June 24-25

Well, I got that out of my system. Now and for the rest of my life I can say this, with great satisfaction:

I rode my bike across the continental United States of America. I rode from the West Coast to the East Coast, from the Santa Monica Pier to New Bedford's Buzzards Bay. I pedaled more than 3,800 miles in 86 days, from April 1 to June 25. I dealt with excruciating challenges and delays. I depended numerous times on the kindness of strangers. I enjoyed warm visits with family and friends along the way — some of whom traveled hours to meet me. And I was helped further by the support and encouragement of many more friends who followed my journey online. It was a great, memorable experience.

I'm at peace. I feel fulfilled. 

June 24

I had one more day before my final ride into New Bedford.

I actually don't remember much from this 47-mile trip from Sturbridge, Massachusetts, to Providence, Rhode Island. There were quite a few steep hills, and I cut across a corner of Connecticut, which I wasn't expecting. It raised the total number of states I went through on this journey to 15. 

I was so focused on just getting to Providence so I could be prepared for my final day's ride into New Bedford, I'm afraid I didn't pay attention to much along the way.

The most memorable moment from the day was in Connecticut, as I was climbing a long, steep grade. It was one of those moments when the gear I had shifted into was just right for the pitch of the hill. I was turning the pedals without much exertion. I was actually enjoying it. As I neared the top, an older gentleman out for a recreational ride on his racing-frame bike crested the hill going the opposite direction. When he caught sight of me, I looked toward him and smiled from across the road. "This is how we have fun!" I said loud enough for him to hear.  He was stone-faced. No response. I'm sure he thought I was a weirdo. Too bad for him. I was having fun!

After I got to my hotel in Providence, I phoned my sister Lois in New Bedford, who had texted me a question. She and my other sister Rita (who had driven to New Bedford from Iowa for my welcome celebration there tomorrow) wondered if I wanted them to drive to Providence so we could have dinner together. I told them I thought that might be bad luck. I wanted to hold off seeing them until I reached my final destination. I also wanted one last night to myself, to have some time to reflect on my journey and to get ready—mentally and physically—for the final day.

At Lois's suggestion, I checked out the Federal Hill area, which is packed with good restaurants and was just a half-mile walk from my hotel. I went to a seafood restaurant and splurged. I started with a half-dozen raw oysters and then had baked, stuffed lobster for my entree. It was an excellent meal. I walked back to my hotel, taking in some of the Federal Hill street life, feeling very full and very satisfied.

Here's the map of the day's ride:

June 25

When I left my hotel in Providence, headed for New Bedford, I wasn't feeling anything special, even though this was the final leg of a trip I had dreamed about since I was 16. I was focused on sticking to the schedule I had set. Family members would be meeting me at New Bedford's Fort Taber Park. There was a narrow strip of beach there where I could dip my front tire ceremoniously in the waters of the Atlantic Ocean in Buzzards Bay. I told them I was planning to arrive there at noon sharp. So, I wanted to make sure I could follow through on my plan. Being late wasn't an option. Google Maps said the distance was 35 miles, and it would take me 3-1/2 hours to pedal there. I knew a few big hills and heavy traffic with some crazy drivers awaited me (per Lois's warning), so I left at 7:45 a.m., giving me a 45-minute cushion from the predicted time. For one of the few times on the trip, I got on the road without having breakfast.

After negotiating some of Providence's downtown streets, which were fairly quiet on this Saturday morning, I got on the city's East Bay Bike Path. A lot of people were on the path, cycling, walking and jogging. After a couple of miles, a group of five senior-citizen cyclists, clad in bright orange T-shirts, cruised past me. They appeared to be in their 70s. One of them asked where I was riding. When I responded that I was headed to New Bedford on the last leg of a cross-country journey from Los  Angeles, they all let out exclamations and shouted encouragement. I kept pace with them for a few minutes and then overheard one man in the group say he would like to talk with me. I shouted to him, "Sure! You can talk with me!"  He then slowed down and rode next to me for the next couple of miles. His name was Joe.

I was expecting Joe would ask the usual questions about my trip. Instead, he told me all about how much he loved his new electric-assist bike that topped out at 23 mph. The other cyclists in his group had them too. He said he and his friends rode just about every day, and today were headed to the city of Bristol, where they would stop for a bite to eat at a place called the Sip-N-Dip donut shop. He invited me to join them, but I had to decline. I told Joe I would be turning before Bristol and had to keep to my schedule.

