Final Blog - Looking Back

It has been greater than a month since the culmination of my epic ride across America. Looking back on the journey, I am slightly taken aback by its magnitude. I still have problems fathoming the length of road extending from the Atlantic to the Pacific, and the fact that I traversed every inch of it on two human-powered wheels. Yet, while I was in the heart of the journey, it never seemed that long or a challenge that I would be unable to complete. It was always just a matter of time.

Was it a difficult ride? Some days were tougher than others, naturally, and yet it was much easier than I imagined. The roads were nearly perfect, the traffic gracious beyond belief and the weather was heavenly. And aside from the knee pain, which has since subsided, the ride took a very limited toll on my body. In fact, my goal before the ride was to lose no more than four pounds; in the end I gained four. I’m damn proud of those four pounds too!

I believe a large portion of my enjoyment during the days of pedal pounding were a reflection of the hours I put in before the journey began as well as the people I rode it with. My cardio was in great form for the ride, in large part due to the climbing I had the opportunity to do in the mountains of Oregon, and thus made the challenge that much more attainable and enjoyable. As for the guys I did the ride with, they are all without equal. Gary and I were a couple of immature kids while in the saddle, making up songs and jokes that I think only we could appreciate and laugh at. As I am sure most of you have garnished from our other blogs and talking to us, our support crew was nothing short of Tour De France caliber. Truth be told, I’d put our support crew against theirs any day of the week. I believe the word ‘spoiled’ has been thrown around a time or two in describing the riders support from Larry and Bob and all I can say is ‘who am I to argue?’

I feel fortunate to have been able to accomplish this journey so early in life, and am thankful for the opportunity. Making this trip was something I have dreamed about since I began riding, and I originally hoped to do it by my mid forty’s. When Gary so graciously asked me to accompany him this summer, I jumped at the chance. Looking back I can’t help but smile at the realization that it was truly a dream come true. Thank you Gary for making this possible for me.

I also realize that an adventure is like so many other moments in life; it’s only a great achievement if you learned from it. If you fail to learn from it than the integrity of that accomplishment is lessened. So I ask myself, did I learn from this ride? If so, what?

During life and all the details that cloud our mind, we find ourselves often overlooking the people in it. And sad to say, often it is only during times of grief when we are able to see the beauty that lies within our friends and family. This ride, however, showed me that is not the only time it occurs. Throughout this cycling trip I was amazed at the people who took interest in it and showered the riders and drivers in unwavering encouragement. Looking back I stand in awe of that support network. There were people following this trip that I never imagined would care one way or another about it; and often it was the ones I least expected who were my biggest supporters. I don’t deserve it, but I am appreciative for that sustenance that your words and interest provided. On the tough days it was especially liberating; a hellishly windy day in Nebraska comes to mind…

I have also learned the meaning of true friendship. Friendship, a relationship you consciously choose to be involved in, is one of the strongest bonds I have ever had the great fortune to be a part of. A friend is the person that is there during the good times, and the bad. A person who will drive hours to be a part of something epic in your life, and the same guy that will call when things are down just to talk it out. The kind of person who will cross this country on two wheels with you and then a few weeks later drive half that distance in a rental truck by your side. The same friend who will then drive it all again in reverse when you realize you made a mistake; and yet never throw it in your face. The sort of friend you can talk to for hours and never really say anything, because nothing needs to be said. I may not have a lot of friends, but the ones I do have are beyond priceless. As I always tell my wife, my friends are the guys I could call when I’m sitting in a prison cell in Singapore for assaulting the Pope, and know they’ll get me out: some how, some way. Those are the kind of friends I finally came to appreciate on my ride. Not only appreciate, but I believe I may have added a couple of names to my list of friends as well. What more could I ask from an adventure?

The final piece of knowledge that came to light on this trip was that I at last realized what Christina really means to me. My wife, who has been my best friend through countless perils and journeys, was on my mind consistently during this journey. She is my wife, and I her husband, because we choose to be together. Each day we get to make that decision and I feel so blessed for it. It may sound cliché, but this beautiful women I call wife makes me a better, more confident, person. Just her presence liberates my soul and eradicates self doubt in the face of opposition. With her faith in me, I know I can conquer any task and triumph over any obstacle. She’s more than just the person I look to for support, she is the person that makes this life so enjoyable. Fortunes may be won and lost, personal triumphs diminish as the years pass, and yet the affection I have for her has done nothing but blossom and grow each day of the ride, as it did the days prior, and the days after.

Finishing the ride was a great moment in my life, but it dims in light of the realizations that I made while in the saddle. I have the greatest friends and family a person could ever wish for. To each of you, for I feel you know who you are, I say thank you. Your words, actions, and silent support when called upon, are the reasons this dream was possible and the same reason any dream is possible. I’m finally beginning to realize just how blessed my life is.

In parting I would like to use the immortalized words of Marianne Williamson. Her poem relays my view of people and the challenges that come our way. We all have a strength hidden deep within that sometimes needs a challenge to bring that light forth.

“Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness, that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, and fabulous? Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small doesn’t serve the world. There’s nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won’t feel insecure around you. We are all meant to shine, as children do. We are born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It’s not just in some of us, it’s in everyone. And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others.”

Day 33 – July 19th

Months of planning, years of dreaming, and over a month of biking would come to fruition today. Today is the final day in my quest for Atlantic waters. What should I be feeling at this moment as I prepare to disembark on my climactic ride? Excitement? Nervousness? A little sad perhaps? Its all of these, yet none. The overwhelming feeling is surrealism; this doesn’t feel quite real to me. Hopefully in just over 60 miles it will strike me the same instance the Atlantic does. But like so many other days, I need to pedal to find out. And so, a little after 8:30 am, I set out one final time to do just that.

Rolling downhill toward the ocean, I am still captivated by the spirit of this ride. It’s a continuous sense of youthful enthusiasms. Everyday feels like old hat, yet at the same time its a totally new experience. I can’t really explain it; I guess it’s like so many other beautiful things in this world. You have to see/feel it to believe it.

The first half of the ride disappeared in a twinkle of pedaling, and aside from a detour to our trusty sidekick Starbucks for some java and a few tubes (Friedman, up to his old tricks, blew through three more tubes and a tire while visiting the green been.) Making our way through Nashua, we soon found ourselves displaced. After a quick rendezvous with a local, we found our route, added a few extra miles just for kicks, and were back on track. Back on track was not to last; as it turns out Friedman and I are equally inept at translating those mysterious lines and symbols on a map. Luckily, our navigator was kind enough to bike to us and redirect our misguided wheels back towards the Atlantic. 20 miles remaining, Larry led the way as Gary and I attempted to come to grips with our last day on the bike. In the end, I just couldn’t do it. Perhaps the tomorrow morning will bring that realization to my weary body.

Winding our way through Newburyport, Larry relinquished the lead and Gary and I made our way onto Plum Island with our trusty Tour director. And, at long last, the sight we had been seeking so desperately for nearly five weeks was finally upon us. The Atlantic ocean was cemented into my gaze, and within reach. Within reach; that’s a hard fact to fathom. After so many miles, states, challenges, and fatigued muscles, that enormous body of water was within my reach. Pedaling my way to it I felt emotionally numb. I guess I always felt I would make it, but a small side of me never fully accepted it. And yet, 3,500 miles later, here I am pedaling my ever faithful Trek along the sand spattered streets of Plum Island and toward that glorious, faithfully beckoning siren.

