Day 1. 17 Miles. Off the Road, Again.

A little under a year. The other side of the rona. Here I am. Once again Phife. I am just through Georgetown and out of DC — back on the Chesapeake & Ohio Trail. All of the C&O’s marvelous non-motorized, George Washington historied-glory up in my face after 9 hours of driving. Driving which involved not one but two accidentally-visited states.

It feels good to be back. This time is definitely this time. I’m pretty sure I’m not caught up in a time loop. It’s late evening instead of late morning as I pass Seven Locks. Same place. Same direction. Different time. Different perspective. I think about just copy and pasting the 2020 version of the blog entry just to see who paying attention enough to comment. Crickets. Maybe I’ll post that Michael Jackson popcorn meme graphic when no one comments on this entry. Back in the now, I hear crickets. And right now I’m baring witness to amazing sunset on our banks-of-the-Potomac campsite. Right now right now it’s actually frogs, not crickets. Right now right now right now and it’s probably cicadas. Hey. It ain’t sirens. It all sounds like vacation to me.

Rewind just a bit ago and a National Park Services volunteer is informing us that the Swain Lock hiker/biker site has no potable water. Plumbing problem. He’s rocking a super exuberant “I’m vaccinated” pin. Like this pin, for all its smiley face and science, is an extension of this survive covid and die of dehydration equation. I can’t take my eyes off it. I’m suddenly realizing that I’m equally likely to mock and likely to covet this god forsaken pin of his. The universe is telling me something. It’s a real crossroads in my life. I listen as he tells us about whatever and whatever and whatever. Chad and Kara take feigned interest and are digesting details. All I can do is tango dance with my conflict about this fucking pin.

Butt.

I’m just fucking around for effect. All that shit is bullshit man. I sac up and get through my feels and bid our friendly volunteer adieu and — my my my what a campsite, Johnny Gil!! 180 seconds later… We’re taking a dip in the Potomac and it is a cherry on top of what is a short riding day at the end of a long day dedicated to remote drop into DC. I reminisce about back in the day, way back when, back before we started pedaling. Back like three hours ago. You know, a throwback. I find this one star review on Google and it tells me all I need to know about my near future. About where I’m going in life. And, specifically what won’t be there with me, at least for the next week or so:

We eat our respective dinners. I grabbed a falafel back in Georgetown, in the before times. Before we started riding. It’s yum. We watch Sports, and you should too.

Fireflies are the only fly on my tent tonight. It’s still dumb out hot at 9pm. I’m in a brand new Fly Creek tent. It’s dope. Big Agnes should pay me for saying that; my shit ain’t for sale here. It’s comfy. It’s got a good couple storage spots. Most importantly it fits inside my pannier. I prefer that over rack top. I’m thinking too much about it so now I’m writing about it. I’m about to pass out. And then I do.

About tonycaferro

Entrepreneur, Citizen, Marketeer, Fire Fighter / EMT, Bicycle-Tourist, Booking Agent, Youth Mentor, Activist, Agitator, Coffee Addict, Foodie, Social Media Nerd, Amateur Film Critic, Son, Brother, Uncle & Rust Belt Representative. Follow me on Twitter @dtr45
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1 Response to Day 1. 17 Miles. Off the Road, Again.

  1. Anthony Grajeda says:

    I’m paying attention. Nice ass tats. Again.

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