Saturday, Sept.7, 2008

Can you believe it! I hardly can. I MADE IT ALL THE WAY FROM SEATTLE TO JERSEY CITY, ALL THE WAY FROM THE PACIFIC OCEAN TO THE ATLANTIC! WOW! All 6,000 km. or 4,000 miles of it (my actual total was 6,674km. with all the little side trips we took along the way). I still have to pinch myself to make sure it is for real. The sense of accomplishment has not really sunk in yet. That will come, I'm sure but I do have a sense of elation and relief. I've actually done it! Unbelivable!

But before I "get into" how I feel now and some of what I take with me (my momories) after the fact, I want to put closure to the specifics of the trip itself, more particularly, from Wednesday (the last time I blogged) through to the end of our journey at Liberty State Park, on Saturday. I want to do that partly as a written account for myself to refer to at a later date to bring back to meomory some of the events that transpired along the way. My memory is good. It's just short and I am painfully aware how quickly specific events, like time, fade like the mist into the distance. Secondly, and as important (if not more important), I want to share with you the readers who have been faithfully reading this blog (I have been so pleasantly surprised how many of you there are) the specifics of the journey that you have gone on with me as seen through my eyes. I have a strong sense of duty to you as well and want to bring a sense of closure for you also.

Thurday, August 28, saw us heading from Binghamton to Dalton where we would be camping at the Lackawanna State Park a short journey of a "mere" 93km. or 58 miles.

I was rudely awakened at 4:45am by a very noisy garbage truck that decided that it just HAD TO pick up the huge construction bins filled with garbage. I'm sure the driver had no idea that over two hundred people were tenting in the field right beside the bins. Oh well! I had to go to the bathroom anyway. After all, what's fifteen minutes earlier than usual?

I reached for the zipper flap to get out and couldn't help but notice how wet everything was. My tent was soaked from the dew. That meant tha the grass would be soaking wet too and I HATE getting my feet all wet in the morning. Does that sound like I'm whining a bit? Maybe that garbage truck was having more of a negative impact on me than I would like to admit. Generally, I don't get crabby. I get quiet.

As I got out of my tent I couldn't help but notice in the light (from the pole nearby) that the top of my tent was not rounded as it should be but had a sharp peaked shape to it. Oh no! One of my tent poles had broken during the night too. Now I am getting cranky. (Take a deep breath Lou and tell yourself, "I'm not going to let this minor "blip" become a major issue that destroys my day for me." Maybe there's a lesson in that for all of us. How many times don't we allow the minor things (happenings) in our lives take on major porportions? No! This tent pole incident will NOTt "get to me." I've already thought my way through it. I'm sure John VanderSteen, the unofficial "camp fixer upper" won't mind lending a helping hand to a poor soul with a broken tent pole. See, no need to let this "minor" incident become a "major." (Actually, I did fix it myself when I got into camp that afternoon).

We left camp at about 6:40am as soon as it was light enough to see. Let it be known that I was actually the first one ready and waiting. That doesn't happen that terribly often, especially once we are on the road. I have been known to be engaged in conversation occassionaly with the locals when the rest of the group is ready to get going, necessitating their waiting for a "moment or two" for me. Hey! One shouldn't miss out on these opportunities of conversation, should they? To me, they are such an important part of the journey. (I still remember the hawk incident).

Binghamton is a fairly large centre of about 47,000. As we rode through it, I couldn't help but notice the many poor and run down areas in many of the suburbs. There were quite a few old and abandoned businesses. What made this place tick at one time? What had happened over the years? Was this an old steel town? Some of the questions I thought of as we traversed the streets.

Andy, Cynthia and I rode together for the first while (the rest rode ahead of us about 200 metres as Cynthia finds it too nerve wracking to have too large a group in close proximity to her - understandably so given what she has been through). About 30km. out of town we crossed the state line from New York to Pennsylvania. As usual, we stopped for some pictures.

Barb, John and I then rode together for a while. At New Milford we stopped to talk to a "local" for a few moments and he directed us to the best restaurant in town. Of course we HAD to stop there. After coffee, I "pulled" (took the lead/ broke the wind (not to be mistaken for "passing on the wind") for John and Barb) for ten or so km. at a pretty good pace until we came to a towering, arched railway bridge that extended right across the valley high above us. Of course we had to stop again for a picture.

