We were drenched by the time we arrived at our friends' house a mere fifteen blocks from the ferry dock in New York City.
After all we had experienced for the past year, the weatherman had nothing on us. A little rain – a lot of rain – never hurt anybody! And besides – we were here! We were in Manhattan! We laughed and joked as the rain came tumbling down and we pedaled through Times Square on our way to our friends’ home. Life was grand. Just grand.
We had hoped our last day on the road would be one of those glorious days when we sing with the sun, but instead it was pretty darn dreary. As we packed up one final time our song was accompanied by the pitter-patter of rain drops. By the time we took off, however, the rain had passed. We pedaled those last few miles on roads newly wet from the rain. Fortunately, the rain stayed just ahead of us for most of the day. About six miles from Grandma’s house it began to drizzle. The four of us made a beeline to Grandma’s, hoping to get there before the worst of the storm hit.
I never thought Union Station in New Haven, Connecticut was that big of deal – but somehow that first icon of “familiar territory” became a symbol for me. The trip was over. After a whole year of life in the unknown, I had entered into safe ground. I knew what to expect. I knew what was beyond the corner. And so it was all the way to Leetes Island. It was almost surreal – a feeling of being there, yet not quite comprehending that I was actually there.
When we took that final turn and started down into Leetes Island, I will admit to a bit of disappointment. I had somehow conjured up images of a red carpet laid out to welcome us home, a group of family and friends gathering together to celebrate with us. And there we were – in the pouring rain and no one was around. We stopped at the beach a few blocks from Grandma’s house and I made John take the bike to the water for a “victory photo.” It had to be the most pathetic victory photo ever. The kids were soaking wet and cold, and the absolute last thing they wanted to do was stand by the water for a photo; they wanted to get to Grandma’s house and warmth.
But we made it, and Grandma welcomed us to her home. The kids were thrilled beyond belief. John and I weren’t sure how we felt. It was done. The trip was finished. The fat lady sang and it was over.
Cold and wet, but we made it to Leetes Island! Grandma's house was just around the corner!
Changed Lives
In so many ways it seems like yesterday that we pulled out of our driveway so long ago with a whole year stretched before us like a vast prairie of time. Those 365 days lay ahead like an enormous red carpet welcoming us to new adventures. Eventually that prairie vanished day by day and the red carpet slowly rolled up to be stashed away.
Our year on the road continued to live in our hearts and minds and affected us in more ways than I could imagine. All four of us were indelibly changed by our adventure. We were touched by angels and beguiled by magicians’ charms. We laughed and cried; we sweated and shivered. And we returned to Boise forever changed by our experiences.
As it happened, that year-long adventure was merely the springboard for yet another adventure on two wheels. We spent an intense year planning and preparing before taking off, in June 2008, to ride our bikes from Alaska to Argentina. It took us three years to complete that journey and the boys now hold the world record as the youngest people to cycle the length of the Americas.
Now that our wheels have stopped turning, we can look back upon our travels and see that they taught us more than we ever imagined. John and I knew our boys would learn a lot from traveling on bicycle – geography, history and science were built in to our lives, but their learning extended beyond the 3 R’s of education. Sure their reading, writing, and ’rithmetic improved tremendously as their brains responded to the stimulation all around them. But the true legacy of our journeys is the “rest” of their learning.
One major thing Davy and Daryl learned is that complaining and moaning and crying don’t help. If conditions are harsh, all you can do is keep your nose down and keep pedaling. Complaining won’t change a gosh-darn thing. Davy and Daryl have learned to face adversity head-on and deal with it without complaining.
My boys also learned to think outside the box. I know no other children who’ve been so creative, so spontaneous, or so innovative about their playtime. Day after day, the boys climbed off their bikes in unique locations with unique situations.
Our family adventures forever changed all four of us. John and I were privileged with having the opportunity of being with our children 24/7 for a year – watching them grow and mature into responsible young men. Davy and Daryl have seen more of America than most Americans do in their lifetimes and have gotten to know people of all walks of life. There is no doubt in my mind that each of us is far richer for living this journey and that we’ve learned lessons we will help us on the rest of our journey through life on planet Earth.
Davy and Daryl learned that Earth holds no boundaries for them and they are free to wander wherever their imaginations take them. I hope they wander far.
It had been a remarkable year. We cycled 9300 miles through 19 US states and five Mexican states. More importantly, we had spent a magical year together as a family.
Twenty Miles per Cookie: 9000 Miles of Kid-Powered Adventures Page 17