The Finish Line

I set out yesterday from Hancock, MD to ride the home stretch of 90 miles to officially complete my cross-country trek in Leesburg, VA. In order to make sure I could successfully do it, I had to warn my dad several times before and during my ride that he was not allowed to pick me up and if he tried to, I would promptly turn my phone off. 

 My four month journey came full circle on my last day of chilly riding on the leaf-covered C&O canal. I was overwhelmed with joy to be traveling alongside the stretch of trail and river that cultivated my love for the outdoors as a teenager, particularly when I reached Harper's Ferry to complete the last 25 miles. Ever since my family began spending our summers on that patch of the Potomac, I always dreamed of being able to ride to Harper's Ferry from my house. Incidentally, the first time I saw a touring cyclist was on the C&O canal, from which the desire to do it myself came instantaneously. Looking back to even one month prior to the trip, the possibility of being able to do such a ride seemed unreachable. Getting the gear was overwhelming, let alone actually loading the bike and using it. I rode the trail yesterday fully seeing how reachable it always was, and how much more I can explore and experience. 

As the end of my ride was approaching, so was the day's sunlight. I found myself in a race with the sun to White's Ferry. With five miles left of my ride, the sun beat me to the horizon. Cold, hungry and tired, I pedaled as fast as I could to be out of the dark trail using my headlamp to light the way. I arrived to the Ferry wonderfully surprised to find my parents waiting for me at the end of the trail with hugs and a box of hot wings! It was a perfect unexpected ending to a journey that will probably just keep on going. Over and Out. 

PA to WV to MD

All in all, Pittsburgh was a blur of scrambling to pull my gear together, which included assembling my bicycle, and recovering from sleep deprivation in order to be able to hit the road. With the help of Thick Bikes (http://www.thickbikes.com/) and Kraynick's Bike Shop, I got the parts I needed and managed to put my bike together just before closing at 4 p.m. on Saturday. After which, Phil who was also at the bike shop kindly treated me to a delicious pizza lunch and then I passed out for 15 hours at my awesome host Rachel's house. 

I woke up on Sunday with the hard realization that my knees would probably not survive the full ride home. I decided to cut the full trail in half, riding from Cumberland, MD to Leesburg, a 150-mile ride. In no time, Alison was picking me and my gear up in Pittsburgh for a night in Morgantown, WV. The next day she brought me to Cumberland, MD where the Chesapeake and Ohio Canal Trail begins and where my first day of riding four months ago in June ended. We started together with a short 5 mile ride to a hiker/biker campsite for a fun night of camping. 

From there, Alison returned to school the next morning and I headed down the trail for a 60 mile ride to Hancock, Md. It was a beautiful Fall ride passing through the colored trees. The West Coast is gorgeous, but the one thing it doesn't have is Autumn leaves. I saw tons of cyclists riding north to Pittsburgh; there is nothing quite like the sight of a loaded bicycle. I stopped midway to eat at Bill's where my parents dropped me off on my first day to join the group. I was overjoyed to see the same bartender sitting in the exact same place that we first found him in June. I chowed on pizza and talked to a few locals before setting off to finish my ride in Hancock. I stayed the night in the backyard of a bike shop (http://www.candobicycle.com/) that has cots and showers.

The Paw Paw Tunnel. The first time I rode through it with Jeanne, I crashed into the wall because of how dark it is in the middle. This time when I rode through it i was prepared with lights and managed to stay on the bike the full ride through. 

Back on the East Coast

There was only one time during my entire ride to the west coast that I questioned whether I would reach my destination. During my three day bus ride back, I lost count how many times I questioned whether I would get to Pittsburgh. 

I jumped on the bus after my thirteen hour layover to find out at my next transfer point that my bicycle had made it on the bus, but my luggage did not-which held all of the gear I had collected and carried all summer. It took everything  I had not to freak out. After making several phone calls in which every greyhound employee assured me the luggage would get to PA, I put my outburst to rest.

 But the fiasco did not stop. As I find out firsthand, everyone is for the most part aware of the chance that they may not be able to board the bus. As a result, boarding gates are a war zone. People are practically ready to fight each other for a seat. It gets a little scary.  You even start to form alliances. They usually occur between your bus buddies from your recent transfer-you look out for each other to get a seat and leave the rest to fend for themselves.

When I finally reached Pittsburgh on Saturday at 5am smelling worse than I did while cycling and without three days of sleep, I had to hang in the station for a bit before I could make moves on assembling my bike. Once the local bike shops opened, I inquired to a manager whether I could leave my bicycle while I picked up some parts. My state of emotional hypersensitivity completely crumbled when he chastised me at length for even asking.

 I slowly stormed myself, an emotional wreck, and my bike out of the station. It was not two minutes after that a woman saw me, had her husband grab my box, and shove it in the rear seat of their compact car where their two year daughter had to fold her feet in to make it fit. She gave me a ride to the bike shop and her daughter showered me with the cutest conversation, informing that the box was actually her bike and she was "definitely" big enough to ride it. She saved my day. 

What I did enjoy about the bus ride was the slow pace at which it felt I was retracing my steps back to the east coast. The obstacles and odd characters simply made it an earned journey just like the ride to the west coast. And, my luggage did show up the next day- thank goodness. 

Away on the Greyhound

I left a fun night of karoake at a San Fran gay bar with Hannah, Sara and Torii to hop on a greyhound bus on Wednesday at 1am for a two and a half day ride to Pittsburgh, PA. My current plan is to assemble my bicycle in Pittsburgh and officially complete the last unfinished leg of my cross country tour on the C & O Canal. 

