Day 84: Ease Your Feet Into The Sea

Sunday, October 14th, 2007

The plan is to ride 30 miles to Anacortes, and do the ceremonial bike in the ocean thing, and then ride 30 miles back to Stephanie’s place in Sedro-Wooley. I set off around 10am and follow some real nice back roads to Anacortes. It’s a sunny day, so I don’t need to wear all the usual layers; the coast has really nice, warm, wet air. About half way to Anacortes, I hit the coast. I briefly think about bucking tradition and just dipping my wheels in this stretch of the Pacific, and then riding back real quick so I can pick up some Taco Bell and catch the “Law and Order SVU” marathon. Water is Water, right? BUT… I came all this way; I might as well follow the mapped route to its end.

I cross over a large bridge, and then make a wrong turn, which I correct by taking some other back road that goes through a large oil refinery. It’s cool scenery. I love industrial landscapes. I join up with the “Tommy Thompson Trail” (wtf? …If I ride this trail, is it going to mismanage my budget, then blame poor people, and then stereotype jews?.... ZING!) The trail is really neat, but I’m pulsing with anticipation. Every mile is an eternity. When I get into downtown Anacortes, there is a small anti-war protest at a major intersection. Mostly elderly people and a few college kids are poised on 3 of the 4 corners of the intersection, waving peace flags to passing cars. The 4^th corner had been annexed by a pro-war demonstration. About 10 old people blasting Pro-War Country Music, and holding up large signs of the Twin Towers on fire. One old man had a microphone and would yell angry things over a loud speaker. I took a picture of him while I waited for the light to turn green, and he told me over his loudspeaker that I had a nice camera. As I rode by I gave them the peace sign, which I was pretty sure had been made innocuous because of its usage in pop culture for the past 40 years. Wasn’t it one of Milli-Vanilli’s signature gimmicks? Well… Apparently these people HATE PEACE. One of the old guys flipped me off and they yelled at me as I rode by. Who would have thought that the two-fingered peace sign would ever become such a charged symbol again? What a bizarre world we live in right now. But two blocks away the world was much less angry and a much happier place. I rode a few miles until I could see the Ferry Terminal!

I unloaded the 2 bags I was carrying, and maneuvered my way down the rocks, onto the sand, and threw the damned bicycle into the water. I sat down in the sand for a few minutes, then got up and recreated the whole thing for the camera, but with a little more pomp and circumstance. It’s strange how I don’t really feel like I have finished. I have 30 more miles to ride this afternoon, and will be riding many more miles south, but I expected a little more catharsis. Hmm… I think because for the past week I have been losing velocity and consistently slowing my pace, that instead of charging across the Finish Line in a grand and glorious burst of strength, it feels more like easing your feet into the sea; a subtle transition like the change of seasons. If I had the chance to do this past week over again, I might purposefully set up a scenario to make this afternoon a little more climactic: No breaks beforehand, a hotel in Anacortes, take a few days off afterwards. Today felt like just another day. I have no regrets though; I still feel like a champ, but just not like a shriveled and dehydrated champion marathon runner.

I rode around Anacortes a while and tried to force myself into a post-Northern Tier mindset, and then eventually started back to Sedro-Wooley. I must admit that it felt strange to be reading the map from the other direction for the first time. As I pulled away from the water, I imagined myself starting a long journey from West to East, and it felt really fucking scary. It’s such a daunting feeling. The only reason I got beyond the first day of this ride, is because I didn’t allow myself to think about the totality of the trip. I was only focused on getting to Princeton, NJ. Knowing what I know now, I’m not sure what I would be feeling on that first day. Would I quit right then and there? Would I be less scared than I was?

I’ve had a few friends and family ask me if I’ve learned anything about myself on this trip. And of course, there are a thousand little self-realizations I’ve made (example: I hate Ethiopian Food) but to be honest, there isn’t enough energy at the end of the day to sit under the stars and be introspective. I was too focused on subsistence to think about anything deep or meaningful. Every day was a new obstacle/tragedy/malfunction/ and always just barely also a new triumph/success. It was subtle, but the daily routine of dealing with the challenges of touring, gave me a newfound confidence that the inevitable obstacles were actually pretty minute, and not worth worrying over. An increased sense of self-actualization, that I am much more in control of my own fate than I had ever thought possible. That’s really the main “realization” of this trip. Seems a bit simplistic, but to me it feels profound as hell. Invaluable.

The ride back is gorgeous and timed perfectly to coordinate with the setting sun. I turned off the Ipod, listened to the silent back roads, breathed the wet air, and enjoyed this unique and amazing moment. I sound like a pansy when I type sentences like that, but whatever…. In an hour I would be finishing off a tall Diet Coke and watching an episode of Law and Order, and tomorrow I would be heading south with a completely new destination. In 6 months I will be in Prague, and in a year I will be in Brooklyn. So I need to mythologize this moment with flowery prose; I am mourning its inevitable demise at the same time I celebrate its brief existence. I don’t experience too many things as fully as I am experiencing this.

I want my life to be full of moments like these, with awe and wonder. I know the real world is waiting for me at the bottom of my bank account, but maybe I can take these things I’ve felt these past 3 months and keep them with me as I re-enter society, and maybe remember to live a more immediate life as a result; unflinching and eager. Maybe I’ve created a new paradigm with which to view the world at large? A new exciting paradigm where possibility is so much more possible, and regret slowly fades from my memory and ultimately exists only as an abstract concept …Isn’t it pretty to think so?

But I continued to ride silently, slowly, back to the house. This moment feels like the end of the trip I had been anticipating in Anacortes; I don’t want the day to end. Why did I view so many of the more difficult moments of this trip in terms of battle or conflict? I “beat” Loup Loup, or I “conquered” Sherman. They’re only words, but looking at the massive formations now, I feel a certain reverence for them that such terminology undermines. Why feel the need to frame such challenges in confrontational language? I’m pretty far up my own ass right now, huh?

I’m OK, You’re OK… now let’s go climb some mountains.