It has now been one year since I dipped my front wheel into the Atlantic ocean. And what a year. I am sure I am still the luckiest person in the world because, well, because I did the ride in 2019 instead of waiting until 2020. About the time the ride was to begin this year the world shifted on it’s axis and slowly ground to a halt. But you know this. I had promised to get back when some time had passed, but found myself once again in the routine of what we call life. In case you did not know, Tom G. is fully recovered and he is riding again.

Over the last seven weeks my CrossRoads friends and I have re-shared the ride day-by-day. The ride was real. The experience did alter the way I see the world and it did expand my understanding of myself. Three hundred and sixty-five days ago I was full of pride and full of optimism. I am finding it hard to be so optimist today. But I am trying. And by writing this blog, even though the links are gone and the excitement has long since faded, it is helping.

Those people in those towns are still working hard. Even as I know some are not actually working. I do feel optimist that together we will figure a way to keep moving forward. For every boarded-up town there were many more vibrant and growing. America is changing but that is what makes our home so amazing. We have reinvented ourselves over and over again. At 60 it gets harder to welcome such change, but luckily a millennial generation unbound by the triumphs and tragedies that defined the boomers, has finally exceeded us in number. They are now free to celebrate their own triumphs and make their own mistakes.

Even as we lament that life will never be the same, these young and still passionate people look out and say, let’s make damn-sure that life will never be the same. This is as it should be. Just because life is not the same does not mean that life is not a blast! I am working on setting new goals even if I cannot say exactly when said goals may be realized. But that too is okay. I hope you too are dreaming big dreams with the full knowledge that while it may not be tomorrow that our dreams become reality, if we truly believe in a dream, there is always another tomorrow to look forward to.

Thank you so much for your support, without you I would not have this diary of my ride across America. Thank you for riding along… Sincerely, Greg

I didn’t talk that much about my upcoming ride before I left. However, when trying to schedule my real life around a seven week absence, the subject inevitably came up. The first question was always why. My standard answer was, “I want to see America at 15 mph.” This usually got me past the subject onto the next thing. I answered this way because I did not have a clue why I wanted to ride a bicycle across the United States.

My friend Tom had decided to do it, and asked if I wanted go along. I trained hard, packed as instructed by Paula and had my bike in top mechanical shape. And I fully expected to just go ride my bike 3,400 miles. I have undertaken a few physically, mentally, and emotionally demanding adventures in my life, most of which were completed as expected. This was just one more interesting and challenging experience.

I have traveled on all seven continents, run brutally hard races, and climbed in the thin air of great mountains. I did not expect any of these to change my life, but of course, they did. When you plan, prepare and execute a worthy goal things change. So, I knew I would be different when I finished.

What I did not expect was a profound shift in the way I understand the world. Because of my travels and the fact that I read the New York Times and listen to NPR, I had always fancied myself a rather worldly and informed guy. As I pedaled through this amazing country of ours I found I am more ignorant of my own country than I am of the moon.

I know this is going to sound trite, but our very own USA, is vastly more diverse and complicated than I could have ever imagined. When pedaling rhythmically along for hour after hour you see, hear and taste your surroundings. In the passing through of boarded up towns you recognize the endless optimism that built this country and realize that dreams can fade or more often, be shattered by circumstance or chance.

I have seen grinding poverty and embarrassing wealth. In America, these two extremes are closer than they appear. The enormous stone mansions look somehow even sadder than the wooden shacks as each tumbles back from whence it came. Much of what I understood America to be, has already faded away.

But America is still the land of opportunity. In 15 states and hundreds of towns I witnessed people working extremely hard. When travelling slowly you see hope in a face below the bent shoulders. These people know exactly what it means to be American. They know far better than me the cost of such a lofty title. Some look and speak like me, although the ones who look up and smile usually do not.

