I've been putting off writing this for quite a while now, mainly because I wanted to avoid bathing everything in the cliched romantic glow that I was enjoying at the end of my ride. But there was also a part of me that just wanted to avoid putting the period at the end of my last sentence and finally admitting that it was all over. Now, however, I'm almost a week back into school again, my first test is coming up and the pace of life is clipping along back at its usual pace. It was scarily easy to slip back into the hustle and bustle, so I think I should finally type out my thoughts on the trip before I get washed away by obligations and this experience becomes a remote memory.
Without a shadow of a doubt, this summer was the best summer of my life. It was a vacation without the restlessness that comes from hanging out and doing nothing for too long. Given the time and money, I would have made the decision to extend the trip and ride back home in a heartbeat. There were so many things that I loved about touring by bike, but I think I can sum them up into four categories: meeting America, soaking in its beauty, besting a physical challenge and enjoying a simpler lifestyle.
For any given day on the bike, the things closest to the front of my mind were very practical. I was thinking about the terrain, how difficult the climbs would be or how steep the descents, the weather, my next stop for food, or the condition of my bike. All day long, the minute details that rarely make the pages of this blog were occupying my mind. And yet in retrospect, all that fades away and I'm left primarily remembering the people I met along the way. One of my favorite memories of Kansas was simply sitting on a farmer's porch and talking to him while a thunderstorm blew through. My whole trip, in fact, was filled with characters I only got to meet in brief: countless farmers and ranchers sitting in the local diners, the former magistrate of the tiny town of Dwarf, KY, a kid who helped me fill my water bottles from his house's hose and a thousand other names and faces that I've forgotten. It's those people, the locals and the smalltown folks, that I remember most. It sounds unforgivably cheesy, but I feel like I finally "see" America and have started to know its culture and its people. The vast majority of the land fills up the spaces between big cities. These are the places where you can leave your bike propped up against the building while you're eating without even considering that someone might steal it; where nobody bothers to lock their houses and the locals can walk out of a restaurant without paying because the owner knows that they're good for it. You could get a pretty grim impression of where this country is headed from just watching the news, but I was blown away by the kindness and generosity of the average American citizen.
This facet is the hardest part of the whole adventure to communicate, partially because I think you have to experience it for yourself. So instead of trying to tell you what a perspective changing experience it was for me, I'll leave it to you to explore small town America if you feel so inclined.
Immediately below the people I met, my second favorite part touring was the scenery, and this is where I feel that cycling has the edge on all other forms of travel. There's a certain sense of participation that comes from being in the environment you're riding through, as opposed to in a plane or a car. You feel the weather, the insects and every little crack in the road. You move fast enough that you cross dozens of new vistas every day (unless you're on the Great Plains) and perhaps most importantly of all, you have to work for your views. In my memory, the South Park of Colorado is one of the most beautiful places I traveled through, and looking back at it, the pictures don't do it justice. But it isn't all due to the fact that phone camera's aren't great for capturing epic scenery, it's also due to the magnification that comes from earning a view. I entered the South Park after spending a full day climbing off the Great Plains, and the rush from descending over my first 10,000 foot mountain pass was what combined with those high altitude meadows to make it a spectacular scene. Those moments are the ones where it would be really incredible to have someone else alongside you to share with, because you can show anyone pictures after the fact, but you can only share that effort-magnified view with someone else who just worked as hard as you did. Regardless, I'm going to tack on a few of my favorite pictures here, just for fun.
Catawba Valley, VA
Dubois, WY
Grand Tetons, WY
Near Earthquake Lake, MT
Near Sisters, OR
There's not much to say about the physical challenge. It was tough, but I also went pretty hard and fast. Anyone can do a trip like this, and I think it's well worthwhile to do so. There's a certain confidence that comes from traveling long distances under your own power. You don't have to go fast, you can just gear down and plod out mile after mile, day after day. Eventually you'll look back and realize you've put a thousand miles under your tires with hardly an effort. Since my trip has ended, I've had a few middle aged to 60 year old folks tell me that they wish they could do a ride like that. I tell them that in all honesty the largest demographic I met on the trail was pairs of old retired late 60's guys going out and seeing the country. It's almost never too late, and it's definitely not too hard. You can get your legs as you go, you just have to make the time!
Finally, let me say a few words in the praise of a simple life. I had the luxury of tying up all my loose ends before I left, so I rode off with no obligations and no real worries. If you've ever had that moment, perhaps an afternoon or a weekend, where you literally have nothing on the docket and no obligations to take care of, you know what a relief that can be. Imagine stretching that feeling across a full two months and you have a cross country bike tour. In addition to the freedom from obligation, there's a certain freedom that comes from having few material possessions. You'll never be running around looking for your shoes or your keys when you're living out of a backpack. There's nothing to manage or handle, no mortgage to pay or utilities to cover on the road. Since coming home, I've gone back to sleeping in my luxurious hammock and cycling through a whole wardrobe of clothes, so don't feel as though I'm championing the nomad's lifestyle, but just consider the blissful freedom that comes from not being tied down and being able to walk away from last night's "home," leaving no trace and completely self sufficient to do the same tonight. It was a nice break from material worries and concerns, and even in the short time I've been home I've started to miss it.
So this is the end! There's absolutely no doubt in my mind that I'll be going on another, shorter, tour when I get a few weeks of vacation time after step or 4th year, but I doubt I'll keep another blog like this one. Thank you so much to anybody who read along! It was much more fun writing, knowing that some people out there were reading along.
Best to all of you,
Carl Buchholz
