BEYONDexistence

       

It’s been some time since I last wrote. Actually, its even been some time since we finished the trip. Every time I thought I could sit down and come up with something I just stared at the screen, too overwhelmed to turn thoughts into words. Of course I’ve been asked over and over to talk about the trip; not once have I

been able to. I usually (maybe you’ve gotten this response) simply answer with “It was good… kind of crazy.”

It took 36 hours for me to get from our hotel in Madrid back to my house in Mattituck: one taxi ride, some hours in the Madrid airport, one flight to Dublin, one night sleep on the airport floor, some more hours in the Dublin airport, one flight to JFK (which diverted to Philly, when we started to run low on fuel because JFK closed due to snow, where we sat on the runway for 5 hours before taking off again) a bit of time at JFK, and a snowy car ride home. Aside from being a restless because I hate sitting still, I wasn’t bothered. To be warm, dry, sitting on a soft seat, fed, watching movies, not carrying, pedaling, or pushing anything felt like luxury. Or maybe it was the temporary, sudden lack of a “responsibility” to deal with anything as I handed control of the next 7 (13) hours over to the pilot. And that night on the airport floor? One of my best night’s sleep in a month. Sure I can handle what might seem like a ‘challenging day.’ But what I learned in 6 weeks of actually challenging days was that I really struggle to handle THAT.

You can say “I told you so.” Cycling through France and Spain in the winter was hard. Physically hard, yes, but mentally… f**king hard. I’ll admit, as I felt the struggle wearing on me, trying to push those questioning words I had heard so often out of my head and trying to turn the thoughts of being done into a reason to finish instead of a reason to quit, I had to repeatedly talk myself back into it all.

I slept with two pair of pants, a long sleeve shirt with two heavy sweatshirts, and a hat… I also kept my whole face inside my sleeping bag (which was Sean’s sleeping bag because it was heavier than mine). I got frostbite twice. The cold made me tired, but I only slept two to three hours a night so that made me tired too.

It rained a lot, and when it finally started getting warmer, we headed to the mountains where it also hailed a lot. My muscles became exhausted, my legs became one giant bruise, and I re injured my back with 500miles to go. One day it took us three hours to walk our bikes up a mountain (to 1900m elevation). To give you an idea… there was a ski resort filled with sledding families and obviously skiers on top, but it was 16C (60F) and sunny at the bottom. That was on week 6; I thought I would surely cry or be sick before the road turned downhill. We showered once or twice a week when we gave in to staying in a hotel. We did laundry much less. We never found a single open campsite.

But, here I am. 1050 miles later I never gave up. Though my body and mind took turns ‘checking out,’ they’ve both proved to be strong… or stubborn… or stupid. Sean claims he’s never been a cyclist and that he did no training beforehand. I don’t know if I believe him because he’s the best “out of shape,” “non-cyclist” cyclist I’ve ever seen. Between his physical strength, and his seemingly unbreakable mental strength I never caught a hint of “quit” anywhere in that Irishman.

Once we left Nantes, we raced for the flat ocean roads, and then we raced along them. Riding between 60 and 90 km those days, our biggest challenges were our sore butts and numb hands. It was almost too quickly that we reached the border, with beautiful white topped mountains in our view. My lacking knowledge of Spain’s geography let me be optimistic: We will surely pass the Pyrenees to the West where we’ll ride the hills, and then find mellow elevations again. Reality check: Northern Spain is made up of mountains. My goal along the North Coast was to reach San Juan de Gaztelugatxe. Those 5 days in the mountains felt like an eternity. We rode some of our longest, and definitely our hardest days but only made it between 30 and 50 km each day. It rained (poured) every day, and delighted us with periods of hail and 50kmph winds. Northern Spain was the most beautiful place on earth I’ve ever seen. Now I’m not being sarcastic.

I walked onto Gaztelugatxe Island alone. I was the only person there. The stormy waves crashed around me as I crossed the beautiful stone bridge and climbed the 240 steps to the church that stood at the top. As the storm picked back up, the wind pushed me around and my full rain gear couldn’t hold out such heavy rain; I held onto the railings, water pouring off of my eyelashes. I will never forget that walk. It was arguably the most magical moment of my 23 year old life.

By the 5th morning in the stormy mountains, we had had enough, and at the rate we were going wouldn’t reach Madrid anyway. We stopped in Bilbao and took the train to Valladolid. Warmth, sunshine, and flat roads greeted us. And then so did the lovelycity of Segovia that brought us to the stupid 1900m high, ski resort mountain. At the bottom though, whatever forces bless us with

miracles gave us the most spectacular ending to our trip. The cycle path that led us into Madrid was filled with hundreds of REAL (fast) cyclists and perfect little hills, so finally we flew again. We ate, and relaxed outside of the tent for the first and only time. We watched the sunset over those spectacular mountains that we now only had to ride further away from. I sunbathed in my sports bra. I crawled under a gate into a quiet pasture once the stars came out.

In the end, I was humbled by this journey, but I don’t regret it and I never did. As time goes on, I hope I can reflect on the experience further and grow from it. As always, I will try to remember that my mistakes and failures are not things to regret, but things to learn from.

I made this journey in honor of Ricky Metz, (my dear friend’s son) raising funds for suicide prevention. I would like to thank all of you again for your generous donations, adding up to an incredible $3,500. The money has been handed over to the Long Island Crisis Center in Ricky’s name, where it can make a big difference. Thank you to everyone who offered kind words of support and advice along the way. Thank you once again to Sean for patience.

What I have written does not tell the story as I wish… for I still can’t find the words; but, it’s a start.