After about 10 miles on the path, I was back on roads and then crossing the Taunton River into Fall River, Massachusetts, on the protected bikeway of the Veterans Memorial Bridge. I hesitated a bit when I came over the crest of the bridge and saw several very steep Fall River streets. From that distance they looked almost vertical. I wondered which of those hills Google Maps would direct me to climb. It sent me to President Avenue (also U.S. Route 6) and then, after a couple steep blocks, told me to turn right and climb another very steep grade called Rock Street. As I neared an intersection close to the top of Rock Street, a woman in a black Chevrolet SUV was coming fast down the hill on the intersecting street to my left. I could tell she intended to blow through the stop sign. The problem was I was going to be in the intersection at that same time, and given the steep grade, I would have difficulty slowing or stopping to let her go by. I stood up as I kept pedaling, turned my head toward her and mouthed "STOP!!" She slowed down but kept rolling. She put on her left-turn signal indicating she might try to swoop in front of me.  But then I was right in front of her. I tried to make eye contact, but she looked away and then swerved and accelerated behind me, going straight. Whew!

In the next few miles, I had a couple more close calls with drivers. One man driving a Lexus SUV almost clipped me with his car's passenger-side mirror. I caught up to him at the next stoplight and took advantage of the fact that he had his windows down. I pulled alongside, waved a bit and said hi. He turned down the music he was blaring.

"Do you happen to know what the three-foot law is?" I asked. "Do they have that in Massachusetts?" 

"I think so. I don't know," he replied.

"Well, I'm from California. And out there motorists have to give cyclists at least three feet of space when they drive by," I said.

"Did I get too close?" he asked.

"You almost clipped me with your mirror," I said. "Just remember to give cyclists more room."

"Sorry about that," he replied. 

We wished each other a good day, the light turned green, and we moved on.

I was beginning to wonder if I was going to finish this ride.

During the next stretch, on U.S. Route 6, a four-lane thoroughfare with a gradual downhill, I had a good tailwind and got moving. The road had no shoulder, so I was in the traffic lane. I was in my biggest gear, going 20-25 mph. My higher speed may have made the drivers more comfortable, as they seemed to give me more room.

I was making good time. Things were going according to plan, time-wise. With about five miles to go, at about 11:20 a.m., I spotted a Cumberland Farms convenience store that looked inviting. Since I had not had breakfast, I was hungry. I pulled in and, almost ceremoniously, made it my last stop for Red Bull, orange juice and two muffins — what had become my usual morning-break food on the ride.

As I finished off my breakfast in front of the store — and got into a conversation with a guy about whether he should buy a bike at Wal-Mart (I encouraged him to go to his local bike shop instead) — I kept a close eye on Google Maps' estimate of when I would arrive at my destination. As I got back on the road, it said I would arrive at 11:55 a.m.  That was perfect! I still had time for one more thing. 

With two miles to go, I pulled over and used my tripod with flexible legs to position my iPhone on my handlebars so I could shoot video of my family as I arrived. I also took off my helmet, strapped it onto the rear rack and put on my L.A. Dodgers cap. When I got rolling again I apparently had taken a bit too long, because Google Maps now said I was going to arrive at 12:02 p.m. Oh well. Close enough.

I still wasn't feeling much emotion.

Then I made the turn onto South Rodney French Boulevard. I could see the bay. A lump hit my throat. My chest tightened. I started choking back tears.

Wow! Where did this come from?

I made the right turn through the gates of Fort Taber Park and got on the bike path Lois had told me to take. After just a few pedal strokes, I spotted the glint of sunlight off golden balloons. I knew that was my family ahead. It was getting harder to hold back my tears of joy. 

This was the moment! This is what I had dreamed of! 

I could see they'd made big signs to welcome me. My sister Rita was jumping up and down. Susan was waving her arms. And I could hear their cheers. When I rolled up and came to a stop, crying behind my sunglasses, my daughter Rachel, at my request, had Steve Winwood's "While You See a Chance" playing from one of my portable speakers she had brought. Susan moved toward me to give me a hug and kiss. Rita, in her enthusiasm, cut in front of her and got to me first. Then I got hugs, kisses and handshakes from Susan and Rachel and the rest of the family — Lois; my nieces, Heather and Erika; Heather's husband, Rich; Erika's husband, Andy; Erika's and Andy's sons, Jameson and AJ; and Heather's and Rich's little boy, Jake.

The heavy breathing in the video is from emotions, not exertion.

We all then walked the few steps to the beach to the sounds of Bruce Springsteen's "No Surrender" — also at my request. I dipped my front wheel in the water, posed for pictures, and took a deep breath.

I'd done it. I'd reached my goal. I'd made my dream a reality

It was hard to process just what I was feeling. It still is.

I'm not sure what's next. I have a few ideas. Whatever my next goal, this experience has given me confidence that I can achieve it.

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.

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