Splashing my sheet white feet in the turbid, bitterly cold waters a smile slowly spread across my face. I was standing in the salty waters of the Atlantic, its dark blue waters spread out in front of me for as far as I could see, and still I could not accept it as reality. The ride had been difficult, sometimes it felt like insanity to climb aboard yet again and stroke a few more miles out of it, and yet looking back it didn’t seem that difficult. Hindsight does have a way of ironing out the difficulties encountered, and leaving behind only the enjoyment that those moments held. Maybe that’s what I am experiencing, and maybe not. I still do not know how far I can push my body, and more importantly, my spirit. Yet, standing in these waters, with one of my best friends by my side and holding our road beaten bikes on these sandy shores, I have a better idea of the truth of the matter. The honest answer is that it is not all that important about discovering exactly how far I can push myself. Only the moments held in attempting to discover that personal question are truly worth contemplating. As the old saying goes, it is not about reaching the summit, but about the journey to get there. My journey has taught me the truth of that statement, and at the same time, the flaw in it.

Gazing into the distant horizon, my gaze slips downward and I am entranced as the water washes sand away from my sun deprived feet. Perhaps it’s symbolic of all the hardships and tests of will that this sojourn has put forth; now they are quietly removed and I am left with only my triumph and accomplishment. With that thought, I realize this bike ride was both about the daily journey AND about reaching this particular summit; for it is the summit that makes the journey worth taking. Lots of emotions cascade through me, but their clarity remains dim so for today, I will just enjoy my sea level summit. For today, I believe I have earned it...

Day 32 – July 18

Waking up a tad after 5 am (shrugging off slumber in my usual way, a wake up call from Friedman) I started to focus on the task at hand. Today’s ride would contain nearly 8,000 feet of climbing, and I would be forced to earn every foot of it. The ride was drawing to a close, but it was not going to lay down quietly in accepted defeat; I still had to prove that I am up to the challenge of conquering this great land on two wheels, regardless of how close to the calm waters of the Atlantic that I am.

Nearly 38 miles into the ride I hit the first big climb of the day, Gary and I said our farewells and I set out to beat this piece of jagged earth one stroke at a time. Feeling exhilarated with the thought of actually making it to the climatic conclusion for my ride, all in a days time, I pushed into the pedals hard and kept up a frantic pace. Sweat rolling down my wind broken face, dripping onto my pumping limbs, I still found time to peer through the heat and take in the sights and sounds of this beautiful land. New York was a treat to ride through, but I found myself particularly fascinated with Vermont. There was something nostalgic about this entire state; from the forested lands to the majestically old towns, everywhere my gaze fell I was struck with the history of the area. I can definitely see myself coming back to Vermont for some kayaking and sight seeing with the wife; the land and area is gorgeous and should be experienced multiple times.

After breaking through the second noteworthy climb of the day, I began my white knuckled descent. Avalanching down the mountain, I was soon struck with a sight I had no interest in seeing; thick billows of inky black smoke shrouding the sky above the thick Vermont forest. As I came around a bend, I saw brilliant orange flames licking the sky as it gorged its self on a victimized wooden cabin. The fire was fresh and its appetite had not been satiated by a fireman’s hose; since no firefighters were on the scene yet. I did encounter countless fire-trucks careening up the mountain roads after I had passed through the smoke and scene of tragedy. During lunch I spoke with Gary about the fire, and he mentioned that when he came upon it, it had been snuffed out by the geyser filled hoses of the fire-trucks. I must admit, when I first saw the smoke and flames, I had a brief surge of fear. We have all read or seen on television reenactments of forest fires that quickly turn to into a fiery storm of death. On my two wheeled mount, I had no intentions of witnessing such destruction first hand or in foolishly trying to outrun it.

I ended today’s ride just past the final climb of my wheeled journey. There now remains a mere 60 miles separating my bike and I from that soul-stirring call of the Atlantic. Tomorrow, at long last, I shall answer its summons...

Day 31 – July 17th

My ride today started off a few minutes before 7 am, and all was going well. I was back on the machine that I have come to love over the last 30 days, and I must say it felt terrific to be reunited with my close carbon friend. She performed beautifully today; no creaking and the shifting was smooth as silk. It’s a glorious and beautiful experience to have a piece of equipment operating flawlessly as you give it all the power your legs can muster while pushing through a hill. It’s truly beauty incarnate.

The first 20 miles disappeared in a flurry of pedal strokes, but soon the strokes came to a standstill as we flowed into the bottle neck of rush hour traffic in Utica, NY. Luckily our trusty Tour Director was nearby and got us onto much more biker friendly highways. Though it cost an hour of downtime as we worked our way through the clustered urban sprawl, it was soon history and I was back on the crank and making great progress once again. Not long after a shortcut was discovered and I left Highway 5 behind to partake in the clodding roads of Stone Arabia. Confronted with a series of steep, yet short, climbs as I rolled onto the nearly abandoned highway, I realized I was in for a surprised treat of climbing. Smiling at my good fortune, I soon was in sync with the road and my Trek and took full advantage of the situation. Sweat pouring off my brow, knees groaning with self induced pressure, I kept up a healthy pace and pushed through the spires of earth. As I did so I was rewarded with a glimpse into a simpler time. A few miles into Stone Arabia, I realized I was in the heart of Amish country. Encountering horse and buggies sharing the roadway, in addition to viewing a young man hard at work with a plow and attached equestrian, I was amazed at their technology tenacity. They are a prime example of human endurance and will power; casting stereotypes and societies commonalities to the winds. Watching children at play, attired in their cultural garb, I couldn’t help but think that the differences in their culture and the one I grew up in really is not that different; kids still just want to play and enjoy life regardless of where they are. But what would it be like as an adult in their community? Would the differences be as gross as they appear from the outside looking in? My guess is no. I am sure their culture has many of the same stresses and daily issues that we all experience, for in the end we are all human.

The scenery on this route included more than just the Amish built houses though; the rolling ridge line I was pedaling over contained a kaleidoscope of scenes. At times it reminded me of Oregon, with the trees, ridges, and waterways, yet it has a beauty all of its own. Many times people talk of the beauty of New York and I would immediately think of the cement sprawl that is NYC; but these last couple of days of wheeling through the countryside has shown me the flaw in that perception. I now understand why people would want to live here; it’s full of ‘aha’ moments. Scenes that make you stop, if only for a second, and think to yourself “This is why I am alive, for moments like these.” This cycling tour has proven to be amassed with such moments. Fortune has smiled its kindly face upon me for the last 31 days.

The one other picture etched into my gray matter deals with an abandoned bridge. Standing stoic above the waters below, the chalky white stone, stained with years of exposure, it regally spanned the banks. Long cast aside by man in his quest for superior support, the bridge has slowly begun to lose the echo of foot and hoof traffic. Today, it serves as a resting place for foliage and the occasional fauna. Though it has long been in disrepair, you feel the need to respect its ability to survive, and the wisdom of the community in its decision to not tear it down. While it can no longer sufficiency function in a day of gasoline powered steel, the history that winds its away around the eroding arches can not be ignored. Out of respect for a life well spent, and a time well honored, it was left to continue its original job; to connect the east and west bank. Its perseverance is inspiring.

