Closing Up Shop - Final Blog

Well, I aired out the sleeping bag, cleaned out the tent, sprayed off the tarp - folded and stored away the final pieces of the journey.  All that are left are the memories, the pictures, and the friendships.

What will I take away from Sea to Sea 2013?

First, we didn't end poverty.  Like Jesus said, we'll always have poor among us.  The job isn't over, and frankly, we can't solve this one.  Poverty (like violence and war) is so deeply ingrained in the kingdom of darkness that only the final and complete victory by the King will truly eliminate it.  We were obedient on our part.  He'll be faithful to return and rule.  I can't wait.

Second, I learned a lot about bike repair and long distance riding.  If you ever do a cross country trip, choose strength over light weight and buy components that will be easy to find replacement parts for them.  I know that I'll never buy a Mavic wheel set or a Giant bicycle.  The Mavics were too fussy and Giant's customer support was less than helpful.  I am very pleased with the performance of my trusty Cannondale, however.  Next time, I might even try a recumbent, but don't tell Rudy and Shirley Folkerts I said that.  :-)   It was my privilege, however to fix what I could and keep so many people on the road.  A real highlight for me.

Third, I learned a lot about group leadership on his tour.  It's very clear to me that groups cannot be led by a committee.  A person has to stand in front and accept the responsibility for the direction.  People will follow a good leader.  People won't follow a leader they can't trust.  People don't follow committees.  

Fourth, I learned a bit about human nature.  We can all put on a good front for about two weeks.  After six weeks, the facades are all gone.  Put people into closed quarters for nine weeks and "the cream will rise to the top."

Fifth, I learned you can't really do something like this alone.  From cooks to drivers to SAG people, we needed each other.  There were days when you felt strong and could pull weaker riders.  There were also tough days where others helped and encouraged you to finish.  So thanks, Len.  Couldn't have done it without you.  (When's the last time...)

But I couldn't have done it without people at home and across Canada and the US who supported, encouraged, prayed for us and helped us raise the necessary funds.  You made the tour happen.  Thank you!

And lastly, none of us could have done anything without the Lord's constant care.  He made things happen we could never have done.  The tour was done in His Name; to Him goes all the credit and honor.

Thanks for reading my blogs during this trip.  I've been gratified that it helped some of you join the journey.  Together with other blogs, I hope we were able to give you a good feel for what we experienced.

So, for the last time: Farewell and God be with you.

The journey's done. . . and just beginning

Well, it's all over but the traveling home.
Yesterday, we rode the last leg of Sea to Sea 2013 - with some surprises.
We were surprised by how many other cyclists were out.  Our route must have been "the" route for people from NYC who cycle.  There were literally hundreds of weekend riders.
We were surprised by how green the area was.  Our route was filled with woods and trees until only a few miles from NYC.   If you hadn't told us, we would never have known we were that close to a major world city.
We were surprised by how "bike friendly" New York was.  Granted, we went in on a Saturday, but he bike paths and panes made getting through Manhattan very easy.
Finally, I was very surprised by the unannounced arrival of Mary - who met me on the Staten Island Ferry.  What a cool moment.
From there, we did our "closing ceremonies:"  tire dipping in the Atlantic, and a closing banquet with farewells.

So, the cycling is done.  Frankly, I'm exhausted.
But what now?
I think it's too soon to answer that question.  We'll go back to our homes and jobs, but there's no way to know yet how we've been personally altered by this trip through deserts, mountains, prairies, plains, past lakes and rivers - from sea to sea.
Even the magnitude of the trip hasn't sunk in yet.  We just went from one camp site to another - again and again and again.

At the moment, I can say that I'm fine to be off the bike for a few day.  I can say I'm a bit sad about new friendships with people I'll rarely see again - if ever (until the Lord returns).  I can say that I love warm showers and it was fantastic to wake up with the love of my life.  I can say that it was nice to not have to pack up my tent.  It's even nice to be free of bike repairs.

