Done!

I biked 3000 miles from the Pacific to the Atlantic. It took 48 bike days. It also was a long time to be away from home with lots of sacrifices from family and amazing support from family and friends (and all of you!) Thank you.

JOY!

I'll have more blog entries. Before I get back to writing, I'll just savor sleep, smile and try to eat less.

Tomorrow we head back to Phoenix.

Yesterday when I got up and went out to stow my bags in the van, I felt funny walking in my clackety bike shoes. And then I got on my bike, started spinning, and suddenly it felt right. As if this is all my legs know how to do now, not walk anymore, just ride.

We had an easy day scheduled, only 42 miles. Isn’t it funny how your perspective changes? I think, 42 miles we can knock that out before lunch. Some days, 40 miles in, snacking on peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, with 35 miles to go, we joke, “Phew, that’s nothing. Let’s finish this up.”

Such a change from the start of the trip when everything seemed monumental. I used to mark down and look at the temperature, the headwind, the road surface, the elevation gain. I’d worry about what obstacles or dogs might be along the road.

Now I know that no matter where we are, no matter what the road surface; shoulder or no shoulder; debris or no debris, the wind, temperature, rain, elevation, dogs. None of it matters. Shhhh... don’t tell the guides, I’m not even really listening at their map meetings anymore. Because no matter what they say the experience on the road is different.

And if the road has no shoulder, or the surface is bad, or a dog chases us whatever, it will change in a half in an hour. It’s kind of like when I used to live in Chicago and we would say, don’t like the weather? Wait a half hour, it will change.

And it is not even the external stuff, some days it is the internal stuff. Some days my legs feel great, and I’m jumping off the front. Some days it is one of my riding buddies heading off into the distance. My days are filled with these new patterns. One is where I feel great and am flying along. Another is where someone else has found their stride and I can step up my pace and keep up. And then some days, I’m hanging on in the back while my two riding buddies seemingly ride strong in front of me (or so I think, right?)

In the beginning, I had doubts that I could finish, I think we all did. I couldn’t see this far out.

So with my legs still smoothly spinning, we rode straight east into, you guessed it, a headwind. For good measure add ominous, dark clouds. Our rain gear was stowed in our packs on our bikes. There was a 90% probability of heavy rain and thunder storms starting at nine or ten. The guides the night before had briefed us (again) on the “what to do if there is thunder and lightning.” And ok, I tried to listen to that, but it is like the fifth time I’ve heard this speech (oops I almost said lecture). And we got this.

Twenty-two miles done before nine in the morning. We press on. The headwind is pushing at us consistently. I hate the way the wind blows and blows by my ears. I feel slow. The last few days we have all joked, “are my brakes rubbing? Do I have a flat? Why am I so slow?” But it is the wind and the only good thing I can say is that fighting headwinds makes us stronger.

Then the rain started, quickly and hard. We soaked through before we find a spot (on this road with no shoulder) to dart off and pull on rain gear. It is a warm soft rain, no thunder, no lightening. Cars and trucks go by and spray water on us.

At 32 miles we turn onto 193 towards Dauphin Island, Alabama. We bike across a four mile causeway with a 20-25 mph crosswind, I hunker down and fight as it tries to push me sideways. At least it is not consistently raining, just spitting. Then we turn east onto a 4 mile long, high bridge. The crosswind turns into a brutal headwind and a downpour. See, wait 30 minutes and it changed. I slipped further back from the two women in front of me. My legs just didn’t have it.

My buddies waited at the end of the bridge. Soaking wet, we biked onto the island and waited out the rain (and for our hotel rooms to be ready) on the covered porch of a bakery. Warm cinnamon rolls and hot coffee. All the riders arrive, wet, cold, laughing, sprawling across half the porch. Bikes lined up alongside.

The conversation wandered to the rest day: beach walking, birding, paddle boarding. We are stronger now. In the early rest days there were nerves and talk of the next day and the tough ride on the schedule. There was only laundry, stretching and bike cleaning. We have moved beyond to laughter and adventure.

Nothing stopping us now. Just nine more days of riding until we get to St. Augustine. I can see the end from here.

Only 14 riding days left. We have a rest day in a small Louisiana town. I’m happy to be staying in the cottage at a ninth generation family owned plantation with a coffee pot and a porch. Not that you can use the porch, because, you know, bugs. Muddy water draws hundreds of gnats. The minute you stop, they crawl up your nose and into your ears and eyes.

Yesterday we rode over 90 miles and crossed the Mississippi. Our fifth riding day in a row for a total this week of over 400 miles. So far we’ve biked more than 2000 miles.

Many riders have fallen at least once, mostly people have biffed (fallen when not going fast, perhaps when just starting up, or slipping on gravel, or on a steep hill). One was knocked down by a dog. I’m grateful she wasn’t hurt and grateful that she warned to owner to lock the dog up because there were lots of us following her.

At this point, everyone is a little banged up. A sore knee, a tight back, a bruise or three from a fall. Better yet are the mysterious bruises that you don’t even know how you got.

The things that I thought would hurt, don’t hurt.

