I Almost Gave Up
For a few weeks, I stopped having fun on this trip.
Ever since I left Fargo I have been pushing myself to get to the Pacific Ocean on the same deadline that I planned to get to Seattle by. Even though it was hundreds of more miles. Even though the highest elevation I was going over was more than twice my original route.
In South Dakota, the gravel roads tried many times to rip my bike out from under me, with surprise patches of deep pebbles.. These roads would only get worse in Nebraska, where they turned into sand roads so deep it was like riding through the beach. I ended up having to push my bike for miles in the hot sun.
That sand is mounded up over my toes. This wasn’t even the deepest/worst parts, but I was too frustrated (and worried I was going to run out of water) to take pictures later on.
Then there was the 95-mile day where I had to pull over and lie in a shady ditch for an hour because it was almost 100 degrees and I thought I was going to pass out on my bike. Thankfully, there was a farmhouse nearby where I could refill my water bottles.
Over the course of the next 2 days I got 5 flat tires, all from goat head thorns, a prolific type of natural caltrops that has spread across this part of America.
While I had averaged 50 miles a day for the first half of my trip, I limped into Denver after a nearly 18-hour day of 135 miles, and I couldn’t remember my last day under 75.
Not only do they puncture tires, but they’ve also stabbed me in the foot a few times.
And then came the Rockies.
While the roads in the Appalacians are steep, the ones in the Rockies are relentless and neverending. Backbreaking uphill climbs that last for hours on end, with strong, cold winds in your face. All with a dose of altitude sickness. I was definitely having some symptoms. Trouble sleeping, depressed appetite, and a bit of lightheadedness going over Loveland Pass at nearly 12,000 feet. When I finally made it to the top of the Continental Divide that day, I cried for a good 15 minutes. From pain, from success, but also from the dread of having to continue.
Don’t get me wrong, I also celebrated.
And then a couple days later I got caught in a thunderstorm on the top of Rabbit Ears Pass at about 9500 feet. I had been warned of sudden and unpredictable mountain lightning that tends to form in the afternoon, and had been nervous about it for days. Obsessively anxious to the point of getting up absurdly early so I’d be down off the mountains before noon, I was watching every single cloud in the sky with fear and apprehension.
When a storm appeared over my head at 11:30 (dropping a lightning bolt no more than a football field away), I mentally broke down. I immediately stopped and signaled for help, and I’ll be forever grateful to Sophia, the college student / mountain biking coach who pulled over and let me hitch a ride down the mountain.
Sophia, an absolute legend, saving me from either a lightning bolt or a full-blown panic attack.
I was definitely not having fun anymore.
And yet, for the next two days I clocked my longest rides yet in the mountains, at 50 and 87 miles. Even though I was now getting up at 4am, and was petrified to be riding anywhere near noontime. This is when my ankle started to hurt - real pain, not just the aches of the road I’d experienced so far. I couldn’t stand up on the bike to ride uphill for more than a few seconds before the pain became too sharp. I was daydreaming about renting a car, googling alternative routes, mentally patting myself on the back for making it this far, etc.
About 20 miles away from Dinosaur, CO, I was screaming into the wind, raging against it to just stop blowing against me, to let me move forward, to just relent and let me get to the west coast on time.
It blew harder. I walked for a while. An older couple, probably retired, stopped to ask if I was okay. I lied.
I spent a couple of days resting in Dinosaur. I edited a video of some excellent doggos who followed me in South Dakota to remind me of some of the fun I’d had earlier in the journey. I did some filming to reconnect me with why I was doing this in the first place.
More importantly, I finally accepted that I wasn’t going to make it to the West Coast by a certain timeline. I let go of the need to bike X miles a day. I’m choosing now to bike a comfortable amount that will also let me have time to do something other than eat and be exhausted. I’m going to take more days off. With my Aunt Judy’s voice in my head, I restocked my Ibuprofen.
I’m still terrified of the lightning, even when there’s nothing but blue skies and sunshine predicted. I probably won’t be able to shake that until I get down below 5000 feet or so. The world is getting smoky again, and combined with the desolate landscape doesn’t even look or feel like Earth anymore. I feel alone in the wastelands between towns.
But I’m still going. Let’s play some games when I’m done with this, alright?
