I'd like to devote some time to reflect on both this trip and bike touring in general. This is something I wish I had done two years ago when I wrapped up my cross-country trip, but my quick move to Mexico made doing so impossible.

On this trip I made a concerted effort to free myself from distractions. Rather than occupy myself with music, podcasts, and audiobooks as I had on the TransAmerica Trail, I used my time in the saddle to simply observe the world around me and meditate on my journey through that world. And for 1,910 miles, I did just that (well, I pedaled quite a bit too, but that's a whole different matter).

As I laid in bed the night that I finished my trip, I began thinking of how I could best summarize the overwhelming number of thoughts, observations, and reflections that had occupied my mind for the past 25 days. I thought it might be effective to start by finding single words that broadly encompass aspects of the bike touring experience. After much consideration, I managed to think of six words. Without further ado, and in no particular order, here they are, along with accompanying explanations:

GENEROSITY

It always astounds me how willing folks are to support the lowly, smelly, sunburned, and generally disheveled bike tourist. There's something compelling--and perhaps a bit innocuous--about being on a bike that inspires others to open up and give back in ways they wouldn't normally do with a wandering individual. On multiple occasions I've had complete strangers offer me a place to stay, warm meals and food for the road, and even money. With all of this generosity, there is often an accompanying sense of guilt. You find yourself stopping and asking questions: do I really deserve this treatment? Am I a burden to others? Have I really earned this kind of treatment? These feelings linger, particularly when the people that are helping you have so little of their own.

I was discussing these points with a former professor of mine shortly after I finished this trip. She offered me this simple (paraphrased) solution to my vexing feelings: "People's generosity is genuine and heartfelt; accept it for what it is. Seeing that people can indeed be good without self-interest is not the traditional narrative you know. Plus, you already give back to those that are generous with you. You share your experiences, you remind us all that life does not have to be routine, you inspire. Do not underestimate the value of that for those caught up in the distractions called life." I found that to be very well-put.

It's easy to forget that these grand adventures can and do provide non- bike tourists with vicarious excitement and intrigue. After all, to us bike tourists, what we do while on tour isn't necessarily something special; it's just routine. We wake up, bike, eat, wash up, and sleep. Wash, rinse, and repeat those steps and you've got yourself a tour. Perhaps it's just the novelty of this simple routine, and the way in which it allows us to accomplish lofty goals, that makes others want to be more generous. Bur bike touring is basically a none-too-relaxing form of vacation, and how often have others been compelled to support your vacation?.

I've come to recognize that generosity on tour is a two-way street. One side is just a little less tangible than the other. I strongly believe that if every person could head out on a tour for a couple of days, the world would be a more considerate and empathetic place.

CONFIDENCE

Confidence is a double-edged sword: it can give you the wherewithal to make it through the many challenges you will face on the road; or it can manifest itself as cockiness and thus cause you to overestimate your abilities. When I first started this trip, the latter was more often the case than the former. I naively thought that, because I had already completed a much longer and more arduous trip across the country, this trip would be a walk in the park. Wrong. Just because you've accomplished a more challenging task in the past does not make a present task any less daunting or difficult! A 100 mile day in the saddle is still going to be a literal and figurative pain-in-the-ass, no matter how many of them you've been able to accomplish in the past.

That being said, confidence also got me on this journey in the fist place. You can't set out with doubt in your mind and expect to have a fun or successful tour. You just have to look at your overall goals and break them down into more manageable, mile-by-mile miniature accomplishments. That way, you are always renewing the confidence you have in yourself. If you can do this, you'll slowly start to see how much progress you can make without even realizing it. Whenever I look at a map while on your, I take a second to stop and look at how far I've come overall. It's wonderful to watch the line grow between where you started and where you presently are.

UNCERTAINTY

This sentiment lurks amongst some of my aforementioned words, particularly confidence and generosity. Uncertainty will be part of every bike tour. You will find yourself uncertain of your abilities, uncertain of how your trip is impacting others, and, in darker moments, uncertain if you can or should continue on.

In my own experience, one's uncertainty in their own abilities will slowly go away with experience. However, there will still be moments that smack you on the side of the head and cause you to reevaluate your general abilities. Take for example my third day on this trip. I failed to reach my intended destination, hadn't eaten well, and generally overestimated my capacities early on in the trip. For several dark hours I was uncertain if I would be able to finish the rest of this route. Only with a reevaluation of my goals and a monster milkshake was I able to conquer this sentiment.