I wrapped up today’s ride up in Latham, NY and now have but two days remaining in my quest. Two days and this adventure will come to its climatic ending. Yet, I already realize its not the summit I am concerned with, but the journey to get here. A journey of self awareness and perseverance; a journey well worth the price demanded. I am both excited and saddened by the idea of concluding this crazy biking lifestyle that I have lived for the last month.

Day 30 – July 16th

During the course of this trip, I have often found myself confronted with an internal battle of addiction. Over the last few years I have had a harder and harder time dealing with it; I’d hoped that cycling away the majority of my day would equate to less time to think about it and thus less time to succumb to it. I am proud to say that during this entire journey the temptation has only proven too strong once. However, that does not mean the constant attack upon my will power has gone away or remained hidden; quite the contrary in fact. Often times the only thing that keeps me in the saddle when confronted with my drug of choice is the support of Gary. Many of my friends and family may know of it already, but some of you may be unfamiliar with this powerful narcotic-like substance I am always battling.

Well two days ago was one of the toughest bouts I have ever had in dealing with it; I actually came across a sign advertising for it! Early into the ride, cranking on the pedals, feeling light yet strong, I was really getting into the days ride when I saw a billboard that nearly knocked me off my bike. I could not believe the inconsiderate bastards would promote a direct confrontation to my senses. The sign read “Antique Store: Over 40,000 books”. How could they? While I am well into the seven steps of the recovery program, being smacked with 40,000 used books is more than one man should have to face. Had it not been for Gary screaming at me from behind to keep moving, I know without a doubt I would have been in there, nose deep in books, looking for some old classics. Wow, I was close to a total and complete regression of my hard earned progress. Thanks Gary for helping me stay strong!!!!

As you can imagine, this morning I had to suffer another test: Glen’s Rare and Used Books beckoned and this was only a few miles after starting out. I really wasn’t prepared, but still managed to resist. Seriously though, someone should have done a better job of plotting this course so that I could better focus my efforts on cycling than avoiding books. Ahh well, like so many other pains on this great adventure, I will just have to deal with it.

The ride, aside from the books, was going great today. I was feeling strong on the bike, and the right knee, which has been tight the last couple days, was finally starting to loosen up. The only issue I was really having was the annoying ‘creaking’ sound that was being produced by my tone deaf bike. And old faithful had been making the same bloody ear music for the last couple of days. There was definitely something going on with the crank, bottom bracket, chain, or rear cassette. Finally, after 180 miles of dealing with the grinding, I came to the nerve fried conclusion that I needed to get it into a bike shop; today. After stopping for a quick bite to eat at a small family diner, Larry had a shop picked out and we were setup to get it taken in. While Gary and I took care of business on the road, Larry did the same with my malfunctioning machine. My initial thought was that the bottom bracket had water in it, and thus the bearings were making the awful sound. The mechanic Larry brought it too thought the same thing and soon had the bottom bracket cleaned out and re-greased. Yet the sound remained. Over the next several hours this master wrench put my bike through the ringer; switching out cranks, pedals, the big ring, cassette and finally the entire rear wheel. After doing a remarkable job in diagnosing the problem, which was the housing of the rear hub, he sent Larry and the bike to a local Trek dealer to have the problem resolved. The Trek dealer was able to get the housing replaced, and all appears well. He did inform Larry that this is a known problem and should it recur to bring it to another dealer and they will switch the entire rear wheel out; he would have switched it out versus just the housing but did not have the wheel on hand. None the less, after hours of patience on Larry’s part and some pretty astounding wrench work, my bike is back and will be with me as I set out tomorrow for another day of riding in New York. While I am very thankful to have had Gary’s other bike available for the final 40 miles of today’s ride, I missed the geometry and feel of my own bike terrible. After 3,000 miles in 30 days, we’ve formed quite a strong bond.

The day ended with us in Oneida, NY fully geared up and anxious for the next three days. Mr. Adams joined us again for our traditional post ride salute.

Day 29 – July 15th

Waking up way too early, according to me not Friedman, I glanced at the clock and saw it was time to start prepping for today’s ride. Pushing myself out of bed, I glanced down and couldn’t help but give a slight chuckle when a looked at my hand. I realized I was at the point in my ride where I could count the days remaining on a single hand; wow, crazy realization to wake up to! Who would have thought it’d be here already? Five days to go and then I would be standing on those sandy shores gazing into that ocean and inwardly smiling with the knowledge that I had made it. But, there are those five days of pedaling, so I had better focus on today and deal with Saturday when it gets here.

Rolling out onto the cycling paradise that the roads of New York are turning out to be, Gary and I set to work early and were off and flying. Rolling over the terrain, I couldn’t help the constant glances I cast over my shoulder to the gargantuan body of water Lake Erie is. Every time I topped a small rise, or came through a clearing of trees, the silent watcher was within view and I couldn’t resist another quick peak. I was definitely enjoying my time in the Great Lakes presence.

Stopping for a quick bite about 30 miles in, we saw Larry talking to another cyclist; the same cyclist he’d run across the day before. Gill (pronounced Jill, but short for Gillian. Great name by the way), is a Scottish cyclist currently biking across America to raise awareness of arthritis; a disease that has been a plight to her mother. After stopping at Larry’s cycling shop for a refuel, we got back on the road and soon found ourselves pedaling along side Gill. She was a great conversationalist; as eager for human conversation as I was. I learned that she is not only a cycling nut, but a librarian; how cool! She works for Scotland’s equivalent of the Library of Congress; sounds like a career that I would enjoy. We lunched with Gill, and then went our separate ways. She was a strong cyclist, a very bright individual, and I am sure will have no problems making her final destination in Maine within the next two weeks. Best of luck Gill!!

The day was starting to get late, after taking a long lunch and spending some quality time chatting with Gill on the bikes, so with nearly 80 miles to go after our break at Applebee’s we started to knock it up a notch. But the speeds were not to remain consistent, as we encountered multiple hills on our route today. I have noticed over the last several days that we have definitely left the plains behind and wheeled into the hill country again. No worries. Hills are much preferable to mountains!

Gary and I made good speed over the remaining miles, and with about 20 miles to go Friedman put in a Superman pull. With a nice breeze to our benefit, he knocked it up to 26 mph and more; it was great. Not to be outdone, I took over after he put in a long pull and did a fair share of pulling as well. It was a trip to push the bike in excess of 30 mph and to be able to switch off the lead like that. After that, we rolled through a few miles, as then entered some small towns, with about 5 miles to go I hit another climb and I figured with the legs still feeling fresh I mine as well burn em up. So I let the Goat loose and we climbed the hill as fast as I could push her and then kept the pace going till Lima. The legs were screaming at a few points, trying to remind me that there were still 4 more days to go, but after passing a sign stating Lima had been established in 1788, I figured if it could last since damn near the signing of our Constitution I certainly could hold the pace another couple miles.

The ride wrapped up at the American hotel, a 150 year old antique of a hotel that has more history than some countries. I also loved the fact that the hotel had a bar with some local micro brews on tap; it was calling my name as soon as I dismounted. It was another great reward to a great ride. Cheers!

Day 28 – July 14th

Today’s ride started out similar to the last several days, not with rain but with my legs feeling uncanny and fresh; they seemed to be aching to ride. Well there wish was soon granted as I climbed upon the rough trodden Trek and pushed on towards the goal for the day; New York.

