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. 

Day 84: Being at Beth's in Bridgton, Preparing for the Final Day

Day 84:  Thursday August 28th, 2014.

Bridgton, ME.  0 miles.

A day of rest, writing, laundry, and most importantly, mental preparation for the final ride tomorrow.

I headed to Beth's Kitchen Cafe on Main Street in Bridgton for breakfast, recommended by Greg.

The small coffee-shop cafe atmosphere was fun, and it seemed to be a local's place.

The food options included an incredible array of delectables baked today like muffins, croissants, cookies, cinnamon rolls, quiche, pies, turnovers, etc, as well as freshly-made breakfast treats and sandwiches for lunch.  I ordered the special - Coconut-Crusted French Toast. There's no question that Beth uses real maple syrup at her place.

I sat for a long time in this place, thinking mostly.  Eventually, it was time for lunch and I was hungry again.  I ate my lunch at the corner of a big table and a family joined me.  I spoke with them for a while, and told them about my experience trying to cross over the state line from New Hampshire into Maine.  I said, "I was really struggling with the enormity of what it meant to finally reach the last state, that I had pedaled all the way across, through so many different states, and here I was - there wasn't any more after Maine - it was the last one."  The mother, with a demeanor of seriousness, waited until I was done and replied, "No, it's not the "last" state, you crossed over into the best state".

The rest of the day, and into the evening, I continued to finish up writing, and thought a lot about how I would go about ending this trip.  I came to the conclusion that I don't have to figure it out in advance.  Why change things now.  It's another day of riding, another set of adventures that awaits me.  Just like I have done for the past 83 days, for the past 3,949 miles.  I wake up, get on my bike, and pedal.  Tomorrow, Day 85, would be no different.  At least, until I arrive on the beach in Portland Maine.

If all goes well, I will ride my bicycle onto the beach in Portland Maine and conclude my trip with a dip of my front tire in the Atlantic Ocean at 6:00 PM Eastern Time (3:00 PM  Pacific, 11:00 PM GMT) on Friday August 29th, 2014.  The last and final post, "Day 85" will follow, posting within a day or two.

Day 83: Killing the Kanc, State Line - MAINE, Stephen King

Day 83:  Wednesday August 27th, 2014.

Lincoln, NH to Bridgton, ME.  66.0 miles.  

Up early, Claire, Sarah and I left the campground before 8 am to make the ascent up the dreaded Kancamangus Pass while it was still cool.  We split up once again to ride at our own pace.  I passed by the Pemigewasset River shortly after leaving the campground.

Entering the White Mountain National Forest, I was surrounded by more trees and hills, the cooler temperatures of higher elevations promoting slightly more color-change on some of the trees this early in the year.

The route was gorgeous, and a good distration to the steady climb.

Several roadside pull-outs provided incredible vantage points to take in the scenery.  I stopped at each one, partly to catch my breath, and partly to stare in awe.

Some of the trees were really starting to pop with color.

I climbed most of the way up before turning into another viewpoint parking lot.  The ascent, while a serious challenge, so far didn't seem nearly as bad as Middlebury Gap.

I looked back from the entrance to the parking lot and could see Sarah on her way up the hill I had just climbed.

The view from here was even more spectacular.  Yellow flowers were blooming all over the place.

I could only imagine what this scene will look like in a month from now, as the trees fully change to brilliant reds, oranges, and yellows.

Sarah and Claire caught up with me at this viewpoint, and we rested for a bit before jumping back into the climb.  Knowing that our paces would likely separate us, we made a plan to meet in the next town, up and over the pass, at the bottom of the mountain for breakfast.  

"My only criteria is that we meet at a place that has pancakes!", I said.

Anxiety prevailed as I pedaled out of the parking lot, turning right in an attempt to tackle the last, and biggest obstacle between me and the Atlantic Ocean.  I remembered the words of my friend Brian Jennings, who has traversed across the United States on a bicycle twice, providing me with a wealth of helpful information about how to be prepared.  "I rode across the entire country, through the rockies, across the plains.  But, when I had to get through the steep mountains of the Appalachians, it was the only time I had to get off and push at one point.  Man, those hills are steep.", he told me.

Conquering the "Kanc" was more than just pedaling over a challenging mountain.  I knew inside that, when I made it over the top of this pass, I would be successful in what I originally set out to do when I pedaled away from the Pacific Ocean on June 6th, 2014.  But, as was the case yesterday, as I started up the road, after less than a half mile, I was there. I was already practically at the top.  I did it.  It was not nearly as difficult as I had thought.  But, it was a big challenge, and I was reminded of that as I glanced back and saw the "9% Grade" sign for the hill I had just climbed up.

