Epilog

Map and Pics:  Click Here for Map and Pics.

3872 Miles, 120305 feet of climb , Days 1-52,
CA, NV, UT, CO, KS, MO, IL, IN, OH, PA, NY, VT, NH and ME

Epilog.  Closing Thoughts
 

Now back into the everyday schedule of work at work and work at home, I now can take time to look back and reflect on how my summer's adventure became more like school

The best of the best at the Indiana Ohio border

than a vacation. Each section of the trip took on a different subject. In California, it was Paul who reminded me of the disciplined way of life. In western Nevada it was Heidi and Steve who showed us all what true courage was. In eastern Nevada and western Utah it was Canada Dave who lifted my spirits with his natural buoyancy in spirit and taught me how to enjoy life regardless of the desert surrounding me. Al was big. He got me through the Rockies, even pulled me up and over Continental Divide with his wit and ‘never quit’ attitude. As we went through the Blue Mesa crisis it was Eddie who showed everybody what compassion and Christian living looked like in the flesh. In the desolate lands of eastern Colorado and west Kansas it was an Energizer Bunny named Peter who showed me it was okay to march to a different drummer and seek out the unique in the vast unchanging plains. Jeb showed me in central Kansas the importance of knowing where I came from and never hide from it. Frans, my hero, saved me from quitting the trip in east Kansas. He was an encourager from the start, but when I needed to learn to ride my bike in a way to save my knees, he came along beside of me and told me how. His advice changed the rest of the trip for me, and I am most grateful. In Missouri it was Bob. He had been dinged in Saint Joseph, and his quiet spirit and determination to overcome injury was exactly what I needed when I needed it. Ted and Norm were the two that showed us all what true friendship was, and it was in full force from corn fields to bean fields and back as we crossed the fields of Illinois and Indiana. My family made east Illinois and Indiana a place of oasis and refreshment. With their words of encouragement I was able to step out of my new world of wake-ride-shower-sleep-repeat. Dan was my hero in Ohio. He was in it for the cause and never lost focus of why he was in the saddle. In Pennsylvania it was the singing Dutchmen that allowed me to reintroduce myself to the joy of music again. In west New

A man couldn't ask for a better
buddy than Al.

York (and all points east from there) Steve, the detective, was the guy that gave me a healthy perspective on life and the value of a winning smile. In eastern New York it was Claire, the champion of the underdog, who befriended me at meals and encouraged me not only to finish, but to finish well. In Vermont, Norm reminded me of the delight of discovery as we took time to visit Hemming’s Motor News in Bennington. Chuck (one of the best coaches I have ever met) welcomed me back into the pack for the dash to the sea in New Hampshire. In Rye, NH Michelle came alive, whooping and hollering. The immense burden on her back was lifting and she could finally let her emotions rip. It was so good to see that. All along the way we were helped and encouraged by our other staff members too, Jane, Gene, Jim, and Mark. And then there was my Bill, my roommate for over two months. The difference between a good trip and a bad trip sometimes hinges on who you share a room with. Bill made it a great trip. All these people were part of the mosaic of goodness that I set out to discover in the great land.

This trip was the best 52 day investment in my whole life. I grew in so many ways. I also shrunk in many ways too. I set out to find goodness in America, and not only did I find it, but it also found me. Hallelujah!

Spiritual Aspects of the Ride

Map and Pics:  Click Here for Map and Pics.

3872 Miles, 120305 feet of climb , Days 1-52,
CA, NV, UT, CO, KS, MO, IL, IN, OH, PA, NY, VT, NH and ME

Spiritual Aspects of the Trip.  
 



Winners!  The Dutch Advance in
World Cup Soccer!



We weren't even to the first traffic light after leaving the San Francisco hotel when I heard somebody ask another what that moment was like for him. The answer I gave to myself was 'Wow' but the man who answered said the experience was a "spiritual moment." It was said with such gravity that I felt my adding anything would only pollute the deep inner thoughts that others were having around me.  "Wow" seemed overly trite and I started to wonder what was wrong with me. I was at the moment, but I wasn't in the moment.

I had just started to get to know my riding peers, and I was humbled. Not a one of them was a loser in the game of life, no, just the opposite. I could easily assume the check they had to write to be here riding in front of me was not even a pimple on their ledgers. The more obvious fact needed not to be stated. I was the only one that looked so unfit that a suggestion could be made I might want to purchase some training wheels, industrial strength, to support my excess weight.  These were highly self-motivated, successful, and moral people. There was not one word of discouragement heard  on the first day, or for the whole trip, and the use of profanity was almost non-existent.
 

