"It's Only A Leisurely Ride Now" - Tifton, Georgia
Above: The night lights of various restaurants and services on Highway 82 in Tifton, Georgia.
Tifton was one of many towns where I regret that I did not explore it,
see the sites and wander the downtown area. As was the usual case,
I was way too tired and had limited time
to wander around like a tourist. I thought the
lights along the highway (above) was a fitting expression of this reality.
At The Motel In Tifton
Near the intersection of Highway 82 and Interstate 75 was a cluster of motels,
restaurants and convenience stores. I ate at a nearby Golden Corral
(eating large, of course) and stayed the night in this area.
As I often did if they seemed friendly and as though they might be interested,
I shared with the motel front desk persons about my long trip.
The closer I reached the ocean, the more difficult it became for others to share in
my passion and sense of accomplishment. I was almost done! Yes, almost all
of my days seemed like an ordinary riding day filled with boredom,
physical demands and a primary focus on reaching the next destination,
but by now, I could not help but grasp the bigger picture occasionally and feel great inside.
The workers at the motel were no doubt cordial, but they
could not quite capture the specialness of this precious life moment of mine. Sometimes
it even felt like people did not believe me.
Nearing the end of my trip meant one bittersweet reality
I had already experienced early on the West Coast: People on
each end of the country were less impressed with the ride compared
to those near the
middle of the country.
I thought back to all those days and nights in
little Texas towns.
The down-to-earth people I encountered knew I was genuine ...
there was nothing else but me, my bike, my gear and my ability to pay for things.
Again, it was not like I was constantly telling people about the trip, but if I had
a friendly encounter and there was an opening in the conversation,
sometimes I would mention it. And here, close to the Atlantic,
the question seemed to linger: Do they really believe me?
Occasionally, I would get a look that communicated, "You can not be for real!"
On the first few days in southern California, I had encounters
similar to this. The bank teller in Ramona, CA
(Day 1) seemed uneasy when
I told her I was "biking to Georgia" and she did her best to act like
she did not hear what I said. In Blythe,
traveling by bicycle was the common mode of transportation by the many "snowbird transients" and
one spooky guy with poor boundaries told me at the Starbucks
(Day 3) that he was
willing to ride across the country with me. There was no way
(at least in my mind) that he truly grasped that I really was riding across eight states along the southern tier of the country.
Personally, I understood all this. I know what it is
like to be B.S.'ed by an addict, a vagrant or a stranger,
and to make a split decision that it is not worth my time and energy to challenge them
on the nonsense they are spewing. I probably did not come off as peculiar or threatening, but
I accepted that people would likely be less "wowwed" by my bike trip
and might come off as indifferent or disbelieving of me.
My last thrilling moment of recognition happened at the
convenience store in Midway, Alabama,
but now it was time for the ego deflation to begin!
Preparing For The End
It was Friday night at the motel, and
I spent time on the spare computer in the foyer
for guest Internet use. A discussion on a forum of my personal web site
(www.ColoradoGuy.com)
asked what people's plans were for the weekend. The responses varied: One person would attend
a Florida Marlins spring training baseball game in south Florida,
another intended to hike in Arizona,
and a third planned to ski on the mountainous slopes of
Telluride, Colorado.
I read through many more entries and tried to casually enter my plans:
"Yep, I'll be bicycling to the Georgia coast.
I'm in Tifton, GA now and I plan to reach Waycross by Saturday and Jekyll Island on Sunday.
That's about all I'll be doing.
Oh and I will celebrate the weekend because there will be much less trailer trucks on Highway 82!"
Dave, the same
Dave who bicycled with me in west New Mexico 27 days and 1,800 miles ago, typed his question:
"It's only a leisurely ride now. Steve, how will it feel to ride on Sunday, the very last day?"
My response: "Well, I guess I'll make a judgement that my ride is indeed in the 'leisurely' state now,
but still, 132 miles in two days is still a lot for normal people.
As for Sunday, I honestly don't know how I'll feel. I will say that physically,
my body really looks forward to being finished! If there is a Dunkin' Donuts in
the area, I might get a large cup of coffee and carry it with me just like the way
Lance Armstrong would hold a glass of champagne during those last ceremonial rides
in the Tour De France."
I thought that was a memorable exchange.
I began making more phone calls on this day too. I contacted Monique
in Savannah, Georgia, to inform her of my estimated arrival in
Jekyll Island
for Sunday afternoon. She agreed to generously drive me from Jekyll Island
to a cheap motel near the Jacksonville Airport whenever I arrived. I also
alerted Krista and Jennifer in San Diego
about my flight next Thursday (in six days). I needed one of them
to pick me up at the airport and I was really hoping I
could enjoy a celebratory dinner with both of them on the evening I arrived.
(That happened! See the last photo of
"Day 1")
I even called Derrick and Anne in Colorado,
my local friends who were generously picking up my mail (in two locations) and writing
checks for some of my monthly bills. I wanted to state I would
be home in Colorado next weekend
and they would be relieved of their duties.
Did you hear that? Next weekend!
Yes, the end of this trip was very near.
At this point, barring a catastrophe of some sort, there was no question I would finishing the ride.
I could have gotten 17 more flat tires out there, but I would have just kept going. :)
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