I've been having a hard time writing anything about the last few days of my bike trip. The last few days of biking were hard, long days, each more than 80 miles. Less than 24 hours after arriving in Yorktown, my dad came to pick me up and we proceeded to drive some 7 hours up to New York. We spent the next two days after that driving back to Iowa City. It was awesome to see everyone in New York, even if it was only for an evening. Brandon, Jack and Ornella were there, as well as the Mistry gang. I hadn't realized how much I missed my friends until I saw them. After getting back to Iowa, I resolved to take two days completely off. I rode my bike, but only casually. I didn't start in on any of the tasks that I've been meaning to get done while here this month. I just watched TV and hung out with my parents. I tried to write about the last few days of the trip, but I just sat at my keyboard with nothing to say.
Biking across the country, I fell into a routine of intensity that absorbed much of my attention and effort. I feel like I didn't make time in my head to miss people. While biking, I didn't think about much. I never spent time contemplating GR or poetry or programming. Mostly I thought about how many miles I'd ridden that day, if I should stop soon to put on sun screen, or holy shit I'm super hungry let me nom down on a bagel with peanut butter. Off the bike, I thought about eating, and where I was going to stay. The evenings were oftentimes the best for me. While I definitely enjoyed getting up everyday to ride my bike, it was also nice to hang out at a campsite or church in the evening, lounging in the (sometimes) cool air, eating, and reading books. As the trip progressed, I found that I wasn't as lonely as at the beginning. I think that I started to revel in the solitude of the experience. At the same time, I also found myself interacting with strangers on more occasions, and more confidently. I slowly accepted the fact that 99% of conversations I would have with strangers were going to be superficial, but that doesn't mean that I couldn't get a brief glimpse into their lives.
I think that my objectives for my trip shifted as I made my way East. Originally, I imagined that the trip would be about testing myself, day after day, to see if I could make it across the US. Somewhere in Eastern Colorado, I realized that I was physically capable of biking across the country. I slowly arrived at the idea that the only impediment to my progress was my idea of what a bike tour should be like. If I didn't feel like knocking on strangers' doors to ask if I could stay with them, I didn't have to. If I woke up one day thinking that I was going to bike 120 miles, then I could. If I woke up and felt the need to ride 30 miles, then I could. I was free to ride it however the hell I wanted to. For once, the only expectations that governed my behavior were my own. I didn't have to stop and gawk at historical sites. I didn't have to stop at state and national parks if I didn't want to. Ultimately, however, I knew that I wanted to ride. Looking back, I think that one of my favorite parts of the trip was seeing the way the landscape changed as I rode. A bicycle is fast enough to make it across the country in a summer, but slow enough to enjoy the vastness and diversity of the American landscape.
Biking across the country, I fell into a routine of intensity that absorbed much of my attention and effort. I feel like I didn't make time in my head to miss people. While biking, I didn't think about much. I never spent time contemplating GR or poetry or programming. Mostly I thought about how many miles I'd ridden that day, if I should stop soon to put on sun screen, or holy shit I'm super hungry let me nom down on a bagel with peanut butter. Off the bike, I thought about eating, and where I was going to stay. The evenings were oftentimes the best for me. While I definitely enjoyed getting up everyday to ride my bike, it was also nice to hang out at a campsite or church in the evening, lounging in the (sometimes) cool air, eating, and reading books. As the trip progressed, I found that I wasn't as lonely as at the beginning. I think that I started to revel in the solitude of the experience. At the same time, I also found myself interacting with strangers on more occasions, and more confidently. I slowly accepted the fact that 99% of conversations I would have with strangers were going to be superficial, but that doesn't mean that I couldn't get a brief glimpse into their lives.
I think that my objectives for my trip shifted as I made my way East. Originally, I imagined that the trip would be about testing myself, day after day, to see if I could make it across the US. Somewhere in Eastern Colorado, I realized that I was physically capable of biking across the country. I slowly arrived at the idea that the only impediment to my progress was my idea of what a bike tour should be like. If I didn't feel like knocking on strangers' doors to ask if I could stay with them, I didn't have to. If I woke up one day thinking that I was going to bike 120 miles, then I could. If I woke up and felt the need to ride 30 miles, then I could. I was free to ride it however the hell I wanted to. For once, the only expectations that governed my behavior were my own. I didn't have to stop and gawk at historical sites. I didn't have to stop at state and national parks if I didn't want to. Ultimately, however, I knew that I wanted to ride. Looking back, I think that one of my favorite parts of the trip was seeing the way the landscape changed as I rode. A bicycle is fast enough to make it across the country in a summer, but slow enough to enjoy the vastness and diversity of the American landscape.
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