When I awoke at 5 am, Frodo was already in the kitchen baking us pumpkin muffins and cooking eggs. Jan arrived shortly thereafter with steel-cut oatmeal. We filled our bellies and piled into two SUV's. There were 11 of us leaving for the trail head. I was very, very nervous. Did I say I was nervous? Nay, I was terrified. The whole hour and change out to the trail head, I was thinking, "Oh shit, what have I gotten myself into?" The terrain is so foreign to me. Mountains and rocks and desert stuff. We steadily climbed to 3000 feet. I wondered how I was going to do this -- any of this. I have been planning this trip for over ten years, and now here I was. But it's one thing to sit in your living room and plan to do something. It's entirely different to experience something first-hand. No matter how much one has planned, it's never quite what you expect.
We piled out of the car at the trail head, which is a few feet from the US/Mexican border. It is in a very remote part of the state. The nearest "town," Campo, is barely that. We would soon walk by it, but not stop. We had all we thought we would need.
As soon as I shouldered my pack, I knew I was in trouble. Serious trouble. My pack was now loaded with food and water, and it was entirely too heavy to carry comfortably for any distance at all. The trail is not a wide, flat, level path. It is, in fact, rather narrow, rocky at times, or washed out, or overgrown with brush. And it undulates. At times, it is barely 12 inches wide with a sheer drop on one side. One slip and down the mountain side you go with only the boulders to stop your slide.
It got warm quickly. I was wearing long pants and a long sleeve shirt to block the sun, which will burn me to a crisp if I'm not careful. I began sweating like a . . . girl in the desert wearing long pants and a long-sleeve shirt. I had four liters of water and began to consume it with a vengeance. I would, over the course of the day, consume around 8 liters, filtering half from a stream.
The group I started with soon left me behind, and I walked alone most of the day. I would occasionally run into one or two of them when they took a break, but by the time I caught up to them, they were ready to take off again, so I took breaks alone, as well. By mile 10, I was pretty discouraged. Everything hurt -- badly. I had already plastered my feet with duct tape to forestall oncoming blisters. Fortunately, I had Jan's phone number (one of my hosts in SD), so I called her from the trail (yes, I had cell service!). She hooked me up with Lon and Deb, who are experienced hikers and who were camping at Lake Morena campground at mile 20.5 from the border. I hoped they would be able to help me minimize the weight in my pack and help me sort out my emotions. I just had to make it to them.
Somehow, I managed to make it to Hauser Creek at mile 16. I left the border at 7:50 am. I made it to Hauser Creek around 6 pm. I had been hiking all day. I was absolutely wasted. And rain was moving in. I managed to suck down a bagel and get my tent set up before dark. Not long after, the rain began. It wasn't much, just enough to be a nuisance really, but wet is wet. I was glad to be in a tent, but my body had payed the price for carrying it all day. I took 3 ibuprofen and called it a day. I soon discovered my air mattress had a hole in it, and my sore hips soon found the ground. I would not sleep well because of it.
In fact, I laid there most of the night wondering what I was going to do. I absolutely could not continue hiking with my pack as heavy as it was. If Lon and Deb couldn't help me, then I was contemplating bailing on the whole trip. I was also having a hard time hiking alone. There were quite a few people camping at Hauser Creek, but most were couples, and I was alone. I was overwhelmed to the extreme. I didn't know how I was going to manage this trip. I laid there thinking that I could go back to SD, rent a car, and tour all the fabulous state and national parks in California, Arizona, and southern Utah -- places I've never been, but have always wanted to go. It was a tempting thought as I drifted off to sleep.
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
Saturday, April 17, 2010
April 17 -- Almost ready to go
I made myself stay up late last night because of the time change. I didn't want to be up at 4 am with nothing to do. I actually slept until 5:30 am here, which is 7:30 am at home. That's late for me. It felt good. I was up in time to see the Kiwis off. I hope I meet them again on the trail. They are very interesting. Love the accent!
I actually had a hard time going to sleep last night. I was so far from home. I missed my babies and my home and everything else I know well. I pondered the enormity of what I am about to undertake. I was very emotional. I finally fell asleep, telling myself that I could ponder it in the morning. I then slept well.
I spent the day food shopping for the next six days. My next resupply will be in Julian, which is 79 miles up the trail. I bought too much food. I will suffer from the weight of it until I eat it. I hope I will want to eat. People tell me I won't want to for awhile, until my body adjusts to the altitude and air and physical exertion. We'll see.
I'm sad to say that my pack is too heavy. I've got it loaded with food and water now, and it weighs a ton. Too much. I will suffer until I figure out how to minimize the weight and distribute it properly. These next few weeks will be very, very hard as I acclimate. Try to prop me up. I will need it.
Shortly, I will be enjoying homemade Indian food that several us prepared, along with Scout and Frodo. It looks and smells delicious. It will probably be the most healthy food I will eat for quite awhile. At least until I get to a decent-sized town.
As you can see, I've added a slide show feature to the blog site. You can click on the photos and see them larger. I won't be able to add photos until I get to a computer and upload them from my camera, so be patient. I may post a few photos into the blog with photos I will have taken with my phone, but the bulk of my photos will be taken with my new camera, which I can't share without a computer.
I leave for the trail tomorrow morning at 6 am PDT. Jan will be taking 11 of us. Scout told me that it was 43 degree at the trail head this morning when he dropped off the Kiwis, but it probably warmed up quickly. Someone mentioned rain moving in, but I haven't seen the weather report lately. Hopefully, it won't be torrential.
Okay, peeps. I might be out of touch for awhile. Hard to say. I will post when I can. If I haven't posted, it means I don't have service. Just hang tight. I'll get back to you. Wish me luck!
I actually had a hard time going to sleep last night. I was so far from home. I missed my babies and my home and everything else I know well. I pondered the enormity of what I am about to undertake. I was very emotional. I finally fell asleep, telling myself that I could ponder it in the morning. I then slept well.
I spent the day food shopping for the next six days. My next resupply will be in Julian, which is 79 miles up the trail. I bought too much food. I will suffer from the weight of it until I eat it. I hope I will want to eat. People tell me I won't want to for awhile, until my body adjusts to the altitude and air and physical exertion. We'll see.
I'm sad to say that my pack is too heavy. I've got it loaded with food and water now, and it weighs a ton. Too much. I will suffer until I figure out how to minimize the weight and distribute it properly. These next few weeks will be very, very hard as I acclimate. Try to prop me up. I will need it.
Shortly, I will be enjoying homemade Indian food that several us prepared, along with Scout and Frodo. It looks and smells delicious. It will probably be the most healthy food I will eat for quite awhile. At least until I get to a decent-sized town.
As you can see, I've added a slide show feature to the blog site. You can click on the photos and see them larger. I won't be able to add photos until I get to a computer and upload them from my camera, so be patient. I may post a few photos into the blog with photos I will have taken with my phone, but the bulk of my photos will be taken with my new camera, which I can't share without a computer.
I leave for the trail tomorrow morning at 6 am PDT. Jan will be taking 11 of us. Scout told me that it was 43 degree at the trail head this morning when he dropped off the Kiwis, but it probably warmed up quickly. Someone mentioned rain moving in, but I haven't seen the weather report lately. Hopefully, it won't be torrential.
Okay, peeps. I might be out of touch for awhile. Hard to say. I will post when I can. If I haven't posted, it means I don't have service. Just hang tight. I'll get back to you. Wish me luck!
Friday, April 16, 2010
April 16 -- I'm in San Diego!
To Newell: I'm safe and sound at Scout and Frodo's house in San Diego. You can stop reading now, especially since this is going to be a fairly long post. I've had an exciting day.
To everyone else: As one might imagine, I didn't sleep well last night. Not only was I nervous/excited, but I went to the gym last night and didn't have a spa to relax in afterwards, since I had drained it, so my muscles were protesting during the night. Something to look forward to in the upcoming days/weeks/months.
I spent the morning trying to remember to do every last little thing before I flew to the other side of the continent and left everything I know and love. It was really hard to leave. My children knew I was leaving and were very clingy. They seemed sad, too. I will worry about them endlessly, and I miss them already.