After this, the rest of the trip into camp was along very isolated but hilly roads that involved many short but quite steep climbs. Again, words can't really adequately describe the beauty of the park like scenery along many of these roads. Our campsite at Lackawanna State Park could not have been more picturesque. It comprised of two small fields (where we tented), nestled deep within the mature forest. Imagine the contrast offered by the two huge kitchen and gear trucks parked in the middle of nowhere, alongside these towering trees as well as the two hundred or so tents set up in the small clearings. We were told not to leave any food outside of our tents as there were black bears in the area. Interestingly, no one wandered off too far by themselves as darkness began to descend. (The thought of dressing up in a bear costume did cross my mind (for a very brief moment - my sick sense of humour coming through) but I quickly dispelled of the idea. After all, we were in the U.S. and who knows who might be carrying a gun, right. The joke might be on me.

Before dark, I did meet with Tony and Shirley Maurer, a wonderful couple (on the other side of the camp) who were staying in a "yurt" rented from the park. I had never heard of, let alone seen one of these octagonally shaped, tent like structures made out of canvas. These structures are about 16 feet across, have a wooden floor, a seven foot high vertical wall with a cone shaped roof and a window on top. These insulated buildings sleep six people very comfortably and come furnished with a stove and fridge. They rent for $30.00 a day. Tony and Shirley had heard about us on the news and were more than eager to talk with me and give a tour of their home not to mention access to their platter of home made chocolate cookies. An hour went by so quickly.

That night, as daylight faded, we shared communion together for one last time. We all gathered in a circle around at the forest's edge and after a few words of introduction as to the meaning of the sacrament by our chaplain Len, we proceeded to pass the elements to each other in the name of Christ as Jenna and Annette played some of the well known hymns (Amazing Grace, etc.) Most of us knew the words and sang along. on the flute. We concluded by saying the Lord's Prayer together. It was a very fitting, meaningful and moving experience for me.

Friday saw us on the road from Dalton (the State Park) to Sussex and the Christian School there, a trek of some 132 km. (82 miles). It was also to be the day of the greatest amount of climbing in a single day with a total of 6,857 feet. Having crossed the seven major mountain passes out west, I was kind of excited about the prospect of tackling these hills. I know that many of the others, particularly those who had joined in Grand Rapids, were quite apprehensive.

The day could be summarized as, one hill after another, some rolling, some short and steep and others somewhat longer and quite steep. I was surprised at how well I was able to handle them. That is not to say that I was not tired after some of the climbs. No, not at all. But the biggest difference for me, when comparing them to the passes in the mountains, is that the climbs, though at times steeper, were much, much shorter than those out west. I think the longest hill here was approx. 2 to 2.5 miles with an eight to maybe ten percent grade in places (some of the shorter hills were steeper). Those out west were 7 to 10 miles of 8 percent grade. The length of the climb often makes it gruelling. I found that many of the shorter steeper climbs were preceeded by a fairly steep downhill, where one could gather significant speed and literally be half way up the next before shifting down into the lower gears. You just can't do that when you've got eight miles of climbing to do. The weather, for me, was another big, big difference. Almost the entire day was ridden in cool, cloudy, almost drizzly conditions, whereas every single mountain pass was ridden in extreme heat, adding to the strain and the toll on the body. Also, one cannot forget that, having put in almost 4000 miles already, our bodies and legs were well seasoned and in pretty good shape, not to mention the quickness of recovering once cresting a climb. And so while the day was challenging enough for me, it was by no means the most difficult one that I had encountered on the trip. I can think of several others that would fit that bill better.

In hindsight, I would have to say that I thoroughly enjoyed the day. The beauty of the rolling hills carpeted with deciduous forests of beech, oak, maple, birch, etc., interspersed with coniferous (pine, spruce, fir, etc.) is, simply put, majestic. I long to be able to travel them in the autumn when the leaves are in full colour.

