Day 48, Tuesday July 18, Little Falls, NY, 82 miles

I woke up ahead of the alarm clock feeling greet and had two flats before I ended the first mile of the ride. It didn’t matter. Other than that, there was nothing unusual about today’s ride. The falls at Little Falls are little (see picture).

My daily posts have been about the events of the day, but with four riding days left, I’ve decided to offer up a meta-analysis of the experience. It’s a little sappy, but bear with me, I’ve earned it.

The Cross Country Challenge to Combat Hunger - A Retrospective

The title of Lance Armstrong’s first book is, “It’s All About the Bike.” Andy, our tour leader, says, “It’s all about what you learn when you’re on the bike.” Andy is right. So here are some of the things I’ve learned.

There is a fundamental goodness about the ordinary people of middle America. I didn’t “get” this until I spent several weeks riding through Mayberrys with main streets decked out in red white and blue bunting. People are more than willing to go out of their way to help a stranger. I’m talking about the maids in the hotels who knocked themselves out to get our rooms ready, even though we arrived three hours before check-in. There were hotel staff who greeted us with cold bottled water, fruit and bike washing supplies. Lots of folks let us use their bathrooms and chatted with us “nonpaying” customers. There were people who opened early or stayed late for us. People in places like Donner Pass, the Sod House, and the Bicycle Museum who told us their stories and listened to mine.

I learned about humility, not the pre-ride self-effacing humility that said, “Anyone can do this.” Not everyone can. I’m talking about being humble before the road, knowing and accepting that the road is bigger than you, and remembering that fact every day from Day 1 to Day 52. To forget that is the fast track to a crash. Before the ride, I thought that I was as well-trained as anyone can be. There were many riders who were leaner and faster than I was. That was humbling. I was as well trained as I could be. I was also ok with being in the middle of the “moderate speed” riders. The fast group was blindingly fast. But by the middle of the ride, I slipped to the rear of the middle. For a few days I felt badly about that. But then I accepted my place in the pelaton with humility. I was riding as well as I could ride, and it was with an elite group of riders. Towards the end of the ride, I was back in the middle. That was ok too. I gained the humility needed to ask for and accept help. That was hard for me. Frequently, help was offered like a gift. It’s bad karma to refuse a gift. There was humility about my time on earth. Water erodes rock at the rate of one inch per hundred years The Arkansas River lay 12,000 inches below the rim of the Royal Gorge. When water meets rock, water always wins.

I learned about generosity. This lesson was taught by donors to Elijah’s Promise before the ride even began. People I know were generous beyond anyone’s expectations. People I didn’t know, or knew only peripherally gave. People who didn’t have much to give were generous. I’ve come to realize what a generous donation mean to someone raising funds for a nonprofit. Generosity on the ride began on Day 1, when Gary picked up lunch for my group of riders. He said it wasn’t a big deal, we’d all have a chance to buy lunch during the next 50 days. I picked up the lunch tab a few time. It wasn’t a big deal, but it made the other riders feel special and it made me feel special too. Then there were small acts of kindness on the road every day; giving away a tube, “no charge” for the tire inflation canister, waiting for someone to use a bush or take picture, sharing degreaser and tools at the bike washing parties, folding someone’s jerseys when they came out of the drier.

Finally, I learned about gratitude. I am grateful for having had the opportunity to ride. Being a professor is the best job in the world. It allows me to do extra-ordinary things, both on and off campus.

I’m grateful to every rider who rode with me, ate with me, bunked with me, changed my tire, trusted me to change their tire, sat with me at a SAG stop, listened to my stories, shared their stories, shared jokes in the Laundromat, or who stood with me in awe as we crested a summit and saw a new world unfold before us.

I’m grateful for our staff; for Andy’s Buddha nature, he was unflappable and always reassuring. Andy could get up at the end of the day and tell us, “Well, it rained all day, the head winds sure made going up those mountains a challenge, and who’d have thought that it would turn to snow? Did you ever thing you could ride through that? Did you ever imagine you were that strong? Wasn’t that a great day? And we’d all applaud and repeat what a great day it had been. When I got lost and rolled into the SAG stop late, I apologized about having been lost. “Well,” Andy said, “You had to be somewhere.” One couldn’t ask for a better mechanic, rider, or room mate than Gerard. He had this sixth sense for mechanical problems and magically appeared whenever there was a flat. He took tons of pictures; over the head, no hands as he rode up a pace line, or the descent from Donner Pass with his camera zip-tied to his helmet. Michelle, as I said before, was the mother figure, manning the rest stops, reminding us to check the lost and found, doing the head counts, handling the mechanics of the ride. Christine always smiled and encouraged as she rode the route, interviewed folks for the ABB blog, and drove the van.

I am so grateful to my family and friends for their support and encouragement. The support of my children touched me deeply. Matt had to become much more independent and responsible in my absence. My congregation at Emanuel Evangelical Lutheran Church got behind their “Pedaling Professor” in a way I could never image.

There is, of course, much much more to be grateful for, and many many more people who supported me on this epic ride.

Whatever the day, or the mile, I was never alone on this ride. I thank you all for that.