Sarah and Claire were cheering and I joined them.  We took photos at the pass before continuing on.

Moving forward, the viewpoint looking ahead provided a glimpse into the state of Maine.  I was overwhelmed with a flood of emotions.  I could see the only state left between me and the Atlantic.

As we rode the long descent to the town of Conway, Claire and I lost track of Sarah, who was behind us.  We had breakfast in Conway, and then I said goodbye to Claire, heading out on my own for the town of Bridgton, Maine.

I rode along a busy road through residential areas for a while until I came upon a road sign that read, "State Line - MAINE".

I stopped.  The state of Maine was just a few feet in front of me.  Straddling my bike with my two feet planted in New Hampshire, I drew the imaginary line across the road from the sign, perpendicular to my path.  This line was really more like a huge wall, a wall of emotions, of experiences, and of memories, of my journey coming to a final celebratory head.  By no means have I reached the destination yet.  But, I knew that when I crossed this line, it would be the beggining of the end of my incredible adventure cycling across the U.S.  I stood there, along the side of the road, in front of the sign, for at least 5 minutes, reading it over and over. "State Line - MAINE."  "State Line - MAINE."  "State Line - MAINE."

Taking a deep breath, I looked down at my feet and the pedals of my bike.  With the top of my left foot, I scooped up a pedal and rotated it around to the top of the crank revolution.  I then placed my foot on top, and stood up with both feet off the New Hampshire ground.  The weight of my body pressing down on the left pedal initiated a forward momentum.  I rolled across the boundary and into the State of Maine.

I started pedaling faster and faster, sailing through the state that is home to my final destination.  I kept thinking over and over, "I'm in Maine.", trying to convince myself that it was real. It wasn't working.  I then started saying it out loud, "I'm in Maine.  I'm in Maine.  I'm in Maine."  Tears were running down my cheeks and into my beard.

I took several different back roads en route to Bridgton.  The forests encroached upon the road making it seem more like a bike path than a street for automobiles.

Just a few hundred yards before reaching  Main Street in Bridgton, I came to a park on the edge of a lake with a beach.

It had been hot all day, and I was excited to see people swimming in the lake.  I pulled off, changed into my bathing suit, and jumped in, swimming out to the floating dock offshore.  The water temperature was cool, but perfect.  I felt so refreshed.  I sat out on that dock, peering into the beautiful surroundings.  It was very peaceful.

A young boy, probably 8 years old, climbed up the ladder onto the dock.  I said hi, and he replied with a "hi" while in the air, doing a cannon ball into the water.  When he came back for a second jump, I asked him, "Hey - What's the name of this lake?"  He replied with a series of questions, "Well, have you ever seen the movie Friday the Thirteenth?"  I said, "Yeah."  "The first one?", he added.  I replied with a "Yeah."  "Well", he said, "This was the lake in that movie."  "No way!", I said to him.  "As in, like right here - this beach?" He said, "Yep.", then jumped into the water again.  He didn't know that the lake had another name - Highland Lake.

While I was at the beach, I ran into two guys, Greg and Nicholas, who were asking me about my trip.  I told him that I was looking for a campground, and he replied with, "Stay at my place - you can pitch your tent in my big backyard."  He gave me the address and told me it was the big ranch house just past the cemetery on the left.

With my accommodations secured, I headed into town to the Black Horse Tavern for dinner.  My beer glass reminded me of where I was.

I told the waitress, Pam, about my encounter with the boy at the lake, and his story about the movie Friday The Thirteenth.  She said, "Oh yeah, Stephen likes to use this town for his work."  She was referring to Stephen King, who has a house in town, and has used various sites in and around Bridgton as the setting for his stories. "My kids went to school with his kids.", Pam said without any excitement about it.  She then added, "His kids could come over to my house and play with my kids, but I wouldn't let my kids go over to his house."  I laughed about that.

I ran into Claire and Sarah again, and all of us stayed at Greg's place just up the hill from the town.  His yard was expansive, with the cemetery on the outer perimeter.

Greg was a great host, and the rest of the Grinnell family was wonderful.  From left to right, Greg, Bruce (dog), myself, Sarah, and Claire.

While Claire was headed to Portland tomorrow to finish her trip, and Sarah was continuing on towards Bar Harbor, I decided to stay for an extra day in Bridgton to gather my thoughts and get mentally prepared for the final day.