One day, a week or so ago, my back was tingling from a sore muscle pressing on a nerve. I was cranky. I pedaled along alone. At the first snack stop I thought, I’ll get in the sag and take a bump up the road twenty miles. Then one of my buddy riders pulled into the sag, she had fallen, slipped on some gravel when she stopped to read a historical marker. Her hand swelled and her knee was skinned. Her elbow and hip would hurt and bruise the next day. Even after that she said yes, she was going on. So, me with my piddly little back ache, I popped a couple ibuprofen. And a prepared fellow rider offered some magic cream to me and arnica to her. I muttered, mostly to myself, “fine, I’ll ride with you.” Before I knew it the day was done.

I’m tired. A bone weary, tired that even sleep doesn’t cure. For a few days, my legs wanted to quit at 50 or 60 miles. I’ve upped my protein and have been drinking more water and pedal easier all day. It helps that we are finished with the Texas Hill country.

I’m learning about persistence.

I pedal. 810,000 pedal strokes so far.

I’m learning to live in the moment.

Yesterday, on the bridge over the Mississippi and the highway that followed that, I got exposed to a ton of diesel exhaust. I had an asthma attack at mile 85 of 92. I didn’t have my inhaler.

Coughing, I called the sag at mile 88 and asked, ok begged, her to bring my inhaler (no yelling about why I didn't have it with me, I haven't had a problem the whole time!). At that point, I could have easily jumped in the car and gotten a ride to the plantation. I rode on. What was three more miles at that point? I might as well finish.

When the roads are rough, I pedal.
When the weather is threatening, I pedal.
When my legs are tired and I just am not sure I can keep them spinning, I pedal.

I wish there was a magic wand that would make it easier. I might wish for tailwinds but no matter what, I pedal.

Most days, when we are not riding, eating, or sleeping, we spend half our life packing and unpacking. Reorganizing bike gear, laundering bike clothes and making sure we have everything we need to get down the road. I thought you might want to know what it takes.

Starting clothing depends on starting temperature and expected wind conditions. Unlike last year at this time (where it was roasting), we have had cool to downright cold temperatures. I feel like I am back to spring biking in Chicago. Thank goodness I kept that warm jacket.

If the temperature is less than 50 degrees at our start time, I wear tights over my cycling shorts, a short sleeve jersey with smart wool arm warmers, then I layer my warm Windstopper Gore bike jacket and my Gore ShakeDry jacket (windbreaker) over it. I add short bike gloves and windstopper bike liner gloves that go over the top of those. Double thick wool socks go under my bike shoes if the day is expected to never go above 60. If the wind is going to be brutal, I slip toe covers over my bike shoes. If my feet are cold, I’m cranky! A buff that wraps my face, ears and head with a billed hat on top of it to keep the sun or rain out of my eyes.

If the temperature is between 55 and 65. I skip the tights, toe covers, change wool socks out for regular socks. And if there won’t be a lot of wind and with either sunshine or clouds, I wear either the warm jacket or the wind jacket but not both.

At 65 degrees and sunny, no jackets, lighter sun arm sleeves, regular bike socks, more sun screen and usually still a buff to protect my neck and wear in case there is a dusty wind.

As the temperature warms up, I unload more and more clothes at the supported stops, everything else I carry on me or on the bike. I have a couple of sleeveless jerseys, in my mind I thought we would be cycling down the road, sleeveless, getting brown as berries and smiling at the pretty scenery. So far those sleeveless jerseys are rolled up in my bag, useless.

What do I carry to get through 6-8 hours a day on the bike?

In the pack on the back of my bike I carry:

Stuff to change a flat tire: tire levers, spare inner tube (or two if the roads are bad), bike wrench set, tweezers to get thorns or small wires out of my tires, two compressed air cartridges and a nozzle to use on the valve to inflate them, a small hand pump and a small patch kit in case I have to reuse a tube.

Because it is better to be safe, I carry a mini first aid kit.

Disposable gloves so I don’t get grease all over me during a repair and since that never works, I also makeup wipes from the hotel to get rid of the grease I inevitably get on me.

Draped over that rear pack is the orange safety triangle that for this tour we all use. In a pinch I can unroll and throw extra gear in that back pack.

On my handle bar is my Garmin Edge 520. It gives me directions electronically, and tells me all sorts of useful stuff, how much climbing we are doing, grade of this climb, outside temperature, speed, cadence, heart rate, what direction are we headed. I used to care about all that stuff, now I just look at the map and note how long before I turn again. Ok, sometimes I still look at direction so I can whine about the wind. And I carry a battery back up so I can charge it on long days.

Then in my small feed bag on my handlebar:
Emergency food called Gu. If I feel like I’ve lost my oomph and I have to climb a tough hill, I tear open a Gu, it is instant energy with a shot of caffeine. I always have a couple to four of these on me, just in case.

I also carry small packets of chamois butter to avoid/soothe saddle sores, extra sunscreen, lip sunscreen, my phone, driver’s license, credit card and a bit of cash for the small stores that hate credit card transactions.

I carry a Dog Dazer, an electronic ultrasonic dog stopper! Plus an airhorn. We are all worried about being chased, bitten, or knocked down by dogs. We are 29 biking days into our 48 days of adventure and about to enter dog territory!

On my down tubes I carry two 24 oz water bottles - one with Nuun electrolytes, one with water. I’m a cold water girl so I start the day with my bottles filled with ice. I also use triple insulated bottles. Some people just put room temperature water in their bottles, that makes me crazy just thinking about it. It all fits nicely as you can see in the picture.

