meanwhile, outside my summer bubble...

... the toll of HIV/AIDS keeps on keepin' on. Tonight I finished watching a Frontline special called "The Age of AIDS". Starting on Friday, you'll be able to watch the whole thing online... it does a great job of chronicling the emergence of the virus and the public response.

http://www.pbs.org/wgbh/pages/frontline/aids/cron/crontext.html

Also, we made it onto the Partners In Health webpage. Who took that awesome century photo they chose? Oooh, me :)

http://www.pih.org/Ride4WorldHealth-apr2006.html

"... oh I've seen pleasure, and I've seen pain ..."

Fireflies & Ropeswings...

...are a sure sign that summer has arrived. I'm in Sheperdstown, West Virginia right now, staying with my dear friend Pamela. We met while studying/volunteering together in Ecuador, and the good old days of interviewing indigenous tribal leaders about petroleum exploitation and fishing for piranha in the Amazon have been replaced by somewhat more domestic pleasures, entirely different but equally blissful.

(<-- us in Ecuador 2 years ago) Yesterday Pamela picked me up from a metro station in Maryland, where I sat waiting in the shade, sticky from the sweltering 95* heat (and, not realizing it actually WAS a million degrees out, feeling rather wimpy for not being tougher about the humidity). We slapped a bike rack on her car, loaded up Moby, and headed out of suburbia for the rolling green hills of West Virginia. Thank God. I admit I'd readjusted to being in the city, and there's a certain amount to be said for the opportunities one finds in the urban setting. Still, after so many miles of open country on this trip, I've realized how mmuch I just yearn to be outside in the unadulterated beauty, away from the chaos of the Concrete Jungle. Pam teaches a couple ballet classes a week to 3-5 year olds, and I went with her to nearby Charles Town to watch. How fascinating to see kids at an age where they have to concentrate so hard to make their bodies do what their minds want them to! It's been a while since I've seen such intent looks of concentration -- complete with furrowed brows and tongues sticking out at awkward angles -- and all to have 0.2 seconds of glory as each little girl attempted a flailing leap over a synthetic rose on the studio floor. Evening brought even more delight... we met up with Pamela's roommate Emma, boyfriend Carl, and Carl's friends from the river rafting company he works at, all outdoorsy types. Even though it was after 7, the heat was still rather stifling. We walked 2 miles up the C&O Canal path, glad for the shade of the dense trees lining both sides. Carl strummed on his guitar as we strolled, breathing in the sweetness of blossoming honeysuckle. Our destination: a choice ropeswing into the Potomac River. A friend had phoned Pamela earlier in the afternoon with the news that he'd been working on some improvements to the swing, namely a sturdy bamboo foothold so we wouldn't have to rely entirely upon upper body strength. Sure enough, when we arrived at the site, careful to avoid the poison ivy innocently edging the trail, there hung the most beautiful ropeswing I've ever laid eyes on. Though the river is a little low right now, the bank still dropped off swiftly to an adequate depth, and the swing hung from the upper branches of a tree that reached its limbs out over the slow current of the water.

If you're ballsy enough to want a go of it, there's not much of an option for backing out... though the limb you climb to get up to the swing isn't very steep, it's incredibly narrow, and arguably the most difficult part of the experience. Fortunately there are a few crossbars nailed into the tree (thank you Tree, and sorry). And the rest is history. We sailed out of the tree and cried with delight as we came plunging down (gracefully, or not) into the refreshing coolness of the river. As it got dark, Pam and I kicked it back to the days of Ecuador with a little skinny-dipping. Then we all dried out around a little fire the guys started up, wishing we had some marshmallows. By about 10 pm we were feeling hungry, so we headed back up the footpath to the canal trail, and fumbled our way through the cobwebs, fireflies leading the way. We don't have fireflies in the Northwest, and this was only the 3rd time I've seen them, so it was naturally a bit novel. Then again, life in general is pretty novel, these days...