56 miles into the ride, as I peaked one of the few climbs of the route, I thought I caught a glimpse of a massive expanse of black hiding just behind an extensive line of trees. Was that Lake Erie? I asked myself. Not knowing for sure, I continued on in hopes of getting a more up close and friendly view of it. A couple dozen miles later, all doubts were banished. Standing on the pedals to quell another hilly foe, I heard Gary shout from behind “I bet we can see it from up there.” There was no need to define ‘it’ as he could mean but one thing: the Great Lake Erie. Picking up the tempo I crested the hill and with soft green vineyards sprawling on both sides of the highway, I cast a brief glance over my left shoulder and finally beheld ‘it’ in all its massive glory. The waters near the shoreline far below showed a mixture of faint blues with patches of jade. Farther out, the lake deepened to a liquid black pearl with crests of white upon it. For as far as I could see the lake just went onward. It was astonishing in its sheer size. The description Great Lake is not apt to express the vastness of this body of water. Land-locked Ocean comes much closer to touching upon the truth.

As I crossed over the century mark for the day, I entered into the Empire State: New York. By doing so, both Ohio and Pennsylvania had been left behind and I was a couple of states closer to that great beckon of riders, the Atlantic. But recently, it is New York that has been on my mind. Having never been to this state, I was really excited about finally setting foot and wheel on its soils. As I pedaled into its borders, a strange excitement took hold of me and melted away the fatigue, limb weariness, and total body exhaustion as if they were nothing more than small lumps of wax. Casting a smile back at Larry, as he snapped a picture of this momentous occasion, my legs went into overdrive. Soon I was pounding out at 27+ mph. For the next ten miles I kept the pace up as Gary and I flew to our stopping point for the day: Westfield, NY. Even after I had climbed off the bike and begun our post ride routine (unpack the car, clean the bikes, get laundry going, drink a beer etc) my legs still wanted more. The pace into town was just a teaser and they wanted to know how much faster and how much longer could they maintain? 5 days is my quick response. Just 5 days more…

Day 27 – July 13th

As I go through my morning routine of preparation and packing, a thought strikes me: Today will be the last Sunday that I saddle up and ride east. Including today, there are only 7 days in which I will have to coax miles out of my lactic filled legs. A week; no longer is this ride about 3,600 miles, but rather a mere week in the saddle knocking out pedal strokes. A week? Yeah, I can do a week. Not sure how, but I know if need be I will drag, push, and pull my bike but I will see that ocean on this sick love affair of a ride. With that thought, I clip in and push on. The Atlantic beckons, and I have no power but to heed her call for another week.

My ride starts out very similar to yesterdays: wet. Last night, before the sandman pulled me into slumber, the clouds outside grew heavy with rain and this morning as I awoke the earth was being pelted with that cloud heavy burden. No worries, though, since a late start is still a start. And so, a few minutes after 8 a.m., I am breakfast laden and rolling down yet another highway of this glorious country. The rain is persistent, but not stinging, and the first 30 miles drizzle away with nothing to show for it but a wet bike, a wet biker, and me closer to my ultimate goal. As I pedal along, slowly pulling away from Gary as it’s too miserable to draft with the spray coming off the lead bike, I grow excited for today and what it will bring. When I reach the 70 mile marker for the day, I have a prize awaiting me; family. My sister, Wendy, her RAA enthusiastic husband, Jeff, and two amazing kids Austin and Josie live in the Ohioan town I will be pedaling through; Cuyahoga Falls. Rolling into town a little after 12, I am wet, filthy but still smiling as I am drawn into hugs. While I load up on calories, we all engage in conversation about anything and everything. Its just great getting to see them all, especially considering I haven’t seen Austin in more than a year, Wendy in a couple of years, Josie since she was a few weeks old, and the last time I saw Jeff I was getting married. It has been much, much too long.

Soon though, the sun continues his eternal struggle to cross the sky and reminds me I must continue my own struggle. So with good byes and promises to see them later that night, I convince myself to stumble into the saddle and go forth yet again. With a pleasant tailwind encouraging my ride, the 114 miles this day consisted of are soon behind me. My legs are still feeling fresh, the knees are pain free, and even the bike seems hungry for more; but they will have to wait for tomorrow’s morning call to begin again. I am surprised when Gary tells me that we did more than 3,000 feet of climbing over today’s course; I feel much too fresh for that fact to ring true. I knew the course today felt more volatile in the rises and dips, but it didn’t feel like 3,000 feet of ascending. In fact, reflecting back on it, I can only remember one climb that was worthy of remembrance; and that only because I botched my attack. After missing a turn (this seems to be becoming habit) I dove around a corner and confronted a beast of a hill guarding my way forward. No worries, I’d slain bigger of his kin. Cranking into it, I soon found myself out of the seat and pounding hard to keep my bike moving. Gary soon yelled out that the hill was a ghastly 18 percent grade, and it was at that time that I realized I was in my big ring up front. Usually, when you climb steep hills, you switch into your smaller ring as it eases the pressure on your legs and allows a better cadence with less pain. I, in my anxiety to slay the beast, failed to switch to the bottom ring and now that I was more than half way up, I had too much torque on the chain to try and slip into the ring I needed. Like so many other times on this ride, I found myself with only one option; pedal on. And that is what I did, ignoring the searing pain in my thighs, I found a slow, hard rhythm and pushed my way to the summit. At the top, sore but alive, I could only laugh at my feat and my own stupidity. Ahh, life on the bike.

That night a feast is brought to my door, literally. Wendy, Jeff, Austin and Josie hand deliver supper to Gary, Larry and I; man are we spoiled! After nearly 5 weeks of dining out, a home cooked meal is a blessing heaven sent. After sampling a local brew suggested by Jeff (I had to re sample it, just to make sure I got the taste right) we ate the wonderful fare and relaxed in each other’s company. Its amazing how much we take for granted, or what we are missing out on, until it is presented to us again. It was truly wonderful getting to see family on this whirlwind of a trip. Thank you Austin, Josie, Jeff, and Wendy! I appreciate you guys taking time out of your lives to drive to Warren, and for bringing supper and the great company. I wish I could see you guys more, but right now I’m just grateful for the couple hours I got to spend in your lives today. Take care, all of you.

Day 26 - July 12

Clipping in, I gaze into the distance and wonder for a brief second: What will it be like when I see the Atlantic Ocean? Will I laugh, cry, or perhaps silently ponder the feat? I don’t know, but I do wonder... Ahh well, there is really only one way to discover that answer; so I pedal on.

During the initial 30 miles I found myself skirting the edge of an Ohioan storm; the smoky grey sky is full of anger and rain; but no lightening. I hoped that I would be fortunate and could find a way through this storm cell without getting hit by its burst of raw, wet power. Cranking the pedals even harder, I set out to do just that; but alas it was not meant to be. Soon the clouds opened up and down came the rain, falling upon me and my recently cleaned bike. Pausing at the SUV to see what the weather was going to do, the rain soon subsided in intensity and I was back on the leather and moving down the asphalt. The floodgates finally blew away as we entered Glandorf and we wisely sought sanctuary at a local convenience store. While the current cell blew its self out on the cyclist free streets, I fueled up on coffee and a taco salad. Not an overly efficient fuel stop, but the calories were great and the coffee core warming. Once again the rain subsided, and I climbed back on the saturated seat in saturated shorts and pedaled on into the rain. The rain was not overly miserable; while it had me drenched thoroughly in a few brief minutes, the day remained warm and the precip not particularly stinging. It could have been much worse. Pushing the wheels on the wet streets, a few concerns slid across my minds eye. I reminded myself to stay on the defensive, keep a firm grip on the handlebars, while riding on these recently wet streets as slick spots are highly probably. I also worried about my hindquarters, as a wet seat and wet shorts can make short work of it. There was nothing I could really do about that, so I ignored the discomfort and focused on the road in front of me.

