11-13 – “The End, The Beginning”

St. George – Charleston, SC
Total Mileage – 68 miles

One last song, in praise of the Joke, that Prince of small talk, the Petroleum of social lubricants, the Rayon of cultural fabric.

The sun was getting low in the sky when we finally dipped our front tires in the Atlantic. By the time we popped the cork off our $5 bottle of champagne, the horizon was cotton candy pink, punctuated by lavender, a few stray notes of yellow and orange eagerly making their way off the scene before night arrived. The excitement, the relief, that easy evening feeling, the champagne, had us smiling and silly.

We met Greg and his family, visiting from Ohio, who were collecting sand dollars as they walked along the coastline.

“Would you mind taking our picture?” we asked.“

Of course not.”

Taking a picture, a normal social request. Some cordiality established here, and of course the trust involved in handing over your prized camera to a stranger. All very important for social cohesion, no doubt. The picture was taken and although our cross-country joke-collection tour had technically just ended, we couldn’t resist the impulse to ask for a joke. Greg was prepared and delivered a clever little bit about Texas.

Now, having moved beyond the typical “interaction between strangers” script, we’ve become friends. Now ad-libbed, laughing, shaking hands.

“Thanks for the joke!”

“That was a good one, and clean too.”

“Well told.”

Just short of a shared meal, the joke is something of a social dessert. In the group, it proves Greg’s bravery, his cleverness, his poise. He smiles, pleased to have brought such a tasty morsel along to the gathering. We all sup hardily, savoring the aftertaste, the care of preparation. The joke also provides leftovers, giving the listener something to take home, something to share with others. Like a family recipe, written on a note card and sent home with a guest, a good joke inspires and offers promise of future enjoyment.

For the last three months, we’ve regularly been stopping people on the street. We start with a question, “Can we ask you something?  ”They pause, some more cautiously than others. Usually they respond, “Sure.”

“Do you know any good jokes?”

Their guard falls. A smile leaks onto the stranger’s face. Really? They’re not asking for money? Just a joke?“A good one, okay. Let me think…”

And so it begins.

We wouldn’t flatter ourselves in believing that the connections we’ve made are particularly “deep.” But we do hope that, at the very least, they’re positive. We’ve met a lot of people over the course of the trip, and we’d like to think that most went on their way with a grin, a story to share at the dinner table, and perhaps some faint inspiration to follow their own whims now and again. Some connections, we believe, went deeper.

Some people have stories that seem to beg telling, situations or life circumstances that demand the social acknowledgment of strangers. You can feel when that’s happening, when people are really opening up and letting the stuff come out. Stories about their children, their grandchildren, their fears, hopes. Those are the times that really sustain us and make us proud to be doing what we’re doing.

And then you have jokes. A shared joke, lying somewhere between these two poles. The one social extreme of merely taking a photograph for a stranger and the opposite pole of full disclosure. A shared joke - deceptively simple, yet at once a window into the life of the teller, a doorway to the spirit of the listener – offers an opportunity for real intimacy.

We hope you’ve felt connected during this trip. That on some level, you feel like you also got to “meet” the joke tellers and get a glimpse, however briefly, of the lives lived behind those smiles.

In the word’s of the Catholic monk Meister Eckhart:

HE TOLD ME A JOKE

My Lord told me a joke.
And seeing Him laugh has done more for me
than any scripture I will ever read.

11-12 – “Going the Extra Mile”

Batesburg – St. George, SC
Total Mileage – 91 miles

For nearly three months, we have speculated as to how far we would have to ride to get to our ultimate destination – Charleston, SC. At the beginning, we, along with “Mapquest’s online driving directions tool”, computed the total distance to be 2994 miles. We thought we should overestimate and agreed it would probably be closer to 3,000.

In our defense, we had no idea how to estimate the additional distances we’d be tacking on: those “shortcuts”, the windy secondary highways, and all the other ways we would find to go “the extra mile.” Subconsciously, perhaps, we may have also avoided a more realistic calculation knowing that 3,000 miles seemed plenty far enough.

