Land of Dreams

It's hard to believe I've reached the homestretch of this journey. I look back at the past 8 weeks on the road and it seems like it's all a blur. There's a voice inside my head and it has a west coast surfer accent reminding me, "Dude, you're riding home all the way from California..."

I've added a few more pins to my dashboard during this trip

My bike picked a fine time to act up. Suddenly it's not shifting quite right and any attempt I make at adjustment seems to last only for an hour or so until it's off again. I deduce that my derailleur cable is badly stretched and in need of replacement. It's one of the spare parts I forgot to carry and I'm in a region where bike shops are rare and it's a Sunday when most of them would be closed. I'm reminded of a book I once read that theorized about how we are already prepped to become cybernetic creatures because we tend to feel somewhat physically and emotionally unwell when the machines connected to us are not working properly.

Actually, I'm lucky to have remained in great health throughout this trip, and come out feeling even healthier. I estimate I've lost 20 or more pounds and it feels good. I did have a lingering sinus issue from a bad winter cold when I started out, but cycling in the desert heat took care of it. I remember blowing my nose forcefully somewhere in Utah and something ungodly came out of my upper sinuses, I gladly left that demon on a red rock.

"Ground Steak", of course, is just a fancy term for hamburger :)

The sight of Lake Ontario gave me some encouragement, helping me visualize more accurately how far I was from home. It also reminded me to savour the moments and the miles left, and keep on enjoying to the last pedal stroke. I got to Pulaski on this trip's final night in America, and got a nice gesture when I checked in at the Bears Sleepy Hollow campground — the owners told me that they don't charge cyclists to camp there. It's a pretty nice campground, I'll have to make sure I give them my business next time I'm down here car-camping with my kayak.

Now that's fish sandwich. Where's the bun?

Cheesy history

On the ride up towards the border, the weather threw everything at me. The morning started out as a perfect day for cycling. Just as I was thinking I couldn't ask for better during my lunch stop, thick storm clouds rolled in from the lake. I was thoroughly soaked by the torrential downpour, so I sat out the rest  of the storm underneath a gas station overhang. The skies cleared up rapidly, and when I got close to the bridge it was clement again.

My last picnic lunch

New Yorkers know a good deli sandwich.

Signs I won't miss after I cross the border

Getting across the Thousand Islands Bridge wasn't easy with a loaded bike. They don't allow bicycles on the roadway, so I had to walk it up the narrow sidewalk pinned between high railings. It took me a good 20 minutes to cross the US span. The Canadian Span was even narrower that I had to remove the left saddle bag and put it on top of the rack because it just couldn't fit. Walking was difficult with one hand on the handlebar and the other one trying to balance the loose bag on top, pressed against a railing with the river a couple of hundred feet below, all the while trying not to hit my calves on the pedals. Meanwhile the suspension bridge shook with every passing truck...

High above the bridge, I thought of the plane ride over when I was staring down at the Grand Canyon and the vast deserts below with butterflies in my stomach, slightly overwhelmed by the long stretches of empty highway that I would have to ride. It seemed like it was a dream. Well, it was a dream but it is now a very real memory.

"I heard you calling from the start,
A river runs through both our hearts..."

...and cue the commercial:



Although it might seem odd to end (or pause) "A Bike Ride Called America" here on the St Lawrence River, to me as a Canadian it's somewhat fitting. This great river is the dividing line between two countries that once shared a common colonial history; diverging when one was born out of rebellion and revolution, the other of compromise and consent. While there are differences in points of view, our DNA is the same, distilled from peoples from the four corners of the world dreaming and seeking a better life.

"Gee, Ma, I want to go, back to Ontario...."

The ride to my doorstep after spending the night at a friend's brother's place in Brockville was blissfully uneventful. It was a great day for riding, the temperature at a perfect 22 ˚C. I've ridden on these quiet county roads so many times, it felt like I was just out on a day ride. I stopped at my favourite ice cream shop in Merrickville for a pick-me-up treat and chatted with some cyclists who were curious about my tour. Summarizing the trip in a few sentences to them, it was difficult to pick my best moments, there were so many.

I arrived at the house relieved that it was still standing, behind it the backyard was an overgrown jungle I would have to deal with. Ahh, it's great to be home, wanna ride back to LA?

The moment the trip ended: 6,005 km from LAX to my door