The U.S. by Bicycle

Louisiana: D arrives a day late, on the tail-end of a food poisoning streak. Already she is loud and demanding, clinking together the disarrayed parts of her Shwinn road bike. All twenty seven riders in the group wander around the room like deactivated magnets with no forces pulling us in any direction. A complete stranger, I pour D a styrofoam cup of coffee from the kitchen and make an offering, “Do you need any help?” “No“ she grunts, struggling to push the headset into the frame. She sees the coffee and takes it.
On the first ride she is sick, and everyone else rides ahead – the beginning of a competitive spirit that is to drag throughout the summer. I stay back and wait with her while she vomits on the side of the road, and ride in silence next to her on the gravel. My eyes wander outward, past the winding tree-canopied road, past the thick Mississippi river curdling in the humid air. Beads of sweat sprout through the surface of my skin, then roll down the slick flesh and pool where skin touches skin – up the curve of my lips and down into my mouth.
Texas: On the expansive plains you can see a thunderstorm coming from miles away, a black wall of clouds, a heavy, wet chill in the air, tall grasses bending under the weight. And there’s not much to prepare, except the futile, crunchy plastic windbreaker I bought online for $17.95. D pedaled close behind me that morning, as thrusts of wind knocked us into the narrow, empty highway. We screamed and laughed but our voices absorbed immediately and I couldn't even hear her shouting from a few feet away.
New Mexico: In the high desert there are clusters of adobe-style enclaves every 50 miles, or just one shingled house with an endlessly stretching wire fence. Or there is nothing at all, and the wind catches only on white laced cacti brush. I find myself knocking on a door of a solitary house because I had sucked down all my water within the first 2 hours of riding. I am welcomed by an elderly woman, her shoulders hunched under wispy strands of hair, her eyes dark and solemn. My plastic cleats made intrusive indentations on her Mexican carpets.
Utah: Long Valley Junction is a dot on the road map of Southern Utah, which indicates that it is a landmark of relative importance or a place for truckers to stop for a snack. But upon arrival, Long Valley Junction appears as an intersection where two state roads meet and then diverge. There is a gas station, but the two standing pumps are stained with rust.