My mom took me to the airport and waited with me until it was nearly time to go. I haven't flown in a really long time, so I dreaded the whole check-in and security process, with visions of them breaking open my box and rummaging through all my stuff, but it was really a breeze. I walked right up to the counter, handed the woman my e-ticket, and that was it. There were only four people in line at the scanners, so that went quickly, too, and I wasn't singled out for a body cavity search or anything else. It's still creepy to take off one's shoes. That's just gross, walking around on the carpet where other people have been walking without shoes with God knows what foot cooties.
Anyway, the flight to Houston was relatively quick, but on a small aircraft. We took off and followed the bay, then along the coast. Since I was seated by a window, I followed the roads we took on the bike trip -- all the way to Dauphin Island. That was cool. Like I said, I hadn't been in a plane in awhile and had forgotten just how small our barrier islands really are in such a vast body of water. We followed the coast all the way to Texas, before heading inland to Houston.
I had planned to eat in Houston, but my first leg was a little late, so I had only five minutes to run from one terminal to the other and hop on my next leg, so I didn't get to eat. It was a three hour flight. The plane was big and completely full. I had the joy of sitting next to a woman with a two year old. Her husband was in the seat in front of her with a four month old. There was another young child behind us. However, the one next to me decided to have not one, but two, full-blown temper tantrums, with piercing screams. The mother and father just sat there and let her cry. It was incredible. Between tantrums, I did manage a nap, which was good, but I was starving by the time I got to San Diego.
As soon as I grabbed my box off the conveyor, Frodo (Sandy) pulled up in her Prius and drove me to her house. It's a very large home near La Jolla, which is a very nice area. Scout (Barney) is an attorney. Staying here tonight are a Canadian couple, three Kiwis, and two girls from Israel. Aside from our hosts, I'm the only American here! Scout and Frodo have just totally opened their home -- snacks everywhere-- and have given me a bedroom. So I get to sleep in a bed tonight!!
One of their neighbors, Jan, who has also hiked the trail (in sections), brought over a fabulous dinner for all -- salmon, vegetables, bread, and apple crisp. It was delicious. I'm now ready for bed, even though it's only 8 pm here. I'm still on Central time, so I might turn in soon.
Tomorrow, I'm going to shop for food and put the finishing touches on my provisions. Scout or Frodo is going to drive me to the trail Sunday morning at 6 am. So tomorrow will be something of a rest day. The Kiwis are leaving tomorrow, but others are coming in. Everyone is so interesting! This is going to be a wonderful experience.
To everyone else: As one might imagine, I didn't sleep well last night. Not only was I nervous/excited, but I went to the gym last night and didn't have a spa to relax in afterwards, since I had drained it, so my muscles were protesting during the night. Something to look forward to in the upcoming days/weeks/months.
I spent the morning trying to remember to do every last little thing before I flew to the other side of the continent and left everything I know and love. It was really hard to leave. My children knew I was leaving and were very clingy. They seemed sad, too. I will worry about them endlessly, and I miss them already.
My mom took me to the airport and waited with me until it was nearly time to go. I haven't flown in a really long time, so I dreaded the whole check-in and security process, with visions of them breaking open my box and rummaging through all my stuff, but it was really a breeze. I walked right up to the counter, handed the woman my e-ticket, and that was it. There were only four people in line at the scanners, so that went quickly, too, and I wasn't singled out for a body cavity search or anything else. It's still creepy to take off one's shoes. That's just gross, walking around on the carpet where other people have been walking without shoes with God knows what foot cooties.
Anyway, the flight to Houston was relatively quick, but on a small aircraft. We took off and followed the bay, then along the coast. Since I was seated by a window, I followed the roads we took on the bike trip -- all the way to Dauphin Island. That was cool. Like I said, I hadn't been in a plane in awhile and had forgotten just how small our barrier islands really are in such a vast body of water. We followed the coast all the way to Texas, before heading inland to Houston.
I had planned to eat in Houston, but my first leg was a little late, so I had only five minutes to run from one terminal to the other and hop on my next leg, so I didn't get to eat. It was a three hour flight. The plane was big and completely full. I had the joy of sitting next to a woman with a two year old. Her husband was in the seat in front of her with a four month old. There was another young child behind us. However, the one next to me decided to have not one, but two, full-blown temper tantrums, with piercing screams. The mother and father just sat there and let her cry. It was incredible. Between tantrums, I did manage a nap, which was good, but I was starving by the time I got to San Diego.
As soon as I grabbed my box off the conveyor, Frodo (Sandy) pulled up in her Prius and drove me to her house. It's a very large home near La Jolla, which is a very nice area. Scout (Barney) is an attorney. Staying here tonight are a Canadian couple, three Kiwis, and two girls from Israel. Aside from our hosts, I'm the only American here! Scout and Frodo have just totally opened their home -- snacks everywhere-- and have given me a bedroom. So I get to sleep in a bed tonight!!
One of their neighbors, Jan, who has also hiked the trail (in sections), brought over a fabulous dinner for all -- salmon, vegetables, bread, and apple crisp. It was delicious. I'm now ready for bed, even though it's only 8 pm here. I'm still on Central time, so I might turn in soon.
Tomorrow, I'm going to shop for food and put the finishing touches on my provisions. Scout or Frodo is going to drive me to the trail Sunday morning at 6 am. So tomorrow will be something of a rest day. The Kiwis are leaving tomorrow, but others are coming in. Everyone is so interesting! This is going to be a wonderful experience.
Thursday, April 15, 2010
My next adventure
Hi, everyone. Welcome back. Did you miss me?
For Newell (who just wants to know where I am and that I'm okay): I'm still safe at home on my couch in my living room. You can stop reading now. I'm fine.
For everyone else: I have been ever so busy preparing for my PCT hike. But before I talk about all that, how about an update on my peeps from the bike trip? As you might recall, Carol and Rosie left the group in Opelousas, TX. They made it nearly to El Paso, TX, before Carol fell ill with asthma-type symptoms. They went home on March 14. She has planted her summer garden and is recuperating. Mike ended his journey, as well, on March 24, in Alpine, TX. He is back home in NY, looking for a job that he hopes will take him to distant places. Ryan and Bryan made it to San Diego on April 11. Good job, guys!! Bryan will be starting graduate school in August. And I will see Ryan at the PCT kickoff party next week. Finally, Jeff is still traveling through California, in no rush to reach the coast.
I can't believe it's been nearly six weeks since I came home from the bike trip. Time flies! I've been preparing for the hike and working on projects around the house now that Spring has finally sprung. Although I miss the people I work with, I've enjoyed the time off from work. It's been a much-needed rest.
I leave tomorrow for San Diego -- on a plane. I don't like flying much, so I'm not looking forward to the trip, but I'm excited about getting to California. There is a couple in S.D. who hiked the PCT in 2007. They were befriended by so many wonderful people that they have decided to pay that kindness forward by hosting hikers. They will pick me (and others) up from the airport and take me back to their home, where I will stay with other hikers until Sunday morning, when they will take us all to the trail head, which is about an hour and a half east of S.D. near a small town called Campo (try to find it on a map). The trail begins literally at the border between the US and Mexico. The government has erected a tall metal fence, so I won't be able to actually cross into Mexico, but I will begin my journey on the border. I can't wait!!!
Just so you know -- for all those who are addicted to reading my blog everyday -- I absolutely will not be able to post every day. I will be in the wilderness most of the time. I previous years' hiker has actually made a list of places along the trail that did (or did not) have good cell service with my carrier, so that will be helpful. But there will be many days where there will be none. Try not to worry. I'll post as soon as I can. My mom will have high priority (of course), which means that I will find a way to contact her by voice as close to daily as possible, so if you're beside yourself with worry, call her; she'll be the first to know.
Okay, it's late (for me) and I'm off to bed. Don't know when I'll get to sleep in a bed again. Might be awhile. I hope I have a restful nights' sleep. It's going to be a whirlwind next few days.
For Newell (who just wants to know where I am and that I'm okay): I'm still safe at home on my couch in my living room. You can stop reading now. I'm fine.
For everyone else: I have been ever so busy preparing for my PCT hike. But before I talk about all that, how about an update on my peeps from the bike trip? As you might recall, Carol and Rosie left the group in Opelousas, TX. They made it nearly to El Paso, TX, before Carol fell ill with asthma-type symptoms. They went home on March 14. She has planted her summer garden and is recuperating. Mike ended his journey, as well, on March 24, in Alpine, TX. He is back home in NY, looking for a job that he hopes will take him to distant places. Ryan and Bryan made it to San Diego on April 11. Good job, guys!! Bryan will be starting graduate school in August. And I will see Ryan at the PCT kickoff party next week. Finally, Jeff is still traveling through California, in no rush to reach the coast.
