On Sunday I had one thing to do before I could leave California. Through this whole Bike & Build chapter of my life, I’ve been very private about it, not just with my donors but to my entire team as well.
Fifteen miles out of our host in Lakeview, Oregon was the “Welcome to California” sign. I was at the front of the pack, and tears came to my eyes as I finally approached this milestone.
That night in Alturas was the team’s second-to-last family meeting. By August, I felt comfortable enough with my team to speak up, explaining what I’d rehearsed over and over in my head in those first fifteen miles. “My high for the week was reaching California. A few of you know that my dad passed away when I was fourteen. He’s had a huge impact on my life and my character. It was my dad’s wish to have his ashes spread into the Pacific Ocean from California. It’s taken me seven years and a few thousand miles, but I’m finally nearing that closure.”
I smiled through my tears, and my teammates nodded their heads in empathy. No doubt Bike & Build is emotionally and mentally taxing, and for many it’s the toughest thing you’ll ever endure. But it’s not as trying as the death of a parent. Enduring a harsh reality so young toughened me up, and I believe it’s why I had no breakdowns on the road this summer. It's become my philosophy behind being an endurance athlete: If I can endure that pain, then I can survive this... In bittersweet and elusive ways, my dad was everywhere this summer: the truck drivers on the roads, the cement masons at the build sites, the locals filled with pride for their minuscule towns, and the AA meeting rooms where we slept in the basements of churches.
Fifteen miles out of our host in Lakeview, Oregon was the “Welcome to California” sign. I was at the front of the pack, and tears came to my eyes as I finally approached this milestone.
That night in Alturas was the team’s second-to-last family meeting. By August, I felt comfortable enough with my team to speak up, explaining what I’d rehearsed over and over in my head in those first fifteen miles. “My high for the week was reaching California. A few of you know that my dad passed away when I was fourteen. He’s had a huge impact on my life and my character. It was my dad’s wish to have his ashes spread into the Pacific Ocean from California. It’s taken me seven years and a few thousand miles, but I’m finally nearing that closure.”
I smiled through my tears, and my teammates nodded their heads in empathy. No doubt Bike & Build is emotionally and mentally taxing, and for many it’s the toughest thing you’ll ever endure. But it’s not as trying as the death of a parent. Enduring a harsh reality so young toughened me up, and I believe it’s why I had no breakdowns on the road this summer. It's become my philosophy behind being an endurance athlete: If I can endure that pain, then I can survive this... In bittersweet and elusive ways, my dad was everywhere this summer: the truck drivers on the roads, the cement masons at the build sites, the locals filled with pride for their minuscule towns, and the AA meeting rooms where we slept in the basements of churches.
But it wasn’t until entering California that I had an epiphany: it was my dad who taught me how to ride a bicycle. I felt silly; all these miles, and I never wondered who taught me to ride with training wheels as a young girl in the first place. It became not just appropriate that I bike to California, but absolutely necessary. For me, this purpose never took meaning away from Bike & Build’s mission of advocating for affordable housing, it just added another reason to keep riding. Actually, fulfilling my dad’s wish was on my mind when I first researched Bike & Build almost three years ago. He’d want me to travel and experience the wild adventure that is Bike & Build.
I kept his ashes in my bin because the CamelBak was too risky. This means I quietly packed his ashes every morning, almost ritually. I kept it secret initially because I wanted to first earn the respect and trust of my team. I know my dad spent a few years living in California before moving back to Massachusetts, but I’ll never really know the significance of California to him. By accepting that fact, I sometimes felt as though I was being sent on a long arduous quest to some mysterious land. But on Friday in San Francisco, as I was in awe of the beauty of the Golden Gate Bridge and everything that was so iconic California, I suddenly understood why my dad would wish to be in the coast of such a beautiful state.
I decided to spread my dad’s ashes in Santa Cruz because it’s a place that holds great significance as my cross-country destination, and he would think this trip was “wicked pissah.” So, on Sunday I had breakfast and began getting ready. My team understood what I was doing. I biked through downtown to get to West Cliff Drive, which is a road alongside a cliff that drops into the Pacific Ocean. I found a stone staircase that descended down the cliff, from the street directly into the ocean. The stone staircase, covered with barnacles and algae, ended abruptly just below sea level.
I locked my bike on West Cliff Drive and descended the stairs carefully. From there, I could see the Santa Cruz boardwalk, wharf, and seaside amusement park. At the last dry step I crouched down, held my dad’s ashes in my right hand, extended my arm over the side of the staircase, and with the next big wave my hand was washed clean. That was it. It only took me seven years and a few thousand miles... In that moment I felt tiny, thinking about life and death while standing next to the wide ocean just after an 11-week humbling journey of realizing just how massive the world is. It was the summation of so much dreaming, planning, training, and moving. I climbed up the staircase feeling at peace and fulfilled.
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