August 19.
Only 53 miles from Marathon to Key West. Because of the shorter distance we didn’t start riding right at dawn. It was a little after 8 before we left. Just five miles into the route, we all met up at the beginning of the Seven Mile Bridge. We have a drone that can take video, but it can only travel at twelve miles an hour–so we started out slow. Rain was predicted, but we didn’t encounter much of it. One of our photographers, though, was assigned to take photos as we came off the seven mile bridge and it was raining really hard on her end. She didn’t know if she would be able to get any photos.
The Seven Mile Bridge goes from east to west and Marathon is at the east end. Since it was raining on the west end, and sunny on the east end, we got to ride right into a rainbow arch as we rode over the bridge. Ocean on both sides and a rainbow arching over the bridge! What an amazing sight! My photos only show a little portion of the rainbow. When I am truly enjoying what I am doing, I rarely want to take the time to stop and take a photo. I love having the photos afterwards, but that isn’t my highest priority. Sometimes, when I see people watching, say, a dance recital, on the small screen of a video recorder, I feel kind of sorry for what they are missing. So, that’s the reason you just have to take my word for it, that the rainbow went all the way across for part of our journey.
Our first rest stop was at the Key West Visitor Center, about 20 miles in. It wasn’t open yet. I caught up with the entire crew of cyclists–everyone was being pretty leisurely in their riding on our last day. When the sweeps came in, they had picked up another rider, a man from France who was riding down to Key West from Miami. He shared some of our water and our snacks, but seemed a bit overwhelmed on how to take the welcome he received. I have forgotten his name.
Our second rest stop was at Baby’s Coffee, 36 miles from the start of the day. We stopped in and got coffee, mostly iced coffee or blended coffee drinks of some sort. There was a drummer in the parking lot who was on his way to Key West, also. He sometimes performs at one of the outdoor venues–the most popular one is probably Mallory Square where people gather to watch the sunset. I watched some video from the New York Times on the hurricane damage to the Keys (Hurricane Irma), and saw the distinctive logo from Baby’s Coffee. The owner was talking about what she was doing to help people during the first days of the recovery.
The route on this day was very easy to follow–Highway 1 all the way until reaching the city of Key West. There were places where we switched from highway shoulder to bike path, but many of those involved crossing a busy road and seemed kind of ridiculous. Often the road crossings and the quality of the bike path seemed more dangerous than just riding on the shoulder of the highway, also designated as a bike lane.
We took turns taking each others’ pictures at the Key West sign, and then headed to the meet up point. We were meeting up very near the official tourist “southernmost point” of Key West. Then we rode out onto a pier that is farther south than the southernmost point. (Even the southernmost point is not really that. It’s the southernmost point where the public can freely go, because there is a military base further south.) The chickens below were at the gathering place. There are a lot of feral chickens in Key West from the days when cock fighting was popular. When cock fighting was outlawed, a lot of people, apparently, just let their chickens go free. Because of that fact, we asked Alexa (the Amazon version of Siri) to play a song about chickens. She picked “Chicken Attack” by the Gregory Brothers. It’s hilarious!
Early arrivals play in the water, near the pier where we will officially end the ride
We gathered up and headed out onto the pier for our final circle up. I could hardly believe the journey that I had been through during the previous eleven weeks. At the beginning of the pier is a memorial for those who died of AIDs on the island (not sure what years are covered). The memorial is titled “A Celebration of Life.” Embedded in the concrete memorial is a map of the Florida Keys. “A Celebration of Life” is what I have participated in during this summer–not just my life, but all of life.
The pier was largely empty, just a few people fishing, so we were able to ride our bikes around freely. After a lap or two, we got off. As soon as I dismounted, I was overwhelmed with emotion and started crying. A bicycle journey of over 4000 miles–I didn’t ride every single mile, but I can still say that I rode my bicycle across the United States of America. I lived out of a suitcase and slept on church floors for eleven weeks, and I would like to do it again! It’s been a dream since I was in my 20s, to cycle across the US “someday.” Someday finally came!
I worked hard for a full year to get in better shape, able to go the minimum recommended speed and distance. On June 3, I dipped my back tire in the Pacific Ocean in San Francisco, on August 6 I dipped my front tire in the Atlantic on Tybee Island, and then I rode down the Georgia and Florida coast line all the way to where the road ends on Key West! Along the way, I got to meet all kinds of people and see all kinds of interesting terrain. I don’t know how God will use this experience in my future, or anyone’s future. There is not as much that separates us throughout the US as some would have us believe. Though we have disagreements, and those are real disagreements, we are not enemies to each other. As individuals we need the courage to say out loud, I may disagree with you, but I believe that you, also, love this country and want the best for her and her people. We need to recognize that often people in power give us false choices and make it appear that it is impossible and wrong and harmful to find any kind of way in between. We are one nation. I hope that soon we will be able to learn to live as one nation. I know that it will take each one of us, working toward truly listening to those whose experiences are far different than our own.
In my travels this summer, I remember, especially, Diane Harris, one of the marchers present in Selma on Bloody Sunday. They marched to call attention to the fact that, though blacks had the right to vote according to the law, they were not allowed to register to vote. One pretext after another was used to keep US citizens from registering and from voting.
I remember, especially, George, whom I met in Lawton, OK. When I showed him the map on the back of my shirt to tell him our route, he said, “I can’t read.” Another US citizen, George was born in Texas. His family were migrant workers, following the harvest of whatever crop was in season. He started working in the fields at about age six, I believe he said. He was not poor and unable to read because he was lazy; he was poor and unable to read because that is the way we have allowed US citizens (and immigrants) to be treated. He earned a penny for picking a bunch of radishes. It took 100 bunches to earn $1, and 1000 bunches of radishes to earn $10. George wasn’t complaining a bit. In fact, at the church where we met and ate breakfast together, he told me that they “treat him like a king” there. I cried, to know that here was a man born in the US who never even had the chance to go to school.
I remember, especially, the story of Craig, CO, a place which has abundant coal–reportedly enough to run the local power plants for the next fifty years. When Donald Trump was elected, people started buying houses and investing in the local economy again. They were afraid that preparing for the day when coal is not abundant, as has already occurred in other parts of the country, would put them out of jobs in the next few months or years. Even so, Colorado gets more than 10% of its energy from wind farms.
There are more than two choices. The best choice is often neither of the extremes we fight over. I am glad to have had this chance to travel the country and to listen to my fellow citizens.