And it's been wonderful to see God's faithful hand in my life - from sea to sea.

Bonked

I bonked today.  Badly.
(Bonking is an athletic term, used widely by cyclists.  It means reaching a point where your body runs out of fuel.).
It got to the point that turning one more pedal stroke seems like a huge effort.  You're simply out of energy.  Bonking also has a psychological dynamic: when you bonk, your decision making ability diminishes, you're completely focused on finishing, convinced that you can't.  Your mind and body just don't cooperate.
A lot of reasons caused my particular bonk.
Yesterday was a very hard, long, and hilly day.  It had the three h's: humidity, hills, and headwind.  It was also hotter than it's been for the last few weeks, which I didn't notice.  Add to that, there was some confusion with our support vehicles, so the water and fruit stop 30 miles in wasn't there.  We didn't know about this, so we kept cycling, thinking fresh water and food were around the next corner.  I think that was the last straw.  I made it through yesterday OK, but paid for it today.  About 50 miles into a 76 mile ride, I was ready to throw in the towel.  I was cooked.  Thanks to friends, I got pulled in and finished the ride.  I drank lots, ate a good dinner, swam in the pool to cool down, and am taking it easy tonight.  With a few easier days ahead, I should finish just fine (Lord willing.)

I bonked because I didn't eat or drink enough.  And every time I say that I won't make that mistake again, I fall into the bonk trap.
I wonder how many of us live with a kind of perpetual spiritual bonk.  We feed and pay attention to God when we need him, but neglect those things the rest of the time.  Spiritual bonking affects our thinking, our feelings, and our endurance.  Like any relationship, our relationship with God needs as much intentional attention as a cyclist like me need food and water.
Without that attention and regular contact with Him, we'll all spiritually bonk.

Real Contrasts Today

Today was a study in contrasts.
First of all, we're in Montreal, a thoroughly French city.  The man next to me in Tim Horton's is talking on the phone rapidly in French.  The menu is in French.  The street signs are in French.  I do feel like a foreigner in Canada now more than ever.  I feel out of place.
Second, we went to a large Presbyterian church in Montreal this morning.  This was a tall, narrow sanctuary with a high church liturgy and magnificent pipe organ.  It reminded me that while I can appreciate the heritage and content of such a service (it reminded me of the services of my youth), it didn't speak to my heart anymore.  Other expressions of worship speak to me today. Once again, I felt out of place.
Finally, we decided to tour downtown Montreal, thinking that it wouldn't be crazy busy on a Sunday noon.  Unfortunately for us, it was the Sunday of the Montreal gay pride event (or parade).  Several streets were blocked off and traffic was very congested.  The event also brought out several "fringe" groups that were a bit unlike anything I'd seen before.  I felt out of place yet again.
But in all this, I think the day underscores the incredible variety of people, languages, cultures, and struggles to be accepted and understood in our world - as well as a great variety of expressions within Christian worship.
It makes me long for the reality that is yet to come; a reality the church itself doesn't always model well.  This reality is the hope of when all these voices and cultures and perspectives will finally see the sovereignty of Christ and acknowledge Him as such.
On that day, I won't even be uncomfortable with the French anymore.  :-)

A Moment's Inattention

My friend Len fell today.  Hard.
It was a silly little mistake, made in a hurry.  Len rode with leg warmers this morning, since it was quite cool.  He stopped mid-morning to remove them.  As we've both done dozens of times, for numerous reasons, he told me and today's other riding partner to keep going slowly; he'd catch up.  We didn't realize there was a stop about a mile later.  We stopped, surprised he hadn't caught us yet.  A few minutes later, someone asked me how Len was doing, since he looked pretty bloody at the side of the road.  In his hurry to catch us, Len had stuffed the leg warmers into his handlebar bag as he was taking off.  One dangled and got caught in the front wheel, stopping it instantly.  Momentum carried him over the handlebars and onto the road.  Fortunately, he suffered only minor scrapes and bumps; it could have been much worse.
Two careless mistakes were made.  One by Len, one by the rest of us riding together.  Lena's mistake was obvious and careless.
Our mistake was actually more careless.  We left another rider behind who got hurt and we didn't know.  The other 99 times we've stopped for a picture or a "natural break," the rider behind always caught up.  We got sloppy.  (Here come the "if's.")
If we'd stayed with him, he wouldn't have hurried and would have gotten things stowed before leaving.
If we'd been with him when he fell, we could have helped.  We were a mile away.

