Forty to Finish

What I hoped to feel—a sense of euphoria when I made it to the Welcome to Virginia sign—didn’t happen. My emotions upon seeing a red heart and the words “Virginia Is for Lovers” at the top of an 800-foot climb fell short of expectations. I felt unfulfilled instead of an incredible rush of excitement. I had tackled a significant milestone. I was one step closer to finishing an epic race across America that only 263 people had ever completed. I didn’t know why, but it just didn’t seem like a big deal when I entered Virginia.

I thought about what I would do when I returned home. I had blocked any thought about what was next for me. I wondered if my cycling itch would disappear if I finished the race. From March 5, 2018, when I heard the words, “Your job has been eliminated,” until July 5, 2019, when I entered Virginia, a roller coaster of emotions had tracked alongside me during that span of crossing 17 states and riding over 7,000 miles. It all seemed like a blur. I thought about paying the mortgage. I wondered how we would afford healthcare. Brian’s college education, though still years away, weighed heavily on my shoulders. We had saved money that enabled me to take this time off, but it was my responsibility to earn a living, to take care of my family. At 57, I was too young to retire. I knew the day was approaching when planning for the next chapter in my life would be necessary. Standing at the Virginia border sign, I knew the parallel universe I had lived in would soon end.

Riding through the lands that shaped the United States had made this experience more than a race across America. The milestones completed brought me a sense of joy that propelled me to the next discovery. By this time, when thinking about the next achievement, my trepidation replaced my jubilation. I felt blasé, even though I was on the brink of concluding a significant, life-changing event. For God’s sake, I thought, why aren’t I more enthusiastic? I was exhausted, tired, spent. Riding up and over the Appalachian Mountains had proved trying.

At 5:00 p.m., I stopped at the Fas Mart Valero gas station on the north end of Haysi (population 188), having ridden 70 miles. If I continued to Rosedale, the next town with decent services, located on the downside of a steep hill 15 miles east of Haysi, it meant I would climb a treacherous mountain road after dark. I took one look at the map section #11 elevation profile and decided right away that I would stay in Haysi and tackle the big climb after a good night of sleep. The nearly 15 percent grade and 1,500-foot rise would be better to attack with fresh legs.

I walked inside the Fas Mart shop and sat on a bench with an unobstructed view of Tank, leaning against the store’s window. I called the Hilltop Motel in town. The woman who answered told me there was no vacancy but asked if I wished to tent at her family-owned Thunder River Campground located three miles off the main route and on the banks of the Russell Fork River. “Sure,” I replied, realizing I had limited choices, as the time neared 6:00 p.m. She set aside a primitive campsite for me—the only available spot on this holiday weekend. I had set my sights on sleeping inside, but instead, I settled on paying $12 for a plot of ground.

The ride on Splashdam Drive felt like a ride on a bosky trail. I reached the campground entrance about three miles off the main route outside downtown Haysi. The Russel Fork River bordered the campground. I saw several RVs parked along both sides of the dirt path that passed through the heart of the encampment. Kids were playing, and several people were wading in the slow-moving river. The lady I’d spoken to on the phone greeted me and pointed me to the far end, away from all the activity, where I would find a quiet place to pitch my tent.

While setting my tent up, I was startled when I heard, “Hi, do you want to join us for dinner? We’ve got burgers, hot dogs, and sausages.”

I stopped what I was doing and shook hands with the man who had approached me. I learned he was a family member of the woman I had met a few minutes before. “Great, I’d love to join you—but I don’t want to intrude. It looks like you have a large group,” I said, acknowledging his generous offer.

“We’d love to have you join us,” he insisted.

I said, “Thank you. I’m going to wash first, and then I will be right over.” I grabbed a bar of soap, washcloth, and towel. I put my water shoes on and walked 50 feet to the river and then a few more steps into the slow-moving current. Paying particular attention to the uppermost inner thigh area affected by saddle sores, I scrubbed clean.

About 25 people gathered underneath an awning extending from the side of a 35-foot RV, making for a joyous occasion. People talked to each other. Some sat at picnic tables. All were waiting to eat the bounty on the grill. The assortment of meat, salad, and bread was one of the best tasting meals I had since the fish-and-chips meal in Astoria two nights before the race began.

Eventually, everyone gathered around a picnic table to sing “Happy Birthday.” I wasn’t sure whose birthday it was. The celebration included a white cake with chocolate icing served with vanilla ice cream. Two hours before, I had been resigned to the fact that I had only ridden 77 miles and disappointed that I had broken my string of consecutive century days. But now, here I was, an adopted family member for the night. I was elated to interact with folks who spoke with interesting accents!

After cake and ice cream, the kids played while the adults sat around a campfire. Aunts, uncles, and cousins took turns telling stories, in that distinctive drawl, accompanied by tremendous laughter. This family loved to dig at one another, and it was much like a Walsh family get-together. From 8:30 p.m. until 9:20 p.m., I listened to their razzing and poking fun at each other. Two 4x4 Ford trucks and an off-road dune buggy sat parked near the campfire. One guy wore a T-shirt with the words “Blood Feud” on it. Perhaps the message was meant to acknowledge a local high school football rivalry, or maybe it was a salute to the Hatfield-McCoy feud from 1860s to the 1890s that had entered American folklore. When I pulled out my iPhone to capture the fun on video, one guy quipped, “The reason you’re taking videos is to capture our accent, isn’t that right?”

I laughed, “That’s right!” But I also appreciated the experience would be one I didn’t want to forget. So, I captured the moment.

They all stopped talking when I stood up to leave, saying, “Thanks, you guys. I had so much fun spending time with your family.”

There were several shouts of “Have a safe rest of your journey!” The woman I’d first met said, “Please join us for breakfast.”

“Thanks,” I responded, without giving a hint whether I planned to take her up on the offer.

I slipped inside my sleeping bag and considered whether I would accept their kind invitation for breakfast. The past three days, each with less than 100 miles on the saddle, had been discouraging after 12 century-plus days in a row. I made my decision and set my alarm for 3:45 a.m.

The commotion outside my tent subsided at about 9:45 p.m., after everyone retreated to their RVs. My iPhone lit up. Who is that? I wondered. I saw a text from Adam. His message was simply, “Are you okay?”

I answered, “Yup, all good.” Less than five seconds later, my phone buzzed again.

It was Adam. “Hey, where are you?”

I replied, “How are you doing? What’s going on?”

Adam informed me he had talked to his mom a few minutes before calling. His mother tracked the leaders’ board and saw a Facebook post that concerned her, so she called her son. She told Adam about online chatter among dot watchers expressing concern about my safety. Adam told me that according to the satellite feed, I was in the middle of the river! I laughed and informed Adam how the day had ended with me camping next to the river, not in the river. I thanked him for letting me know about the concerns. I posted for all to see that I was okay and doing great, adding that an unexpected turn of events after a long day ended with me celebrating the holiday with new friends on the banks of the Russell Fork River.