Smooth starts were really never my thing. Not sure why, but my adventures always begin in the same fashion-like trying to uncoil a knotted skien of yarn. An overwhelming mess that, by pure luck, eventually sorts itself out and becomes something beautiful. Or-maybe it is other people that sort it out and it is not luck, but sheer will.
Let’s just say that I maybe left my panniers and all my gear in Portland and didn’t realize that I didn’t have them until we were parked in the Logan airport in Boston.
Let’s just say that it was impossible to get them in time and there were no more seats available for several days.
Let’s just say that due to a herculaic effort on both my husband and my son’s parts, while I just stood there numb, those said bags miraculously made their way from Portland to Boston in record breaking time and onto the plane with zero minutes to spare.
It involved a bit of speeding on my son’s part, a cheering ticket agent, an invested baggage supervisor-willing to work around the computer system, a sprinting bloody-headed spouse and a pilot willing to hold the plane for one extra little minute.
Everyone was okay-except perhaps me, I was a mess, and then there were the people watching Twain jump the baggage line, carrying a 60-pound laundry bag over his shoulder filled with my gear while covered in blood-God knows what they thought. (The sliced head was from an over exuberant unlatching of the my son’s car trunk in Twain’s rush to save the day-he says it was no big deal).
24 hours later, here I am sitting in the shade of a Eucalyptus tree in Montevideo. I am exhausted, but beginning to gather my wits. I just ate a bag of hot, greasy, sugar coated Churros for dinner while watching all the people in the town converge in the city park to drink Mate, goof around with their kids and/or engage in some light, lover nuzzling. Smooches abound. It is pretty tranquilo and is helping to settle my nerves. Tomorrow I will explore the coast on my bike before turning west. Let’s hope it is time to begin knitting the sweater and the snarl is behind us.
My original partner in bike crime-I will miss him like crazy
I have lists on the back of Christmas cards, lists on the backs of junk mail, notebook pages full of lists and lists set on the reminder app of my phone, and I bounce from one to the other manifesting a popping, fizzing, chaotic energy, much like a mouth full of Pop Rocks-but perhaps not so pleasant.
Do I have my solar charger, sleeping bag liner, paper maps, and rain gear? How about a first aid kit? Did I forward the emails from my son’s teachers and coaches to my husband Twain? Have I written notes on the kitchen calendar about this doctor appointment and that school conference and the swim meet schedule? Now I need to box my new Jamis bike, pack my panniers, check maps again and exchange my tent-it was defective. I am going to need a SIM card and what is the exchange rate anyway? Will Google translate work? How about a universal charger? Do I have my passport? Better double check. My COVID vaccination card? Where did I put my pocket Spanish Dictionary? All this while trying to be present and home while I am. All without being completely self-centered. It isn’t pretty.
I am excited for this adventure, but today-it is easy to forget that. Home is comfortable and holds me tight in its many layers of responsibility and routine. Sometimes it feels hard to get a deep breath in all those layers and I get restless, but today it feels like to not have them is to run naked down a city street. Alone and exposed.
I choose to do this to myself. It makes me very uncomfortable, but very awake. It is now that I love my family more than anything. I love this cat right here who is naughtily sitting on the dining table pressing up against the warmth of this computer, like I have never loved him before. I love the touch of my husband and the easy laughter of my friends. I love my kitchen and the idea of cooking good food and hearing Oakley’s banter about his current favorite car over dinner. I love the patterns of my day that at other times can seem so boring and predictable. Today it all comprises a vivid, interwoven tapestry and I take none of it for granted.
Tomorrow I will leave all this and fly to Uruguay. I will cry a lot and second guess my decision to go at least 150 times in route. I will then, hopefully, mop up my tears and cycle alone for 30 days relying on the goodness of strangers, the care of drivers and strength in my muscles and brains. I intend to finish on the Pacific coast near Santiago, Chile. I will be terribly homesick, even if all goes well, even if it is shockingly beautiful. I will worry about my family and worry about myself for my family. I will be an outsider-my Spanish is still very rough and I will have to keep my wits about me every second of the day and night. Exhausting.
