Hoping for a Tail Wind

Strangely, half the nation fears the word socialism. But if you really wanna provoke insanity amongst many — especially the farthest-goofiest versions of extreme progressivism or conservatism in this nation? Use the word COMMUNISM. It scares the gosh darn be-jeezuz (more on him later) out of all of them. Reveals the absurdist attitude surrounding non dialectic discussion, no matter how many sides or parties there may be. Absurd. Ok. Deep breathes.

A moment for some next level McCarthy malarkey. I’ll testify before the committee. Scary colors. Shoutout to Eugene V Debs. Lemme let you in on a little secret. My legs are communist. AF. Card holding, party affiliated fuckers. Well ok. Actually, they specifically are a communist state. Together. My whole body is. Not a communist state as in the former Soviet Union or China. Like in actual Marxist thought — a stage of socioeconomic development. The both of them. Smell what I’m stepping? Together working as one and shit. My butt is obviously in on the crew too, let’s leave that behind for this one. Puns. My legs though. Communist state. And really now that I’m thinking about it, I mean it in both senses of the word: state and State. General intellect. These legs, they are workers, toiling on behalf of the state of me. Myself. I. My body is the commune. Look at me, over here communing. Back on Highway 17. Eh. Miles.

Timespace travel our Royal collective ass back to me pushing my luck this morning. Two cups of coffee. It’s tasty. I’m dehydrated. Don and I chat, hes gonna think about an Erie Canal ride that I’d be able to help him out with, I’m psyched for that. Trains. Parking space. Place to sleep. He got his brother hooked on long rides. I still haven’t decided on my route going forward — pushing that to the last minute. I make one good decision though, 18 miles in I stop at the good old Hampstead, NC United States Postal Service — a cadre of comrades if I have ever seen one. Seventeen US dollars later and I’m six and quarter pounds lighter. This must be subsidized at those rates. It was all crap I really didn’t need and/or wasn’t using: GoPro, unfinished reading material, a couple articles of unneeded clothing, bike reassembly tools, some other little things. I consider this a win and push on to… Jacksonville? Yup. Wait. Rewind to about 5 minutes ago, the postal counter clerk agreeing that every pound matters on a bicycle. She asks where I started. “Jacksonville”. “You mean Florida, right? Because our Jacksonville ain’t that far.” Oh yeah, good catch. There’s a Jacksonville NC somewhere between her and the decision intersection on my map. Left turn right turn. This clerk and her federal pension is all like “ours ain’t that far” and I wonder if she’d make one the 35 fully loaded miles I’ve got in front of me. Twenty bucks says nah.

My physical form, it works, it functions as intended; doing what it do – even with as much allowed atrophy over this past winter. A of it as a whole shares the means of production, right down to the capillaries perfusing as they do. I start to get deep into my mind and… woo. These motherfucking legs though! Hot damn. Make you wanna slap your lover with a sickle and mc hammer over here. Let’s get it started. The left one is the kick stand at stops. The right is the initial pushoff, sort of like a Trotsky kinda cardiac sinoatrial node for my legs. Figure that one out, Diego Rivera. Read more books.

This circle k is different. First, because it’s a shell. Second because military helicopters are everywhere overhead. Blackhawk up. Left right. Is this cadence or a contra code? Select start. Ah, it’s the marine Corp base at camp lejeune. Can’t go through anymore. Not even on bike. lejeune? Hmm sounds French. Communes. Shoutout to Ernesto Che Guevara. I’m waiting like forever at this red light. Whole line off marines. Waiting to turn left. Whoa. Convoy. Carpooling in humvees, they stare me down. Like all six in each, somehow I know they see me. It’s creepy. I’m waiting for one to pop out the top hatch. Hopefully it would be a water gun. Or frickin lasers. Imma just keep pedaling and paying my taxes. Jacksonville NC is the city for all the bases around. Lots of memorials. Cemeteries. A sheriff passes me slow but mega close. Maybe to show off his “in god we trust” phrasing that’s above “sheriff” on the back hatch window of suburu sport utility whatever. Gotta love good old separation of church and state. Those old white slave-owning atheists are turning in their graves. Or are they?

