in the world – better than Italy’s. I disagree.

Everything seemed to go right on day four. We ran into zero bike problems, and biked many site-seeing miles. Our goal was to pass the Hudson River, in Beacon, New York, which we did in the early evening. Crossing the Newburgh Beacon Bridge over the Hudson, to route 17, the route that will take us to Keuka, rewarded us with our most accomplished feeling yet. Plus, the view from the bridge was breathe-taking. We saw steeple tops that outgrew the mountain’s trees, hundreds of houses on hills that all shared similar spectacular views of the river below us. Sailboats and big boats, speed boats and small boats crowded the distant water.

Lesson Learned: Take time to appreciate every beautiful image that surrounds us. We aren’t trying to beat any times; we are on the pursuit to pause time.

With the day’s hard work, Chet and I treated ourselves to a Denny’s dinner and a night stay at a Super 8 motel in Newburgh, New York. The thought behind our decision to stay at a motel was to reward ourselves, and to also protect ourselves. People don’t scare me as much as the powers of Mother Nature or the hunger of a wild beast, but the city of Newburgh is the city with the highest crime rate in the state. Chet and I wanted to play it safe.

The night’s stay at the motel provided us with a nice, warm shower and two large, soft beds. I’ve never appreciated either so much.

Day 3: I Can't Get Up

Starting Point: Middletown, Connecticut

Starting Biking Point: Southbury, Connecticut

Ending Point: New Milford, Connecticut

Distance Traveled: 25 miles

This morning I woke up to Chet’s alarm clock and the pounding hangover headache.

Lesson Learned: Don’t heavily drink the night before a ride.

Thankfully, Stephanie was generous enough to cook us some eggo waffles, which along with ice-cold bottle water, momentarily stopped the pounding in my head.

Chet too was hung over, so, we were happy when Stephanie offered us a ride to Southburg, Connecticut. After Stephanie dropped us off, Chet and I regrouped for an hour with some Dunkin Donuts egg wraps and orange juice in an attempt to cure the hangover. The hangover weakened our legs and slowed our minds. Ten miles into our ride and we missed a turn for 167 North. Chet and I looked at the map and decided against backtracking, and instead, taking a back road that was not highlighted on the map. We thought that this back road would be a “shortcut” that would take us back to 167 North in a half an hour.

Two hours, 20 steep hills and a gallon of sweat later, us cowboys finally reached 167, feeling stupid, and worn down. Our legs were unwilling to move and our minds were unable to motivate the body.

Lesson Learned: Don’t take roads that aren’t highlighted on our maps. The highlighted routes are recommended for bikers. The routes that aren’t highlighted can be in unforgivably hilly or dangerously busy.

The “shortcut” wasn’t all bad news. When I wasn’t huffin’ and puffin’ I was admiring the beautiful views of endless fields and infinite farms that homed horses, cows, lamas and chickens. The farm land hugged the open road.

Another positive of the seemingly endless “shortcut” was the steep downhill that followed the 20 up-hills. It was on this hill that Chet and I reached our top speed of 38 miles per hour. Biking at 38 miles per hour is an exhilarating feeling. I kept my eyes finely focused on the road ahead of me as my peripherals caught the trees whizzing by. I knew that with one bump or swerve I could be horribly injured, or possibly dead. But we survived. Chet and I took a long nap under a beautiful tree after a lunch at a market. With long arms, the tree took the shape of an umbrella, which was useful to the two of us when rain fell from the sky.

Chet and I woke up from the two-hour nap at 3:30, and went on to bike 15 more miles to an elementary school in New Milford, Connecticut close to the tip of Candlewood Shores. As we searched for soft ground to sleep on in the backyard of the school, a kind man suggested we sleep in the park by the beach of the lake. Chet and I found his suggestion very useful. We took a refreshing dip in the lake and then set up the tent lake-side.

Chet and I were a bit bummed about the lack of miles traveled on day three, but we went to sleep optimistic about day four.