And last but not least, I always stuff some food in my pockets:

Peanut butter M&M mixed with Macadamia nuts/Cashews. On long days, I add a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. I could write a blog entry on how I biked across America on peanut M&M’s, peanut butter sandwiches and ginger snaps.

I’m all packed up and ready for the next five days of biking. We have a long stretch of almost 400 miles before the next rest day. We are leaving the Texas Hill Country and moving on to flatter territory, and I’m hoping for tailwinds!

Most cross country tours, Southern or Northern Routes go West to East. The logic and reasoning says that it is to take advantage of the prevailing headwinds. I believed it. I bought that story.

Down here, on the ground, on my little bike, I can tell you, it’s a lie.

Of the 23 riding days so far, only three or four days have had a tailwind or no wind. All the rest of those riding days we have had headwinds. We have traveled from California to Arizona through New Mexico and into Texas. Tomorrow at some mile marker between Vanderpool, Texas and Fredericksburg, Texas we cross the half way point of the trip.

The last few days we were on on a rough section of Highway 90. A chunky Texas chip seal section that no one on a bicycle would ever choose to ride. We ride it because we are riding from one coast to the other. It is a slog. If you haven’t met Bb, meet Bb.

On a 119 mile day on Highway 90, with rough roads and headwinds of 20 mph, Bb chanted, “You’re not having any fun”, “This is really hard.” Add to that, my left hand went numb at 50 miles. My back never hurts, my lower back tingled for hours. My saddle sores resurfaced.

I stopped at one point and screamed at the sky, “Why am I even doing this?”

I’ll let you know when I figure it out.

That day, Bb and I fought and at 78 miles, she won.

Don’t get me wrong some things are going great. We have had great weather for biking. Cool, or this morning, downright cold. Cloudy some days. A couple of misty or light rain days.

I’ve decided I’m not going to pay attention to the road quality. I’m not going to pay attention to the hills and how steep they are because there is nothing that they can throw at me that I can’t handle. I'm stronger. I'm tougher. I don’t care if I have a 20 mph headwind or 30 or 40 mph wind gusts. Cloud and threats of rain, who cares. I don’t leave without a rain jacket anyway. Cold, I’ll add a layer.

Up the hills today I sang, “I Love climbing. We are almost there. This is fun.”

Either I’m toughening up, I've succumbed to Stockholm syndrome, or I've beat Bb back with a stick.

The picture is after starting the ride at 47 degrees. I rode the first 25 miles shivering because I wore too light a jacket. I rode into a brutal 20 mph headwind. On chip seal. Up 3000 feet (three hills). I had a flat tire. And I had a problem with my chain that required the guide’s help to solve. Please note, I'm smiling.

After the flat tire and the chain fix, I got back on my bike, ok, I stopped for a pancake and hot chocolate at the next town to warm up. Then I pedaled on alone through the Texas hill country for the rest of the day. It was gorgeous.

At the top of the last hill, a couple looked at me and said, “I sure hope you have good brakes to go down there.”

I laughed, “I’m not going to use my brakes, that’s the whole point of climbing!”

I caught up to some other riders in time to enjoy a wine tasting at the local winery, then we pedaled onto our cabins in the woods. Tonight's dinner was baked potatoes with stuff, salad, veggies and S’mores by a fire.

We are headed East tomorrow and there will be a headwind.

Humor. As the days grind on, I’m trying to find the humor. Something to smile at, anything. Last week it was time changes.

So here’s the set up. We stayed in Kingston, New Mexico at a off the beaten path lodge/B&B. Town population 30 people, dogs and llamas extra. They don’t serve breakfast until 8 a.m. So we were getting a late start. Already a stressor as the schedule called for 87.9 miles. Not a ton of elevation gain, but we had climbed over Emory pass (with headwinds and swirling wind gusts up to 60 mph) the day before so we were all a little toasted.

At the morning map meeting our trustworthy guide said that day, in addition to 87 miles we were changing time into Central time, losing an hour. Not that we doubted her, but there was no internet to verify. No cell service either. Well, ok, you could stand in the middle of the street, or you could sit on the stone wall right across from the lodge at the edge of the other side of the street.

I’d looked a couple of days earlier so I knew that two counties in Texas, El Paso and Hedspeth, are the only ones on Mountain time. If you look at a map, they stick out straight west. But I had no idea when or where we crossed out of Hedspeth county.

We all freaked out, if there is anything with twenty women on a tour together, there is drama. We worried that we were going to get in to the hotel at 7 p.m. Dinner was scheduled at a restaurant because of the long day.

As we bike along, we worry that we won’t get there before the restaurant closes. Food is always our immediate concern. And we know we have to turn around and get up the next day and bike to El Paso, Texas, another 60 miles. We wonder why they would schedule an 87 mile day on the day with the time change. I keep reminding myself that the sun is going to set after the same number of daylight hours.

So 40 or 60 miles into the day, drama spent, at a SAG stop, the guide confessed. She was wrong, the time change is the next day. We laughed and biked on.

As we arrived we checked in at the van and marked our names off. Each day our daily communications are posted on a chalk board on the door of the van about when and where we meet. The dinner instructions: 6 p.m. (Central Time) Dinner. And the debate was off and running again. Are we in Mountain time? Are we in Central?

