Day 22: 7/30 - The Outer Banks will own you if you’re on a bike

Here's the gist of the Outer Banks:

If you are on a bike and you are going South, you simply just shouldn't do that. 15 mph headwinds made the what should have been relaxing and beautiful ride along the coast a virtual 61 mile uphill ride. The winds never waiver, never giving you reprieve. Just thigh-burning, non-stop pedaling with your body contorted into the most aerodynamic position possible while still maintaining balance and bloodflow. Drafting was essential between the two of us, but we still were only able to maintain an average speed of just under 12 mph while heading into the wind.

Fun things did happen, though, I will not lie. We shared a pint of Ben and Jerry's chocolate chip cookie dough during a break, which went down fast and was not nearly as filling as it would have been a month ago. Then came the sand dunes at Jockey's Ridge State Park. The two of us pretty much became kids again at the sight of the dunes. We locked our bikes up at the fence and half ran, half walked up to the top (our legs don't really work that well for walking and running any more...I feel like a goon every time I try to do a jog or greater). The views were great and the sand was soft...soft enough to leap off of the steep hills at full speed! The pictures are awesome, so make sure you check them out (keeping the sand out of my camera was priority number one). After all the fun, it dawned on us that we were covered from head to toe with sand, which when mixed with bicycling does not exactly make a great combination. Luckily, we found a hotel with sprinklers watering the nice, green grass, so we helped ourselves to some showers in the water spray. Being a bike on a trip such as this, we've started ignoring the normal taboos of society, such as signs that say "KEEP OFF THE GRASS!!".

The campsite was windy, hot (even with the 20 mph winds), and filled with high class citizens (sarcasm!) at the Bodie Island Lighthouse State Park. Dinner of hamburger helper and mashed potatoes was delicious, but sleeping became an issue. This was by far the worst night of sleep yet. A storm rolled in, so the rain fly had to be put up. And here was the sequence of events that followed:
Rain comes in, fly goes up. Tent becomes a sauna, Esmith and I sweat to death. Rain stops, fly comes off. Tent cools down ever so slightly. The super fine sand blows through the tent mesh, coating our sweaty skin with comfortable grittiness. Rain starts again, fly goes up, repeat aforementioned process. This went on all night until finally when it started to rain again at one point, Esmith and I looked at each other and said "screw it" and just slept in the rain, because at least we could sleep in the rain.