Back in the spring, every time I would explain to someone about my absurd 2,000-mile summer reporting assignment, I would always end with the same disclaimer: ” …and I’m not a cyclist.”

It took three months of reluctant training and several bottles of Extra Strength Tylenol, but now I can finally say, with full confidence and calf-strength, that I, Susannah Clark,  am a cyclist.

33 days and 2,000 miles ago, I was having a sleepless night, with a vivid image of my parents driving up to Ohio and taking me home after the ninth straight day of me panting and lagging 12 miles behind the group.  With some inspiration and encouragement from more than 50 kind and patient Boy Scouts, I pedaled those anxieties away, and came out with an exhilarating and life-changing experience. I still can’t believe I did it.

For our final ride,  we woke at the crack of dawn to cycle our way into the opening Arena Show at the National Jamboree at Fort A.P. Hill, about a 16-mile ride from Fredericksburg. Buried in a massive sea of badges and beige, the Loopers donned their gleaming white Eagle jerseys (finally washed!) and listened to encouraging words from Sec. of Defense Robert Gates, Virginia Gov. Bob McDonnell and Robert Mazzuca, chief scout executive.

The overall message of each speech was the same; in a time when most teenagers spend their days playing gory video games and watching raunchy movies and TV shows,  the Boy Scouts of America are the active stewards that give the next generation of leaders hope.  I may not have earned any merit badges during my time with the Scouts, but I did gain an invaluable sense of respect for the integrity and commitment to duty that every Scout wears on his uniform’s sleeve.

At the end of the Arena Show, Miss America Caressa Cameron (who grew up in Fredericksburg) sang a soulful rendition of “America the Beautiful,”  and the entire Cycling the Loop trip flashed before me;  the spacious skies, Ohio’s amber waves of grain, the fruited plains of New Jersey, the Alleghenies and their purple mountain majesty.  We really saw it all. From the view of a bicycle seat, America is quite simply, beautiful.

At most Scout camps, when the lingering embers of the campfire finally start to go out, the Scouts cross arms, grab hands and sing the traditional Scout vespers:

(Sung to the tune of “O Christmas Tree”)

Softly falls the light of day,

As our campfire fades away.

Silently each Scout should ask,

“Have I done my daily task?

Have I kept my honor bright?

Can I guiltless sleep tonight?

Have I done and have I dared,

Everything to Be Prepared?

…Upon my final self-evaluation for Cycling the Loop, minus the 6 flat tires and some minor chafing, I would say that the answer is yes.

Thank you for reading, and roll on.

Final flat tire total: 66 (One last one on Route 17 on the way to Fort A.P. Hill.)

It’s almost noon and I haven’t left my bed yet. My quads are quivering from the lack of strain.

As life goes, after an entire month of camping in heat-advisory weather, I eagerly sprinted from the car into my air-conditioned suburban house yesterday only to find that the power had gone out due to a flash thunderstorm. Still, the home-cooked meal and my queen-sized mattress were worth  another night of sitting around in the dark.

I had to miss yesterday morning’s ride from Annapolis to D.C. because I had to arrive early at the parade to cover it. After 30 days of straight cycling, you’d think I wouldn’t mind a break, but as I watched the 27 white Eagle jerseys whisk away from the shipyard, I felt a sharp pang of sadness in my stomach.

The Boy Scouts of America Grand Centennial Parade in downtown D.C. yesterday was an elaborate spectacle of patriotism and over-heated, tear-stained Cub Scouts. (Click here to read the Free Lance-Star’s front page story.) In many ways, the parade was the traditional 4th of July celebration that the Cycling the Loopers missed out on, with streamers and American Flags at every 100 feet. I was most fascinated by the vintage Boy Scout uniforms on display representing each decade. While the float carrying former Cub Scout and one-time “American Idol” runner up Justin Guarini was one thrill, seeing my Cycling the Loop teammates walk their bikes with one hand and wave to the crowd with the other made my heart burst like nothing other.

