Pacific Plunge

The sun is beginning to set as it reaches late into the afternoon. We rode beneath blue skies all day and now watch them transition into a jumble of blues and oranges. With about twenty minutes of sunlight remaining, we’re pedaling up the last climb of our trip. The very last time this coast-to-coast trip will have my legs trembling as I watch Wes gracefully increase the gap between him and I. Slowly, I roll up the hill at a more leisurely rate than usual. I’ve pictured the last day being a hammer for the finish, with triumphant roars and getting out of the saddle in climbs. However, as I pedal up this section, it finally hits me that this will be the last of the trip. The last moment where all that matters is getting over this elevated obstacle. I'm in no hurry to see it end. My cadence slows and I begin to take in full breaths of the salty air. We haven’t smelled or tasted ocean air in a few thousand miles of pedaling and it’s a warming comfort to both of us. Reaching the hill's crest, Wes is looking out over the view dropped before him. The Pacific Ocean sits below us, less than a mile away. Smiles and numerous high fives are exchanged before we begin coasting down to the water.

Riding our bikes onto the pier, down the ramp and into the sand, we let our bikes down in a way possibly described in any way but gentle. They’re thrown into the sand in a manner of accomplishment and completion. Without any notice of who is around us, we strip down to our chamois, as socks and shirts go flying in every direction. Bystanders on the pier must be very confused as to what is going on, but we aren’t concerned. We’re in our own little bubble of excitement. We look towards the ocean and run towards it, sore from days, weeks and months of riding, but with all of it in distant areas of our minds. The sun is further into its setting and only half of it remains as our toes first hit the water. We trudge through the water until it overcomes our legs. With the next wave, we dive in and seal the completion of our trip. I’ll never forget coming out the other end of the wave, planting on the sandy bottom and pushing out into the air with arms above my head. Yelling, splashing, sending out the call my recently passed buddy and I shared for years, smiling and letting each wave crash onto me with all its force. The last time we stood in the ocean was along the rocky, lobster-laden shores of Maine. 

We now stand in the waters of the Pacific with memories and lessons that will surely have an effect on the rest of our lives. As simple as it may sound, “We did it!” is repeated between the two of us over and over again. We stand in the ocean and look at our bicycles resting in the sand. They’ve been pedaled all the way from the Atlantic, through sunny days, torrential downpours, windy mountain roads and open plains. They’ve been the other half of the machine that propelled us from A to B. More reliable than we were at times, our Surlys held strong and weathered the storm we put upon them. One brief tune-up in Knoxville, Tennessee and they carried us through the rest of the trip. The significance of bicycles in my life is what drove my desire to embark on this trip and I'm happy I chose this elegantly refined machine to share it with.

As we walk out of the water towards our bicycles, I look over at Wes in acknowledgment of the fact that he played the largest role in my experience pedaling across America. Just as we are now walking out of the water together, we were at each other’s sides every step and pedal of the way. We’ve helped each other through every obstacle we faced, whether as big as a strained Achilles tendon or simply being five miles from dessert while a craving kicked in. Through different eyes and mindsets, we encountered and experienced the same situations along the way. We often dealt with situations differently and sometimes didn’t see eye to eye on the other person's method. Agreeing to disagree has become something we’ve both become fairly skilled at, or at least more skilled at. We’ve overlooked the same views, heard the same accents, tasted the same food, shared the same pitchers, yelled through the same arguments and shivered through the same rainy days. We now share a plethora of experiences, some too trivial, ridiculous or shameful for this blog, but each of them defines our friendship with the other. I’ve learned more from Wes than I have any other facet of this trip. My interaction with him over the last five months has allowed me to gain a clearer image of who I am, how I act, where I want to go in life and what is important to me. I will never be able to thank him enough for such a gift. 