But, here is the thing. I am accepting these difficult feelings, because this is how I want to engage with this life. I want to trust and be open to what is out there and who we are as humans. I want to say “Yes” and hear other people say it back. I want to gulp it all in. All the feelings. All the world. The peeling of all these domestic layers creates a new fresh skin. It is tender and vulnerable, but it lets in so much.
I can hardly wait to be home again, and that is because I am leaving.
I will write when I can-when I have wifi. Feel free to follow and learn about this part of the world with me.
*If you liked reading this-try “Changing Gears” at Familius Press
When I was eleven or so, I used to try to get lost on my bicycle. I would jump on the saddle and just start pedaling away from my home. I decided where to go at every intersection based on what looked less familiar, and which route seemed like it might have a smaller hill to contend with. I would turn left, right, and left again, meandering farther and farther from home and anything I knew. I would only stop when the realization hit me that I didn’t remember how to get home-then I would challenge myself to find the way.
Usually, these adventures were overlayed by fantastical stories that I would invent in my mind-I was delivering top-secret messages, or a hurricane was coming and I had to rescue a cat, or I had to sneak across the border of a hostile country. I would get lost not only on the road, but also in my head, letting one thought lead to another, away from whatever stresses eleven-year-olds hold.
For this reason, I would always go alone. I had friends that I played with at other times, but these were solitary adventures that allowed me to just be me, with no one watching. I felt the need to bump up against the borders of my self and my backyard with a little manufactured challenge and independence.
When I did eventually find my way home, and could finally see my sturdy, unchanged house, I always felt a little stronger, braver and more content than when I had left, and also, a little relieved. I had gone out on the land and learned something about the world and about myself and now I delighted in feeling safe again, until next time.
I don’t think that I have changed a lot since then. They say that women return to their prepubescent selves during midlife, and I believe, for me, that is true. The only difference is that now, I have to travel farther to get lost.
I leave for my bicycle trip across South America in a little less than four weeks. I have fussed over maps and tried to figure out my route, but the truth is, there are so many variables out there that I can only plan a day or two at a time. South America is big. Maybe there will be traffic to avoid, or bad weather, or a big hill. I do know that on the first night of the adventure, I intend to stay in a zoo. In Uruguay you are allowed to camp in them! Me and the hippos. My eleven-year-old self is cartwheeling in excitement.
I have also learned that it will be hot. Very hot. The average high temperature will be 101. This will mean very early mornings, a lot of water and the need to sneak out of range of the sun’s merciless rays. I will be a spy-delivering myself safely from shady spot to shady spot, from the cool of one night to the next.
I will bicycle across the long flat pampas in Uruguay for about a week, up along the River Plate. Then I will cross into Argentina at Concepcion del Uruguay, from there will pedaling through what I hear is endless cattle farming land, until I reach Cordoba. In Cordoba I will head up the Salinas Grande mountains and down on to the salt flats. They are huge-the third largest in the world! Then I will make my way to Mendoza-deep in the foothills of the Andes, and then, hopefully, up and over them. The tunnel at Paso International Los Libertadores marks the border between Argentina and Chile. It is high in the Andes at 12,500 feet. I guess there will be no avoiding hills this time. When I leave the pass, I will hug the switchbacks that serpentine down the lush western flanks of the Andes for several days all the way to the sea. I will finish my bicycle journey in Valparaiso, where I hope to take a splash in the Pacific.
It is a big adventure for me and an exciting one. I will cross borders-like in my childhood fantasies and face all sorts of obstacles and challenges. I am looking forward to going alone because that is how my brain unravels best-in a good way.
I have faith that when I do get home after the adventure, and I see my sturdy, unchanged house, I will feel a stronger, braver, more content, and a little relieved-just like I did when I was eleven. I still feel like a child sometimes, but now I have the wisdom and strength of fifty-three. Middle-age rocks.
Axel Rose is blasting from the upstairs bathroom where my husband shaves. Eminem, from the kitchen where my daughter has been tasked with mopping, and I am not sure who is wailing from my son Oakley’s room, but it is packing a wallop. The whole house is pulsing.