I was only afraid once on this trip, and that is when I saw my friend lying in gravel at the side of the road. America is not a country where people should ever be afraid. With the exception of a few pickup trucks, and two Prius in particular, people are genuinely nice, considerate and welcoming. People want to know what a, not old, but maybe older, guy on a bicycle is doing in the middle of a spec of a town in Kansas. I found I wanted to know what they were doing in a spec of a town in Kansas. You are at eye level on a bicycle so communication is easy.

I believe I understand our country better today than I did seven weeks ago. I hope I understand myself better than I did 3,400 miles and 107,073 feet of climbing ago. One has time to think on a bicycle.

I have spent the last seven weeks with less than two dozen of the most interesting, sincere and helpful people one could hope to be surrounded by. Paula and Dana have an organization that will get you across the country. All I had to do was pedal.

Tom A. has what was once described to me as the gift of help. He is someone who has to be helpful, and that is all he has been. If it needs doing, chances are, Tom has already done it.

Rick has now done this ride 22 times. He is the single most inspirational man on tour. On those mornings when you just don’t know how you are going to get through the day, sit with Rick at breakfast, and you will be fine. Sorry but I can find no picture of Rick.

Finally there is this kid called Peyton. He not only rode every mile, he stopped and fixed flats. He fixed cables and gears and brakes and did whatever was needed to get someone to the motel. And at the end of the day while we were in the shower, he did the heavy maintenance to get you through tomorrow. He gave a wheel and pulled us along when we most desperately needed it. And he can ride a wheelie.

In no particular order is our tour.

I know this was long and preachy and not that interesting but ending a tour is much harder than starting one. When I have had time to better figure out what this journey has been about I will post a postscript. I now want to thank those of you (at least those of you who are still awake) for forcing me to post something each and every day. On more than a few days it was not easy staying awake long enough to brush my teeth, let alone write something. This effort has helped me process along the way, and the thought that someone (I know, I am flattering, or deluding myself to think this) might read it, has kept me vigilant. I believe more than ever that Life’s a Blast.

I am in Boston. Tom is in the hospital but will make a full recovery. Please check out his blog today. https://tomscrosscrountryride.home.blog/

I want to start by catching up just a bit. Yesterday we entered our 13th state and it is quite beautiful, and quite hilly.

This was supposed to be one of the roughest days on tour with just under 5,300 hundred feet of climb in 71 miles. I swear, it wasn’t that bad. Rick, the 22 time tour guy said I would not have said that 6 weeks ago. He is probably right. Everything is about perspective. And I hope my legs have gained something on this odyssey besides a nice tan.

We topped out in the Green Mountain State at the top of Hogback Mountain. At the top was the Beer Naked Brewery on one side of the road and Vermont Distillers on the other. You make up your own mind. Also, sadly, are the remains of a Ski Resort.

Today, Thursday, we would ride into Boston after 90 miles of hills in Vermont, New Hampshire and surprising to me, Massachusetts. But first things first. Early today, like yesterday we quickly entered our 14th state, New Hampshire.

It was foggy, cool and oh so cool.

We found New Hamphsire to be confused in its advertising of fauna.

We spent but 30 miles or so in New Hampshire before entering our 15th and final state.

The final miles of our tour day were through what I have to describe as the most secluded neighborhood I have ever witnessed. Until, that is, the last 2 miles where we had to face 6 lanes of traffic with that never right, but always left, final turn into the motel. Why should things change on day 48?

Today consisted of just under 5,000 feet of climb in just over 90 miles. It was a strange day for me. My legs are very tired. This is not from today’s climbing or the 90 miles. I am wearing down from 48 days of motel breakfasts, 106,600 feet of climbing and 3,424 miles of riding. I do not have my head around the whole thing yet.

We had our banquet and I now have a certificate stating that I have ridden across the United States. It really isn’t over until I stand in the Atlantic. At that point I hope to be able to reflect on just what has transpired over these last seven weeks. I do hope I can give you some idea of what it was like. If you wish, you can join me tomorrow for my ride to the sea. I hope you do. And thank you for riding along.

