Bar Harbor, Maine -- The End. of Phase 1

I camped in the front yard of Amelia's parents house Thursday night. It was the last time I'd camp for some time.

I was going to camp in a nice state park I found, overlooking a shiny new bridge they had just built - but I knew it was heavily patrolled and I knew they'd find me and I knew they would not be pleased about my camping there. So then I found this rest area, also owned by the state.
I was considering that, when I saw two people outside in their yard, near a green pickup truck.

By the time I rolled over, the truck had left and a woman was going back into the house.
I waved at the woman and said 'I know this may sound a little random, but would you mind if I camped in your front yard?'
I explained myself a little more.
She looked at me with a suspicious smile, said she should probably ask her dad first since it's his house. We talked, while waiting for her dad to return.

She was very nice, probably in her late 40s. She was up visiting her sick mother. Then she told me about her daughter, how her daughter had been in a serious motorcycle accident (and wasn't wearing a helmet), and not long after that was in a serious automobile accident.
She said her daughter wasn't right, wasn't the same, wasn't all there.

Bad news. When you hear things like that, you are reminded that health is something to be thankful for. Two eyes that work and two ears that work and two arms that work and two legs that work and one brain that works. Even if it's only at 10% capacity. Get to work brain!

The next morning I packed up. And I rode, one last time. I rode with music and happiness.
I rode with hundreds of different emotions, thousands of tangential thoughts, a mind of a million little pieces.

Taking it all in. Whether I wanted to or not. Whether I was ready for the end or not. Honestly it was all a bit surreal.

A good friend had asked what song I would listen to as I rode into Bar Harbor. To The End.

A good question, only because I'm a little obsessed with music.

I thought about it and I didn't know. What encompasses everything? How can you sum this trip up? I didn't know and wasn't sure it was possible.

Then the song Ocean came on, by the John Butler Trio.

And suddenly everything was summarized. My bike skipped lightly across the pavement. Bikey go lightly.

Of course it was Ocean. From one ocean to the other.

I remember telling a friend one time that I could only hope to feel as free as that song, one day. One sweet day.
At the time I said that, I didn't feel free. It was a far away concept, wishful thinking.

But then there I was on Route 230, heading into Bar Harbor, Maine -- feeling that free. The music matching my mood. The song summarizing my soul.

It was the culmination of every single thing that had happened along the way. It was the beginning and the end.
Encapsulating everything. Every thought, every feeling, every emotion, every experience.

Only two songs give me the chills, and this is one of them.
Here is a YouTube video of it, although this isn't quite as good as the version on the Live at Saint Gallen album.
I've seen this performed live twice, so I can confirm that this one character is making every single sweet sound that you hear.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5xZw9D9c18E

Note especially time 1:21 and time 3:35, where my bike was officially skipping across the pavement in a joyously fine frenzy. A fantastic finale.

Here is a better sounding, more complete version of the song, only the video isn't as good.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fYEMtsdV-Ok&NR=1

And that was it. My Champs-Elysees, my ride under L'Arc de Triomphe. Only my Arc was the overhanging sunlit tree branches and my Triumph was a dip in the Atlantic Ocean. There were no Champs, no winners or losers. Only life lessons learned.


Last week, as I got closer to Bar Harbor, I realized that I needed a plan. Ignorance (of the inevitable end) had been bliss, but sooner or later I'd be there. And then what?
Up until that point it was one day at a time. One revolution after another. No plan needed, no purchase required - just pedal.
Wherever you ended up - you camped. It was simple.

But now I was slowly being welcomed back into the world of plans and requirements.
I had left all those questions behind, those questions of what I wanted to do with my life and what I wanted to be when I grow up.
This trip had removed them for a time - for 84 days I was just a guy who woke up and pedaled.

I talked to my mom, and she thought someone should be there at the end. She didn't think I should lonelily dip my tire in the Atlantic by myself.

So my mom came. Initially it seemed silly, to ride a bicycle across an entire country - only to have my mom come and pick me up like I'd just finished up soccer practice. But then I thought about it and why wouldn't I want my mom there? She wanted to celebrate with me, congratulate me. She was proud of me. She was willing to take a day off work. She was willing to drive 12 hours each way from Rochester to Bar Harbor, by herself, to be there at the end. She's the coolest mom in the world.

Not to mention it solved a bunch of logistical problems. Problems like: how am I going to get my computer, and warmer clothes that I had shipped back to Rochester? And - how am I going to get somewhere other than Bar Harbor? Hitch-hike? OG Ride More?

This solved them all, and gave me a one person cheering section.

I arrived in Bar Harbor, but not before one last sneaky climb of almost 1,000 feet. I was so excited that I barely noticed.

My odometer stopped working about 30 miles shy of Bar Harbor... as if to say - 'You don't need me anymore. Enjoy.'

I turned right on Main Street, past all the quaint fishing village shops and restaurants. I stopped at the pier and looked. And smiled. Deep breath.
I was there. After a time, I got off my bike. I took a picture of the bike with the harbor as the background.

Ocean. From the Pacific to the Atlantic.

There was no sight of my mom yet and I couldn't call her. My phone had died the night before thanks to my good friend Morning Dew. No comment.

I asked a hostess outside of a restaurant if she had a cell phone I could borrow. She didn't.
Then a young man came out, another host, I asked him - no luck. But he mentioned something about happy hour, so in I went!

I ordered a martini. Looking out the window at the harbor. Still not believing this was it.

