the last few weeks..

This is what I wrote while basking in the glory of hitting the East Coast, and feeling like a princess in her tower...

So far, I have had less than four days of normalcy and biking already feels like a distant dream. As if I somehow magically appeared, here in DC, to be greeted by such beautiful autumn sunshine, delicious food, a roof over my head, and wonderful company. What an incredible feeling to stop moving for a minute, and just be.

I thought for a minute, only a minute, that it might be nice to live in one of the many small towns of America I pedalled through. In fact, this little country side dream has been this romantic fantasy of mine for a while; to wear vibrant sundresses, wide brimmed straw hats, run around bare foot, and sit on a summertime porch in a rocking chair drinking lemonade. Obviously a bit extreme, but doesn't that sound kind of wonderful?

Well, it turns out, after being away from the hustle and bustle of cities, I had no idea how much I was missing it. I am completely in awe of this city where so much happens, and my undying love for eclectic, diverse, lively, and bustling city life is back in full force.

Awaiting this DC arrival reminded me of being a little kid waiting for Christmas. Christmas was my absolute favorite time of year, and it was almost agonizing how long the wait seemed to go on. I remember feeling a twinge of sadness even on Christmas Day as each event finished and the hours got shorter, just knowing I would have to wait an entire year again for such magic. I used to anxiously await Christmas day for months, peeking at the days of the advent and sneaking those little chocolate treats days early. On the real day, I would wake up before the crack of dawn to wake up my older brother, sneaking into his room in my slippered feet and wait until a more appropriate hour to slip downstairs and find our treasures.

Arriving in DC, felt like Christmas day. It felt as though I was waiting all year to get there, each mile felt like another day on the calender. Pouring over the miles on my map each night and re counting the miles to go until I had memorized each town name along the way. By the time the day came to finally ride into the city, I was up long before 5am. The moon was still out.

A hundred mile day turned into over 115 after a few mishaps with the new directions. After getting confused and riding an unneccesary extra ten mile loop, I decided it would be a good idea to just take highway 1 the rest of the way to the supposed bike trail I would ride into the city on. Not such a good idea, and this turned into a full out sprint with the cars, trying to balance between the invisible shoulder and the crazy drivers.

but...I made it to the city, and just in time for sunset at the National Monument. Pretty epic.

I spent a glorious week hanging out in DC, relaxing and NOT biking...okay maybe a little biking. I was so caught up in the incredible feeling of reaching the East Coast, feeling like a semi normal person again, and staying in a beautiful home with great people, I think I forgot the last stretch of the trip to New York City was still awaiting.

I put those 300 miles so far out of my mind, the day I was set to leave felt like almost the start of the trip again, and those three hundred miles might as well have been another 4,000. With heavy legs, heavy heart, heavy heavy bike; I pedaled out of the DC foggy morning, without a clue of where I was sleeping that night.

As with nearly every single day of the last two and half months, even the last four days from the DC stretch to NYC, there were wonderful people along the way to help get me there.

The day I left DC, I could already feel the dramatic shift from fall into cold winter air. It was 3:30pm and I had only biked 35 miles. The next town, the next anything, was at least 90 miles from where I was. Picturing in my mind, the ditch, or bush, or tree I would have to roll my sleeping bag into was starting to feel like the worst idea ever.

Looking down at my map again, as if looking over and over again would somehow solve my problem, a man pulled over and asked me where I was staying. On the verge of tears, pretty consistantly now, I said, "I don't know. I'm not really sure where I am. Is there a place to camp around here?" Knowing entirely too well that a small town in Pennsylvania would not be down with me pitching a tent in their corn fields.

To break it down, he lived right around the corner, so invited me to his house to wait for his wife to get home. He pulls out all kinds of maps of the area helping me to route the next day of biking, and eventually invites me to stay the night. He and his wife are big time cyclists, and he biked the country over 30 years ago. I'm just wondering how we managed to meet up on that corner, in the cold. We enjoyed a huge pasta feast that night, lots of wine, and pumpkin pie. In the morning, his wife made us waffles and coffee, and we sat at the kitchen island chatting about life. She even packed me a brown bag lunch, complete with home made cookies. The trail magic continues to be abundant and life saving.
Feeling refreshed and ready to take on the challenging ride of the next and last three days, I pedaled away on another 100 mile day.

I was preparing to bike around 200 miles in the next two days, the final leg of this entirely too long journey. In retrospect, after biking thousands of miles already, 200 is nothing right? Thats not exactly how it felt.

I had my last night of camping somewhere in Pennsylvania near Lancaster County, by a lake in the freezing cold air of night. Fortunately, I made an early decision to treat myself to a hotel on my last night. Its hard enough to want to bike with cold hands and feet, but just the thought of rolling out my tent after 10o miles, made me a little nauseous.

Well as luck would have it, I got lost and then found again. Two runners who were trying to help me find my way back to the bike path, graciously made some phone calls and hooked me up with the nicest hotel in town. I walked into the crown plaza, dripping in sweatcicles and rolling my bike across the marble floor. People in ball gowns swept by me. Okay, not quite ball gowns, but I would not have felt any more out of place than I already did. At least they were expecting me this time.

At this point I was religiously checking the weather channel for news about my last day of riding. I'm so glad it was all sunny and blue skies. Actually, the forecast was cold and rainy, all day for the next four days. Thinking I could handle this news, knowing I only had one more day left, I spent the night trying to prepare for what lay ahead.

Battling my urge to give up and never get back on a bike, I was trying to keep in mind all the incredibly positive things, and people that seemed to appear out of thin air through my careless mistakes. These consistant serendipitous encounters, which may be nothing more than a stroke of good luck, continue to leave me baffled yet ready to share the goodwill.

I have now been in New York City for a little over a week....which may account for the lack of comprehension or motivation to write about what just happened.

read on for one last post in this infinite blogosphere....