WAH. SOMEBODY CALL THE WAH-MBULANCE

Wabasha, MN – St. Paul, MN. Distance 80 miles

Total distance covered through today: HECK IF I KNOW! A lot.

Miles ridden on my bike: All of them. AND THEN SOME.

It’s happy time, my friends! Yes! Today I slept in. In fact, mine was the last tent standing. The absolute last. I don’t need to start my days early. If I started any earlier, I would finish before I started. Because I am that fast. 

            It was supposed to be a difficult day today—we’d be doubling our mileage in order to make it into the twin cities early and grab an extra day. This is really bull-shit! Who rests!? WHO? When I rest, I cry. Because it means I am not crushing out on my bicycle.

Anyway, they told us it might be difficult. HA! Maybe for some old person! BUT NOT THIS (young) CHAMP. There were like two hills. They were like the tufts of bunnies’ tails. SOFT. AND FLUFFY. I devoured them like Pringles. OH. And there was a headwind, gusts of twenty-five to thirty mph. I laughed in that headwind’s face. Because that headwind had never met Liz Gerrity. No, sir, it did not know! It could not anticipate the bicycle mastery! The sheer crushery that would be! I rode so fast, the wind dissolved. Like Kool-Aid on my tongue.

           

            My first grievance—so tomorrow we aren’t even riding. We are not even getting on our bicycles! I average 33.2 mph on any given day. In any sort of terrain. Hills, mountains, oceans! I don’t even look for bridges. I literally ride across the water. Because my bicyclery defies physics and all sorts of laws of science. If a spry young chicken like myself does not bicycle each and every day—well, I won’t lie, it’s ugly. I twitch, I convulse. I tackle strangers. I am filled with youthful hormones and energies! WHY DOES THIS ENTIRE TRIP NOT CATER SPECIFICALLY TO ME!? RIDDLE ME THAT!

             I just don’t understand why we have to stop all the time. I mean, on this trip, we’ve seen all types of wonders of the world, such as Niagra Falls and Wal-Mart. This is unacceptable! A reporter asked me, “Liz. What is your greatest memory of this trip?” I punched him in the face. And then, standing over his pressed khaki pants, I shouted, “When you ride like Liz Gerrity, YOU DEVELOP AMNESISA!”

             I don’t want to see the vast greatnesses of America! I want to be in so much pain—such utter suffering!—that the only thing my addled brain can perceive is my Gatorskins tearing at the pavement. “I rode across America and looked at junk!” What kind of memory is that?! I would much prefer, “I CRUSHED ACROSS AMERICA LIKE A TWO-WHEELED DEMON.”

I will now take a moment to complain even more. Because nobody on this trip is sharing my exact experience and finding goodness and wholesome joy in it. Preposterous! I am the only one with hurty legs, or a sad, tired brain. Nobody else could possibly be sore, unrested, or stiff. Or else they would bitch about it as much as/more than me!

            We have four route leaders: Kathryn, Leigh, Alex Pearlman, and Geordie. Typically, (or, typically as of late) the boys take turns together and the girls do the same.

           

            They are so good. Why—they are too good. The mastery with which they complete their tasks astounds and baffles me. I feel like an inadequate human being compared to the pinnacles of their awesome. I will list things now:

            LEIGH: The way Leigh brings me packets of Kool-Aid is complete bull-shit. I cannot believe a person could be that nice. I am sure she is just full of it. FULL OF IT!

            KATHRYN: Kathryn drove and analyzed HER ENTIRE ROUTE in depth, of her own free will, on her spring break. What! Is she trying to make me look bad? She specifically did this amazing thing to bother and upset me. And not to be helpful and/or wonderful. You will never convince me otherwise. She taught me to read a map! But I am sure she taught me incorrectly so that she could follow me in the van and laugh as I became increasingly more separated from reality.

            ALEX PEARLMAN: Nobody can tell me that Alex Pearlman is trying to be a kind gentleman when he is letting me draft off of the Bike the US for MS van. FALSE. HE IS TRYING TO KILL ME. With rest and relaxation. THAT CONNIVING LITTLE MAN! Alex Pearlman is suave and excellent!  ALEX PEARLMAN IS A GEM.

            GEORDIE: Geordie might possibly be the worst of all. This man is the route leader MVP. He specifically calculates ways to one-up me in terms of preparedness and route mastery. I think that Geordie Dye lays awake at night, defining the possibilities of each day in exact proportions. Geordie makes coolers of crystal clear water appear with the snap of a finger. He drains 64 oz. Margaritas in one smooth sip! Who does that!?