The End

This is it.

Normally while riding my mind is a hectic place. It composes my writing; while thinking ahead to next steps; while being attentive to the tires on semis I’m passing; while replacing the lyrics to that song I can’t quite remember; while debating if I had actually tightened that lock nut on the rocker arm the last time I had done a valve adjustment.

Today, though, my mind was blank.

This was a day that I knew that I would remember for the rest of my life. It was as if my subconscious had recognized this and had enacted radio silence on all extraneous channels.

Thursday, October 24th, 2019

Sioux Falls, South Dakota

Route:

South Dakota slipped by almost unnoticed. I passed through Vermillion and began my final border crossing. Sonic was running in place he was so eager to get across:

Across the Missouri:

I had seen my “Nebraska” picture in my mind for years, so I got to work creating it. The difficulty was not in getting Annie laid down successfully, or in finding the right angle, or in getting situated before my timer snapped the picture. Rather, it was telling all the nice Nebraskans who were stopping to check on me that I was OK. In truth, very much MORE than OK in that moment.

Nebraska. 92/92:

Even before the trip began, I had fantasized about the finish line. How I would cross Nebraska off of my sign, officially completing my journey. Some of these fantasies had crowds and news crews. Others had an envoy of escorts, like a caravan of fellow motorcyclists rumbling me home. But on this day of celebration, I had to face the fact that there was a missing piece that would keep any of these dreams from coming true.

One constant in any of these finish-line visions was the presence of my Dad, welling with pride, taking pictures, bouncing between grinning ear to ear and being moved by emotion.

For all of my Dad’s gifts, perhaps his most elite trait was ranking as one of the best Enjoyers in the world. Whether it was joyfully stalking around a buffet table, basking in the beauty of scenery, being incredulously enamored by the attributes of his wife, coming to God in prayer with an overwhelming sense of gratitude, or being transfixed in a common conversation; he could appreciate these things to a level that we common Enjoyers simply cannot.

So it is absolutely true that there was no greater Enjoyer of this story than him.

And it hurt to not have him there to see it conclude.

Regular readers of this quality publication will know by now that I’m one of them crazy-Jesus-people. I’ve neither pushed nor concealed my faith in the telling of this story, but those with eyes to see and ears to hear will have perceived it as the substrate which links everything together. And I hope this account has provided an accurate picture of what life is like for someone who is trying (and mostly failing) to seek first the kingdom.

I can’t say that my faith has given me all of the answers. I can only say that it’s helped me have peace amidst all of the questions and contradictions along my path:

-How to navigate a treacherous world while being as wise as a serpent and as innocent as a dove.

-Having constant questions about the purpose of my journey, but still barreling forward with all the irrational confidence of a drunk karaoke singer.

-Pining for life in the kingdom of heaven that is already, but not yet.

-And now finally, absorbing the pain of loss while still having boundless hope for the future.

So even on this day of maximum emotion, I still felt comfort and peace. And this peace is something that I hope you, my dear reader, will get to experience in your life. Whatever season you find yourself in right now, that peace may be nearer than you think.

Despite not having Dad physically with me, I wanted to officially complete my quest as close to him as possible. And I wanted to do it with the two people who have shaped me the most, whose lives I most want to emulate. So I set a course to Woodlawn Cemetery, just outside of Wausa, where I’d meet up with Mom and Grandma. 

I had wired one of Dad’s paintbrushes to Annie’s left handguard as a way to keep Dad’s memory fresh, reminding me to strive to see the world as he did. This brush was called into action to create the Winnemucca sign I mounted there for my photo op:

It had now been on quite a journey, seeing places like Oskaloosa, Amarillo, Bakersfield, Crater Lake…and I even removed it so it could travel to see Ombabika:

But now its travelling days were over and it would instead function as a personalization to Dad’s placard until a headstone was installed.

Even through my armoured riding jacket, I could feel a special intensity to the hugs that I received from Grandma and Mom. This moment was a final answer to all of the prayers for my safety that they had petitioned over the previous years. God had answered. From my perspective something like, “Yes, I will keep your son/grandson safe. I will rough him up just a bit though, as I want to make sure he still gets the full experience.”

Grandma, with her uncommon agility for a 96 year-old, plunked down to her knees to get the sign right at eye level. (Realtime update: We’re celebrating her 103rd birthday in a few weeks. She’s mentioned wanting a motorcycle ride…) I’ll always remember her, “Thank you, LORD!” exclamation as she gazed heavenwards.

Then Mom went, placing an oversized, emphatic X over the red-filled Nebraska on the map.

Our family farm where Grandma still lives is just a few miles from the cemetery. A dozen or so family members were there visiting, so it was a festive atmosphere.

I felt a little bad that my quest-completion was overshadowing my Aunt Verlene’s birthday, but the occasion was still commemorated with much festivity….and stickiness:

Aunt Verlene holds a special spot in my heart in connection with this story. When I announced my blog, she was the first person to be a follower of it. I’ll always remember seeing that notification come through. Presenting one’s embryo of creation to the world is a vulnerable experience and I’ll always appreciate her support and encouragement through all the stages of my journey. Sadly, she is one of four people (that I know of) who signed their name on Annie, but did not get to see the conclusion of the story.

