Day 25, Wednesday, October 2

Orangeburg, SC to Charleston, SC -- 108 mi, 350' climbing

Team Documenter Doug
Other than feeling hungry and emotionally drained, it still doesn't feel like it's really sunk in yet that we actually made it. I was so excited in the morning about getting to go home soon that I was jumping up and down in the parking lot. Bob was reminiscing about some of the darker moments of the trip. Like when we were riding the Talimena Drive into Mena, Arkansas -- which had thirteen-percent grades up and down for about seventy miles -- and one of Randy's friends -- who had joined the tour for few days -- would get into a pickup truck that his wife was driving for all of the steep uphill sections and get out just to ride the downhills. I guess he doesn't have climbing gears on his bike since where he lives in Oklahoma is mostly flat. Doug joked that his average speed for the day must have been about forty-five miles per hour. Bob was laughing about how disheartening it was to hear him call out, "Hi, honey" and see him get in the truck at the bottom of each hill.

Regrouping in the "holding area" before riding to the hotel in one large group.
I rode quickly in the morning at first out of excitement. We spent the morning riding in much bigger groups than normal, and everything seemed to flow. The sun was shining although it was still cool. Dozens of yellow butterflies danced in and out of flowers that lined each side of the road. At one point a hawk flew right above us with its wings spread to slow down and the sunshine making its feathers glow.

Larry rests up before the grand finalé.
By early afternoon, however, my mood darkened a little. It started to get hot and humid, I had terrible cramps at one point, which wore me out, and some one made a mistake when marking the road and added eight extra miles to the day that I really didn't need. I guess it would have been anti-climactic, though, if the last day of the ride had been easy. Lunch was set up over a hill of fire ants again and, after we had been cussing and slapping at our legs for twenty minutes, Susan called out, "Watch out for the fire ants," apparently not realizing that most of us had noticed them by then. After lunch I rode slowly on my own until I reached the "holding area" before the hotel, and slowing down helped improve my mood.

A photo of people taking photos of us at the end.

The map showing us reaching our final destination. As the trip progressed, Lon would darken in a section for every day that we rode.
Once everyone arrived, Reed announced that some of the riders had decided that the rookies, including Linda, Doreen, E., and me, should lead the way to the hotel in honor of our accomplishment. I felt like I had just won a beauty contest and was trying not to cry into my tiara and make my mascara run. It was a very thoughtful gesture and I appreciate the acknowledgement. Linda and I, with E. and Doreen and Josh on the tandem immediately behind us, led the group in a double pace line to the hotel. We even got a police escort for the last mile or two, with its lights flashing, and cars pulling over to the side of the road to watch us pass. It was quite a way to end the ride, although it felt pretty unreal. I even snapped a photo of the Folly Beach city limit sign as we passed, which read, "The Edge of America." When we got to the hotel we took off our shoes and dipped our bicycle tires in the ocean. I guess Lon says that the ride isn't over until you get wet. We stood around on the beach for a while, congratulating each other and taking photos, then got down to the business of boxing up our bikes for the trip home.

One of the last rest stops of the trip
John from Placerville was kind enough to help me box up my bike because I had never done it before and had no idea what I was doing. I don't know what I would have done without his help. It took a long time to get everything to fit in the box and I was one of the last people out there, but afterwards I still had about an hour and a half before dinner and I spent it swimming in the Atlantic. The hotel is right on the beach and my room even has an ocean view with a balcony.

My bike at Folly Beach. You can see the reflection of the ocean in the window in the background and of me taking the photo.

A view of Folly Beach from the balcony of my hotel window. I turned off the air conditioner and slept with the balcony door open all night so I could hear the sound of the waves crashing on the beach.
The water was much warmer than the Pacific at home, and I was able to spend nearly a full hour in the water, whereas if I do get in the water at home it's usually just for a few minutes. The water was really shallow, too, although the tide was extremely strong and I kept drifting south then having to trudge back through the water up the beach so I didn't end up in Florida. It was really exhausting, especially after the workout of the last twenty-five days. The waves were smaller than at home, though, so I didn't have to be as careful about not having them break on me accidentally and fill my face with water. The water is saltier, too, making me a little more buoyant. All in all, it was a satisfying way to end the trip, allowing myself to float and be rocked around by the waves and be pulled by the tide.