I can't believe it's been nearly six weeks since I came home from the bike trip. Time flies! I've been preparing for the hike and working on projects around the house now that Spring has finally sprung. Although I miss the people I work with, I've enjoyed the time off from work. It's been a much-needed rest.
I leave tomorrow for San Diego -- on a plane. I don't like flying much, so I'm not looking forward to the trip, but I'm excited about getting to California. There is a couple in S.D. who hiked the PCT in 2007. They were befriended by so many wonderful people that they have decided to pay that kindness forward by hosting hikers. They will pick me (and others) up from the airport and take me back to their home, where I will stay with other hikers until Sunday morning, when they will take us all to the trail head, which is about an hour and a half east of S.D. near a small town called Campo (try to find it on a map). The trail begins literally at the border between the US and Mexico. The government has erected a tall metal fence, so I won't be able to actually cross into Mexico, but I will begin my journey on the border. I can't wait!!!
Just so you know -- for all those who are addicted to reading my blog everyday -- I absolutely will not be able to post every day. I will be in the wilderness most of the time. I previous years' hiker has actually made a list of places along the trail that did (or did not) have good cell service with my carrier, so that will be helpful. But there will be many days where there will be none. Try not to worry. I'll post as soon as I can. My mom will have high priority (of course), which means that I will find a way to contact her by voice as close to daily as possible, so if you're beside yourself with worry, call her; she'll be the first to know.
Okay, it's late (for me) and I'm off to bed. Don't know when I'll get to sleep in a bed again. Might be awhile. I hope I have a restful nights' sleep. It's going to be a whirlwind next few days.
Tuesday, March 9, 2010
Epilogue -- Some observations about my adventure
Now that I'm home and I've rested some, I've had a chance to contemplate my bicycling adventure in its entire context. What follows are some thoughts, feelings, and observations about the whole trip, and about what's ahead for me. This is going to be a long post. Read what you want. But remember, this is my journal. It's ultimately for me. I'm trying to memorialize what's happening so that later in life I can read back over it and help myself to remember what happened, and what was going on in my head at the time. I'm not keeping a separate, private journal, so it's all here -- well, most of it; after all, some of what happens on the road, stays on the road --like in Vegas, only different.
I know better than anyone that my ultimate goal was to ride my trike from Pensacola to San Diego. I didn't make it. Oh, well. But please don't say to me, "Well, at least you tried." I did more than try. I pedalled a bicycle over EIGHT HUNDRED (that's eight-zero-zero) miles under some very, very difficult conditions. That's a long way. I spent 20 days on the road. I traveled in or through five states: Florida, Alabama, Mississippi, Louisiana, and Texas. Wow.
There was a time (several times, in fact) while I was on the road, when I was trying to decide whether, when, and how to abort the mission, that I was very sad (depressed even) and was struggling with the whole "quitter/loser/failure" thing. I'm over that. WAY over that. I came to terms with my limitations on this trip. I'm okay with it. I'm happy to be home. I'm even happier that I had a goal, that I made concrete plans to effectuate that goal, that I did more than just plan to effectuate it -- I actually got up off the couch and got onto a bicycle -- and that I did the very best that I could to realize my goal. I am proud of myself! I did not make it to San Diego, but I made it to Navasota, Texas. Wow! Good for me!
In making this trip, I learned A LOT about myself. Some of it I kind of already knew, but either didn't accept or was in denial about, and some of it I discovered anew. None of it is bad. It just is what it is. It's me -- for better or worse. In some ways, I'm much stronger (mentally, physically, psychologically, emotionally) than I thought that I was. In other ways, not so much.
Here's what I'm most happy about: I actually did something big for myself. Don't get me wrong. I've accomplished many things in my life -- big things. I have a lot of education. I have a career. I own a home. I still have money in the bank (not a ton, but enough). I have great friends who have been very, very supportive. But in relation to accomplishing personal goals (as opposed to career and financial security goals), I have had a difficult time in life moving beyond the mere planning stages. I can plan the hell out of things. With this trip, I actually did it. I minimized my needs down to two small bags, lashed them to a bicycle, and rode away from everything and everyone that gave me security in life. That's big!
So even though I did not realize my ultimate goal of riding my trike from Florida to California, I did something HUGE for me, and I'm happy about it. Despite all the pain and misery I experienced along the way, I will FOREVER be grateful that I did it, if for no other reason than I got to meet and travel with some exceptional people. Ryan, Bryan, Mike, Carol, Jeff, and Dave are all wonderful people -- truly salt of the Earth. While we all had our own individual personality characteristics, we were amazingly compatible, considering that we were all from different places, of different ages and genders, and from different backgrounds. I suppose the commonality of our goal -- to bicycle across the continent -- was what made it work. I wish everyone the greatest success in realizing their goals, both in relation to this trip and beyond.
In considering my need/desire to stop riding and come home, I have identified a few contributing factors. Please hear me when I say there is nothing and no one to blame. There is no fault here. Ultimately, I (me, myself, and I, and no one else) made a variety of decisions along the way that led me to the conclusion that I did not want to continue on this journey. Internal and external factors affected my ultimate decision, but nothing and no one made me stop. It was a decision I made for myself. What follows are some contributing factors, but I'm not interested in listing them as justification for my decision; what I'm more interested in is what they taught me about myself.
Let's start with my level of fitness. When I decided to make this trip a reality, I was admittedly grossly out of shape. I was significantly overweight. I had been sedentary for a long, long time. Part of my decision to take this trip was to motivate me to get fit, get in shape, lose weight, and start living a more healthy, active lifestyle. After all, I'm not getting any younger. And I'm starting to feel the ill-effects of my sedentary lifestyle. So last year, I started making changes to my lifestyle. I tried several things. It was hard to break old habits. It wasn't until August that I got truly serious about burning calories and building endurance. That didn't give me much time to lose a lot of weight and build muscle. But I trained hard. Nearly every day. I still struggled with the diet aspect of it all, but I made tremendous progress in a relatively short amount of time. I wouldn't have been The Biggest Loser, but I lost nearly 30 pounds of fat, and gained a fair amount of muscle, before I left. I constantly worried about my fitness level for this trip, and almost aborted the mission in January because of it, but ultimately I hoped that I had done enough, and that I would be able to build upon my fitness level along the way. Here's what I discovered: Riding 50 miles on a bicycle was difficult. Thankfully, we didn't ride 50 miles every day, especially in the beginning. At the end of a 50-mile day, I was dog tired. In the beginning, my knees bothered me and contributed to my overall level of discomfort. Over time, they got better. It also got easier, over time, to ride 50 miles. Anything over that, however, was very difficult, especially when there was a headwind or hills, or both. I found that, in some ways, I was getting stronger every day -- especially in my legs. Despite the calories I was ingesting with chocolate milk and Little Debbie, I was still losing fat, which was a good thing. At the same time, however, I felt my overall health diminishing. I wasn't sleeping well at all, so I wasn't rejuvenating overnight like I needed to. I suspect that shivering all night actually zapped my energy and lowered my immune system. More about that later. An exceedingly poor diet also contributed to my progressively worsening mental and physical health. Ultimately, as we got closer and closer to the mountains of West Texas, I knew that I was not in the kind of physical shape necessary to maintain the mileage while climbing serious altitude. When I got a head cold, I knew my body was telling me to stop -- at least for awhile. So I did.
