Out of service, out of sorts

Recapping my 82nd week of cycling around the country

“Are you having fun?” my uncle asked. It was a very popular question amongst my friends and family when I flew home for Christmas after two months on the road. I struggled to answer it because I was up to my eyeballs with stress from tripling my daily workout, from reinventing all of my daily routines through trial and error, and from an ambitious foray into public speaking. Naps were always my superpower and I hadn’t had a proper siesta since I set out.

It was the good kind of stress, though. I was doing what I had set out to do, facing the challenges and working through them. Each success — however painful — gave me a jolt of confidence that I could pull off this audacious mission.

A year later, my confidence is unshakeable. Cycling around the world seems almost trivial, like I could tack it onto the end of this trip as a little bonus.

But oh-my-god the deadlines! My life has never been this rigidly scheduled. Between the sheer size of Texas, meeting Lin, losing all of my possessions, and wanting to learn how to write, every ounce of energy was spoken for. Plus my back and hip have been angry, taking away my ability to fix problems with an extra long day or two. Several months of speaking engagements all hinged on my ability to reach my destination today… and tomorrow… and the next day. A calendar-shaped house of cards.

This is the bad kind of stress, trying to do much at once and living every moment in that anxiety. I wasn’t having fun

So there I sat at the Rio Grande Village campground in Big Bend National Park, willing my body to get up so I could get to Marathon to resupply and get to Marfa to catch a bus to see Lin for a couple days and still make it to El Paso for a good place to log into the virtual writing conference while still being within range of Albuquerque for the next slate of Rotary meetings.

I lingered for a few hours, recharging all of my batteries, eating, showering, and buying supplies. The store clerk was on his third straight 12-hour day thanks to budget cuts, by the way. It blows my mind that there are people who think we’re somehow overspending on parks. Most of them are one step away from hosting bake sales.

I always knew that rivers were the natural result of geographic low points, but it wasn’t until I crossed a thousand of them by bike that the true meaning of that sunk in: the other side is always a hill to climb. This one that looked relatively flat but climbed so persistently that I spent the entire twenty miles wondering why my legs weren’t working.

I took a nice long break at the visitor center where I learned that the nearby gas station was closed for renovations. I kicked myself for venturing out into the desert without confirming my resupply plans. The next store was in Marathon, 65 miles away. I bought four souvenir water bottles and filled them in the bathroom, hoping it would be enough.

I enjoyed a few easy miles downhill before the slog resumed. There was no cell service anywhere near the park, so I was very grateful that I downloaded the audiobook of Everything Is Tuberculosis, a fascinating read.

The sun demanded my attention, though. It waged a war of attrition on my bottle of sunscreen. Without a single cloud or tree in sight, I spent hours counting down the distance to the glorious shade at the next visitor center.

It was closed for remodeling too. I sat outside eating cans of chili, tuning up my bike, and even rolling out my air mattress for a nap. I relocated several times to keep the building between me and the setting sun. My body enjoyed the break, but the anxiety only grew my mind continually recalculated the week’s timeline with growing pessimism.

I managed another hour and a half in the dark before making camp. That left me about 20 miles short of my goal, but at least it got me outside of the park so I wouldn’t have to worry about a ranger disturbing my sleep.

Instead, I awoke to a rustling sound. A snout was poking around my saddlebags. My mind flashed back to the park signs warning about Javelinas, small pig-like creatures with a powerful bite. Then a white stripe flashed in the moonlight.

I exhaled, relieved that my new bunkmate wasn’t dangerous. I just had to figure out how to get rid of a skunk without getting sprayed in the process. I had the perfect “phone a friend” on this one — Lin used to rescue skunks and opossums — but I was still cut off from the outside world. Eventually, I grabbed some small rocks and lightly tossed them near the critter, just close enough for him to be uncomfortable but not afraid. It took about a dozen nudges to guide my little friend out of sight.

The damage to my sleep was done, though. My mood reflected that as I resumed the grind. I repeatedly checked the GPS like a child counting the minutes until the end of a detention. I was miserable.

“Do the next right thing,” Glennon Doyle’s mantra reminded me. In my fatigue, I was spending too much energy fretting over the big picture. I needed to trust that Past Jeff created a workable plan and that Future Jeff could handle whatever comes next. Today Jeff was only responsible for doing today.

I resolved to get my ass to Marathon — still 12 miles away — and celebrate that as a milestone. I leisurely ate a giant cheeseburger with tater tots at the town’s only open restaurant. A gas station. It was heavenly. I laid out in their park for hours, napping twice and using up a month’s worth of 5G data. I allegedly enjoyed an adult beverage there too.

The rest of the week worked out great, just like Past Jeff had promised, despite the minuscule margin for error at every turn. He’s a pretty good planner, glad I remembered to trust him. Life’s more fun when I do.

This week I was grateful for rocks, sunscreen, and audiobooks. 🫶✨ Subscribe if you want to hear about next week and wish me luck!

This week: 284 miles     Year-to-date: 2,929 miles     Cumulative: 12,442 miles