I used to travel alone comfortably, and I still don't have any fear of being in a strange place or getting lost or anything like that. I find that people are very helpful pretty much anywhere you go. My fear has been that I'd feel the weight of Sandy's absence more intensely away from our home. I haven't known whether it would be harder to go to our familiar spots, where I have many memories of our time together, or to new places that she never got to see, at least not with me. But I have been very aware that the yearnings I have to travel include images of us exploring the world together. And that those yearnings crumble when I remember I'd be alone.
So I've not spent a night away from home since she died. Home is the center of the life we created together; it's where the kitties are; it's where I feel her most often. I honestly wasn't sure I could stand to be away for two nights in a row, especially knowing that fatigue accentuates the pain of grief. But I'd committed to the ride, and that meant spending the first night in Bellingham and the second in Vancouver, B.C. (Now that it's over, I realize I probably could have gone directly to the train or bus station and come home Saturday night, but we didn't know when we'd arrive and it's hard to get a large pasta dinner on a bus.)
Friday was indeed hot, but we left very early to get in as many miles as we could before the heat became a problem. I got up at 4 a.m., and was on the road by 5:10, biking to meet Colleen in Woodinville. It was dark, but the roads were quiet and I enjoyed the early morning ride, especially because I saw deer along a stretch of the trail. That was very unusual, and I chose to consider it a good omen. We joined the official route before 7:00 and were over the most difficult climb of the day by 7:45. In fact, we made much better time than we expected, and the weather wasn't bad for most of the morning, as we rode through some nicely shaded areas. Around 1:00, the route became more tedious (chip seal is awful to ride on; we had hot head winds for a long stretch without shade), and our pace slowed. But we got to our motel in Bellingham just fine. I'd ridden 109 miles, the longest I've ever gone in a single day, and even with frequent and sometimes-long stops for the heat, I'd gotten through that distance in just over 12 hours. Not bad. Of course, as I saw it, the real challenge began when I checked into the room.
That's the part of the test I passed. I was surprised, first, that I had so much energy after the ride. I wasn't all that tired or sore, and I was quite animated. After showering, I joined Colleen and her husband Larry for dinner, and I thoroughly enjoyed our conversation and the food. After we returned to the motel, I set off on foot for a grocery store a few blocks away and bought the things I needed for breakfast as well as roasted potatoes from the deli. (Potatoes make wonderful bike food, and I'd gone through the ones I'd brought from home.) I puttered happily, preparing everything for the next day's ride and reluctantly turned out the light at 9:45, knowing my 5:00 alarm would come all too early. But I remained cheerful. Not in-denial cheerful. Not putting-on-a-show cheerful. Not cheerful around other people and then despondent on my own. I truly felt good. I started to think about all the places I might travel, given how successful this venture was. I even slept pretty well, and got up before the alarm.
The ride on the second day was just as enjoyable, except for a long hot slog in the afternoon on a stretch of highway. I channeled Sandy in the morning. We were 15 miles into the ride and I'd been desperate to pee for ten of those miles, but we'd been biking through farmland and some exurbs — no hope of a public toilet. I knew we were still five miles away from a rest stop, so I'd started considering where I might squat behind the occasional stands of trees. And then I saw a woman watering her flowers at 7:30 in the morning. Gardeners are generous people, and I was pretty sure her house had a bathroom. So I stopped and asked if I could use it. She was wonderful, and we had a nice chat that left me energized as well. It was the kind of thing I wouldn't ordinarily do, but I knew that Sandy would have. And since she wasn't there to ask for me, I just had to do it myself. I was glad I did, as much for the interaction as for the use of the bathroom.
We traveled through beautiful countryside and friendly towns. We crossed the border easily, as they'd set aside a kiosk just for cyclists. We rode over some majestic bridges with amazing views. There was much to love about the ride, especially on a day that was much less hot. And I did enjoy the ride very much. I didn't even mind the hot highway all that much, because I recovered quickly and, again, had the chance to chat with another cyclist who had sought out shade to rest in. (Yes, there's a real theme. I'm happiest when I'm chatting, especially with people I've never met before.) But the last 7 or 8 miles were more challenging as we navigated the outer areas of Vancouver, moving further into the city, through potentially dangerous intersections. By that time in a ride, the brain cells are either gone or asleep and it's easy to make stupid moves. So I had to concentrate way too much, particularly trying to understand the way traffic infrastructure worked in a foreign city. Even with the concentration, I did a few boneheaded things that could have ended poorly. And then we got to the finish line, and they ushered us directly down a ramp to the parking garage, which was not where I'd intended to go, as I wasn't staying at that hotel. I'm not much for finish line parties and I don't care much about badges or medals or any of those types of things that finishers receive, so I'd aimed to just grab my panniers from Larry and head to my hotel. Instead, there was chaos and frustration before I finally headed out to bike the final few miles of my journey for the day. As I said, I was tired enough to be stupid, so the fifteen-minute ride was more harrowing than it would ordinarily have been. And then I stood in line at the concierge, thinking it was registration (truly, no brain cells left). However, that gave me the chance to chat with some very nice people who later helped me negotiate my bike with its panniers into and off of the elevator. Ordinarily, I would have done fine without their help, but at that point, I was more than grateful for their assistance.
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| I took my iPad so that I could read email, but the iPad's web browser was acting weird, so I had to reset settings. That meant wallpaper, etc., went back to default. Instead of restoring the image of a wave I'd used before (it was one Sandy really liked), I set this photo to appear on the start screen, and it cheered me greatly. Every time I turned my iPad on to check email or play a game or whatever, there was Sandy, smiling at me. Photos may be the best tools a griever can have; I don't know how people coped before. |
But I didn't enjoy my stay. Rather, I just numbed the pain as best I could, counted the hours until I'd get home, and promised myself that I wouldn't travel again any time soon.
What I learned is that I can travel if I have to. While I had a mission, I felt okay. As soon as that mission was over, the pain was overwhelming. I know that fatigue accentuated my grief, but I didn't feel any more physically exhausted Saturday afternoon (I was in my hotel room by 4 p.m.) than I did on Friday evening. The difference was that Friday evening, I still had purpose. So it's pretty clear to me that a weekend on Whidbey Island, where we used to go to relax and specifically escape our to-do lists, is a bad idea. But that attending a convention, for example, might be doable. Right now, I'm just going to focus on being home, working on the book, volunteering for the campaign, spending quality time with the cats, and maybe making some headway on the garden. I'm in no rush for my next test.
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