It is the end of exploited labor. My legs get breaks. Union breaks, as in they both get to take off at the same time. It makes them happier to do what they do and better at it. They get closer with the entire commune this way. Shoutout to Fred Hampton and his Rainbow Coalition. These legs help each other out. My left hamstring starts acting up somewhere on Highway 17 and my right leg picks ups the extra pushing for a few miles. Really solidarity in these fuckers.

Judgment day comes and my plan works. All I do is push it off and push it off and eventually I’ve pushed so far that I’m one day ahead of schedule again and take the long, windy way. Toward the outer banks we go. Eastbound!

My legs. They don’t believe in a higher power. They are a higher power. They get me where i need to go even on Friday and Saturday and Sunday. No holidays needed, they are Gods, the each of them. Eaching away. Right turn! It’s thankfully my last real stretch on 17 and there’s something I been had been having on my mind. Let’s talk about nails. Obviously, Christ got ‘em right in his hands and feet for like maybe up to three days max. But yo, I got ‘em in the shoulder. Repeatedly. All day, every day. 9 and a half days of this. Left and right. I gave up counting on my first full day – I’d guess it’s consistently been hundreds of nails per day… plus screws. I shit you not. More than anywhere. Even around Easter. I’m riding, it’s quiet enough so I decide to look down and over a couple minutes of counting I always see 2 or 3 of them. Then extrapolate por favor. And that is what I SEE.. when I’m looking at the ground three feet in front of me and not at vehicular traffic nor pedestrians nor surrounds nor scenery. Long ones. Short one. Rusty ones. Shiny newbies. Most on their side, some straight up. The shoulder is screwed too. One day there were entire boxes of construction decking screws splashed open in my way. Probably like fifty dollars worth. Pedal right over and hold my breath. Yeah that’ll make it work. Today seems worse than most. I pray to the spokes gods.

An 80 plus mile day in the sun and swirling winds finds me pulling up to the USFS campground in Cedar Point. Oh shit did i teleport to Cleveland already and miss the whole thing? Nah. Cedar Point North Carolina. The campground host tells me he has one site left. It’s a shared site. How fittingly socialist. 19b. Nope it’s capitalism. No free access to articles of consumption of here. Im consuming time I suppose. Fascists. The host, he looks like a Frank. Frank eyes me and says, “we get more than a few of you comin’ through”. “Yeah I bet”. Apparently my predecessor haves inquired about showers in the past, Fred says “Well I know y’all love to shower, we’ve hit showers over there…”. In my head I wonder who doesn’t shower. But hey to each their own. Over to 19b. My campsite comrade is one Baldhead Bob. His name is Bob and he is ballheaded as fuck. He’s got a little foofy lap dog. I miss the dogs name because it’s yapping at me. Whatever. I actually pay him. What are. Here’s your cash, Bob. I got a shower to enjoy and ramen to nom. It’s bomb. Both of em. The palace pops up. My devices get charging and the adventure adrenaline kicks in… no.. no it doesn’t.

My legs. They don’t need money. They need electrolytes in their utopian state. I stretch them more and more. Mandate. Is it rest or work for these working legs. When it’s rough standing up out of a crouch, they kick in. Sometimes taking turns. Thank you legs, you courageous commies, I most definitely could not do this without you.

Imagine me, two wheeled in a reboot of the reboot of High Fidelity, breaking however many walls there are left now…. Setting a playlist aside for the sake of returning to listening to an entire album is sometimes needed on these long ass rides. More than run on sentences at least. One song off the 8 hour shuffled playlist I drafted continuously comes up – off Blackalicious’s 2002 album Blazing Arrow. So I hit play on the entire Broken Arrow album. Album. It sets the tone perfectly on both the easiest and hardest days. For the uninitiated, the lead “vocalist” in that “group” — code for “one MC in a hip hop duo” — is the late great Timothy Jerome Parker, aka Gift of Gab. He lives up to his name. I’ve brought him to Buffalo several times and and happy I met the guy before he passed at age 50 of what his Wikipedia says is “natural causes”. End John Cuseck adaptation. I digress. The song Make You Feel The Way provides some of Gift’s most poignant and positive poetry:

