Epilogue

July 6, 2022

It's been nearly two weeks since I finished my 3,800-mile, 86-day bike ride from Santa Monica to New Bedford. 

In that time, several people have asked me what initial thoughts or impressions I've formed from the trip. My standard response has not been enlightening:

"I don't know. I'm still processing."

I feel like, inside my head, I have that spinning pinwheel (or beach ball) — the one we're all used to seeing on our computers — running nonstop as my brain continues to work at making sense of the last three months. As it has continued categorizing experiences,  filing away memories and stitching together potential story lines (I assume that's what it's been doing!), I've been sitting around the house in a state somewhere between a daze and a stupor.

The first few days I was home, Susan asked me several times if I felt OK. She later noted that I wasn't cleaning up after myself the way I normally do around the house. I kept assuring her I felt fine, giving her little explanation other than: "I'm just going through re-entry;" "I'm just transitioning;" "I'm just thinking about things." 

The other morning I attempted to give her a more detailed description:

For the past three months I've been almost totally focused on the present and immediate future.  What do I need to do today?  What do I need to plan for tomorrow?  How will those decisions impact my plans for the following days?  What's there to eat?  Now, I'm trying to piece together what I went through, but didn't have time to reflect upon at the time. I've gone back and read most of my journal entries. That's been valuable at helping me recall moments that otherwise might have faded. But when I try to come up with patterns, elements or themes that I can pull together for particular insights or a cohesive story . . . I'm still processing.

(Although, in the course of writing this, I realized something from a blessing I received. More about that farther down.)

Susan and I have had dinner with friends a couple of nights, and we took Rachel and two of her friends out for her birthday dinner the day after I returned home. In every situation I felt unable to contribute much to conversations about cultural and entertainment happenings from the last three months, as well as news items that weren't covered in one of the CNN news summaries I caught periodically on hotel TV's. I really was in a bubble while out on the road.

* * * * *

The other day Susan asked if I had much fun on the trip. "Did you get a chance to stop and smell the roses as much as you would have liked?" It's true that I didn't do a lot of tourist things. Most of my focus each day was on getting to the town down the road where I had made reservations to spend the night. But I don't feel like I missed much. It would have been nice to ride through the University of Notre Dame campus in South Bend, Indiana, which I missed because I wasn't paying close attention to my maps and ended up skirting the city. (By the time I noticed my error, the ride to the school would have added 1-1/2 to 2 hours to my day, which I didn't feel like doing at the time.) I regret not seeing the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame, which had been a priority when I started the trip. But my need for an additional day of rest and organization before I got to Cleveland — which I spent back at the Potawatomi Inn on Lake James in Indiana — took up the time I could have spent seeing the museum and other sites in the city (while keeping to my New Bedford-arrival schedule). Given the situation, it was a necessary trade-off.

This was the first time I've attempted a ride like this one, and my primary focus was to get to my final destination on something close to a schedule. Everything I did was done in the context of achieving that goal. So, while I wish I could have seen a couple more things, those regrets are more than offset by my pleasure at having accomplished the primary thing I set out to do.

* * * * *

While my processing wheel continues to spin, I have some odds and ends to share.

Worsts and Favorites

A few people have asked what my worst and favorite experiences were on the trip. 

The climb up the Cajon Pass on the second day was probably the most physically and mentally demanding. A big reason was because it was only the second day of the trip. It was my first tough challenge and prompted questions and doubts about what I was taking on. There was that moment, etched in my visual memory, when I was at my limit and then looked up to see two levels of traffic climbing switchbacks above me. That was devastating. I still have to climb that! From that point to the summit required pulling determination from deep inside me, in ways I had never felt before. I can still feel where the well of energy is located that I seemed to draw from — around the bottom of my sternum. Maybe it's just the sensation one gets when calling upon your heart and lungs to go into overdrive. But it actually felt like I was drawing from a deep reservoir there that fueled my cardiovascular system to keep working and my spirit to keep pushing.

I have searched the web unsuccessfully for photos from the location where I had that view of the switchbacks. I may have to drive back to the Cajon Pass to see if it really exists — Did I imagine it? — and somehow get a picture.

As difficult as that moment was, it was still achievable. I knew I would eventually get to the top. The winds across Arizona and New Mexico were another animal — and in New Mexico they almost seemed, at times, to be creatures with angry personalities. The constant, unceasing barrage I was under at times not only threatened to blow me off the road, it drained my soul. I can still feel the pain and frustration that overcame me on the side of the road on the day I was attempting to ride from Las Vegas, New Mexico, to Santa Rosa, New Mexico.  I was trying to get to Santa Rosa before extremely high winds arrived in the afternoon. But I had three flat tires that day, due to punctures from nasty thorns and a truck-tire wire, and got caught in winds I could no longer fight. I surrendered and flagged down Wayne, from Lubbock, Texas, who pulled over in his black pickup and gave me and my bike a ride to my Santa Rosa motel. When I got into my room I was so pissed off. 