Probably the next major contributing factor was food, which I grossly underestimated. I knew that I would have to increase my caloric intake, given the level of exertion. What I did not realize was that we would not have access to more healthy eating options. The route we were on took us along country roads and through very, very small towns. Populations rarely exceeded 1,000 people. Our options were almost exclusively convenience stores, small country grocery stores, feed stores, etc. The food selection in these places, even in the small grocery stores, was sometimes sketchy. And we had to think about the caloric value of foods. One can theoretically eat an entire bag of baby carrots, but there aren't many calories in carrots. Thus, one would have to follow that bag of carrots with a giant Snickers or a honeybun or something with high carbs in order to sustain enough energy to pedal 15-20 miles to the next store. At the end of the day, while camping, we had tiny stoves and a single pot to cook in. We couldn't afford the time or energy or fuel to cook a big, healthy meal. Most people made Ramen noodles or Lipton's rice packets or mashed potatoes, if they cooked. If not, it was peanut butter on some type of conduit -- bread, cracker, tortilla. When we found ourselves in Walmart, I would buy several apples, oranges, and bananas, but they're heavy to carry on a bike, so weight of food was an issue, too. As for food prepared by others (like at a restaurant), there weren't too many of those along the way. We did manage to have a sit-down meal a few times, but it was restaurant food -- usually hamburgers, pizza, fried chicken, cheese sandwiches, etc. No vegetable plates. Unless you consider french fries and onion rings to be vegetables. So diet was a major issue. For future endeavors, I will definitely need to consider this aspect of a trip, since there is no doubt in my mind that my poor diet along the way significantly contributed to my diminishing physical -- and mental -- health. Multivitamins, which I did take, can only do so much.
Next: the weather! OMG!! It was cold. No, it was beyond cold. It was downright freezing. Day after day. Night after night. I didn't have the right gear and couldn't do anything to change it. There were times when I wore every stitch of clothing that I had to bed and still wasn't warm. Those were some miserable nights. Everywhere we went people were complaining about the weather. It was an aberrational winter -- everywhere. The worst in decades. Some people are better able to acclimate themselves to changing conditions. I am not one of those people. I don't like the cold. That's why I live in Florida. Still, I knew before leaving that we would face some cold temperatures. We were leaving in mid-February, after all. I just didn't anticipate, and wasn't able to adequately adapt to, the persistent cold and wind. It zapped my energy and wore me down. For future endeavors, I will need to make better gear choices, or else plan everything for the summer months on islands in the Caribbean.
Okay, so those were some of the major contributing factors. Here are some things I learned (or confirmed) about myself. Again, they're not negative things. They just are what they are. I'm sure they contributed, as well, to my decision to leave the road. I'll just say it: I'm a spoiled, middle-class, American girl. I like creature comforts. Not necessarily extravagant things, but to many in the world, they are luxuries: running water, flush toilets, hot running water, beds, real coffee with real half-and-half, warmth however generated, and hot, nutritious food. Had I been warm, the camping aspect of the trip would not have bothered me so much. I had a roomy tent, a comfortable sleeping pad and a pillow. I was just too cold. Because of that, I would have stayed in more motels along the way. But a large part of riding with a group is making the necessary compromises along the way. Different people had different budgets and different needs/desires in terms of where they laid their head each night. Unfortunately, all the camping we did was a compromise that I think compromised my ultimate success. The alternative for me was to break from the group and do what I thought I needed to do to succeed. However, I didn't think that I could have succeeded alone. And didn't want to make this trek alone. That's why I advertised for companions to begin with. So it was a Catch-22 situation. And ultimately a no-win situation. I wish that I had been strong enough mentally and emotionally to stay behind when I got sick, rest up, then continue on alone. But I knew that I was not strong enough. I learned that about myself. The conditions of living on the road were too much for me to negotiate alone. I admire those like Carol (and many others) who can do it. Power to you, girls!
Here are a few other random observations about the trip:
1) I felt very out-of-touch with the world. We caught bits of news here and there, but I felt very isolated from the general population.
2) Being so out-of-touch led to a certain amount of mental dullness. Although we talked during stops, I lacked mental stimulation, especially the kind of fast-paced, in-your-face stimulus I was accustomed to in "the real world."
3) Our nation's roadways are in serious disrepair. And they are not even remotely friendly to non-motorized use.
4) People lose their minds, and their civility, when they enter a motorized vehicle. I found myself creating new expletives to hurl at drivers, since the standard ones seemed ineffective.
5) We saw a ton of road kill. By far, the majority were dogs. People in the country apparently having little regard for their dogs. They live on busy roads, but don't bother to confine or constrain their dogs in the least. Dead dogs littered the side of the roads. It was very, very sad.
6) Speaking of dogs. I had several close encounters. Usually, a stern shout "No!" would do the trick. But not every time. I didn't carry mace because I didn't want the wind to carry it back to me. I also didn't know how I would steer and change gears and manipulate some device while trying to keep my arms, hands, neck and face away from gnashing teeth. One dog, in particular, went for my left bicep, but missed. It then sunk its teeth into my left pannier. Although I was pedalling hard, it yanked me backwards. While screaming, I swung my left arm backwards as hard as I could, nearly pulling my arm out of socket, trying to get him to let go. When he did, the force sent my bike careening off the right side of the road. I managed to correct myself before heading down an embankment and into a pond. It was a truly frightening moment.
7) Rumble strips should be outlawed. If you're driving a car and are (a) drunk, (b) falling asleep, (c) on the phone, (d) shaving your legs, or (e) all of the above, then you deserve to run off the road and into a tree. Rumble strips should not be there to save you.
(8) Buy stock in Dollar General. They are EVERYWHERE. When there was absolutely nothing else in "town," there was a Dollar General. Seriously, they must belong to the rabbit family.
(9) We met some AMAZING people along the way. Even in passing, people were friendly and encouraging. Others went out of their way to befriend us. Every single day someone (usually more than one person) confirmed that we were out of our minds. It was priceless.
Okay, I think I've exhausted myself about this whole bicycle trip. I've been writing forever. 'Nough said -- at least for now.
So how now, brown cow? What about the PCT? What, indeed. It was, after all, my original goal. The bicycling thing was merely an intended prelude. There was a time on the bike trip, when I was at my lowest, that I thought to myself, "If I can't do this, I surely can't do that." I'm not so sure about that anymore -- now that I'm rested and warm, sitting on my comfy couch in my living room.
Here's what I'm actually thinking about that whole endeavor: I need to get it out of my system. I've been pining to hike the PCT for over a decade now. If I don't at least go out there and do it, I'll never know. Like the bike trip, if I make it only 20 miles, or 200 miles, or 2,000 miles, then I will have made it that far. I need to go and see for myself what it's all about. I may like it, or I may not. I may finish the whole trail, or I may not. Whatever. I have the time and money to do it, so I should do it.
In many ways, it is entirely different from the bike trip. I will be hiking alone. Which is to say that there will be approximately 300 people starting the hike within four weeks of each other. The vast majority will start the week after the kickoff party, so I will not really be "alone." It is common for people to form loose associations along the way, hiking and camping together as their hiking styles permit. But I will be able to hike at my own pace. If I want to hike only 5 miles a day, I can. I can't sustain that over time if I have any desire to reach Canada before the snow flies, but my point is that I can do what I need to do, when I need to do it. To me, hiking alone along the trail is far different from bicycling across the country alone. I can't say that it's less perilous, but it seems less perilous to me. And hiking is more predictable. You hike as far as you want in a day, then you drop your pack and lie down wherever you can find a nice spot. Of course, water in the desert is a HUGE concern, so where and when you drop your pack is contingent in some respects on water sources, or at least your own water supply at the time. And unless you're in a town along the way, your only choice is to stealth camp, so you don't have any tempting alternative. Mentally, I think it's harder to stealth camp when you know there is/was a more comfortable alternative that you could afford. When it's your only choice you learn to deal with it. It makes town stops that much more enjoyable.
So I think I'm going to fly out to California in mid- to late-April and hike the PCT. In the meantime, I will make some gear changes and work on identifying better food choices for the hike. I will continue to train, as well. I may even take a few training hikes somewhere. I will also cyber-stalk the guys as they make their way out west.
Again, thank you all for being so supportive of me during my bike trip. It meant a lot to me. I will need support, as well, on the PCT, so I hope you'll follow along with me. I will post blogs occasionally between now and then, just to stay in the habit and to update everyone on my mental and physical process of preparing. Feel free to email me or post comments. Otherwise, do something BIG for yourself, whatever that means to you.
I know better than anyone that my ultimate goal was to ride my trike from Pensacola to San Diego. I didn't make it. Oh, well. But please don't say to me, "Well, at least you tried." I did more than try. I pedalled a bicycle over EIGHT HUNDRED (that's eight-zero-zero) miles under some very, very difficult conditions. That's a long way. I spent 20 days on the road. I traveled in or through five states: Florida, Alabama, Mississippi, Louisiana, and Texas. Wow.