We weren't bad friends.  (Len has done the same for me on numerous occasions.)
But we were sloppy and careless.  Won't happen again.

It makes me wonder if some of our relationships responsibilities get dropped in families or churches for the same reason I dropped the ball today.  It's not that we intend to fail; it's just that we get too used to being inattentive.
Like I said, at least on this trip, it won't happen again.

Through Toronto.

So, we made it through Toronto today.  Safely.
That's a big deal, since the greater Toronto area is the most populated area in Canada.
We got some reminders today about life and death.  Reminders that spoke volumes as to how fragile and important life is.
On the negative side, we passed an accident scene in which someone had driven through a guard rail into Lake Ontario.  The accident happened several hours before and officials had yet to recover the vehicle or its occupant.  Either way, someone lost a family member there today.
On the positive side, my cycling friend Len got the news today that his brother had received a double lung transplant - he suffered from pulmonary fibrosis.  He might not have survived until Christmas;  now his prognosis looks good.  At the same time, his gain means another family also faced loss, as the availability of healthy organs means that another family faced loss.
I know that when the tour began, I asked for prayers that God would use us, not so much for our personal safety.
I'm amending that today.  Our lives on bikes can be so fragile.  Pray for our safety.
We'd like God grace to get us to our destination and home again - safely.

Oh, Canada

So, we've been in Canada for a few days now.  Not nearly enough time to form perfect impressions, but I can share a few.
First, Canadians are very polite people.  The only car horns I've heard have been friendly beeps, never an angry honk.  Canadians also seem to say "sorry" a lot.  They are very polite.
Second, Canadians seem to be as crazy about hockey and Tim Horton's as we Americans are about baseball and Starbucks.
Third, there are "colorful" words that are very acceptable in Canadian language.  However, it is unacceptable to say "what?" if you didn't hear.  You need to say "pardon" or "I'm sorry."  While smoking isn't legal in public places, it seems to be more socially acceptable.
Finally, it seems the CRC members have a higher loyalty and devotion to their church.  I was impressed by how 2nd CRC showed up to welcome me and other riders.  However, they were the exception in the US.  We've actually received cool welcomes.  In Canada, however, we had 100+ people meet us as we crossed the border, and have been met by many groups, couples, and families at the side of the road - bearing water, cookies, and other goodies.
I have to admit, Canada's been good to us, and we're grateful.
We'll see if these impressions turn out to be accurate.

A Different Kind of Poverty

This evening, we're in Imlay City, MI.  The last fifteen miles were a hard rain that kicked up a lot of sand and grit.  I think I've cleaned my bike five times in the last week.  Sigh.
We had a new look at poverty today.
For the bulk of our trip, we've seen a fair amount of rural poverty.  It looks like boarded up small towns like Derby (Iowa, I think).  It also looks like Native villages or homesteads that don't have electricity or running water.  It very often looks like abandoned farms or decaying farmhouses where people can no longer live, but show that some-when, someone tried to make a life there.
Today we saw a new face of poverty: urban poverty.
We rode through Flint in the late morning.  (It was raining lightly already then.).  There was very little traffic I downtown, many businesses were boarded up, and it didn't eve sound like a city.  It was quiet.  In the residential areas, there were many boarded up homes, countless burned ones, and very little construction or repair.
For me, this was a reminder that poverty knows no boundaries.  It's in my home state, in city and country.  Its causes are many, and its solutions hard.
Jesus was very right: the poor will always be among us.
And we don't have to go very far to find it.

