Remember, if you enjoy these bike tour diaries from Attica! Attica!’s Aaron Scott, please consider donating to the cause for which his band is riding. World Bicycle Relief provides bicycles to disaster-stricken areas of the world. To learn more, please visit WorldBicycleRelief.org. To make a donation to team Ditch The Van, go here: Ditch The Van Team Donation Page.

As I climbed the steep hill, my legs and lungs debated who would scream first. The trees of New England had yet to change color, but the brisk air of autumn was upon us. Blake and Jon were up ahead, negotiating the long ascent with more success. I could hear the familiar sound of a car approaching from behind, but instead of passing, it slowed to my pace, which was roughly 3 mph. It was a gray Lexus driven by a well dressed middle aged woman. She leaned over towards the passenger side and asked, “Can you tell me where the golf course is?”

“Sorry…I’m not from here,” I told the woman, stating what seemed painfully obvious. I am riding a bike that is loaded down with four bags weighing roughly 50 pounds. I am following two men fitting the same profile, one of whom has a trailer with guitars on it. The clothing I’m wearing would be considered ridiculous for any enterprise other than biking long distances. No, I am not from here.

This woman’s obliviousness is the exception. Most people get it when they see us. If they don’t get what we’re doing, or why we’re doing it, they at least understand that we are up to something interesting. One man in Bridgeport, CT, yelled, “Hey, where you going with all that luggage?” We told him we were biking to Florida. He didn’t believe us.

The day before, as we passed a gas station at a good clip, a man who was refueling his car literally sprinted up to the shoulder to shout, “Where are you coming from?” We told him Boston, which yielded an enthusiastic thumbs up. Even though this was invigorating, I instantly wished he had asked where we were going instead. It was impressive that we biked 200 miles. It was more impressive that we weren’t even 1/10 of the way there.

We are a like a small-time traveling circus. The feats of daring are not amazing, but at least they are surprising. The spectacle is not grand, but at least it is intriguing. The acrobatics are not jaw-dropping, but…well, they are jaw-dropping to some. Many people need to be told several times that we’re seriously biking to Key West. Other people simply say that it sounds impossible. Others tell us we’re crazy. We don’t look like circus freaks, but sometimes I feel like one after talking to a disbeliever.

The disbelief is good to hear. Some days, I forget that what we’re doing is actually pretty impressive. Yes, thousands of people do big bike tours every year, and tens of thousands of people do music tours, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t hard to do. Doing both is even harder. During one three day span, we biked each day and played a show each night in New Brunswick, then Trenton, then Philadelphia. It was pretty strenuous to bike for 45 miles, play a show that ended at 1:30 am, sleep in a tent in the pouring rain, then wake up six hours later to do it all again. I think the dude in the jeep in Virginia said it best: “Riding your bike to Florida? That’s sort of extreme.” For a second it seemed like he had comically stepped out of a Mountain Dew commercial, but he’s right. For most people, quitting your job to ride a bike for two months does seem like extremist behavior.

People start conversations with us all the time because we look interesting and unintimidating. If you want to talk to people outside a 7-11 for hours, just put a lot of gear on your bike, get a Slurpee, sit on the curb looking really tired, and the people will flock to you. Even people who seemed like they were in a hurry will stop to chat for five minutes. After hundreds of interactions during breaks and while riding, I’ve noticed they generally fall into one of three categories: 1) The people who talk about God. 2) The people who talk about themselves. 3) The people who swear.

The people who talk about God are everywhere. Across all demographics and neighborhoods, a good number of people end our conversations with some variation of “God bless you.” We’re not particularly religious people, but we’ll gladly take all the help we can get. At one extremely busy intersection, a woman of about 60 asked us what we were doing. Upon hearing the answer, she said, “I’m going to put angels above you and below you and all around you so you don’t get hurt.” We thanked her. As she drove away, I wondered if I had just met God herself. If I did, allow me to share that she drives a Buick.

The people who talk about themselves are both refreshing and tedious. As we ate some sandwiches on the sidewalk, a woman stopped by to tell us her nephew rode his bike across the country in only three weeks. Sure, lady. Another dude told us all about his bike tour across England, and yet another told us about his high school cycling club. “Yeah, we were against such a strong headwind that I was in granny gear going downhill and I still wasn’t getting anywhere.” It’s normally tough to listen to such an unsolicited blowhard, but it’s nice to talk to someone who doesn’t want us to provide all the content of the discussion.

The swearers are awesome. They respond to “We’re going to Florida,” with a hearty, “No shit!” I think swearing the first time you meet somebody is an excellent expression of either self-confidence or true exasperation. Maybe both. Regardless, I like it when somebody swears in our discussions. “No fuckin’ way. No FUCKIN’ way!” That kind of thing. It makes me feel like what we’re doing is pretty kickass.

The interactions I appreciate most happen in the inner cities. Though I’ve lived in poor urban neighborhoods before, I am still a bit self-conscious in the cities, unsure of what people will say of the three white men with geared out bicycles. I expect the people to ignore us, or resent us, or even be a bit hostile. But the cities have continually defied those prejudices, as if to teach me a lesson. While the suburbanites have largely treated us with indifference, the people of the city have been nothing less than utterly enthusiastic. It is heartening that even though we are completely incongruous with the urban landscape, people want to throw us whatever support they can, even if it’s just to smile and tell us to stay safe.

Our favorite of these interactions happened when were biking through a rundown area of Trenton, which rightfully has a reputation as a rough city. We came to a stoplight, where we saw a man with sunglasses standing on the far corner, swaying back and forth. A disheveled woman clung to his right arm as he used his left to sip from a can of Steel Reserve. It was 11 AM. Another woman was walking towards three people sitting on a bench about fifty feet from us. It was about 75 degrees, but she wore a shawl that she pulled tighter around her shoulders as she turned her head to look at us. She squinted her eyes and asked, “Where you goin?”

“Florida”

“Where?”

“Florida”

“Where y’all goin?”

“Florida,” we said for a third time. She stopped walking altogether and squinted even harder, considering this response for several seconds. Finally, she offered her thoughts on the matter.

“Damn,” she muttered. “Y’all some bad muthafuckas.”

Yes. Yes we are.

Links:
Attica! Attica!Space
WorldBicycleRelief.org

Photos courtesy of Attica! Attica!

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