Day 2: Maturity in the Mountains

Starting Point: Greenville, Connecticut

Ending Point: Middletown, Connecticut

Distance Traveled: 55 miles

Day two was a day in which this young biker matured. After a long and problematic day one, which ended in a short night sleep, Chet and I woke up at 6:00 a.m. to get an early start on day two.

The day before, some locals told us of a bike shop in Norwich, so Chet and I hunted down the shop only to find that it was closed. Stupid us!

Lesson Learned: Most bike shops are closed on Sundays. When we need supplies, we should plan ahead to find a bike shop on Friday or Saturday.

As much as I hate shopping at Walmart, Chet and I resorted to the superstore in hope to find spare tubes for Chet’s tires, and a pump. We went into Walmart with our fingers crossed, and left with a Schwinn Pump and two spare tubes.

Chet and I getting lucky at Walmart set the trend for the day. After day one, Chet and I thought we’d be sore and restless. Instead, we were energized, sore-less and most importantly, prepared. Being prepared saved time, and being both mentally and physically energized was what got us up a dozen hills on a 50-mile day.

One hill always followed the next, but Chet and I kept peddling. As I pushed up the hills my body flooded sweat into my clothes, but I kept a strong mentality. When we saw a distant hill on day one, we would yell profanity at the hill like it was our most hated enemy. On day two, we greeted each hill with the mindset of conquering it.

What also helped on day two was that we were biking to a destination. An old friend from Naperville, Illinois, Stephanie, invited us to stay at her and her boyfriend’s apartment in Middletown, Connecticut. After a long two days of biking, it felt great to be indoors, take a shower, and get resituated. It was also great to see Stephanie and meet Phil.

The best part about this trip is being able to see people I wouldn’t have otherwise seen. Meeting so many unique, kind and happy people is what really makes this adventure so great. Six years have gone by since I last saw Stephanie, and without this trip, it could have been a lifetime. It’s crazy how this world works. Stephanie was surfing Facebook, and saw my name under “reconnect with old friends.” At my page, Stephanie found that I was going to pass through Connecticut on a biking adventure. Stephanie and Phil invited us to stay with them for a night.

We arrived at their apartment, where we took a much-needed shower to wash away our sweaty stench. Stephanie then took us out to dinner at Eli Cannons, a dark bar/restaurant with a menu full of finger food and beer. I nearly swallowed a burger full. After Eli Cannons, Stephanie brought us to a five-star bed and breakfast where Phil works. The bed and breakfast has a restaurant and bar where Stephanie guaranteed us free drinks for the night. Chet and I felt like kings, ordering 12 dollar beers and top-shelf liquor. Phil also surprised us with chocolate-covered strawberries, and Jameson whiskey, then gave us a tour of the kitchen. Great people, delicious food and tasty drinks made for a hell of a night that was capped at 1:00 a.m., when Stephanie, Phil, Chet and I took a dip in their apartment pool.

Stephanie and Phil were so nice to have had us over and spoil us with drinks, food, and a place to sleep. Keeping in touch with Stephanie and Phil will give me a chance to repay them for their hospitality.

Lesson Learned: Make an effort to keep in touch with friends, and meet new ones. There are so many benefits that come from having good friends. A friend that I reconnect with can be one that I keep in touch with forever.

Day 1: A Hard Fought Fight

Starting Point: Point Judith, Rhode Island

Ending Point: Greenville, Connecticut

Total Miles Traveled: 45

My 6:00 a.m. alarm sounded and a sudden burst of energy streamed my veins. Chet’s alarm echoed mine, and as we greeted each other in the hallway, the smile muscles in my face took over from excitement. Finally, after a year of preparing, saving, and dreaming, our biking adventure began.

Chet’s mom graciously drove us to Point Judith, Rhode Island from Chet’s house in Providence. On the way we passed Women and Infants Hospital, coincidentally, the birthplace of both Chet and I.

