June 22-23

Before I started this trip I told a few people that one of the most intriguing parts of the experience at that moment was not knowing who I would be "on the other side." I expected I would have experiences and face challenges that would bring things out of me I didn't know existed, and the journey would teach lessons I would benefit from learning. But when the ride was finished, who would I be?

I still don't know.

What I do know is that I have friends and family who I feel I've grown closer to because I've been able to share more about who I am and what's inside me. I've had moments of tearful joy at night in my hotel rooms and when riding down the road (I'm feeling one coming on now) when I've stopped to think of all the support I've received in this endeavor. How many people get a chance to experience how that feels? I am lucky, fortunate and blessed.

The last two days not only reaffirmed that knowledge, they deepened it.

June 22

As I mentioned in my previous post, Steven Johnson, a former Los Angeles Times colleague, texted me that he was in the area where I would be riding. He was dropping off his daughter, Abby, in Lenox, Massachusetts, for her summer job at the Tanglewood music venue. Lenox is just a few miles from Pittsfield, where I would be spending Wednesday night, so we made a plan to meet. Both of us had small windows of time to make it happen. I needed to be on a Zoom call at 1:30 p.m.  And Steven had a plane to catch in the afternoon for his trip back to L.A.  Fortunately, I had planned a short day — 35 miles from Troy to Pittsfield, about 3-1/2 hours of riding — so we agreed to meet at my hotel at 11:30 a.m. 

I planned to leave Troy at 8 a.m., but, of course, got on the road late, at 8:20.  And then the weather forecast and Google Maps (yet again) gave me bad information. The forecast said I would be riding into light headwinds of about 5-7 mph. And Google Maps once again described my route as "mostly flat." (Although I wondered how that could be, since I was entering the Berkshires.) Well, it wasn't long before I got outside of Troy and found myself pushing against headwinds more like 15-17 mph, with a few stiffer gusts now and then. I also was on roads that had no flat stretches. Zero. I was either going down (occasionally) or climbing (mostly) long grades or steep little killers that had me downshifting into my lowest gears. I WAS GOING TO BE LATE!! 

I texted Steven to let him know:

I did push hard. At times I felt like I was competing in a time trial in races like the Tour de France, in which each racer rides a course against the clock. I kept the pedals turning. No coasting or resting allowed. Push. Push. Push.

My effort paid off. I got to my hotel at 11:50 (if I'd started on time I would have nailed it!). As it turned out, Abby had a quick Zoom-call appointment at 11:40. When I texted Steven I had arrived, she had just finished. Their hotel was just minutes away, and they got moving. I was then able to check in early. By the time I got to my room and got situated, they were in the lobby. They came to my room to check out my bike and gear and we then went to the hotel's breakfast room to chat. We only had an hour, but it was so much fun being able to see each other and catch up a little bit — in a Best Western in Pittsfield, Massachusetts!

After Steven, Abby and I said our goodbyes, I went back to my room and got my laptop set up for the monthly Zoom call of my MS support group at 1:30 p.m. My friends in the group have been following my exploits and expressing support, so I thought I would surprise them. Of course, they wanted to know what I've learned from the trip, and what insights I've gained. I found it easier to tell them about the experiences I've had with people I've met and the things I've seen. I found it difficult to share insights. I'm still processing what I'll take away from this journey.

When the support-group call ended — about 20 minutes past what would have been its scheduled stop at 3 p.m. — I had just enough time to get a shower and wash my clothes in the hotel's guest laundry before my brother-in-law Jack Freudenheim arrived. He drove two hours from his home in Katonah, New York, to see me.

We had dinner at a great little Vegan restaurant in Pittsfield, the Thrive Diner. I ordered dishes with things like quinoa, kale and different grains. It was a refreshing change from all the carbs, fried foods and sugary junk I've been eating. The diner is in an old railroad dining car, and the owner and her staff couldn't have been nicer — especially since Jack and I were still eating and chatting beyond their 7 p.m. closing time.

Jack and I continued our visit back in my hotel room, where Jack noticed the rear tire on my bike had gone flat. I probably wouldn't have noticed it until the next morning. That would have been bad. It was going to be a long day — 85 miles to Sturbridge, Massachusetts — and I would have been frantic with having to fix the flat and getting a late start. He saved me.

We got a picture with my bike (you can see the flat between Jack's legs) using a little tripod I've been carrying the whole trip but had yet to use.

After Jack left for the drive back home, I went about fixing the flat. I quickly found the culprit — one of those wires from truck tires, just like one that had punctured my tire in New Mexico. This one was much longer than usual. It made such a tiny hole in the inner tube that I didn't notice it losing air when I was riding on it. I took a picture of it on the back of an envelope.

When I took the wheel off, I also noticed that I had neglected to check my chain and derailleur. They were dry and filled with gunk from riding on the dusty Erie Canalway Trail. (No wonder it felt like I was pushing against added resistance the last couple of days!) I cleaned and lubed them. And while I was at it, I wiped off all the dust and grime on my bike, so it was back to its shiny self.

June 23

I spent some time this morning psyching myself up. (Also known as procrastinating.) I was not looking forward to the day ahead.

