Last Post.

Leaving Vancouver, it seemed that everyone had left rather quickly, a desire to be rid of the bike and get on with normal things I’m sure. I visited a friend in Seattle and another in Denver where their families coddled me and spoiled me with a private room, a big bed and indulged my need to watch hours of US Open tennis. The transition from a Bike and Build life back to normal life wasn’t quick or seamless. My leg muscles were anxious by mid-morning and expecting to power me the 70 odd miles to my next destination. I wondered why all white, Ford Econoline vans didn’t have black handlebars and angel wings on the front grille. Dinners were unfamiliar, small and intimate, with only a few people around and meals served by the plate, not by the aluminum casserole pan. Passing by churches, I immediately sized them up, wondering if they’d be a good place to spend the night for 30 people. And shoulders. I had to constantly comment on the shoulder and whether they’d be good or bad to ride on. My brain was wired to pick up on the things that signaled comfort, safety and familiarity from the summer.

So by the time I arrived home, two weeks after we ended in Vancouver, I had adjusted and now just needed to adjust back to home. There was plenty to keep me busy: unpacking a room from school and a room from home, unpacking the bike and giving it a tune-up, reconnecting with friends and family, seeking meaningful employment ideally in a museum, and making up for lost couch and TV time.

Before I knew it, three weeks passed. The tan lines were fading. And I was slowly regaining feeling back in my big toes. The physical reminders of a summer spent hunched over two wheels were recovering. That meant it was time to get back on the bike.

Part of the reason for my delay in riding again is that road biking, this activity I picked up over the summer, seemed mutually exclusive from what I am familiar with at home. They are separate lives and conditions to me. And frankly, I was kind of lost without a que sheet telling me where to go and needing to find decent roads on my own. And I was very disconcerted that I would be returning back to the same spot that I had left from.

But, I put on the chamois, donned the Bike and Build jersey and headed off. I biked 13 miles out, then 13 miles back, a total of 26 miles. Immediately, it was clear that I had taken the past five weeks off, since it did seem a bit more strained than I remembered. The roads were uneven and the cars scary, but it was good to get back on the bike. And something I’ll keep doing. In fact, I rode again yesterday for the second time, 18 miles. Even better, I’ve been using my bike to get around for short distances, either to the library or to visit friends.

I still haven’t found the right combination of words to briefly summarize the summer and experience to people. I end up stumbling over singular adjectives like awesome and great, but they don’t do descriptive justice (and I refuse to stoop to hyperbole “best summer ever”). We covered the entire country, passing through 15 states and ending in Canada. Each day was different from the next, each requiring its own full-length story. Where do I even begin?

As much as I can’t find the words to describe the summer, I do love how I can reduce my experience with an entire state down to one impression. Washington and Wisconsin were my favorite; Ohio needs to spend more money on roads; North Dakota needs statewide Febreze; and Montana is wide. I now have the credibility for that.

In fact, the singular thing that struck me from the whole experience is how kind people are. Throughout the summer, I was constantly amazed at how warm and open everyone was to us along the way. To have churches and their congregation welcome us, provide a meal and lodging and all the numerous thoughtful bits, I was not prepared for. Everyone was so generous. Thinking about it all, it makes you melt.

And then there was the building part. Among all seven routes this summer, Bike and Build directly donated nearly half a million dollars to affordable housing groups across the country. In addition, countless hours on build sites as there were over 200 of us out there this summer. No small feat. And not just the direct money and man-hours part, but also awareness through our own fundraising and with the people along the way. I always found humor in our t-shirts that say “Pedaling to end poverty housing” since there’s no way to even consider doing that in a single summer, it’s a much greater issue, but it does have a significant impact. I’m impressed and really believe in the mission and goals of Bike and Build. It’s diabolical really, luring people with “bike across the country” and then tossing in good along the way, the equivalent of mashing up pill and mixing it with chocolate pudding.

I’m so glad that I did Bike and Build and I would recommend it to everyone who has the chance. In fact, I’m sure I’d do it again except for that draining fundraising part (which is much more difficult than expected). It’s a great way to spend the summer and doing something productive in so many different ways. Yes, I did complain and whine about the cold and wet, a lot, but when it comes down to it, I was only ever really just uncomfortable, never legitimately worried for my well-being (well, maybe while huddling in the bathroom for warmth that one time). I was fortunate to spend the majority of my days outside and active. I was with of 29 upbeat people that kept the trip fun and days fresh. I helped and built along the way. I can say biked across the country. I have a whole range of memories and moments to reflect back on. I met kind people along the way. I have a new skill/hobby including equipment. I had the time to think about myself, who I am and what I want to do. And for all that, I’m grateful.

So, thanks to fundraisers for making it possible. Thanks to supporters sending the mail. Thanks to you, reader, for following along. And fellow riders, thanks for making for making it all worthwhile.