I decided to take the bus because I couldn't fathom getting home in a few hours after traveling for four months to get to California. It is also something I have always wanted to do and by far the cheapest option for both me and my bicycle.

The greyhound experience has indeed been quite a trip. At my second transfer point in Salt Lake City, the bus was overbooked. Myself and my bus buddies from the previous transfers stood anxiously at the end of the line. I got somewhat virile about possibly not being able to get on and waiting another twelve hours for the next one--talking rapidly and loudly about my frustration. We were relieved to be of the last seven able to board. 

After the bus was fully boarded, the baggage handler stated that it was doubtful my bike was going to fit. I was well into a full forced susancoates-style lecture about how that bicycle was going to get on the bus without question when another guy arrives at the terminal to board. He was less than happy to discover a full bus, shouting at the baggage handler about the flight he was going to miss, how much this delay would cost him and the sheer idiocy of the situation. 

For a brief moment, I got a full outside view. The packed bus, the baggage handlers attempting to jam my bicycle into the storage space and the young man losing his mind at the greyhound employee. I yelled out over both of them to get their attention before offering my seat up to the guy. Just after I said goodbye to my bus buddies (who laughed hysterically after seeing my attitude about staying just before we boarded) and the bus left, greyhound offered to hold my luggage for free (normally 5$ a bag), put me up at a hotel for the night, two meal vouchers and a discount on my next ticket- awesome!

San Francisco!

The final 25 miles to the Golden Gate Bridge grew steeper and loopier as we neared San Francisco. The weather was perfect and it was a stellar end to the coast. Just after Garry and I crossed the bridge we met Justin, an enthusiastic cyclist that also finished his bike trip on the bridge. 

San Francisco has been quite an emotional ride between the stress of assembling all the details for a smooth departure (you should see the stress pimples covering my face), spending last moments with new friends and enjoying the amazing views and diversity all over the city. One of my favorite sights was a guy in a full business suit riding his bicycle with a nearly rolled up right pant that showed off a matching business sock. 

Best wishes to all the cyclists that will continue their journey down the coast. Ride on!

Coastal Riding Coming to a Close

Due to some recent developments, I decided after a few days into Northern California that I would be returning home once I reached San Francisco.The short period of riding I had left turned out to be insanely eventful, packed with bike trouble, hilarious riding companions, ravenous raccoons, gourmet style ramen dinners and beautiful sunsets over the ocean. These events went as such:

Bike trouble: Garry broke three spokes consecutively, having to repair his wheel again after each break and sometimes going for long stretches on a wobbly wheel. Eric, from Oregon, had pedal trouble, which announced itself with a loud screech at every pedal revolution  to anyone within a mile radius.

Hilarious riding companions: I found myself riding with four guys-Garry, Eric, Charlie and George-all four of which seemed to be in a competition to find out who is more indecisive. I say it was a four way tie. I am really not quite sure how we managed to complete anything let alone making mile progress. "Where should we eat? I don't know, where can we eat? Well, I want wifi. I am too hungry to decide. Let's get alcohol. Yea, what should we get? I'm good with whatever. Do you think this is enough?" And so it went. 

Ravenous raccoons: Seriously, the raccoons here are scary. Absentmindedly, I left food out in my panniers. From inside the tent one night, an eruption broke out that sounded like a  DEADLY wild boar fight. Turns out, four raccoons surrounded my bike managing to properly unzip my pannier and deplete my snack stash. I have since developed a deep hatred and slight fear towards raccoons. Another evening, we had barely arrived to the campsite before the glowing eyes shining in the dark surrounded the perimeter. 

Dinners: Garry and I discovered a tasty camp meal, which was contributing to a fuller wallet for San Fran. It starts with the standard meal of ramen noodles with added tuna. Then, cooking a packet of Idaho potatoes in the leftover broth. Filling and savory. 

Last but not least, the sunsets. There is nothing quite like riding along the ocean as the day is coming to an end and the sun is setting over a sparkly water landscape. 

The Wild Cat

After constant raving about the scenery from California locals, I was easily convinced to take an alternate route off of the standard 101 to see "The Lost Coast." It turns out all major routes bypass this area entirely due simply to the unstable nature of the geography and sheer steepness. Matole road a.k.a. "The Wild Cat" is the only one that ventures out to Matole Beach on the Lost Coast. Coincidentally, this piece of information was unbeknownst to me--things the locals forgot to mention I guess--as I filled my stomach with a large diner breakfast before jumping on the saddle to ride out the 50 mile detour in one day. The moment Garry and I turned onto Matole straight out of Ferndale, the road went straight up. Not just up. Straight up. Some parts offering a 15-20% grade in steepness. The steepness was further exasperated with ubiquitous potholes in the road, making the descents a little scary. The first 6 miles--the hill known to locals as "The wall"--took roughly 2 hours. It was quickly apparent the ride was going to take two days.

The descent down to the Lost Coast beach was gorgeous. The scenery was well worth it. After becoming relaxed and comfortable in the rolling climbs and softer grades along the coast, the challenge of Lost Coast was a much needed wake up call. We crashed with Hanna, Mike, Matt, Torri and Sara in Petrolia at Cedar, the local bike guys's, house. He made cookies that evening and breakfast the next morning. On the second day, we finished Matole road on a much softer grade that descended into the Avenue of the Giants. Amazing!

California!

Fueled with fervor to escape Oregon rain, we crossed the border to California only to land in another storm. Megan, Garry, Matt and I sheltered at a church where by the end of the weekend there were 11 cyclists piled in to wait out the stormy weather and powerful wind. Bike Party! We shared a wonderful time with food, stories, frustrations, joys and rest. We left the church with dry tents to enter into the redwood national park where the trees tower over you magnificently.