Today, after 3,306 miles, 101,382 feet of climbing and pedaling in 13 states, Tom was involved in a very bad accident. It occurred at the bottom of a steep hill near Searsburg, Vermont. He was taken by helicopter to Albany, NY. He was conscious and aware when put aboard the helicopter. He is badly beaten up but there is no serious head trauma or damage to his spine. He has contacted me from the hospital and he has “a broken clavicle, some broken ribs, a small lung puncture and lots of road rash.”

He is an incredibly strong individual. He will make a full recovery. No one lived this tour to its fullest like Tom. Angie is on her way to Albany. When I know more I will let you know. Keep your friends close, they are our most valuable possession.

Tomorrow we ride 90 miles into Boston.

I will start today by letting you know that I was much more comfortable at the start of this day’s ride. It was raining, but at least I didn’t have to worry about rain, because, well, it was happening. I also did not have to put on sunscreen so it looks like that tube will now last the trip. Good things come in damp packages. As for the ride? We spent almost the entire day paralleling the Mohawk River, which is a major tributary of the Hudson River. I have heard of the Hudson River Valley, but never experienced it. It is indeed a beautiful part our country.

And the Hudson Valley is old. We came upon one example early in our ride, in the place of Fort Klock. It is described as a fortified homestead. And it looks just like the description.

There are an inordinate number or small towns and villages along this river, but like so much of our beautiful land, time has passed much of this area by.

I did mention that it rained today. I did not mention how much. Our only sag was at 41 miles and as I pedaled up one of the long hills towards said stop, it let loose. I know you can only get so wet but when the rain is running down your legs so fast that you are pumping water out of the ventilation holes in your shoes; you’re wet.

That dump moved on and it actually began to clear.

I would say, that when we left the sag we got back that long uphill and caught up to the downpour, but that would just be bragging. Besides, once we got through it a second time, it never caught back up.

We then entered the town of Schenectady. I will say, that the only thing harder than pronouncing this town’s name is riding through its downtown on a bicycle. Streets that are far too narrow for a car are not meant for a car and a bicycle. And the good people (though many were not) of Schenectady let us know we were not appreciated.

Once clear of downtown though, we jumped onto the Mohawk Hudson Bike Trail and followed it for just over 17 miles. This too ran along the river and with a clearing sky and no traffic, life was once again – good.

After what seemed more than 85 miles, we crossed the Hudson on a drawbridge as we arrived in Troy, New York.

On Friday, our last day of tour, we only pedal 16 miles to Revere Beach. So we actually only have two riding days left. This leaves us with 164 miles to cover and 10,380 feet to climb in those two days. Tomorrow is only 57 miles but rumor has it, that this section sports the toughest hill on tour. I will be sure to let you know if this be truth or myth. In the mean time I plan to get a good nights sleep. Thank you for riding along.

Everything, including us, has a line. The trick is to roll along that line without crossing over. We are close to that line. With that being said, it was another thoroughly agreeable day. We start each day with a ride rap. Paula brings out her white board and easel and gives us any updates on the day’s route.

She actually gives it three times, once before each group starts, but you don’t care about that. So I will try to entertain you with what happened during the 71 miles from Syracuse to Herkimer. The weather was great, the roads, for the most part satisfactory, and the barns, rustic.

It was, in fact just like the previous two days. I am not complaining, just stating facts. Although I have to admit this wonder of a weather pattern is making me nervous. It’s why I could never live in San Diego, perfect weather is just too overwhelming. Nothing is more terrifying than a complete lack of adversity.

Now about that whole “line” thing. We have three “real” riding days and 265 miles to go. Bodies are being pushed right to the edge. Personally I was feeling fine this morning. I spent much of the day cruising at a reasonable speed with Jeff, Charlie and Tom G. But as we spread out after the sag at mile 34, I found myself out of juice. I told myself it really did not matter, but I had no leg. That is even scarier than the weather. But I made it to Herkimer just fine and will get to bed extra early tonight.