Riding home in a tourist-packed Metro car was a surreal feeling. Standing pressed up against 30 sweaty riders , I longed to be pedaling on my bicycle, with the wind blowing up my shirt and infinite miles of empty road ahead of me. Adjusting to the real world is going to take a while.

Alas, while I get the next two days off, the Scouts all have one more 60-mile day down Route 1 back to Fredericksburg that I had to miss. We’ll all be reunited for one more ride on Wednesday morning…into the opening ceremony at the National Jamboree. Look for my final sign-off then.

Flat tire total:  63 (3 yesterday…I’ll let you know about today.)

Number of Parade-goers actually excited about seeing Justin Guarini: 0

I’m writing this post on board a WP boat docked right next to the campus of the United States Naval Academy in Annapolis. I’m looking forward to being gently rocked to sleep after a long, sweltering day.

We’ve reached far enough south to get slapped in the face with the triple-digit air temperatures everyone back home has been talking about. I’ve think I’ve produced more sweat in the past two days than all four years of high school gym class. While the heat is bad enough, add on a nasty headwind that makes you feel like you’re pedaling through a pool of hardened peanut butter. The resistance is worse than the highest setting on a stationary bike; every revolution is a struggle. But even though Mother Nature is putting up a good fight in telling us not to, we continue to roll on.

Last night we camped at Henson Scout Reservation in Maryland, our final Scout Camp stop. Per usual, at the closing campfire, the staff and campers put on skits and sang songs as we clapped along. At each of the 14 Scout camps we stayed at, I got the sense that these summer programs serve as a real refuge not only for the Scouts, but for the camp staff as well (almost every single staff member at Henson is a former camper.) Camp is an oasis, an escape from the stress and numbing-normalcy of the real world. Within the spirit of every camp is a nonsensical innocence that is absolutely precious.  Scout Camp is the only place in the world where a grown man can get up in front of a crowd, squirt shaving cream all over his chest, sing a song about a Purple Duck, and maintain complete respect and integrity. If only that’s how the bar scene in Fredericksburg worked.

Today’s ride took us over 60 miles in the miserable heat, but we were delighted to arrive at Annapolis to a welcome party of more Fredericksburg Scouts and parents who are joining in for the last two days. After dinner on site, we were treated to a tour of the Naval Academy campus by a recent graduate. Similar to our tour of West Point, the sights included magnificent architecture with statues at every corner. Getting such an intimate look into military stomping grounds really helps you appreciate the oft-overlooked work these men and women do every single day.

Tomorrow is the first several grand finales for the Cycling the Loop trip, as the cyclists will walk their bikes in the Boy Scouts National Jamboree Parade in downtown Washington D.C. I’ll be posting full coverage.

Flat tire count: 60 (3 yesterday, 2 today.)

Pairs of sunglasses I have broken on this trip: 3

Now that I’ve completed my second century ride, I feel like I have the authority to offer other cyclists advice for when they take on a 100-mile ride: Turn your odometer off.

I am a chronic mile-counter. My odometer wasn’t working for the century ride we did two weeks ago, and that in combination with that fact that I didn’t know we were going to end up going 100 miles made for a much faster ride. Sure, I felt just as exhausted at the end of the first ride as I did at the end of this ride, but yesterday felt like seven days of riding instead of seven hours because I couldn’t take my eyes off the mile-ticker. The ride would have been much more enjoyable if I had spent it admiring the scenes of cranberry farms instead of worrying about how many tenths-of-a-mile we had to ride before the next water stop.

Fortunately, I was able to pass the time by singing Bruce Springsteen songs to myself (we kept seeing signs for Atlantic City and advertisements starring the illusive Jersey Devil.) Even though the day felt long, it was a triumphant feeling when the little digital numbers finally jumped from 99.99 to 100.00 (I let out a loud cheer that no one was around to hear.)

We had two new cyclists from New Jersey join us for yesterday’s century: Rich Lewis and Terry Bridge of the Burlington County Council (see video.) Both have earned the Silver Beaver Award, which is the highest service honor the Boy Scouts bestows on Council leaders. It was a treat to ride with some fresh legs.

