The schedule for the final day in Hawai'i had us busing to the airport on Maui, flying to Honolulu at 4pm, spending the night at the hotel near the airport, then (for most of us) flying out at 8am the next morning. I sat up front in the school bus and watched the driver skillfully negotiate the narrow winding Hana Road. Since we didn't have to be at the airport until 2pm and we didn't need four hours to go 30 miles, I convinced enough passengers and the driver to stop in the small town of Paia for an hour. Most people got food. I got ice cream. I also found a store that had a couple of aloha shirts I had to have. When they rang them up, I learned that all the shirts by my favorite manufacturer were 25% off. I bought five more.
At the airport, I asked at check in if I could catch an earlier flight. "Of course. When would you like to fly?" Myself and another fan of Paradise Found shirts flew out at 1:45pm rather than 4pm. In Honolulu, we called the hotel for a free shuttle, dropped off our carry-on at the hotel, and took The Bus to the warehouse factory of Pacific Clothing (the parent company). We walked in and I announced to the surprised staff that we were there to buy shirts. One of the staff people, Cynthia, recognized me from a previous visit. She said they no longer sold direct anymore, but we could shop there anyway. I selected three shirts to take with me and ordered five more - a couple of styles wouldn't start production until January, so I'll be getting one of the first shirts ever made in those two designs. I left Hawai'i with 28 new aloha shirts.
Fully equipped, I flew to California. Pedaling north from San Diego I was on a route I had done many times when I had gone south to train for Odyssey in December of 1999. (Do you remember how to write a year beginning with 19?) When sharing the road with other cyclists who had also been riding for a year, it was hard to judge improvement. I would finally be able to compare my riding strength on a hill I climbed just before my year-long trip. Going up a 1.6-mile hill out of La Jolla (la HOY ya), I didn't need to be in my granny (smallest) gear. In spite of my sore left knee from climbing Haleakala, I was able to ride at almost twice the speed I had twelve months ago. Alas, it doesn't seem like I'm much faster on the flats. The local cyclists out for a Saturday morning spin still whizzed by me. At least their fancy lycra jerseys weren't as bright as some of my new aloha shirts.
There was something else different about the ride from San Diego to San Juan Capistrano. It was the first time the entire year wherein I rode with somebody the entire day. Ruth Ann, one of the nicest best-liked riders and one of four EFIers (Every F*&%ing Inch) no longer needed to worry about pacing herself. She knew she would be able to finish as an EFIer. She and Dennis Anderson (Rocketman), whom I knew from Wheeling Washington and Wheeling Hawaii, rode behind me to the midday checkpoint. It was the longest stretch of riding since before Odyssey where I talked and joked with fellow riders.
Dennis stayed to have a full lunch, so Ruth Ann and I pedaled together for the rest of the day. Our conversations were a good way to transition to real life. Ruth Ann had the added benefit that her boyfriend David had joined us, by car, in California.
The final riding day found me leading an ever growing semi-paceline of riders who needed my navigational skills to avoid getting lost in L.A. Others wasted five to ten miles wishing they had followed me. At one point, Arnie Young (the rider voted most likely to get lost) asked if we shouldn't be "on that trail there." I pointed out that 367 days ago (remember I had December 16 twice) at that same spot I passed 20 people trying to figure out if they were going the correct way by getting onto a bike trail (they weren't).
Farther north, when we crossed Huntington Drive, I pointed to a church a block west and told the riders following me, "two of my favorite people were married in that church." A year ago I stood outside that church and pictured a young bride and groom (with a cigarette hiding behind his back) standing on those steps about to start their lives together, just as I was about to start a year-long journey. They would have been hard pressed to imagine what the next 26-1/2 years of marriage and two terrific sons would be like just as I couldn't accurately foresee what a year-long around-the-world bicycle adventure would really be like and how I would be changed. The judgment on any changes will have to rest with more objective people back home.
Keeping the rubber down and the spirits high,
Bruce