Making it safe to Herkimer is more than can be said for the rest of the team. One of our riders hit something and wound up breaking his forks, which sent him over the handlebars. Luckily it looks like he just has some very sore ribs, but his bike is permanently broken. Paula and Peyton started calling every bicycle purveyor within 50 miles and found one shop with a bike his size. His wife has traveled with us since Erie so she drove him to the shop. He bought a new bike, and as I write this. Peyton is setting it up. It is a fairly low-end bike, but he is still in the game. I am proud to be riding with this guy. We also had another broken wheel but it looks salvageable.

Tomorrow we will ride 85 miles to Troy. It looks like rain, but we will see. Thank you for riding along.

Fish Eagle that is, a raptor more commonly known as the Osprey. But more about that later. It was just another annoyingly gorgeous day. The sun was shining, the temperature was ideal, what little wind there was was at our backs and I did not hear of one flat tire. The only thing I can think of to complain about is that there was nothing to complain about. Way to go New York! Just now heard Jeff had two flats, but since they weren’t mine, I can’t really complain. I’ll let Jeff do that on his blog.

Our first sag came way too soon in Geneva. Geneva is a stately old town on the shores of the lovely lake pictured above. We are in the Finger Lakes region of New York and if you haven’t been here yet, come on! Trust me, you will not be disappointed.

When mindlessly pedaling along I will, on occasion peer at my GPS and figure the time to sag, or to the end of the ride. This gives me short-term goals and hastens the day. Today I caught myself looking down at my GPS and not thinking I only have 12 miles or whatever to sag, but damn, I only have 12 miles or whatever to sag. It was that kind of day. Six weeks ago I would never have dreamed that 86 miles could slide by so effortlessly. This bike riding thing is fun. And so are town names.

We pedaled through Seneca Falls which everyone knows is really Bedford Falls, home of the George Bailey family. Another resident is that mean old banker (but aren’t they all old and mean) Mr. Potter. But the coolest sight for me today came along Seneca Creek, just east of Bedford, I mean Seneca Falls.

Now said young osprey takes flight.

I am not sure if it was their first flight, but this bird was short on avian grace.

But they say any landing you walk on a branch from…

Thank you for indulging me. I am something of an osprey fan.

Meanwhile, back on the bike, life was still very good. Our second sag, at an ice cream parlor thank you, was at mile 55 and it was sunny. Of course the final 31 miles were mostly smooth, mostly hilly, mostly doable and completely painless.

In fact there was but one more attraction on todays route. This was a kinda restored section of the old Erie Canal.

And we found two people doing the second best thing people can do on a day like today.

We now have but 337 miles and 14,430 feet of climbing in store. Tomorrow we travel via bicycle (I know, but again, humor me, even if fail to humor you) to Herkimer. It is a short day at 71 miles so I may attempt to pay for my trip by finding a large flawless diamond in one of Herkimer’s famous diamond mines. Thank you for riding along.

Ah, life on tour. I am one of the few people who wear a watch, so I am the one people ask, not for the time, but for the day or date. I guess Einstein was on to something with that whole idea of relativity. Did I mention the day started out astoundingly nice? Well, it did, and got better as the ride progressed. Quite cool this morning, but it was so nice that I left my CamelBak in my bag. This is the first time since Riverside CA, that I rode clean. Very nice, thank you, and I am sure I look faster. I did not go faster, but that is less important.

Upstate (that’s what people upstate call anywhere in New York that is not New York City) New York is a very scenic place to ride a bike.

There are many small creeks and streams (yes, redundant but I’m looking for filler here) and it seems most have some form of waterfall. There are worse things to have in your state than an abundance of waterfalls. Our first sag stop was at a scenic little Mobile station in Alden, NY. However, this was a very big deal because shortly before this sag, our merry band of bikers had hit the big round number of 3,000 miles!

No time to dwell on the past, we went on rolling away miles on very nice roads, although they do have hills up here. Our second sag was to be at the fire station in Avon. And I was to meet the Rochester (as in Rochester, NY) side of the family there. And I did.