We’ve seen more injuries in the past two days than we’ve seen on the whole trip (maybe we need to get out of Jersey.) Henry Britton ran into a car on the Princeton campus on Wednesday and heroically rode the century today with two bandaged hands (he has yet to ride the bus once on this trip.) Then yesterday, David Silk fell off of his bike on the side of a busy highway, causing several cars to break and make sure he was okay (minus a few scrapes, he was.) Within minutes, two police cars and an ambulance arrived (someone must have called from the road.) The chaos calmed once it was clear that David was all in one piece, just a little shaken up.

It’s good to see that the emergency response time is so fast in New Jersey, and the whole ordeal was a reminder of how lucky we are that we’ve biked for 1700 miles and all of our injuries have been minor.

After everyone finally rolled into  our campsite, we drove 10 miles to the shore to gorge ourselves at an All-You-Can-Eat-Buffet (More advice: don’t try fitting chicken Parmesan and lime jello on the same plate.)

Wildwood Beach was everything MTV made the Jersey Shore out to be, except with a lot more belly fat. Still, the excessive-spray tans illuminated by neon tattoo and body piercing signs provided for the best people-watching setting of the entire 2,000-mile loop. I’ve never felt so great about my pale complexion.

Now we’re about to hop on a ferry at Cape May, NJ to take us into Delaware (where will be for a total of 15 miles before crossing into Maryland.) Tonight is the last time we’re staying a Scout Camp, so I’m counting on an emotional final campfire.

Flat tire count: 55 (3 today)

Number of “Pump Fists not Gas” t-shirts we saw at the shore: 6

This will be a short post, considering we have a century ride to get through tomorrow. This morning we were delighted to find that we made the front page of The Acorn Times, Camp Winnebago’s daily newspaper. Our 70-mile day took us on major roads to the center of the state, with mostly strip malls as our scenery.

However, our lunch stop right off the majestic campus of Princeton University was an aesthetic relief to say the least. We set up a picnic on the banks of Lake Carnegie, where the Princeton crew team rows. Photos to come.

Tonight we’re sleeping at Quail Hill Scout Reservation, a cub scout camp in Mammoth county. While tomorrow’s 115 miles is hovering over my thoughts, I generally feel fairly confident.  It is remarkable how much my body has adjusted to this strenuous physical activity. I still feel exhausted at the end of every day, but I haven’t had sore muscles in over a week. I guess the human condition really can get used to anything.

Time for some much-needed sleep.

Flat tire count: 52 (David Silk managed to get two at once today.)

Minutes to took me to drink the Mocha Frappachino I bought in Princeton: 3.

Last night I posed as a Scout. Dressed in a borrowed Venturing shirt that reached all the way to my knees,  I felt like a little bit of a fraud as we passed by a formation of cadets marching in uniform on the fields at the United States Military Academy. Troop 165’s  Assistant Scoutmaster Lt. Colonel Ed Olivares, West Point class of ‘82, arranged for one of the cadets to give us a personal tour of the campus and facilities of the oldest service academy in the country. Before the tour, Mr. Olivares treated us to a first rate three-course meal at the campus’s historic Thayer Hotel. After eating bologna and white bread sandwiches all week, my dinner of french onion soup and salmon was divine.

You would think that West Point would be the most American-looking place in the nation, but oddly enough, the neogothic granite towers and cobblestone paths made me feel like I had been teleported to 19th century Europe. Hunched over the campus is a green mountain range that hugs the Hudson River so it almost looks like the Mediterranean Sea. It’s hard to imagine such calm and breathtaking scenery as the backdrop for such an agonizing experience as Basic Training.

The highlight of the tour (besides Mr. Olivares’s anecdotes about initiating the “plebes”) was the history of warfare mural in Washington Hall (the 4,000 seat-mess hall). Depicting military icons from Joan of Arc to Napoleon to Douglas MacArthur, the mural stretches 2,450 square feet and effectively portrays the evolution of battle. (Unfortunately, none of the pictures turned out well.)

I would have never have predicted that West Point would end up being one of my favorite parts of the trip. It was a true honor to tour the training ground for so many of America’s heroes, and it was even more of an honor to have two of those heroes actually give us the tour.