Half of the rider’s phones had switched to Central. Half are on Mountain. No one knows what time it really is. And yes, the Chicago verse started going through my head, “Does anybody really know what time it is?”

And then the note on the van for breakfast said, Breakfast 8 a.m. (Mountain). Dinner on Mountain time, Breakfast in Central time.

Along the way to Sierra Blanca we finally crossed into Central time. Drama free.

We are at the mercy of these contraptions carrying us across the country. Each of us has a bike, and they all have two wheels, a handlebar and a seat. That’s about all that they have in common. There are hybrids with straight handle bars, a tri bike with Zipp wheels and a bike with aero bars. Some bikes made from steel, some carbon bikes and some aluminum bikes. Most bikes have sleek seats but a few have more gel in them. Most riders use clip in pedals of one sort or another but some riders wear sneakers and have flat pedals. Like the women of this trip, our bikes come in every shape and size.

Some days the beasts slow us down or drive us crazy. We have all had to deal with some mechanical issue or another.

By far the most common issue we have is flat tires. The road is capricious. Doesn’t matter the type of tire, bike, most of us have had at least one flat, one person has had nine (she is now an expert tire changer!) and she has the sweetest ride with new road tough tires.

We either came on tour knowing how to change a tire or have taken lessons since starting the trip. The guides are teaching us to be self sufficient bikers. Or resourceful as one of them would say.
My flat was an easy one. I have self sealing tubes and ran over some glass on my way to Tonto Basin in Arizona. I was alone on a long hard climb and I heard the tube burst and the spurt of air as the tire leaked. But the self sealing worked and the tube sealed back up. I jumped off, pumped some more air in the tire and headed for the SAG wagon a few miles up the hill. Better to have company than change the tire alone on a cold mountainside.

Even though I had changed a half a dozen flats in the few months before the ride my skills slipped away in the freezing wind and it took group think to decide the best strategy. I thought it was risky to ride another 25 miles on the tube, it seemed to be still leaking air whenever something pushed up on the hole in the tire. So changing the tube was in order. The tire itself had a nice gash but not lethal. I decided to use the dollar bill trick that I had heard of but never used and been telling others about since the beginning of the trip. The boot (as I have since learned it is called) is when you have a gash in the tire and no new tire handy, you take a dollar bill or an empty Gu packet and put it inside to cover the gash. With some help from friends who were smart enough to suggest I hide from the wind behind the car to change the tire, and who helped me hold things together as I worked, I got a boot in and rode on.

Other mechanical issues have come up along the way. I rode for 125 miles with whining coming from somewhere between my feet and it wasn’t until I was smart enough to think to take a video and send it to my bike mechanic and a friend that we figured out what it was. The best reply to my video plea for help was from my buddy Jonathon, “We've had a group meeting: five bikers, a doctor and a small dog, all decided that it's not good. Sounds like a bottom bracket, you can't do that yourself. Need a bike shop at your next day off. But it's not that bad. You can ride. Use oil between inside big cog and bottom bracket. Because of the rain. Needs grease.”

I added oil. On the rest day, the mechanic’s official diagnosis was that the ball bearings in the bottom bracket were crunchy. Replacement done for roughly $75 dollars, including a new lube job and I was back on the road. Smooth as silk since.
I kept the boot in, the rest of the tire is fine. A roommate had superglue, so we squirted some in and it has held.

Other riders have had cleat issues, seat issues and derailleur issues. One day, a good rider had her front derailleur stop working. She rode 80 miles in her middle gears. You gotta respect that. That night she was able to get it “working” until she too could get to the Silver City bike shop.

Now a week later and over a thousand biking miles each, the boot trick has gotten used a few times by others. We share the fixes that keep the beasts spinning. I love the community of that.

In the picture, the beasts waited patiently for us while we stopped for root beer floats. We enjoy the days when we are riding and it feels like we are flying the beasts.

This is Jared, from Duncan, Arizona. He thinks I’m crazy, openly told me so right from the inside of his pick up truck as I was walking into lunch at Hilda’s. I laughed, he smiled and we agreed that maybe I am crazy. Then he came out shook my hand, the good one, not the hand he had glued together with crazy glue after cutting it on some tin yesterday. He works at the local dairy and pulled the last four singles out of his wallet for his girlfriend to go buy him a burger.

This is what I thought I would find on the road. Interesting conversations with people who I would never otherwise meet.

Actually the last three days this trip has turned into what I expected. The long quiet roads, the very, very small towns with for sale signs, old cars and dented pick up trucks dotting the yards. Interesting conversations with strangers who wonder why we are doing this. Long, hard days of pedaling.

We are finally out of Arizona. Away from territory I know. Away from roads I’ve driven on. We have settled onto country roads with beautiful ‘wide as the sky’ views. Mount Graham, the highest peak in Arizona, was beside us as we road to Lordsburg, NM the other day. There are pecan tree farms, cotton fields, desert and cows. At the end of each day we usually settle in small towns, bigger than Duncan but small towns.