The rest of the world...

If you're reading this, then you know I and many others with me have been diligently riding our bikes for poverty relief the last six weeks.
Our world has shrunk down to the 100+ riders and support crew we've come to know as our temporary family.  We've become friends, become aware of each other flaws and foibles (which are impossible to hide for six weeks), and we've learned to trust each other on the dangerous roads of the journey.  Our world has also shrunk to the small and not-so-small towns we visit each night.
What we tend to lose sight of is the rest of the world.  We keep up with immediate family by phone, while others with real tech connections keep the "world" aware of what they're doing.  But our jobs, friends, and normal-life concerns have faded "out of sight."
So, I want to say thanks to my friends, family, and church family for reminding me and many other riders that you've remembered us while we've been gone.
Seeing the large group gathered in Vriesland as well as the sidewalk art in Jamestown (thanks Konyndyks) was an incredible encouragement to both me and many other riders.  One commented that we must have passed through VanderAwesomeLand.  :-)
More importantly, this morning was a concrete reminder that you've been praying for us too.  From all of us on the road, thank you for those prayers.  Please don't stop!
As riders, we might develop some tunnel vision, forgetting the rest of the world, temporarily.  We're all grateful, however, for those that continue to remember us.

Tomorrow...Michigan

It's been a long week of riding.  I think we've averaged 90+ miles for five days straight (including tomorrow).  That's over 450 miles in five days.
Tomorrow, we enter Michigan, Lord willing.  After almost six weeks of riding, I come home for the weekend.  It's the longest Mary and I have ever been apart.
Since the massive climbing in Iowa, Illinois has been much flatter, but wetter.  Two days ago, we left Fulton and it rained off and on into our night's stop -  Shabonna State Park.  I found a nice, relatively dry spot under a large pine, but it rained all night.  This morning, the rain stopped, but the mist was so thick, I needed wipers on my glasses.  It finally dried up at about 10 AM.
We made remarkable time into Lansing, Ill today.  Len and I rode at about a 17+ mph average.  Actually, Len rode like a madman - I just drafted him as best I could.  We did 100 miles in under 6 hours of riding time (not counting stops).  Not too bad.
The change from rural to suburb to city happens pretty quickly.  It is surprising and a bit overwhelming to see how much corn this country grows.  Corn is everywhere.  It's about the only scenery we've had for the past week.
We had a great welcome at Illiana Christian High School.  I have fond memories of Illiana:  in high school, our school choir sang down here.  On the bus ride back, Mary and I shared our first kisses.  Aww.
Anyway, back to today:  the area churches fed us dinner and will feed us breakfast.
We also had an ice cream social where I met shirttail relatives, Jim and Shirlene Medendorp, who drove up from Indiana.
I am so looking forward to a weekend at home.
In some ways, these six weeks have flown by.
In some ways, they've been very long.

Rain, Trains, and Hills

So, we're just about done with Iowa.  Hard to believe.  As we look at a map, the distance starts to overwhelm.  And the distance ahead is less than the distance behind.
What will we remember about Iowa?
Rain, for one.  We've had several days of morning or afternoon or evening rain.  We're beginning to think God is bringing the rain with us.  My tent is finally dried out.
Trains is another thing we'll remember.  It seems like we've been camped by tracks once too often.  Did you know that trains blow two long whistles, one short, and one more long at every intersection?
Last night's trains were empty coal cars going west and full ones coming east.
Finally hills.
The south of Iowa feels as though the land was 50 miles too wide, so it was squished to fit, making wrinkles of hills.  I would have never thought that we'd climb many ten percent, nine percent, and countless eight percent climbs in Iowa.  Three of our top five climbing days have been in Iowa.  And the frequency and steepness make them more fatiguing than the mountains.