When it comes down to it, anybody can ride a bicycle across the country if he or she is fortunate enough to have the obligation-free period that we did. Pushing down one pedal stroke at a time, anybody can work into riding the small amount of miles we rode each day. The true goal is completing it with a fellow traveler at your side. Getting through moments of complete frustration with the other person and still riding out of camp with them the next morning. Choosing not to strangle them and instead respect the fact that their opinion is different than yours. Being able to calm down, let time run its course, then sit in a McDonalds and mash it out over a dipped cone. Accepting constructive criticism and turning it into progressive development. It’s probably safe to say we’ve frustrated and pissed each other off more than anybody else has done so throughout our lives. Still, we would come to the same conclusion at the end of each clash. Neither of us would want to be on this trip with anybody else, let alone be able to even if we did. I read this quote in the weeks leading up to the trip and have aimed to live by.

"I would not waste my life in friction when it could be turned into momentum." - Frances Willard

We went into this trip after spending only six weeks around each other and even then it was in a foreign country, where all rules and methods of interaction are different from here in our home country. Standing on the shores of the Pacific, the completion of our trip signifies being within 100 feet of each other for the last 139 days straight. Hearing each other’s every word, idea and rumbling snore for the last 3,336 hours. That is the true accomplishment for me. I’m thankful to have started the trip with such an incredible person and now be ending it with an incredible lifelong friend. I can’t wait until we want to rip the other’s heads off on our next trip. You’re the man, Wes.

Care for some numbers? Here’s my mathematically curious mind at work:

• 129 days between the first and last miles.

• ~4,300 miles

• 33.33 miles per day

• 13.5 mph average while riding

• 318.5 hours in the saddle

• 2.47 hours of riding per day. That’s it!

• 1,719,900 pedal rotations total, assuming an optimal cadence of 90 rotations per minute.

• 19 states crossed.

• More than 300 bamboozled animals and humans.

• ~20 inner tubes

• 3 pairs of lost sunglasses

• 1 citation from the National Park Service

• When Wes flies home, every 4 minutes he will travel the distance we did in 24 hours.

I’d like to thank everybody for all the immense support and necessary pushes throughout the trip. Those of you who helped us in times of need, your support will not be forgotten. You pulled us out of the soaking rain in Maine, gave us a ride after a tire was rendered unrideable, provided a shower after weeks of filth, pointed us in the right direction or helped us with access to tools, among many other acts of kindness. The Warmshowers website allowed us to meet people in their own element and refuel amongst the comfort of their families and homes. Each of the interactions we gained through Warmshowers was positive and often the most enjoyable experience within a region. I hope for, and look forward to, future interactions with each and every one of you, whether on or off a bicycle. Our families, and those close to us, were very patient with us the whole time, whether we deserved it or not. Thank you mama, Ashley, and many others, for grounding me when confused as to what the hell I was doing. My father, nicknamed “HQ” throughout the trip, was with us every step of the way via either phone or computer. He helped us in numerous times of need and seemed to always know the optimal next step. As the third member of our trip, the common joke was that he knew more about our trip than we did. All of you reading this were an integral part of the trip. You helped make the experience what it was while we simply did the pedaling. 

In these last couple weeks following the trip, people have begun to ask what I think the greatest advice for a trip like this would be. There are really only a few things to be certain of, avoid and shoot for. Here are my few basic guidelines:

1. Always side with yes when faced with “Should we check out this river, restaurant, person, view or trail?” The answer is absolutely always yes. The miles and destination may seem important at the time, but they’ll be the smallest aspect of your trip in the end. Stop to take the photo, regardless of weather or time. 
2. Riding East to West really is against the wind, regardless of all the counterarguments you read to justify riding in that direction. It’ll be your greatest physical challenge. Either be prepared to ride against the wind for weeks on end or ride from West to East.
3. High-quality racks are the most crucial piece of gear to put money and research into. They will make or break your day, time and time again.
4. Most importantly, do not attempt this sort of trip with a fellow rider you has bamboo fenders. This is the only absolute rule, without any exceptions. If your travel partner shows up the first day with any bamboo components, have a large fire that night, throw them in the hot coals and watch the bamboo forever slip into the past. Your future self will thank you time and time again.

Get outside and ride your bike! You won’t regret it and will learn or see something new every time you do. You will experience your surroundings at the perfect speed. Whether riding to a neighbor’s house, the grocery store, a nearby town or across a state, you will see the route in a way you never saw by vehicle. If nothing else, trust me on this.