Cotton - The Fabric of Our Lives

In any case, we had a number, a goal, something that would grow smaller every pedal stroke. Having a mental finish line is probably more important to some than to others. In our case, after the first three miles of the trip, Dan, with a mixture of sarcasm and enthusiasm called out, “Hey! We only have to do this 1,000 more times!” To that, Simon just smiled, shook his head and continued biking. 27 miles later, Dan was even more triumphant when he realized we had just completed one percent of our trip!

As silly as that may sound, fast forward 84 days, 3,720 miles and imagine just how rewarding it felt to bicycle past a sign stating “Charleston – 79 miles.” Today, just outside of Orangeburg, SC we no longer had to look to Mapquest, AAA, or gas station attendants for proof that we were close. Sure, we underestimated by about 800 miles, but who cares? We’re less than 3% away!

11-11 – “Who is this America?”

Whitmire - Batesburg, SC
Total Mileage - 54 miles

Of all the experiences we have shared on this trip, knocking on strangers’ doors and asking for a place to stay may be the farthest from our typical pre-trip life. The practice is surely not new. Travelers have undoubtedly depended on the “kindness of strangers” for as long as there have been unfamiliar distances to traverse. But when one thinks of modern America, generosity and trust are not traits that seem to typify our domestic, much less national reputation.

Today’s experience, along with the countless other acts of trust and generosity we’ve encountered across the country, challenge our view of who America really is.

Dan has an eerie “sixth sense”about people and places sometimes, and his talent was in high form tonight when we arrived in Batesburg. We had followed our usual routine, a trip to the dollar store, some conversation with the locals about advised places to camp, and we were headed to the police station to get the go-ahead. He stopped his bike mid-block and pointed.

“Maybe we should knock on that door.”

A curious choice. We’ve done that a couple of times over the course of the trip, knocked on a stranger’s door, but usually the “cold knock” is reserved for times when we really need it. There was no predicted rainstorm tonight and we hadn’t even made it to the police station to find out that there wasn’t a good place to camp in town.

No, this knock must have been fate knocking, through the vehicle of Dan’s intuition. Jackie opened the door, a surprised look on her face. Dan, entranced, now fully at the whim of whatever power he was channeling, was at a loss for words. All he managed in response to her expression was a spirited, “Surprise!” Dan, himself surprised by his speechlessness, broke into laugher.

Simon immediately stepped in, filling in some of the details, and soon we were camped out in the family living room, hanging with Jackie and her husband Jim, eating leftovers, watching the football game, and discussing life in the South (Jackie is originally from Michigan and has found southern living to be a mixed blessing).

We knew we had lucked out. We just didn’t realize how much until Jim and Jackie assured us that Batesburg wasn’t the kind of town where people were into lycra clad strangers “surprising” them on their doorsteps.

Of course, you may read this story or others included in this journal and think we have a pretty small and unrepresentative sample from which to draw conclusions about who America is. You might find our gestures towards pan-American identity laughably vague and our assertions weak and ambiguous. Well, fine. But maybe when it comes to sampling, size isn’t the only thing that matters. Or maybe we’ve just been really lucky to meet some damn nice folks along the way.

11-10 – “Honks and Hair Cuts”

Near Traveler’s Rest – Whitmire, SC
Total Mileage – 82 miles.

We counted honks as we rode today, endlessly debating amongst ourselves which honks should be tallied in the “honks-of-support” column and which should be counted in the “get-the-hell-off-the-road-you-Yankee-bastards” column. An excited motorist in Greer, SC challenged our strict dichotomous classification when he sang to us from his car. His performance was without question enthusiastic, we just couldn’t tell if he was making fun of us or not.