Thank you all, and thank you Jack and Anne too, even though you demurred on the photo. It was great to see you all. And, just so you know, Ann rode the last 22 miles with us. And I was able to keep up. I should mention, like everywhere else in the U.S. currently, this area has been inundated with rain. We passed through the village of Honeoye Falls (not pronounced anything like it’s spelled, except for the last part) and the namesake was rocking.

We completed the 90 miles today and tomorrow’s 86 looks to be just as sunny, but a bit warmer. We now have 422 miles and 16,583 feet of climbing to do. And we have 5 riding days to complete said numbers. Thank you for riding along.

What a difference a day makes. I woke up this morning, looked out the window and there were no little dropplets working their way down the pane. Today would be a good day. A hearty breakfast, and it was time to ride. After all, that is what I came to do.

I may have mentioned I am now part of the 7:30 gang so at our appointed time, off we went. The rest day helped, but those are all behind us now. The saddle felt good and pedaling out of town felt better. After five miles or so we were riding parallel to Lake Erie in wine country. Not good wine, but wine country none the less. If I could have ordered up a riding day, I could not have done better.

Glorious is as good a word as I came up with, even after cheating and consulting an online thesaurus. It was just that kind of day. I have no idea why each and every one of you are not out here riding. Unless maybe it’s that whole desert thing. That scared me too, but that was so long ago. The 80 miles from Erie to Hamburg makes the last six weeks well worth the effort. And hey, there are lighthouses here. Who doesn’t like a lighthouse?

What else happened today you ask, or maybe you didn’t. We crossed our 12th state line. Which, as you can guess after seeing the picture below, is New York.

After taking two ibuprofen for my shoulder, I pedaled on because that is what one does on a day like this.

The roads, for the most part, were smooth with little traffic. The air temperature never went above 80. There was a light breeze from the tail. Is life great or what? The 80 miles went by too fast today, even though we got a quick 10 minute shower with just three miles to go. No big deal. We now have 512 miles and 20,665 feet of climb left of the tour. Tomorrow we ride 90 miles to Victor. I have every reason to believe it will be as pleasant as today. Thank you for riding along.

I have never thought of Erie as such, but then, I have never given Erie much thought at all. I am guessing, if not for the drizzle and occasional actual rain, I would be finding Erie a more entertaining city. It is a rest day and while we had planned a leisurely ride around Presque Isle State park, this was not to be. I will, and have, ridden in the rain. And with filthy clothes and even pictures, I can readily prove this. But not on a rest day. So, on this 5th and final rest day, I am resting.

One week from today we will be riding into Boston. That will be our last big ride day of just over 80 miles. A week from tomorrow we will dip our front tires or throw our entire bikes into the Atlantic.

This is the first time I have allowed myself to gaze further than the next days ride. The talk among my companions last evening and today has been all about, do you remember that hill on the way to Wickenburg, or I still can’t believe we were riding in snow in Flagstaff. The last six weeks is already becoming a surreal collection of moments. Collective snapshots unable to be justly shared except within our small collective. I am trying to give you some appreciation of this ride but realize I am failing miserably. So I guess I will write what I write best. Irrelevant tripe in the form of dull quips and reaching attempts at humor, passed off as blog-stuff. But hey people, this is only a blog, and you were never promised Hemingway.

So instead of prattling on, allow me to post some shots from the recent past taken by Tom A. van guy and logistics savant.

Below is a collage of a small part of our team.

And I mentioned the day where we had to line up on that god-awful highway in hopes of keeping most of us alive. Well here is a different perspective.

And a similar shot from the other end. Since it is raining, my guess is this was taken somewhere in Ohio.

I talked to my Mom today and she pointed out, as mom’s should, that I have been remiss. She pointed out a few other things as well, but those are far too true for public discourse. I said I would post a picture of the school kids from back in Dekalb (pronounced de-kab) and did not. I now have a few, so here they are.

Tomorrow we go back to work. Thank you for riding along.