“Up and early for the hope of a brand new day
See a homie you ain’t seen since back in the day
Fresh haircut fitted with a fat-ass fade
End of work, we chilling on a Saturday
How you felt when you first heard the Daddy Kane
Rakim, KRS – hey I had that tape
Cooling out with ol’ girl on a fat-ass date
Find a hundred dollar bill wow man that’s great
Get promoted at your job up to management
Plot a long time finally a plan has made it
Sometimes I feel I wanna shout, man it’s real that way
When I think of things that make you feel that way”

Up and early for the hope of— ah fuck, fuckity fuck… my head is pounding. Throbbing. So bad I can’t even type exclamation points because even reading anything emphatic is just too much. Like I went out and got rowdy with the locals last night or something. Nope, just didn’t get enough water into me yesterday and now I’m paying the piper. It really does feel just like an actual hangover though. The town looked like it was gonna get its Saturday groove on last night; I didn’t leave the room once upon checkin. Yuck. My head is all go hammer go hammer go. There’s been zero beers for me for a while now and I’ve replaced it with more coffee lately. Last night I tried a double brew room machine decaf thinking it wouldn’t hurt. It hurts. I’d be more hydrated if I was out drinking beers, though I’d probably have the Carolina chlamydia or been punched in the face or something right now if I had. Anyhoo. I’m like ok. Get up. Eat something Free breakfast. It’s meh. Like really meh. I swipe a couple bananas. Despise the “free”hotel breakfast. It’s not free. I like free breakfast programs. Socialists cook better. Chef it up comrades. This is crap. Profit margin bullshit. I shower and it doesn’t help. Pound pound pound. Dogg Pound Gangsta, DPG. Kilograms please so there can be no more pounds. I’ve got to check my coffee intake. I contain myself to a Jack White-esque one more cup of coffee for the road, pull myself together, pack up and mosey on out.

I’m in “The Carolinas” as the signs tell me. Better roads. Worse drivers, maybe? I think they call themselves this in the middle and then neither North or South likes them helps them out. Or maybe the other way around, either way it’s some bizzaro middle world. Morning clouds and even some rain sprinkles give way to abundant sunshine. My mind is on mindfulness. Or am I just being mindful. I don’t mind. Vultures buzz around a deer carcass. They gotta eat too. In the world where I can only plan things two to three days ahead, I’ve got to make a choice coming up about taking the Outer Bank Alternate route or not. It’s a lot to ponder. The main route offers a lot, including at least a day less and way less volatile winds. But butt butte. OBX. I push my decision off and pedal on.

“Christmas Day when your mama got your first bike
Type of feeling when you went and won your first fight
How your team felt winning championship games
Celebrate in a huddle dancing in this rain
Have a thought see a shooting star cross your screen
Put in hard work finally you’re living your dream
Deaf man get his hearing now in come vibes
Blind man gain his sight see his first sunrise
Young man speaking out, now he’s loud and clear
Birthin’ your child, smile so proud you wear
Going in your third eye for the styles you hear
Making music that’ll bump for a thousand years
Eating right feeling conscious like health is first
Said a prayer that’s sincere and you felt it work
Times I feel I want to shout, man it’s real that way
When I’m thinking things that make you feel that way”

Christmas never meant much to me, though my mama got me my first ten speed bicycle for my 13th or 14th birthday. It was a second hand kinda thing. Apparently she caught me sleepwalking on my way out to go late night riding. Or she tells me that now because I kinda like bikes. I pull up to a toll booth, a dude with a squirmy stache says “one bicycle, that’ll be $3 please.” I confirm “does that include myself as well, because it can’t ride itself — though sometimes I wish it did.” Neither of us laugh. I give him my credit card. $3 for me and my Raleigh Sojourn. Pool Noodle Petra rides for free — as she should, that beautiful queen. Next thing I know I’m feeling like Huff & Doback. Boats. Hoes. Ok just boats. No hoes. Unless you count me. Idaho. Really just boat. One. And it’s a ferry. Not tinkerbell. The Fort Fisher Ferry. And I’m with it like a biscuit. Back the Delorean up just a bit to the literal and figurative turn out of this Days Inn. I have to trek southeast for about 25 miles to Southport, chartered in 1792, to jump on this boat and get to Cape Fear. I’m going south and into fear? Yeah I said it and I mean it. The wind means it too — stiff. Out of the… yup southeast. Headwind. No mention of winds by me, myself nor I the last few days silent-specifically/signify tailwinds — or no winds (there’s always usually a little wind). I get in gear and the sun comes out full blast on this long straight Southport-Supply Road. My hammy feels better. Healing. I can’t feel my hands. Or my feet. Or my ass. It’s hot. Whew. I make it just in time for the 1pm departure. I planned for the noon departure. Lesson learned. Though I sorta shoulda learnt this one two years ago on Dauphine Island Alabama. There’s a machine on the upper deck. Reading the inscription. Sounds like a bicycle to me, yet it don’t look like one and cost twenty five whole cents.

