08 August 2012

Eugene to Florence OR 85 miles (TransAm 4,192)

Well, today’s the day. The final day of the TransAm. I don’t know that this was one of those days that everyone was looking forward to, unlike the Friday that I anticipate each and every week. In fact, I can name at least one member of Team TransAm that would have been more than happy to just keep pedaling, maybe turn those wheels down the coast and after 1,200 more miles and refueling on border-fresh chips and salsa and salty margaritas, take a sharp turn left, pedaling east into the rising sun, searching for that next great super cute town with a flat tent pitch and free wi-fi.

But no matter, today it’s 85 miles to Florence, punctuated by the slowest second breakfast of the entire trip (let’s just say Gina will still be practicing her patience when she gets home), Simon getting a flat tire 2 miles from town, and the ceremonial dip of the now well-worn wheels in the Pacific Ocean. Congratulations, Team TransAm. You did it and for all that you experienced, you deserve to be pumped up, pleased, and proud.

I think whenever such a monumental journey comes to its conclusion, we strive to summarize, either in our minds or in print, what it all meant to us: what engaged our senses, what we learned, our feelings for the road and places and those we shared it all with, what we might do differently next time, what we wouldn’t change.

Manning the desk at home, my perspective of these things is naturally different, leaving me to write only from what I witnessed rather than experienced first-hand. And during this TransAmerican odyssey, what I witnessed was this:

Cycling across America is definitely a trip of a lifetime and perhaps the most intimate way in which to experience this remarkable country of ours. Let’s face it – sometimes we need to get out of our mechanical cocoons to really experience the world around us, the best journeys engaging all of our senses. The sight of pristine vistas and horizons, the hitchhiking ladybug on one’s sleeve, the worthy gas station coming into view, the miles clicking away with each stroke of the pedal, the cheerful faces of visiting family and friends, the thermometer dropping below 90, the third scoop of ice cream piled on top. The sound of rushing wind on a zippy descent, of rustling corn along an empty road, the cry of an overhead hawk, the semi-truck bearing down from behind, the stranger offering welcome directions. The smell of the morning dew as the sun rises, the sizzling fresh cheeseburger, the sulphur of a natural hot springs, the rendering plant that has you considering going Vegan. The taste of a sugary sweet slice of homemade berry pie, the tangy bitterness of the sadly-sucked-into-my-mouth-and-swallowed-whole bug, an icy cold Coke after 50 miles of dusty heat. The feel of well-worn handlebar tape, the friction of a long-ridden saddle, the wind pushing at your back, fresh sheets after a week of sleeping bag nights, the embarrassed flush of a group shower, the comfortable embrace of a fellow traveler as you pose for pictures.

This is a ride that any one of us could do. Truly. There is no doubt in my mind that each one of our TransAmmers is a very special person, but part of what makes them special is their ability to turn a dream into a reality, and this is a birthright we each possess. Dream it, do it. Buy a bicycle or dust yours off, start with a circle of your block and then your neighborhood and then your city and then your county and then the county next door and the one next to that and then your state and then your region and then, before you know it, you’re biking across the country and it’s as though you always were, no effort required beyond believing in your dream and focusing on the moment in hand, the one in which you are smiling and pedaling and spinning a new life made of people and places you never imagined existed. Make a plan, save your pennies, and take the leap. And if cycling isn’t your thing, there is still plenty of inspiration to be gained from watching others fulfill their dreams. Use it to fulfill yours.

We live in an amazing place. Who knew Virginia was so green and the drivers so polite? Who knew that the Ozarks look like Australia and the approach to the Rockies like New Zealand? Who knew Wyoming was full of wide open spaces and carefree rabbits? Who knew that eastern Oregon is lousy with mountains and Kansas, zebra farms? Who knew Lewis and Clark live on in Montana as pouty GQ models and there’s more to see in Idaho than pink potatoes?

Less is more. Life is simpler when all you have to choose from getting dressed in the morning is one pair of cycling shorts (out of three essentially identical pairs), one cycling jersey (out of the only three you brought), and a pair of socks that matches (carefully selected when you packed your bags before the trip). Life is simpler without a mortgage (do I pitch my tent here or over there?), car maintenance (could you please hand me that pump so I can put some air in my tires?), and grocery shopping (let’s see how my Treat Budget is doing these days.) Sure, most of us enjoy these modern conveniences and are willing to pay their prices, but there’s also a divine simplicity on the road, unencumbered with so much convenience.

Not everyone will walk away from this journey the best of friends. However, those that engaged themselves fully, that made an effort, that embraced the demands and rewards of group travel, that shared bits of themselves over scrambled eggs and apple cobblers and evening libations, that asked and listened, that smiled and laughed and hugged and cried, well, they’ll be friends for a lifetime, regardless of distance or decade.

Sometimes it’s better to not go it alone. There is safety and camaraderie in traveling with others, especially across such long and lonesome distances as can be found across this country. Kudos to those who go solo, but I’m now convinced that this might be the perfect situation in which to gather the flock, slide gracefully into that V formation, and wing my way westward. Or eastward. Or northward. Or southward. Really, any direction will do.

Better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all. This one is simple: Ollie.

Finally, one last TransAm Haiku:

pedal smile laugh share
sprouting friends between white lines
final push for home