Make It So

Day 86

New York, NY to Portland, OR

Distance: 2,454 miles

Getting up time: way too early (indeed earlier than any other day on the trip, including cycling days)

Celebrity encounters: one major, magical meeting with an inspirational man

One of my favourite things to read when I am at home is The Week. My favourite section… “It must be true, I read it in the tabloids.”

Well, today it wasn’t a tabloid. But, as I sat on a United Airlines flight at a painfully early hour, my bleary eyes were caught by a headline in the New York Times “Bilingual Parrot Silent About Absence”.

African Gray Parrot, Nigel, who spoke with an English accent while living with his owner, Darren Chick (great name) in California, escaped four years ago, and was recently found and reunited with Darren. On his return, Nigel had lost the British accent but was fluent in Spanish. “Now he just prattles on in Español all day,” Darren lamented. “And he bit me when I picked him up.”

I managed to speak with Nigel, who disclosed that he’s also learned to cook and plans to open a boutique Mexican restaurant a few miles down the coast. And he still speaks BBC English.  But we won’t tell Darren either of those things.

Anyhow... as you will realise from the above, Steed and I had a little assistance from a plane to manage today’s target. My return to Portland to reunite Steed with his bike box and spend a few days savouring the delights of the ultra violet state.

After a couple of fun-packed days in Washington DC with my friend Julia, I picked up a rental car, packed Steed and the Pan-y-As in the back, and prepared to drive to New York.

I filled out the rental car forms, selecting all relevant options.

“Don’t forget the EZPass,” Julia told me, with sage foresight.

Having selected the “GPS” option too, I proceeded to take half an hour searching for my destination on the bleedin’ device (it was perilously close to being thrown out of the window). Giving up on it, I decided to trust instinct and general logic as I started to navigate my way out of the DC traffic and its web of streets.

Around fifteen minutes later, my eyes wandered lazily to the gas level gauge for the first time.  After much gnashing of teeth, I swung the car round and sped back to the rental shop – sped being a relative term of course, given the circuitous route I took. My “full tank” option consisted of a little under a quarter tank, and so it was back for re-fuelling before setting out once more.

I’d woken up at 7.30am, pedalled off from Julia’s at 10am, arrived at the rental car place at 10.30am, and finally got on the correct road out DC at 12.46pm. I had taken five and a half hours to go 2.5 miles.

Cycling 4,300 miles across the US seemed like a doddle in comparison.

But it was all worth it in order to drive through the Lincoln Tunnel and into New York, and have almost a full week staying with my friend Mary-Louise. Plenty of time for eating, drinking, shopping, running, walking, catching up with lots of old friends, eating, drinking … did I mention the eating and drinking…

And then it was time to take the emotional step of getting Steed packed up in a temporary bike box for our little jolly back to Portland.

My old favourite, Toga on the Upper West Side, were fantastic, getting the job done in super-quick time, and generally being the reliable, quality stalwarts of the bike shop world that they have always been.

I was glad to see the elegant and graceful shop cat, Museo, was still around. Although, as happens to us all, a bit slower, and older than I remembered him. But all the more grateful for the strokes and scratches behind the ears than the days when he would prowl the aisles of carbon-fibre racing machines.

I am hoping that Steed’s time in the hold of the plane will be uneventful. If he comes out speaking French or Serbo-Croat, I will be suitably cautious before getting back on the saddle.

The plan for the next few days. More eating and drinking (natch, this is Portland, people, the culinary centre of the universe), hanging out with Valerie, Paul and Chipper, perhaps heading out with Steed for a couple of short rides, and hopefully catching up with a couple of the West-bounders who I passed on the trip to share stories, and a few beers.

Final blog with stats to come soon…

Meanwhile, still time for donations to the charity websites I set up to support those affected by domestic abuse.

Thanks again to those who have already donated, and more thanks for all the support which I have continued to get from blog-readers and others in completing my journey.

And on that note, I should also mention that I am sitting next to Patrick Stewart on my flight today. 

Yes… THE Patrick Stewart.

He is utterly charming and, once we got chatting, told me that he is a patron of Refuge, and has spoken extensively about domestic violence, having come from a family where his father was violent to his mother. I am slightly shame-faced for not knowing that, but feel honoured to hear him speak about his own experiences of abuse. And finding out about what he has done since to try to educate and support is inspirational.

