In the hundred days between departing Key West, Florida and arriving at our 5,000th mile in Seattle, Washington I calculate that we have, assuming ninety pedals per minute and an average speed of ten miles per hour, rotated our legs two and a half billion times.
That’s a lot of time to sit on a bicycle – a lot of time to sit and bear witness to the country highways and byways and interstates that twist and crisscross their ways through the thirteen states we’ve been fortunate enough to cut across. We ride these roads, every day a new city, and a new home.
But this lifestyle is not always easy. On some days, motivation is hard to come by. I miss my family, my friends, and the comforts of a warm bed and a lucky coffee cup.
The road’s hidden joys – a surprise bike path next to a busy bridge, for example – help us push through the tougher, taxing miles. Now, we look back on these first four months of our 8,000-mile trip to Deadhorse, Alaska, given a rare chance for introspection as we prepare to ride on to Canada.
We can see where we’ve been. We can look at our country’s cultures and its people and the lives that have touched ours as we have pedaled through.
So the road goes…and with us on it.
From the rows of dusky alligators watching, bemused, as we ride by in Florida, to the elaborate taxidermy projects of a Louisiana gas station, we spend our first 2,000 miles attempting to find a sustainable routine. Changing flats and chasing sunsets become a part of our day-to-day yet we still take time to enjoy the finer things, such as the Big Texan 72-ounce. steak dinner in Amarillo on Easter Sunday. .
We put our core values in writing, calling them “Expedition Rules,” formed to help govern the doings of our six-member party. One such mandate – the group’s favorite, actually – is to have a dance party every 500 miles. So we dance, and dance hard, when these mile markers are reached, such as mile 2,000 at the Cadillac Ranch in Amarillo.
Making our way into Utah the road grows cold yet offers the stunning sights of the Canyonlands, Bryce Canyon, and Zion national parks. We are fortunate enough to work with the Zion rangers on a trail maintenance day — cleaning up rock graffiti is good for the soul.
From Utah we descend into the hottest, driest, and lowest part of the country: Death Valley. The next week sends us out of the valley and into the snow and ice of the Sierra Mountains. How fast the road can change.
We reach Yosemite National Park in California the second week of April. Looking at the massive granite walls grown from the lush valley floor I feel insignificant but calm, these feelings I have imagined when looking upon heaven.
In San Francisco, Keys to Freeze says “Goodbye!” to Megan and George and continues as four. Heading into northern California, Oregon, and Washington we leave the dry and desert terrains of the southwest. Our new scenery is one of lush, dense green, the deep hues of an old forest with great trees, of a countryside that has slipped backwards in time.
Rain comes again. So do the flat tires on the busy West Coast highways. Truck staples – little strips of sharp metal – can pierce any touring tire. But after we’ve already changed fifty flat tires over the past few months what’s one more, right? There is nothing to be gained from pessimism on the road anyways.
Seattle, in truth, comes quickly. In a blink there we are, crossing a street in the heart of Downtown, a bike traffic light giving us the green signal. It is the moment I realize our time in the contiguous 48 states is over.
Thirteen states, 5,000 miles, and two and a half billion pedal strokes. That’s all it took. Keys to Freeze has made it to the great white north.
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Read more Keys to Freeze adventures on Narratively as our daring cyclist friends make their way from the Florida Keys to Deadhorse, Alaska.