I took a few restful days at my Mom’s place in Norfolk, letting her spoil me while I waited to head home. During this stretch is when we got to connect with fellow Everywhereican Mike and his wife Jana (more in THIS POST):

Thursday, October 31st, 2019

Norfolk, Nebraska

Route:

Halloween. And I’d be suiting up in my ridiculous costume one last time:

I would don my helmet as part of my work uniform for the final time. It had started bright and white with its custom paint job. 877 days later it looked about like I felt.

The next time I would put it on, it would no longer be as an adventurer on a grand quest, but just as an unemployed guy in his mid-30s making an efficient transportation choice. But after everything that had transpired, I would have a new appreciation for that kind of mediocrity.

The roads between Norfolk and Lincoln are my most travelled stretches of highway and so many spots trigger memories: a gas-can rescue by my Dad, my Sister cleverly evading a speeding ticket, the cam sprocket bolts busting on my CB350, going over 30mph on two wheels for the first time during my DMV test… I was glad that the inundation of new memories had not made these less vivid.

One mile from home, I pulled off the road and rolled Annie onto a running path. Since our departure 877 days ago, Annie had delivered 71,834 incident-free miles over some of the toughest roads in the world. We had ZERO lost days to mechanical issues and had a final fuel efficiency of 60.15 miles/gallon.

I can’t think of many narratives where an inanimate object has been such an essential part of the story. I swear that she has a distinct personality and I hope you’ve enjoyed getting to know her too!

I don’t know the best way one can thank a machine, but my best idea was to let her sit in neutral while I supplied the power for mile number 71,835. I suppose now would be an appropriate time to reveal Annie’s weight. Unloaded, she’s 481 pounds. All of the cases and luggage added a total of 165. Fully decked out in riding gear, I was tipping the scale at 205 at trip-end. This gave us a total rolling weight of 851 pounds. We were still about 90 pounds under Honda’s designated max load, so we actually could have brought the kitchen sink … or two. This meant that I’d be attempting to push 646 pounds for the final mile. Should be doable, right?

After hefting our heroine down the path for about a quarter mile, I was beginning to have my doubts that this was a good idea. Then a cyclist rode past. Then back towards us. Then he approached for a third time, “I’m sorry, man, I’m just so curious. I have to ask you what you’re doing.”

I’ve quantified my story by saying that about 19 out of 20 people don’t really care that much, or simply don’t “get” it. But for about 1 out of 20 people, they think it is the coolest thing they have ever heard. My new friend, Greg, was firmly in the latter category. Not only was he fascinated by the story, but he also grasped the magnitude of the current moment in which we found ourselves. He was so affirming of my journey, seemed to appreciate and understand all of the sacrifices I had made to reach this moment, and was honored to be the final person to sign Annie.

But this was not our final intersection, as we have ended up going to the same church. It was over four years after this first conversation that we sat at a table together and a faint glimmer of familiarity finally crystallized for me.

“Hey, totally random question, did you once meet a guy pushing a motorcycle on a bike trail?”

“That was you!?!?!?”

So I get to use this GIF one last time:

I continued my slow slog, gaining greater appreciation for Annie’s propulsion with each step. The slow pace did give me plenty of time to reflect.

One of my math classrooms in college had a sign on the wall reading:

“A mathematician is a machine which converts coffee into theorems.”

This beautifully compressed statement made me think about what I had done. I’d been wearing this mantle of “adventurer” for years, but what does it convert? Beans into blog posts? Gasoline into poorly framed photos?

Eventually it clicked:

“An adventurer is a machine which converts maps into memories”

I still remember the feeling of detached ambiguity when looking at the Everywhere map for the first time. A random scattering with no coherence. But my efforts over the previous years had completely transformed this map. It was now unified, understood, intimate. I had performed this conversion at great cost. Now all I had were memories. But in them, I had it all.

Perhaps more as a means of distraction than celebration, I began to recite aloud memories of each place, in song order, from Winnemucca to Dodge City.

I had run this stretch of trail hundreds of times and it was logged in my mind as possessing a Swedish-pancake level of flatness. I was seeing its gradients anew now, with each molehill feeling like an alpine climb. I was more than halfway there, but the finish line still felt a long way away.

I consider myself to be someone with a keen eye for biomechanical perception. Indeed, I’ve long maintained that the most attractive physical quality a woman can possess is an efficient gait (no, I will not be accepting counter-arguments to this premise). 

This peculiar skill was a deliverer of hope, as from a long way off I recognized the lilting lope of my friend and roommate, Kyle. He just so happened to be out for a run and our paths intersected. Normally my excitement in seeing him is due to his personality, but at this point I was much more excited for his propulsion.

His appearance was an absolute godsend, as I don’t know if I would have been able to navigate the little stretch where I had to go on the road, uphill, over railroad tracks, without him.

Thus, the final mile perfectly patterned the trip as a whole:

-I set out to accomplish a feat of individual fortitude, which soon proved to be insufficient.

-Just when I was beginning to doubt my mission, a new friend was sent to encourage me.

-As I pushed through the difficult stretches, I had plenty of time to be alone with my thoughts and think about all that had happened.

-When my strength was failing, an old friend was there to help.

Down the street we went. 

Up the driveway.

Back to the garage.

Dropping Annie’s kickstand.

Everywhere.

Be joyful, everybody.

BA