We reached Point Judith at 8:00, and after a couple of technical difficulties pertaining to my Panniers and the rear rack, we departed at 9:00. Since my Raliegh bike is a road, racing bike, it isn’t built for luggage, and the rear rack is tilted backwards. This is a problem because my Panniers tilted the same way, and would curve inward towards the wheel, and would bump the spokes. This problem was momentarily solved with bungee chords and duct tape, but I see this being a problem that I will be dealing with for the duration of the trip.

My problems with the back half of my bike continued in the first hour of our trip. I wanted to pump up my tire to the recommended air pressure, but couldn’t. I made a terrible purchase the day before on a hand pump, which couldn’t fill a dodge ball with air, let alone a bike tire.

Lesson Learned: I should have tested out the hand pump before I bought it. I spent 30 damn dollars on this piece of trash. To save money on this trip, Chet and I need to test out the gear before a purchase.

Despite the high-level frustrations towards the many technical difficulties of the bike, I was happy with the way Chet and I problem-solved to fix the problems. We also relied on a bit of luck. A generous guy driving a Volkswagon stopped his car to help pump up my tire.

As one problem was fixed, another problem always seemed to surface on day one. After escaping Point Judith, Chet and I missed a turn that would keep us on route 138, into Connecticut. The road we stayed on took us five miles out of the way.

Lesson Learned: We should expect errors, and we should think positively when we submit to mistakes. Five miles out of the way is only a half an inch on a map. We shouldn’t panic.

Chet and I found a designated route that led us back to route 138. On the way, we grew nervous of potential problems; Chet with his lack of spare tubes for his tires, and me with not having enough air in my tires, and not having a proper pump for putting air in my tubes. Thankfully, we got lucky… again.

We were riding on a back road that took us back to route 138. The stresses distracted us of the beautiful view of the trees that tunneled the road. But we sparingly stopped to appreciate our surroundings. I also stopped to get some much-needed assistance. As we passed a house on a hill, I spotted a group of young guys playing driveway basketball. So, I yelled: “Yall know who’s winning the World Cup game?” At the time, U.S. was playing Ghana, and as we learned, the U.S. lost 2-1. Usually, I would soak in my own sorrow if I heard such news, but I had greater problems to attend to. It turned out that the guys were celebrating a graduation. A group of family and friends were grilling in the backyard, and eating in the garage. As I approached the guys, the house owner, the dad of the high school graduate, greeted us with a question: “Do you need some help?” The man was beyond helpful, and surprisingly nice. He provided as with ice-cold bottled water, air in our tires, and directions back to 138.

With their help, Chet and I got back to 138. We fought many more hills, but appreciated many more scenic views of farm land and forestry. To reward ourselves, we bought some of the most delicious ice cream that either of us of tasted from Buttonwoods Dairy Farm.

Two scoops of cookie dough ice cream fulfilled my appetite and gave me a boost up a few more hills, to a Baptist Church, where Chet and I set up our tent for the first time. Originally, we wanted to carry a store-bought tent with pulls and stakes, but Chet had the idea to ditch the tent for two tarps for the purpose of getting rid of weight to ride hills easier. At first, I disagreed with Chet’s decisions, but after climbing the many hills today, and then seeing how well we set up the two tarps, I was more than content with the two tarps. It’s amazing what two tarps, a ten-foot string and four bungee chords can do. With our self-made tent, Chet and I were sheltered from the rain, and were able to cook a filling chilly dinner. Mmmmm.

A short swig of whiskey warmed our bodies, and helped us fall asleep to the neglect of our 1,000 new critter friends who joined us for our first night’s sleep.