The group dinner was a little disappointing. At one point, Bob -- who'd had at least one beer in him -- said, "Oh, God. I hate banquets, and I hate buffets." That about sums up my experience. After dinner, I messed around in my room for a while packing up, then went back downstairs to have my phone activated, which I hadn’t known I needed to do. While I was waiting in the lobby, Brian and Troy walked by said that I should get something to eat with them. They disappeared before I could find out where they were going, but that's how I'd like to remember PAC Tour, with them inviting me to join them.


The Welcoming Committee: Mom, Dad, and Felica at the airport

Tom L.

Wally, Tasha, and Leo ("We're glad you're home but you're gunna take us out now, right???")

Sarah makes a surprise appearance in Craig's garage. That's Bikeaholics Lisaa, Craig, and Tom L. getting ready for a ride

...while Lorna and James lend moral support.

A psuedo-panorama of the wharf and water along West Cliff

There's no place like home: Landing at the San Jose airport

A view from West Cliff Drive, Santa Cruz

Purple flowers in front of the surfer statue on West Cliff

Tom L. outdoes himself on a quick fifty-mile ride to Watsonville after burning himself out on a 140-mile Mount Hamilton loop the day before.

A parasailer zooming in and out of a thick fog bank. There were actually two of them out there and every time they made a U-turn it looked like they were jumping about six feet off of the water. It was pretty amazing to watch.

Flight Home

It turns out that E. and I had the same flight to Chicago today, and we sat next to each other on the plane (my flight obviously continued on afterwards to San Jose). E. is very philosophical and talked about the challenge of doing a ride like this. Even with all of the time I've had to think in the last twenty-five days, I'm still not sure why I wanted this, except other than to see what I was made of.

My goals for trip were to get home safely, ride every mile, and have fun. The part I added in earlier about wanting to figure out the meaning of life wasn't very serious. I met all of my goals, so I guess the trip was a success, although I was pretty ready for it to be over with by the end. I met a lot of interesting characters and saw a lot of things I wouldn't have seen otherwise and that helped make the trip meaningful. It was very empowering to be riding with such an impressive group of athletes, with all of us working toward the same goal. Everyone was extremely supportive and I wouldn't have made it without everyone's help. I appreciate everyone being out there, especially the tandems, and everyone else who offered shelter from the wind, encouragement, and mechanical help with my bike.

I had messed up when making my flight reservations home, and -- when I had called last night to confirm my reservation -- an agent had told me that the second leg of my flight from Chicago to San Jose wouldn't be valid and I would need to purchase another ticket for $1000 just to get home. I called back a second time and the second agent said I was fine, but maybe she pulled some strings behind the scenes for me because she felt sorry for me because I was sobbing so hard.

Today, when the ticket agent in Chicago gave me my boarding pass to San Jose without a glitch, I was so happy that I told him that I had just ridden my bike across the country and I was very grateful that he was getting me home. He was impressed with my trip and sat down and talked to me about it for a while. He even turned to the passenger seated next to us to tell him about it, and I overheard him telling two more passengers about it later as he was checking them in.

It's hard to convey what it feels like to be heading back to civilization now. The food court at O'Hare had more food options than I've had in the last two weeks combined. I got a smoothie, quesadilla, potatoes, and rice. I'll start adding veggies back into my diet later, but right now they don't have enough calories to bother with. I had gotten to the point where even having a convenience store with bottled water was pretty exciting.

I'm amazed at the wonders of modern technology that can get me home in a few short hours across land that just took me nearly a month to cross manually. I'm grateful for all of the metal and other parts inside of the airplane that some how is carrying me home quickly. It's wild to pass over miles and miles of land and mountain ranges fast at a bird's eye view that took so much work to cover on a bike. I know I'll fall back into my routine quickly and take all this technology for granted, but for now I'm marveling at the wonders of heading home and having I place I love to call home.

Quote for the Day

I miss old friends that I once had
Times may change but I’ll be glad when I go home
I don’t know why the thought came to me
But why I’m here I really can’t see

I want to go home
It’s been so long since I’ve been away
And please, don’t blame me ‘cause I’ve tried
I’ll be coming to your love, to stay

-- Lynyrd Skynyrd, Comin’ Home