I just finished sweeping up the remains of a pink pompom hat that our dog, Georgie, unwound into hundreds of three-inch-long strings of yarn all over my bedroom floor. It was intermingled with an equal amount of both his hair and mine-good nesting fodder, but not terribly good Feng Shui.
To top it off, I am wearing my very tight tights. They are squeezing my legs like two over-stuffed sausages and are making me feel like my derriere is swollen. I just went through four varicose vein procedures and have not been able to exercise for a month-so maybe it actually is swelling? And in the midst of all this, I am trying to listen to my latest Doulingo Spanish lesson through my AirPods and shout back the answers. My accent is truly terrible and I keep increasing the volume of my voice in the hopes that the program will understand me. It isn’t pretty, but I am trying to maintain my 87-day streak and doing whatever I can to get ready for my bike ride across South America. Yo creo que, es muy difícil.
When I am finished with my chores, I step into the night to walk my dogs and maybe find some peace, but Georgie pulls and Cricket drags, and before long I get myself tangled up in the knot of their leashes. Through my neighbor’s windows, I see a variety of peaceful domestic scenes; kids doing dishes, and adults reading, and I wonder why I seem to crave chaos rather than tranquility? Why isn’t a cozy, domestic lifestyle enough for me?
I am aware that training for this trip isn’t just about getting in shape, studying routes and learning spanish. There is a bigger part of it that involves a lot of introspection. I need to be aware of why I am doing this, as well as what my weakness are and where my blind spots may be-both for safety and so that I can enjoy my own company and not feel like I am traveling with a fool. So, as I untangle my dogs, I also take the time to untangle myself.
Somewhere along the last few years, I feel as though I have become a little lost. Life has been busy with a new career, COVID, midlife transitions, and my book publication-all good things, but also confusing and distracting. Truthfully, there are times that I question why I have chosen to ride solo across South America. Why up the ante so high? Florida is nice enough this time of year, isn’t it? In moments of self-doubt, I wonder if I am doing this to gather attention, write another book, or prove something to someone. Those are the worst reasons I can fathom and they make me feel rather nauseous. I fear that speaking large, postulating, and using social media as a billboard for my adventures may have marred the path to where I intended to go. Am I just like a teenager, counting likes as a measure of my worth?
As I walk along, stumbling through the dark autumn leaves, feeling the push me-pull me of my dogs, I thankfully hear an internal answer, a resounding “No”. What I long for on these adventures, is actually what I am intending to do on this walk-to become unlost.
These trips allow me to strip myself of the noise of life; the dog hair, loud music and other distractions and to find out who I am again. They help me remember how amazing this world is; the land, the people, the life and even myself. They help me appreciate the world in a way that fills me up with all that is good and my hope is that they enable me to pour it back out. These trips help me to reestablish myself in the midst of life’s craziness so that I can be who I want to be. Walkabouts so to speak.
As I circle the block and return to my home, my dogs race up the steps and crash into the door in their exuberence over dinner time. They bark and nip at each other telling me that the time for deep thoughts is over. I open the door and feel a waft of warmth and noise cascade out onto the porch and I remember one last thing. The best thing about these trips.
The best thing is that I get to come back here to this pulsating house-to the craziness and the mess; dog hair, Eminem and all. I wouldn’t have one without the other. Not for a second.
Up ahead, pedaling in an effortless, dancing-like way is Will. He is grinning and shaking his head in agreement to something Jess has just said. She laughs in return. Their legs continue churning, and their breathing remains light. The trees we pass are vibrant crimson, gold and orange, and the smell of the warm, damp forest floor rises up and blankets this perfect day. Some friends, my son and I are attempting a century ride-a one hundred mile bike ride along the coast of Maine and I can’t think of anywhere I would rather be, except for one problem. My son, Finn, bikes up next to me,”How are you feeling?” he asks.
“I am okay-just a little wheezy. I will be fine.” I can see in his eyes that he has a bit of doubt because it is apparent that I am struggling, but he just gives me a concerned smile and slips past. I believe that he can tell that I am trying to convince both of us, and is being kind by not pressing the issue-he knows there is no point and besides, it is obvious that I need to save my breath.