We spent the night in Whitmire, arriving in town not long before dark and seeking out the local law enforcement for camping advice. We found two cops parked down near the basketball court. One of the cops called the mayor to see if we could camp behind a nearby school. After the mayor phoned in his support, the chief of police spoke with the neighbors to let them know we were legit. If that doesn’t make you fall in love small town America…

Can You Hear Me Now, God?

We were also quite taken by the racial integration that we seemed to be finding increasingly as we rode further into South Carolina. Of course, the South, much less South Carolina, is not known for its history of racial tolerance. However, in contrast to much of the America we have seen thus far, South Carolina does boast communities that include black and white people living side by side. After setting up camp, we headed to the gas station in town to seek out some jokes and take in some of the local scene.

An hour later we were in Sherman’s barber shop, “Sho’ Nuff Kutts”, watching the University of South Carolina football game, eating fried chicken, and shamelessly attempting to talk our hosts into telling us a joke. The comedian of the group, Raymond, who referred to himself as “Small Change (in a Big Money World)”, kept us laughing, unfortunately mostly with his commentary on the game rather than with jokes we could share.

Sho Nuff Kuts

At half-time, we excused ourselves and headed towards the tent, happy we had taken the opportunity to be a part of someone else’s night.

11-9 – “Leaving Home”

Asheville, NC – Near Traveler’s Rest, SC
Total Mileage – 45 miles.

There comes a time in most young lives when the child grows too big for the nest. Perhaps with age the world beckons just too seductively, a “pull” effect if you will, luring the youthful progeny towards a future of unknown delights. Or perhaps, in other cases, it is a gentle maternal or paternal “push” that rousts the offspring from it’s infantile hibernation, forcing it to sink or swim, to fly or fall.

It’s unclear what combination of forces finally urged us to pack up our bags, mount our bicycles, and continue onward towards the coast. We had been off the road for about a week, and Asheville was getting to be quite comfortable. Our hosts, Leah and Sarah Quintal, stopped expecting us to actually leave after we postponed our departure for the third day in a row.

Nonetheless, we managed our great escape. It was an ideal day to ride. The weather, like the baby bear’s porridge, was neither too hot nor too cold. During our time off, our navigational skills must have lapsed, because we had a considerable amount of difficulty staying on the roads we had planned for the day. We did finally make it to the South Carolina state line. Even though we couldn’t find ourselves on the map, at least we knew were headed in the right direction.Dan was still feeling a little under the weather, so we decided to call it a day a little bit earlier than usual. Today’s “earlier than usual” resulted in our not making it to a town, but rather “squatting” in the yard next to the Mt. Carmel United Methodist Church 10 miles from the town of Travelers Rest. “Earlier than usual” also resulted in us going to sleep by 7:30 pm.

But who says life outside of the nest has to be wild and crazy?

11-5, 6 – “Equipment Check”

Asheville – Asheville, NC
Total Mileage – 0 miles

We’ve tried to ignore the recent signs that our “outfit” is starting to fray at the edges, but when Dan developed a head cold we hunkered down in Asheville for some much needed R & R.Our recent decline started on Halloween with a minor equipment failure. We had spotted a small crack in one of our tent poles when packing it up the day before. Come morning, the cracked section of pole was completely unusable. Luckily, Simon’s friend Leah was visiting that night and she let us exchange our broken tent with the one that she had brought.

The next piece of equipment to fail was our kryptonite lock the day after Halloween. Getting ready in the morning, we tried to open the cable lock with the usual combination. The bastard wouldn’t budge. Superman may be no match for kryptonite, but the bolt cutters we borrowed from the local hardware store made short work of one its “unbreakable bonds”. Please don’t tell any of your criminally inclined friends that the lock was so easy to cut.

If a Lock Doesn’t Open, Is It Broken?