An older gentleman is my only other non motor vehicular homie. We chat up top for a bit. He’s healthy looking, walks with a cane, moves around well but can’t stand for too long. It’s $1 to do this boat by foot. He lives nearby and just walks on, takes the ride, walks off. Takes it back. Etc. Far as I could tell he was flirting with his female octogenarian counterparts sitting outside the visitor center. Which also is apparently a social activity round this parts. This guys name is definitely Joe. He’s oozes Joe-ness. Probably Joseph. I don’t ask. Joe tells me that Wilmington was unique because it had two inlets. Had. He points at the breakwall, “they sealed one off an dredged it deep after the civil war.” Wilmington = strategic as fuck for the confederacy, he tells me. I like the history. Later, I’m off the boat, riding and enjoying the lack of cars — since they all got off the boat before me. Joe pulls up in his car and drives alongside me, offering camping spots. Thanks Joe!

“All up in her vibe something coming over me
Summer days more likely that you notice breeze
Winter days more likely that you notice heat
When I’m gone, more likely that you notice me
In the dark it’s more likely that you notice light
In the light more likely that you notice night
Hungry, more appreciation for that meal
Dead broke, more appreciation for that scrill
A bad day’ll make you really notice ones that’s good
And that’ll make things a little better understood
Times I feel I wanna shout, man it’s real that way
When I think of things that make you feel that way”

Here on Cape Fear for the first time, I’m feeling like I could get a DeNiro style prison tat as a souvenir. What’s it mean if I find Robert Mitchum more menacing in the original without all the stand in ink? Robby D got a best actor nod for this and he had to rely on faking a stereotype or look mean and dangerous? In a remake? Should be a cancelable offense in my book — especially considering he had already done Goodfellas, Raging Bull, and Taxi Driver with Scorsese at that point. More meh. I pedal on, now with a considerable and mentionable tailwind.

Wilmington has a solid amount of bike infrastructure into it. I hit the stores, grab some stove fuel and some human fuel (aka trail mix, peanut butter and bananas). I also grab an oat milk latte. I can’t help it. I meet Don, who’s also rode coast to coast on the southern tier route, he offers me a spot to crash and hooks up a taco dinner. Hopefully Don comes up to ride the Erie Canal Trail this fall and i can return the hospitality.

Question. Why do I need ID to get ID, no for real though: it’s a cape I’m on and it called Cape Fear, why is the River I’m riding along right now called Cape Fear River instead of Fear River. I’m feeling slighted, because I wanna say im riding along the fear River. It’ll get me all the likes. Social currency. In a nation where no one knows or cares enough about anything to do anything, crime is down way low. Way way low. Can’t commit crimes sitting in your couch reading Facebook. Poverty still exists — and needs to be alleviated — yet there’s not nearly as much violent crime statistically as there was 40 years ago. Minuscule amount. Cars are the main perps now — if we’re counting traffic violations. Violations of safety laws around operating a motor vehicle. A deadly weapon. They don’t make reality shows about it this but it’s a massive part of the five-oh’s operation. Traffic. It’s where people actually most disobey the law. And safety suffers. People can’t walk in the street. Or ride. Or whatever. Cars become more important than individuals, even though they can’t drive themselves. Yet. Until then it’s a war on tranquillity and safety more than drugs and terrorism. Or any brown country. Let’s eat on these under attentive humans getting involved in the operation of heavy mobile machinery while hopped up on anything from Vicodin and vino to the whiskey and coke. Or their cellphone. Their Big Mac. Their makeup and hair. Anything that isn’t driving with due regard. Lock them up. Times I feel I wanna shout, man it’s real that way. When I think of things that make you feel that way.

