July 31, 2001--Portsmouth, NH.

With much anticipation, the morning came. Many times during the night I awoke to check the time like a child at Christmas. We began later than normal in the morning with a leisurely pace. I preferred to ride ahead of my friends to spend some time within myself. Much of the first 45 miles were spent on roads with large homes buried within dense trees.
As one might not expect, there was a considerable amount of climbing involved, something I take personal enjoyment in. At one point I passed a group of older riders by myself. Shortly thereafter I could hear a cyclist behind me on the lonely hill climb. Knowing that the older riders weren't as strong as I was, I surged forward accelerating on the uphill. But the phantom rider behind me stayed right on my wheel. I was flabbergasted that the group of riders I passed with their tennis shoes held on their peddles with straps could stay with me while I pushed myself past 170 heart beats per minute. I looked back and a friend of mine named Michael was there enjoying every minute of my challenge offered to him by mistake. I laughed and told him I thought he was one of the riders I had passed. "I was just trying to catch up to you to tell you some great places to hang out in Maine and you tried to dump me!" he said with a laugh. We rode together till the final SAG stop of the trip.
The feeling of the final day was surreal. It is a great feeling to be on the verge of accomplishing a goal and feel that there is so much more left within yourself to accomplish. I took it easy till the meeting place in Rye New Hampshire where the Chief of Police escorted us out of town and to the shoreline. We pared up in-groups of two, all wearing our red white and blue jerseys. There was an air of excitement within the group because 37 of us had ridden the entire way across. The sky was clear and as we turned a corner on the road, a cool gust of salty air rushed past my skin and the horizon line gave way to the vast body of water known as the Atlantic Ocean. The whole group cheered and took pictures while the Police car blocked traffic on the highway bordering the ocean shore. We paralleled the shoreline for a while as waves crashed against the rocks lining the road. Rocks lying on the side of the road gave way to sand, and secluded homes in wooded areas gave way to beach homes sandwiched together with several classic cars cruising the road from the other direction.
We made a right hand turn into a large parking lot near a heavily populated beach. Several family members of people on the ride were there cheering with homemade signs. Sheri, my fiancee was there with my video camera to record this epic accomplishment. We rode to the beach, took our (expensive) cycling footwear off, and walked across the sandy beach littered with sunbathers and children to dip our wheels in the Atlantic Ocean. Several curious onlookers clapped after hearing that we had crossed the country. My toes slipped into the warm sand while I walked through the salt, thinking of that cold morning in San Francisco when I questioned whether I had bitten off more than I could chew. It is when we bite off more than we can handle that we rise to the occasion and accomplish things we never imagined, or fold and run away sheepishly. This trip has been filled with moments of intensity that I have even refrained from writing about due to their harsh or negative content. It is those memories that made the experience even more momentous in its magnitude to my life. After being a part of The Santa Clara Vanguard, then turning around and doing this, I feel that absolutely nothing stands between me and the goals I want to accomplish. All these things followed me in my head from the parking lot, to the shoreline as I walked through the sand in the bright sunlight.
Many riders dumped their bikes, ran, and dove right in the ocean. I however posed for some pictures shared congratulations with some friends, and just enjoyed being there. After spending time near the water I found the nearest trash receptacle, took my grungy gloves off, and deposited them with some amount of gratefulness and relief. Those gloves made it the whole way even though they should have been retired a few weeks ago.
My fiancee, whose arrival I had been anxiously anticipating, and I will now travel around New England for a short while before meeting up in Buffalo New York for the Drum Corps World Finals. I am eagerly looking forward to being reunited with my friends from Santa Clara Vanguard.
I thank all those whom have read this daily journal and I hope it has been enjoyable. This is an experience I will never forget and this journal will serve as a reminder to me of what I did in the summer of 2001. Please feel free to E-mail me about your thoughts, criticisms, and favorite moments throughout this journal. I look forward to hearing what people think. Best wishes to all.

July 30, 2001--Manchester, NH.