Today’s ride took us down another Scout leader’s memory lane, as we cycled  across the New Jersey state line to Camp Winnebango, Bruce’s childhood Scout camp. I personally had a rough ride today; I got lost in the morning and then fell off my bike twice in the afternoon (gear problems again.) Naturally I was beyond cranky as I had to walk my broken bike up the final hill into camp, but I was instantly cheered up when I was greeted by hundreds of applauding Boy Scouts egging our group on. Remaining in a low gear, I hopped back on my bike and victoriously glided under the American flag banner they fashioned to welcome us.

As pointed out first by Cory White, Camp Winnebago is identical to Camp Anawanna from the old-school Nickelodoen TV show “Salute your Shorts.” Classic. For dinner tonight, a group of campers participating in a “Trail to Eagle” program grilled steaks, and baked potatoes and apples over a roaring campfire. As I meticulously whittled down the perfect marshmellow-roasting stick and stared into the flames, my falls and gear issues were long forgotten.

Tomorrow starts our century sandwich: 70 miles, then 100 miles tomorrow and 70 the day after. Here goes nothing.

Flat tire count: 47 (1 being my 6th.)

Pieces of duct tape that were holding the slash in my tire together: 5

To quote the lyrics of ska-pioneers The Mighty Mighty Bosstones:

I’m not a coward, I’ve just never been tested. I’d like to think if I was I would pass.

During the first half of today’s hilly 55-mile bike ride, I mentally wrote out the first few paragraphs of what I thought would be a proud and self-congratulatory blog post. It was something along the lines of  ”With sweat cascading down my brow, the victorious burn in my thighs subsided as I hurdled over the final peak of the towering Catskills. All of the other hills we’ve climbed were leading up to this one. And I, the cycling novice, did it.”

…Well, I didn’t actually do it. But it’s not because my quads aren’t bulging enough or I got dehydrated or I just gave up. Halfway up the first switchback, the gears on my bike decided to develop a mind of their own. To climb a steep hill, even the strongest of cyclists requires their “granny gear” (1-1) to continue pedaling. This afternoon, Granny didn’t feel like coming out of bed, as indicated by the loud crunching noises I heard every time I tried to downshift. In defeat, I started walking up the slope until the SAG bus scooped me up and drove the last 6 miles to our campsite.

Now I don’t usually set high goals for myself. If I had to go home tomorrow and not finish the 2,000 miles, I would still feel like I accomplished many milestones. However, today a harsh wave of disappointment flooded over me as the bus zipped by my teammates who continued climbing, one painful stroke at a time. I just want to know if I could have made it. Considering that I was feeling pretty depleted before I got picked up anyway,  it was a longshot, but I’ve surprised myself many times on this trip already.

Or maybe busting my gears was the Cycling Gods’ way of telling me I wasn’t quite ready for those hills. I guess I’ll never know.

The rest of the group made the climb in stride, and I am so proud of everyone. Despite the astronomically high hill grade and mechinical mishaps, our ride through the Catskills provided some of the most gorgeous views we’ve seen on the  trip (and that’s saying something.) Instead of the “Empire State,” New York should really change it’s name to the “Waterfall State.” Taking a break from the exhausting climb, we stopped for a quick spray at Kaaterskill Falls, the second-tallest waterfall in New York. Similar to those in Letchworth, the falls were awe-inspiring in the most unassuming way. After we dipped our toes, a crew filming a documentary approached some of the Scouts to be interviewed about visiting the Catskills. On camera, Bruce shared a touching anecdote about how becoming an Eagle Scout showed him the significance of connecting with nature in his youth.

I always feel at peace when I’m in the mountains. The air is so crisp, and to be constantly confronted by natural might is incredibly humbling. Sometimes, especially in the height of achievement, you need to be reminded of how small you are.

Speaking of humility, tomorrow we get the honor of eating dinner and sleeping at The United States Military Academy at West Point. The Scouts will be decked out in their Class-A uniforms and I will probably spend most of the evening feeling self conscious about my posture. Expect a full report.