Me struggling up the first hill in San Francisco

The best way to avoid looking stupid was to keep my mouth shut... and listen for once in my life.  As heard in the deep south, "I was with the goodest of the goodest." If they were to discover I was from Alabama, they would have to find it on page 38 of the rider's handouts.  I was that much out of my league. The first hill proved my assumptions were right on all accounts and falling more behind with every pedal stroke.

I wasn't even to the Pacific Ocean, still five miles away, to dip my back tire in the ocean when my inner expression went from "Wow" to "What am I doing here?" I thought it poetic that once topping the first hill, which was around 17% in grade, I entered the San Andreas Fault rift valley. It wasn't a 'we' anymore; by now everybody had already left me in their dust and for the first time in my life I had to discover what a cue sheet was. I could swear that sheet was written in Swahili; definitely not English. Yes, I had just experienced my San Francisco earthquake. Yes, I could now agree with the initial rider. This was indeed a spiritual moment. I was now 'in it', not 'at it'.
 

Even the trees are crooked - 8% grade up

It was ascending the Sierra Nevada Mountains from the west that I started having problems telling  from one stretch of the road to another if I was going up or down. To orient myself I would look at the ditches or streams on the side of the roads to determine which way the water was flowing. On logging roads, my eyes couldn't tell me what my legs could - it takes less effort to pedal downhill. My eyes were deceived by horizons that either couldn't be seen or when they could that were not true horizontal. I was traveling without trusted absolutes. I discovered that I needed these certainties to maintain my balance. When my eyes, legs and ears all disagreed, an internal argument ensued, churned the belly and increased the grip on the handlebars. Some call that mild vertigo. I call it watching my control slip away, and I was scared of mixing that dizzy condition with speed. The most terrifying moment of the whole trip for me was coming down Donner Pass on the fourth day out.  I laugh now. That section of road is advertised as one of the highlights of the trip. I can only go as far as saying it was the most memorable.

Eddie, our priest, and youngest rider

I live in the world of mathematics and sciences. When dealing with orbital mechanics or propulsion, it is comforting to have absolutes, like gravity working the same on Tuesdays as it does on Fridays. I enjoy math because it can be boiled down to simple truths: define the problem, follow the rules, stay inside the box, and through logic be rewarded with a solution. It was rocking my world that a 60 mile bike ride in California was three times the strain as a 60 mile ride in Alabama. It was rocking my self-esteem that I was not as good as others, physically, vocationally, financially, and most likely morally. It is hard to compete with a priest. I hurt in body, soul, and spirit. The good news is that I only had 3,400 riding miles of humiliation left.

The shade under a bridge
was considered a godsend.
PS: Exhaustion happens

The lowest point for me spiritually was our first day in Nevada. I thought my life was over when a 'triple' truck's trailer wheels came within three inches of me, and the afternoon sun softened the roads as if we were riding through peanut butter - and cooked your feet if you stepped off the pedals.  The disappearance of anything green was depressing; just days before we were in the lush Central Valley of California, the deep woods of the Sierras, or overlooking the blueness of Lake Tahoe. No, except for where a person intervened, the world was either a dull brown or shades of gray.

I felt that way inside too. It is when I was at my lowest point that I realized the only thing I had left was my base certainties. The love of my family, friends, the love of God, the encouragement of those at my church and at work, a tested path before me that hundreds had already accomplished, and the clockwork dawn that would signal the start of the next day's ride. These were some of the spiritual variables. Only dawn and the love of God were absolutes, and dawn was questionable.
 

Canada Dave in Auburn, CA
No rush!  The hotel is but 2 miles away!

The goodness of my riding partners started to have a very positive impact on me. "Canada Dave" always saw the bright side of things and made the trek across Nevada shorter than it really was. He always knew how to relax and to say the right things. We both had the uncanny ability to jointly misread the Swahili to gain bonus miles. To my shame I was wrapped up in my own pain to see all the goodness around me.  Looking back at all those miles I am now convinced that God purposely brings a man, and in this case me, to nothing before He lifts a man back up. Pride is an anathema to Him, and He certainly knows how to cure somebody of it.