One uncertainty that I have not been able to reconcile is if touring is a selfish act. Bike touring is an inherently dangerous activity, and I know that my trip causes countless people (mainly family) anxiety and worry. Granted, family members are also my biggest supporters, but the uncertainty remains. This feeling hits me particularly hard whenever I stop and pay my respects to a ghost bike. Am I doing this all just so I can become a better person, at the expense of others?Does the time I spend on a bike take away time that I could be using in more meaningful pursuits? When I find myself ruminating too much on these points, I have to stop and recognize that touring has made me a better, more lighthearted and energetic person, and that I can use this energy and knowledge to better serve others when I am off the bike.

I don't have a cure-all solution to uncertainty; I believe everyone will find their own way to conquer it, or at least recognize it and reconcile themselves with it. All I will say is this: recognize that it can be stifling. I think we face too much of it in this day and age, and are thus less willing to put ourselves out there to try and conquer big things. Robert Pirsig hints at this in "Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance" when he states: "You're so sure you'll do everything wrong you're afraid to do anything at all. Often this, rather than 'laziness' is the real reason you find it hard to get started.” We're not lazy; we're just lacking in certainty.

YOUTH

There's a certain youthful energy and innocence that seems to be present in every bike tourist. I can't quite put my finger on what it is. Perhaps it has something to do with our desire to get around on a mode of transportation that we first learned to use when we were toddlers, or perhaps it's our wonder with the world around us, and how biking through the world lets us fully utilize all senses to experience it.

This youthfulness often seems to be accompanied by restlessness. All tourists seem, to an extent, restless, trying to expend some pent-up energy by pedaling all day and sleeping in a dirty sack at night. For folks like myself, Simon, and Cristal, this energy seems to be accepted and understood. We are young, after all, and are encouraged to take advantage of our youth before it fades away. At least, that's the sentiment I often get from older, lamenting folks that exclaim "Man, I wish I had done stuff like this when I was younger." What is it about the human experience that causes our youthfulness and joie de vivre to slowly dissipate? What holds me back from living and being as I am now when I am older? I'd much rather live exuberantly and youthfully and die young, than live long and lose this energy that I have now.

Upon finishing my trip, my family friend Mr. Kittle (who so graciously hosted me for lunch in Cayucos) shared with me the words of Thoreau that do a nice job of describing the youthful mentality that I see in all tourists: "I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived. I did not wish to live what was not life, living is so dear; nor did I wish to practise resignation, unless it was quite necessary. I wanted to live deep and suck out all the marrow of life, to live so sturdily and Spartan-like as to put to rout all that was not life, to cut a broad swath and shave close, to drive life into a corner, and reduce it to its lowest terms...”

CONTRAST

This may be the word that best encompasses the complexities of the bike touring experience. Touring is all about contrasts: contrasts in the way you compose yourself on the road versus at home; contrasts in your surroundings; contrasts in who you are when you depart versus when you wrap up; contrasts in your expectations versus the realities that manifest while on the road.

I think this is why touring is such a wonderful learning experience. You learn more about yourself and gain a more intimate understanding of the world you live in (for better or for worse). I always knew that California was a verdant, fertile state, but only once I spent days biking through fields of brussel sprouts, strawberries, artichokes, lettuce, and chard did I realize how true that was. The same went for income disparity: in a span of 30 minutes, I could be cycling amongst migrant laborers and shortly thereafter admiring millions of dollars of exotic cars. On my final day, I meandered past multi-million dollar mansions in La Jolla and ended on the grimy streets of Tijuana.

Seeing really is believing.

GLUTTONY

This one should go without saying. It's comical how much you need to consume while touring, lest you desire to experience precipitous weight loss, wanes in energy, and/or violent spells of hanger. That I was able to eat five bratwursts in a single day without batting an eye, happy to down milkshakes and fries from every major fast food chain, and wolf down five gorditas and a Coke upon finishing in Mexico, is all but a testament to how gluttonous one can and must be in order to tour. Any attempts at saving money on food are futile, plain and simple. If you so desire to dine like a pig, then I strongly recommend you pump up your bike's tires and hit the road.