I’ve lost track of days, I wake up and I’m not sure what city we’re in. I have to focus and think. We’ve been on this trip fifteen days now. Twelve riding days before our rest day in Silver City. 30,000 feet of elevation gain. Over 700 miles. There are have been awesome views, great laughter, new friends made. A rich experience.

Many, myself included, have pieces and parts that hurt that I didn’t know existed. Not intolerable just felt.

The last segment before our rest day was five riding days with the fifth crossing the Continental Divide, a beautiful ride. The rest day was at a motel in Silver City, New Mexico at a hotel a mile and a half from town. Many of us rode or walked back and forth to take advantage of a great local masseuse and Gila Hike and Bike, a local bike shop. So for me, I added five miles of walking on the rest day.

And I thought the last two weeks were hard, and perhaps they were but now it feels like everything up until now has been a warm up, a prelude. The real work is starting. This is a transition. We move onto the first chapter.

Yesterday we started one segment (of two) that when done, we’ll be halfway through our trip. We climb to the highest point on the Southern Tier, Emory Pass, and we ride six days before our next rest day. Then we ride for seven straight days until we get to Fredericksburg, Texas. Thirteen out of fourteen days in the saddle. 825 miles.

The next two segments are the hardest riding I have ever attempted. The most days and most miles in a row.

The newness of the trip has worn off. I’m tired. I think most everyone is. I have to dig deep and pull at that conviction and determination to ride across the country. Luckily I’m no stranger to hard work and I spent a lot of time preparing.

We ride, winds blowing (40 mph gusts today-really), rain falling and we remind ourselves that we asked (no PAID) to do this and we shake our heads and shrug our shoulders. We stop and eat and drink and rest. Then ride on. I enjoy the comfortable silence as much as the chatting while we spend hours on the bike together.

I’m grateful for the joy of cycling and spending time with the women on this trip. Each woman has a story. Every woman on this trip has grit and determination. I have found my tribe.

Looking forward to Texas.

Nine biking days in. After a rest day at home, we climbed to Tonto Basin, near Roosevelt Lake, a beautiful but very tough ride on a noisy road. That is the second time I have climbed from the valley by my house to Tonto Basin. Even after that success as we headed to Globe, Arizona we came up on the longest hill of the day (six miles long at about 6% grade) and I looked up and thought, “NO WAY.”

At that exact moment, our guide happened to pull up next to us and I said it out loud. She smiled and laughed said it was good preparation for the hills in New Mexico and the hill country of Texas. Gotta love the enthusiasm!

I put my ball cap under my helmet so I would focus right in front of me and I pushed the pedals around until I got to the top. I climbed it. And then on a cold and windy day, there was a sweet downhill for miles and miles. And then more uphill. So our days go. Up and then down. Or Up and Up. Or some just down.

Other routines are falling into place too. Each morning we’re up for coffee and breakfast. If the hotel doesn’t offer a full breakfast, our guide/chef supplements or makes breakfast for us. By the time we get to breakfast, we’ve already filled our water bottles, dressed for the biking day (taking into account the weather) and then we check bikes, add air to our tubes, get some snacks for our pockets and before we start riding we check out with the SAG for the day.

We bike between 40 and 88 miles a day (our longest so far) and each 20 or so miles we have a SAG stop. We check in and out with one of the four SAG drivers (a rider who has chosen to be a support 1 of 4 days). We fill our water bottles, sneak off for a potty break in a quiet spot, chat with others about the view or the ride or the climb. And we have more snacks! Yesterday one snack was some wonderful blood oranges from Arizona. There are always bananas, Oreos, dried fruit, nuts and a variety of chips.

And repeat for each twenty miles (as long as the SAG is there -sometimes things happen and we end up going further). We ride until we reach our hotel for the night in a town up the road. We check in, take our bikes to our rooms, grab our luggage, head in for showers, laundry, and a chat with your roommate for that night. We get assigned a different roommate each night so we will have spent time with all 19 other women on the trip. Then we start getting prepared for the next day. I check my tires, wash out water bottles, charge my lights and Garmin, organize my shorts, jersey gloves and what jacket, etc. I will wear for the next day. Most morning or nights some of us stretch either together or in our rooms. Have to keep everything working.

Then either before or after dinner, our guide has a MAP meeting. We review the route and roads for the next day and our guide gives us a little bit of history of the town or area we are going through. Usually this is done outside by the van. Then we sit in outdoor chairs in a circle and have dinner by our delightful chef who has been a star at accommodating everyone’s unique dietary needs and preferences (vegetarian, no dairy, and regular) all while cooking amazing food. A couple of nights to giver her a break or because the schedule worked out better we have gone out to dinner.

Then back to our rooms, exhausted, by 8 p.m. A chat home and up again the next day to repeat.

The routine is comforting. And some days are easier or harder than others. The mileage doesn’t dictate it. I had a hard 54 from Salome to Wickenburg and an easy 75 from Wickenburg to Tempe Town Lake. Each day is physically challenging, draining. I’m reminded of an old cycling quote, “it doesn’t get easier, you just go faster.” Well, I’m not faster. I’m stronger each day and that will have to do.

I’m not an every fine inch person. I didn’t think I was but yesterday confirmed it. It was after a beautiful morning riding towards the Chocolate Mountains and along the Imperial Sand Dunes.

