Day 57 through to the end

I wish I'd done a better job of closing out the last two weeks of the journey with journal entries. I was young and dumb and those things could wait until tomorrow or maybe the weekend. It was easy to make excuses about not enough laptop power, no internet, and no physical journal to write in. Now, years later, I can't even recall what days we biked to where. Experiences like those don't just fade to nothing, though. I still remember snippets.

- I remember the day we met up with the Sierra team. We were riding into Whitehorse and it was going to be a 100+ mile day. Sam was full of excitement to meet up with them and I felt great, so we pace lined it with a third person. I'm so sorry to the third person, who I don't remember clearly. It may have been Chris or Nick Weaver. At any rate, we just plowed right through those miles. We averaged better than 25 mph and were done well before lunch. I've done a marathon and half-Ironman since then and yet I don't think I've ever come as close to peak physical fitness and the pure joy it brings as I achieved on that day.

- I remember our night in Beaver Creek, the westernmost city before the Alaska border. The legal drinking age was about to go back to 21 and some riders made a point of having one more big party. There were some wild shenanigans; I still won't write them down in order to protect the trust. I doubt that the chaos that some people created would be tolerated in the modern organization. I do agree that our role was to serve as ambassadors the whole summer and not just on the bike. On the other hand, it was a milestone with the last border the next morning. Tough call.

- I also remember climbing up onto the Alaska border sign that all the teams take pictures on. Seeing the previous year's picture inspired me to look into joining the team in the first place so achieving it for myself meant a lot to me.

- I remember driving down the road in Alaska on my last driving day. It was a beautiful stretch of road with nobody around. In a flash, a giant grizzly bear and her cub burst through the brush on the left side of the road and sprinted into the brush on the right side. I had seen a dozen black bears by this point, one of them so close I could have kicked it in the teeth. I thought I understood how big bears get and I was wrong. It was just huge. As it ran, it's hundreds of pounds of fat and flesh arced gracefully over the fast moving muscle. I had the distinct impression that this was an animal to be deeply respected. Years later, I was browsing the internet when I came across a picture of Alaska. I flashed back in an instant as that was the same spot I'd seen that powerful grizzly mama. I think that scene is forever etched in my mind.

- I remember biking into Anchorage and getting my first flat tire of the whole summer. I'd gone over 5,000 miles on my bike on the same tubes and something like 15 miles from the end I ran over a staple on the highway shoulder. I still laugh about it today. I recall that Mercedes' boyfriend (now husband), Hal, was driving and he found me fast and did all the work to repair it, so I can still say I never fixed a flat all summer.

- I also remember that we met up with a local cycling group for the last section to the finish line. There was a picnic in a park just before it and we met the wonderful group of Texas alumni and their friends. We were warned that there was a steep section climbing out of Eagle river and we all kind of laughed. But then it actually was really steep and it became a race to get to the top. I'm proud to say I won. I always felt strongest on the climbs and weakest on the descents. My lanky body was built for endurance and suffering and not so much for its potential gravitational energy.

- And I remember crossing the finish line too. It was a slow ride so we could all stay together. A lot of parents had flown out to meet their kids and banners and posters were everywhere. Some people on the team had expressed being "over" the ride and were glad it was the last day. Not me, though. I loved the challenge, the adventure, meeting new people, and the team. I was excited to cross the finish line and bummed that we'd never ride again together.

- I hadn't shaved the whole summer. It was the first time I'd grown a beard and it had gotten long and unruly, as had my hair. I decided to shave it all off after we crossed the finish line. I did so and walked back out to the team party and nobody recognized me without doing at least a double take. Some people said they liked me better with all the hair and the beard.

- I spent a week up in Alaska to hike and adventure. One hike was with JJ, Sam, and Sam's girlfriend. It started south of Anchorage, was one night and two days, and ended near Eagle river. (Forgive me if I got the details wrong.) You'd think that us superhuman cyclists would eat a simple walking excursion for lunch, but no. Different muscles and different posture beat me to a pulp. And we didn't have enough food either. There was also the problem that heavy rains and glacier melt had washed out bridges. The raging streams we had to cross were filled with water just above the freezing point. At one of the crossings, we all held onto a large stick we found and waded into the water. It was so cold and fast that Sam's girlfriend was asking us not to try to save her if she let go. We turned around and it was a while before we made the attempt again, this time making it safely. It wasn't all bad, though. Camping near a glacier and hearing it groan and crack all night was a wonderful experience. And we saw more bears. And I got to learn (again) that what you think is your physical limit is nowhere what your actual limit is.

- The worst experience of the whole summer was the flight back. We had done so much for so long. I'd talked with a hundred people with cancer, many of whom knew they had weeks or months to live. I'd cycled through wind and rain and sleet, through mountains and valleys, and on new asphalt and rutted out miserable mud. Seventy days of joy and suffering and just a few hours of flying brought me right back to the start. The disconnect was jarring at levels I still have trouble explaining to others. My friends at home wanted to hear all about my adventures and yet I was in a bad mood. I couldn't reconcile the world where I was challenged to do more for and with others every hour of the day with one where I was asked to slip into regular routines. It didn't help that my daily dose of endorphins were missing. It was a couple of weeks before I was able to understand what was digging so hard at me and begin to address it. 

- Fortunately for me, I had a friend who was working with the LiveStrong foundation. She asked if I'd be interested in helping out and I jumped at the chance. I threw myself into supporting their Ride for the Roses event and somehow won their Rookie of the Year award. That led them to invite me to join their Steering Committe for nine years. Even when I moved to Colorado for work, I continued to fly around the country to help run their big rides and other fundraising events. I'd do everything from putting signs out along the course and venues, to making flower bundles, to standing behind Lance Armstrong at dinner to stop people from asking for his autograph. But more than anything, it gave me an opportunity to continue to connect with cancer patients. Some of their stories are so personal and profound to me that my eyes tear up to this day. 

It's not an exaggeration to say that TX4000 changed my life for the better. The seeds planted that summer have continued to mature as I've found new ways to relate to my experiences. Anytime I think I'm suffering, I think back and know that I've been through worse. And if I haven't, I've known people who have. Oh, I still get down once in a while, but I just can't stay down because I've got that well of experiences to draw from. It's also motivated me to pursue other adventures. I trekked 1,000 miles with a backpack through New Zealand twelve years later. I flew an airplane up to the Arctic Circle and around Hawaii. I've hiked sections of Patagonia. I believe that these adventures became achievable because of the trust I gained in myself.

The most important thing I learned, though, was a love of people. All people. I don't have to agree with everyone, but I always see people as struggling with their own challenges. We're all just trying our best and cancer or any other random twist of health can send it all crashing down. If I can't help everyone, at least let me not drag them down.

Now, onward and forward!