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.