Day 85: Pedaling Stops In Portland ME, But The Adventure Lives On

Day 85:  Friday August 29th, 2014.

Bridgton, ME to Portland, ME.  41.8 miles.

While I hadn't yet officially decided that I would be riding all the way to Portland to finish this epic adventure today, not because of the distance, but because of my mental preparation for handling the end, a background level of anxiety suggested that this was it.  

I woke up in my tent in the Grinnell's back yard, peering out across the expansive lawn to the cemetery on the other side.  I thought about this wonderful family that hosted me for the past 2 days, and about their terrible loss - one of their sons died while serving in the Middle East.  They are a family with a history of dedicated military service - Greg a Marine, and their other son Nicholas, also in the Marine Corps.  They not only provided me with a place to sleep, but their service has provided me with the liberty and freedoms that I had embraced on my bicycle adventure across the USA.

I packed up and headed back to Beth's Kitchen Cafe in downtown Bridgton.  This place was my hideout, my thinking place, and their fantastically delicious baked goods and breakfasts kept me busy eating.  

It was here at Beth's that I would make the official decision to proceed to Portland today.

I had a few criteria before deciding.  The first, to finish updating my website so that everyone was prepared for the ending.  When I started my trip, I decided to create a website and write about my adventures so that I could keep track of my photos and experiences in a chronological order, to relive it virtually in the future.  I didn't think that people would actually view and read the website.  As I proceeded to ride, day by day, I was amazed to find out that family and friends were following along.  It occurred to me over time that the point of my writing and posting was not for my own benefit, but to share my experiences with others.  That's what mattered more than anything.  It was the interaction with people on my trip, many stopping me to ask questions, insisting on paying my bill, offering me, a stranger, a bed and shower in their home, and the comments that readers made on the website, that helped reveal to me the true reason why I was blogging.  

The second, to determine the distance, route, and estimated time I would leave Beth's so that I could figure out what time I would arrive with my front tire in the Atlantic Ocean.

And finally, the third criteria, to clear my mind and think about the significance of riding to the end, the ultimate destination, to dip my front tire in the Atlantic Ocean, in Portland, Maine, almost 4,000 miles from the first revolution that occurred on June 6th in Astoria Oregon 85 days ago, as I left the Pacific Ocean.

The Adventure Cycling route heads from Bridgton to Brunswick, then follows the coast Northeast to Bar Harbor.  I would be diverging from this route right here in Bridgton, instead heading Southeast to Portland.  I used the Google Maps bicycle routing option to determine the path I would take, with the destination of "East End Beach", an access point to the Atlantic Ocean at the East end of downtown Portland, recommended by one of the employees at Beth's Cafe.  It was only 40 miles away, with an estimated travel time of 3.5 hours.

I looked at my watch.  It was just before noon.  "I'm going for it.", I told myself.  I called Victoria to tell her this was it.  I posted the announcement that I would reach the Atlantic at 6:00 pm Eastern Time, giving me some extra time to get into the city and to prepare for the ending.  I was anxious, and started gathering my things, preparing for the departure.  

Beth came up to my table to congratulate me.  Excited for my accomplishment, she gave me a gift from her shop - a cool insulated reusable drink cup with her restaurant logo on it.  I thanked her and headed outside.  Now on my bike, before moving forward, I said outloud, "This is it.", another attempt to shake myself into the reality of what is to come.  I then pedaled forward.

I rode down Main Street in Bridgton until I came to the sign for highway 302.  There it was, "Portland", with an arrow pointing to the East.

As I made the right turn and departed Bridgton, the road was busy with traffic on this Friday afternoon, the start of Labor Day weekend.  Fortunately, I had a wide shoulder for almost the entire way.

I rode along Long Lake and crossed over the South end of it near Naples.

Another reminder that the end was near, and getting closer, a sign labeled, "Portland 28".

I pedaled with excitement, ringing my bell occasionally along the way.  Some drivers on the road were noticing my sign, hooting and hollering.  One guy rolled down his passenger window and yelled,  "Dude - You're almost there! - Congratulations!"

I then came upon the massive (in comparison to other nearby lakes) Sebago Lake.  There was a beach right off the road that looked very inviting.

Another reminder.  "Portland 20.", the sign read.  My heart rate picked up.  I pedaled faster.

I arrived in the suburbs of Portland and stopped at a gas station to get a snack.  I was nervous, knowing that I was just a few miles away.  I had plenty of time to find the beach.  I decided to ride into the city, then find a market to buy some champagne to celebrate, before heading to East End Beach.

I moved on down Washington Avenue toward Highway 26.  It was here that I had my first glimpse of the water, with downtown Portland in the distance.  On the left, the bridge of Highway 26, with Back Cove between my position and Portland.

I rode out onto the bridge, crossing over toward downtown Portland, with Back Cove on my right and Casco Bay on my left.

I then turned left under the highway and proceeded on a bike path along the Atlantic Ocean.  It was here that I started tearing up as people walking on the path cheered me on.  I was imminently close.

The islands in Casco Bay could be seen in the distance as I rode along the path.

Just before reaching the beach, I turned and headed up Congress Street to the Rosemont Market and Bakery at the top of the hill.  It was here where I bought a bottle of champagne, packing it in my pannier.

It was 5:25 pm.  I quickly moved a few blocks further to buy a greeting card for Victoria, one that I would display on my bike as I crossed the finish line.  Then, I was ready.  As I started to ride back down Congress Street, I could see the Atlantic Ocean once again, and I was heading straight for it.

I approached the end of the street and the Eastern edge of North America, of the USA.

Congress Street runs right into a park, a grassy hillside that slopes down to the beach, to the ocean.  I  took a small path across the grassy field, winding down to the beach.