After crossing the Delaware River and entering the State of New Jersey we had our final "big climb" of the day, (approx. 2.5 miles long) some fifteen miles out of Sussex. The hill is known as High Point and at 1846 feet is literally the highest point in the State of New Jersey. We could see the monument from a distance, built to commemorate this distinction.

The sun was finally able to "win out" over the clouds, making this the hottest and most difficult climb of the day. Upon reaching the summit we were greeted by a grandmother, a dad and his three young children who cheerfully treated us to cold lemonade, trail mix and homemade chocolate chip cookies. How did they know they are my favourite? The family, as we found out, were Sandi Westra's mother, husband and children who couldn't wait to surprise their mom at the top of this last climb. How neat!

However, the High Point Monument, which is the true "highest point" (situated close to where New Jersey, Pennsylvania and New York join together) was on a paved side road some three miles from the route we were on. Being brutes for punishment (not having had enough climbing for the day) Barb, Gerald and I decided to head for High Point. The last part of the road up to the monument was a fairly lengthy grade of 15 percent. I literally had to get down into my "granny gear" and stand up to pedal in order to make it. As if that weren't enough we decided to climb the 21 story monument (all 291 stairs) to the top to take in the view of the three states. Needless to say we were sweating like pigs. But the view was worth it.

In Sussex, I was greeted by my wife Penny and daughter Bethany who had travelled (in a separate vehicle) with Ralph, Cynthia's husband and some of their family. It was so good to see them again. Penny, in casually speaking with a gentleman at the school had asked where there might be hotel accomodations for the night. He began to explain a couple of possibilities but then stopped and matter of factly said, "You know what, we have a huge house and would love to have you and any others who may need a bed, to stay at our place." John VanderSteen would also stay with us. Isn't it marvelous how God works. As it turns out, this gentleman, whose name is Charlie Kuperus is the Minister of Agriculture of the State of New Jersey. His wife Marj owns a beautiful greenhouse and florist shop. They humbly and generously gave of themselves for us, making us feel very welcome and at home. Thank you so much!

Saturday, August 30: Sussex to Jersey City and Liberty State Park (98 km. or 61 miles). THE LAST DAY OF THE TOUR. I can hardly believe that this day has already arrived. Where has the time gone. It seems like only yesterday that we dipped our tires in the Pacific Ocean in Seattle. Now we are about to dip them into the Atlantic. I have to confess that my stomach is a little bit anxious. This is IT.

It has rained during the night and the wet roads always make travelling more dangerous not to mention the increased risk of getting a flat tire or having a fall on slippery pavement. That is the last thing I want to happen on this day. It would be horrible to have something happen that would incapacitate either myself of the bicycle. I DO NOT WANT TO BE SAGGED.

It is only a hundred km. or 61 miles but we need to be there by 12:30. We're off at 7:00 am which is a fairly decent time. We are by no means first out of the gate. I'm sure there are many others who are anxious to get going. Shortly into the trip we pass one, then two, then three, then four and then five people, all who are on the side of the road fixing flat tires. There seems to be broken glass everywhere. My prediction of lots of flat tires is coming true.

Then Gerald's chain suddenly breaks. Oh no! Not a good sign at all. I'm feeling a little more anxious. The rest of our group goes on ahead while Gerald, Andy and myself stay behind. Fortunately, Gerald has a spare part to loosely piece the chain together. We hope it holds the rest of the way or he will be SAGGING as he does not have any more spare parts.

At sixty km. we stop for a cup of coffee and a little bite to eat. It is hard to believe, this will be our last time together on the trip. Before leaving, I check my tires to make sure they are O.K. My heart skips a beat as I notice a piece of glass embedded into my tire. Oh NO! Do I dare pull it out. If I don't it will certainly embed itself further into the tire and then the tube. I slowly pull the shard out, fearing the worst, then put spit on the spot. There are no bubbles. WHEW! I breathe a sigh of relief. I DO NOT WANT A FLAT.

At 12:15 we arrive at the "collecting area" some ten miles from Liberty State Park. We will all leave together from here at 1:30 under police escort for the remainder of the trip through the city. So far so good. I check my tires over carefully again and notice that quite a few cyclists are doing the same.