I cannot speak for others, but I started to see God's hand all over me and on the paths before and behind me. Too many hints. They were everywhere. My math and science brain in me wanted to work out the probabilities of such a string of events - mind boggling. There has to be a point where the probabilities are so miniscule that it crosses the line from natural to supernatural. Luck can only take a person so far.  The more one studies applied math, the more one has to surrender to the possibility of an interactive divine that shapes the course of history. I concluded the most amazing aspect of God is that He doesn't leave fingerprints. If He did, there would proof of His existence and that would render faith both obsolete and meaninglessness. No, I concluded He seeks mankind's love and admiration, but if He exposed Himself that would mean appreciation, love, worship, all of the entrails of those voluntary attributes would become compulsory in the light of overwhelming evidence. No, He chooses to allow us to have a free will; a will where we have the right to love him, hate him, demote him to a seasonal cosmic Santa Claus, or as many do, ignore him completely.
 
Growing up poor, Thanksgiving was my favorite holiday. Christmas was not. Yes, I scored big with presents given our situation, but I didn't like the theology the John Coots song added to it:

     He's making a list                                           

     And checking it twice;

     Gonna find out Who's naughty and nice

     Santa Claus is coming to town

     He sees you when you're sleeping

     He knows when you're awake

     He knows if you've been bad or good

     So be good for goodness sake! 

 

My young behavior was such that I detested the thought of some cosmic entity keeping book on me 24x7. The same phrase that nagged me in my childhood continued to nag me now. The problem with catchy tunes is that they keep catching you, and this was one of the ditties that plagued me during the ride. The line that bothered me the most was the last one: So be good for goodness sake! What is that supposed to mean? Is the song saying we should be good because it is good to be good? That is unpinned reasoning - no absolutes - no string on that kite.

Dawn at Wendover, NV

So what would anchor 'for goodness sake' to the ground? Family reputation? A basis for success in commerce? A basis to form a relationship such as marriage?  Continuation of societal norms? And what would be the fruit of each of those reasons? Harmony for one thing. Peace maybe. Coercing a child to behave the two weeks before Christmas? Those things, but also pride. Pride in being able to say I was good, and by inference better than my siblings or peers. Pride also promotes a weak argument to keep a soul out of hell on Judgment Day, as if we could point back to our good deeds and tell God we deserve entrance into his heaven. That is where the 24x7 aspect of good old Saint Nick bothers me. For every one good thing I did by accident there were hundreds of other things I did on purpose hidden away in my Hall of Shame. Only a fool on judgment day would present that approach as a personal defense. Historical accuracy is one of the attributes I fear the most about God.

The only true anchor I could think of 'for goodness sake' would be the argument that any good that we do is nothing more than a reflection of the image of the divine within us. We are told that mankind was made in the image of God, and goodness is nothing more than that light's reflection getting past the crud and mud of our flaws that fog the windows of our soul. I find that to be true. If you look in the best angle, people glow with goodness. If you look in wrong places, such as pricking one of their pet peeves, well goodness doesn't glow out of those slime pits.
 

Some of the best of the best

So what good is being good anyway, and who has the right to say what is good? Is society the arbiter of what is good? Nations take on the personalities of their leaders, and human history compels us to look elsewhere for a moral standard. Should it be our parents or grandparents? Their credentials include a genuine love for their families, but the problem with searching an ancestry is the discovery that our forefathers were just like us. Educators? Doctors? Clergy? What about the group I was riding with? That was certainly the cream of the crop and the group even included a priest. Or should it be the individual that sets the standard of self-atonement?

God is not impressed. He looks at these deliberations and likens them to a group of prostitutes arguing among themselves who is the most virginal. According to the prophets, His standard is perfection and the question quickly becomes how much forgiving, pity, and mercy will be needed to cover the depravity that leaches into human behavior. He is not interested in playing Santa Claus; He is in the restoration business: Beauty for ashes. He is not interested in bad people becoming good, but dead people becoming alive. Goodness is merely the divine life shining through, a byproduct of His transforming life giving power. Goodness is not the goal, it is the evidence.

 

Final Group Picture, Rye High School, NH

So did I waste my time looking for goodness in America? Absolutely not. When the 'gooder' credits the 'gooding' to someone other than the 'goodee' then the real source of the 'good' receives the credit. When somebody was prompted within themselves to be kind to me and later they deflected the thanks away from themselves, God got the credit for the prompting, and everybody gains joy. 