There it was, right in front of me - East End Beach.  I only had maybe 100 feet of land left, and then I could go no further.

It was 5:50 pm Eastern Time.  At the end of the beach furthest from the water, I pulled the bags off my bike to lighten the load so that I could ride to the water without sinking into the sand.  I grabbed the two American flags that I had been carrying on my bike since Great Falls Montana and stuck them in the sand near the water's edge about 5 feet apart.  In-between the flags, I shoved the bottle of champagne into the ground.  Then, I used my yellow handlebar bag as the "tripod" for my camera.

I went back to my bike, stood it upright, and swung my leg over the seat.  I was now facing East, aimed directly between the two American flags.  I placed my phone in the cradle on my handlebars, and called Victoria, using the video option so that she could see me and I could see her.  It was 5:59 pm Eastern Time.  

Victoria answered.  "Hi Honey!  This is it.  I'm about 30 feet away from reaching the Atlantic Ocean.", I said to her, each sentence separated by a pause to regain enough composure to continue - both laughing and crying at the same time.  "Let's do this together.  Are you ready?", I asked her.  "Yeah Honey - Go for it.", she replied.

I rotated the pedal up to the 12 o'clock position, placed my left foot on top, took a deep breath, looked up, and locked in a sight-line to the water between the flags.  I then started pedaling for the last few rotations as I rode the final short distance to the Atlantic Ocean.

My front tire makes contact with the Atlantic Ocean.

I was done.  I made it!  3,991.1 miles in 85 total days (57 days of riding) averaging 70 miles per day with 121,633 feet of elevation gain.  I traversed through seventeen states/provinces in two countries (Oregon, Washington, Idaho, Montana, North Dakota, Minnesota, Wisconsin, Iowa, Illinois, Indiana, Ohio, Pennsylvania, New York, Ontario (Canada), Vermont, New Hampshire, and Maine).  It was time to celebrate.

Look closely and you can see the airborne cork in the top right corner of the picture below.

The most incredible thing about this journey was not the physical act of pedaling a bicycle for such a great distance.  It was the people I met, and the stories and experiences of their own life journeys that they shared with me.  It was their generosity, their curiosity and excitement about what I was doing, and their desire to be a part of it in any little way they could, because they believed in it.

People stopped what they were doing, sometimes interrupting their busy lives to help me.  They were shining examples of the true American spirit.  I learned so much about our country, it's people, and the challenges we all face.  And, more than ever, I understand the importance of education on enriching the lives of the people who are the backbone of this country.

After spending some time on the beach taking it all in, having removed my shoes to stand in the water,  I put the bags back on my bike, knocked the sand off my things, and headed for the town to find something to eat.

I hadn't even made it out of the park adjacent to the beach when I heard, "Hey!  Really?  Did you just?  You rode from Portland Oregon to here?"  I turned to see where it was coming from.  A young couple were smiling and checking out my bike as I was slowly riding up the hill.  "Yeah!  I just finished a few minutes ago, my front tire reaching the Atlantic Ocean!", I told them.  The guy responded, "Do you want to get a beer?"  "Sounds great!", I told them.  Their names were Stu and Lucy.  They told me they were on their way back to their house a block away, and they were planning to go get something to eat already.  Then, Lucy asked, "Do you need to take a shower?"  I hadn't taken a shower in several days, not having had access to one.  I said, "Oh yes, that would be awesome."

I followed them back to their place, got cleaned up, and we walked together down Congress Street to Otto Pizza.  At the restaurant, Seth, another one of their friends, met up with us and we had an excellent evening of food, conversation, and laughter.  From left to right, Myself, Seth, Stu, and Lucy.

By the end of the evening, I had all of their phone numbers and offers for places to stay if I get in a bind and can't find anything while I am in Portland.

I thought about this encounter, and how it felt symbolic at the end of my trip - the continuation of meeting people, sharing stories, generosity, kindness, and the desire to go out of one's way to help.  The "end" was merely a cease in pedaling a bicycle in a calculated trajectory to a set location.  But, everything about the adventure that makes it so incredibly life-changing lives on.

While there was only one person pedaling the bicycle, there's nothing else about this adventure that was "solo".  So many people were involved in many different ways.  I am extremely grateful to all who played a role in it, from those who helped me find lodging to those who hosted me, to those folks who paid for my meals, to those who helped me prepare for the ride in advance of my departure, to those who rode alongside me, and so on.  The ways in which family, friends, and strangers provided help are too diverse to list, and the number of occurrences and people involved is staggering.

Of course, most of all, I am so lucky to have such an amazing wife, Victoria, who provided so much support and love, with huge sacrifices at times, to help me make it all the way to the Atlantic.  I could not have done it without her.

Finally, there have been several occasions where people I met told me that I have inspired and motivated them by way of this journey.  I am flattered by this, and it makes me very happy to know that others might start their own adventure after having been a part of this one.  I hope that they are successful in doing so.

If you are interested in learning more about traveling on a bicycle, please feel free to contact me and I will be happy to share what I've learned with you.

And, even if you have no intentions to start a trip on a bicycle, you can be a part of the adventures of other cyclists in two easy ways:  1. Donate to Adventurecycling.org, the non-profit organization that works tirelessly to scout out and update the safest routes for cyclists to travel on, publishing their work on maps, or  2.  Become a host for the non-profit WarmShowers.org, providing traveling cyclists a place to sleep (a spot in your back yard to pitch their tent, a space on the floor in your home for them to sleep, or a couch or guest bed, and access to a bathroom). These two organizations, and the wonderful people that make them function, were instrumental in making my trip so successful, safe, and fun.