And so the magic of this journey just keeps on unfolding. All that is needed now are a few more donations.

To coin a Patrick Stewart/Jean-Luc phrase…  please help MAKE IT SO.

Me x

To Me... and You

Day 76

Williamsburg, VA to Yorktown, VA

Distance: 14 miles

Road surface: Champs Elysées (fitting)

I was remarkably efficient packing up my panniers, eating breakfast and doing my stretches this morning. Anyone would think I had gone through this routine before…

But I did have a small tear in my eye as I checked out, realising this was indeed my last day of the trip. I would pedal my last stroke just a couple of hours later.

It was a strange feeling setting off onto the Colonial Parkway, which runs all the way from Williamsburg to Yorktown. I was expecting something quite grand, given the name, and there was a certain "je ne sais quoi" about it.

It was wide and boulevard-like, framed by elegant trees, though still natural looking… not “planted” and certainly not pollarded (i.e. cropped or chopped to shape). But it was the road surface that was the talking point.

I had heard in dispatches the night before that the road was “cobbled” for want of a better term, but I didn’t quite believe it. I didn’t think the Americans did cobbles, and so I wasn’t really fully prepared.

It was really like a bit of a TransAm joke to make the last few miles (or first few I guess if you were going the other way) on bone-shaking terrain. And I was lucky. I had a beautifully cool, sunny day. And, rather like a rider in the final day in the Tour de France in Paris, tackling the cobbles of the Champs Elysées, I would not want to tackle it in the wet.

And “lucky” and “grateful” really are my words du jour. I have developed the ability for most of this trip to see the humour in moments that might in the past have made me anxious, angry, upset or scared. If I can take one thing from my experiences over the past few years, it will be that I can survive anything.

Without wanting to tempt fate, I can’t believe that I will ever, in my life, allow myself to live without hope in the way that I did for so long, Failing to see the positive and seeing only the negative. And for me, this is the pivotal issue. The thing that changes lives.

Cycling along with the sunshine dappling through the trees, and then catching sight of the cool, blue, Atlantic Ocean will rank up there with one of the best moments of my life.

“I did it,” I kept thinking.

I have done this. I have done this all on my own. This is amazing. This makes me feel alive. I am sad this is going to be over. But I am happy too. So happy.

Me, little me, silly me, human me, flawed me, sometimes awful me, sometimes wonderful me. But always “me”. I am in the world for a reason. And I will stay in the world and be happy, and do my bit for as long as I can.

I knew that when I reached the finish point, like for the rest of the trip, there would be no-one there with whom to share it.  And that has been a telling aspect of this whole trip for me.

I wanted to achieve this goal on my own. I had something to prove. To myself. But I also yearned to share. To connect. To love, and be loved. To compare and share experiences, to hear others’ perspectives, and share their adventure.

As I said before, no man, woman, or touring cyclist is an island, and I appreciate that more now than I ever did before.

And when I cycled past the white sand of Yorktown Beach, sitting bright against the deep blue, and turned the corner to reach the Victory Monument, something inside me knew that I was going to find the monument deserted. That I would truly end this trip alone. And I was right.

It was a good ten minutes before anyone arrived.

And while I was anxious to get some photos, that something in me was also glad. I had no witness to me cheering to myself, to me literally hugging Steed and telling him how much I loved him. That, although he is metal and carbon fibre, in my mind, in my soul, he is a loyal and unique companion, who has been there for me through thick and thin.

And once I had completed my own personal celebration, I was ready to FaceTime my wonderful, amazing sister and my cute, cheeky, bubbly little nephew, and share the moment with them. And what a joyous moment it was.

Then a lady called Billie arrived and parked her car up. Before she could opt whether to walk towards the monument or somewhere else, I had legged it up to her, cycling shoes click-clacking on the path, with my iPhone in hand…

Yes, there is another tale for today. When I took my camera out of my handlebar bag to catch the moment, there was more bad news. Making a sad little noise and flashing up a message “battery exhausted” I couldn’t help but wonder whether it was simply learning from the mistress. But again it made me laugh. Obviously I had messed up what I thought was my overnight charging of the camera and it was now dead, on my last day, at one of the, if not the, seminal point of the trip.

But Billie managed to operate the iPhone (thank heavens for the iPhone) and I ended my little monument session with some decent shots, and some prompters to help me remember my emotions at that moment.