This is what Alabama boys think about when they ride their bikes across America. May all men and women realize that God is in the restoration business, cease all hostilities towards Him, and ask God to wash them new and alive in that life giving power.  "Joy to the World!" - commands the Isaac Watts Christmas carol.

 

If there was one spiritual lesson I had to learn on this trip it was to not to look with the eye, but look

In the Atlantic Ocean - Wallis Sands State Park, NH

at life through the eye. It is the difference between being at and in. God gives too many hints of His care and He wants us to respond in faith to even bigger truths He has in store. He does not expect us to say thank you for every blessing, but I do think He enjoys it when we express gratitude. It is one thing to be at his throne room of nature, and quite another to be in His throne room. Personally, I have taken that step, and trusted Him to daily to get me through each day, and especially during this adventure. I dared not boast of my faith in His power to get me across the country - heavens no! I was always on the brink of physical failure and mental succumbing to the urge to quit. Some would say that is a weak faith. Okay... it was, but it was still faith.  Friends were supportive, my fellow bikers were encouragers, and God was faithful. When the smoke cleared on the last day the most unlikely of riders was standing strong not just at the ocean, but in the Atlantic.

Bottom Line: God had His hand all over me all the way. Wow. Better said, I lived 'in' the Wow of God.



 

Retrospect: Questions and Answers

Map and Pics:  Click Here for Map and Pics.

3872 Miles, 120305 feet of climb , Days 1-52,
CA, NV, UT, CO, KS, MO, IL, IN, OH, PA, NY, VT, NH and ME

Questions and Answers about the Cross Country Challenge.  
 

When I got home there were several questions that I answered several times in several places. All the questions were genuine and made me feel like they were with me on the trip in spirit.

Arrival home at Huntsville Airport

Q: What was it like for your wife?

A: She did not like the daily suspense and feared at any moment she was going to have to jump in a plane to find me in some remote hospital beyond the edge of civilization. We talked twice daily at least, and heaven help the wayward husband if he forgot to text her in the evening that I had arrived safely at the hotel. She was overworked taking on such man-tasks as getting the yard mowed, pest control, and knocking down misbehaving smoke detectors from the wall with the business end of a broom (and then stomping on it until it stopped beeping).

Q: What was the silliest moment of the trip?

A: Laughing ourselves senseless on the ascent to Mount Rose, NV. I don’t even remember the joke, but I do remember being laid out along side of the road just below the summit and unable to breathe from laughing so hard. The air was thin and did not support our chuckling!

Q: What hurt the most?

Soaking sunburnt hands in ice.

A: My wrists. The speeds at which we rode required more than a nominal cruising weight on the front wheel, and my nervousness kept my arm and shoulder muscles tight. I constantly fought persistent numbness in my hands. The same with my toes – I exerted all the weight against the instep of my feet. For the expected answer, well no, my behind was already calloused by the 1000 miles of cycling before I arrived in San Francisco. Yes, my knees hurt too, but that was to be expected. That pain was already a fact of life and blocked out of my thinking for the most part. I once got sunburnt on the back of my knees from riding in the late afternoon sun in Nevada. The irritation lasted for days. My riding buddies mentioned if I would pedal faster I wouldn’t be out in the afternoon sun.

Q: What was the worst part of the trip?

A: The days where the lodging was inadequate, even dangerous. And then there were the four days without laundry facilities. That really stunk, literally. I think the trip planners will do a better job next year. To be fair, there is no way for ride organizers to know about broken washers and dryers, but could have provided shuttle service to Laundromats.

Q: What was the best?

A: The people, the ride, the land, and the hand of the master Choreographer.

Q: What was the hardest thing to overcome?

Laughing ourselves silly at 7,777 feet
Mount Rose Summit, NV with Sparks 4000 ft below us

A: Mild vertigo. Keeping balance was a constant companion, especially when I dismounted my bicycle. I found this challenge exacerbated at higher elevations. Fixing my eyes on a horizon and taking pictures did help. Looking down at the road through my trifocals gave to me a new and special meaning to the word 'spin'. My Safety Rule #1 of the ride: Never, never, never look back through my legs to see what gear I was using. Part of the numbness in my hands was because I held on so tight.

 

Q: What was the most cherished?

A: My support team at home, church, and work. Wow.

 

Q: What day was the most fun?

Watch out!  They Spit!

