The End of the Ride

In an effort to improve my writing I am participating in a free Coursera course “Writing for Young Readers”. Writing for children isn’t a particular passion for me but I figured it is good to do more writing and have others read what I wrote. What follows is my first assignment for that class. Due to the assignment limitations (500 words) the story is a very short version of the true events, but I’m writing a book about my cross-country bike ride and the final day will be explained more extensively in the book. Any comments or advice would be appreciated.

I awoke to the sound of lawn sprinklers dangerously close to my tent. In my hazy, early morning daze I knew something wasn’t quite right but my mind was moving too slowly to figure it out. Then it hit me. Literally. Water began to blast into my tent, soaking through the thin nylon and creating a growing puddle around my sleeping bag. The sun was barely coming over the hills and I wanted nothing more than to curl back up and go to sleep, but that wasn’t going to happen. Besides, this was my final day and I should be excited.

Over the last two months I had been riding my bicycle across the United States. After over three thousand miles and countless memories I had finally made it to my final day, the day when I would see the Pacific Ocean and start my new life in Los Angeles. I was happy and excited, but I was also a bit sad to see this journey come to an end. A part of me wanted to keep riding forever and neglect the responsibility that came with adulthood. It was easy being on the road with no concerns beyond finding a place to sleep or grabbing a meal. That leisure life of cycling had come to an end and ahead of me was the unknown. I had no job in Los Angeles, all I had was a friend who was willing to let me sleep on his couch until I got my life together.

So, I grudgingly got up and got ready for the last hundred miles. I went through the morning routine of coffee, breakfast, and packing that had become second-nature to me. Most of the day went by as a blur, a collection of faded memories that blended with the rest of my ride. At some point every farm, every town, and every road starts to look the same. Even the photos I took barely remind me of what I felt at that time. That changed once I got onto the final trail before I hit the ocean.

I rode that trail almost as if in a dream. My mind was unable to comprehend that the moment had finally arrived. Seeing the ocean had been something I had played over in my mind hundreds of times over the previous months. This moment kept me motivated when my bike broke down in West Virginia, when I faced 50 mph winds in New Mexico, and all the other times that I broke down mentally and doubted myself.

I can still picture the ocean coming into view, taking my breath away. Tears streamed down my face as I walked to that clear blue water. I fell to my knees and just sat there, sobbing and smiling. It was bittersweet, but the adventure was over. I had done it. I had biked across the United States.

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