When I was scheduling my remaining days (back at the lakeside lodge and cabin in Indiana), I needed to put in a long day so I could finish around noon on Saturday, June 25, in New Bedford, Massachusetts. After the three short days that would precede it (which I just had), I figured I could handle one last physical test. 

I wasn't as tired then as I am now.

I also didn't take into consideration the hilly terrain in the Berkshires. 

When I rolled out of my hotel parking lot I had a nice little downhill run into Pittsfield. I also had a headwind. It seemed a bit lighter than yesterday's, but it would occasionally hit me with a gust that got me swearing and downshifting. As I left Pittsfield, the climbing began. The next three hours were a grind. The uphills were much longer than the downhills. And some of them were steep little buggers. Fortunately, most of the time the road I was on had a wide, smooth shoulder. I didn't have to worry about holding up motorists on hills and blind turns.

Because of the day's distance, I wanted to get through a big chunk before taking a break. When I got to the village of Goshen, at about 30 miles, I was spent from all the hills. I needed fuel. At my hotel I'd had a big breakfast of scrambled eggs, bacon, home fries, a small danish, a scone, orange juice and coffee. I'd definitely burned through whatever energy it provided. I spotted the Goshen General Store — a little wood shack of a place I'd normally pass up — and pulled in. I climbed the wood steps and went inside. The place was tiny, but it had all the usual convenience-store stuff packed into it. I needed sugar, carbs and caffeine. I loaded up on my usual: a 16-ounce Red Bull, orange juice, pastries (a large blueberry muffin and a chocolate whoopie pie), two Clif bars and a Hershey's bar. My assortment prompted a comment from the droll lady behind the register and we got to talking. When I told her how hard the hills had been, she offered some comforting words: Right after leaving the store I would have a four-mile downhill into the village of Williamsburg. 

I took my haul outside and sat on an old kitchen chair beside the door. Given my location, I exchanged Heys and Good Mornings with a few guys who came and went. One of them stopped to ask where I was headed. When I told him I was taking Route 20 East and headed to Sturbridge, he looked at me like I was making a mistake.

"You gotta explain that look!" I told him.

"Just a lot of traffic," he replied. "But you do have a four-mile downhill into Williamsburg."

"I'm just going where Google Maps tells me," I said. His look softened a bit when I then told him I would also be taking a couple of bike paths.

He then proceeded to give me directions to Sturbridge — which were the same as Google Maps'.

After he left, I went back into the store and asked if there was a restroom.

"Nope," Droll Lady replied. "Mother Nature. . . . I expect you're used to that, anyway, out on the road." 

I assured her I was. Having her blessing, I found an out-of-sight spot to pee in some bushes behind the store.

As I was about to get on my bike, a guy named Tim, in a green T-shirt with an image of an assault rifle on it (I didn't ask), stopped as he was going up the stairs. He asked a few questions. When I told him I had started in Los Angeles, he got all gushy and asked my name.

"Oh my god! I'm so happy I stopped. It's an honor to meet you!"

I thanked him for his kind words. He wished me safe travels.

The rest of the day proved to be a fitting, last physical challenge during which I had to dig deep. That four-mile downhill was, indeed, a blessing. It had an extra-wide, smooth shoulder, so I could stay there safely as I picked up speed. It was fairly steep at first, so I quickly got up to 30 mph-plus. It was a blast flying through the road's sweeping bends.

Between Williamsburg and Northhampton I had a few climbs but it was mostly downhill. As the Droll Lady had told me, the route then flattened out for a while. I enjoyed the two-mile-long Northhampton Bikeway and the 11-mile-long Norwottuck Branch of the Massachusetts Central Rail Trail. They broke up the stress of being on roads and dealing with traffic.

On the Norwottuck trail, I was struck by the image created by the frame of a little underpass and the light in the trees beyond it (pictured at the top of this page and below). It almost looked like a portal. I entertained myself with thoughts that I might gain some insights when I went through it, but, alas, nothing magical occurred. The trail also featured a very long, old railroad bridge that crossed the Connecticut River, which was fun riding on.

I had one more stop for fuel in, of all places, a village called Belchertown. As I munched on my goodies outside a Family Dollar store, I texted Rachel that I had found a place where she would be right at home. One of my lovely daughter's "talents" (which I'm afraid I may have encouraged when she was little) is that she can let rip with as good a belch as you'll ever hear. She humored me.

When I got to my hotel in Sturbridge, I was wiped out. One of the employees asked me a question about my bike ride and I could barely speak. I was so tired.

I got into my room and made my last call of the trip for a Domino's delivery. As soon as I finished cleaning up, the delivery guy was at the door with my two orders of pasta and a tossed salad, which I promptly devoured.

I then had a phone call with Lois, my sister in New Bedford, about the arrangements for my Saturday arrival. After that, I texted Susan goodnight and went to bed.

I was tired, but it was a good tired. I'd had two more days of love and friendship and physical challenges (in which — though at times painful, stressful and frustrating — I find fulfillment) that have made this trip so special.

On Friday, I'll be on the road to Providence — which at least sounds like a way to find deeper meanings and insights.

What I know now is, I'm one lucky guy. 

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

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