A: Flat penny day! Not only did my single brother John drive down from Chicago on Day 36 to visit, but I spent much of the rest of the day with Claire riding from Champaign, IL into Crawfordsville, IN. Everything seemed comical (like spitting llamas and ‘helmet hair’) and I spent much of the bike ride laughing at funny stories with my presumed sister-in-law.  (The rumor started that John was Claire’s husband and he didn’t even know it!)  As a bonus we crossed our last time zone boundary – we were now officially in the East!  

Q: What was it like to dip your tire in the Atlantic?

A: Strangely individual in nature, instead of as a team. I can’t believe I raised my bike over my head as if I was a champion of something. No, this wasn’t the highlight; it was only one of the way-stops along the route. This may sound weird, but after our moment in the water we were anxious to leave the beach and resume our ride together again. We had another state line to cross; Maine was only eight miles away. Unwritten, the feelings of ‘us’ was so much more coveted than any feelings of ‘me’, a truth that had been sneaking up on us for days. We all (I suspect every last one of us) wanted this journey to last longer. We had been in the crucible and become bonded.

 

A church wearing a funny hat

Q: What was the most disappointing thing?

A: My timidity in sharing my faith. Second, my lack of faithfulness to spiritual disciplines such as daily study of the Scriptures. The best I could do was copy down a psalm in the morning and carry it with me during the ride. (By evening I was carrying a soggy piece of ink smudged paper.)

 

Q: What was the most surprising thing?

A: I finished.

Bill, my roommate

Q: How well did you get along with your roommate?

A: Most riders paid the premium price not to have roommates, which surprised me. Then I found out why. Many bikers were veterans of such adventures, and it only takes one bad roommate to cure a person forever of risking roommate-from-hellatosis. I hope I was as good of a roommate for Bill as he was for me, but that was not possible. To put it plainly, Bill was a Godsend. Cooperation was the hallmark of our relationship.

Q: When did you find time to blog?
A: Every evening we were too exhausted to do anything else. Bill and I in the quiet of the room wrote each evening. This is the first time either of us tried to blog, and both handicapped. He did his on an iPad one finger at a time, and I had an old browser that only accepted HTML coded entries. Before shutting down for the night, we tested our text out on each other to make sure what we wrote was lucid and as close to grammatically correct as two tired guys could come up with.  I was surprised that my blog had any repeat readers. I am also grateful for the advice I got: “If we want to know what Donner Pass looks like, we can ‘Google-Earth’ it. Tell us who you met and what you learned. We like good ‘people’ stories.” I learned from that advice. There may be beauty in the scenery, wisdom in the wind, but goodness resides in people.

Another day of great riding weather!

Q: Did you stop for bad weather?

A: Twice we were ordered into safety, once in Kansas, the other in Indiana. The first time I took shelter in a park pavilion, but that proved inadequate. I ended up in a meat packing store, and nearly froze to death in my skimpy clothes. In Indiana we waited out a storm at a gas station. Bad weather seemed to happen at night and our ride was unprecedented in two ways - sunshine and wind. The nature of the tour was that there was no allowance for weather days. The hotel and meal reservations were already made on you either rode to the next stop or took a taxi.

Q: What was the scariest moment?

But this one was friendly snake

A: My encounter with the gang of hoodlums in Springfield, IL.  In a related moment, I once stopped a family reunion in progress near there. I guess I was a real curiosity since I was probably the only white person within a mile of the home. The conversation started up with the kids and eventually the teens chimed in. They asked me why I stopped and I said it was because of all the smiles I saw. The conversation with about forty people in the front yards continued for about ten minutes, and I eventually asked the question, “Which one of you ladies is the grandmother here?” To my surprise five women all answered at once to claim that title. We all laughed. I should have asked ‘great-grandmother’, but with that question I risked insulting somebody as if they looked too old or worse, too young. I would like to think all the men were inside watching a game or some different noble activity – not a male over 12 years old was there. I think I met the males elsewhere, like the south side of Springfield.

Q: What was the most heartbreaking moment of the trip?

A: Seeing injured riders return home.



It's hard to surpass Lake Tahoe, CA for beauty

Q: What was my favorite, least favorite state?
A: The roads in New York were the best on the east coast but I found the locals rather aloof and some hard to talk to making it my least enjoyable state. Don’t get me wrong: some of my best memories were encounters with New York residents – but oh, the bad ones were either painfully apathetic or combative in nature without a cause other than a faulty zip code. The most scenic roads were going up US 6 in Utah, my favorite stretch, and closely followed by US 50 along the Arkansas River in Colorado. Favorite? Tough question! Every day I seemed to find new reasons to call the place where I was currently located ‘the best place so far.’  But if I had to pick a favorite state it would be Alabama.