There was a time (several times, in fact) while I was on the road, when I was trying to decide whether, when, and how to abort the mission, that I was very sad (depressed even) and was struggling with the whole "quitter/loser/failure" thing. I'm over that. WAY over that. I came to terms with my limitations on this trip. I'm okay with it. I'm happy to be home. I'm even happier that I had a goal, that I made concrete plans to effectuate that goal, that I did more than just plan to effectuate it -- I actually got up off the couch and got onto a bicycle -- and that I did the very best that I could to realize my goal. I am proud of myself! I did not make it to San Diego, but I made it to Navasota, Texas. Wow! Good for me!
In making this trip, I learned A LOT about myself. Some of it I kind of already knew, but either didn't accept or was in denial about, and some of it I discovered anew. None of it is bad. It just is what it is. It's me -- for better or worse. In some ways, I'm much stronger (mentally, physically, psychologically, emotionally) than I thought that I was. In other ways, not so much.
Here's what I'm most happy about: I actually did something big for myself. Don't get me wrong. I've accomplished many things in my life -- big things. I have a lot of education. I have a career. I own a home. I still have money in the bank (not a ton, but enough). I have great friends who have been very, very supportive. But in relation to accomplishing personal goals (as opposed to career and financial security goals), I have had a difficult time in life moving beyond the mere planning stages. I can plan the hell out of things. With this trip, I actually did it. I minimized my needs down to two small bags, lashed them to a bicycle, and rode away from everything and everyone that gave me security in life. That's big!
So even though I did not realize my ultimate goal of riding my trike from Florida to California, I did something HUGE for me, and I'm happy about it. Despite all the pain and misery I experienced along the way, I will FOREVER be grateful that I did it, if for no other reason than I got to meet and travel with some exceptional people. Ryan, Bryan, Mike, Carol, Jeff, and Dave are all wonderful people -- truly salt of the Earth. While we all had our own individual personality characteristics, we were amazingly compatible, considering that we were all from different places, of different ages and genders, and from different backgrounds. I suppose the commonality of our goal -- to bicycle across the continent -- was what made it work. I wish everyone the greatest success in realizing their goals, both in relation to this trip and beyond.
In considering my need/desire to stop riding and come home, I have identified a few contributing factors. Please hear me when I say there is nothing and no one to blame. There is no fault here. Ultimately, I (me, myself, and I, and no one else) made a variety of decisions along the way that led me to the conclusion that I did not want to continue on this journey. Internal and external factors affected my ultimate decision, but nothing and no one made me stop. It was a decision I made for myself. What follows are some contributing factors, but I'm not interested in listing them as justification for my decision; what I'm more interested in is what they taught me about myself.
Let's start with my level of fitness. When I decided to make this trip a reality, I was admittedly grossly out of shape. I was significantly overweight. I had been sedentary for a long, long time. Part of my decision to take this trip was to motivate me to get fit, get in shape, lose weight, and start living a more healthy, active lifestyle. After all, I'm not getting any younger. And I'm starting to feel the ill-effects of my sedentary lifestyle. So last year, I started making changes to my lifestyle. I tried several things. It was hard to break old habits. It wasn't until August that I got truly serious about burning calories and building endurance. That didn't give me much time to lose a lot of weight and build muscle. But I trained hard. Nearly every day. I still struggled with the diet aspect of it all, but I made tremendous progress in a relatively short amount of time. I wouldn't have been The Biggest Loser, but I lost nearly 30 pounds of fat, and gained a fair amount of muscle, before I left. I constantly worried about my fitness level for this trip, and almost aborted the mission in January because of it, but ultimately I hoped that I had done enough, and that I would be able to build upon my fitness level along the way. Here's what I discovered: Riding 50 miles on a bicycle was difficult. Thankfully, we didn't ride 50 miles every day, especially in the beginning. At the end of a 50-mile day, I was dog tired. In the beginning, my knees bothered me and contributed to my overall level of discomfort. Over time, they got better. It also got easier, over time, to ride 50 miles. Anything over that, however, was very difficult, especially when there was a headwind or hills, or both. I found that, in some ways, I was getting stronger every day -- especially in my legs. Despite the calories I was ingesting with chocolate milk and Little Debbie, I was still losing fat, which was a good thing. At the same time, however, I felt my overall health diminishing. I wasn't sleeping well at all, so I wasn't rejuvenating overnight like I needed to. I suspect that shivering all night actually zapped my energy and lowered my immune system. More about that later. An exceedingly poor diet also contributed to my progressively worsening mental and physical health. Ultimately, as we got closer and closer to the mountains of West Texas, I knew that I was not in the kind of physical shape necessary to maintain the mileage while climbing serious altitude. When I got a head cold, I knew my body was telling me to stop -- at least for awhile. So I did.
Probably the next major contributing factor was food, which I grossly underestimated. I knew that I would have to increase my caloric intake, given the level of exertion. What I did not realize was that we would not have access to more healthy eating options. The route we were on took us along country roads and through very, very small towns. Populations rarely exceeded 1,000 people. Our options were almost exclusively convenience stores, small country grocery stores, feed stores, etc. The food selection in these places, even in the small grocery stores, was sometimes sketchy. And we had to think about the caloric value of foods. One can theoretically eat an entire bag of baby carrots, but there aren't many calories in carrots. Thus, one would have to follow that bag of carrots with a giant Snickers or a honeybun or something with high carbs in order to sustain enough energy to pedal 15-20 miles to the next store. At the end of the day, while camping, we had tiny stoves and a single pot to cook in. We couldn't afford the time or energy or fuel to cook a big, healthy meal. Most people made Ramen noodles or Lipton's rice packets or mashed potatoes, if they cooked. If not, it was peanut butter on some type of conduit -- bread, cracker, tortilla. When we found ourselves in Walmart, I would buy several apples, oranges, and bananas, but they're heavy to carry on a bike, so weight of food was an issue, too. As for food prepared by others (like at a restaurant), there weren't too many of those along the way. We did manage to have a sit-down meal a few times, but it was restaurant food -- usually hamburgers, pizza, fried chicken, cheese sandwiches, etc. No vegetable plates. Unless you consider french fries and onion rings to be vegetables. So diet was a major issue. For future endeavors, I will definitely need to consider this aspect of a trip, since there is no doubt in my mind that my poor diet along the way significantly contributed to my diminishing physical -- and mental -- health. Multivitamins, which I did take, can only do so much.
Next: the weather! OMG!! It was cold. No, it was beyond cold. It was downright freezing. Day after day. Night after night. I didn't have the right gear and couldn't do anything to change it. There were times when I wore every stitch of clothing that I had to bed and still wasn't warm. Those were some miserable nights. Everywhere we went people were complaining about the weather. It was an aberrational winter -- everywhere. The worst in decades. Some people are better able to acclimate themselves to changing conditions. I am not one of those people. I don't like the cold. That's why I live in Florida. Still, I knew before leaving that we would face some cold temperatures. We were leaving in mid-February, after all. I just didn't anticipate, and wasn't able to adequately adapt to, the persistent cold and wind. It zapped my energy and wore me down. For future endeavors, I will need to make better gear choices, or else plan everything for the summer months on islands in the Caribbean.
Okay, so those were some of the major contributing factors. Here are some things I learned (or confirmed) about myself. Again, they're not negative things. They just are what they are. I'm sure they contributed, as well, to my decision to leave the road. I'll just say it: I'm a spoiled, middle-class, American girl. I like creature comforts. Not necessarily extravagant things, but to many in the world, they are luxuries: running water, flush toilets, hot running water, beds, real coffee with real half-and-half, warmth however generated, and hot, nutritious food. Had I been warm, the camping aspect of the trip would not have bothered me so much. I had a roomy tent, a comfortable sleeping pad and a pillow. I was just too cold. Because of that, I would have stayed in more motels along the way. But a large part of riding with a group is making the necessary compromises along the way. Different people had different budgets and different needs/desires in terms of where they laid their head each night. Unfortunately, all the camping we did was a compromise that I think compromised my ultimate success. The alternative for me was to break from the group and do what I thought I needed to do to succeed. However, I didn't think that I could have succeeded alone. And didn't want to make this trek alone. That's why I advertised for companions to begin with. So it was a Catch-22 situation. And ultimately a no-win situation. I wish that I had been strong enough mentally and emotionally to stay behind when I got sick, rest up, then continue on alone. But I knew that I was not strong enough. I learned that about myself. The conditions of living on the road were too much for me to negotiate alone. I admire those like Carol (and many others) who can do it. Power to you, girls!
