I MADE IT !!!

Four thousand seven hundred twenty-nine point three (4,729.3) miles from the Pacific to the Atlantic.  It sounds even better in metric: seven thousand six hundred eleven point one (7,611.1)kilometers.  It took almost two million pedal revolutions to get me across the Cascade Range, the Rocky Mountains, the Continental Divide, the Midwest, the Adirondacks, the Green Mountains, and the White Mountains. 

I dipped my rear wheel in the Pacific Ocean on June 10th, and ninety-five days later, on September 12th, I dipped my front wheel in the Atlantic Ocean.  I was very fortunate to have a friend to meet me in Bar Harbor.  Bob arrived with a trophy for me of his own design, constructed with his own hands.  To make the occasion even more festive, he reached into his backpack and pulled out a split of Perrier et Jouët champagne.  The occasion clearly called for discarding normal law-abiding behavior, so --- public drinking laws be damned! --- we pulled the cork and imbibed.  A small crowd had gathered on the promenade overlooking the beach, and after we replied to their questions ("Hey, what are you celebrating down there?"), I got a round of applause from eight or nine complete strangers.  I think that, for once, I didn't mind making a spectacle of myself!

The last mile

It was a half mile back to the Quality Inn in Bar Harbor, and the next morning, it would be a half mile back into town where I was to drop the bike off at the Bar Harbor Bike Shop. That last farewell to Rusty was the hardest part emotionally.  Some people "love" their sports car, or their 1952 Chevy, or their boat; I love the sturdy red bicycle that carried me from one coast to the other and never gave me a problem.  Over these past three months, I had become accustomed to having Rusty as a constant companion, almost never out of my sight.  It broke my heart to let go of him and to see him boxed up, ready to be shipped out.

The evening of my arrival in Bar Harbor we drove into town in one of those four-wheeled machines that you don't need to pedal to get around.  Great invention, actually, but not nearly as much fun as pedaling.  We dined at Galyn's Restaurant on the little two-table, outdoor balcony that overlooked the downtown and the harbor a few hundred yards away.  It was a lovely, mild night. I don't understand why there wasn't a long wait for the outdoor seating, but everyone else seemed to want to sit indoors, and we were seated immediately.

There is not a place in Bar Harbor that is not expensive: they would charge you for the air you breathe if they could.  But I was in an expansive, celebratory mood, especially after the split of champagne a couple of hours earlier on the beach, and the cocktail Bob mixed for us within the past hour while we were dressing for dinner.  We had a wonderful meal (some New England fish specialty other than lobster), served with a fine bottle of Pinot Grigio.  No wonder we were both in such a festive mood as we strolled contentedly back to the car.  Luckily we made it back to the motel without incident.

Epilogue?

No, this isn't the real epilogue.  I have yet to write the epilogue.  One section will be trip statistics (I love statistics!).  Then I'll go off the deep end ruminating about what it all meant and what life is all about.  It will take me a couple of more days to figure that out.

In the meantime, please know that I am back home, settling in, reconnecting Internet and cable TV service, pulling weeds in the garden, and so forth.  I have no bruises or saddle sores, but wish the summer were just beginning again and I could be back out there on my bike.