Two weeks ago, I came down with Covid. This was not part of my ‘Get ready for South America’ fitness plan. It left me weak, breathless, and muddle-headed. It also reminded me that I am middle-aged. My bounce became leaden, and my enthusiasm wained. I had thought I was special! Not so.
When we eventually finished the ride, there were cheers and pictures and big smiles all around. I believe it was well worth a little prolonged hacking. I am still not 100 percent, but I have time.
I am also getting my varicose veins repaired and a cavity filled. A tune-up of sorts before I go. I am not proud, nor a super athlete. just an old station wagon that still has miles to go and needs a little work to make the ride.
Number Two. Prepare Bike and Gear
I have fallen in love with my new touring bike. (Don’t tell my old one) It is a used Jamis Coda-a lively little steel-steed. Stuart-the mechanic at Lighthouse Bikes has added an extra “granny gear” to my bike to make climbing the Andes a little easier and replaced my tires with Marathon Schwalbes-tougher stuff for the broken pavement I will likely encounter. I am getting good. battery-powered lights and attaching the racks from my old touring bike to the new one and then, I should be good to go.
Number Three. Plan Route
I am pouring over the App Bikemap to find routes similar to what I want to do. I am not the first to ride from Montevideo, Uruguay to Valparaiso, Chile and I am not going blind. I am zooming in and out; looking up cities and roads, researching biking conditions and places to camp, looking at road grades and weather predictions. Sometimes this makes my head spin and sometimes it makes me feel calm. There is a blog called “Two Geezers Go South.” They were in their 70’s when the did it. And then there is the blog “Strangerless.” It is about a single woman from Finland who spent two years biking around South America solo, with the objective of seeking and sharing kindness.
Number Four. Learn Spanish
“Have you practiced the past-tense this week?” asks Tomasa, my online Guatemalan teacher.
“No, I haven’t. Lo siento. Yo soy muy ocupado.” She tsks at me.
“Verbos irregulars?” She asks.
“No-es muy difícil.” I respond, feeling a little sweaty and ill-prepared.
“How many weeks until you bicicleta en Sur America?”
So, I study to avoid further embarrassment and because it is actually fun. I study on DuoLingo for 20 minutes a day, I work in my Spanish workbook and I meet weekly with Tomasa online. This part of my brain has not been activated for a very long time and it is incredible to feel the synapses start to arch and burn as they reconnect and uncoil after their long nap.
Number Five. Stay Calm
Most the time I am excited, but sometimes I do get nervous. Most of these fears are irrational and it is work to not dwell on horror stories of adventure and travels gone wrong. There are tales out there of nightmares-come-true and if that is what you are looking for, that is what you will find. They get the most attention because people are fascinated by bad news, but did you know that the United States has a lower rating for safety than Uruguay, Argentina or Chile? It is an exercise to have hope and trust in others, not naivety.
Number Six. Devilish Details
Phone chargers, What’s App, Downloaded Maps, Changing Money, Crossing Border Documents, Bicycle Transport Regulations. Ugh. I don’t think that these horrible real-life things get a paragraph, They already take up too much of my time. I prefer to focus on the thrilling parts!
Please see “Changing Gears” by Leah Day to find further writings on bike travel for the every day person.
Old and wrinkly and I wouldn’t have it any other way
Tomasa Gomez is laughing. She is sitting at a desk on a swivel chair with a sheen of sweat covering her skin, which she keeps mopping off with a face cloth, and she is laughing so hard she is crying. She speaks to me in Spanish and charades over the computer from Guatamala-trying to get me to understand the words for plastic surgery. She has gotten hung up on trying to pantomime a face that can show no emotion due to Botox, pulling back the sides of her mouth in an exaggerated Botox induced grimace, but her giggles keep popping through. “Tu en yo no somos jovenes,” she says “tenemos arrugas, pero podemos reirnos!”- You and I are not young, we have wrinkles, but we can laugh! She is absolutely right.
I wish the laughing could continue, but all too soon she is asking me to conjugate the verb “to be” and I become taut with concentration. I can only understand about every third word she is speaking and I think I will be mortified if I have to say “Que?” one more time. I hope the she thinks my sweaty brow is due to the temperature-not my burning performance anxiety. Hey, maybe Tomasa is nervous-maybe that is why she is sweating!