Actually, there's one other thing.  We haven't seen a large amount of people, going through numerous small towns.  But almost every square foot of arable land is covered with mature corn (or soybeans).  It's amazing to see that much land used for growing.  God has made an incredible world that can produce as many crops as we've seen.  We see His hand everywhere.

Wind and rain

Those two words defined the past week.
We had rain on Monday, Friday, and Saturday.
We had wind every single day.
Monday was rainy for the first forty miles, with a stiff crosswind.  As we left Colorado Springs, we never saw the mountains again.  We could also tell we were out of the more bike-friendly areas, as eastern Colorado is not as considerate.
Tuesday was clear, warm, with a stiff breeze across the Plains.  Anything under 25 is considered a breeze.
Wednesday and Thursday were days of wind and warm temps.  However, the terrain was marked by little more than grain elevators and miles of prairie and farms.
Friday and Saturday were Kansas and Nebraska, with rolling hills and sudden downpours.
But we're safely into Fairbury in Nebraska for the weekend.
We're grateful for tired but healthy bodies.
And I'm appreciating that God's Spirit is a wind that can push me, pull me, nudge me, and even push against me.
I'm limited on my wifi time, so this will have to do.
Till next time.

Sunday

So, we've completed three weeks.  We're one third done.
 We've also completed our first six-day week of riding.
For the first time in a week, we don't have to get up early, hurry through breakfast, pack up our gear, pump up tires, fill water bottles, make lunches and stuff them into jersey pockets (bagels are my preference at the moment), check the map, find our riding partners, and take off down new roads.
Today is Sunday.  Today we rest.
We're at the point where our muscles don't hurt in the morning anymore.  But it's been a long week of hard climbing.  One day we crossed the continental divide and climbed 5,900 feet.  The next we climbed over a 10,000 ft. pass.  We've done lots of climbing and our bodies, minds, and emotions are a bit tired.
We need today.  We need a break.  Church at Cragmore CRC, lunch, maybe a little siteseeing, but no riding.  Our necks, bottoms, legs, and minds need the rest.
Rest is so important, God patterned it into our lives.  He also uses it as a symbol of living a life in Christ (in Hebrews).
It makes me wonder if I rest enough.  I don't mean taking days off.  I mean real rest.  Really giving the mind, soul, and body a chance to recharge.  I wonder if we "play" so hard on our days off that we really don't rest.  Not truly.
Today I'm going to rest.
I hope you get to also.

Hi everyone.  Thanks for being patient.  It seems like so long since I've been able to post.  We've passed through so many small towns that had no wifi for us.  The people with cellular coverage for their pads and computers have a real advantage.  They can post every day.  I'm a bit more restricted, sorry.
Our weeks have had real themes to them.
Week one was definitely dominated by heat.
Week two was a tour of very different Native nations.  The Zuni are poor and insulated.  The Navajo are more open to some western things, but still very connected to their heritage and culture.  It isn't unusual to hear Navajo and English.  Last Sunday's church service had traditional music, contemporary music, and Navajo songs.  God calls His people from every tribe and language.  Last Saturday, we rode 100 miles into Shiprock NM, seeing huge rock formations, dust devils, and lots of dust.  The road had been washed out the night before in a rare but welcome downpour, but the DOT let only us cyclists through.  The coolest part was the rest stops at the Navajo CRC's.
This week, the theme has been climbing.  Monday was a short climbing day to a winery near Turley, NM.  Tuesday was a hard climbing day - almost 5,900 feet of climbing to Chama, NM.  I started riding with new friends from Canada: Len and Stan, Stan's daughter Ava, and a couple others.  We call ourselves "Team Weigh-more...Awesome."  
From Chama, we climbed Chumbres Pass, a 10,200 foot pass into Colorado.  That night we stayed in Alamosa.  Yesterday, we rode a long mountain valley to Poncha Springs, CO.
Today, we rode to Canon (Canyon) City.  50 miles downhill along the Arkansas River.  Amazing sights.  God's world is stunningly beautiful.  Along the way, we stopped (with about 20 other cyclists) at a small coffee shop.  As I paid for our table's coffee, the barista wanted to know more about us.  I spoke to her about our mission and purpose; I also gave her a business card with the Sea to Sea information.  She asked, "will this show me where I can donate?"   That happens every day.  Last week a Navajo woman went to her friends and collected $1.65.  She felt badly that she couldn't do more, but her generous spirit was beautiful.
Every day, we see more beauty, more evidence of man's brokenness, and more urgency for the grace and power of the Gospel.
Thanks for reading and being patient.
Thanks especially for your prayers.