Here are a few other random observations about the trip:
1) I felt very out-of-touch with the world. We caught bits of news here and there, but I felt very isolated from the general population.
2) Being so out-of-touch led to a certain amount of mental dullness. Although we talked during stops, I lacked mental stimulation, especially the kind of fast-paced, in-your-face stimulus I was accustomed to in "the real world."
3) Our nation's roadways are in serious disrepair. And they are not even remotely friendly to non-motorized use.
4) People lose their minds, and their civility, when they enter a motorized vehicle. I found myself creating new expletives to hurl at drivers, since the standard ones seemed ineffective.
5) We saw a ton of road kill. By far, the majority were dogs. People in the country apparently having little regard for their dogs. They live on busy roads, but don't bother to confine or constrain their dogs in the least. Dead dogs littered the side of the roads. It was very, very sad.
6) Speaking of dogs. I had several close encounters. Usually, a stern shout "No!" would do the trick. But not every time. I didn't carry mace because I didn't want the wind to carry it back to me. I also didn't know how I would steer and change gears and manipulate some device while trying to keep my arms, hands, neck and face away from gnashing teeth. One dog, in particular, went for my left bicep, but missed. It then sunk its teeth into my left pannier. Although I was pedalling hard, it yanked me backwards. While screaming, I swung my left arm backwards as hard as I could, nearly pulling my arm out of socket, trying to get him to let go. When he did, the force sent my bike careening off the right side of the road. I managed to correct myself before heading down an embankment and into a pond. It was a truly frightening moment.
7) Rumble strips should be outlawed. If you're driving a car and are (a) drunk, (b) falling asleep, (c) on the phone, (d) shaving your legs, or (e) all of the above, then you deserve to run off the road and into a tree. Rumble strips should not be there to save you.
(8) Buy stock in Dollar General. They are EVERYWHERE. When there was absolutely nothing else in "town," there was a Dollar General. Seriously, they must belong to the rabbit family.
(9) We met some AMAZING people along the way. Even in passing, people were friendly and encouraging. Others went out of their way to befriend us. Every single day someone (usually more than one person) confirmed that we were out of our minds. It was priceless.
Okay, I think I've exhausted myself about this whole bicycle trip. I've been writing forever. 'Nough said -- at least for now.
So how now, brown cow? What about the PCT? What, indeed. It was, after all, my original goal. The bicycling thing was merely an intended prelude. There was a time on the bike trip, when I was at my lowest, that I thought to myself, "If I can't do this, I surely can't do that." I'm not so sure about that anymore -- now that I'm rested and warm, sitting on my comfy couch in my living room.
Here's what I'm actually thinking about that whole endeavor: I need to get it out of my system. I've been pining to hike the PCT for over a decade now. If I don't at least go out there and do it, I'll never know. Like the bike trip, if I make it only 20 miles, or 200 miles, or 2,000 miles, then I will have made it that far. I need to go and see for myself what it's all about. I may like it, or I may not. I may finish the whole trail, or I may not. Whatever. I have the time and money to do it, so I should do it.
In many ways, it is entirely different from the bike trip. I will be hiking alone. Which is to say that there will be approximately 300 people starting the hike within four weeks of each other. The vast majority will start the week after the kickoff party, so I will not really be "alone." It is common for people to form loose associations along the way, hiking and camping together as their hiking styles permit. But I will be able to hike at my own pace. If I want to hike only 5 miles a day, I can. I can't sustain that over time if I have any desire to reach Canada before the snow flies, but my point is that I can do what I need to do, when I need to do it. To me, hiking alone along the trail is far different from bicycling across the country alone. I can't say that it's less perilous, but it seems less perilous to me. And hiking is more predictable. You hike as far as you want in a day, then you drop your pack and lie down wherever you can find a nice spot. Of course, water in the desert is a HUGE concern, so where and when you drop your pack is contingent in some respects on water sources, or at least your own water supply at the time. And unless you're in a town along the way, your only choice is to stealth camp, so you don't have any tempting alternative. Mentally, I think it's harder to stealth camp when you know there is/was a more comfortable alternative that you could afford. When it's your only choice you learn to deal with it. It makes town stops that much more enjoyable.
So I think I'm going to fly out to California in mid- to late-April and hike the PCT. In the meantime, I will make some gear changes and work on identifying better food choices for the hike. I will continue to train, as well. I may even take a few training hikes somewhere. I will also cyber-stalk the guys as they make their way out west.
Again, thank you all for being so supportive of me during my bike trip. It meant a lot to me. I will need support, as well, on the PCT, so I hope you'll follow along with me. I will post blogs occasionally between now and then, just to stay in the habit and to update everyone on my mental and physical process of preparing. Feel free to email me or post comments. Otherwise, do something BIG for yourself, whatever that means to you.
Monday, March 8, 2010
Day 21 - Mar 7 - Home again
Out of sheer habit, I suppose, I awoke with the sun and laid there awhile, not wanting to wake the house too early. About 7 a.m., I packed up quietly, trying not to disturb everyone else, as they were still sleeping. I attempted to air out the car (skunk has its own special perfume), but wasn't successful. Once I got everything loaded, I snuck back inside. Bryan was awake, fiddling on his Crackberry, while still lying in his sleeping bag on the floor of the living room. Ryan and Mike were asleep on a fold-out couch. When I whispered to Bryan, the other two woke up. I tried not to belabor my departure. I was already emotional about leaving.
I'm sorry, Ryan and Mike, but I have to tell this story. What happened next was just such a fitting ending to my adventure with you guys. I will miss you so.
I gave Ryan a hug while he still lay in the bed. I then went around to the other side of the bed to give Mike a hug goodbye. He sat up, and the first thing he said, in his typically quiet manner, was, "I just touched Ryan's butt." He announced it like he had just stepped in dog poop. We all burst out laughing. I said, "Wait a minute, you mean his 'honeybuns'?" We laughed again. And so my time with these three super people has ended (for now). I hope I will see them again sometime in the future. I will be forever grateful that I met them and had the opportunity to ride with them, if only for three weeks. Best of luck to you all!
I drove away from Aunt Peggy's house (thanks for everything, Aunt P!) overwhelmed by emotion. Perhaps some coffee would help my disposition. I stopped at McDonald's on my way out of town and had what I hoped would be my last fast-food meal for a long while. Once I hit the road again, the traffic was fairly light, but once I reached Houston, people were out in droves. Houston was a complex maze of interstate interchanges. I was thankful that I made it through without getting off-course. I then began to relive my trip in reverse, passing signs to many of the small towns we had come through in the preceding three weeks. I spent several hours thinking about -- and feeling -- the events of the past 20 days. I began to make a list of things I wanted to post about as sort of an epilogue to my journey.
Hours passed as I played with the seek button on the radio, trying to find music to entertain me. I was covering in hours in a car what had taken me weeks to cover while pedalling a bicycle.
I soon found myself in Louisiana. By the time I reached New Orleans, however, I was tired of driving. The roads in La were sooooo bad. Nola was such a crazy maze of roads that I actually had to talk myself out of having a panic attack in the middle of the city. I congratulated myself when I finally made it through alive. It was truly scary. I'm not sure why. I've driven through a lot of major cities: Miami, Orlando, Atlanta, Charlotte, etc. I guess I was just tired and ready to be home.
Louisiana soon gave way to Mississippi, then Alabama, and finally Florida. Ahh, to be in my home state. I could almost feel the sheets on my bed against my skin. But first, I had to drop off my bike and stuff at home, and then return the rental car to the airport. All told, I drove 620 miles in 9 hours. Not bad. Only 2 stops. But what a long day. My mom picked me up at the airport (where I dropped off the car) and took me to dinner. I had a wonderful salad and cup of soup. Real food. De-lish. Then I got to see my babies. They played coy at first, but soon warmed up to me, rubbing my legs and purring. Then I'd get the stink-eye. Mad. "You left us for a long time, Mommy!" Then they'd come back. I missed them so.