Q: What was the most serious moment in the trip?

A: Three moments. Talking to the single parent truck driver in Dodge City over breakfast, time with a lady and her friend the daughter of an Indian Medicine Woman in Pueblo, and third, talking to Kevin on his front porch in rural New York. It is entirely possible that Providence arranged for me to have the time off from work, the finances to participate in the trip, and the heart desire to ride across the country – if only to be present at those three significant moments with those precious souls. God gave me the privilege of seeing life defining events in the most unlikely of people in the most unlikely of places.

Q: Would I do it again?

It doesn't get better than this!
From my Welcome Home party

A: No, because nothing could surpass the memories from this trip. A different bicycle adventure, such as Europe, might be in my future once I retire. Who knows, maybe a twist on the biking motif would be a string of 100 mile rides on a tandem bike. I am quite sure my next life event will be done with my family, such as a mission trip to a foreign land or rafting the Grand Canyon.  But... if my daughter asks me to go with her on this same Cross Country Challenge, sign me up!!!

Retrospect: Leg 6 from Erie, PA to the Atlantic Ocean

Map and Pics:  Click Here for Map and Pics.

628 Miles, 24700 feet of climb , Days 44-52, PA, NY, VT, NH, ME

Finishing Well, Beginning Even Better!  
(Erie, PA to Portsmouth, NH and a side trip to Maine)

 

Our daily routine had become so much a part of us that we lost track of days, but we did 

Bill, my room buddy, in Troy, NY

notice an increase in traffic and a decrease in services. I suspect that when AbB budgeted out the ride they set aside only so many dollars per day per person for lodging. That might explain why the quality of the lodging took a dive during the last leg; the same dollars that got good lodging or a meal in the heartland just doesn’t buy much in New England. Even with two of the most challenging days of the ride, SAG stops were farther apart or skipped altogether. The official reason was that AbB experience over the years proved out that they weren’t needed. I didn’t get that memo…

I was hurting and could have used more support. But we weren’t in the desert, and I stopped when I needed. As we headed east the landscape became more urban and riddled with seemingly illogical routes. I started to wonder if engineers in New England ever considered the novel idea of constructing roads that actually went due east and west, or intersections that met at 90 degree angles. I relied on my cell phone to confirm my locations – my bike GPS wasn’t up to the task. Over the last 40 days I had become spoiled by the attention the AbB staff on meeting the needs of the riders. Now the staff’s outlook was focused on all the logistics required for the ride closeout – no trivial task.

They weren't road bikes, but the
sign was cute

I really got some strange looks when one of the logistics questions was “How are you getting your bike home?” Several times going up the grades of the White Mountains I considered myself ‘cured’ of ever wanting to ride a bike again. I mentioned I was thinking of selling my bike in Portsmouth, NH. The reaction I received from my fellow riders was unbelief, as if I was selling my first-born child into indentured service. Three riders told me later quietly that I needed to keep the bike no matter what – it would be a family treasure later in life, and if not for me, certainly my kids. I must say in reflection those boys were right and am very glad I kept the bike.

I found it very strange that even though surrounded daily by them I started to miss my riding buddies. The reality that the ride was almost over loomed large, and I found myself wanting to spend more time with them rather than meeting new people. One of the guys that started in Erie was Steve, and we spent a lot of ride time together. He had retired from several interesting careers and was a master conversationalist; much like Canada Dave at the beginning of the ride – the perfect bookends for this adventure of a lifetime.  I have to hand it to Steve, he really hung in there.

This is what I meant by the pack of the elite riders.
Note: Claire is in front (because Frans broke away
from the pack to take the picture!)

I hypothesized that this last week was harder on the other riders than me. Many of them were part of packs that had gotten to know each other very well. During the last dash to the ocean I joined them and could not get over all the chatter between the riders. (I also couldn’t get over how much less effort it took to ride when others are pushing the wind out of the way for you.)  I could postulate about that all day… With deeper roots sprouting from daily togetherness I would expect deeper separation anxiety. All I know was that my cup was filled to the brim with it; I suspect I had a mild case compared to others. Some friendships I hope to be life-long.

