I’m about to walk out my door on my way to Green Bay, Wisconsin from Chicago. I am going to visit my mom and baby sister and since I don’t have a car or money, I have to ride my bike there. It is about 200 miles, each way.
By no means will I be setting any world-records, but I am worried; I’m not in shape, I’m not a bike expert and I don’t think I’ve every rode more than 10 miles at a time. A side effect of my depression is that laying in bed all day for so long has greatly atrophied my muscles and I am weaker than I have been, probably ever in my adult life. This should be interesting. I was lucky enough to find some strangers through Facebook that will help me find a place to crash in Milwaukee. Otherwise, I would have slept in a park or highway underpass–which I’ve done before, so I wasn’t too worried.
Its exciting to wonder what I’ll encounter, and I’m daydreaming about having my own little Kerouac On the Road experience. Though, mostly, not-dying is my first priority.