Pedro's: Vanishing Point, The Real Life Musical Day Two - Snow Devils And Red Bull

Differentiating between day one and day two of the Pedro's GET IN THE VAN! Race Across The Ground To CX Natz Cannonball Run might prove difficult. You see, day one never really ended, it just kind of began toward the end of day one some time. There was no defining moment that shouted "this is day two!"

The snow made the overnight driving shifts grueling, stressful, eye-tearing affairs. CycloWhat? was the first to step up behind the wheel, and he was the first to fall.

Big Bikes followed, getting accustomed to the unfamiliar Volkswagen Eurovan while fighting high winds and steering through frozen slush, while singing along to Human League.

The Wilcox's shift wouldn't start until Tuesday AM, about 17 hours into the trip, somewhere in Indiana. All the driving prior to sunrise blurred into a nightmarish composite image

of 18-wheeler taillights, ruts in the snow, and semi-trucks with triple trailers blowing by like the Pedro's van was a Geo Metro loaded with bench vises.

Ohio proved a formidable foe, its nearly identical service plazas giving the appearance of total lack of progress. But they all had Starbucks. The Ohio taketh awayeth, and The Ohio-eth give-o-eth.

At some point Big Bikes became a slave to bodily functions, lapsing in and out of sleep, waking up only to urinate or defecate, mostly not in the van. Around eleven in the morning, he got dumped onto the floor by a sudden slamming on of the van's brakes, accompanied by panicked screaming. He woke up looking like a discombobulated, stoned 15-year-old, wondering what the hell at happened. He had been pranked by his cohorts. Big Bikes may have mumbled something about his revenge prank relating to falling asleep at the wheel at 3AM, and crashing the van into a bridge abutment, killing all aboard in a flaming wreck.

The reality television crew charged with documenting the Pedro's Race Across The Ground to CX Nationals has the daunting task of trying to edit anything CycloWhat? says into something that isn't a just string of F-bombs punctuated with descriptions of various forms of biological waste.

At a Subway in Illinois, the racing team of racers was accosted by a farm worker dressed in a mud-splattered jump suit that would have easily fit a Plains Buffalo. He turned and asked them, through his brilliantly white dentures, which stood in stark contrast to his dirt-encrusted overalls, "Where you headed with all them bikes?" "Bend, Oregon" they replied in harmonic unison. "I hope yer getting' paid for it" he said. "No sir." "What, is Obama paying' for it?" Uh…no." "Well I bet you f—ers voted for him," (Nervous laughter) "You ain't denying' it!"

As this message reaches you, the Pedro's Boogie Van Boys are approaching Lincoln, Nebraska where they will enjoy their first true stop of the trip, after 1572 miles of nearly non-stop travel. Pizza will be eaten, beer will be imbibed, and a few precious hours of sleep will be had, hopefully, for their sake.