At 1:15 we gather for a group picture and then proceed to line up for the police escort. At 1:30 sharp, the last cyclist, along with three of the sweep team arrive and fall in line as we head out. The police cruiser takes the lead while Billy D follows on his Harley, then all 192 of us with our Sea to Sea Jerseys on. We take up the entire road and stretch several hundred feet long.

This first portion will be escorted by the New Jersey State Police. When we reach the city limits, the Jersey City Police will take over and once we reach Liberty State Park they will be relieved by the Park Police. The police do a superb job of blocking each intersection as we pass through. People come out of their homes and stores to witness the impressive sight. Many motorists honk in appreciation.

We have been told by Ed, the tour organizer, that anyone who gets a flat along this section of the trip WILL HAVE TO BE SAGGED as there is no time to fix flat tires. The knot (is it the emotion of reaching the final destination taking hold or the tension that I can still get a flat) is still there in my stomach. I hope my wife and daughter have been able to find the park and the boat launch where we will be dipping our tires, O.K.

With each mile completed, I feel a bit more relieved and looking forward to the dipping ceremony. Oh, there is the Statute of Liberty. We've entered the park, a stream of cyclists over a quarter of a mile long. Everyone in the park is looking, wondering who we are and what is going on. I smile! I'm almost there! Only a mile or so of cobblestones along the walkway and our destination will have been reached.

KA BOOOOOM - the sound of a blown bicycle tire brings me back to reality. I quickly check my tires. Thankfully it's not mine! Unfortunately it's Kyles". He is just ahead of me. He continues on - his tire wobbling on the cobblestone. There is no way that he or anyone else is going to SAG, even if it means riding on your rim for the last mile.

There's a crowd waiting as we turn the last corner. We can hear them begin to cheer. We begin to cheer too. The wellspring of emotions begin to burst forth. Then I see them, my wife and daughter. They're here. I'm here. We're here. The exhilaration of the moment seizes me and I raise my fist in triumph and my two fingers make the victory sign. WE HAVE ARRIVED! THANK YOU GOD!

Len, our chaplain, says a few words of congratulations and thanksgiving to God and after reciting the Lord's Prayer together, we make a mass entrance into the ocean. WOW! 6,000 km. 4,000 miles. We made it! I made it! I can't help but kiss my wife Penny and Beth, our daughter. It is an exhilarating moment. I grab my bike and inter the water, holding it high above my head in victory. It's God's victory. He did it. It is a victory for all the people who will be helped with the 2.1 million in funds that has been raised to date. It is a victory for all my supporters back home and elsewhere who have been an integral part of this trip with me in their prayers and with their financial support

In the week that has gone by since the formal end to our cycling journey I have begun to process some of what was accomplished, some of the "incidents" along the way that will impact my memory for a long, long time as well as some of life's lessons perhaps learned or made aware of in journeying across the continent. That process is far from complete, indeed has barely begun. I will need a few more days, or weeks, perhaps even years to let what has been accomplished, really sink in. Right now I feel great relief and gratitude at having been given the privilege to attempt this epic journey of a lifetime and of having MADE IT. For now that's O.K. In time, I'm sure a fuller picture will find it's niche.

Below are a few brief, general thoughts about the journey. At a later date I hope to be able to post some final thoughts, memories and lessons learned. Keep "tuned."