"Imperial Sand Dunes, sometimes called the Algodones Dunes, are the largest mass of sand dunes in California. This dune system extends for more than 40 miles along the eastern edge of the Imperial Valley agricultural region in a band averaging five miles in width. Rising to heights of over 300 feet above the surrounding desert floor, the dunes are a well-known landmark to local residents and the thousands of highway travelers who pass by them every year. While summer temperatures often rise above 110°F and annual rainfall averages less than two inches, the mild climate between October and May attracts tens of thousands of off highway vehicle (OHV) enthusiasts to the area. (from the DesertUSA website)"

We biked to lunch and then we were scheduled to ride a stretch with no shoulder.

Marty and I drove this way on the way from San Diego and talked about the lack of shoulders. Well, Sunday noonish coming out of the park were lots of RV’s with toy haulers or pickups with trailers loaded with ATV’s (or OHV as they are referenced above). It looked to me like they were taking up every inch of the road. So after lunch, I bumped. I got a ride beyond the area with no shoulders and started again. A nice 20 more miles to the hotel in Blythe.

The ride across the country only works for me if I’m still around to talk about it in St. Augustine. I also chose to skip the stress. If it had been a Tuesday I might have made a different decision. Everyone else made their own choice and everyone made it through fine.

Besides all the energy I spent thinking about bumping or not bumping, I’ve also spent a lot of time the last few days thinking about roads and shoulders. I’ve learned that my speed is not only matter of wind and elevation gain it is also very dependent on road surface. So today you get a picture of roads and shoulders (not my shoulders!)
On the farthest left in the picture, is my 8-10 mile an hour road. One of the women on the ride said, that is a picture of the good section of that road, you didn't get the really bad parts! The 8-10 mph road is either a shoulder covered in gravel or a road shattered to bits. We road seven or nine miles on this. Our route was taken from Adventure Cycling’s maps and this is part of the tour, so no option (except to bump). I joked that it was like getting on the machine in the gym with the band that jiggles you and makes your fat fall off. Although no evidence of that so far.

The middle segment of the picture is the 12 mile an hour road. We spend lots of time each day on this kind of shoulder. It is rough chip seal. The cheapest road to lay down and the cheapest to maintain. They pour tar on the road and then toss gravel on top of it. You also feel these roads by the end of the day. On days filled with chip seal shoulders as I slide in bed at night I notice my skin is tender to the touch.

And the last segment of the picture is the “ahhhhh” road. The road you end up on at some points during the day where the rattling of every muscle ceases and your whole body unclenches. You relax. That is my 14-16 mile an hour road.

I’m not surprised my shoulders hurt today. Riding on rough shoulders and roads, everything but my legs hurt. Thankfully today is a rest day in Blythe, California. Blythe is a small town off Interstate 10 between LA and Phoenix. It is only about two hours from home so I got a Sunday visit from my guy.

My first rest day was breakfast, bike cleaning, lunch and laundry. I’m now wondering where to go for dinner. Are you sensing a pattern here? Four or six hours on the bike a day burns lots of calories.

I'm looking forward to smooth roads, tailwinds and downhills.

The first day was jitters and chaos. Marty and I woke up at 3 a.m. and that was it. After the photo op at Dog Beach, we left San Diego through a myriad of bike paths and secondary roads and headed up to Alpine, ending the day with a six or seven mile climb. It was cool at the beach and very hot later in the day. It was challenging. I didn’t hydrate early enough or often enough (despite coaching from the guide!). But I made it. A supportive rider stuck with me while we road uphill and I whimpered about the heat and stopped -what seemed like-ok what really was- every 1/4 mile to drink and rest. I drank two bottles of water and electrolytes immediately after getting off the bike-a bad sign.

Day Two : Alpine, California to Jacumba, California. 46+ miles and about 4500 feet of elevation gain. It was sunny, much cooler than yesterday with thirteen miles of climbing to start the day. I found my climbing rhythm by singing 100 bottles of beer on the wall with every climb. Got to fifty bottles one climb, forty another and zero on two more. I’ve decided that 6% grade is the new flat. The SAG (water and food SUV that supports us) was also over the first day chaos and was there three times on the route. Lots of hills means lots of water needed.

A beautiful bluebird at lunch with a pretty red chest made it a bluebird day.

We were stronger together today. A small group or two went off the front. And then there eight or so of us that road together throughout the day. I noticed that each of us has strengths. Some are quick ascenders that can sprint up hills after a good downhill. Some are long slow steady climbers. Some are great descenders. Some are cheerfully working their way into shape as they come from a colder climate with less access to outdoor riding. We waited for each other, supported each other and stopped to take pictures. The day was rounded out on some lonely roads with rough shoulders but great views and several awesome downhills.

We are staying in Jacumba at a hot springs hotel. After the ride some of us took a quick dip in the mineral whirlpool to loosen our legs and then I headed to the bar for a cool one with a friend.

The bar was amazingly friendly, everyone who walked in was teased and treated like family. I can hear the music and the laughter from there even now after dinner. The bartender, the delightful Tattoo Tina, was gracious enough to talk to me about her tattoo sleeves. One sleeve has the names of her five children. The other is shown in the photo above. Her motto “Live for Something” made my day.

I’m living to ride.

Going away party done. Lots of laughter, friends and food. Plenty of cake eaten.

