Day 7 Manchester, CT to Saco, ME
172 miles
It’s the latest start I’ve had this trip. I don’t even need to turn on my headlight when I set off just before 7:00am. The riding is fantastic, but my Achilles quickly dashes all of the joy I had reserved for this ride. The road is so small that there is no sign when I cross into Massachusetts. It’s only when I notice that every car has Mass plates that I understand I’ve crossed into a new state.
I wiggle my exposed toes in the breeze, leaning back until my head hits the brick wall of the CVS behind me. The wooden bench I sit on is as good of a place as any to apply my newly acquired kinesiotape to my Achilles. I have no idea what I’m doing or if tape will help, but my girlfriend’s mom said it would help, and the YouTube video on my phone confidently reassures me that I can properly apply the tape myself. I set back out with an extra layer of protection against my injury.
I snake around Boston on surprisingly nice cycling roads. I even greet a fan who has used my live tracking to find me. It’s cloudy today and I dread what that means for me. A massive cold front is ripping across New England, bringing a formidable line of intense thunderstorms. I check the weather app and see 3 severe weather alerts. Quarter-inch hail, 60mph winds, and a tornado threat. I’ve never seen anything like it in New England.
“That might pick you up and carry you away.” my stepmom texts me.
“As long as it throws me down further north, then that’s okay.” I respond
The worst of the storm misses me, but the riding is still scary for a couple of hours. The first bands of red rain catch me as I cross into Maine, having completed my brief stint in New Hampshire in about an hour. It’s only 4:30, but the black clouds bring night to the sky, and streetlights automatically flip on. After the thunder passes, a large band of light rain fills the void behind the front, promising to douse me for the next 24 hours.
The rain increases the friction of my clothes rubbing against my skin. I’m already plagued by horrible saddle sores and raw open flesh where my skin was been worn away over the past 1,700 miles. The rain brings a new world of pain. I traditionally use electrical tape to literally tape over areas that become so raw that they bleed, but I’m out of electrical tape, having used it already. Instead, I use the kinesiotape I got for my Achilles. I go into a gas station bathroom and tape up everything. As I leave the gas station, I have a horrible moment of realization. The kinesiotape is menthol-infused. The cooling effect feels wonderful on my Achilles, but not so great on the raw flesh of my inner thigh. The burn only lasts for a couple of hours.
I’m preparing to ride straight through the night amid the drizzle, but the world has other plans for me. My shift cable suddenly snaps. Riding single speed for the next 360 miles through the rolling hills of Maine is out of the question, particularly with my bum Achilles. I’m furious. I’ve never had a shift cable snap in less than 2,000 miles. I assume the problem is that I’ve been dumping gears each time I get to a stoplight, so hundreds of times every day. All that shifting put too much strain on the cable, and it went pop.
It’s Saturday evening. The soonest I can get to a bike shop is at 9:00am on Sunday morning in Portland, which is 17 miles north. Not ideal, but it will have to do. Camping seems pointless in this horrible rain. I might as well get a cheap hotel and guarantee a solid night of sleep since I have 15 hours until the bike shop opens. I am so frustrated at my misfortune that I’m not mad. I just accept my reality and try to get over it.
I wanted more than anything to prove myself on this trip. I want to be like the greats, the Lachlan Mortons and Lael Wilcoxs. I want to show the world that I am capable of riding with the best. I wanted to match the pace that Lachlan set on his lap around Australia. I wanted to average 300+ miles a day. My lack of training and lack of preparation diminished my chances of achieving these goals, but my broken shoe, Achilles, and snapped shift cable made sure that these goals were unreachable. It’s very frustrating for me. I feel my chances slipping away. I graduate college in less than a year and have no clear future. I’d love to ride professionally, but I’m barely even getting free gear; I’m not making any money off this. My time to prove myself and get a contract is slipping away. How am I to bike professionally and pay off my student loans next year? Then there is that book I’m writing, which may take years to complete, that also isn’t paying any money. It’s daunting and intimidating. I want so much from myself. I expect so much from myself. Sometimes I struggle when I don’t get the results I strive for. But it just makes me hungrier. I want it so bad.
