June 25th, 2008
Greetings from the hot, muggy, swamp that is our nation’s capital! I think those old white men calling the shots hundreds of years ago had at least some foresight and a sense of humor – I take too much pleasure in that most of our politicians have to tramp through a wall of moist heat in their straightjacket suits to go to work in the summer.
Yesterday we rode 82 miles from Lake Anna National Park through Virginia and into the district. This was the longest ride of the trip by far, and most of us didn’t actually make it the whole distance. Congrats to Nora, Heather, and Mel – they rode every single mile, all of which were littered with traffic and huge hills. Another group of riders made it through all of the hills and onto the bike trail into the city before it started getting dark – a definite stopping point in Wanderlust land, as most of us don’t have lights on our bikes or the experience to navigate in the dark of strange cities.
I got to ride over the Francis Scott Key Bridge and into DC – but only after cutting out some of the mileage and the hills by riding in the van. Let me explain: Kathleen and I got into a collision about forty miles into the ride that knocked her off her bike, Beautiful Soul, and into oncoming traffic. She was understandably upset, so we stopped at a gas station for a long time to calm her (and me) down and make sure everyone was physically unscathed. After the long break, we were far behind the rest of the riders and we still had more than half of the ride to go. Both of us were shaking, and I got more upset about the incident as we rode as I realized once again that what we are doing is awesome and powerful, but also dangerous and unpredictable. As would be expected, it gets harder to ride my bike when I think about it like that!
When we met the van for lunch, I knew I couldn’t ride anymore for a while – but there is an immense group and personal pressure to complete every single mile, as if failing to ride is somehow failing the movement or the goals of the trip. When we set off from the state park, I wanted more than anything to ride into Washington. I lived there for a while and never cease to be drawn to and alarmed by the ironic contradiction of that iconic city – the imposing structures in your high school textbooks that draw thousands of tourists each day contrasted with the highest HIV infection rate in the country; the national concentration of white, mostly male power in a city that is predominantly African American. I got into the van, rode for the next twenty-five, and got out with Becky and Kathleen to ride the beautiful bike trail up the Potomac and into the city, just as the sun was starting to set. In “failing”, my worst fear of all, I got to do exactly what I wanted to do.
Today we are meeting with three organizations working within the sexual health and reproductive justice movements: the National Abortion Federation, Advocates for Youth, and the Sexuality, Information and Education Council of the United States, known as SIECUS. Tonight, we will be attending a reception/dinner forum hosted by the Religious Coalition for Reproductive Choice.