It’s a wet, foggy morning. I didn’t sleep too well, not bad though. I’m on a bit of an incline, flat-Earthers should come check out this out. I do some serious stretches in the warmth of my pop up palace. Tent yoga? I climb out before sunset and relocate to a covered shelter. Now instead of an overnight criminal I just look like an early riser. Easy rider. I still have no fuel, so no coffee. But there’s a toilet. I let some things dry and ride a bit, relocating to a Dunkin’ the next town up. Damon would be proud. He loves Dunkin. It’s robust as fuck. The Starbucks was part of the Kroger and all local shops were still closed. There’s wifi and outlets and booth seating and coffee and microwaved bacon. Mmm. Plus there’s a Walmart across the street and they have everything. I’ve got some thangs to handle so I get setup and pull out my maps and, gawd damn!! Every other person walking into here is a woman between 25 and 35 and has abs of steel and has decided to show them to me as they walk in the door. One after the other like a fucking fashion show that has nothing to do with clothjng. My spidey senses indicate we’re close to surfing areas. That works your abs. Or maybe all these tourists have eating disorders or gym addictions. I have very little space left on my skin for more art, but I six-pack of cans on my belly seems like a good usage of the rare remaining real estate. Anyone not hot and young and fit fit is curious about me and my about my ride, of course. I love that though. People don’t talk to people they don’t know much. Our culture has instilled fear and default animosity, mainly thanks to the 24 hour cable news cycle. Fuck that noise. I’m happy to engage with kind hearted people who always end by wishing me well and safe travels. My bestie is a chubby dude with an og Patriots logo t shirt, “keep the rubber side down.” I hit him with a “yessir” and pedal off.

After a robust Walmart that is without my size fuel, I am in full on beach status. No longer near it, I am on it. It’s a town called Surfside, now I understand why the washboard is the display-instrument of choice round these part. Golf carts outnumber cars. There’s bikes. It’s slooooooooow on a Saturday. Also hottern hell, I’ve gone full native, and I’m kicking the shit out of whoever is on shirts team. I pass by tourist couples nursing their hangover out front of a beachside breakfast eatery get their giggles or kinks or whatever. “Oh look at this guy!” “Bitch I’m right here 15 feet away going 9mph!” Ok I didn’t say that right now right now. Except maybe in my head. And now in this story. Is it real if you believe it to be real even if it actually is not?

I avoid most of the beach through Myrtle Beach. Myrtle is definitely the name of my childhood school bus driver. There’s decent bike paths, with the major intersections creating waits as I have to push a button. I do some stretches there too. This hammy is still screaming. Traffic yoga?

Eventually the bikes paths run out and I’m back on Ocean Blvd. it feels like A1A and it’s around 1pm that I decide to dip. I need a bath and a refreshment. Into the Atlantic I go. Damn it’s cold! I develop a second belly button but thankfully also get some cool cool icy relief on my legs. Feels good. My long long ride comrade Daniel Spurio requires these daily dips and I thought I knew but not I really know why.

There’s a game of some sort going on which a table and red solo cups. Like beer pong but no ping pong ball and no beer. And also totally different. There’s a pebble and what appear to be hard seltzers. Cool bruh, sis, whoever.

I take a second dip to rinse off all the sand from my beach yoga sesh, and also to check on that whole belly bu… nope all good. Peeing in the ocean right now. Like right now. I pack up, take a beach shower and move along. No Beach Bum for me Harmony Korine. On my way out a car turning left into the parking lot almost hits a golf cart which has the directional right of what. The scene quickly changes from beaches to golf courses. Golf carts reign even more supreme. Just as many cars though, and I realize it’s not that they drive golf carts instead of cars, it’s that they drive golf carts instead of walking.

The circle k calls me. I gets the electrolytes, the plant that am I. I decide I’m tired… of South Carolina. I’m heading north. I book a hotel room 30 miles up and across the border in North Carolina. Burning daylight so I head on out.

I make the state line. It’s underwhelming. Southern North Carolina feels just like Northern South Carolina.

I take a break under an overpass and throw down a Lenny and Larry cookie. They don’t pay me but they are good and like 16 grams of protein 500 calories each! I Winston Wolf it, Harvey Keital. The Days Inn appears as I hit fumes status and the sun begins to set What luxury in room 133. I shower twice and organize, eat and prepare for the push into Wilmington tomorrow.