BEYONDexistence

It was going to be this incredible adventure. This accomplishment that I’d been waiting to accomplish since I first started craving the taste of adventure. It had always been a “some day” until one day I realized it was someday.

I couldn’t comprehend it until I was in it: because it was almost unreal.

DAY 1. On September 1, 2017, I was immediately humbled by my first attempt to launch; feeling the apprehensive eyes of my incredibly supportive work wife/roommate/best friend who’d come to Maine for me and this day, I wobbled across the street and toppled over. My bike was overloaded and top heavy. I was embarrassed and honestly, for the first time, scared. I hadn’t ridden with bags since the winter of 2015 and I’d hardly even been on my bike at all in months. I’d packed to be on my own for 3 months so, naturally I’d packed way too much. Back at the car I started all over, laughing at all the things I’d thought I needed. A second try: still a little shaky, but without looking back, I disappeared around the corner. It was only in that moment I finally realized I would be alone.

I didn’t have far to ride that afternoon – I’d made a reservation at a campground nearby – but when neither my lungs or my legs could get me to the top of the first big hill, a sense of dread came over me. HOW was I going to do this… for MONTHS?! And with this bike that, when I tried to get back on, toppled over AGAIN. I sat on the side of the road, trying not to allow discouragement to speak to me, but instead, thinking logically and re-packing everything again, with the heaviest things on the bottom.

I donated some more of my things at the campground that night and in the morning I turned up the speakers that were strapped to my backpack, put a smile on my face, and hit the road. Still unsure of what I’d gotten myself into, I’d calmed myself into a more confident state. I can do hard things. I can do scary things. There was no reason that I couldn’t do this.

DAY 2. When I arrived on my second evening at the former Shady Oaks campground, a new KOA, I found that there were no vacancies. However, after a moment of thought, the owner decided to charge me for a tent site but showed me to her parents’ RV, empty of renters for the weekend, where I could set up camp AND have access to the RV. While showing me around, she informed me that it happened to be the campground’s potluck dinner and that I was to come as her family’s guest and eat all that I wanted. I stayed up late writing a letter and brought it to the office in the morning. The whole family wished me well and let me know that I was always welcome. I knew already that I was on the right journey.

DAY 4. After a stormy night (and near disaster upon meeting a skunk!), at the ocean campground in Searsport, I awoke to actual magic. I unzipped the door and the reflection of the sun on the ocean filled my tent. I enjoyed my instant coffee on the beach while my tent laid drying in the sun. On such a beautiful day, I couldn’t resist the signs for a “summit,” parked my bike against a rock, changed my shoes, and hit the trail. It felt good to move my legs without the bike. That afternoon I passed another solo female cyclist; she was the first I’d seen. She looked so small on her bike loaded with bags. I smiled and she cheered. And then I almost cried. It’s not normal and it’s not easy and there aren’t going to be many people who can share any of this feeling. Realizing that we had just one moment to share something so powerful overwhelmed me.

A couple of bikers (motorcyclists) pulled into the campground ahead of me. The man hesitated at the price but, after such a long day and with no better plan, his wife accepted it. We chatted for a moment before I walked to my campsite and they rode to the grocery store. There were dozens of available sites, but they returned from the grocery store to set up camp next to me. 60+ years old, the couple from Colorado was approaching the 1-year mark of their motorcycle trip. They were overflowing with love and light. We spent some time sharing stories, and I went to bed wishing that our time together didn’t have to end so quickly.

DAY 7. I rode to Portland, ME where I was hosted by a friend of a friend and just like that, my days at campgrounds had come to an end. She apologized that all she could offer aside from a shower and a bed was FRESH, HOT pizza and National Geographic documentaries, but I laughed because I couldn’t imagine anything better.

DAY 8. I felt all of me. Between the unpaved Greenway paths and the rolling hills of coastal towns, the ride was spectacular and restful. I sang to my tunes and I couldn’t stop smiling. It was warm enough that when it started raining later in the afternoon I only smiled harder. When I met my sister in Kittery that afternoon, I took a week off from riding before the Killington Spartan Race.

That first week was both incredibly freeing mentally and incredibly brutal physically. Whether I was on highways or on ‘Main Street’s’, in rich neighborhoods or very poor neighborhoods, by the ocean or by farm fields, OR accidentally taking my fully loaded little road bike mountain biking, THERE WERE ALWAYS HILLS. Sometimes I followed my maps and sometimes I followed my GPS, but sometimes I got totally lost in which case I ended up with EXTRA HILLS. I have never worked so hard to breathe for so many hours of so many days in a row.

WEEK 2. I still don’t know how it was possible, but every day that I thought was perfect was outdone by the next. I started riding 65-70 mile days with some ease. I stayed with two really great friends who both spoiled me and made me feel so beyond lucky, and I stayed with one family of strangers for two nights: because once I’d met them, I didn’t want to go.

They solidified for me the purpose of living that had been so clearly laid out for me on the road. While I’ve dedicated a lot of my life to thinking deeply and searching for THE purpose, time alone on the road was quintessential thinking time. If we all come here for some years and then we all die, each taking with us a little bit of the planet’s wellbeing for our own wellbeing, why is it that we come here? Some people come here and in fact try to save our planet. Some people raise children, passing on the lessons and cultures that make up history. Some people try to help other people live for longer or with less pain. Some people save animals. Some people explore faraway places and show them to the people who never leave home. I’ve dipped into some of these areas and found satisfaction in each, yet incomplete satisfaction. What I’ve been looking for is a purpose that holds regardless of which path I (we) walk. And really, I knew what it was all along, I just hadn’t found it in a form that I could hold on to.

It’s in friendship and it’s in the kindness of strangers. It’s in a warm wind and it’s in your favorite music and it’s when someone’s smile makes you smile. It’s when one person’s actions become another person’s courage. It’s in a strong handshake, a tight embrace, a kiss hello, a kiss goodnight.

It’s the movement of positive energy.

During the first week, I didn’t think about too much except that my heart might actually explode from working so hard, but during the second week I was so free and blissfully happy. Both my heart and my quads had gotten stronger and I was much more comfortable riding in traffic. In fact, I was comfortable in every moment. I was comfortable handling my bike (even when I took it mountain biking LOL), pushing the pedals up the big hills, sitting on sidewalks outside of gas stations, talking to everyone I met, and even getting lost. I realized that because I’d come to peace with my being I was able to be at peace with my surroundings and situations.

I parked my bike on the New London – Orient Point ferry realizing that I’d just hit exactly 500 miles and, sadly, did not get back on. An unforgettable and un-regrettable weekend at the Spartan Race World Championship in Lake Tahoe left me limping and questioning what was meant for the rest of my trip. After spending an entire year bringing my body back from injury, I eventually decided not to walk that path again. I forfeited the trip in hopes to start over in the Fall of 2018.

For now, with each challenge I face, I try to find a little bit of the peace I found on the road and to remember that my bigger picture is to keep moving the positive energy. I look forward to, without rushing to, another go at the 2,600 mi. Atlantic coast by bicycle.