One day, Joanna said to me "Mara, I want to ride my bike to the beach." This was only a few days after we had a crazy adventure of... watching a movie... on a weeknight. So, after a short conversation I realized that she was serious about it. So the dream became a reality as plans fell into place. We had a welcome team/ride home going to Topsail Saturday morning, and about 10 other people waiting for our cry of distress phone call to come get us.
Last friday we packed a duffle bag with food, pjs, inner tube patch kits and cameras. We strapped it to my brand new luggage rack with a long bungi cord, a webbing strap, and a woven belt from Central America. We looked a little rough, but the pack was secure, and we were ready. We mounted our bikes and started pedaling.
4 liters of water, 3 rest/adjustment stops, and 5 photos later we arrived at the Village moter lodge in Smithfield. I went inside to pay for the room while Joanna called anxious family members to announce our safe arrival. As I waited to be helped my legs started to feel funny like a slight burning sensation. I started pacing in the lobby. After 5 minutes of waiting I thought it would be good to streatch. So I went outside and paced and streatched and paced a streatched untill a man came out and asked me if we were going to get a room or what and I'd better be 21. ha. I looked at a Joanna in her layered bike clothes snapping photos of the hotel, our bikes rigged for touring and myself sniffling and wiping my nose on a bandana, helmet off to reveal very new and struggling dreadlocks, and realized that I didn't think I was physically able of standing still. So we paid for that room, passed the ID check. (by 6 years!) and then they were happy.
Wow. We slept like rocks. It was amazing. So thankful we went for the hotel instead of a campsite with no tent. 6:30am Saturday, with a few mini sarah lee muffins digesting and fresh energy we set off on the next 106 miles of our trip. The ride was beautiful, with the sun rising over the trees on fields and cow pastures. Many good photo ops. It was a good morning. We even got to ride side by side and discuss motivation for missions verses other occupations. When we were not chatting or singing, I daydreamed about swimming in the ocean, playing in the sand, and our glorious entry as we rode into the parkin lot. The entire trip we only missed one or two turns and didn't go far before we realized the mistake. Google maps (walking directions modified) was super helpful and accurate... untill we got to the street that was to take us safely over or under US 117. Baker Chapel Church Rd. was our road at the time. We were enjoying the flat scenic road until we passed a "no outlet" sign. All big and yellow and official. We stopped and re-read the directions, pulled out the map and decided to see what "no outlet" really meant. We took a picture of what we found.
What you can't see is that there is a fence on the other side of the bushes. Beyond the fence is US-117. And beyond that... we could only hope for something good. Back to the map. But the map showed Baker Chapel Church turning into McKees Oil County rd on the other side of the highway. And, we would have to add another 3-5 miles to our trip. That could take half an hour, and we would risk getting lost. So, still feeling adventerous, we found a part of the fence that was low and started bushwacking our way toward it. As we struggled to get one of the bikes through the bushes I could feel my patience coming to a halt. I was super uncomfortable, and pretty fed up with the bike that wouldn't budge.... and my legs... they were... warm. I looked down to find in my struggles I had flattened a huge fire ant hill. The occupants were pretty upset and in a matter seconds had retaliated. About 50 of them were attached to my ankles just above my sock line and were pumping my skin with poison. Not having previous experience with fire ants, and still struggling with the bike, I was pretty slow to react. But eventually I realized my task- get them off. I found a piney area a few feet away and tore off my shoes and socks, yelling and sweating. Meanwhile, Joanna continued to drag the bike through the bushes and over the ant hill. Still angry, the ants quickly attacked her chacoed feet. So we sat yelling obscenities and killing the ants. But obscenities I of course mean things like "aaahhhhggg" and "This is how people go crazy!" and "yaahhhhhh". Not saying we did not want to yell other things.
Ten minutes later, we hoisted the bikes over the fence and emerged from the bushes to face the traffic. "My feet feel warm" said Joanna. I looked down. My ankles were red and puffy all around my sock line. They looked like they were exploding out of my socks. We carefully crossed the highway and found ourselves facing a 6' fence with a single line of barbed wire at the top as far as we could see in each direction. Sigh. "Maybe we should have taken the long way around." "Well, at least this will be a fun story to tell" After a 5 minute walk along the side of the highway, dodging numerous fire ant hills, we found our beloved barbed wire break. The fence was lower too.
So, we reached Mckees Oil County rd, found the town of Mt. Olive where we bought gatorate, filled up on water and ate a quick lunch. Back on the road. As we pedaled I watched the odometer/speedometer/clock. I started to do some calculations based on the numbers flashing at me. Little by little it began to sink in that, at the rate we were going, including stops, we may get to the beach around 7pm... IF we didn't have any more Fire Ant incidents or Incorrect Directions incidents. And IF we kept up the pace we were going, wich was hard. I calculated again. maybe 6:30 if we didn't stop as much. but we needed to stop. We dropped things and found things and we needed to eat and use the bathroom. Stopping was essential. 8pm was a realistic estimate. I had secretly hoped to leave the beach by 7pm to go back to Raleigh. I calculated again. 7pm was still generous. We kept riding. I confessed to Joanna how much I was putting my hope in the beach and not in Jesus. She prayed for me. I calcuated again. Realisticly, 8pm. I was tired. I also had a hard time breathing, and I felt low on energy but I didn't feel like eating. So we kept going. Finally, all the anxiety that I had been building up just bubbled over and came out in the form of tears and panic. We found a shady spot and I prepared to vomit. I didn't. I just cried and sucked air as if there was a shortage. It was pathetic. I wish Joanna had been mean enough to take some pictures of me sprawled out in the dirt. Instead she called Blair. And then insisted we continue.
I put the odometer in my pocket and drafted off Joanna as we pushed forward. As we rode, she made plans with blair about picking us up. Basically we keep riding until we see him. We did. We rested alot and drank alot of water. And oh what a glorious moment when the powervan came around the bend! We had biked over 100 miles. Blair drove us all the way back to the beach where we were greeted by our oh so supportive friends and an incredible sand sculpture of sponge bob square pants riding a bike.
The beach was AMAZING. All of a sudden I had plenty of energy to swim and swim and get buried in the sand. Pictured is Ben, Joanna, and the two headed Mara- "which is her real face?"
On the way home we stopped for dinner and I eaten about half of my subway sandwich when my body started to shut down again. It was kind of like I had just enough energy to stay awake and sitting up, so thats what I did, and nothing else. I didn't even think. It was a strange feeling. Not bad, but definately not good.
Sunday morning, I was amazed at how good I felt. Like everything was back to normal. My knee was a bit sore, and we still had welts on our feet. But, other than that, I felt great!
Morals of the story:
1. Fire ants are really nasty, and they have a very appropriate name.
2. Google maps is USUALLY right
3. God is the one who sustains me and gives me life and breath and energy. I can do nothing apart from His grace and I can do everything through Him who strengthens me.