My body is ready-mostly. My shoulders and neck are perpetually a little sore. Yoga helps. My man massaging them is even better but I won’t have that on the road. My right knee/IT band is still talking to me. More stretching. My right hip is tight. More stretching.

My bike is ready after at least seven trips to the bike shop. Ron, the master mechanic, has dialed in the derailleur so perfectly that shifting gears is like cutting through butter. I know how to adjust the cables if they get loose. I added a hand tire pump to the frame and I’m carrying two spare tubes. I know how to change a flat. Three flats in one day on a training ride and seven or eight over the last few months provided plenty of practice. I have a laser front and rear lights that are USB rechargeable. It took three or four exchanges to find the right ones but these are awesome. New tires. New self sealing tire tubes. New chain. New disc brake pads.

My folks, my Guy and my son can all track me on my phone anytime. A few friends can track me on Strava, an activity logging app.

I have three different pairs of bike shorts, different brands with different seams. Let’s not even talk about my six month battle with saddle sores-it is over. But I’m an expert if you need advice. Three neon jerseys. Neon socks. Arm warmers. Rain gear. One set of shoe covers for warmth, a different set for rain. Three jackets: windbreaker, rain and warmest.

I’ve packed my favorite yoga pants, one pair of jeans and my most comfortable sweater for evenings and days off. Nightly dinners will be outside around the trailer where the chef prepares them. I have a puffy jacket and light knit gloves because I hate to be cold. My guy laughed this morning, "you are certainly headed out of your comfort zone."

I have a few laundry pods, an elastic clothes line, a little mesh bag to put gloves, buffs and socks in so the laundry machines don’t eat them.

The weight limit is 50 pounds, including all my bike gear, snacks and electrolytes. And I’m overweight. Not me--my butt has never been this small--the luggage. I dump the cloth yoga mat, an extra bike toolset and the pocket knife I usually carry. I'll probably dump half the other stuff a week into the ride when we pass through Phoenix so I'm only stressing this weight test thing. Who starts a trip with a test?

I dump the second ball cap. One will have to be enough. I breathe.

I can’t fit the two pound bag of macadamia nuts. Shhh, don’t tell. I’m going to try and sneak that into the van before the weigh-in.

I can smell the Pacific Ocean. Tomorrow morning we, the twenty or so women on this trip will dip our back tires into it, it's tradition. Tonight a banquet with strangers who will be my adventure companions.

I have accepted that things aren’t going to be perfect. I’m going along for the ride.

I was taught it was linear. Hard work in, good result out. I always fought for that straight line.

I took economics in college, I would have gotten a C if my insanely smart roommate Anne had not explained it to me in English. I got a B. The curve helped.

In my business, I believed that if I took care of our team and customers, the payoff was I got to keep paying the bills and there would be something left. That was the plan. I remember years when I worked more hours than seemed humanly possible and there was nothing left.

The work and lack of progress seems even worse for the next generation of our families. Our 20 and 30 year old children and nieces and nephews are wildly stressed. If it isn’t sick (or not sleeping) young ones, it is the long hours, or lack of career advancement or challenging relationships. They lament the lack of sleep, the lack of time, the lack of intimacy (or the lack of time for intimacy).

As I listened to all their stories over the holidays, I realized that I haven’t provided good counsel for them, although I’m not sure they ever asked or even want to hear my advice. But if they did I would tell them, there is no straight line. There isn't even a reliable curve.

Biking proved this to me again. Most days I get up and I think, “are these my legs, why won’t they move?”, “how can I possibly be so tired?”. I wonder, “where is the improvement?”

Just like our kids ask, “are the children ever going to stop waking up at night?” “Is the boss ever going to recognize me for all the hard work?”, “Will these people stop turf fighting at work?”

We work on it (whatever it is -raising children, work, relationships, biking) and nothing improves.

We are mired in desolate static.

Until it is different.

For me, biking was different this past weekend. I was at the Tour de Palm ride in Palm Springs. 100+ miles in one day.

We started off biking through fields and fields of electric generating windmills. You know when you do that, there is going to be wind, right? We rode through the wind.

I picked myself up after a minor slide out on gravel at mile 18. I ate sweet fresh dates, bananas, and fig newtons. It was my guy’s first century and his work limits his biking time so somewhere along the way I got in front and “pulled” (you use less energy if you tuck in behind someone). At eighty-some miles a young man pulled up beside me and said “thanks for the pull. I wouldn’t have made it here without you.” I grinned. He slid back.

I pedaled some more. A few miles later, I pumped my fist and shouted, “I’M READY”.

I passed an older gentlemen struggling uphill. I said, “Come on, we can do this. We're almost there.” He caught up at the next light and said, “Thanks, I needed that.” I grinned and thought, “I’m ready.”

I crossed the finish line with a reserve of strength. I felt like I could go another twenty miles, which is good because on our tour there is a 119 mile day.

These last months have been full of long stretches of uncertainty where I couldn't see progress. The Tour de Palm reminded me there is no straight line. The payoff of the months of work was joyful and breathtaking. Finally, I jumped over the straight line, slid off the curve.

21 days to departure. I'm ready.

My blogs have always been named Looking Forward, even the last one when I had breast cancer and documented the journey. Looking Forward sounds like I'm always positive. Ha!