When asked for my favorite moment, the first image that pops into my head is the picture I took of the Territorial Road between Winslow and Holbrook in Arizona on April 23.

I had been off my bike for over a week, visiting my friend George in Prescott Valley and waiting in Winslow for windstorms to pass. My original plan had been to forego this dirt road and ride the shoulder of Interstate 40 to Holbrook. But a lapse of memory led me there, and I was so happy it did. Being on that orange road for 20 miles — in that wide-open expanse with no other human being in sight from horizon to horizon — was calming, peaceful, and exhilarating. There was something special, even spiritual, about being out there.

My other favorite moment was quite different — when I was able to ride 60 of nearly 70 miles on a series of bike paths from Joliet, Illinois, to Chesterton, Indiana. It was also the day a parked freight train blocked my path, but a wonderful bunch of folks happened by to help me pass my bike and bags between the cars so I could continue on. (A small regret: One of them gave me his business card so we could keep in touch. I must have lost it while we were passing things between the train cars. I wish I could have sent them a thank-you note.)

Cannabis

One of the things I wasn't totally open about in my journal was my use of cannabis. I'm still a little shy about providing such information, given the culture I was raised in. But for the sake of total disclosure on the various aspects that enabled me to get across the country, I figure it's worth sharing.

I've enjoyed cannabis off and on ever since my high school buddies cajoled me into taking my first puff in a cornfield above the Mississippi River near Bellevue, Iowa, in the summer of 1975. With my multiple sclerosis, I use it regularly before going to bed, as it calms the twitching in my legs and other symptoms that can keep me awake.

In my last-minute preparations for this trip, I placed an online order with a nearby dispensary for cannabis-oil vape cartridges I would take with me. (Vape cartridges don't emit an odor, so they're good to use while traveling.) However, when I got home and opened the bag, I discovered I had messed up the order. I had meant to order two, 1-gram cartridges of a cannabis strain that's good at putting me to asleep, along with one, 0.5 gram cartridge of a strain that can be used during the day to relieve achiness (and which also gives you a bit of a lift). I had reversed the order. I didn't have time to go back to the dispensary, so I started the trip with two cartridges that tend to keep you awake, and a small one to help you sleep — the opposite of what I needed. In the early going, when I had trouble sleeping, I had already used up the sleep aid. I hardly used the daytime strain.

I was glad to find out that New Mexico had approved recreational cannabis sales, and its new law went into effect April 1. When I rode into Gallup, I couldn't believe my luck. A dispensary was located directly across the street from the Hotel El Rancho, where I was staying. I went and bought two cartridges of "Grand Daddy Purple," the strain that helps me sleep. I still had some sleep problems on a couple of nights when I was at higher elevations, but no problems after I got closer to sea level.

* * * * *

Packing List

A few people have been curious about the gear I took for the trip. Here's the list, as organized by what I wore and packed in the bags on my bike:

Wearing

• Helmet

• Sunglasses

• Bike gloves

• Base-layer shirt

• Bike jersey

• High-visibility yellow vest

• Bike shorts

• Two pairs of socks

• Mountain-bike cycling shoes 

Left Front

• Cords, adapters, plugs, power bank, etc., for charging bike lights, computers and devices.

• Print maps

• Package of sanitary wipes

• Off-the-bike shoes

• Eyeglasses (in a case tucked into shoes for protection)

• Extra sunglass lenses (clear for rain or night, rose-tint for gray days)

• Camera tripod

• Fleece jacket

Right Front

• 3 Inner Tubes

• Patch kit

• Tools (Leatherman multitool, tire levers, hex-key multitool, spoke wrench, chain-break tool)

• Extra spokes

• Small bungee cords

• Tire pump

• Medium wet sack

• Rain jacket

Handlebar Bag

• Baseball cap

• Camera

• Snacks

• Portable power bank and 2 cords (iPhone needed recharging by mid-day; bike computer by late afternoon/evening)

• Reporter's notebook and pen

• Print map for that day

• Sunscreen

• Lip balm

• Arm warmers

• Mask (for places that required them for Covid)

Rear Left

• Toiletries / additional sunscreen / contact lenses / hair brush / razor

• 2 bike shorts

• 2 bike jerseys

• 2 base-layer sleeveless tops

• 6 pairs of socks

• Cold-weather leggings

• Shoe booties (for cycling shoes in cold and rain)

• Cold-weather cycling gloves

• Cowl (face & neck warmer)

• Long-sleeve, wool-polyester-blend cycling jacket

• 3 T-shirts

• Jogger pants

• Swim trunks

• Khaki shorts

• 2 underpants

• Dodger cap

• Compression tights (for after-ride recovery)

Right Rear

• One-person tent

• Tent ground cover

• Inflatable sleeping pad

• Sleeping bag

• Plastic camp dish and eating utensils

• Water-purification kit

• Laptop

• Hand-held luggage scale

When I started the ride, the weight of all these things came to about 50 pounds. During my stop at my sister Rita's in Iowa, I gave Susan some items to take home: tent, ground cover, a few clothing items and a couple other things I wasn't using.  Jettisoning those things lowered the weight to about 40 pounds for the remainder of the trip.