I jumped into my hot tub, too. Glorious. I laid there a long time. My legs really appreciated it. They got really stiff riding in the car so long after having been conscripted into forced labor for three weeks. They told me they never wanted to pedal a bicycle again. I agreed not to make them. We all get along now.
In tomorrow's post, I will share some thoughts and feelings about my adventure, about ending my adventure early, and about what's next. I hope you will find them interesting and/or entertaining.
I have enjoyed reading everyone's comments and emails. I hope you have enjoyed my blog and my adventure. Stay tuned. There's more to come. I'm not done yet!
I'm sorry, Ryan and Mike, but I have to tell this story. What happened next was just such a fitting ending to my adventure with you guys. I will miss you so.
I gave Ryan a hug while he still lay in the bed. I then went around to the other side of the bed to give Mike a hug goodbye. He sat up, and the first thing he said, in his typically quiet manner, was, "I just touched Ryan's butt." He announced it like he had just stepped in dog poop. We all burst out laughing. I said, "Wait a minute, you mean his 'honeybuns'?" We laughed again. And so my time with these three super people has ended (for now). I hope I will see them again sometime in the future. I will be forever grateful that I met them and had the opportunity to ride with them, if only for three weeks. Best of luck to you all!
I drove away from Aunt Peggy's house (thanks for everything, Aunt P!) overwhelmed by emotion. Perhaps some coffee would help my disposition. I stopped at McDonald's on my way out of town and had what I hoped would be my last fast-food meal for a long while. Once I hit the road again, the traffic was fairly light, but once I reached Houston, people were out in droves. Houston was a complex maze of interstate interchanges. I was thankful that I made it through without getting off-course. I then began to relive my trip in reverse, passing signs to many of the small towns we had come through in the preceding three weeks. I spent several hours thinking about -- and feeling -- the events of the past 20 days. I began to make a list of things I wanted to post about as sort of an epilogue to my journey.
Hours passed as I played with the seek button on the radio, trying to find music to entertain me. I was covering in hours in a car what had taken me weeks to cover while pedalling a bicycle.
I soon found myself in Louisiana. By the time I reached New Orleans, however, I was tired of driving. The roads in La were sooooo bad. Nola was such a crazy maze of roads that I actually had to talk myself out of having a panic attack in the middle of the city. I congratulated myself when I finally made it through alive. It was truly scary. I'm not sure why. I've driven through a lot of major cities: Miami, Orlando, Atlanta, Charlotte, etc. I guess I was just tired and ready to be home.
Louisiana soon gave way to Mississippi, then Alabama, and finally Florida. Ahh, to be in my home state. I could almost feel the sheets on my bed against my skin. But first, I had to drop off my bike and stuff at home, and then return the rental car to the airport. All told, I drove 620 miles in 9 hours. Not bad. Only 2 stops. But what a long day. My mom picked me up at the airport (where I dropped off the car) and took me to dinner. I had a wonderful salad and cup of soup. Real food. De-lish. Then I got to see my babies. They played coy at first, but soon warmed up to me, rubbing my legs and purring. Then I'd get the stink-eye. Mad. "You left us for a long time, Mommy!" Then they'd come back. I missed them so.
I jumped into my hot tub, too. Glorious. I laid there a long time. My legs really appreciated it. They got really stiff riding in the car so long after having been conscripted into forced labor for three weeks. They told me they never wanted to pedal a bicycle again. I agreed not to make them. We all get along now.
In tomorrow's post, I will share some thoughts and feelings about my adventure, about ending my adventure early, and about what's next. I hope you will find them interesting and/or entertaining.
I have enjoyed reading everyone's comments and emails. I hope you have enjoyed my blog and my adventure. Stay tuned. There's more to come. I'm not done yet!
Day 20 - Mar 5 - The End
I slept fitfully with a runny nose and cold feet. The cold, damp air didn't help my chest congestion. I awoke more tired than when I went to bed. But I didn't have a choice. I had to ride the 60 miles to Hempstead. I had already decided to end my trip for sure, but I don't know if such knowledge made the last day easier or harder. To some extent, I think it made it harder, since I had lost some of my zeal to succeed.
We left the campground fairly early. The weather warmed up quickly, and it was a nice day, though slightly overcast. Rain was in the forecast for Sunday and Monday. I was slow, slow, slow upon leaving the campground, so I rode alone all day. The road was a narrow, two-lane affair with no shoulder, and the speed limit was 60 mph. I didn't plan on riding that fast, but the car and truck drivers certainly did. I got honked at all day long.
Throughout the trip, we've been on many back roads with no shoulder and high speed limits. And there have been a few close encounters with vehicles. But until Texas, I never really, seriously felt that my life was in danger. For the past few days, I certainly have. The drivers won't move over much, if any, and they won't slow down. At times, I have felt the hair on my left arm fly from the passing cars/trucks. That's close. Too close. Yesterday, a truck almost ran a car off the road, passing me on a hill.
Since today is Saturday, traffic on these country roads seemed fairly heavy. They must have all been headed to a Walmart somewhere. The ride through the Sam Houston National Forest was probably the loveliest scenery we've had throughout the trip. It was mainly just a pine forest, but it was dense and unpopulated and serene. When we emerged from the forest, the land became a rolling terrain of cattle grazing land. The hills seemed mountainous to me, as I struggled to ascend them at 5 mph. Normally, the downside would be fun, but on a two-lane road with traffic, you have to hug the side, so I had to brake down most of the hills, which meant I lost that momentum for the next ride up. It became disheartening early on.
My mid-day, I was totally spent. I had absolutely no energy. We still had 40 more miles to go. I seriously doubted that I could make it with all the hills. By the time we got to Anderson, 25 miles into the day, I was sobbing while riding. I didn't know what I was going to do, or how I was going to make it another 40 miles. We stopped at a local diner to eat. Mike and Bryan had enormous bacon cheeseburgers, and I had a BLT and onion rings, which I couldn't finish. While we sat there, the locals around us starting quizzing us about our trip. We had seen dozens and dozens of people out on motorcycles during the day, and two tables were filled with motorcycle riders. They were all incredulous of our journey. I tried to hitch a ride to College Station, TX, about 35 miles away where I knew there was an airport and rental cars (Texas A & M is there), but no one was headed that way. I had talked to a rental car agent who had offered to come get me, but he couldn't leave the desk for awhile and asked if I could ride closer to him, so we hit the road to Navasota, which was our next stop. By now, it was getting late, and the guys needed to hit the road if they were going to make it to Hempstead by dark.
I don't know where I found the strength to ride another 10 miles up and over hill after hill, but I did. I literally crawled into Navasota and found the guys waiting for me at a convenience store (where else?). I called the rental car agent back, and he told me that he could come get me after 5 p.m. (it was 3 p.m. at that point), so I stayed in Navasota, and the guys took off for Hempstead. It was a little unsettling to be there alone. While I was on the phone with my Mom (who was delighted that I was coming home), a Hispanic woman tried to sell me some perfume. Her pitch: "Excuse me, ma'am. Strange question. You do like to where perfume, don't you?" I just looked at her, wondering if I even managed to put on deodorant this morning, much less perfume. She was stunned when I said, "No." She replied, "You don't?" As if there were something wrong with me. I looked at her with that I'm-on-the-phone look, and said, "No" again. She bounded off to accost another patron at the store. When a one-armed sheriff's deputy (how does that work exactly?) pulled up a few minutes later, she and her colleagues beat a hasty exit from the parking lot with their bags of snake oil.
With two hours to kill, I rolled next door to McDonald's and ate some french fries. I wasn't sure what kind of car I was going to be able to rent. The agent told me he had a Mazda 5 available for a one-way rental and thought it would hold my trike with the seats folded down (it's a crossover type vehicle), but I wasn't sure what that was or to what extent I would have to dis-assemble my bike. Ultimately, I removed only the fairing and its hardware. The trike fit perfectly in the back of the vehicle. I was so happy.
Cole, the Enterprise agent, drove about 25 miles from College Station to get me and drove me back to C.S. to the airport. He was such a nice guy. He was doing this on his own time, since his work day ended at 5 p.m. He gave me a quick history of this college town. It was a big city in comparison to the tiny towns we had been riding through. And clean. Cole told me that the recession had not hit there at all, and that the town was booming. It looked like it.