Rolling away from the finish and conscious that I had to cycle to the nearby airport to pick up a rental car to get to Washington DC and see my friend Juila, I had mentally decided that I wouldn’t bother circling town to try to find the Visitor Centre and sign my name in the TransAm register. But as I made my way towards the highway, I found myself cycling directly past it.

I stopped in and signed my name, and chatted with the guy behind the counter, who gave me a little pin/badge to commemorate my trip.

I am, and will always be, proud of my achievement. I can now wear it like a badge (literally).

I have learnt so much, experienced things I never expected, seen the most breathtaking sights, and met some of the kindest, most genuine people I have ever met in my life.

And I have received beautiful, life-affirming, loving support from friends and family.

I’m not going to name all names now, or give you all the stats, but let's just say 4,300 miles, and here are a few of the things that people gave me to keep me safe through the trip.

Now if I could just raise a bit more money for these charities I want to support, and spread the education and support for those affected by domestic abuse, I’ll be an even happier girl.

I know… but I have to keep trying.

That’s what life is all about.

Me x

Holding On, Keep Holding On...

OK, I know, it's awfully Beverly Craven.

But I've only gone and bleedin' done it.   Yep, Transamerica, DONE!!!

I have so much to share about yesterday and today but I am, for some reason, uncharacteristically, completely and utterly exhausted. And overjoyed.

For now, here's a couple of shots of the final moments.

Happy Finished Girl...

I love you Steed

It's Official

Full posts to come.

Thank to all of you for your ongoing support.

Me x

Holding Blog

Safely in Williamsburg, VA. Just 14 miles tomorrow morning to Yorktown, and the end of my trip...more then.

Me x

Love and a Battlefield

Day 75

Ashland, VA to Williamsburg, VA

Distance: 80 miles

Bowls of cereal: three

Theories on love, life and the universe: many

My start for the day was hardly what you would call alpine. I know that from the fact that Kelly & Michael was already on the TV in the background as I went about my morning stretches, which means that it was after 10am.

The reasons behind my sluggishness were multiple. The 99 miles from the day before, added to the weeks of growing weariness, plus the biggie. The little voice in the back of my brain reminding me that this was my last proper day of cycling. That after today, the trip would be virtually over. And my sub-conscious obviously wasn’t sure it was ready.

It’s a universal concept, the principle that all good things (and bad) will come to an end. Living things, people, events, they all age and eventually they cease to be, at least in the form that we know them. And then we are forced to deal with the loss of them, to manage change.

They say that the pain of losing something, or even the fear of doing so, is much more powerful than the desire to have or do something that we haven’t yet experienced. And so even if you feel that you are ready to move on, knowing that the time has come, there is still a part of you that is sad, and grieving the loss before it has even occurred.

I guess I would say that it how I felt today.

Once I was on the road, I was in no hurry to speed through the miles. The terrain was almost flat, the road surface variable, spanning the gamut from LL Cool J to TOWIE coarse. Mr Edwin, the headwind, made a final appearance, but he was gentle with me, simply kissing my face, rather than slapping it (as my friend Jerry would put it). The scenery was more of the same, the colours still gorgeous, and the tree-lined roads still as charming as can be.

Despite (or perhaps because of) my laid back approach, I found I was burning through the miles, and catching up on my late start. Having already stopped at a Walgreens to use the rest room and do a super-quick prowl of the aisles, I then stopped at a gas station to grab some lunch. I had packed a bagel with peanut butter and jam from breakfast as a back up, but when I walked inside the strangest thing happened. I saw a stand with those little cereal pots displayed on it, and I had a strong craving to eat several of them, one after the other.

Buying a small bottle of milk, I proceeded to chomp my way through a Frosties (grrrrrrrrrreat), some Honey Nut Loops and a Raisin Bran (a token thumbs up to health). Something about the familiarity gave me comfort, and it was like I was on my sofa at home, wrapped in my favourite blanket, watching trash TV.

Again, I didn’t really want to leave, but eventually I peeled myself away from Kafe Kelloggs, and rolled over to the nearby junction with the big highway. Where I sat waiting for the lights to change. And waited. And waited.

I soon realised that the lights were triggered by a weight sensor in the road (a lot of the lights are), so if there is no car in the sensor box, there will be no green light. The sequence will continue as if you do not exist. Despite rolling the whole of me and Steed, Pan-y-A and Pan-B onto the sensor box, and actually doing a little “traffic light stomp” kind of dance routine (much to the amusement of passing motorists I am sure), I was stuck.

