DAY SIXTEEN: A Cycletourist's Crossroad

Indian Ocean to the South Pole

Every once in a while, I find myself in the right place at exactly the right time. To my great fortune, that's exactly what happened this morning as Captain Skull guided his pirate ship into a small bay on the coast of Antarctica. The bay was lined with those massive glaciers the continent is noted for.

There was no way I could resist taking a video of those incredibly thick slabs of ice. Then something happened that I was totally unprepared for. You can hear the SHOCK in my voice.

(I'm going to have to speak to my special effects coordinator about that video.)

Captain Skull explained what happened. "That, my scurvy friend, was what'cha call 'calving.' It's when a whale-sized chunk of ice falls off the edge of a continent-sized chunk of ice."

"Interesting," I said. Then I added, "in Minnesota, 'calving' means something entirely different."

************

Once again, there were hugs, handshakes (for those who still had a hand) and tearful goodbyes as I walked The Reckless Mr. Bing Bong down the gangplank onto the Antarctic shore. And once again, there were promises from the entire crew to pick me up at the end of my Antarctic adventure and to bring me to the next continent. The camaraderie among pirates is very, very special.

The most sentimental gesture of all was when the first mate gave me his most cherished icicle. His grandfather had given it to him when he was a small child, telling him it would bring him good luck for as long as he possessed it. I rode with it for about a mile until it slipped out of my hand and broke into a hundred pieces.

The route was pretty rugged and I got stuck quite often. I simply could not find a paved road ANYWHERE. (One nice thing, though, is that I didn't need a kickstand to pose my bike.)

When things got extra horrible and terrible and awful, I shouldered my bike and walked. And walked. And walked. And walked. And walked. And walked.

I didn't care how difficult the conditions were; I was on a mission. It wasn't enough just to be among an elite handful of bike tourists to do a little riding on this forbidding continent. I felt compelled to go a step further. I'm going to ride all the way to the South Pole.

I was feeling pretty smug about my unequaled determination. Little did I know, I had some competition.

I've been over half-way around the world now, and I haven't seen a single other bike tourist. It was almost inconceivable that I would meet the first one here in Antarctica. But that's exactly what happened.

The dude literally flew right past me. The craziest thing is that he looked like somebody I had met before.

Sure enough, it was my Cartoon Alter-Ego, G-2.

I caught up to him when the wind let go of him and he was able to land.

We had a great meet-up. We talked about our respective bike trips, our hopes and dreams, and had a lot of laughs.

"I've got a good idea," I began.

"What's that?" G-2 asked with an air of being at least somewhat interested.

"Maybe we should ride to the South Pole together."

"You know, that might not be such a bad thing. I really wanted to beat you there, but I worry about the wind picking me up again and blowing me hundreds of miles off course."

"Right? I'd rather beat you there too, but maybe we can arrive together and be Co-Conquerers of the South Pole."

"Let's do it," G-2 finalized.

************

It was a long slog, and I think I was more of an asset to G-2 than he was to me, but we eventually found the South Pole. It was one of our greatest moments of cycling glory.

It's hard to believe that this pole extends all the way from here, through the core of the earth, and re-emerges at the North Pole. (Somebody had a twisted sense of humor when they attached a birdhouse to the South Pole. I mean, what kind of bird would feed here--other than the bird-brained G-2?)

After reaching the South Pole, we knew we had to make some kind of shelter in order to get a little sleep. When we built a small community of snow & ice shelters, we congratulated ourselves on being the best housing developers on the continent.

Incredibly, another bike tourist came along. It was another solo rider from the U.S. Her name was Doris, and she asked if she could share one of our dwellings. G-2 was smitten and replied, "hell yeah."

That's me in the loft of the house on the left. That's a snowman in the igloo on the right.

That's G-2 and Doris in the igloo after they kicked out the snowman.

The sun never went down, but we tucked into our respective sleeping bags and slept the satisfied sleep of hardy adventurers.

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