I can tell it's past time. I can tell it's past time to drag my still sore ass out of bed by the way I ignored it actually being time to do so a half hour ago. And by Stumbles telling me she's going to start riding and she'd see me down the road. Not too uncommon an occurrence. Me being a late (6:30am) riser and all, it's not such a bad thing that she get's out ahead of me and puts some miles on. This is the last day though. This is it, this is summit day, Katahdin day, the final push, the last shebang, the final ride, the yada yada yada. 108ish miles to Seattle. 108ish miles to the city we'd finally settled on being our destination after a transamerican bicycle ride. How am I not jumping out of bed at the thought?! How am I not eager to perch my sore behind in that high saddle?! I am actually. I am ready. I am savoring it. Savoring that taste of victory in my mouth before I set out on the last leg of this endeavor. It taste a bit like whiskey. Harsh but you love it, and the more you swallow it the easier it goes down the next time. It's a good damn taste.
I didn't even unpack last night. I took a shower and changed into town clothes. I didn't touch anything other than that, so it makes packing up this morning especially easy. I look at my two kits. One matches my bike a little better than the other, the black and white one, and I choose that one. Gotta look fly when you cross the line ya' know? Pull my socks up even with the black/white (basically) tan line on my ankles. Look around for my gloves, but remember I lost them in a drunken stupor a few nights back and decide to put sunscreen on my white hands instead. That's it innit? I believe so. Ready to leave I step out of the little side room we were staying in to sign the note we were leaving for the warm showers host we'd stayed with, Gerard. Turns out he'd just risen himself and he invites me to sit down. A little oatmeal and some Vietnamese coffee'll do my good before the bomb. So, I sit down and we do some chattin' before I decide to go for the disengage. Gerard follows me out the garage, chats a bit will I slip on my cleated shoes, and then waves goodbye as I clip in and tenderly rub my butt on the saddle to make sure the twelvefuckingthousand ibuprofen I just took have set in. They have. And I'm gone. Not with the wind, but into it.
SERIOUSLY. It's the last day. The very last f'n day (<== he says in a very whiny voice). Couldn't life please, please please please please, just give me a tailwind so I can slaughter these miles? I want a 4 hour century, I want to slaughter this, I want to sit down in Seattle and drink a celebratory whiskey. Please? But no. No no no no no. Not even close. It's a, and I am not exaggerating, it's AT LEAST a 25mph headwind. Do you know what that is like? That is like riding through water. That is what it's like to be a fly and to be swatted. It was like the sky was crashing down around me. The sky was falling in a torrent, pouring down the mountain walls, booming into me. And there was nothing, nothing, I could do about. The wind was so thick, so brutally harsh, I felt as if I needed to hold my breath in order not to drown under its weight. It was crushing me. I was taking 7mph out of it on the flats. On the f'n flats! It took such a grand effort to crank on the uphills I thought I felt my muscles tearing. I thought I was going to bend my crank and shear the teeth off my gears with the amount of leg I had to put into each stroke over and over and over again. For 24 agonizingly slow miles I put my head down and I went for it. And the wind went for me, doing all it could to stop me. This was the last day though. All the chips were on the table. It didn't matter if I couldn't ride the next day, or the day after that. None of that mattered. What mattered was this: It was the last day, and, in my opinion, the wind had no business to speak up in a matter such as that.
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Thank goodness or something, but the wind got a little bit better once I got in the Lee of Snoqualmie. Snoqualmie pass was the last pass I had between me and Seattle. He was it, the last long climb. And I was ready. I hit his base with a fury. I was ready for a fight. I'd even took the day before to express mail him a letter, just so he wasn't unprepared for my attack:
Dear Snoqualmie,
Alright, so this is it. I'm throwing down the gauntlets, I'm calling you down. You and one hundred miles are all that stands between me and Seattle. The three thousand before didn't stop me, so don't believe that you have the slightest chance. I'll meet you tomorrow, at noon. We'll duke it out. Then, and only then, when the dust has settled, when I am looking down on you, we'll see who's really a mountain, and who's just a pass.
Or something to that effect. It was intimidating. It was fierce. It was so impressive that Snoqualmie shut itself down to bikers. No, for reals, there was construction at the top and a little sign that said "Fuck you cyclist" (Not really, it just said "Cyclist must exit here", but I like to make things a little more dramatic than they really are sometimes). So, for once, I abided by the warning signs and exited the interstate. I was standing there looking at the detour sign and thinking to myself. This is a bad idea. This is a terrible idea. Who even knows what a 'bike' detour is. I don't want to go do a decent down the side of a mountain. And, as I was sitting there pondering/ staring like a retard at the detour sign, a guy pulls up and ask me if I want a shuttle past the construction. Well.... yeah?
It goes basically to the top of Snoqualmie. The rest is downhill. I'll call it a TKO.
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Or something to that effect. It was intimidating. It was fierce. It was so impressive that Snoqualmie shut itself down to bikers. No, for reals, there was construction at the top and a little sign that said "Fuck you cyclist" (Not really, it just said "Cyclist must exit here", but I like to make things a little more dramatic than they really are sometimes). So, for once, I abided by the warning signs and exited the interstate. I was standing there looking at the detour sign and thinking to myself. This is a bad idea. This is a terrible idea. Who even knows what a 'bike' detour is. I don't want to go do a decent down the side of a mountain. And, as I was sitting there pondering/ staring like a retard at the detour sign, a guy pulls up and ask me if I want a shuttle past the construction. Well.... yeah?
It goes basically to the top of Snoqualmie. The rest is downhill. I'll call it a TKO.
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Until I got a flat. That actually wasn't downhill. If you ask me it was actually quite shit and a bit of a low blow by life. All's well that ends well though and while I was changing my flat these two touring cyclist rolled up, soon followed by Stumbles. They're a boy and girl. Brother and sister. Andy and Daniela. Turns out, the world is kinda small. They were ending their touring trip in Seattle as well. On the very same day that we were ending our touring trip in Seattle. Seriously, what're the chances?! They were coming from Miami and we from Maryland, all four headed to Seattle to end an adventure! We exchange numbers for shenanigans later, they ride on, and we change my tube.
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And, to be honest, the finish was pretty anti-climatic, kind of like this blog post. It was nothing like fighting the wind that morning. It was nothing like the courage it took to start this thing. It was no great push at the end, no mountain to climb or miles to conquer. The finish was a maze of bike paths to get to the edge of Seattle, and, once we got there, we couldn't find anywhere for a photo or a tire dip. We ended up at a bar, exhausted, neither of us could even tell it was over. I had a double shot of Jameson. The two cyclist we'd met earlier, Andy and Daniela, came by and spent the night with us. We all laughed at the headwinds. Mitch, Stumbles' friend from trail (whom we're staying with while in Seattle), came for the party too. We all took the ferry across the sound to watch the sunset and see a view of the Seattle the skyline. Seattle, we'd made it. We'd ridden our bicycles across America. We still didn't know it was over yet, and, to be honest, I still don't know it now. But it is, and, I suppose, that's as grand a finish as I could hope for.
Be happy,
Beacon
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