I reset the odometer and prepared myself to only stop counting miles when my front tire is sunk into the Pacific ocean ten weeks from now.
At about mile 8 I started chuckling. "you're riding your fucking bike across the country," I thought to myself. What would motivate someone to wake up at 6 a.m after sleeping on a church floor, to put on a spandex suit and exercise for 8 hours a day for ten weeks? After today I realized why.
It's the rad group of riders you get to do it with. It's that epic descent after a grueling climb that makes you feel like you're flying. It's the ice cream shop that dishes out free cones because they think our cause is worthy and they are blown away by the overall adventure we are on. It's that refreshing river that gives your body a second wind, and a feast that awaits you at your daily destination.
I touched the Atlantic Ocean today and I'm in no hurry to touch the West coast. At the end of the day it's the journey that matters most.
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