134
I woke up to car horns blaring and the annoying rumble of a nearby generator. I would usually try and avoid staying at an RV park, but the night before I had very few options as to where I could camp. After spending twenty bucks, I was granted a pretty miserable night’s sleep between the traffic and people staying up late into the night at a nearby campsite. But hey, at least I was able to take a shower. That didn’t happen all too often. I started my day pretty early as I had a lot of riding to do. I was making my way into Phoenix where I was planning on spending the weekend with one of my friends from college who moved out there after graduating. He shared with me his address the night before, and I took notice that it was 120 miles away from where I had pitched my tent. That would be the farthest I had ever ridden before in a single day.
My morning started like any other. Within thirty minutes I was in the saddle and riding towards Phoenix. Once again, the landscape had quickly and drastically changed to something else entirely. In Arizona, some of the cacti would be as tall as the palm trees I was used to back home. The terrain was simultaneously jagged and rolling, and the roads were spacious and well-maintained except for a dicey stretch on Route 60. It always felt a bit strange being surrounded by hustle and bustle as I approached a major city. My quiet routes with few cars would become increasingly chaotic as I grew nearer to the city center. Eventually, I’d be surrounded by the concrete jungle off in the distance.
After a full day of riding, the sun had begun to set and I was finally standing on my friend’s doorstep. Relieved and exhausted I rang the doorbell while reflecting on the fact that I had just ridden 120 miles. I was excited to not have to think about the bike for a few days while I caught up with my old friend from college. I rang the doorbell and waited in anticipation for a familiar face to greet me moments later. To my surprise, a stranger answered the door.
“Can I help you?” said he, giving me a good look over. I probably looked like hell after twelve hours of continuous riding.
“Is Tom here?” I replied, visibly confused by the stranger’s presence.
“Nope.” came the short response from the man in the doorway.
“When will he be back?”
“Look man, I don’t know who Tom is. Please get off of my property.” The door was shut promptly thereafter. I don’t blame the guy for it because I didn’t necessarily look like someone you would want to invite into your home. However, I was bewildered as I had just spoken to my friend the day before, and he told me to come to this house. After walking back into the street with my bike, I pulled out my phone to check the address once more. That’s when I realized my critical error. I had mistakenly omitted the word “West” in the address that I typed into Google Maps and instead was taken to a house with the same number on a street with almost the same name. Unfortunately for me, that house was on the opposite side of the city. It was 6 PM, I had just ridden 120 miles, and I needed to ride another 14 due to my little error. This would make my total for the day 134 miles - my personal record that still stands at the time of writing this blog post.
When I finally made it to my friend’s house that night, I recall an initially awkward first interaction. The last time I saw him was in college. Since then, he had landed a high-paying job working at a nuclear power plant in Phoenix. His house was large and brand new. The car he had in his garage had many more features than my own back home. He had a lifestyle that I likely too could have afforded had I kept my lucrative career as a sailor. Instead, I quit my job, started traveling, and most recently had ridden my bicycle over 2,000 miles to his doorstep - not exactly a behavior that would pay the bills. I wonder what he was thinking of me as I stumbled into his driveway, smelling like death and looking as if I belonged at the homeless shelter downtown. Maybe, I should ask him.
We hung out for the weekend and caught up while reminiscing over the “good ol’ days” from our time in the dorm rooms. Monday came around and he left for work early in the morning. I made myself breakfast and took one last walk around his house to admire all the nice things he had been able to collect. His kitchen was massive and his living room had plenty of space to host a decent-sized gathering. The backyard had been converted to a putting course with artificial grass and half a dozen holes to practice on. His entertainment system in the living room consisted of a 70-inch 4K TV, an incredible sound system, and even a record player with a wide selection of records dating from the ’60s to recent titles that I hadn’t even heard of. I was surprised by my reaction because I had never before had a taste for any of these things. Why was I just now feeling as though I was missing out? Maybe one day I’d have enough money to afford a lifestyle like this. But, I still had more riding to do.