The ride today promised to be the biggest climb since Truckee. The Appalachian Mountain range sat between our destination and us. The first thing we hit this morning was the New Hampshire State line. After the State line the road began to climb in the cold morning air. Most of the roads that we took today were small two lane roads that often climbed abruptly and were sometimes unimproved, bumpy, and cracked. One section was even unpaved for a mile. Regardless of the roads imperfections, the scenery was exquisite and the lush green mountains made the ride worth while.
For part of the ride I rode alone, once again reflecting on the trip and its pending closure. Several climbs today ended in scenic views spanning miles upon miles of green rolling mountains. We didn't pass through a whole lot of cities this morning; we just passed lots of vacation homes built in little communities around small lakes and open space. Many of the places we passed today were excellent retreats for people whom don't like the hustle and bustle of city life.
We experienced our most hostile people on the entire ride today. Andy got a bottle of Mountain Due thrown at him from a passing car. The car was full of teenage boys whom laughed as they passed. When we gave chase, they took off, and a bike is no match for a car, so they got away. I pity them if the four of us ever caught them. The second individual I encountered was on a downhill. John was drafting off me on a downhill and apparently he was out in the lane of traffic. The shoulder was only a foot and a half wide so we didn't have much room to ourselves anyway. A car passed us and pulled off down the road in front of us. A man in his late fifty's got out of it and began waving us to the side. He held a badge that resembled a police officers star so even though his car was unmarked and he was in plain cloths, I pulled over and so did John. The man standing with a cigar in his hand greeted us rudely in a thick Boston accent with, "What kind of stunt do you think you're pullin' out here?" He addressed the question directly to John and John honestly didn't know what he was talking about. "You're riding out in the lane of traffic like you own the rode. A dump truck had to pass you and cross the yellow line. Do you think you own the damn road?" This seemed odd to me. Crossing the yellow line is what drivers are supposed to do in that situation while passing a cyclist. This is what has been happening since we left California. John apologized and admitted that he could have been more toward the white line. But the 'officer' wouldn't let the issue drop there. He began chastising John and I for breaking the law and creating a road hazard. John felt attacked and began to try to argue with the man. Feeling that this was exactly what the man wanted I motioned to John, while the man wasn't looking, to stop talking and remain quiet. I wasn't convinced that this man was a cop. He put his badge away very quickly after making us pull off the road, he didn't have any equipment inside his car that resembled police gear, and he seemed to want to stir up trouble more than make sure everybody was being safe. With these types of individuals, whether he was a police officer or not, I have found it is better to let them spout off and feel important. They soon run out of gas and don't have anything else to say. Since their goal is to suck you into a confrontation, if that doesn't work and you remain quiet, they have nowhere else to go. He ended his self-important chastisement with the stock closing; "If I ever see you two out here again pulling that kind of stuff I WILL give you a ticket." Knowing that we will never cycle that road again I felt like looking at John and laughing out loud. However that would have only fed the flame of a fire that was slowly disintegrating. With that, we were on our way and whom ever that man was passed us down the road.
Another rider was injured today. She hit a guardrail while descending from a hill. She is at the hospital with a possible fracture to her wrist and other possibly serious injuries. I don't know much more about the accident than it may have been due to a lack of attention.

July 29, 2001--Brattleboro, VT.

Today's ride began with a decent to the Hudson River. I carried my CD player with me containing my favorite CD in it to help me find my zone on the climb of the day. Once again as soon as we departed from town we rode on scenic old two lane roads with lush fields of green wild brush. When I would cross the small bridges on the lonely roads I would look down into the water and be delighted to see brilliant fresh water streams with water as clear as glass. Trees once again shaded the road making for tunnels of chilled air and dark pavement. Soon the mountains around us became larger and more daunting but not in any way less beautiful or magnificent. The group of six I was riding with stayed together for the first 30 miles talking and making jokes.
We hit the Vermont State border and stopped for some pictures as well. After yelling Art's name I began thinking about the ride in its entirety. I thought about all the terrain we had passed and how through the entire trip I have had absolutely no mechanical problems and only four flat tires. Four flats on a trip as momentous as this is extremely low. It was almost as if someone was watching out for me. There are those whom have had up to 20 flat tires, those whom have had chronic wheel problems, those whom have had crashes resulting in injury and damage, and those whom have had mechanical failure after mechanical failure. I started to feel emotional as I rode in the pace line behind John. I then suspended such feelings till the moment I set foot on the shoreline of New Hampshire Tuesday afternoon.
We passed a few rustic villages and came to a point in the road where the climbing portion obviously began with a sizable incline that headed out of the small village. I hit the music and found my zone of concentration and meditation. With the music in my head, the climbing was done in a semi-trance state but I let myself notice the dark and foreboding storm clouds that hovered gloriously over the summit of the hill. They didn't look dangerous, just beautiful and strong. After a strong climb to the summit I stopped at a scenic viewpoint to enjoy the view that was said to extend over 100 miles. The billowy clouds wistfully made their silent movement from east to west in the sky above my head.
After basking in the awe of another hill accomplished I ascended into a town at the bottom of the hill that had old buildings and many tourist oriented shops. The town was crowded with cars parked, and on the move. I noticed that there seemed to be an increase in the amount of disposable income in this section of Vermont as opposed to the previous few towns we had stayed in. The cars on average were more expensive, cleaner, and cared for more meticulously. The town was free of commercial chain stores and restaurants and the shops were one of a kind having a more "Ma and Pa" feel to them. There were old-fashioned ice cream stands erected on corners, one of which I enjoyed a tasty chocolate ice cream cone from.
Heading out of town I began what was to be my final climb of the day. My music was done and I had worked very hard on the first climb so I took it easy on the second one. The scenery was once again spectacular and large trees lined the four-lane road that was fairly empty. The second climb was not as large as the first but it ended on a high note of the trip. The pavement was new and extremely smooth. I tucked into my drop bars and pushed myself past the riders in front of me. The road curved slowly and a steep, strait downhill sat before me. The wind was right, the road was right, and I went for it. I pushed myself to the limit and hit 51mph on the way down before having to slow for a curve. The air rushed loudly passed my ears as I checked my speedometer frequently with excitement and adrenaline. The rest of the ride was a light decent that made 30mph easily obtainable for long periods of time while tucked into the aerobars. Beautiful rock formations on the sides of mountains protruded from the green hillsides while fresh water made its way down a stream paralleling the right side of the road.
The town of Brattleboro was booming with outdoor sales, coffeehouses, and historic buildings. We tooled around town for quite some time exploring shops and seeing the sights before making our way to the hotel down the street. Today the ride was beautiful but tomorrow promises to be even better.