I know that it's a good day when I see both Scotland, and Davis

It had been nearly 24 hours since I last rested my eyelids, but somehow, the spirits of Scotland and the presence of Davis granted me a second wind.
Davis was nice enough to wake up bright and early to meet my mom and I at the Edinburgh Airport, where the three of us took a red, double-decker bus from the airport to the train station.
Seeing the old, stone buildings, churches, houses and castle on our drive to the station was only a preview for a trip we will take later in the week.
An hour train ride dumped us in St. Andrews, where a taxi driver, with the thickest of Scottish accents shuffled us to Hebburn Gardens - a bed and breakfast where my mom was going to sleep for the week. Hebburn was perfectly placed at the end of a long, pebbled driveway, walled by high, green bushes.
Davis said that we could walk from the bed and breakfast to his flat. I was completely unaware of how small St. Andrews really was. With only three main streets parallel to each other, St. Andrews can be walked in an hours time. I wouldn't be surprised if Tiger Woods could hit a golf ball across the small town.
After meeting two of Davis's four roommates, Quinton and Skyler, and then dropping off my luggage in Davis's family room, Davis led us on a walk through the pretty town.
The first place that I wanted to see in Scotland was the Old Course, where the great game of golf was invented. So, after a beer and some pasta at 1 Golf Place, a pub chipping distance away from the St. Andrew Club House, Davis, my mom and I walked to one of the most breathe-taking images in the world - the 18th fairway and green at the Old Course.
Bleachers surrounded the 18th hole where thousands of fans will be sitting on July 14, to watch this year's British Open.
It's odd being able to walk right up to the course (I was literally 10 yards from the green, where a foursome just chipped onto the green from the fairway). Most prestige golf courses, like St. Andrews would fense in their courses to restrict pedestrians from waring down the fairways and greens. St. Andrews encourages spectators by interrupting the 18th fairway with a public path that anyone can walk on. When the three of us walked through, a golfer's line-drive approach shot sliced towards our heads. Fortunately, we dodged the shot that would have put a large dent in one of our heads - close call!


"

Live From Scotland!

After six hours of a dark, sleepless plan ride, my mom, sitting next to me, opened one of the airplane's eyelids to the sunshine of Scotland. My squinted eyes bubbled to the beauty.
three-thousand feet below the plane, and as far as the horizon was uninterrupted green. A truly remarkable sight!
I stared down the dozens of shades of green that don't even exist to Crayola Crayons.
A light shade of green blanketed the countless mountains, while dark green forests patched the landscape. Dots of white sheep sprinkled the mountains.
The endless sea of green was the first indication that we had traveled long and far.

Living Simple

This entry was written on June 11th.

Do I really need this?
This simple question never seemed so difficult as it did today, when I began moving out of the house in Greensboro.
While packing my belongings, this question pounded my brain. For my life's next chapter I want to carry a smaller load. To do so, I needed to get rid of some extra baggage. I threw away some of my oldest, worthless, but priceless artifacts that once served a great purpose, but now are aged, damaged, and overgrown. I donated two-and-a-half garbage bags of clothes to Goodwill. These were the clothes that once covered my back, my feet and legs, but now are too small to cover my bellybutton, ankles and heals. They will now become someone else's clothes.
I got rid of the pit-stained undershirts, the unmatching shoes and the swiss cheese socks. But I donated the middle school hand-me-downs, the ripped, button-less pants, and out-of-style sweaters.
The point in this donation was that I need to get used to the minimum - both in life, and on this bike trip. In both occasions, I have to be prepared for the worst. If I fail to find a paying job after this trip, I will need to survive without things that I have never lived without. Similarly, if Chet and my camp gear is lost or damaged, and we can't find a camping store before nightfall, we will have to become as comfortable as possible with what we have.