Tomasa is in Guatemala city and we meet for an hour once a week over Zoom to help me learn some Spanish for my upcoming South American bike ride. This is one of the many things I am doing to prepare. I am also studying maps and reading blogs, doing 30 minutes of Duolingo daily, refitting my bike, seeking out appropriate gear, researching travel documents and bike flights and watching Uruguayan, Argentinian and Chilean movies. Most importantly though-I am learning to fend off well-meaning, comments that are soaked in fear. It feels like a form of martial arts. Duck and roll, pivot and avoid.
I know that people are just trying to express concern and care for me when they tell my that bicycling solo in South America is reckless or that I have no idea what I am getting into. But, I feel like I am in the locker room before an athletic event and rather than getting me psyched up to play hard, smart and safe-the comments make me feel deflated, as if someone is saying, “You know you are going to lose, right?”
Guess what? I am afraid. I am doing something new and challenging and make no mistake; I am sure the weather will be horrible, the roads rutted, the sun scorching and the miles long. I know that there will be scary drivers and I will be deeply lonely and that a bike theft could happen. I know that this is going to be really, really hard. If I were seeking a vacation that would stink, but I am not. I am seeking an adventure and people have been doing it forever.
Rock climbers climb-I assure you that it is dangerous. When people headed out on the Oregon trail-friends and family, no doubt lost sleep worrying for their safety. When the first person sailed solo across the ocean-I am certain that their mother cried. Did the gnashing of anybody’s teeth ever help them achieve what they were attempting? I think not. It is just rattling.
So don’t be afraid for me-I already have that covered. Instead ask me questions. What, where, how? That will make me learn more and figure out answers.
I do believe that most people are good-no matter what their nationality. That you can find bad drivers and rutted roads everywhere. And that, most importantly, real connection in life requires vulnerability, whether it is connection to people or places or to ourselves-and that is always risky.
I am safe and warm, sitting at my dining room table on the first wet, raw day of autumn. My toes are a bit damp from shuffling through the wet grass on a dog walk that I took several hours ago-other than that I am dry and feeling rather contented.
I have the house to myself and, truth be told, just binge-watched my secret addiction, “Grey’s Anatomy.” I am embarrassed to admit that publicly. It is my Diet Pepsi-sweet and full of saccharin with absolutely zero health benefits-but I find it delicious just the same.
My dogs are sleeping on the couch, which I allow to happen when my husband is not home and one of them,Georgie, is kicking his feet spasmodically in his sleep, chasing a chipmunk, I am sure. I have all this, yet I am choosing to leave it again.
On January 3rd, I will fly to Montevideo, Uruguay and attempt to bicycle solo from there, across the grassy Pampas, up over the Andes, and down to the coast of Chili. Hopefully I will cycle 1,350 miles and this time, I am going alone.
I have a rudimentary, if that, understanding of Spanish, I have never been to South America, and I am making up the route based on researching blogs of people who have gone before me and studying maps. There are no guide books for this adventure. I am flinging myself out there again, and tonight, it feels like I am wearing a reversible shirt-one that can change from fear and anxiety to excitement and gratefulness in the wisp of a breeze.
One of my children questioned my motives for this trip recently, and for that I love them. They questioned why I feel compelled to up the anti and go so far and so alone. Why I feel driven to feel afraid rather than safe. Why I don’t allow myself to just feel comfortable. These are great questions, and after thinking about them, here are my answers.
Life is dangerous business. The provincial trip to the grocery store could get you killed. An aneurysm could stop you in your tracks. Cancer lurks. There is plenty to be afraid of. But, I don’t want unfounded fear to keep me tethered and hold me back from engaging with this world.
At 53 years old, I feel like I have been given a gift. The hot flashes that burned through me during menopause ignited something. They woke me up, shouting, “Now is the time! Wake up! What next? What will you do with this burning power?” Walking through midlife, I see that there are new choices all around me. My children don’t need me in the same way and there are new career options, new ways to reconnect with what is important, and a chance to reflect. There is also an inner strength and confidence that has grown through navigating life’s challenges. I have learned that I am capable.
