Binghamton, NY to Warren, PA

A few days ago, we were awarded a day off in Binghamton, NY. Considering that the past four years of my life were spent nearly an hour away in sunny Ithaca, and considering that I still maintain some seriously nostalgic feelings for the place (See my previous post), I naturally hastened back there for the day off. Mario was kind enough to pick me and a couple of my fellow riders up, and we all went down to Second Dam to do some gorge jumping. While I was there, however, I couldn't escape the strange feeling accompanying the dawning realization that I no longer had any real claim there. Of course, my memories, my friends, my professors, the time I spent there; those things will always be with me, but on a very physical level, I no longer belonged there. I did stop into my apartment, briefly, to see Mario and to take a quick shower, and already I missed the familiar trappings that made the place my home for a year. Knowing all of these objects were less than five miles away didn't do much to alleviate the feeling of displacement, however, as a coded lock and a strong metal door separated me from my possessions. It was an incredibly disconcerting realization when it dawned on me that I came into town carrying a bag and a towel, and that at the end of the day, I would be leaving with the exact same things on hand. I couldn't go into my room and lie on my bed; I couldn't sit on my couch and watch television; I couldn't go into my own fridge and pour myself a glass of water, even. I felt almost phantom-like, floating through a familiar existence without any real agency, without a chance to reach out and affect anything around me. When I had to watch Ithaca disappear behind me once more, it was as though I was again saying goodbye to an old friend, unsure as to when we would meet again.

But of course, we press onward on our journey across the country, on our mission to raise money and awareness for affordable housing. Out of Binghamton, we rode out of New York and into Pennsylvania. The weather and the rest of a day off were on our side as we made a 50 mile day seem like a walk in the park. The gentle rolling hills of PA seemed to simply carry on the terrain of New York, yet imbue them with a distinctly different character. Like two musicians rhapsodizing on a theme, grass turned to grass and hill turned to hill--and before long, we were in Wysox. The small size of the church and the building we were put up in might have initially seemed like an impossibly small space, but it became a bit of a bonding experience, knowing that you were likely to sleep only inches from the person next to you. And that's something, I think, that makes this trip so incredible--wherever you landed that night, you knew the person next to you would be just as comfortable there as anywhere else. Despite our constant close proximity, we seem to be coming together more and more as a unit, and each person seems to be falling into a kind of niche. The personalities on this trip are varied enough that things stay constantly interesting. I should wonder how much more the dynamics on this trip will change--and in which ways.

Out of Wysox, we rode on US-6 until we hit Wellsboro. The day of biking was easily one of the most miserable. Anthony and I rode out ahead, harder than we've ever ridden before to try and escape the traffic and the fumes, partially fueled by frustration and peanut butter sandwiches. Once we made it into Wellsboro, however, we were rewarded by a friendly pastor, a public pool, and a community that went over and above the call of duty in accepting us. Along with a number of discounts, the local bike shop donated a pump to our cause--which was desperately needed--and the movie theater just down the road from the church discounted move tickets to Toy Story 3 and The A-Team. As I said before, Anthony and I rode hard. We arrived a full 3 hours before sweep team, and so we stopped off at a diner for some second lunch. It's strange--the day I felt least like biking, I managed to plow through nearly 60 miles before noon. But I suppose the day could have gone either way, if I woke up frustrated: I could have ridden slowly and been miserable all day, but perhaps not have tried too terribly hard; or I could've ridden as fast as possible and gotten it all out of the way. In retrospect, I'm glad I did it the quicker way. Wellsboro turned out to be quite the pleasant little town.

Last night, we were in Coudersport, PA, staying in the "Youth Barn" of the Couersport Alliance Church. Again, we were put into a somewhat cramped space--but once again, it turned out to be a great opportunity to spend some quality time with the entire group. So often it seems as though we are spread out, either thinly trailing down the side of the road in small groups, or pressed to the walls of a full-sized gymnasium, well out of shouting distance from one another. So the nights where you almost trip on seven people en route to the bathroom are kind of nice, in their own way, and they certainly help to combat any feelings of isolation or loneliness that might creep in from being away from one's own family, house, or familiar surroundings. Though it does sometimes get hard, even with all these wonderful people. Travelling from place to place has is allure--seeing parts of the country that are brand new, for instance, or the thrill of shuttling down a steep hill in the Allegheny National Forest--but it does wear on you to never really have a place to call home. So our van is our home; our trailer is our home. These things travel with us as we go, and provide us a sense of stability. Our bikes are our bodies, and our fellow riders are our brothers and sisters. We raise awareness for housing by going without, by relying on the kindness and generosity of others, by hoping and trusting that at each new destination, we will have a host with a smile on their face and an open door. This is never something that can be taken for granted. Even now, as I type this from a computer at a YMCA in Warren, I am very aware that tomorrow morning we will be once again placing our belongings into the trailer, vesting ourselves once more in spandex and sunglasses, and heading westward towards yet another temporary destination. Before I have any time to settle in here, I will be moving on again. I am only grateful that, for me, this state of being is self-imposed and not necessary. It returns me to the very reason I am biking: to give those who have no place to return to a home of their very own.