From one nation to another

We rode out of the Zuni nation today - into Navajo country: Rehoboth, to be exact.
It's like two different worlds.  The Zuni seem like they're trying very hard not to become like the outside.  They are much smaller, more isolated, and more tied to their culture and religion.  The Navajo and Gallup looks much more like small town America, with fast food, coffee shops, and the rest.  Mission work among the Zuni must be so hard.

A follow up to last night.  I wrote that blog after walking through the town - a walk that discouraged me because of the incredible poverty.  I asked the question, "can't we do better?"
Well, we had our nightly ride meeting called "Peloton."  At that meeting, six Zuni Christians spoke, shared, and sang "Amazing Grace" in Zuni.
This brave minority are the better way.
They aren't rich nor are they managing huge programs.
They are God's light, God's Kingdom outpost among their own people.
They are fighting for God with prayer, grace, and compassion.  They are facing very real spiritual battles in the power of prayer and God's Spirit.  The spiritual war is very close to the surface.

Bottom line, they are facing many of the same battles we face - an adversary who does not want the Kingdom to move forward.  But "greater is He who is in us than he who is in the world."
The obstacles always look bigger when our eyes aren't on God.

July 4

It's funny that my thoughts on Sea to Sea have so little to do with riding.
Sure, I think about water and comfort (or the absence of such things).
But most of the time, I think about other things, sometimes asking questions that have no answers.
I think about the road ahead that stretches all the way to the horizon, without a single curve.
I think about going  miles and miles with no sign of human habitation.  This country does have a lot of open and empty space.  A whole lot.
Today, i thought about the different types of communities we've ridden through.  Within a few days' ride, we've seen the gated communities of Palm Springs and the impoverished Native communities scattered through the Southwest.  These small villages, filled with people trying to make ends meet has brought Sea to Sea home for me.  It isn't that there is poverty - there's a lot of poverty.  Here's my impossible question: can't we do better?  The needs are so great and our ride will be done in a little over seven weeks.  Is this the best we all can do?
On this day when we celebrate independence, it would be nice to see us do more to free people - not from the tyranny of government, but from the tyranny of poverty.

Needs and wants

I knew that being part is Sea to Sea would teach me about needs.  I kind of thought it would take longer.
My life's possessions consist of bike gear, a tent bag, and two clothes baskets for clothes, etc.  That's  all we get.  Yet it feels like I have too much stuff.  I took too many shirts and overpacked some other things as well.  Every night I have to carry my "world" to a site and every morning carry it all back to the truck.  And I feel like I'm carrying too much.
I'm surprised I'm feeling this way so soon.  My needs have become very simple:  enough water, meals, and a dry place to sleep.  Oh, and a well running bike.
I've become content with so little.
When I come home, why do I need so much?

And how long will it take for me to get used to all my stuff again whe I get home?

Sunday afternoon.  Haven't been on my bike for three days now.
But I've noticed something this morning.  I feel so much more calm and patient.  I had a tent pole break in a wind gust yesterday.  Just a short pole holding the rain canopy up.  Someone else saw it and was concerned.  My reaction?  "Whatever."
It's not that I liked it broken, it's just that it didn't frustrate me at all.
A number of bike or tent issues happened also.  That's ok.
Each time I had to redirect my attention to something else.
I think part of this is because I can't ask anyone else to fix my concerns.  It's humbling and invigorating to be 100% responsible to solve your own problems.
But God plays a role in this too.  He works best in our adversity.
I am so thankful that God takes circumstances and uses them to develop our character.  He uses hardship and challenge to make us stronger, even if He doesn't lessen the hardship.
He uses all things to work together for our good.