Around mile 75 I rode out of the steady rain, and was able to finish the next 35 miles in relatively dry conditions. The weather was starting to cooperate again, but the roads remained treacherous, and not just because they were slick. During the last several days I have noticed that I am riding into the more populous part of the Land of the Free. While this is great when it comes to finding a place to stop and fuel up for lunch, it is making the riding a bit more challenging and painful. The roads I have frequented on this excursion reside in the rural countryside, are not major highways, and recently their condition has started to rapidly deteriorate. Several of the other states I have ridden through have had roads in much better shape. My guess is that these country roads, in Illinois, Indiana and now Ohio, see a higher amount of traffic but do not have suitable funds available to keep them adequately maintained. Thus, biking on them becomes less about cranking out miles, and more about finding my way through a mind filled maze. For the most part, I can see the potholes coming and respond accordingly, but there are times when they sneak up like an old fox and I have no choice but to nose dive into the crater and feel a shocking sensation burst through my wrists and course up to my elbows. At times such as this, pleasantries do not come out of my maw; the words that escape lie on the other end of the spectrum.

The ride wrapped up in Willard, Ohio 110 miles from where the day began. With today finished, there remains only a week of riding left; a week to complete this cyclone adventure. That is a hard fact to fathom. So, for now, I’ll leave it alone.

Physically, the body is still doing great. These last few centuries have not been all that demanding; the land is flat and the weather accommodating. I have been vastly fortunate with the streak of blue-sky/stay-dry type of riding conditions that this trip has consisted of. If today is the worst day we encounter for rain, than I will have been truly blessed. The knees have been behaving themselves, and the legs feel fairly strong. The butt is doing as well as can be expected (often the hardest part on the ride is forcing myself back onto that brick hard saddle for the first time each morning). The lower back and neck are a little tight from all the miles hunched over, but still operating well. With all things considered, I am quite pleased with the way my body has responded over the last 4 weeks. Now it has to do it for only 7 more glorious days. And then I shall wonder no more…

Day 25 – July 11th

After fueling up on eggs and hash browns at the local diner (one of two places to eat in Winamac) we were once more on that tiny piece of real estate known as a seat and pumping the legs over virgin soil. The scenery was much the same, fields of corn and other cash crops dotting the lands to the east, but the frequency of habitation was much higher; we are getting into the more settled area of America. Ten miles into the ride, I started battling a monster that haunts a lot of endurance junkies; acid reflux. Prior to this ride, I had only encountered this vile beast on long runs or rides. Knowing this bit of knowledge, Christina started me on a regiment of Pepcid AC the day this crazy wheeled challenge began. However, this morning amidst packing and getting ready for to ride, I failed to take the little pink miracle pill, and boy was I paying for it. I wouldn’t describe it as acid reflux, for it could more aptly be described as acid gurgling. It was turning my easy ride into self contained misery. By mile 20 I could take no more, and stopped at the wheels of healing and frantically searched my bags for some relief. After greedily swallowing the Pepcid AC, I was once again ready to mount up and ride on. A half hour or so later the elven magic instilled in the pill activated, and the demon of reflux was banished back to the bowels of acid where it belongs.

Soon we were making great time as the mild weather pattern of the previous few days was holding, and we knew we could make up the miles quickly. Around 70 miles into the ride we had an involuntary navigation modification (Gary and I missed a turn). Instead of circumventing Fort Wayne, IN we were headed straight for that treasure trove of habitats. It turned out for the best, though, as Larry was able to get us through the city limits on back streets and old highways. Even better, it knocked about 11 miles off the preplanned route; not a bad deal, all things considered. And at this point in the game, knocking off miles is a god send. Keep it up Larry!

The last few miles of the trip, with legs still feeling unchallenged and fresh, I decided to knock the pace up a bit. Instead of strolling in the last 4 miles at 20 mph, I bumped it up to 25. Then 26, 27, 28, 29, and, what the heck, why not push for 30. With about a half mile to go my legs thought it’d be a good idea to slow down, regardless of what the moron in charge of the rest body had in mind. Actually, I felt really good and even when the ride came to a halt at about 108 miles the legs were still feeling great. It’s amazing how the last couple of centuries have felt almost effortless; almost. It probably has something to do with the lack of headwind and a table top flat geographical area that we’ve been spinning over. The ride came to a final stop for the day just south of Payne, Ohio. This means the lands of Indiana are a memory fading into the swirling fogs of the past, and Ohio is the next land to be conquered. I pray I am up to the challenge…

Day 24 – July 10

The morning started out with another legendary feast courtesy of the Bobby Filet rival himself; John Garrity. Setting up a breakfast bonanza at his office, we rolled in a little before 7 am and got to taste once again the skill that resides in John’s cooking ability. While there, the rest of the staff joined in and soon had us all laughing like school kids. Though, sad to say, I did find myself the butt of the jokes. (Yes, pun intended.)

After waving good bye to John and his great group of coworkers, we pit stopped at Starbucks for some nectar of the morning gods, and then were soon strapped on the bikes for another adventure on rims. Our goal for today: head east. Head east young man, head east.

I followed that single minded goal most of the day, and by doing so left yet another pedal pounded state behind and discovered that I was skimming along the roads of Indiana. My first taste of the home of the Hoosiers was rather unpleasant. The oxen path called a road that we were on was littered with fault lines and canon craters. I believe this specific road was used during a civil war skirmish, with cannon aplenty, and to honor the past has been preserved as such. With heavy traffic (though I can’t understand why people would drive it more than once) on this road less road, drafting became too dangerous and Gary and I split up with 100 yards between us as we navigated through the trenches. It was a new-baby-born joyous occasion when that moon blasted track was left behind, and we were on roads that have been maintained since electricity became prevalent.

Our ride today was a planned 149 leg masher (who planned these days???), but Larry the Logistic was able to stir up some municipal roads that knocked 12 miles off the route. With the 10 extra miles we put in yesterday, this brought down the total distance to a manageable 127 miles. Not bad, all things considered. And even better news awaited us; we are into single digits for days remaining: 9! Wow, 9 days to Atlantic waters and a journey completed. Amazing to consider what the last 24 days have brought me. Life is unfathomable at times.

Day 23 – July 9th

As I wheeled over the bridge leaving Iowa in my past and bringing Illinois to the forefront of my present, I could not help but smile. Today was a day meant to be enjoyed upon the bike: a slight breeze, mildly warm weather, a clear blue sky dotted with white fluffs of clouds, and 2 great friends. The bridge we pedaled over in the early morning hours brought to mind my sister Wendy, as she loves both heights and bridges in particular. (hehe) I was told this specific bridge was one of the first structures built to span the waters of the mighty Mississippi. The bridge did have a separate bike path added to it, but the path was narrow and constructed of metal grates, which allowed you to peer through them into the murky waters far below. The view, as I slowly made my way over the steel, was exhilarating but tinged with a hint of fear. It would be a long way to fall.

