“Did you ride slow and savor the last day on the bike?” my dad asked me.
Hahaha.
With a police escort over the three bridges and roughly 15 miles to Tybee Island, “Team Creamsicle” formed two pace lines and sprinted to the finish. When we arrived at our ocean access point, everyone threw off their shoes, hoisted their bikes and ran to the water. Several mounted up in bare feet to pedal into the beautiful, warm waves of the Atlantic. No one threw his or her bike into the ocean (a good sign), but we did strip down and throw ourselves in.
Triumphant. Joyful.
My dad said his cross-country bike trip resides in pieces in his memory, but the last day is very clear. I hope to always remember mine. I hope to not forget the moment when I first smelled the salty air or felt the chills of accomplishment and awe. I hope not to forget the low marshes full of white egrets or the three hills we climbed – everyone pushing the big gear up front and Kirk encouraging his son Levi not to shift down. I hope not to forget the low-hanging trees of Savannah that canopied our roll-out, or the colorful signs of Tybee Island advertising all sorts of beachy eateries and shops. There was Dani racing to catch her dad, who started riding way ahead of everyone, and there was Aaron turning around once and a while to ask if everyone was still with the pace line and feeling OK.
I know I won’t forget high-fiving Tony, Aaron and Josh while pedaling at 22 mph.
I know I won’t forget the moment when I heard Kirk say behind me, “This is the last bridge.”
Things are kind of a blur after we came out of the water to stand together on the beach and sing the state song one last time.
“Eleven states down, none to go!”
We rode to the lighthouse to take pictures. Josh and Doug pedaled around a parking lot on one of the Merchant’s recumbent bikes. Aaron took me for a spin on the tandem bike that “Domer Dad” and Aaron’s sister were riding. There was lunch; there was dinner. There was a hug circle where we said our true goodbyes.
Thank you Holly and the Fuller Center for lunch; thank you Domer Dad for the ice cream and pies; thank you to Chris’s family for cooking us dinner; thank you to Dani’s family for letting us crash your place Friday night.
Thank you Ryan. Thank you Millard. Thank you family, friends and God.
(I know that I can only speak for the group in some respects, so I encourage the other riders to continue posting their own thoughts on the trip’s end.)
Hahaha.
With a police escort over the three bridges and roughly 15 miles to Tybee Island, “Team Creamsicle” formed two pace lines and sprinted to the finish. When we arrived at our ocean access point, everyone threw off their shoes, hoisted their bikes and ran to the water. Several mounted up in bare feet to pedal into the beautiful, warm waves of the Atlantic. No one threw his or her bike into the ocean (a good sign), but we did strip down and throw ourselves in.
Triumphant. Joyful.
My dad said his cross-country bike trip resides in pieces in his memory, but the last day is very clear. I hope to always remember mine. I hope to not forget the moment when I first smelled the salty air or felt the chills of accomplishment and awe. I hope not to forget the low marshes full of white egrets or the three hills we climbed – everyone pushing the big gear up front and Kirk encouraging his son Levi not to shift down. I hope not to forget the low-hanging trees of Savannah that canopied our roll-out, or the colorful signs of Tybee Island advertising all sorts of beachy eateries and shops. There was Dani racing to catch her dad, who started riding way ahead of everyone, and there was Aaron turning around once and a while to ask if everyone was still with the pace line and feeling OK.
I know I won’t forget high-fiving Tony, Aaron and Josh while pedaling at 22 mph.
I know I won’t forget the moment when I heard Kirk say behind me, “This is the last bridge.”
Things are kind of a blur after we came out of the water to stand together on the beach and sing the state song one last time.
“Eleven states down, none to go!”
We rode to the lighthouse to take pictures. Josh and Doug pedaled around a parking lot on one of the Merchant’s recumbent bikes. Aaron took me for a spin on the tandem bike that “Domer Dad” and Aaron’s sister were riding. There was lunch; there was dinner. There was a hug circle where we said our true goodbyes.
Thank you Holly and the Fuller Center for lunch; thank you Domer Dad for the ice cream and pies; thank you to Chris’s family for cooking us dinner; thank you to Dani’s family for letting us crash your place Friday night.
Thank you Ryan. Thank you Millard. Thank you family, friends and God.
(I know that I can only speak for the group in some respects, so I encourage the other riders to continue posting their own thoughts on the trip’s end.)
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1 comment:
Katherine~if I haven't said it before, I will say it now...it is so obvious that you were meant to be a writer! Your entries are so well written and are a pleasure to read!
Best of luck to you in your career in journalism. Maybe we will see your words elsewhere some day! ;-D
Margie
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