Then I saw my mom driving down the hill. I walked outside to let her know I was in the bar. I overheard her talking to a cop, saying she had to find her son on a bike. I said 'here I am'. She was so excited, I'll never forget it. She could barely contain herself.
She parked and came into the bar, still ready to burst with excitement. I think she was more excited than I was!

She said 'we need to dip the front tire in the ocean!' I had already scoped out the tire dipping situation but all I found were inaccessible rocky cliffs. With each sip of the martini, I was becoming less and less inclined to dip the tire, or even colder - to jump in the ocean. I hadn't jumped in the Pacific, so why jump in the Atlantic. Right?

As we left the bar, I said goodbye to the host. In talking with him before, I was telling him about some of the people I had started with - Thierry from France, Jim the 69 y/o guy, Alexander from Russia. He said that he was from Russia too. St. Petersburg - where Alexander was from.
Then as we're walking out, I'm telling my mom all of this, and the guy says his name is Alexander too! He says 'my name is Alexander too. So you start your trip with an Alexander from St. Petersburg, and you end your trip with an Alexander from St. Petersburg.'
Crazy huh? What are the odds...

As we're walking over to the car, I noticed a dog in the water. What was a dog doing in the water? How had he gotten down there?
Then I saw it - a ramp. A perfect little ramp, headed down to a small beach.

One thing I've learned along the way is to be open to things as they are presented to you. I don't know if it is God or the Universe or Chance or inter-connected sub-atomic particles - or whatever it is - but I feel that things work out as they should.
That if you're open and pay attention to your surroundings and subtle signs, that the Way will be illuminated for you.
So the decision was made for me. The ramp was quite obviously presented to me, saying 'ahhh, not so fast buddy - you have some unfinished business here!'

We walked down, got some pictures dipping the tire. Then I leaned my bike up against a wall one last time, took off my shoes, took a few deep breaths and in I went.

I walked in, and then dove. It wasn't frigid, but certainly wasn't warm either. It wasn't really about temperature, or it wasn't temperature that I noticed. It felt sort of like the waterfall in Glacier National Park - just pure exhilaration. I lingered briefly, feeling the moment. And then I felt the temperature - COLD.

Heading back up the ramp, shivering, some random guy came up and shook my hand. He knew. It was cool.

Then it began, the disassembling of my life. My life on a bike. Panniers off, front rack off. Fitting back into trunks, compartments. Needing to be contained... as our world so often requires. The bungees held the top of the trunk down.

And that was it. My life on a bike, Volume 1. The end.

My mom and I had a great great dinner, then stayed with my cyclist friend and his family. They are good people.

The next day my mom drove me down to my friend's house in Plymouth, MA. Then headed home Sunday morning. I am so glad she came and was able to share in that unique experience. I think it was neat for both of us. A lasting memory.

So now it begins. What to do, what to do.

The NYC marathon has a lottery system, because there are far more people that want to run each year than they have room for.
I think about 60,000 apply and only 30,000 get in. I had entered the lottery the past two years and been denied, but this year I got in.
The sub-atomic particles are trying to tell me something.
You'd better run!
The marathon is on November 4th, so I have about 5 weeks to prepare. I am obviously in decent shape after riding a bicycle 4,300 miles, but running is a different motion requiring different muscles, so I'll have to start training.

Initially I had thought I could hang around the NYC area, staying at different friend's places, sleeping on their couches and running on their roads -
but 5 weeks is a long time to impose your wandering self on people. People that have lives and routines. So I will probably have to head home to Rochester until the marathon.

I was in a Dunkin Donuts yesterday, ordering coffee, and as I was walking out I saw the bathroom... and realized I had no business in there!
It was bizarre. No water bottles to fill, no cycling clothes to change into, no faces to wash, no teeth to brush, nothing. I know that may sound strange, but to me it was.

I have a feeling I will be experiencing that a lot in the coming days. Adapting to life off a bike. I have to admit I am feeling like a fish out of water right now. Donnie you're out of your element!

But - if there's one thing that this trip taught me - one invaluable thing - it is to take it one day at a time. One pedal at a time.
Each day that I rode, I never really thought about tomorrow - mostly because I had no idea where I'd be tomorrow!
I didn't even know where I would be THAT night, let alone tomorrow. I didn't know what town I would be in, or even where I'd sleep.
But I was ok with that.
And that is how I need to be now. Ok with not knowing.

My friend Greg and I went to the ocean on Sunday. We took two kayaks and were paddling around in the Atlantic. It was a great day, warm and sunny, absolutely beeeautiful - although it was a little strange, paddling around in my goal.
I was trying to ride the waves for awhile, but because they either break to the left or the right - they were always almost tipping me over as I tried to ride them. I was trying to go straight and the breaking wave was trying to go left or right. And it was my first time on a kayak so I hadn't learned how to balance the two out with proper paddling.
Then I realized that I could just lay down in the kayak and let the waves and current take me where they may. As long as you weren't right where the waves were breaking, you could just float around. Even better! It didn't matter where they took me, as long as it wasn't out to sea.
Why try and fight it, or control it?
So that's my motto today, to sit back and allow the waves of life to take me where they may.

My computer isn't cooperating with the uploading of the pictures, but I should be able to post some pictures soon.

Thanks to all of you for having an interest in this trip. I am sorry to see it come to an end too.
But am excited for what the future holds.
Maybe it's not the end, maybe it's just the beginning. Phase 1. Either way - it was a great experience.