Celebration and Preparation

The humid summer morning breeze seeks through my open window where my head rests. The breeze on this Monday morning carries a flavorful smell that satisfies my nostrils and rumbles my empty stomach. The smell is grilled charcoal, which on the last Monday of May, can only mean one thing: a Memorial Day celebration.
As I honor the men and women who died for our country, I count down the prescious days before Chet and I jump on our bicycle saddles for the 3,000 mile Eastern American / Canadian Tour. We depart from Point Judith Rhode Island in 26 days. The tricky part is that I have to be completely prepared for the trip in the next 12 days.
Before Chet and I depart on our American / Canadian bike tour, my mom is treating me to an adventure outside the United States, to United Kingdom's St. Andrews, Scotland to visit Davis, my friend of 15 years. Davis is graduating from St. Andrews at the end of June, which means that this trip is our last chance to fulfill our agreement to visit Davis at St. Andrews. I am excited for this trip for many reasons; I get to see beautiful Scotland, I am able to spend time with my mom, and most importantly, I get to hang out with Davis. Also, because my mom and I fly out of Newark National Aiport, I made plans to drive up on the 11th to see my sister Lindsay and her husband Kyle in their new home in Ambler, Pennsylvania.
Not one hour of my life between graduation and June 11th has gone by without thinking, planning or dreaming about Scotland or the bike trip. As much as I am eager to witness the Scottish culture, and curious to ride the open roads in 14 states and two countries, I am nervous for the short time to prepare.
There is a laundry list of things to complete, equipment to buy and people to talk to between now and the 11th. First and foremost, I have to make sure that I have enough money to finance the bike trip. After talking to experienced bikers, reading other bikers' blogs, and making our own calculations, Chet and I estimate that we will need to save $1,500 for our trip. By working at Jimmy Johns for the past year, I am financially prepared.
I also need all the necessary equipment. With the help from our dads, who both are experienced bikers, Chet and I put together an equipment list. All that is left for me to buy is a storage rack, bags for the rack, and a sleeping bag and pad.
Because I am leaving two months prior to the end of the lease on our house, which I rent with Chet, and my other college friends Jeff and Alec, I need to move out completely before the 11th. This is a project that I will start in the next couple days.
Lastly, and most importantly, I need to get my big ol' butt on the bicycle saddle and get my rear in shape. I have biked sparringly this summer. Because I've been working so much, I haven't had time for long bike rides. Between now and the 11th I need to bike more. Chet and I plan to average 50 miles per day on the trip. Chet nor I have biked this distance. Biking between now and the 11th will put us in greater shape, and will allow us to gain a better understanding for bike maintainance.
I have learned that setting personal goals pushes me to accomplish what I need to get done. By June 3rd, my goals are to have all the necessary equipment to begin the bike trip, bike at least one 20+ mile ride, and pack all my belongings in boxes for my move-out day.

An adventure of a lifetime

One month separates this beautiful day and the day my college friend Chet and I depart on an adventure of a lifetime. On June 25, Chet and myself will trade our cars for bikes, mattresses for sleeping bags and computers for maps. We will ride over 3,000 miles on bicycles, (equivalent to riding from New York City to Los Angeles) through 14 U.S. states and two countries. The starting point is Point Judith, Rhode Island, and the final destination is home, here in Greensboro, North Carolina. Between Point Judith and Greensboro we will touch land in Connecticut, New York, Pennsylvania, Ontario, Canada, Michigan, Indiana, Illinois, Missouri, Kentucky, Tennessee, Alabama, Georgia, South Carolina and North Carolina. With packs on our backs, pedals under our feet and ambition in our blood, Chet and myself will greet the open road for four straight months.

People say that there is no better time than after college for an adventure. What they are saying is; before we enslave ourselves to society until we grow old and wrinkle, we should escape on an adventure that we would always remember.

After a young scholar is handed his/her diploma, society greets the scholar with a firm handshake before it shoves the scholar in a spontaneous direction. The weakest scholar will fall face-first to the ground while the strongest scholar will use the push as a way of gaining speed and momentum to fulfill the ultimate goal of any young adult: Independence.

When I received my diploma in early May, society was their to greet me. Instead of shaking society's hand I avoided the greeting altogether. I want to map out my own spontaneous directions. Sure, finding a job right after college is ideal. But, before a job I search for a path of nothingness. This path of nothingness is not a road to loneliness, but a path which I can fill with anything that I want to fill it with. I want to see things that will change my idea of beauty; touch things that I've never felt; listen to people that I've never conversed with; and taste food that I've never heard of - all while smelling the different flowers along the way.

By the end of this adventure I will meet the inevitable. I expect society to be waiting for me with a shake and a shove. My hope is that this adventure will prepare me for the shove. If I can bike 3,000 miles, spend four months sleeping in a tent, prepare countless meals on limited supplies, all while keeping a stringent budget, then I can accomplish any obstacle that life throws my way.