Flat tire count: 46 (3 today… Henry Britton got his first, meaning everyone in the group has gotten one now.)

Number of times I had to retype “Kaaterskills” before spelling it correctly: 4

I can now say with full confidence, that we know EVERY inch of the way from Albany to Buffalo. We have completed the Erie Canal portion of the ride, and this morning we said goodbye to the contingent of families and younger scouts that came up from Fredericksburg to join us. While they still have one more day to get to Albany, the Cycling the Loopers continued on for an extra 30 miles to set up camp in the backyard of former Troop 165 Scoutmaster Jim Matarese’s brother’s house right outside of the city.

While we all had a blast Cycling the Erie Canal, it’s hard to put such a small portion of our trip into perspective. For 90 percent of the tour’s participants, cycling 400 miles on the Erie Canal is their biggest accomplishment of the year, maybe even the biggest accomplishment of their lives. That fact that we’re doing five times that route is unbelievable. The magnitude of Cycling the Loop is only starting to hit me now.

Despite the Loopers’ advantage of having 16 days of cycling already behind us, I was incredibly impressed at the Erie Canal riders’ strength, pace and enthusiasm. There were cyclists all of ages, sizes and different amounts of cycling experience. If I learned anything on the Erie Canal, it’s that cycling is an accessible way to unite people from all walks of life. Also, you can get bike jerseys with pretty much anything printed on them. (My favorite of the tour was one man’s Beatles’  ”Yellow Submarine” jersey.)

For our last night with the group,  we camped at a high school in Canajoharie, NY. The school lies on top of a hill that overlooks the city (Canajoharie is home to the Beech-Nut baby food company.) After a bountiful BBQ chicken dinner, the Fredericksburg group all loaded into the Scout bus so Bruce could show us the watering hole at the bottom of the hill.

The watering hole is an isolated and serene enclave tucked away from all the suburban sprawl. The rocks form a natural staircase that cushions a steady stream of cystral clear water. Within 20 minutes of our arrival, half the Scouts had their shirts off and had dived into the 10-foot deep water in just their jeans. As I watched the boys splashing each other from a nearby rock, something inside of me ached for the days when I was young and carefree and didn’t have to worry about getting my cellphone wet if  I wanted to swim in my clothes.

I’ve been exposed to many Scouting values on this trip, but the one that has resonated with me the most is  ”Leave it better than you found it.” Every time we leave a campsite, the Scouts form a “police line” and walk up and down the site scouring for every  minuscule piece of trash, whether or not it was left by us.  While most people have a “I didn’t put it there so why I should I have to clean it up” attitude, the Scouts ask no questions and just clear it away.

Even though we didn’t camp at the watering hole, the Scouts still made a point to pick up the McDonalds wrappers and cigarette butts that were floating in the water before we left. We ended up filling an entire trash bag with litter from the watering hole alone. It’s clear that even though its hip to “be green” these days, littering is still major epidemic that is spoiling some America’s most beautiful places. Every piece of trash that gets picked up makes it a little better, and I’m relieved to know that there are Eagle Scouts out there who have removing litter drilled into them.

Today’s ride was a nice balance of trail and road, with some gorgeous views along the way (See Mohawk Valley Falls picture.) The Albany skyline is one of the most unique cityscapes I’ve ever seen. The architecture is a striking hodgepodge of Gothic and modern towers, nestled next to the beckoning Hudson River. Tomorrow’s ride leaves from the majestic State Capitol Building.

Tomorrow we climb up the Catskill Mountains to camp at Trimount Scout Reservation at the very top. At 55 miles of the steepest hills yet, this is day that everyone has been dreading since Day 1. Internet service is unlikely, so if I don’t post anything, pray that my calf muscles are still intact.

Flat tire total: 43 (2  today, 3 yesterday)

Number of hamburger “sliders” that come in a White Castle “crave case”: 30 (thank you, Mr. Matarese!)

