Tonight we’re staying at a bed and breakfast in Hazard, Kentucky. It’s Victorian style and absolutely stunning with luxurious queen-sized beds. The wild dog chases have begun just like everyone warned us. The never-ending gradual uphills that challenge your sanity have started as we head into the Appalachians. Sadly, we’ve spotted a few Confederate flags. We’re slowing finishing up the notorious gray bin of food that we’ve stocked as if to prepare for the next apocalypse. Vivian has left the team to take on med school. All the logistics and moments we talked about in future tense are quickly becoming present tense. The end is in sight.
There’s about a week left of this trip. Seven days to get to D.C. Seven days to spend with my teammates. Seven days of this lifestyle: waking up at the crack of dawn to cycle 6 hours a day surrounded in nature and by your thoughts. So at the expense of sounding banal, here is what cycling has taught me.
Hills always seem steeper and longer from a distance. They’re never as bad as my mind convinces me they are. It’s easy to coast on the downhills, and sometimes I’ll be too tired to do anything else, but the climb is always easier when I keep pedaling. When I’m ahead in life and things are going smoothly, work even harder. Take advantage of it.
I reach summits more quickly than I expect, but usually it takes much longer to get to the destination. I can see the buildings in a distance, and the fifteen miles between me and the goal line seem so near, but it always takes longer. Maybe that’s why we don’t always finish what we start. It’s never just one hill, and so even when our goals seem within grasp, we lose steam. We get exasperated after the third hill even though the next four hurdles are just as manageable as the first three.
It’s never the trucks creeping behind that startle me. Usually I can hear the engine from a distance and with a quick glance back I’m mentally prepared for what’s to come. Interestingly enough, it’s when the trucks pass from oncoming traffic. Not when I’m side by side with them, but it’s when the truck is no longer in sight and when I think the coast is clear. A few seconds later it feels like I’m running into a wall of wind powerful enough to knock me over. When this happens it reminds me of a Baz Luhrman quote, “The real troubles in your life are apt to be things that never crossed your worried mind, the kind that blindside you at 4 pm on some idle Tuesday.” There’s no use worrying.
Routine is both great and a way to feel stagnant. It’s easy to cycle 20 miles mindlessly. “Cycling across the country” sounds like this adrenaline-filled adventure, something reserved for the go-getters of the world. But when I’m actually doing it, I don’t feel like I’m doing all that much sometimes. It’s only when I’ve come to the next state over and realize “woah I just biked through an entire state, a few hundred miles” that it hits me— the realization of what me and my teammates have accomplished. I’m scared of passively going through the motions in life and not remembering the details of the journeys and experiences that brought me to where I am and made me who I am.
Sometimes I’m ahead, and other times I’m straggling behind by a few miles. The trek is long, and it’s not a race. There’s going to be variability in my life, and that’s okay.
I was talking to the guys once asking them why they were always in a hurry to get a move on and not take a rest longer than five minutes. On the days where I’m comfortably riding at my own pace, I wonder about this a lot. But some days I ride with them, and I get it. I want to keep moving. It’s harder to get going once you’ve stopped for too long. I guess we’ve always been taught to keep moving forward. Since we're three years old, people start asking us “Who do you want to be when you grow up?”, as if who we are now can’t be who want to be in the future. I hope I don’t move too fast that I forget to enjoy everything that’s around me, to feel satisfied in the present, and to notice the stillness of the world.
Pain, exhaustion, and hunger are 90% mental. I had been riding pretty slowly for about a week and when I woke up one morning, I decided, “Not today. Today I’m going to keep up with Brian. Today I won’t be the last one”. I think I was third in line, riding probably at about 13 miles per hour along the Katy Trail, pretty content at my pace. But then I heard the surge of turning wheels behind me (I think it was Vivian), and I kept repeating “not today” pedaling faster and faster. I ended up averaging about 16 mph for a 117 mile day. Even when you think you’re giving your 110%, chances are you’re probably only at 60%. Your body can handle so much, and you can almost always push harder.
Rides are always easier when I have company. The last six miles can seem so miserable when I’m alone. Even just the comfort of knowing someone is a few feet behind me struggling with me and experiencing the same things, makes it easier. Sometimes Brad and I will ride together, and miles pass by in a blink when we’re talking. There’s peace in the solitude of riding by myself and being able to think in silence, but I’d always like to keep my friends close. It makes the hard times manageable.
I had pretty much never cycled until this trip. In fact I didn’t own my own bicycle until college, but now I’ve ridden across the country. 30 miles seems like a trip to the grocery store, and I can confidently say that I can ride 120 miles. If you tackle things one bit at a time, most ambitions are very do-able. Good habits and skills are easy to pick up. It just takes a little persistence, will, and support.
Love, Olivia