I saw a car rolling up in my mirror and sighed with relief, until I saw its indicator flashing and the side of it as it disappeared into the gas station. I apologise for the words that came out of my mouth at that point.

I thought about trying to cross the highway without a green light, but there were no pedestrian crossings, and the roads were all busy… apart from mine.  I even toyed with the idea of turning right onto the highway and then right again from there, in order to go straight, but I couldn’t believe that some vehicle, any vehicle would not arrive on “my” road.

And then a car appeared in my mirror, and as I willed it forward, and beckoned it in, I was, probably for the first time in my trip (one day from the end) overjoyed to see a car on the road behind me. Bingo! Green light, and Steed and I were on our way again.

Continuing on, I found myself in the midst of the battlefields of Virginia, with a host of signs providing me with historic markers and much information about the individual battles and how they fit into the overall timeline.

As I rode along, I started analysing the term Civil War as well. Because it didn’t sound like there was anything “civil” about it. And it is quite telling that fights within what is supposed to be a cohesive unit are sometimes the worst. Like the term “domestic abuse” which makes it sound like it’s domesticated, like a cat or a dog that is house-trained (I think I heard someone on TV make this observation recently too which is probably why it stuck in my mind). And it is anything but that. But with everything, as I had been thinking about the trip, eventually it stopped. Wars, abuse, they all come to an end in some way and at some time. I am one of the lucky ones...

Anyhow, from there, it was just a short hop to ponder on love and relationships. And thinking again about how hard I have found it completing this journey on my own without the continuity of at least one other person as company. No touring cyclist is an island…But with the wrong person, how much of the magic of this trip would I have missed?

And as I contemplated further, I found myself on a nice paved bike path by the side of the road for several miles. More time for thought as less for concentrating on traffic and road positioning. Then, just as the path ran out, I bumped into Dave, a retired physician from upstate New York, who was cycling the Atlantic Coast route from Bar Harbor, Maine to Key West, Florida.

It was a fortuitous meeting, not just because it was nice to have some company but also because he told me there was a new bike path all the rest of the way to Williamsburg, which was due to open officially next week, but which we could ride on now. We pedalled along it together for a few miles, until we got to a section where they were still rolling the tarmac, where we agreed I should head off since my normal cycling speed was a little faster than Dave’s and I still had quite a bit of ground to cover.

Before I went, I also off-loaded most of the rest of my energy bars and gels onto Dave, since he still has 5 weeks left. I had been intending to put project “Hoover” into operations over the past few days and clear this section of my handlebar bag myself, but for some reason the plan did not really get past the aspirational stage (pun intended). And it was another sign that the trip was coming to an end.

Heading off on the new, smooth bike path, I flew along and was soon only a few miles outside Williamsburg, where I took a wrong turn and ran out of bike path… So it was back onto the highway for Steed and me, during a busy Friday night rush hour, but still, it was fine.

Arriving at my hotel, I realised that this would be the last time on this trip I would check into a hotel. I expected to feel emotional, but instead I went into practical mode. Just wanting to get done what needed to be done and trying to keep my focus for the logistics of the last day and not messing up so I could actually enjoy it and savour the last few miles.

With my prep done, I headed out to a cool bistro for dinner, having a good chat with a guy called Daniel, who was in Williamsburg for the art fair and was selling pottery that he makes himself. He had some wise words for me, and I was glad that I met him.

Last day tomorrow… and I am finishing this trip with more questions than answers. Maybe that's just life... it's the questions that keep us alive, and drive us forward, to greater happiness or enlightenment, or perhaps both. And the more we have, the more we have to share with others.

Which reminds me of a poem that I have copied out into the front of many notebooks I own:

"He who binds himself to a joy

Does the winged life destroy

But he who kisses the joy as it flies

Lives in eternity's sun rise"

William Blake

Which takes me back to Love. And this time enduring love, by saying Happy Anniversary to my Mum and Dad, who celebrate their 48^th anniversary today… Now that’s what I call a long and happy journey!!

Me x 

Call Me Fluff

Day 74

Charlottesville, VA to Ashland, VA

Distance: 99 miles

Time to think: lots of it

I’m not sure how many blog readers will remember Call My Bluff, the British TV game show (or Call Me Fluff in my parlance)?