When I was a little girl, during every family vacation I would whine to my parents: “why do we always have to visit places where people lived a long time ago?” As the daughter of two history buffs, it has felt incredibly unnatural to pass by so many museums on this trip and not visit them. Today I made a point to do my parents proud and took a tour of the Erie Canal Village and Museum right outside of our campsite in Rome, NY.

Historical tourism is the closest we can get to time-travel (No one knows this better than the people of Fredericksburg). It’s terribly jolting to hit a strip mall with a McDonalds and a Walmart when you’ve just spent your morning weaving in and out of Canal towns with gravel paths and original 19th century architecture. While each of the Canal villages have their own claims of significance in the construction of the Erie Canal, it was in Rome, where the first shovel of dirt was lifted on Independence Day 1817. After exploring the various exhibits, a group of us hopped on a horse-drawn boat tour in the afternoon, featuring an Erie Canal sing-a-long led by our tour guide (see video.)

Even when you’ve spent 5 days taking in the lush scenery on the Canal, it’s easy to forget that it was human hands and minds that engineered such beauty and efficiency. While we’ve heard many different variations of the history throughout the trip, one fact that is universally accepted is that the construction of the Erie Canal changed the economic landscape of the entire country.  Not only did it open up the West and cut transportation costs by over 95 percent, the Erie Canal further proved to the world that despite its youth, America was capable of genius and innovation.

As the cherry on top of today’s history lesson, tonight’s campsite is on the grounds of Fort Stanwix, a key landmark during both the Revolutionary and French and Indian Wars. Pretty much any place you travel to on the East Coast has some kind of significance pertaining to our country’s founding…you’ve just got to take the time to stop and read the plaques.  Also, it makes a huge difference when you’re visiting a museum on your own rather than being dragged in by your parents.

Flat tire total: 38 (5 of todays were on one bike.)

Number of verses of “15 miles on the Erie Canal” our boat guide sang: 5.

It’s a real shame I couldn’t find good internet connection last night…because yesterday we hit the 1,000-mile mark! (Everyone’s odometer is slightly different..so we kind of had to estimate the exact moment. But we definitely hit it yesterday.) I am in utter disbelief that I’ve made it this far. Susannah Clark, the girl who spent 60 percent of her college career in bed watching the Food Network, biked 1,000 miles in 20 days. Unreal.

The past two days have continued our relaxing tour of the Erie Canal. Yesterday we set up camp at a high school in Seneca Falls, the birthplace of the American women’s rights movement. When one of the Scouts offered to pitch my tent for me, I asked myself “What would Elizabeth Cady Stanton do?” and politely insisted I pitch it myself.

Many communities in the canal towns have made an effort to give the cyclists a distinct welcome to set themselves apart from the dozens of other quaint villages with Victorian architecture and rod-iron street lamps. The United Methodist Church in Clyde, NY offered us pink lemonade and tunafish sandwiches, as well as a guided tour of their 200-year-old sanctuary. The vistor’s center at Camillus Landing had an old-fashioned popcorn machine.

The city of Syracuse welcomed us with a wine and cheese reception at our campsite, with remarks from several speakers including Mayor Stephanie Miner. Like many of the out-of-staters, I was under the impression that New York Parks and Trails (the organizers of the Erie Canal ride) was a state-run organization, but I learned this evening that they are actually a not-for-profit group that raises funds to promote nature and heritage tourism and maintain the state’s many trail systems. As with most states in the country, New York has wrestled with major budget cuts, and parks and recreation is often one of the first sectors to be slashed. In light of all that, New York Parks and Trails has fought to ensure that the Canalway and other trails are maintained to preserve one of America’s most economic and culturally iconic regions.

Tonight we’re sleeping right next to the Rosamond Gifford Zoo in Downtown Syracuse. I can see the elephant’s habitat from my tent. There’s part of me that is fantasizing about the plot of the children’s book “Goodnight Gorilla” coming true tonight (all of the animals escape from the zoo and disturb the neighborhood before returning back to their cages in the morning.) But then there’s a bigger part of me that just wants a good night’s rest.

Flat tire total: 31 (the gravel parts of the Canal path are rough…)

Number of inches of water I had at the bottom of my tent this morning after last night’s thunderstorm: 2