June 1, 2015
An Ending--And Thinking About The Next Beginning
Ashland, Wisconsin
I awakened at 12:30 a.m. because I had to use the great outdoor restroom. It would be a serious understatement to say I didn't want to go out in the 37-degree air, but necessity forced me out of my cozy sleeping bag. Once I adjusted to the cold air, I came to realize it was an almost perfect world out there. A big full moon hovered in the sky and reflected off the lake, lighting up the campground like a lamp lights up a room. The long silhouettes of the pine trees were dreamlike. There was complete silence. Not one bird chirped, not one leaf rustled. The glassy smooth lake, the cloudless sky, the vivid moon, and the utter silence had me spellbound for about a half hour.
As if that wasn't enough, moments after I returned to my tent the quietness was broken by the haunting cry of a loon. I could not believe how loud it was. Then I heard a return call from a distant loon which I think was coming from Lake Owen on the other side of the campground. The two loons, soon joined by a third one, traded loon calls for the next ten minutes as I slowly drifted back to sleep.
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At 7:00 a.m., on June 1st, it simply should not be this damn cold. I sipped three cups of coffee this morning, wearing all my clothing and with my sleeping bag draped over my shoulders, trying to warm up. Two hours later, when the sun got high enough to warm the air a little, I began my ride to the end of the line--Lake Superior.
Two miles from my destination, I stopped at the Northern Great Lakes Visitor Center where the staff saw my loaded bike and made a pretty big deal about my adventure. One of them took a picture of me and immediately posted it on their Facebook page. It was here that I met my brother, Dan.
I'm pretty lucky to have a supporter like my brother. He's an experienced bicycle mechanic who prepped my bike for this trip, and now he drove all the way from St. Paul--one day after running his 95th marathon--to pick me up and drive me back home.
We talked for a few minutes at the visitor center and I said, "Well, I guess I better go to Lake Superior and finish this thing."
"I suppose you want me to drive you there," he said.
I took my time on that last two miles of pedaling. As I got my first glimpse of the big lake, I had some time to consider what my trip meant to me. All I could think of was the disappointment that it was almost over. I had an extremely fun and personally satisfying adventure, yet I felt somewhat unfulfilled. I've read other journals in which the authors expressed feelings of great accomplishment, of self-discovery, of elation, of euphoria, of closure. Not me. I felt an emptiness. I want something more, something I cannot have, something I cannot name. Perhaps that's what next year is for--to obtain what I didn't get this year. To tackle the adventure that tops all adventures. Yet I know there is ALWAYS an adventure bigger and better than the last one. And before I can ever achieve the perfect, ultimate, unbeatable adventure of all time, I'll probably die.
Today's ride: 34 miles (55 km)
Total: 1,810 miles (2,913 km)
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5 years ago
As a Minnesotan, I feel your frozen-Chicago-wasteland pain. I ride all year round, and have even dreamed of doing a wintertime tour in the midwest, but even I know that finishing a bike trip on Lake Superior this time of year is just plain ridiculous. (But, damn, it sure would be heroic, wouldn't it.)
5 years ago