Leading us over the bridge was none other than Bob Loch himself; one of our support guru’s who was along for today’s pedal pushing. We were grateful to have him along so that he could join in the experience and give us a guided ride upon the roads he knows so well. The initial 40 miles of today’s trip would be on the vehicle free bike trail that Bob knows inside and out. Bob has been at the forefront of planning our journey through Iowa, due to the recent flooding our original course was no longer feasible. The last several days, as well as today’s route, were all found, planned, plotted and tested by Bob. He’s done a fantastic job in researching and discovering great, lightly trafficked roads; in so doing he has proven himself to be a very competent bike sleuth. I believe, should he become bored with his current work, he would have a bright future in private investigation work. Rumor mill has it he’s looked into starting a trekking detecting agency, and he’s even considering changing his last name to Sher-Loch…

Briskly moving along the Mississippi, Bob, full of youthful energy and enthusiasm, took the lead and was off like a bottle rocket; Gary and I both struggled to hold his wheel the first 20 miles. He’d obviously been eating his Wheaties! We followed Bob and the bike trail along the Hennepin Canal for miles, it was one of the most pleasant bike trails I’ve ever had the good fortune to ride. At one point early in the ride, we went under a bridge and I found myself looking at a winter wonderland. The canal, calm and placid, was perfectly frozen in time; no debris or flotsam marred its mirrored surface. The only element one could see stirring the canal’s quiet slumber were millions of snowflakes; snowflakes of the cotton-wood variety. The canal, which was lined with cotton woods, had captured an uncountable number of these delicate white seeds and was slowly gathering them along its surface. Shrouded under the magnificent boughs, which were warding off the rays, I pedaled through the scene in suspended disbelief. I was sad to move past the canal and leave such beauty behind. Beauty that I am finding more and more on this trip; what a blessed journey this is turning out to be.

The rest of the day was traveled upon roads with minimal traffic, a few cycle hungry dogs, and lots of laughs. I think Bob found Gary and I quite ridiculous; we tend to break into song and rhyming odes at the oddest times. Hey, when you’ve been biking together for nearly 2,500 miles, you tend to abandon maturity and revel in each other’s sad attempts at humor and melody. What can I say, we are our own greatest entertainers.

The ride concluded in Ottawa, Illinois with another 120 miles under our road stained belts. On top of that, Bob completed his first century of the year; he looked strong all day and will have little issue tackling RAGBRAI in a couple of weeks. Thanks again for pulling Sher-Loch!

After the ride, I was treated to a feast at John Garrity’s pad; John is a friend of both Gary’s and Bob’s from college. The spread he had laid out was royal fare, and mouth salivating good. All home-made food, it was more than we deserved but I was not about to let John in on that little tid bit of knowledge. It looked much too good to pass up. The only thing better than the food, were the hospitality and company. A bunch of Gary’s and Bob’s buddies from school also showed up at Johns, and what started out as small talk and pleasantries soon resorted to stories of glory days. The laughter was whole hearted, genuine, and dished out handsomely to everyone in attendance. But that is as much detail as I will go into regarding the stories related tonight, for what happens at Garrity’s stays at Garritys. Thank you John and all the guys who made me feel welcome this evening; it was greatly appreciated and made for one of the best nights of the cyclone of cycling these last 3 weeks have been.

Day 22 – July 8th

Pedaling in rhythm with the amphibian chorus that was cheering me on, I departed Fremont and began another voyage upon my always enthusiastic Trek. Having received another inch of God’s tears, the water soaked land was once again saturated beyond capacity and I knew there was more hanging out there. With storm cells north and south of the route today, I wondered how many miles it would take before the cells converged on me and turned my pleasant ride into a treacherous misery. However, fortune was with me as the cycling gods took mercy and today’s ride was dry start to finish. Even a bigger surprise was in store for my dual wheeled trip; that damnable wind took a turn for the better! Instead of berating me incessantly, as it has done on so many days of this endeavour, it decided to help propel me on these Iowan roads. A tailwind; it’s a cyclists biggest dream. While the wind wasn’t blowing overly hard, to have it at my back was a welcome change. Joyous tears once again stream down my face as I write these words; I still can’t come to terms with this reality.

The 125 mile ride today was quite possibly the easiest ride of the trip; there were no big climbs, no vicious breeze, and the temperature remained under 82 for the rides entirety. What are the odds of getting that much fortune on one roll of the dice? Though the little pessimist which resides in us all, the one I had hoped was buried deep, can't help but whisper “Use all your luck now, and you may come to regret it…..” For the present time I’ll ignore that demon and count my blessings; tomorrow and its tidings will come in due course.

The scenery today was akin to the last couple of days; anther paddle of pedals across Iowa’s land ocean of green. Corn and soybean dominated the landscape as usual, with the infrequent farm and cattle ranch. Quite a few times today, when passing hog farms or being passed by cattle trucks, a whiff of dung beetle heaven wafted my way. While it’s a scent familiar to me from childhood, I’m not nearly as fond of it as it seems to be of me. I wish we could cease our encounters and both go on our happy way; as long as I remain in the Midwest I fear that longing will end in futility.

The highlight today came after the bike had been put away, and I was unwinding at Bob Loch’s beautiful abode. For the last week I have been praying to the stars above that one of the hotels we stayed in would come equipped with a hot tub or Jacuzzi; my prayers have gone unanswered so far. Upon arriving in Bettendorf, Iowa I was informed that Bob had a whirlpool that I could use if I so desired. I figured my legs deserved the reward, so I partook in the tub and got to relax the muscles a bit. Oh but it gets better; did I mention that Bob has a TV in his bathroom and not too far away is a fridge stocked with beer? So not only did I get to soak my road weary legs, but I did it while sipping some barley nectar and watching the Tour De France. Heaven you say? Well, who am I to argue...

Day 21 - July 7 a Rest Day - Gear and Food information

While on the bike yesterday I pondered this blog; when you’re in the saddle for 5+ hours there is plenty of time to ponder. I came to the realization (20 days after starting, what can I say, I’m quick like that.) that some of the people reading this may not be very familiar with cycling; especially an endurance event like this. I thought I would take a few minutes to go over some of the gear we are wearing, the bikes we are riding, and the food and fluids we are constantly consuming.

• CLOTHING - Most cyclists wear a cycling jersey and cycling shorts; commonly called a kit. The jersey generally has a zipper in the front (to open for ventilation) and three pockets in the back that are easily accessible and serve as great places to store food. The material of the jersey has a wicking property to it; to help pull the sweat away from the body. The shorts are a spandex type material that has a chamois pad to help protect your glutimus maximus. The shoes have a solid sole with a cleat attached which allows the cyclist to clip into the pedals so that they get both a down-stroke and an up-stroke, thus increasing their pedaling efficiency. The sole is usually a hard plastic or carbon fiber. The shoe I am using is a carbon fiber sole and I am wearing it for a couple of reason; the carbon doesn’t flex which allows me to get more power into my stroke and the carbon fiber keeps its rigidity longer than plastic; generally they can last up to 5 years before they start to flex and need to be replaces.