It was weird driving a car again. It had been only three weeks since I'd driven one, but it was strange nonetheless. My legs were thanking me. By the time I got on the road, it was getting dark. The main roadway was undergoing major construction, so I took a wrong turn and got lost for awhile, getting out of the city. Once on my way, I realized that the gas gauge was setting on empty. Nice. I was now in between College Station and Navasota. There was nothing around. I could just see myself running out of gas and being stranded on the side of the road. Luckily, I made it to a gas station in Navasota, then hit the road on my way to Ryan's aunt's house, where I was going to stay for the night.
I passed by the first turn and had to go back. I wasn't sure where the next turn was supposed to be, and I was out in the middle of nowhere. Just as soon as I made my first turn, there before me, in the middle of the road, was a skunk just ambling along. I couldn't do anything to avoid it. It was just right there. Bam. I hit it. And I burst out crying. I felt so bad. I was so tired and so stressed and so ready to be where I was going, I just lost it. And, of course, the stench from the skunk was overwhelming. It had filled the entire car, and I was gagging on the smell. Once I had pulled myself together, I called Ryan. As soon as we connected, I heard a loud beep. My cell phone battery was on its last leg. Great. Before it died, he told me to go about 5 miles and turn at a stop sign. I drove forever. No stop sign. I called him back. Oops. There was no stop sign. So I turned around and tried to find the right street. I couldn't read the street signs, even with my high-beams on. I had to actually get out of the car to read a sign. Turns out, it was the road I needed. I drove several miles and found Ryan at the end of a driveway, blinking his headlamp/flashlight at me. It was a welcomed sight.
By the time I pulled in, it was after 8 p.m. Everyone had eaten, but I was offered what remained. I ate some salad and shared a cheesecake my Mom had mailed there (along with other things) for my birthday. Ryan's aunt was very sweet. I had a shower and got to sleep in a bed. We all crashed about 9:30 p.m. What a long, long day. I lay in bed not sure how I felt about it all. I was glad to be going home, but sad that I would be leaving the guys and cutting short my intended trip. I fell asleep trying to sort it all out.
We left the campground fairly early. The weather warmed up quickly, and it was a nice day, though slightly overcast. Rain was in the forecast for Sunday and Monday. I was slow, slow, slow upon leaving the campground, so I rode alone all day. The road was a narrow, two-lane affair with no shoulder, and the speed limit was 60 mph. I didn't plan on riding that fast, but the car and truck drivers certainly did. I got honked at all day long.
Throughout the trip, we've been on many back roads with no shoulder and high speed limits. And there have been a few close encounters with vehicles. But until Texas, I never really, seriously felt that my life was in danger. For the past few days, I certainly have. The drivers won't move over much, if any, and they won't slow down. At times, I have felt the hair on my left arm fly from the passing cars/trucks. That's close. Too close. Yesterday, a truck almost ran a car off the road, passing me on a hill.
Since today is Saturday, traffic on these country roads seemed fairly heavy. They must have all been headed to a Walmart somewhere. The ride through the Sam Houston National Forest was probably the loveliest scenery we've had throughout the trip. It was mainly just a pine forest, but it was dense and unpopulated and serene. When we emerged from the forest, the land became a rolling terrain of cattle grazing land. The hills seemed mountainous to me, as I struggled to ascend them at 5 mph. Normally, the downside would be fun, but on a two-lane road with traffic, you have to hug the side, so I had to brake down most of the hills, which meant I lost that momentum for the next ride up. It became disheartening early on.
My mid-day, I was totally spent. I had absolutely no energy. We still had 40 more miles to go. I seriously doubted that I could make it with all the hills. By the time we got to Anderson, 25 miles into the day, I was sobbing while riding. I didn't know what I was going to do, or how I was going to make it another 40 miles. We stopped at a local diner to eat. Mike and Bryan had enormous bacon cheeseburgers, and I had a BLT and onion rings, which I couldn't finish. While we sat there, the locals around us starting quizzing us about our trip. We had seen dozens and dozens of people out on motorcycles during the day, and two tables were filled with motorcycle riders. They were all incredulous of our journey. I tried to hitch a ride to College Station, TX, about 35 miles away where I knew there was an airport and rental cars (Texas A & M is there), but no one was headed that way. I had talked to a rental car agent who had offered to come get me, but he couldn't leave the desk for awhile and asked if I could ride closer to him, so we hit the road to Navasota, which was our next stop. By now, it was getting late, and the guys needed to hit the road if they were going to make it to Hempstead by dark.
I don't know where I found the strength to ride another 10 miles up and over hill after hill, but I did. I literally crawled into Navasota and found the guys waiting for me at a convenience store (where else?). I called the rental car agent back, and he told me that he could come get me after 5 p.m. (it was 3 p.m. at that point), so I stayed in Navasota, and the guys took off for Hempstead. It was a little unsettling to be there alone. While I was on the phone with my Mom (who was delighted that I was coming home), a Hispanic woman tried to sell me some perfume. Her pitch: "Excuse me, ma'am. Strange question. You do like to where perfume, don't you?" I just looked at her, wondering if I even managed to put on deodorant this morning, much less perfume. She was stunned when I said, "No." She replied, "You don't?" As if there were something wrong with me. I looked at her with that I'm-on-the-phone look, and said, "No" again. She bounded off to accost another patron at the store. When a one-armed sheriff's deputy (how does that work exactly?) pulled up a few minutes later, she and her colleagues beat a hasty exit from the parking lot with their bags of snake oil.
With two hours to kill, I rolled next door to McDonald's and ate some french fries. I wasn't sure what kind of car I was going to be able to rent. The agent told me he had a Mazda 5 available for a one-way rental and thought it would hold my trike with the seats folded down (it's a crossover type vehicle), but I wasn't sure what that was or to what extent I would have to dis-assemble my bike. Ultimately, I removed only the fairing and its hardware. The trike fit perfectly in the back of the vehicle. I was so happy.
Cole, the Enterprise agent, drove about 25 miles from College Station to get me and drove me back to C.S. to the airport. He was such a nice guy. He was doing this on his own time, since his work day ended at 5 p.m. He gave me a quick history of this college town. It was a big city in comparison to the tiny towns we had been riding through. And clean. Cole told me that the recession had not hit there at all, and that the town was booming. It looked like it.
It was weird driving a car again. It had been only three weeks since I'd driven one, but it was strange nonetheless. My legs were thanking me. By the time I got on the road, it was getting dark. The main roadway was undergoing major construction, so I took a wrong turn and got lost for awhile, getting out of the city. Once on my way, I realized that the gas gauge was setting on empty. Nice. I was now in between College Station and Navasota. There was nothing around. I could just see myself running out of gas and being stranded on the side of the road. Luckily, I made it to a gas station in Navasota, then hit the road on my way to Ryan's aunt's house, where I was going to stay for the night.
I passed by the first turn and had to go back. I wasn't sure where the next turn was supposed to be, and I was out in the middle of nowhere. Just as soon as I made my first turn, there before me, in the middle of the road, was a skunk just ambling along. I couldn't do anything to avoid it. It was just right there. Bam. I hit it. And I burst out crying. I felt so bad. I was so tired and so stressed and so ready to be where I was going, I just lost it. And, of course, the stench from the skunk was overwhelming. It had filled the entire car, and I was gagging on the smell. Once I had pulled myself together, I called Ryan. As soon as we connected, I heard a loud beep. My cell phone battery was on its last leg. Great. Before it died, he told me to go about 5 miles and turn at a stop sign. I drove forever. No stop sign. I called him back. Oops. There was no stop sign. So I turned around and tried to find the right street. I couldn't read the street signs, even with my high-beams on. I had to actually get out of the car to read a sign. Turns out, it was the road I needed. I drove several miles and found Ryan at the end of a driveway, blinking his headlamp/flashlight at me. It was a welcomed sight.
By the time I pulled in, it was after 8 p.m. Everyone had eaten, but I was offered what remained. I ate some salad and shared a cheesecake my Mom had mailed there (along with other things) for my birthday. Ryan's aunt was very sweet. I had a shower and got to sleep in a bed. We all crashed about 9:30 p.m. What a long, long day. I lay in bed not sure how I felt about it all. I was glad to be going home, but sad that I would be leaving the guys and cutting short my intended trip. I fell asleep trying to sort it all out.
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