At The Least The Guy Driving The Van Doesn't Have To Shave His Legs

As mentioned earlier this week (thanks for all the advice), I'll be driving the length of the Blue Ridge Parkway over the weekend in support of a group of cyclists making the journey. Day One starts now with, apparently, leg shaving.

If you've shared a bathroom with a woman for a long period of time you get acclimated to certain sensory experiences your life was missing before; the scent of nail polish remover, the sight of special mesh bags for the machine washing of delicate undergarments, and the tap-tap of a razor against the tub wall that signifies the defoliation of extremities.

The latter is not a sound you'd expect to hear in room full of dudes. I assumed it was for aerodynamics but Nate, the leader of our group, has decided it best to have shorn legs for the purposes of keeping any potential wounds sanitary.

At The Least The Guy Driving The Van Doesn't Have To Shave His Legs

Our other bunkmate, Wes, doesn't think it necessary. This leads me to believe it's a style choice as much as anything. Although Wes is about to go run a few miles before his 55-mile trek up the mountain range today, so his judgment is suspect.

Inside the van my legs will be as Teutonically hairy as always, if you were curious, which I'm hoping you weren't.

At The Least The Guy Driving The Van Doesn't Have To Shave His Legs

Otherwise the trip has been a delight in the Nissan Quest, which easily swallowed two bikes, all of our bags, us three merry dudebros, some Burger King, and the other assorted shit you need for a trip of this variety. The power doors and hatch are mostly unnecessary for such fit young people but I open all the doors every time remotely... mostly for shits and giggles.

At The Least The Guy Driving The Van Doesn't Have To Shave His Legs

Next stop is the bus station to fetch our last rider (no word on her legs) and then onward to the mountain.