Plans are meant to be changed.  Right now I'm on a bus heading to Payson, Arizona.  The heat just got too dangerous.  It was 102 at 10am this morning in Quartzsite.  About ten degrees hotter than yesterday.  So, we improvise.  We're bypassing the desert and suspending the next three days of riding.
A couple of observations about the heat.
First, I have a whole new appreciation for the verse concerning spitting out lukewarm water.  Even when terribly thirsty, warm water doesn't help.  You get a mouthful and feel like dumping out the bottle.  The incredible support crew picked up ice.  Cold water on your head or down your back cool you significantly.  And cold water just makes want to drink more.
Second, the mood in the camp was noticeably more relaxed today.  The heat put us under pressure.  Every decision was dominated by heat concerns.  I have to get to sleep early.  I have to get up early and pack up quickly.  (And you misplace things very quickly that way.). I have to get on the road early.  I have to get to our destination before it gets too hot.  We all felt under pressure.
Gratefully, that anxiety is gone.  It will be nice to ride again with less pressure.

Yesterday:
 God showed up in a cool way.  I had a deep sidewall flat early in the morning.  I knew I could've riden on it all day, so I mentioned that I had to find a bike shop.  A stranger pumping gas overheard me and said, "Hey, I know the guy-let me give him a call."  We arranged to meet at the shop, but when I got there it was all locked up, since the shop didn't open until 10' and it was just after 8.  I knocked, and the guy inside opened the door. "Good thing you caught me, I'm normally not here this early."
He got me fixed up, and as I headed back on the course, there was a sign that said, "Do not trust in yourself.  Trust in God."

Today:
This comes from the Mohave Desert.
Impressions?
Hot.  Very hot.
There's the frequent smell of mesquite.  Beautiful rock formations.  Lonely and quiet roads.  We went a good twenty miles without seeing a house, store, fence or any sign of people, other than the road (and litter).
I was surprised at how easy it was to feel isolated.  When I'd look back and see no one and see no one in front, you feel like the only one out there.  And that's a bit discouraging.  Maybe that's why Moses and Elijah felt solitary discouragement as well.
But God is good.  There has always been someone to arrive in the moment of my feeling alone.  And each one was an answer to a spoken or unspoken prayer.

Keep us in your prayers.
Three more days in the desert.
(At least we aren't here for forty years.)

It's funny how we people find meaning in our ceremonies.  When we commemorate an event - like a wedding or a baptism - the ceremony itself has emotional meaning.
We had a cycling ceremony today.  We symbolized the beginning of the journey by walking into the surf of the Pacific Ocean and touching our back tires to the water.  It's a small ceremony to represent the beginning and leaving the west behind.  The ceremony will only be complete when the front tire touches the water of the Atlantic.
Tomorrow, off for Redlands.  I don't know when I'll be able to blog again, but for now, we're off.

Ok, it all became very real today.  We dropped off the bike and gear.  The magnitude is starting to settle in.  We're going to ride.  Bicycles.  Across the entire continent.  Almost 3,900 miles.
I can't do that.  It's too much, too far, too long.
But I think this gives me a different perspective:  39 miles.
I can do 39 miles.  That's not bad at all.  That's a normal ride.
39 miles is 1% of our ride.  Every time we do another 39 miles, we're 1% of the way closer.
3,900 miles?  That's too big.
39 miles?  I can do that.
So, I don't have to do it all;  I just have to do it 1% at a time.
Sounds like a good life metaphor.

