Wanderlust

Well, I made it back to Cali, almost three months to the day from the first day of my trip, when I rolled out of Princeton, New Jersey fresh faced and nervous about what was to come. And now, I am less than 300 miles from San Francisco, and I’ll be swinging languidly down the coast all week long, thinking about home. The weather report says that the winds are shifting and should be out of the north/northwest this week, so I’m keeping my fingers crossed.

This week was incredibly challenging. There were 10-20 mph headwinds pretty much nonstop all week long. On Wednesday after I left Bandon (and posted the last post) I was in a foul mood. My knee hurt, the hills were steep, and the wind was about making me cry. I talked about it later with some fellow riders – that is, why exactly headwinds are so terrible. It’s my theory that on a bike, travelling so seamlessly through nature, in the world, it feels like the universe should be on my side, should be smiling benevolently down at my efforts. The wind in my face, pushing me backwards is like a slap in the face from someone I thought loved me, like a kick in the pants from my best friend.

So I’m riding along, utterly miserable, and I remembered how proud I’d been just a few weeks earlier that I could do anything – that I was at home on my bike and no hills were too big for me to conquer, no distance too long. I thought to myself, well, if I can do anything, surely that must extend to riding into a headwind. After all- it’s not, in fact, going to kill me. So I screwed a smile on my face, turned off my music, and began reciting poetry at the top of my lungs – all the poems and half songs I’ve memorized throughout the years – the Walrus and the Carpenter, the beginning of the Raven, old melodramatic poems I wrote in college, Edna St. Vincent Millay. And slowly, the miles went by, and it began to seem, well, not so bad as it had earlier that day. It took a serious shift in perspective to go from expectations of cool lackadaiscal days of riding to constantly challenging invisible hills, but I did it. It really does feel like constantly riding up an invisible hill. If you’ve ever ridden all day into a headwind, you know what I’m talking about. If you haven’t, I don’t recommend it.

Yesterday my fabulous uncle Lee rode out from Arcata to meet me, so for the last 30 miles I stuck to his back wheel like glue and let him break the wind for me. It’s pretty amazing how much easier it is to ride when there’s someone in front of you setting the pace.   Only 270 miles back to San Francisco and I have a whole week to do it in, so I’ll have lots of time to play in the redwoods.