• FOOD and FLUIDS - While in the saddle, it’s hard to eat solid food. Therefore, I have reverted to eating easily chewable foods that contain carbohydrates, protein, and sugar. Over the course of this ride we have consumed Gu, which is an energy filled gel consisting of a mere 110 calories, Clif Blocks, a gummy-bear type food that has about twice the calories of Gu and similar nutritional properties, and Clif bars (a soft type candy bar with about 250 calories). When we stop for a break at the support vessel, we eat either a peanut butter sandwich, a banana, or a turkey sandwich on wheat bread with a little mustard. These foods are our staples while actually in the heat of riding. We do mix it up a bit, by stopping at burger joints from time to time to enjoy a burger versus the mundane turkey sandwich.

In regards to fluids, we actually drink a variety of different products. I have been using Accelerade in my water bottles, for its mix of protein, carbs, sugars, sodium, and potassium. I also will occasionally use regular water. When stopping for a quick bite off the bike, I enjoy V8’s for their powerful accumulation of sodium and potassium. I have also begun drinking soda, which I generally drink less than a can a month, for the sugary charge it can give on really long rides or very hot days. Basically, I try to satisfy my thirst with whatever I seem to be craving at the time. For the most part, V8 has been the answer to my fluid needs when off the bike at a pit stop.

• BIKES - The bikes we are riding on consist of a double crank (two gears where the pedals attach to) and a 10 gear cassette; effectively giving us 20 gears to choose from while battling the road. The cassette is the gearing attached to the rear wheel. The frame is carbon fiber, which makes it very light (appreciated immensely when going over the mountains) and it also helps absorb some of the shock of the road; thus sparing our hands, wrists, arms and shoulders the full intensity of the jarring the road throws our way. My bike seat is very small, flat and rock hard; this actually helps to minimize saddle sores when riding for extended periods of time as it cuts down on friction and surface area. I feel obligated to point out that it helps minimize, but as this ride has shown me, does not eliminate! My handlebars are my main point of interest on the ride, as they hold my brakes/shifters and cyclometer and heart rate monitor. During the course of the day, I will look down at my handlebars literally thousands of times to check my speed and current heart rate. Other than that, the bikes are pretty standard. You pedal, and if everything is lined up and the gods are gracious, it goes forward with little difficulty.

We have had some issues with our wheels becoming un-true (wobbly) and brakes rubbing on the tire. But Gary, with his insight, has brought along the right tools to resolve these issues; often quite quickly. The chains that we have been using will last for approximately 1,500 miles before needing to be replaced. When they begin to approach that amount of miles, the chain has generally stretched out from overuse which makes shifting less smooth and more prone to dropped chains. Last night Gary walked me through changing out my old chain with a brand new one; he had the tools and the knowledge to make the process seem almost simple. Gary, in preparing for this trip, has become quite a wrench. One of my goals for this trip has been to learn as much as possible about working on bikes, so that I may cultivate this skill once I am back home and into everyday life again. Thanks Gary for all the help and knowledge!

Day 20 – July 6th

Buzzing along the bike trail leading into Des Moines Iowa, we slowly made our way along the tree shrouded lane and towards the 20 mile point where we would disembark from the trail and once again be on the car laden roads of Iowa. Arriving at 73rd street, Gary and I crossed under the road and we made our way out of the park and saw Larry crouching hidden dragon style with his camera fluttering. Larry the Laugher also had a great surprise in store for us; how he arranged it remains one of the great mysteries of this ride. Where the bike path ended and the street began sat a long lost friend; Starbucks. Soon I was lounging in a comfy chair, engulfed in the aroma of coffee, sipping a white coffee mocha, and plotting out the details for our course today. It was a great way to start the ride.

Consuming the final drops of flavor, I left the coffee house behind and was flying over the rough shod streets of Des Moines; with each stroke coming closer to the stopping point for the next two days; Fremont, Iowa. Awaiting us in Fremont was a soft bed, a day off the bike, Gary’s lovely bride Kathy, her gracious and accommodating mother, and a delicious spread consisting of meatloaf, corn, mashed potatoes and a warm peach cobbler topped off with homemade ice cream. To say we were excited about this particular stop over point is an understatement; all of us were as overjoyed at the prospect of Fremont.

We fought a head/cross wind the entire ride of our journey today; but it was tolerable since we have dealt with worse. Along the ride I once again was surprised with the machine I call my body. My knees have both been behaving themselves the last couple of days, and my legs have felt surprisingly fresh. Not too deep, but still strong and able to maintain a steady pace during the course of the day. I was also able to thank Gary for all those times he pulled me over roads these last several years by rewarding him in kind today. I hope my limbs continue to feel as limber and solid for the next two weeks. Two weeks; WOW! To think in less than 14 days this opportunistic adventure of motion will come to its climatic finally on the shores of the eastern seaboard. Amazing to reflect on all the miles we have tallied thus far, and of the miles and scenery yet to come. While I am glad for the rest day that tomorrow will bring, I still find myself aching for the saddle and to be moving once more. I guess I’m just a vagabond with a bike.

The environment we tarried through today was yet another crossing of the green ocean that this fertile land has become through the hard and expert work of the laborers of the land. Any direction you peered, green was the answer to your searching gaze. Green upon green upon green, only occasionally broken by a small copse of humanity. What a vast frontier of food this state is! A true bread basket of a great county, and with the global markets, the entire world. The Midwest never ceases to amaze me in all its simple spectacular glory.

Rising with the road, after a brief exertion to gain the elevation the hill demanded, I found myself in a cleft between two ridges of topsoil. On both sides of the straight and narrow grew a purple array of tiny wild flowers. As I made my trek through the hundred yards of highway they encompassed, I was struck with a faint hint of a fragrance I had experienced before. This particular serenade of the senses, which merely tickled my memory, slowly brought to surface the image of freshly cleaned bedding; bedding that had been hung out to dry in a crisp early spring morning, and was just being climbed into for the first time. The flowers that generated this flash of the past were a soft hue of violet and their colors and fragrance were both mild but engaging. During the course of the day I saw these small bells of violet scattered along the ditch several times, and even now I can still smell them. Beautiful.

Our bikes rolled into Bonnie’s homestead of humanity, our first link to reality in weeks, a little before 2:00 pm. Our machines had accumulated another 97 miles in their desire to cross from coast to coast. After a sweaty hug (poor Kathy) Gary, Larry, and I were sprawled in lawn chairs with a cold friend in our paws. It was another beautiful day on the bike, with the gift of a day off awaiting us. The day off will do us as much good mentally as physically. A day to relax, read, write, and just take in life with the absence of a saddle is definitely in order.

Day 19 – July 5th

Our cyclist adventure today began in Blaire, Nebraska a little after 6:30 am and within only a couple of miles we had left yet another state behind and were rolling into Iowa prairie. The first few miles of the ride were iron-board flat and we made great time in flying over those empty roads. At 10 miles in, however, we began to climb the first of a long, long series of rolling hills. Soon my world consisted simply of pedaling up a hill, down the hill, up a hill down the hill. I found myself stuck in a sick Hollywood film in which I lived in a world of never ending cycle roller coasters; in reality it only lasted for the next 90 miles but at the time I thought an eternity had elapsed. It was exhausting dealing with the constant motion; almost like an angry sea that lifts and drops a boat; only it was on land. I would huff and puff my way up a hill, cranking with as much power as I could muster, only to gain the summit and see three or more hills in the distance coming straight at me. The site was anything but encouraging to my fatigued body and mind.