The packing strategy was this: Put the tools and repair items on the right (front) side — the same side as the derailleurs. When you have a flat tire or mechanical issue, you can then lay the bike down on the opposite side, which keeps the derailleurs from getting damaged and gives you easier access to the tool bag. The least-used items (in my case, my camping gear) went in the right rear, because I would put that side of the bike against the wall in hotel rooms —again keeping the derailleurs protected, and keeping the greasy chain and gears from touching other things. Likewise, the bags on the left, easily accessible with the right side against the wall, contained most of the items I needed when I was off the bike in the evening and next morning. (The only exceptions were my laptop in the right-rear bag, which was required for weight balancing, and my pump in the right front, which I used in the mornings to check tire pressure. I had each item in its bag's internal pouch, so I could easily pull it out and return it without disturbing the other items or taking the bag off the bike.) 

Fundraising

If you happened to be watching my fundraising page, you might have noticed that my initial goal was to raise $5,000 in donations for the Multiple Sclerosis Association of America. A few days before the ride ended, it didn't look like I would come close to that amount, so I lowered the goal to $2,500, which was reached just before my last day.

To my amazement, an anonymous donor then gave $2,500. If you are that donor, thank you! And thank you to everyone who donated. (If you haven't, you still can!) At the moment I'm writing this, the total is at almost $6,000.  Wow!

* * * * *

Equipment

I had five flat tires on the trip, four of which came from punctures caused by thorns or truck-tire wires. The fifth — the time the bead broke on my rear tire — was the only equipment breakdown I had over the entire 3,800 miles and 86 days.  Despite all the rough roads I encountered and a few incidents that banged and bounced my bike around pretty hard, I never had a broken spoke, a wheel that needed truing, or any equipment problems. I had my rear derailleur adjusted and my chain replaced as a preventative measure when I stopped at an Amarillo, Texas, bike shop to get a couple inner tubes. (The chain had stretched a bit from my grinding on all the long hills.) I also got my bike a general overhaul and tune-up at a Moline, Illinois, shop, but it didn't need any equipment replaced there other than putting on new brake pads. Pretty amazing.

* * * * *

The "Portal"

I've gotten a few comments and jokes about the picture I took of the underpass in Massachusetts — in particular, my impression that it looked a bit like a portal.

I just want to stress that the portal thing was not all that far-fetched.

I mean, just after I took these pictures of this guy riding through the underpass, I never saw him again. He disappeared.

Blessing

On Friday, July 2, Susan told me it would be a good idea for us to attend the evening services at our synagogue, Temple Israel of Hollywood. One of our rabbis had something planned.

Near the end of the service, Rabbi Michelle Missaghieh asked me to come forward. 

As you can see in the video below, we got a little confused about where I'm from — East Moline, Illinois, not New Bedford — but the rabbi nailed the important stuff. I was overwhelmed by the experience and didn't hear everything she was saying. In replaying the video clip, I finally paid attention to her blessing — and I was stunned by her words. They were mine! And I will never understand how she came to speak them, because I never did. Let me explain. . . . 

On a beautiful morning in Massachusetts, nearing the end of my ride, I thought of a list of things that summarized what I had learned from my experience. By the end of that day, of course, I forgot to write down the list. It never made it into the journal, and I never mentioned it to anyone. But somehow, Rabbi Michelle got the message. 

Here's my list — and her blessing! 

Dream dreams

Be true to yourself

Know what you can do

Know what you can't do

Ask for help to achieve what you can't do alone

Relish the joy of all the things you are able to do

Which fits with what I've been trying to sort through upon re-entry. Instead of experiencing a revelation (what I'd been looking for), I'm feeling like I've achieved a confirmation.

I'm not exactly sure what that means. I guess I'll have to figure it out — or try to, anyway,

Sounds like I may be making work for myself.

What's next in the journey? Who knows? I'm just going to take it as I took the ride — one day at a time.

Contact me: Thoughts or comments? Email me at richardridesusa@gmail.com.

I ride with MS: Support the spirit of my ride with a donation to the Multiple Sclerosis Association of America. Click here.

If you are interested in following me live: https://share.garmin.com/findrich