The Morning After
Part 3: Day 71 The Next Day
After sixty-nine days on the road, the trip home was remarkably uneventful. Our flights were on time. For the first time in more than two months, there wasn't a route to review or a weather forecast to study. There was, however, one reunion I had been looking forward to. Lola. Our puppy had no idea where I had been or why I had disappeared for more than two months. She only knew I was home. Her excitement made it clear she wasn't particularly interested in Route 66, the Atlantic Ocean or childhood hunger. She was simply happy to have me back. The feeling was mutual.
The next morning I woke up in my own bed for the first time since April. There was no bicycle to prepare. No support vehicle waiting outside. No mileage goal for the day. Scott was somewhere east of me, beginning his own cross-country journey home in the RV.
During training for the ride, I had often started my mornings sitting in the whirlpool near our home, loosening muscles before another day on the bike. It seemed fitting that my first morning back would begin in exactly the same place. As I sat quietly in the warm water, the previous seventy days replayed in my mind.
The thousands of miles.
The endless charging of electronic devices.
The hotel breakfasts.
The countless hotel room numbers.
The ice baths.
Buc-ee's.
The Big Texan.
The headwinds.
OKC vs. San Antonio.
The fields of grain and corn.
Peanut butter.
It struck me how easily I would slip back into my normal routine. Back into the comfort of home. Back into a beautiful Southern California beach community. Back into a life that, in many ways, felt far removed from the places and people we had visited during the ride. Then another thought followed. While my ride had ended, the need that inspired it had not.
Tomorrow morning, children across America would still wake up hungry. Parents would still struggle to put food on the table. Teachers would quietly make sure students had something to eat before trying to learn. Food banks would open their doors. School nutrition directors like Beth Brewster would continue looking for ways to reach more children. Organizations like No Kid Hungry would continue doing the work they had been doing long before I started riding and would continue long after I stopped.
After riding across America, I came away convinced of something.
This is a problem we can solve.
We grow enough food.
We have dedicated organizations.
We have people who care.
The challenge is connecting those things in ways that ensure every child has the opportunity to reach his or her potential. Rehoboth Beach marked the end of one journey. It did not mark the end of the mission.
Epilogue
What Was Your Favorite Part?
Since returning home, there is one question I've been asked more than any other. "What was your favorite part?"
Surely there would be one climb, one day, one person or one place that stood above everything else. The more I thought about it, though, the more I realized I didn't have an answer. What stayed with me most wasn't a single moment. It was the extraordinary variety of the journey itself.
Over sixty-nine days I watched the country change a little every morning. The Pacific Ocean gave way to the California desert. The desert became Arizona's long climbs and dramatic vistas. Then came the painted landscapes and Petrified Forest of New Mexico. Texas offered canyons, open ranchland and fields that seemed to stretch forever. The murals and statues along Route 66. Missouri's wheat fields gradually became the endless cornfields of Illinois, Indiana and Ohio. The Mississippi. The Ohio. The Allegheny. The Monongahela. Eventually the rivers gave way to the tree-lined trails of Pennsylvania and Maryland, where the shade became as memorable as the scenery itself. And finally, the Atlantic Ocean.
Each place had its own character. Its own beauty. The same road looked different in the morning than it did late in the afternoon. Rain changed the landscape. Evening light transformed it again. Sometimes the most memorable view wasn't a mountain or an ocean. Sometimes it was sunlight reflecting off a field of grain or corn.
Looking back, I don't think my favorite part was any one place. It was having the opportunity to experience all of them. The ride reminded me that America cannot be understood from thirty thousand feet or through the windshield of a car alone. It reveals itself differently when you're traveling fourteen miles an hour. Slow enough to notice. Slow enough to stop. Slow enough to have conversations that otherwise never would have happened.
Over the previous sixty-nine days I had ridden across America. Somewhere along the way, I began seeing it differently. That may be the best answer I can give. There wasn't one favorite part. The journey itself was the favorite part.
Gratitude
No one rides across America alone.
While I may have been the one turning the pedals each day, lots of people carried this ride from beginning to end.
Karen believed in me and in this idea long before it became a reality. She helped transform what began as a conversation into a plan, and then into a journey. Throughout the ride she kept the operation moving, managed countless details behind the scenes and somehow found a way to make every day feel manageable. I can't forget Lauren Klein, who helped Karen manage household responsibilities in our absence, and Rhonda Cerney and Julie Rubin, who were instrumental in achieving media coverage.
Scott accepted a job that few people would have taken. He drove thousands of miles, solved problems I often never knew existed, kept the bikes running, worked tirelessly to keep me healthy enough to ride and, most importantly, made safety his highest priority. I trusted him completely, and for that I will always be grateful.
Amanda, Josh, Zach and our family reminded me throughout the ride why this cause mattered. Their encouragement, willingness to travel across the country and confidence in me carried me through more difficult days than they probably realized.
To my sisters, Andrea and Lynn, and to Brad and Mark, thank you for stepping in without hesitation when Karen and Scott needed to be away. You didn't simply fill in—you became part of the adventure.
To everyone who shared the road with me—Bill Shopoff, Jim Schroeder, Jeff Wilson, Donovan Dorsey, Josh Strauss and the many friends who joined for a few miles—thank you. Every conversation, every shared mile and every bit of encouragement made the ride richer and reminded me that cycling is, at its heart, a community.
Lisa McKinney and Blue Dogs Media helped give the ride its look and feel through the design and implementation of the website, riding gear and social media. Lisa believed this ride deserved to be seen and heard and managed outreach through social media and the press. Her guidance, encouragement and countless hours of work behind the scenes helped tell the story.
Zach Kaplan brought his own creativity, energy and generosity to the project. He took the hundreds of videos and photographs and transformed them into the Instagram reels that helped define the story of the ride. His time and talents extended the reach of the ride and the message behind it.
This ride also benefited from organizations that believed in the mission from the very beginning. My sincere thanks to Shopoff Realty Investments and Anew Climate, whose early confidence and generous support helped transform an idea into a successful cross-country fundraising effort. Their commitment to the mission helped make the journey possible.
To everyone who opened a door, offered directions, repaired a bicycle, served a meal, provided a room, shared a conversation or simply asked, "Why are you riding?"—thank you.
You reminded me, over and over again, that kindness is still one of America's most abundant resources.
To Jessica Bomberg, Donna Bacho, Billy and Debbie Shore, Laura Washburn, Kara Panowitz and everyone at No Kid Hungry, thank you for allowing me to become a small part of your mission. The privilege of meeting Beth Brewster, Shannon Amos and so many others gave me a much deeper appreciation for the thoughtful, often unseen work taking place every day on behalf of children and families across our country.
Finally, to everyone who donated, followed the journey, shared a blog post, sent an encouraging text or simply cheered from afar, thank you for believing that one person on a bicycle could help make a difference.
This ride may have started with a bicycle.
It finished because of people.
And while the ride has ended, I hope the conversations it started—and the support for No Kid Hungry—will continue for a long time to come.