Hopefully last, and certainly most unfortunate, Dan’s immune defense equipment had a minor failure after we got back from the Hemlock Festival in Georgia. His head cold, presumably caused by a weekend of standard Asheville partying, was likewise treated in standard Asheville herbal and homeopathic style. On a strict diet of Elderberry syrup, raw garlic, Reiki, fluids and sleep, Dan soon regained his natural color and good humor.We’re counting our blessings, thinking healthy thoughts, and making plans for our last hurrahs in Charleston, SC this coming weekend

11-2, 3, 4 – “Jokes Across America Continues To Go South”

Asheville, NC – Dahlonega, GA – Asheville, NC
Total Mileage – 420 miles (all by car)

By most standards, we’ve been two clean-cut kids this trip. We go to bed almost every night by around 11 pm. We’ve had only a few beers over the 3,400 miles and done very little that would raise the eyebrows of even the most Puritanical mothers, the most doctrinaire law enforcers. Sure, we camp in city parks and tell dirty jokes now and then, but that should come as no surprise.

Well, this weekend Jokes Across America continued to go south, with a trip to the Hemlock Festival, downwards into the bowels of the state of Georgia and into the music festival scene the Southeast is known for. We accompanied Unifire Theater, a fire dancing troupe from Asheville, NC. Simon played a borrowed trumpet in the band (which was dubbed “Almost Flamous”) and Dan was on water safety, making sure no one caught on fire.

Almost Flamous or the Burn Band

We probably stayed up too late and may have been a little bit liberal in our enjoyment of the complimentary food and drinks provided for performers, but nobody seemed to notice our Southern style fall from grace. Big thanks to Forrest and the folks at the Lumpkin Coalition for throwing the party and working to protect Hemlock trees.

Lulu is Hot

11-1 – “Marriage 101”

Hot Springs – Asheville, NC
Total Mileage – 46 miles

As we near the end of our trip, we’ve found that people seem to increasingly ask us, “So…are you still friends?”

If you’ve ever taken an extended trip with a partner, romantic or otherwise, you know that to remain “friends” while traveling is challenging to say the least. For 10 weeks, just about every decision we make over the course of a day is a joint one – wake up or hit snooze, oatmeal or cereal, south or east, rest or keep going, pasta or beans, bar time or sleepy time, and so on and so on. If this wasn’t trying enough, we’ve also thrown in a project that requires us to co-write a journal, share publicity duties, and split website responsibilities. This means that we’re living, eating, exercising, and working together All The Time…

High School Graduation, Class of 2000

Sounds great, right? Maybe not. And marriage doesn’t always sound so great to a bachelor/ette either. Regardless, at a certain point in most people’s life, there comes a time to tie the knot. For us, whenever we talk through a particularly difficult situation, we joke afterwards that this trip is hopefully paving the way for our future healthy marriages (probably not to each other). While we have both been in a handful of serious relationships thus far in adulthood, our nights together in the tent have taught us some hard lessons about communication, honesty, and thoughtfulness.

We’ve also learned that fun makes an excellent balm and relational lubricant, capable of soothing frayed nerves and opening blocked communication. Luckily, our trip has plenty of this and, while we don’t kiss and make up, a hardy meal or a long night of joking is typically sweet enough to get us back on board.

Today, as we neared the summit of a painfully long, steep, and windy mountain, we rode side-by-side, laughed, and told each other, “I love you, man.” It’s a funny thing to say to someone when your quadriceps are burning instead of your loins. But as we saw the clouds sitting below the top of our (hopefully) final mountain pass, it became clear that there are few people with whom we could have traveled so far.

So, for better or for worse, for richer, for poorer, and sickness in health, we hugged, exchanged our vows and enjoyed a short honeymoon down the other side of Doggett Mountain and into Asheville, NC.

10-31 - “Halloween, Jokes Across America Style”

Morristown, TN – Hot Springs, NC
Total Mileage – 50 miles

We spent much of the morning’s ride bemoaning the fact that we hadn’t gotten costumes together for this important day.  Yes, we might argue, as some folks we met at a grocery store in Newport, TN did, that we were dressed up as cross-country cyclists.  But that just felt a little too sincere and not so much in the spirit of ghosts and goblins.