Riding up the White Mountains (and white road)

My internal question morphed from “‘Will I Finish?” into “Will I Finish Well?” I thought much about what finishing well would look like during some lonely sections riding over the Green and White Mountains. The obvious negative was not to tick others off in words or deed as to ostracize myself. The positive transformation of the problem would be difficult. Frans led the way with filling the obvious void from the challenge: a specialized jersey to commemorate the accomplishment. Norm said he would take the lead on setting up a photo repository. Many have blogs, to include me. I was thinking of publishing mine and sending a copy to each. I think each rider will seriously complete the post ride survey to improve the fates for riders in future years. When Claire and I talked about this and she redirected my question in other directions, suspecting the needs of female riders was going to be addressed in her own way. ‘Finishing well’ was already ‘In the bag’; the tire was all but dipped, and the accomplishment spoke for itself. The real question evolved into “Will I start over well?” in meeting the challenge of returning home, getting back to being a productive employee, and maintaining new friendships. Bucket lists should never be exhausted, and regrets should be nothing more than still waiting for the opportunity for success to arise.

So, did I accomplish my four initial goals? Generally, mission accomplished, sort of. Specifically, my

Church on the Green

mission changed. When my friends and family told me to write more about people and less about places, my blog blossomed. It went from duty to delight; from chore to choice. My pre-ride goal to craft my historical fiction tomes slipped off the priority list as I discovered the trip wasn’t about where, but who; it wasn’t about how, it was about with. With that change also came a change in me.

The unsatisfied goal that dogged me the most was keeping my faith in an environment where I was totally without control. My job was to pedal, not plan; to meet their schedules, not others meeting mine. Other than setting the temperature of my bath water, the rest of the details of life were set for me. I deeply missed carpooling with my bride to and from work as well as my seven day cycle of breakfast with the guys or evenings at the gym. I had to dive into the strange and daunting world of text messaging and cell-phone pictures. Totally foreign. Daily study time (as in predawn quiet time) was not an option, or always eating supper between four and six in the evening - gone. The only news I wanted to know about was tomorrow’s weather forecast. I was so used to being surrounded by like-minded people at work, play, or church. When surrounded by smokers, tattooed ladies, or Harley riders I really had to ‘wing it’ all the way. (By the way, never ask a lady which is her favorite tattoo; hint: it ain’t one you can see.)



Some of the 'Good Guys'

To my shame, my Christianity went underground on this trip, or maybe not. I was not ordained to be the ride’s evangelist; nor would any such overtures be welcomed. Worse, it would have been embarrassing to both me and God if I talked about how the Almighty answered my daily prayers for strength and courage when I was so often on the verge of quitting. In retrospect, God had more faith in me than I had faith in me. He did pull it off. It was no small task of keeping me in the game. In hindsight, it is now obvious that He chose others to keep me keeping on. Amazing. He showed me the goodness in America but not in the places and people where I expected to find it. They happened to be Dutch, Texans, east coast dwellers, west coast dwellers, Canadians, British, and even (gasp) a guy from Delaware.

Fellow friends in the faith at the Sharks Ice Cream Parlor

As a consolation, there were six times on the ride I was asked about a joy that resides within me, but not in that exact sentence construct. I guess it showed (I don’t know how), and it wasn’t my joy, it was a gift given to me. This is where I was so wrong when I started this adventure. I thought for sure that God was sending me on this trip to ‘be a witness’ in the churchy definition of the phrase. I was so wrong. In the end, He guided me to be both an encourager and to be the encouraged. My helplessness humbled me, the beauty of the country overwhelmed my senses, and the pure joy from exchanging goodness with others was what He really wanted me to experience.

Mission accomplished.   

Retrospect: Leg 5 from Indianapolis, IN to Erie, PA

Map and Pics:  Click Here for Map and Pics.

466 Miles, 11310 feet of climb , Days 38-43, IN, OH, and PA

Every Emotion Possible!  
(Indianapolis, IN to Erie, PA)

 

Okay… I will get it out of the way up front. Only twice did I get angry on this whole trip.

It is never a good sign when everybody else
is going the other way

Anger is generally foreign to me, surgically removed during my military training after attending a non-standard high school that specialized in curing such un-pleasantries in wayward boys. Before our first pedal stroke from the Pacific I pleaded my lack of experience to the group and solicited advice from anybody and everybody to help me make it the Atlantic. I promised to listen and apply their wisdom from their experiences. I was not disappointed in all the helpful responses.

