On the beach

At the border between the US and Mexico, I sat on a sunbleached log and stared out at the waves as they rhythmically pushed in and pulled back, covering and revealing gleaming sand, bits of shells, and sand crabs scuttling for their holes. I watched how the water broke around the great metal fence and breathed deeply of the warm salt air. I wasn't focusing on anything in particular. Just trying to capture the moment, trying to hold onto it in some way, and trying to figure out how I felt.

For five years I had dreamed about riding the Pacific Coast. A year ago, I signed up for this tour and had trained consistently for it. For months, I had been consumed with preparation. And for the last 41 days, I had experienced everything the ride had to offer, sometimes physically pushing myself further than I had ever pushed myself before.

Now, it was done. Over. I had done it. I thought I should feel accomplished, happy, proud of myself. And I did—a little. I also felt sort of empty, the days behind me already blurring in memory. I had a been-there-done-that-got-the-t-shirt-checked-that-off-my-list feeling, and perhaps that was the reason for the niggling sense of emptiness: I'd had a goal and now it was accomplished. Nothing left but to take congratulatory pictures with the group, ride back to the hostel, meet Rich, and go home. 

I really, really wanted to go home and I was also a little sad the ride was done. It was confusing. I needed to sit for a while and just breathe, letting these mixed feelings have their moment. 

Things have changed

When Rich and I came home the following day, I realized the seasons had changed. It had been hot summer when I left, but now the nights were cold and leaves turning autumn shades of red and gold. The climate had been so consistent along the coast, that I hadn't noticed. 

And something else had changed. In the last 10 months since retiring from my day job, I'd written a book (Journaling for Dummies was published on November 1st and is available at all book stores) and ridden the Pacific Coast, and now I was home and more or less between things. Now, I was truly retired. Entering a time of transition as I headed into the holidays. A little off balance.

People ask me, "How was it?"

How do you answer a question like that? It was everything. It was beautiful and ugly, smooth and rugged, easy and difficult, cold and warm, intoxicating and exciting and terrifying and transformational. 

Would I do it again? 

Yes. In a heartbeat. But there are things I would change.

• I don't want to do another organized group tour. I've discovered that I want more freedom to do things my own way and in my own time.
• I would like to ride fewer miles each day so I can stop and smell the roses (literally and metaphorically) and have more rest days to explore some of the various locations—be more of a tourist—and allow for other activities, such as hiking and visiting museums and such.
• I will definitely not go on a camping tour again. LOL
• And I'm not sure I would want to do such a long tour all in one go. If I ride fewer daily miles and explore more, that will extend the total number of days. So perhaps breaking a trip like this into two trips would be a better choice.

Do I want to do another epic tour, like riding cross country? 

Frankly, I don't think so. I have really enjoyed the one and two-week tours I've been on, and I think a three or four-week tour would be fun. Beyond that, I begin to crave the comfortable familiarity of home.

When I first returned home, I thought maybe I'd gotten big bicycle tours out of my system, but I've only been home a little over a month and I'm already missing my days on the road, days experiencing new challenges and seeing new vistas. 

Rich and I are making plans with another couple for a biking/hiking tour on the east coast next fall.

But that's seems so far in the future, I'm dreaming about where I might go before then. Maybe someplace a little closer, maybe a short tour in Utah or Arizona or New Mexico.

Now, I just have to convince Rich to go with me...

Heart

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P.S. For those who are interested, I intend to go back and fill in the days of the blog I missed, and add videos for the days before I lost my GoPro attachment.