The first thought that comes to mind is that I have actually crossed the continent, all 6,000 km. or almost 4,000 miles of it (my actual total was 6,674km. with all of the little side trips that we took going into town, sight seeing, etc.). I have actually travelled all the way from Seattle, Washington (on the Pacific Ocean) to Liberty State Park in Jersey City on the Atlantic Coast. In nine weeks, from Monday, June 30 to Saturday, August 30, I (I should say "we" because "we" were in this together- it wasn't a solo journey), we have pedalled our bicycles up steep mountain passes (seven of them in total), through dry, hot deserts of the interior, across the vast plains of the midwest, the rolling hills of Wisconsin and Michigan, the flatter terrain of southwestern Ontario not to mention the constant barrage of the short but often steep and at times challenging terrain of the Appalachians. We have traversed through lush, thick forests and barren wastelands, through alpine meadows and cornfields twelve feet high. We pedalled down busy highways (thank goodness not too many) and isolated backroads (they were my favourite). We travelled roads with wide, smooth shoulders (a cyclist's dream) but also roads with rumble strips and lots of cracks and potholes and rubble where a slight moment of inattention could cause an airborne trip over the handle bars or worse yet a spill onto a busy highway (a cyclist's nightmare) and signify the sudden end of the journey we had trained so hard for. We travelled down roads where drivers (by far the majority) were kind, slowed down or generously moved over and left us lots of room to continue safely. At other times, (fortunately the minority) we faced the irate motorist who felt we had no right whatsoever to be on the road, who honked loudly, refused to slow down or swing to the left even if there was ample room and who at times narrowly missed us. Those are tense filled moments, where knuckles turn white from gripping the handle bars and shoulders begin to ache as you try to stay on the "straight and narrow." It would be foolish to deliberately take up too much of the road in such instances in a show of defiance even if you have as much right to ride on the road as they do. They are, after all, bigger than we are and it's just best to let "might be right" even if it's not right.

Our pathway led us through tiny villages, the occassional one with only 21 people (no I stand to be corrected, it was 22 - the one had been scratched out and replaced with a two - a bably must have been born). There were the towns, many, many towns, too numerous to mention, a lot with populations in the five to ten thousand range. You know, it's these places that have found a prominent place in my memory. You see, we often stopped in them for a coffee or a danish or a hamburger, or sometimes just for an opportunity to talk with the local people. It's these people that I remember with such great fondness. Not so much their names (though I do remember some of them), but their kindness, their hospitality, their interest in our lives (and we in theirs), their excitement about what we were doing and their generosity towards us. They couldn't believe that we were actually cycling from Seattle to Jersey City. Outwardly they told us we were crazy but inwardly I know they respected us. I'm sure there was a part of them that wished they could join us. It showed in their generosity, the countless cups of coffee and cinnamon rolls "on them." It showed in the five, the ten, the twenty, the hundred dollar donations in cash we received for "World Poverty." They wanted to support the cause. It showed in their well wishes as we took leave of our time together and pedalled on down the road and out of their lives. Those are precious moments, precious people, every one of them. I know they contributed so much to my trip and greatly enriched my life and I won't soon forget them.

There were the cities too, as we traversed this vast and varied continent; Boise and Denver, Madison and London, to name a few. I'll never forget Chicago, the seemingly never ending clipping in and out of our pedals at all of the stop lights. Stopping! Starting! Stopping again! Starting again! Over and over again! It takes a lot of energy to do that time after time, not to mention the risk of falling when you do. (Did you know that most of the falls off a bicycle occur when you stop? It's true! There's probably not a cyclist who hasn't had it happen to them. What happens is that you unclip your shoe from one of your pedals as you slow down (the one you want to plant on the ground when you stop) but when you do stop, the bike (I think they have a mind of their own) decides to lean over to other side - the one where you are still clipped in to - and down you go. It's not a matter of IF this will ever happen to you but WHEN. Just ask any avid cyclist. Anyway, I'm sure we spent the bigger part of one day getting through the city and it's suburbs. It was a relief for me to get out into the country again and be able to pedal without interruption.

Who can forget the final 10 miles through Jersey City under police escort, the anxiousness, the sense of triumph, the joy of sharing this moment with some of my family, the feeling of standing knee deep in the Atlantic with my bike held high over my head. How often does one get the privilege of traversing an entire continent on the seat of a bicycle? Relatively few people have. I am one of those privileged people. I want to thank my wife and family for their support, especially as I journeyed across the land. They were there with me and for me. Thank you for my church community in Aylmer who not only gave me the time to "take on this challenge," but supported me so generously with their prayers and finances. That meant so much to me. Thankyou to the many community friends and family members who also supported me in this manner. Most of all thank you to our heavenly Father through whom all blessings do flow. May all of the honor and the glory surrounding this trip be His alone. He and He alone has made all things possible. Till next time (when I share some final thoughts), GOD BLESS!