It rained this morning.  I rode anyway.
There's now an obvious layer of grime on me and my previously clean bike.
(Oh, I was clean before, too.)
But the damp roads and misty air made me realize how much more I'm aware of my senses when I'm out riding.
I see more.  I see the inches-high corn plants nudging up from the soil.  I see birds, small rodents, even a coyote that had all been hit by cars.  I see places where the water had pooled on the road and the telltale slick spots of repaired tar.  I don't notice those nearly as much when I'm driving.
I hear more.  I hear the vehicles behind me.  I can always tell when a car or truck is going to pass too close for comfort.  I hear the cluck of blackbirds and the occasional starling hovering over me when I've invaded their turf.  I can hear if my bike's drivetrain is smooth or slightly off.  The sounds are rich on a bike.
So are the smells.  This morning it was damp, muggy air.  And recently "fertilized" fields.  And you can tell if the farm has cows or chickens or turkeys.
Even touch is more acute.  I felt the unevenness of the road and the spatter of rain.  The handlebar's shape is familiar and, after many miles, just feels right.   Each pedal stroke reminds me of the contact between feet, rear end, hands, and bicycle.
For some reason, taste is also a large part of the ride.  Whether the sweetness of Gatorade, or the dry much of a Clif bar, or the satisfying after-ride meal, I notice tastes much more while riding.  Foods I don't normally like just taste better.  Not to mention the natural protein of the stray bug...
Today, I'm simply grateful to God for the way he allows us to experience his world.

So, it's mid-March, 30 degrees, and snowing.
It feels like it has been a really looooong winter.

Consequently, all my training miles this year (so far) have been indoors.  Yep, indoors.
People have asked me if I'm training, and I say that I've ridden almost 850 miles since January 1, but I haven't actually moved one inch.
It feels like it's been a long winter.

But training is necessary - not just for the legs, but for the heart, the neck, the new leather saddle on the bike.  I won't get very far if I don't have some hours on the trainer.

But time on the trainer (going no where) is no substitute for the real thing.  There is nothing like actually cresting a big hill.  There is nothing like the exhileration of going down the other side.  There is nothing like pulling back into the driveway after 40 miles -or leaving the driveway before 10, 20, or 40 miles.

It makes me wonder about the journey of following Christ.  At first I wondered if we actually train.  Do we do the prayer, Scripture, repentance, character-building in the Spirit that truly equips us for the walk?  But thinking about it some more, I wondered if there isn't another possible flaw.  Do we spend too much time training -so that we actually never get on the road?  So, like my trainer (800 miles without moving an inch), do we train hundreds of miles in church services, Bible studies, and small groups, without actually doing anything?

Training is a great simulation, but it is not the real thing.
Let's all put on some good spiritual miles!

A few years ago, our church began handing out "Stars" early in January.  Each star had a "gift" that was to be received, celebrated, and explored throughout the year.  My first star was "trust."  (Since then, I've gotten "courage" and "joy.")
However, I think that God is once again nudging me to trust Him in ways I hadn't anticipated.

This summer, I'm going to join "Sea to Sea 2013," a 9-week, 3,900 bicycle ride.  But the ride is only the visible part.  The invisible part is raising $10,000 to aid people whose lives are stuck in poverty.  Together we hope to raise $2-3 million dollars to bring either direct aid, or to help people start sustainable businesses - all to end the cycle of poverty.
Raising that kind of money is an act of trust - trust in the God who doesn't need our money and has no shortage of His own.

While I'm gone, I'm going to be with people I don't know and apart from those I love.  That will be a daily act of trust.

Also while I'm gone, I'm going to have to trust God to care for the church He's called me to pastor.  It will have needs and concerns I'm not going to be able to address.  But it isn't my church; it's God's church.  He loves her more than I could. 
And I'll trust her with Him. 

Over the next few months, I hope you'll follow my journey as I prepare for hundreds of miles of pedaling per week, living in self-imposed poverty: all to help those who cannot help themselves.

(PS - if you'd like to support this great cause, please go to
http://www.seatosea.org/donate?page=6
My name is about halfway down and donation instructions are pretty easy.  Thanks!)