Prologue

Don’t Worry Nate…

As many of you know, Nik and I spent our first years living together in New York City. We were in Harlem, specifically. No, not Brooklyn thank you very much. Just because Nik makes craft beer, can grow a beard, and likes to pickle things does not mean we lived on the part of Long Island that no one likes to admit is part of Long Island.

Our apartment in Harlem was as New Yorkers like to say “the holy grail of New York City apartments.” This means it was rent stabilized. 

We loved Harlem, loved our rent-stabilized apartment and also loved the quirky cast of characters that inhabited it. One such character was our endearing landlord, Nate. Nate lived on the first floor, he shoveled snow, sometimes, took out the trash, sometimes, took out the recycling, even less, and was amused by Nik and I, and our endearing (so we like to think) white people habits, always.  

This was maybe because every time Nik and I would run into Nate we will would invariably be enthralled in an activity that “white people like;” making scarves for our mothers out of old t-shirts, composting Bokashi style under our sink, canning tomato sauce, recycling, biking. I think you may get the idea.  

Whenever Nik and I would be occupied in such activities we would say to ourselves “Don’t worry Nate, just a couple of white people in Harlem _____________(insert activity here).” Let’s say, hypothetically, doing couples yoga in our underwear. And so the mantra to our habits in Harlem was claimed.  

When Nik and I complete our first backpacking trip as a couple, we took a course that began on a commuter bus up to Pawling, New York, where we hiked home through the Palisades, over the George Washington Bridge and back through Harlem to our holy grail apartment. “Don’t worry Nate just a couple of sweaty, dirty white people lugging oversized backpacks through Harlem in a pouring Summer thunderstorm.”  

And so, as we set off from Boston with our overstuffed panniers headed west towards Seattle, Nik and I may not be able to find words to capture our teeming sentiments as we begin this adventure, but we still have the mantra that defined our lives in Harlem, and have come to define us and the antics that hopefully you find somewhat adorable (if not you should probably quit reading this blog now and save yourself the grimaces).  

What could go wrong?  

“Don’t worry, Nate. Just a couple of white people biking across the entire freaking country.”  

Molly