It’s where the people on one team give three different explanations as to the meaning of an obscure word, only one of which is true. The other team has to decide which is the true definition, and who is bluffing.

Well, I had a l-o-t of time on the bike today to consider this in relation to the word "Bumpass".

Yep, I had a full 99 miles worth of time. When I set off into an overcast Charlottesville, I realised I would be cycling around 90 miles. But yet again somehow I had underestimated the total distance.

It didn’t matter though. The ride today was gently rolling, for which my legs were eternally grateful. 

And I was pedalling through country roads with little traffic, surrounded by trees of many different beautiful colours. What with the temperature and the light winds, it was another near perfect cycling day.

Steed and I made good time to our lunch spot, bumping into Karel again literally a couple of miles before then, and just as he was about to turn off onto a different road to get to his destination for the night, which was slightly off the route.

And it was after lunch that I started pondering the question of the day in earnest. I even started to imagine Steed with a pink bow tie on doing a Frank Muir impression as part of my own Call Me Fluff set up.

Bumpass…

(1) the movement made by happy people doing the hands, knees and boomps a daisy routine?

(2) a ball in a game of hockey, football (soccer) or rugby which arrives just behind you as you are running forward?

(3) getting into a nightclub for free because the bouncer/doorman likes your booty?

Naturally, (3) is my favourite. But of course it’s none of the above. It’s a tiny place in Virginia, too small to be incorporated but with its own post office.

Yep, that’s the kind of thing that amuses you during 99 miles on the road.

Despite the distance, I made it to Ashland in good time and even while the bike shop was still open, so I could give Steed’s tyres a final pump up.

After showering, I headed across the road from my hotel to a fantastic little sushi bar hiding in the middle of an average strip mall.

Back now and super tired again… just for a change.

Only one more long day, and then a short hop to the coast on Saturday morning. I still can’t quite believe it.

Me x 

Virginia Fizz

Day 73

Charlottesville

Distance: zero miles (non-cycling day)

Glasses of bubbles: one… enough for now

A fantastic day in Charlottesville with my friend, Julia, who drove down from Washington DC to be with me for the day. Woohooooo!

It’s almost two years since we last saw each other, and we had a wonderful time catching up on news and views. And, talking of views, Julia whisked me out of the city to a fantastic hotel with beautiful gardens and lovely food.

Although I still have two long cycling days, and then a short hop to the coast, we indulged in a glass of champers to celebrate seeing each other again, and to toast the progress I have made so far on the trip.

Making our way back into the city, we parked up and strolled along the downtown mall, taking in the small shops and stores. We treated ourselves to a pedi (me) and a mani (Julia) and then had a quick drink sitting outside before Julia had to head back.

A quiet night for me tonight trying to get over my tiredness and be fresh for the last push. The TV tonight looks fantastic… new Criminal Minds for one.

Today, I’d also like to make another plea for support with my campaign to try to increase awareness of the issues arising from domestic abuse, and to raise money to support those affected by it.

Two prompts.

First a huge thank you to my anonymous donor, who split their donation between my three UK charities:

Refuge – who provide support and education at every stage of domestic abuse, but particularly a safe haven for those escaping domestic violence.

Samaritans – who offer support much more widely than simply in domestic abuse situation, but who are contacted by victims of domestic abuse, particularly when they are in denial about the fact that what they are suffering is abuse, which is what I did in my own situation.

White Ribbon Campaign – which tries to tackle the issue at grass roots, with men telling other men that abuse of any kind is not OK, cool, or in any way acceptable, at any age or in any circumstance.

For US donors, I am also supporting NBC presenter Tamron Hall’s Shine a Light campaign, which focuses on saving the lives of those who might otherwise be killed by their abusers, seeking to educate boys and girls from an early age, and to educate others, friends, families, colleagues of victims as to how they can help when they suspect or become aware of abuse.  

If any readers of the blog feel that they want to support these causes, please please donate whatever you can spare.

Second, as Julia and I walked through the mall, we were taken with the chalk board, allowing people to exercise their first amendment rights of free speech and being used this month to raise awareness of domestic violence. It made us catch out breath, and want to support the initiative.

Tonight I have posted another two supplemental posts sharing my experiences to seek to educate and raise awareness of how these things actually happen – to explain the complexities and the mindset of the victim, and to put some context and meat on the bones of the stories that we hear in the press.

Thank you to all of you for your support.

Back on the road for another long day tomorrow.

Me x