a few photos from the ride

8 of us, slightly underutilized at a build site


the very top of Rocky Mountain National Park


actually not as surprising as one might think


my friend, Eric, doing his favorite trick, the Superman


the view if I had been inside a bicycle


a sign as we came into Napa Valley -- "stay alive by staying out"


the peanut butter bin


Kelly O. proving that we can sleep anywhere

a view of the trailer from up above

the end!

As far as I can imagine, this will probably be my last post - I can't imagine that you all want to hear the details of my life as I move back in with my parents, or look for a job, or work out at the Sports Mall.

I wanted to thank you all (my parents swear that people have, in fact, been following me this summer) for reading. It is a summer that I doubt I will ever forget, and it was a lot of fun to have a digital audience with whom I could share the experience.

I would love to see all of you (whoever you are) on September 3rd (even you Abuelita).

Again, many thanks, and stay in touch -- my email remains carriebadanes@gmail.com .

departures and bike boxes

Though we were officially "released" from Bike and Build as an organization when we put our tires in the Pacific, we were unofficially still absolutely affiliated. Accommodations had been arranged for us, and we even had a few meals provided. However, when it came time to get ourselves, our stuff, and our precious (yes, now I say precious) bicycles to the airports, we were totally on our own. However, when I offered to help Carys get to the airport, I had no idea what an ordeal it would be without the help of the van. Though her flight was at 1:00 PM, we left the church at 9:00 AM. We had packed our bikes in huge cardboard boxes the night before, and I was in charge of that, while she carried her over-sized duffel. The subway station could not have been less than three-quarters of a mile away, and naturally, the walk wasn't flat. Most people would have hailed a cab, but no, we were determined to save a buck. We must have been a sight, with the way people stared at us, but I have sort of gotten used to crazy looks this summer.

It wasn't just getting to the subway, but then transferring trains and catching a bus. The whole ordeal took the better part of the day, and I returned back to the church at 1:30, with plans to take my own bike someplace to get shipped. Another girl needed to send hers out as well, and we then set out, again by foot, to walk the half mile to the USPS. Three of us, transporting two unwieldy packages basically stumbled down Alemany Blvd.

I entered the post office, heaving and sweating. The woman behind the counter took one look at me and said "uh-uh, that's too big." Now, the post office boasts that not rain, nor sleet, nor dark of night will prevent them from delivering the mail. But a box measuring 62 inches in length -- apparently that was material to break them down.

I started laughing. Not only had I just walked with my bike, in a box, over a half-mile, but I had convinced another rider that this was the best way to get her bike out of San Francisco.

Fortunately, an old man in line, donning a pair of sweatpants and a scraggly white beard (the type of people you are probably warned to stay away from) had been listening in on the conversation between myself and the teller, and had started to ask questions about our ride. He then determined that "he was in a charitable mood" and that he would be back with his truck to take us to the UPS store. Left without much of an option, we waited patiently for his return. He did, in fact, show up -- with a truck, and we didn't quite know whether we should be nervous or thankful. After the three of us (one guy was just along for the ride) loaded our bicycles in the car and realized that UPS was way farther than originally anticipated, I chose to be very, very thankful.

He dropped us at the UPS store and gave us all (including the boy without a bike) hugs.

the cross-country celebration!

Though the end had been in sight for several days, I think it really hit most of us our last official host location, a very generous church in San Rafael, California. Their driveway was (appropriately) a 25% grade hill and I arrived to the church courtyard huffing and puffing. Once off of my bike, I noticed their incredible view of the San Francisco Bay, with (this remains debatable) the tip of the Golden Gate Bridge visible. Different church members took us to their houses for showers. In the car, our host informed us that the water we saw was, in fact, the Pacific Ocean. I silently contemplated planning a brief escape from the church to dip my tires in the water and be finished riding forever. However, the idea of riding in a 31 person parade to and over the Golden Gate was ultimately just a bit too appealing to turn down.

We were permitted to sleep in that last morning. And when the morning routine started at 7:00 the excitement was tangible. I, for one, was thrilled that it would be the last official "wake-up" call, the last morning where I groggily put on spandex, and the last time I had to fight with my sleeping bag to get it into the tiny stuff-sack.

Our route meeting (or group meeting -- I never figured out what they were calling for in the morning) was followed by group pictures overlooking the water and we set out. We had decided that we would travel all together, and had sort of elected one of the guys to lead us into San Francisco. He was chosen, not only for his patience, but for his concern safety; he's been donning a high-lighter yellow safety vest over his jersey for the better part of the country.

I think that the parade would have been a bit easier to execute if we had been in, say -- one of the plain states. Even the suburbs of San Francisco are notably hilly; but we pressed on, with tires almost touching. Few of us were familiar with the area, so we scanned for monuments with every bend in the road, anxiously anticipating the sudden appearance of the Golden Gate Bridge. Then at mile 17, we turned a corner and we could see the bridge, enormous and so surprisingly close. Before we knew it, we were with the rest of the tourists at the rest stop on the north side of the bridge. It was there that we proceeded to take about a thousand pictures and to take over the entire tourist area.

From there we set out to actually cross the bridge. I was a little disappointed that we weren't riding on the road, but instead on the sidewalk/bike lane with the pedestrians and families on rental bikes. (We later read that there is a company that rents out bikes so people can ride the bridge, and then picks them up and shuttles them back after the mile ride.) Despite the sidewalk, it was pretty cool. The weather was warm and the whole city was visible; and there was a whole group of friends and family waiting at the end of the bridge. I determined that I probably needed a few pictures from this side of the bridge as well, and hopped off of my bike to take them.

Almost directly below the bridge is a city park and we continued down to the water. As I neared the beach, I saw my aunt, uncle and cousin, who said "we were worried when we didn't see you, but your mother said you would be towards the end!" (Thanks mom).

We dropped our bikes and ran into the water. Then got out and grabbed our bikes and ceremonially dipped our front tires. Wet, and content, we had lunch on the beach, with the Golden Gate Bridge as a backdrop. The only negative of the entire celebration was that one slightly over-eager mother had made those eggs filled with confetti and had smashed about nine on my head.