Our evening ended with a late night BBQ up on the mountain where the raft guides live, watching rafting and surfing movies into the wee hours of morning, when finally the humidity spawned a torrential downpour and some crackling thunder and lightning. I fell asleep on the hide-a-bed to rain pattering on the patio. Oh Summer, I love you so.

How to have a grand debacle. Part First, and hopefully Last

For future reference, you cannot take a bicycle on MARC trains unless it is a folding one. Moby Dick [my bike] is many things; folding, he is not. Thus, on Wednesday after Wags & Em dropped Dan, Theresa, and me at BWI, the adventure began with denial at the ticket counter. Left with no other viable option, I used my U-lock and chain for the 1st time on the trip and left my brilliant white wonder locked up in the parking garage at the airport, then hopped on the train into DC and rode the Metro out to Bethesda, where the friend I'm staying with works.

I had left some luggage stowed away in a closet of the Metropolitan Methodist Church we stayed at Sunday and Monday so that I wouldn't be encumbered by it while executing the above portion of my trip. I had intended to go get my baggage Thursday am, but since I needed to retrieve Moby and my friend has a "real" job that requires her to be at work during the day, I spent the day getting my bike back to DC. I found a great bike route online and made my way back to the Greenbelt Metro Station. Unfortunately, I didn't make it to the station until 4:25, and bikes aren't allowed on the metro during peak hours: 4-7 pm. Luckily I'd had the foresight to look up the address of the closest REI, which was only 2 miles away, and I quickly passed the time there looking at tents, panniers, and other what-have-you. I talked to one of the employees for a long time about cycling ventures - he was a cool guy who wants to start his own non-profit to help a Bahamaian island he's been supporting. He hooked me up with some cycling maps for this region and also invited me to come hang out Friday night at the fire station (I guess he's a volunteer there). Sorry, Tom, but no. I don't date men over 40.

Needless to say, all that hassle prevented me from picking up my bags from the church on thursday. Thus, Friday around noon, I was a little worried to get the following e-mail forwarded to me from Ian:

"If you can contact Libby Left, one of the members of the team that recently
finished their trek to Washington, DC, and let her know that she left a
duffle bag, mat and bikes parts in one of our storage closets. We are not
aware of any arrangements to store these items here. Thankfully we found
them and someone knew to ask before disposing of these valuable items.
Please advise her that they are now in the church business office."

Yikes! I called the church and told them I was on my way. And by "on my way", I meant "I'll have to ride my bike 2 miles to the nearest metro, take it 40 minutes to the stop, ride a mile to the church, and then I'll be there!" Time constraint: 5 pm office closure, 4 pm metro ban on bikes. Time of arrival at the church: 3:42 pm. The office people were actually really nice and in response my profuse apologies for the trouble said it really was no trouble at all, they were just worried I needed my gear. Both of them looked at me quizically when I said I'd be taking it all back to the metro on my bike. The plan was to balance my duffel bag, sleeping bag and thermarest on the bar of my bike to take some of the wieght off my shoulder, and wheel back to the station. I was feeling a little stressed about getting there before 4 pm. Certainly hauling a bunch of gear for a mile is less than ideal, but it reminded me of the lengths to which we are willing to go when we don't have the normal amenities (like a car, for example). And fortunately, the church handyman said he'd give me a ride over there in the big ole church van (like the Silver Bullet and White Van, but older). I at least feigned a polite decline, even though internally I was jumping for joy. He again insisted. I agreed. And, by the time I got back up to Wheaton, 40 minutes away, my dear Ana was home from work, so she did me the kind courtesy of meeting me at the station to pick up my gear, and I cycled the 2 miles back home.

I really should go to bed, but the distraction of being around a computer with internet access is so great that I've been sucked into the vortex. Suffice it to say, I'm done with luggage and public transport. Tomorrow I'm trimming down my belongings and shipping the remainder home.

Tuesday, April 23rd. ATLANTIC OCEAN.

The crankiness of Sunday's arrival into the stimulus of a busy civilization was washed away by the Atlantic Ocean on Tuesday. We loaded up everything and headed out of the city. Though we'd originally planned to ride 75 miles or so to reach Bethany Beach, Delaware, we came to a consensus that we'd rather shorten the ride and have more time to celebrate at the beach before nightfall.