I don’t believe that there is anything to fear where I am going that isn’t here. The people in South America are not more dangerous than the people in my own backyard. They are just regular people; dentists and shop clerks, mothers and teachers, children and coaches. The drivers on the roads there are not more uncaring about human life, than drivers here. I would like to meet the people there and see how they live and how they view the world.
The wind does not blow harder in Argentina than in Kansas, nor does the rain fall heavier there than in Oregon. The mountains still rise up from the plains at the same rate whether in the Andes or the Rockies. My legs will get just as tired as they do here. But, it will look different. There will be different plants and animals, different vistas and valleys, and different people.
And why do I want to go alone? So that I don’t make small talk to pass the time, and avoid speaking to strangers. When it comes to speaking a foreign tongue, if given the opportunity, I definitely keep my tongue tied behind tight lips and and insecure grin -I want to have to learn. Going solo will make me have to speak to locals.
Also, being alone will give my mind time to wander and to miss home-which I will-my heart will long for it and longing has it’s own sweetness.
I like picking up a fear and spinning it around and looking at with eyes wide open. Where are the truths and biases there? What is rational and irrational? What dangers do I really avoid by staying here and biking to work every day?
I also know how much more comfortable my couch will be after sitting on rocks for a month and how much warmer hugs will feel after being alone…and how much more I will enjoy Diet Pepsi and “Grey’s Anatomy” after missing them.
I will keep on adventuring and uping the anti so that I keep learning. That is what learning is right? Every test builds on what you learned before.
When I am finished I will come home and I will fall fully into it. I love it here. I love my friends and family and my sleeping dogs. Now though, it is time to study some Spanish.
I am sitting in my shop alone with my feet up. Way up. I am tired, but content and full of anticipation about what comes next.
This blog post isn’t a story-it is more of an announcement. I had the good fortune of spending two days with Marielle Segarra from NPR’s Marketplace and she has created a profile piece about my son and my bicycle trip across the United States, my book “Changing Gears“, and how it all inspired the opening of Lighthouse Bikes. I am positively giddy.
I guess I had no idea where I was really heading when I decided to take off on a bicycle journey with my son Oakley, but maybe that is part of her interest in the story. Sometimes taking chances is the only way forward. And the truth is, I couldn’t be happier than to have landed here-sharing the joy of bicycling, adventure and the outdoors while getting to interact with many good people everyday.
And Oakley? He is doing great. Growing up. I miss him and that is a good thing. He is becoming more independent and standing on his own two feet more-it is all I ever wanted, but our adventure has remained the fulcrum of our relationship. It has wound us together and I hope it will never let it go.
If you are interest-please listen-I haven’t heard it yet, so it could be really humiliating, but I am good with that. I have a tendency to put it all out there.
I forgot my helmet tonight. There are worse things, riskier things, but never-the-less, I am sorry. I am aware that I am not leading a good example, as I pedal across the Casco Bay Bridge in the half-dark, coming home from Lighthouse Bikes, but I feel like I am getting away with something and it feels delicious. The colors of the sky are deepening from violet to purple and the air is holding the warmth from a sultry, summer day. It is tempered though, by a gentle breeze that wafts up from the Fore River far below me. It lightens the night’s humidity and makes me feel like I am floating. My hair tickles the bare shoulders of my tank-top clad back, as it is blown about in mini zephyrs-a helmetless delight that I know we can all remember.
Marielle Segarra from Marketplace on NPR just left. She spent the last two days with me working on a profile piece for a broadcast named “The Calling.” It is about people have heeded a calling to switch careers and what that process was like for them. She has aired one in the series about a man working in retail that became a marble maker, another about a nude model who decided it was time to accept his body rather than hide it away and another about a financier, turned professional pianist. All of these people were actively engaged in different professions before something happened that activated them to make a major change. I feel like the thing that I have in common with them is that we were all ignited by people in our lives who encouraged, cheered, supported and understood us, and perhaps, we were willing to take a risk.