As the day progressed Gary and I found ourselves separating often due to the fact that we have different climbing and descending cadences. For much of the day I was an isolated cyclist, with nothing but a trusty support vehicle keeping me connected to humanity and the small shred of sanity I had remaining. Much of my morning and afternoon was spent on a lonely, bumpy road, spinning at a decent revolution, all the while defending myself from the territorial red winged blackbirds. Every couple of hundred yards I would wheel into another bird’s territory and apparently they deemed it necessary to flutter overhead and scold me for my un-welcomed violation of their land. The little black buggers were hostile no matter how sweetly I talked to them; though I tried to coo them for hours with niceties. Soon after my failed attempts at diplomacy I found myself fantasizing about a Browning 12 gauge and a few latent shells. I have a sneaking suspicion that would have altered their attitudes and their assessment of me and my Trek.

The scenery along the route today consisted mostly of those golden kernelled homing beacons, growing row upon row, and scattered pasture; intermingled amongst this landscape was the occasional cash crop. The one picture that stands out most in my mind may ultimately be a delusion; as neither Gary nor Bob witnessed it. At one point in the ride, when the head/cross wind was really starting to pick up, I peaked a long climb and as I prepared my body for its well deserved descent I caught a sight of something both Patriotic and Iowan. Standing tire to tire, lined up in a horizontal row facing the highway, proudly sat four generations of tractors; all waving the American flag. The oldest of the tractors was the smallest, and as their age decreased their size increased. The really great thing was that the flags were all sticking straight out as the wind buffeted into them. I couldn’t help but smile at this farmer’s rendition of patriotism. Those four dormant machines each had a story to tell about the men and women they helped to turn these fallow grounds into prosperous land for a growing nation. It was the essence of what this country stands for.

Another sight, not nearly as pleasant, was the slow moving clouds of mist that I viewed repeatedly along the route. The festers of cyclist gnats had a field day as even slower creatures, Gary and I, made our way across their domain. With all the water that Iowa has been bombarded with over the last month, the population of gnats and mosquito’s has grown exponentially. The next several days should be interesting, as we attempt to make it across the saturated countryside with our limbs and blood in tact.

Speaking of the Iowan Ocean, we have been quite fortunate in the roads we have selected thus far; as they have been bike passable and quite friendly to two wheeled machines. We pray we have secured a solid route that will see us safely across the state without encountering washed out roads and bridges; stay posted as further updates on this challenge will be forth coming.

The last 20 miles of our ride tonight took place on a paved bike path from Panora to Alder, Iowa. Aside from Gary’s flat tire (which is becoming habit with him), and nearly being taken out by a Fred, the route was great and we had little trouble crossing it. We ended the day 120 miles closer to the vast waters that are calling us, and of course enjoyed a frosty brew. I would like to thank Brock for the delicious Sam Adams that wet our pallets after a long day in the saddle. Gary, Bob, and I wanted to send our deepest appreciation for this contribution to the ride in the only way we knew how; by emptying them happily and quickly. Thanks bud!

In parting, I would like to send my deepest and warmest appreciation to Bob Loch. Tonight was the final chapter in Bob’s career as support driver for our quest to cross America by bike. Over the last 8 days Bob has been nothing short of a blessing; his hard work to keep us fed, hydrated, and on track have proven invaluable. Bob, thank you for taking part in this crazy bike adventure; it has been an honor and a privilege to spend the last 1,000 miles in your company. You will forever be an integral member of RAA 2008, and I am in your debt. Thank you!!!!!

Day 18 – July 4th

Continuing on this dual wheeled adventure, we started out of O’Neil, Nebraska with our hearts set on Blair, Nebraska 131 miles away. As I worked to warm up during the first few miles, I began to mentally prepare myself for a hard day on the bike. After the last couple of days in the saddle, I fully realized that my legs had been overly taxed and I would have to pay the piper. I was pleasantly surprised to find my legs feeling fresh and begging for a challenge. It was as if the fatigue had melted away, and two fresh pistons remained; I took full advantage of the opportunity. Generally Gary and I switch off pulling (pulling is the guy in the front working harder to break the wind while the guy behind drafts and conserves energy) every mile to mile and a half, but today I was feeling so good that I found myself pulling for 3 to 6 mile stretches. I at first didn’t know what to think about this energy or where it had come from, but soon I discovered my answer. Today was the Fourth of July. I was feeding off the energy that this country emanates on the day of its conception. I’m an econ major, and have a deep respect for what this country has accomplished over the last couple of centuries. It amazes me to no end.

And today is our Independence Day. As I rolled along prairie mile after prairie mile, I could not help but reflect upon what this day all entails to me, and the fact that I am riding across such a beautiful country during its birthday. And this country is beautiful; both in scenery and in opportunity. Wow, what a joy to be able to do such an amazing adventure at such an incredible time; the emotions this realization brought to me as I sat in the saddle was overwhelmingly powerful and caused a rush of energy.

4th of July. What does that really mean though? With hours and over a hundred miles remaining, I had plenty of time to reflect upon this question. Nearly 250 years ago men and women, like you and I, ceased shaking their heads in silent contempt and stepped into the light and in one voice stated “No More.” “No more oppression; no more tyranny. No longer will we accept the injustice and raping of our rights and liberty in silence. Freedom is an absolute; a right all humans are entitled to.’ And they put life and limb on the line for that right.

I feel fortunate to have forefathers whom had the courage to demand their liberty be restored. In signing the Declaration, I feel they had to know that they were ultimately sacrificing their property, fortunes, and lives; yet they still willing signed. I have heard it said that there are evil men in this world, but that an even greater evil resides in good men; good men who fail to act in times of injustice and oppression. The type of injustice that our country refused to accept so many years ago and through that denial America was given the breath of life. Today, of all the days, is the one time I think we as a people can cast aside our petty differences and regardless of creed, race, and political views unite as a nation on our country’s holiday. Today is the day we all can stop to reflect upon that honorable title that has been bestowed upon us: American. A title that our forefathers earned and passed onto us, and the title that so many people continue to honor today in hope to pass onto heirs yet born. People that honor that title through their daily lives and the work they do. The soldiers, merchants, labors and everyone who makes this country what it is today. Independence Day is not just a day to celebrate those of our past, but to celebrate the men and women who keep those two pieces of parchment (the Constitution and Declaration of Independence) alive and breathing today. Men and women like you. I would like to say thank you and happy Independence Day to you all.

Our ride came to an end for the day in Blaire after 131 miles of hard earned pavement. The final seventeen miles were especially difficult with the south head wind that we were forced to contend with. It was worth it though. We now are more than halfway to our goal; we surpassed the 1,800 mile mark on our sojourn of 3,600 miles to the Atlantic.

I would also like to say thank you to Brock. Brock, a very close friend of mine, lives about an hour from Blaire, Nebraska and gave up part of his holiday to drive and hang out with a couple of road weary cyclists and a support driver for a couple of hours. It was great seeing a familiar face; my only regret is that I didn’t have more time to spend with him. But I think he understands, and knows that one of these days we’ll get to a game and have plenty of time to catch up. In the meantime, he can practice his skills on Kart and maybe have a chance against me. Though, he should realize, there is not enough time in the world to give him a real shot at finally conquering me. My aim is just too deadly with those shells, hehe.