Penultimate

From Genoa, NV, a quaint little tourist-trap of a town, Mike and I rode off into the inky pre-dawn chill of Tuesday, August 28th. Evidently, there was a beautiful lunar eclipse exploding somewhere in the sky, but it escaped our view behind the Sierra Nevadas.

This particular Tuesday had a very ominous, final air about it, its significance palpable, charging the air around our headlamp-glowing bicycles: it was the day of the final mountain pass, Kit Carson Pass. We cycled 17 miles to where the climb really began - and the remaining 16 to the top. For one thing, we had a great deal of excitement about tackling the final mountain, in essence, breaking the back of the ride. We crossed into California first thing in the morning, to boot.

I nailed the climb. Mike and I agreed to summit the pass separately in the interest of reflection. And I nailed it. There was a gently sloping flat section in the middle of the up-hills where I found myself thrumming along at 19 miles per hour, which is quite good on any terrain, much less in the midst of tackling a pass. Between feeling so alive on the bicycle and the beautiful views of piney California high country, I was quite elated, but the day was not over yet.

As we began our descent, a storm of Coloradan proportions kicked itself into a fury out of nowhere, so we again had the weather element to deal with. Unfortunately, the downhill was not all down-hill. It was a jagged slope, book-ended by two five-mile climbs. Each time we thought we had the storm beat, another hill presented itself, saying "Oh, no you don't. Not yet. Not on my watch."

After going along for miles on empty stomachs, we stopped for a quick break at a diner, thunder rumbling in the distance. Mike decided to eat a cheeseburger and have a rest. I was growing tired of the rumbling in the sky and decided to press on. I was greeted with a killer five mile descent and no sooner had I reached the bottom than I realized I had missed my turn, five miles up the mountainside.

It would take an hour to climb back up into the storm and my chances of reuniting with Mike had essentially evaporated. A woman at a gas station insisted on giving me useless directions to try to regain the route, but she didn't actually know the road names and so I was about to climb back up; but then, she flagged down some contractors who offered to give me a lift back up. I gladly accepted.

Just as we were about mid-way, Mike came roaring down the mountain past us. We turned around, caught him, and loaded his gear in the truck. What a happy accident. They deposited us at our turn-off and we thanked them profusely. We cycled the remaining foothilly mileage to Placerville, CA, making it one of the longest days and certainly the most physically challenging day of the entire ride. 110-odd miles in all, including a formidable mountain pass and plenty of difficult-to-negotiate foothills on either side.

Today we had record heat riding into the Sacramento Valley, 104 degrees, but all in all, it was a peaceful, bike-path-y sort of ride. The sense of inevitability of the end of the ride is finally starting to catch up with me, bringing with it a mixed bag of emotions: excitement at completing something so grand and at the prospect of wearing something other than lycra; sadness at the demise of a long-time dream and a life-changing adventure; hope, emanating from the changes this will precipitate in my life; fear, fear of the potential difficulties I will face re-assimilating into some semblance of a normal life.

I am in Davis, California now, staying at the home of some bicycle tourists I met in Missouri. I am excited about what tomorrow will bring, but afraid as well. I have lots of dramatic thoughts about this moment and the impending moment of completion, when I dip my tire in the Pacific Ocean - which I have intentionally omitted. These thoughts are too young to share, unrefined by time and reflection. Suffice it to say: I do not want tomorrow to end.

Davis, CA -> San Francisco, CA. Press on.