     
Halloween Jokes

As it turns out, the sections of Tennessee and North Carolina that we rode seemed to also have forgotten (or suppressed, perhaps for religious reasons) the celebration of this pagan holiday.  In fact, there were only a few reminders it was occurring at all, and over the course of the day the guilt of having missed a creative opportunity gradually wore off.

Our artistic energies must have been rejuvenated by the soft Appalachian Mountains surrounding us, and when we finally made it to the Halloween party at the local pub in Hot Springs, we had morphed in our riding singlets from cyclists to Mexican Lucha Libre wrestlers.

We hung around the bar for a while, enjoying some good jokes told in Halloween regalia.  Simon talked to his pals in Asheville and learned that they were dressing up as characters from the board game “Clue” and having a bonfire in the back yard.  He wanted to join in and the 32 miles from Hot Springs to Asheville made the party excruciatingly close.  We asked some folks at the pub if they had a car and were interested in making the trip to town.  We had some luck, ironically, from a table of Appalachian Trail thru-hikers who had recently rented a Dodge Durango because they were “sick of hiking”.

We bounced into Asheville with Dutch and Salty Dog (their trail names), at a speed dizzying for us and surely mind-blowing for them.  After a surreal Asheville evening with Professor Plum and Miss Scarlet, we headed back to Hot Springs.

It was interesting to compare battle scars with the AT folks.  We talked about the physical challenges of our trip, how Simon’s knees hurt the first few weeks and our legs still get achy after a long day’s ride.  They told us that they can barely hobble out of their tent first thing in the morning.  We told them that we’ve not paid for a campsite since Idaho, and they shared that they stopped using a tent two months ago to cut-down on weight.  Yikes.  We told them that we think our trip is a little less intense then theirs.  Yep, they smiled in agreement, and mentioned that fact that when we stop pedaling we can coast, whereas when they stop hiking they stop moving.  Good point.

10-30 - “Drive By Talking”

Pineville, KY – Morristown, TN
Total Mileage – 56 miles

We climbed Clinch Mountain like we were being pursued.  In a lot of ways we were, with an endless parade of cars and trucks breathing down our necks as we veered around steep corner after steep corner.  It was a hot day, and sweat poured out, from the weather, the effort, and the military-like determination we brought to one of our first major climbs in the Appalachian range.

The state of Tennessee has been working on making this particular section of highway 25 into a four-lane road and construction equipment and Department of Transportation employees lined the edges of the road.  One fellow, manning a bulldozer, called out as we climbed past him.

“Where you two from?” he yelled out over the side.
“Illinois,” we yelled back, momentarily glancing away from our rear-view mirrors to look over to his rig and make sure we were not imagining that he was asking us questions.

“How far you come?” his reply.

Really?  Is now the time to be having this conversation?

“Started in Oregon,” our curt reply.
“That’s great. Y’all be safe now.”
“Yeah, thanks,” we stammered out, as a car whizzed past.

This might seem like a rather unremarkable exchange, but do keep in mind the setting.  It seems this man’s curiosity was no match for the hazardous road conditions nor the demands of the job he and we were involved in at the time.  If we had slowed down, would he have offered to toss to us a splash of coffee from his Thermos or a bite of his ham and cheese sandwich?  Our short exchange, in the throes of dramatic exertion, must be Southern hospitality at its best.

As our construction worker friend requested, we made it safely to Morristown, TN where we met up with Simon’s friend Leah who had driven up from Asheville, NC to camp with us for the night.  She brought some wonderful edible surprises and, in classic Asheville parlance, her great energy which inspired an evening that felt more like actual camping than our usual squatting experience.  Sundown found us relaxing on the banks of a lake, our campfire crackling away, roasting vegetarian sausages.  The leaves were beautiful yellows and oranges and, along with the Reese’s peanut cups Leah brought to share, we were feeling very much in the mood for Halloween.