Reflections on a bike ride... Just a tad bit late.

(I wrote this in August 2008. I just now found it on my computer.)

Life is always so much more than we expect it to be; of this, I am completely sure. I did not expect to be riding my bicycle three thousand, one hundred miles across the United States this summer. And when I did finally myself on the phone with my mother, over lunch with my best friend Tranica, and updating my Facebook profile with that incredible announcement, something inside of me twinged in disbelief: "Really, Jess? You actually think you are going to ride your bicycle... that far?" No, I replied to my doubts. But I am going to try. And I expect it to be hard, and awesome, and epic.

Those words are merely an understatement, really, to what this incredible cross-country trip was, but first, I feel you must understand how this crazy adventure all started. I was sitting around at my parent's house, wondering as many post-college twentysomethings do, what I was going to do with my life. I had just returned from working at an incredible summer camp that, besides allowing me to play outside all day and celebrate life and Jesus with high school students, was a great (yet unfortunately temporary) way to delay the "real world." I had succeed in this delaying game for almost two years, volunteering full-time as a Roadie for the non-profit Invisible Children, working as a substitute teacher, and occasionally waiting tables at Chili’s. My parents had graciously allowed me to crash at their place for a few hundred dollar monthly fee, and my itch for adventure topped with inspiring others to act for social justice had resurfaced. I longed for something big.

But instead of doing something big, I was siting on my computer watching YouTube videos and downloading music that I couldn't afford. A friend suggested I spend some spare time listening to a podcast about "Story" by Blue Like Jazz author Donald Miller. He spoke about the incredible gift we have, the gift of the incredible story God is writing with his. And with God, it is sure to be a really epically awesome one. What is your story going to be? He asked. Do you want it to be a good one? Besides inspiring me to jump off the couch and continue living the adventure that God has called me to, he mentioned his friend Jena Lee and the incredible organization she had started with the band Jars of Clay called Blood:Water Mission. I clicked off my iPod wanting more. I wanted to know who this Jena Lee was. I wanted to hear the stories of those being impacted in Africa. I wanted to see a picture of Blood Water's wells. I wanted to hear the story of how they all got started. Something inside of me said that Blood:Water Mission was something that I must know more about.

I googled my way over to bloodwatermission.com to find out that what Don had said was true. Jena Lee was merely 25 years old and was actually living her dream and passion for adventure and justice. She audaciously believed that along with the help of thousands of ordinary people and communities across the US, they could partner with African organizations to build 1,000 wells in 1,000 communities. And they had. Blood:Water Mission had a few hundred wells and partnerships that were daily impacting the lives of our African brothers and sisters.

I was impressed with Blood:Water's humble beginnings, amazed at Jena's leadership at such a young age, and thankful for the thousands of people that had come together to financially support building these wells. I loved that one of my favorite bands, Jars of Clay, had used their voice and influence to do exactly what God called them to do. They were to sing, and they were to inspire change. Their voice and influence is what really took Blood Water off the ground. I knew that God wanted to me to be a part, and I had no idea how.

And then.

Computer screen: "Have you ever wanted to do something EPIC?
Me: YES!
Computer screen: "Well, here is your chance!"
Me: OK! (breathe. hold. tight.)
Computer: You can ride your bike...
Me: I don't own a bike.
Computer: Across AMERICA!
Me: AWESOME!
Computer: To raise money for Blood:Water Mission.
Me: This is IT!
Computer: Applications due February 1st.
Me: Dang it.

Although it was already mid-April, I still took the chance and applied. The next few days were a whirlwind as I speedily filled out the application, convinced the team leaders that I could ride a bike 3,000 miles (ha!) and took out my only savings to buy a speedy little bicycle that would take me from Los Angeles to Washington, DC. I started riding my bike on the trail next to my house and coincidentally met a pro-cyclist who seriously doubted my ability to take this trip but nonetheless took it upon himself to become my trainer for the next few weeks before I left. I threw a fundraising Cinco De Mayo party and solicited all of my parent's friends for money, but ended up raising most of my $5,000 support through Facebook. I got some cycling shorts. And when I finally convinced myself that I looked good in spandex, it was just about time to leave.


"Crazy" was the choice most co-workers, family, and random people I met along the way chose to describe it, and crazy it was. We met in Santa Monica for a few days together to ride together as a team. We were almost all novices. I had only trained for three weeks. My friend Erin introduced herself with the qualifier of "Oh, and by the way, I hate riding bikes." Mike was 55 and nowhere in shape to ride 3,000 miles. Our fearless leaders, Jesse and Bri, were actually riding a tandem. They called in the "Marriage Tester 3000." Coincidentally, Don Miller, whose very podcast ha set off the chain reaction that led me to this trip, was also riding his bike across the country with us; he cracked jokes about our ride not being a race yet jokingly promised us all that he was going to win. This rag-tag group of 18 people were seriously setting out to do the impossible. Yes, we all realized, this is going to be crazy.

