Tomorrow I start again
Some days aren’t as poetic as they are brutal.
I’ve been trying to write for a couple of days, but the words don’t always come so easy.
This journey has been transformative—the adventure of a lifetime, a lesson in humanity, a test of my own willpower and strength.
But some days are not as poetic as they are brutal.
Today I cried on the side of the road—twice. The heat index was 114 degrees, and, as I rolled out at 5:45am this morning, the humidity was already 92%. I’m wrestling with dehydration and headaches and overheating. I’m struggling to be enthusiastic about the places and people I’m pedaling past, and find my mind drifting towards wishful thoughts of air conditioning, shade, ice cubes, and wringing out my shirt.
For the first time since I left, and with only a few weeks to go, I’m questioning whether I really have it in me to finish this thing. Or whether it’s even safe to try during this heat wave.
I’m not always okay, bright, and inspired. The views are not always spectacular—or sometimes I’m too miserable to appreciate them when they are. Some days are a 40-mile detour on a road you don’t want to be on, with semi-trucks blowing past you. I don’t have to pretend it’s fine or that I feel good about that.
But I do know that it’s the challenging days I am remembering most. My lowest lows carve out a special place in my memory. They’ve taught me things about myself and what I’m capable of. They’ve also taught me that sometimes it isn’t a matter of mental strength: Sometimes you need to listen to your body and quit.
On days like today, I’m grateful for my mom, who always picks up the phone. And for Steve, the stranger who pulled over to see if I was okay today as I sat in the gravel on the side of the road, head in my hands, sopping wet in my own sweat. I will never forget his helpless facial expression when he asked if I was okay, and I shook my head and started to bawl right in front of him.
I’m learning to be more forgiving of myself—to be okay with not meeting my mileage goals, to let myself cry, to take breaks before I’m spent, to allow myself to give up when I feel it’s time. This journey is my own—I don’t have anything to prove to anyone but myself. Even if I called this whole thing quits right now, I’m really proud of what I’ve done, on what I’ve learned, on how far I’ve gotten.
But I’m not quitting. Today I called it early. And tomorrow I will wake up early, and I will try again.
I got myself an Airbnb today. When I walked in, right on the wall was a sign:
This is the beginning of a new day
You have been given this day to use as you will,
You can waste it or use it for good.
What you do today is important because you
Are exchanging a day of your life for it.
When tomorrow comes, this day
Will be gone forever.
In its place is something that you have left behind.
Let it be something good.
Today wasn’t very poetic. But I still went 38 miles anyway. It was less than half of what I had wanted or planned. But I still got a little farther, got a little tougher, and began preparing myself mentally for the possibility that tomorrow might be better—and that I’ll be much more capable of fully appreciating it.
Jessica~ I vividly remember two times on my solo ride across America where I was crushed. It happens. The energy. The mental fortitude. The trucks. Being alone. In one of my cases… the extreme cold in West Texas of all places! These things add up, and it becomes a fulcrum. The triggers cause the tipping. Mine were: I was convinced I was going to receive word at my next destination that my grandfather had died. The other hit me like a ton of bricks a few weeks later in the middle of west Texas when I had an overwhelming longing to see my youngest brother.
In these moments, you are experiencing something no one else will really comprehend unless they have “gone solo”.
It’s the day after that solidifies your character and resolve. You’re correct. You don’t have to prove anything to anybody… not even yourself. You are doing something you love and that’s huge. And all the while, the Lord sends a “Steve” along at just the right moment. It’s a reminder; we are not meant to be alone, but to live in community and to care for one another.
A new day has dawned; the pedals crank and remember… there’s never a bad day in the saddle.
If we are speaking literal mileage you have already traveled the distance from Oregon to Virginia, given all the detours and unforeseen circumstances. If we are discussing personal growth you have traveled a distance far too great to measure! I could not be more proud of you! Today I am blowing cold air up from the south. I apologize in advance to all the northerners enjoying their warm summer.