In most multi-day adventures, there is a point where someone just can’t keep going. Either they are tired, their will to continue has been depleted or the hangry monster they hide inside is about to explode in a roid rage. We’ve hit that point.
We were pedaling along a beautiful bike path that paralleled the highway. It’s late afternoon and we’ve done a lot of miles. The morning started cold, 23 degrees cold to be exact, and the wind has been ripping all day. A cold, dry wind that luckily for us has been a tailwind. The day was chilly more or less until we hit the retirement community of Green Valley. Not only did the cold disappear but they also don’t allow self checkout lanes and pay phones are still a thing.
So we hit that point. We have a train track about 300 yards to the East and the aforementioned highway is about 500 yards to the West. The bike path has been bordered by a big field since we got on it. A field of flowers, grass and lots of thistly looking shit (that is the scientific name for it). We notice that where the flowers are there is less thistle, we follow a strand of it out into the field and find a place we feel could be somewhat out of view. We drop the bikes and setup camp.
If you’ve never been to that point, you should get there.
I don’t recall where I read it, but somewhere, someone who wasn’t me wrote that pushing one’s self is the only way to know who you are, how far you can go, what it is going to feel like when you get there, how you are going to handle it, etc. It’s the way we find out who we are and where we stand in the world.
I like that idea and wish that was the reason I was out there. Truth be told, it’s a bit of an addiction. Pushing toward that point. I use the gerund because it is the action and motion that is important. The moment I swing my leg over the top tube and start pedaling or take the first step with my pack loaded and a destination a few days off the demons in my head dissipate.
I’m not out here doing this to know my true self, I’m just trying to clear my head and getting to that point works every time.
We ended up driving as far south as we could without leaving ‘Merica to try and find some good weather. So far south that we had to go through “Are you white?” checkpoints and saw Border Patrol Agents, lots and lots and lots of Border Patrol Agents standing around.
And it was still cold. Cold and windy.
So cold and windy that at about 11 AM on day 2, we hit a highway. A paved road that in 18 miles would take us right back to our cars. I was ready to throw in the towel. I was cold having left my windbreaker at home. There was little hope that the weather was going to improve and being inside was an enticing proposition. After much debate, we chose to continue.
As we crossed the highway and continued to pedal, the doubt that we had chosen poorly was palpable. Soon, I was in my head. Pedaling. Nothing else mattered, we had made the decision and now there wasn’t anything left to do but pedal. The point where there is no longer a choice can be a liberating place. At least it is for the way my brain works.
It took a few hours, but we were all glad we did.
After several hours of wandering unlost in the desert, we began to drop. The tailwind that has been pushing us along all day is still ripping behind us. We begin to drop fast. It’s almost cheating how easy the descent to Green Valley is. Wind powered cycling, you should give it a try.
We pedal into the local grocery store to resupply only to find out we have somehow entered a time warp. There is a payphone and a strict policy of no self-checkout lanes. Average age? Somewhere well past retired. As we take turns watching the pile of bikes outside, there are countless people who just have to stop and chat.
Fried potatoes, chips, beer, whiskey and water all purchased, some consumed and we begin the task of getting to the point where we can push off again because this interaction with society has left me feeling trapped and I need to get away again.
P. L. and R.
yeehaa!!!!
Thanks for the sweet post!!!