One such coaching session came at an Indiana SAG stop where two strong personalities were agreeing I needed to change my diet but disagreeing on the particulars. One advocated fruit and the other protein. Well, two days later we were on a tough century ride in Ohio, and the first SAG was a long 42 miles into the day. The guy

Greenville Falls, OH
This is where I took time to cool off

that advocated fruit was running the SAG stop. When I got there, the only thing available (for me, the last rider to arrive) was fruit, except for cookies – Fig Newtons. No bread, Oreos or Rice Krispy treats, no salty snacks, no peanut butter, no jerky. All that stuff was already packed away in the van. What he thought to be helpful, I thought humorless, and I complained noting this was a pathetic response to my preference for protein the previous day. After I calmed down (took the half mile walk back to the waterfalls) I had to remind myself of one of my favorite sayings: Never assume malice when just being a guy can fully explain the guy like behavior.  Ohio isn’t a desert; there will be sweets and snacks enough to be found in the next ten miles.

 

The next fit I had was a few days later. Lying on the riding shoulder of the road I found a cheaply made 12” x 18” American flag on a thirty inch stick, most likely a remnant from a

My Flag, Our Flag, My Reminder

4th of July celebration. I could not it leave it there to get ran over or rained on, so I stopped, backtracked and picked it up, and then mounted it on the back of my bicycle. When I got to the hotel, one of the other riders saw me coming in with the flag waving mounted on the back of my bike. Being friendly he started a conversation saying he said he had seen it along the road too. My blood boiled as I started to say, “And you didn’t pick it up?” Fortunately I changed my countenance before I brought offense. It bothered me all night that the other riders must have seen the flag too and rode over or past it. I tried to convince myself that I was much too sensitive about this. Nevertheless, it still was a ten Tums night. It still bothers me. Okay… time for me to go find some more Tums. I didn’t get a T-Shirt from AbB, but I brought home this flag instead. It is a most precious addition to my home decorations. I don’t get angry often, but when I do I re-internalize these memories. They churn within my conscience and the only resolution is to make another feeble attempt not to repeat them. I’m convinced these insults to my equilibrium are designed to self-expose my blind spots and let me discover what are the genuine passions hidden in the deepest recesses of my heart. Some passions are good; but to my shame some are bad. In both cases the offender meant no harm or insult. Fruit is fruit, and not worth the agitation. Time again to go find some Tums…

Secret Angel Headquarters
They are known to lurk behind soybeans

Okay… breathe deep… recollect my thoughts… give the Tums a chance to work…

This leg of the trip was fantastic. I no longer had to look for goodness, it found me. Is it an unwritten law sewn into the fabric of the universe that fat guys on bikes are harmless? Of course, other bikers would wave or say hello, but random adults and even kids seemed to know I was writing a book about the goodness in America and wanted to add a smile to one of the pages. I felt as approachable as Santa Claus in December, except on a bike instead of in a mall. This was beyond weird, as if angels were orchestrating every mile. How a conceited old buzzard like me gained so much unmerited favor is beyond explanation. I fear the people who work with me back in my office (and know me, yikes) when they read this will start believing in things like alien abductions. Just thinking about Dave on a bike is funny enough, but this too? Too weird.

Something really goofy was going on. I would start the day thinking, “Today I’m just going to ride

Rails to Oblivion
Just like life - You can only see
the next couple feet in front of you.
(PS: Smell the flowers, not fear the future)

and think, think and ride, and then ride and think some more.” None of that was in the script for any of my days. Yes, I got to think, but not about bumps and cue sheets, but started to inventory all the different emotions and positive character displays I saw in other people… deference, kindness, honesty, friendliness, humility, initiative, self-control, alertness, sincerity… bubbling up all over the place. I met people who were suffering greatly, I saw families playing together. Flexibility, gratefulness, determination (Sarge’s gift to all of us), generosity, hospitality, all sprinkled with innocence in the children and lakes of love I saw in parents and grandparents. Priceless. How can this be happening to me? My whole world was upside down, or better said, right side up. I resolved that maybe I should start displaying some of these positive character traits in my own life. That would really turn me ‘right side up’. Wouldn’t that be a shock to my family! Yup… this is so weird. Aliens must have beamed Dave up to the mother ship in slipped into his teeny-tiny heart one of the North Pole elf’s winsomeness.