We unloaded the bikes just outside Delaware for one last 35 mile hurrah. Oh friends, how far we've come since the days of struggling up Nevada mountains! We cruised along the wide shoulder (Delaware DOT, we love you!) in pairs or threes, chatting in the sunny early afternoon sun. To ride together one last time -our legs thanked us, our hearts cried out in rebellion. Bittersweet.

In Ocean View, a small town 3 miles from Bethany Beach, we all stopped to regroup. The support team, who'd gone ahead to set up lunch, rode their bikes westward (counter-intuitive to us at this point), and met us at the grocery store. Mark and Suchocki picked up 2 bottles of champagne at the liqueria across the street, and the mouth of my water bottle for the first time tasted sweet bubbly brut instead of the powdered endurance drink to which it has become so accustomed.

Regulators, mount up. We did, and rode the last 3 miles we'll ever ride as R4WH 2006. Sometimes you can be excited about something with your words, yet still not have the physical manifestation of excitement surge through your body. Though my spirits were high, it wasn't until about a mile away from the water that I suddenly felt that ripple of emotion pass through me. A couple shoulder-shaking sobs of joy, then the return to a more muted bliss, smiling as I looked around at my friends, toasting each other as we rode side-by-side to our final destination. We laughed in disbelief when we reached the boardwalk and saw the vast blue-grey expanse of sea. Miles and miles of road under us, and now left with no more land to traverse.

I still get shoulder-shaking sobs, now with a little less joy and a lot more missing-people-I-love. In the backseat of the van as we pull away from the kids headed back to Columbus ... on the subway in DC, I look around embarrassed and glad no one notices ... as I sit in my friend's apartment, writing this. Oh, dear friends. I miss you. Thanks to all the friends, family, and strangers who've supported us on this grand journey. We shall not soon forget it.

Arrival at the carnival... err, Capitol.

I should probably not be listening to wistful acoustic music as I write this, given my propensity to be ridiculously emotional, but too bad. Amos Lee will keep rocking.

Sunday the 21st we finally arrived in DC. Emily and I were driving the support car ahead of the riders to the church that was hosting us, and as we entered the city, I didn't feel the exhilaration I was expecting (this comes later); instead I felt claustrophobic, harried, and cranky. Other cars kept honking for no reason and suddenly I identified with all the patients back in Seattle who were intimidated by the experience of driving into the metropolis. Where are the open roads of Nevada and Kansas when you need them?

Sunday evening we attended a Candlelight AIDS vigil, and I got to deliver some "remarks" at the ceremony, a fun opportunity to talk to a lively crowd, though the occassion which brought us there was serious.

Monday morning was one of my favorite experiences on the trip - Deirdre, Heather, and I went to Christ House, a facility that acts as temporary housing and nursing services for homeless people who have been discharged from the hospital but continue to require medical attention. Without reliable housing and employment, their recovery would otherwise be complicated. The typical stay lasts no longer than 4-6 weeks. Christ House gave off such a positive energy - it was clean but didn't have that sterile and institutionalized feeling one often gets in that type of setting. About 10 or 12 of the guys staying there joined the 3 of us R4WH ladies for a slideshow of our journey, and they had lots of questions about their health that really demonstrated they'd put some thought into what was going on with their bodies. One younger guy had even perused a book on herbal supplements for the liver at Whole Foods. It was awesome to have candid discussion on how their limited resources impact the health choices they're able to make. We also showed the PIH video. Deirdre observed several of the men crying, one of them a man from Haiti who'd be returning to his family on the island in a week. Charles, a 40-something African American with both his legs in casts, shared with us that the values of "patience, courage, and love" in the video reminded him of his priorities. It was moving and fun, all at once.

We also had some other events at Howard University on Monday, and a lot of us enjoyed talking to the med students there, many of whom are from African-origin countries like Nigeria and Kenya. I hope some of them choose to do R4WH their 4th year, particularly since they have a lot of insight into the issues of poverty that PIH and R4WH are seeking to address.