After a few days of a crash course titled "How to Ride Your Bike Across America Without Dying," we set out for Washington, DC. After navigating through Los Angeles traffic and immediately climbing (well, pedaling, really) up a 7,000 ft. mountain, we rode 112 mile in 108 degrees in just one day through the deserts of California and Arizona. We got lost numerous times, our van broke down, we got sunburns and heat strokes and dehydration. We peed behind cacti; we waved down motorists when we ran out of water. We slept just 6 hours a night. And that was all just in our first week of riding.

It was mid-way through week three when I faced the most challenging part of the trip where I was literally forced to choose between the easy and hard roads. We had already ridden about 60 miles, battling strong headwinds that made our average speed a depressingly slow 8 miles per hour, and our bodies and emotional stability were completely spent. We stopped at what we knew would be the last gas station before our destination, Capitan, New Mexico, another twenty miles away. And while the road had been flat much of the way, the locals told us there was a small mountain that separated us from Capitan.

We couldn't actually see than mountain from our heavenly little gas station, but did see the black clouds slowly but surely moving in. We also remembered how awful the ride had been that entire day. Our bodies and minds screamed for us to give up, and our leaders gave us to option to shamelessly and gracefully concede to nature and health and simply ride in the van for the next twenty miles.

When I left Los Angeles, I was determined to ride every single mile across the country, and I was not about to give up in the face of some stupid little storm and an unseeable mountain supposedly another 12 miles up the road. So out of a little bit of pride and lots of incurable idealism, I got back on my bike and pedaled on.

It was treacherous. The storm had come, and small rain slivers pierced our skin in a mean and icy coldness that equated to pure misery. My entire body was numb, my mind washing away in a torrent of conflicting screaming voices to give up now or fiercely go on. I pedaled against the wall of wind, now moving at only 5 miles an hour. I was crying, screaming, yearning for it to just end, wishing that I had just given up when I had the chance. The four other teammates that I was with could not hear my pain against the sound of the storm, and I assumed I was the only one in such misery.

And right before we got the mountain, the van pulled up, telling us it was to dangerous to go on. There was hail just on the other side of the mountain ahead, and there was also no way we were going to make it to the other side before dark. I cried in pure relief, but my team leader Jesse insisted that he thought we could make it. Again, he gave us the choice. Against the silent tears, again, we decided to continue on.

And what happened next was completely unprecedented and, sadly, much to indescribable for words. I began to think of the families who we were raising money for, and the pain they went through every day walking to get dirty water. I began to think of every time I had given up in the past, mostly because of laziness and complacency rather than inability. I began to think of how undeniably impossible this physical feat was, and how amazing it was that I had the chance to conquer it, now or never. And as I thought of all of these things, I thought most of God, and how blessed my life had been, and how He had given me this incredible opportunity that I did not deserve. And how despite every screaming body part, I just knew that it was completely possible.

I began pedaling, hard. I breathed fast, furiously passing my teammates and forgetting about the pain. I mentally saw the top of that mountain and repeated over and over again: "I can do this, I can do this, I can do this." I thanked God for his beauty, His rain, His power. I raced up that mountain, more determined at every curve, and with the strength that I know must have been supernatural, I finally (oh, finally!) saw that sign that designated the end: SUMMIT.

It was the most incredible moment of my life.

I waved my hands in the air, screamed, alone and joyous, and thanked God. I had actually made it. I couldn't believe it.

A few seconds later, a big green school screamed by just inches away from my tear-streak face; I snapped out of that craze-filled second and realized that hail had begun to pour and that I had a long, windy road through the thunder and rain on the way down. I let go of the handlebars, threw my hands in the air, and flew down the mountain without a fear in the world and more joy than I could contain.

For the next few weeks, I continued on across this big, beautiful country and was greeted with the most heartfelt welcomes and most delicious southern cooking. We raised money by downing pickled eggs in a gas station, holding bike vs. motorcycle races, and of course, by speaking on behalf of Blood:Water Mission at community and church gatherings previously arranged for.

In the end, this adventurous tromp across America won me an awesome farmer tan, some serious life long friendships, and a new heart that appreciates both the adventurous and mundane in this life. Before the trip, I felt like my life was somewhat pointless, but I came to realize that in that waiting period I was resting and preparing for that exact adventure that God was planning for me all along. So what if I was crashing on my parent's couch? My momma and I were becoming pretty good friends. So what if I worked at Chili's? I was making the money I needed to buy that bike that took me across this country. So what if I spent all day on the computer and buying music I couldn't afford? Well, that perspective certainly changed... I've since deleted my facebook and spend time playing outside every day; and now see money as both a blessing and means to an end to do exactly what God calls us to do. I don't know what my next adventure is, but I'm embracing every day and being thankful for the balance of quiet life and adventurous romp that is this life that God has created for me.