It is the feeling of all this support that has left me feeling heady and forgetful. As I ride across the bridge, I am almost afraid to feel such happiness. Almost scared to believe that all the events of the past few years have led me here to this bridge, to this night. All those mountain passes my teenage son and I climbed as we rode across the United States, all the fear that I was awash in again and again-the wild dogs, the cold, the storms-all the emotional intensity I experienced with my son both before, during and after our adventure, and all my own teenage years of feeling like I didn’t fit in. In fact all the wanderings and wonderings of my life, led here.
And it wouldn’t have. Not a chance. Not without friends and family saying, “Do it. You will find your way. You are capable.”
And not without the kindness of all the strangers out there giving us water, rides and places to sleep, and kind words, as we cycled past. And not without people telling me, “You have a book here, something worth saying.” It is because of them that I wrote, “Changing Gears”, and I have not shut up since. (Perhaps they wish I would!)
I realize that I am a bit overly involved with myself right now, “Feeling my oats.” as my father used to say when I was feeling proud and walking with a swagger, but all I really want is for us ALL to feel our oats and to eat up this life. We have all overcome all sorts of challenges and should feel good and encouraged by our resilience.
So, where do these feelings leave me? Of course I want to do it again and again and again. Why wouldn’t I? If challenge and support lead here-to the top of the bridge feeling like I might float away on the most beautiful night ever-why would I ever stop? But, I also want to make sure that I am the kind stranger for other people too, because you never know where a ride or a water or kind words may lead them. The possibilities are incredible.
“The Calling” will be aired in the first two weeks of August. You know far too well that I will let you know the exact date and time as soon as I have it. I am a blabber mouth after all.
I am excited to bike across South America this winter and would love to hear from anyone who has experience doing such a trip. Chili to Uruguay.
The air is soft. There are swirling little eddies of cool breeze that lap at me and the warm sun seems to coax suppleness from my skin. I had big plans for today, but they are not happening. It is my first day off in what seems like forever. Lighthouse Bikes is hopping, and I have been happily leading tours, changing flats and managing the business nonstop. My book “Changing Gears” is doing well, and I have had a lot of fun giving book talks and reliving Oakley and my bicycle adventure across the United States, but all this has left me a bit exhausted. So today, instead of the big bicycle adventure I had planned, I am tootling around my backyard-harvesting broccoli, scratching my dogs ears and finding that just about anything else seems to be too much effort-except daydreaming-but I am daydreaming big.
Once again I am throwing my hat over the wall and announcing my next adventure to the world at large. This kind of commitment and the threat of public humiliation works for me-it is very motivating. It is not that I don’t yearn for these adventures, it is that without a commitment, life can get in the way-far too easily.
So, here it goes. This coming January, I am hoping to bicycle from Montevideo, Uruguay to Santiago, Chili. We will cross South America from East to West, first pedaling through the Pampas and then hitting the Andes Mountains when our legs are good and strong. I hear it is bafflingly beautiful. And this time, I hope to have a new traveling partner-my oldest son Finn.
He is exactly half my age and he started this whole adventure-parenting thing when he popped into this world 26 years ago. I took him on endless Forced Family Fun expeditions when he was little and I have been waiting for a chance to adventure with him as an adult forever, but he has been too busy. He is hardy, game, competent, compassionate and a great companion. I would love him even if he weren’t my son.
I spoke with Finn about this idea for the first time yesterday and, much to my delight, his eyes lit up and he grinned the same grin he has had since he was a child-it belies a little embarrassment that his excitement has broken through and has shown even when he is trying to be sanguine. He thinks he might be able to take the three-weeks or so off from work that will be necessary complete the route, and if he starts saving now…I just about did a back flip.
Can we pull this off? I think so. I hope so. We will seriously need to brush up on our Spanish and get our legs and bikes in shape. But what better things do I have to do this fall and what an incredible opportunity to share with my son? Will this chance ever come again?
It will be windy, the Andes will be tall, it will rain and we will ache, we will probably get on each other’s last nerve, but the people we will meet and the things we will see and the learning our adventure will bring will be worth every inch. I am over the top excited to hit the trail again.
But, not today. Today, I sit in my backyard and lallygag. Maybe I will put some laundry away-probably not. Maybe I will bike around the island or eat a peach. The air is too sweet to do much else.
