The Last Forty-Eight Miles
Part 2: Day 70 — The Last Day
The next morning started earlier than most. Not because there were many miles left, but because there were airplanes to catch. Amanda, Zachary and Frankie all had flights out of Philadelphia later that afternoon, which meant we needed to return to Harrington, get me on the bike early and still leave enough time to celebrate before everyone headed for the airport.
The atmosphere inside the RV felt different from every other morning of the trip. Instead of the usual crew, it felt more like a family road trip. Karen. Amanda. Zachary. Frankie. Rebecca. Jayden. Scott. Sally. Everyone climbed aboard for one final drive back to Harrington. Rebecca assumed the role of navigator and guided Scott directly to the starting point without incident. Considering our occasional struggles with directions over the previous two months, it was a fitting way to begin the final day.
Of course, no long journey ends without one last minor surprise.
Just before we were ready to leave, I couldn't find my Garmin radar. Anyone who has spent nearly seventy days using the same equipment knows that when something isn't where it's supposed to be, your mind immediately starts retracing every step. We searched. Nothing. Then I bent over to put on my cycling shoes. My toes hit something. Earlier that morning, in an effort to make sure I didn't forget the radar, I had tucked it inside one of my cycling shoes. Mission accomplished. I hadn't forgotten it. I'd simply forgotten where I'd put it.
The weather made us feel good about the decision to wait a day. Blue skies. Comfortable temperatures. Very little wind. As good a morning as we could have hoped for. I clipped into the pedals one final time. No countdown. No speeches. Just another push on the pedals and one more familiar goodbye. "See you down the road."
For the final stage I chose the gravel bike. I'd heard portions of the route would be rougher than the roads we'd been riding, and comfort seemed like the better choice than saving a minute or two. I wasn't trying to set any records. I simply wanted to enjoy the last forty-eight miles.
For the first several miles, everything went according to plan. Then Ride with GPS decided it had one last surprise for us. The spoken directions stopped working. Instead of telling me where to turn, the app politely waited until I had already ridden past the intersection before letting out a beep. For several miles I found myself stopping more often than I wanted, checking the phone, confirming the route and getting underway again. Eventually the voice disappeared altogether.
At our next stop, Amanda had already directed the RV to exactly the right location. By then everyone had quietly settled into their roles. Amanda handled logistics. Scott managed operations. Karen was still fielding calls and updating people about the ride. Almost instantly, Zachary and Jayden became the IT department. Phones were restarted. Apps were closed and reopened. Settings were checked. Nothing.
Finally someone said what we were all thinking. "Let's just use Apple Maps." A few taps later we were moving again. We didn't spend much time trying to fix Ride with GPS. We picked a simple and obvious workaround and kept the mission moving forward.
The Last Few Miles
With the navigation problem behind us, I settled back into a comfortable rhythm. For the first time since leaving Newport Beach more than two months earlier, I found myself wishing the ride would slow down. Not because I was tired. Actually, I felt remarkably good. I simply wasn't in a hurry for it to end.
When I reached ten miles remaining, I eased off the pace, reached into my jersey pocket and pulled out the Insta360 camera. If there were any miles I wanted to remember, these were them.
As the wheels continued to turn, my mind wandered back across the country. I thought about the Pacific Ocean and the quick climb out of the Corona del Mar parking lot on the first morning of the ride. The long stretches of desert that seemed endless until they suddenly weren't. Historic Route 66. The Oklahoma winds that never seemed to stop blowing. The wheat fields of Missouri. The cornfields of the Midwest. The rivers—the Mississippi, the Ohio, the Allegheny and the Monongahela. The Great Allegheny Passage and the C&O Canal. The Paw Paw Tunnel. Washington, D.C. Every state line. Every flat tire. Every unexpected detour.
As those memories came and went, I realized something else. What I remembered most wasn't a particular climb or a particularly beautiful stretch of road. It was the people. The waitress who asked why we were riding. The bike shop mechanic who got us back on the road. The hotel managers who welcomed us as though we were old friends. The farmers, veterans, fellow cyclists, teachers, nutrition directors, restaurant owners, barbers and complete strangers who became part of the story, often without realizing it.
Over the previous sixty-nine days I had ridden across America. Somewhere along the way, I began seeing it differently. Not through its famous landmarks, but through its small towns, its back roads, its generosity, its conversations, and its remarkable diversity of landscape, agriculture and people. The bicycle simply gave me a reason to move slowly enough to notice.
A few miles later, the first signs for Rehoboth Beach began to appear. Here was the place that had been a fiction in my thoughts for the last year. The finish line was no longer in the distance. It was just down the final stretch of road.
The Finish
A few minutes later I headed toward the Rehoboth Beach boardwalk. And there they were. Family. Friends. Supporters. Waiting. Smiling. Cheering. After more than two months, thousands of miles, thirteen states, countless climbs, headwinds, flat tires, road closures and detours, I had finally reached the Atlantic Ocean.
Scott had created custom labels for several champagne bottles recognizing the people who had made the ride possible. As I rolled to a stop, the corks flew. Champagne followed. Thankfully, I still had my cycling glasses on. Otherwise, I suspect I would have spent the finish rinsing champagne out of my eyes instead of enjoying it.
There were hugs. Handshakes. Photographs. High-fives. For a few minutes, everyone simply enjoyed the moment. When we left Newport Beach, my hope was straightforward: ride safely across America, raise meaningful support for No Kid Hungry, and help more people understand that childhood hunger is a solvable problem.
Standing on the boardwalk surrounded by family, friends and supporters, I realized we had accomplished those goals—and was fortunate enough to enjoy an unforgettable journey along the way.
Two local television stations covered the finish that afternoon, providing one last opportunity to talk about childhood hunger and the work that still lies ahead. The bicycle ride had reached its destination. The mission had not.
That evening we gathered one final time for dinner at Woody's. Being on the Eastern Shore, there was really only one appropriate meal. Crabs. Followed, naturally, by ice cream. Over the previous sixty-nine days I had probably consumed more sugar than I had during the previous two years, along with more waffles, pancakes and, need I say, peanut butter than I care to admit. When you're burning thousands of calories a day riding across America, almost anything seems like a reasonable nutritional decision. I also suspected that philosophy probably wasn't going to survive very long once I returned home.
We laughed. Retold stories that had already become favorites. Wondered how certain events had happened only a few weeks earlier. And, perhaps without saying it directly, began realizing that this remarkable chapter was coming to a close.