I’m usually positive, usually focused on Gratitude and searching for Grace in my day and my life. I am grateful.

Though I wonder if it is possible to live in a state of Grace and still want really nice sheets?

At 55, I try to be relaxed and live in the moment. It’s not easy when some of my biggest motivators are fear. In order to reduce my anxiety, I prepare. Some would say I excessively prepare. I did it in business. I do it in life.

To prepare-I went and got a professional bike fit. The picture above is Barry from Cyclologic and the cool screens he used to diagnose my ride.

Most of the men and woman who get bike fits are fast. Young or old. They are skinny, fit triathletes-with $10,000 dollar bikes who just got back from a bike camp-who are looking to go faster yet. And when you go into Cyclologic, you see Champions jerseys on the wall. While waiting, I overheard a conversation about the Canadian Junior Women’s team that was in last week. It’s funny, when you get a bike fit, the paperwork asks, “categorize yourself”. Professional, Racer, Triathlete, Recreational Cyclist. In dark purple ink, I slowly write in, Recreational Cyclist. Intimidated, I’m suddenly afraid I’m wasting their time with my little two month trip across the US.

Barry sees the comment and disagreed. “You are not a recreational cyclist. Recreational cyclists don’t bike 65 miles a day for 50 days. We have to get that out of your head.” Then he adjusted my seat, changed my cranks and rebuilt my cycling life.

To prepare-I hired a a coach. Coach Cheryl from Miller Endurance Coaching. Having a coach brought someone who gave me a plan. How do I get from biking an hour to biking 65 miles a day every day, day after day? My friends laugh that I need someone to tell me what to do. But I love that I have Cheryl to give me a plan, a guide to have conversations with about what it feels like when my legs are so tired that I can’t push them anymore, or what food to eat, what to do about saddle sores (that's a whole other story).

To prepare-for biking 3100 miles across the country in 50 riding days (57 total days)- I’ve ridden 3500 miles in the last six months.

I've never been an athlete, I was a young girl who read a lot, wrote a lot, wished she had a pony, wanted to be an ice skater after watching the Winter Olympics. I did love the feel of wind in my face as I rode my ten speed bike around the block.

I’m an athlete now. An old, struggling to build muscle-post cancer athlete. Biking across the country with help.

I have to write this now. Before I go on the trip, before I’ve met anyone that I will be traveling with because I don’t want anyone to think that this is about them.

I’m talking about the kinds of people who ride on bike tours. On the bike trips I’ve been on there are a few types of people that show up every time. Different people but the same types. And so this is some of what I expect.

The first and most obvious bike trip person is the picky food eater. Not the typical Vegetarian, Vegan, Celiac or person with a food allergy. Not even the person who eats a lot or doesn’t eat much. I get all those. I’m even woke to unique diets for unique people. But on the trips I’ve been there is at least one person who makes a fuss at most every meal. They might say, “I don’t like the texture of cheese.” They stand and stare and stare at the serving dishes as if they stare long enough- something will change. One time, there was a woman who insisted that she didn’t eat anything with eyes, it only got weird when she swore that included chocolate bunnies. Seriously. These food folk make meals interesting.

Then there are the extreme goal driven cyclists. They have to climb every hill first, they race to the front to prove that they are the strongest, fastest. They have to be the best (and not just the best rider). They have to be better at packing light, better at ordering wine. And they let you know. On one trip, one of these extremers tried to explain it to me by sharing, “Did I mention I was an Olympic alternate for canoeing in 19xx.” Maybe it was snowshoeing? As if, as if, that acceptably explained his oneupmanship.

Then there are those cyclists for whom riding every fine inch (EFI) is a requisite badge of honor and to not do it is a complete failure. I, and others, call those the EFI folks (and sometimes we substitute fine with a different F word). And I’m all right with those folks, if that is your raison d’être. We all have unique reasons for why we are biking 3100 miles across the country in 50 riding days.

The EFI folks who stress me out, ok, stress everyone out, are the ones who feel the need to keep score for everyone else on the trip too. They have a mental calculator going, checking your progress as you go along. I biked across Italy in 2011. I wanted to start with a smaller country, you know. It only took 11 days and the food was great.

There was an EFI ‘keep score for everyone’ woman on that trip. Day two of that trip I had a mechanical, the derailleur on my rental bike cracked while I was cresting a climb. Luckily I was at the top of a six mile descent. I pulled over, called the guide, asked for help at the bottom of the mountain. I mean, no reason for me not to enjoy the downhill right? I live for tailwinds and downhills. The guide cheerfully drove me to the bike shop, conveniently next to the cafe where we were having lunch, five or six miles up the road. No big deal. But I heard about no longer being EFI eligible at lunch and dinner, and lunch and dinner, for the rest of the trip.

Now, I don’t want you to be confused but sometimes the extremers and the EFI are the same people. And one of those folks might be the bunny lady too. It gets confusing I know.

And you’re probably wondering, so why even go?

Friends. Because every trip I have been on there are fabulous people who are rich in spirit. Cyclists who fill the days with laughter. There are people who I am destined to be connected to. Like the friend on the first day of the Italy trip who sat in a pile of burrs, and I pulled them out, one by one, though I barely knew her, because it could have been me. What other options are there?

We are all here to help each other get down the road.