This is what it will be like for most of our remaining rides.  Squeezing it in when we see the weather is giving us the right conditions at home.  We had an unexpectedly warm day today.  60 degrees, sunny and a light breeze was a beautiful reason to jump back in. And to me, each ride we can do before June feels like a victory.  

It was one of those days that felt so easy for me.  The first ride after getting our bikes tuned meant smooth sailing. Riding my own bike instead of the rental in Tucson felt like a homecoming of sorts.I felt that joy of being a little girl riding my Schwinn again.  

Not so much for Dave.He struggled, both mentally and physically.  Too much work on his plate means his thoughts were elsewhere.  And by the end of the ride I realized it wasn’t just figuratively that work plate but it was literally that plate from last night’s dinner.  There are those nights when we just eat a salad with grilled chicken on it. Last night was one of those nights.  He topped it off in the morning with a yogurt. And then we were out the door at noon.  Let’s just say it was a recipe for a rough road.  

We’re going to learn on this journey.  We definitely learned today that food matters. 

Day 6 finds us in Sewanee, TN with longtime friends Kelly and Bryan.  Under perfect conditions we ride 5 miles out and back on the Mountain Goat Trail.  It is still under construction and eventually it will stretch 40 miles.  A work in progress as many rails to trails paths are. We took what we could get.  

The bike trail followed another trail: the Trail of Tears. I’d heard of it but never paid much attention.  A little internet searching makes me realize we should all pay attention.  The short story is that The Trail of Tears was a forced migration of Cherokee and Choctaw peoples from southern states to designated Indian land in Oklahoma. The states wanted their land, primarily to grow cotton, and so they passed legislation to force about 20,000 people out of their homes. They forced them to walk 1200 miles, some in chains, many under gunpoint, many sick and malnourished, up to ¼ of them dying from disease and exhaustion along the way.  Slaves were imported from foreign lands to harvest that cotton, natives were exported and disposed of to grow it. This is a part of our country’s history and it is devastating.  

Yet there is another glimpse of who we are in Sewanee.  Sewanee is home to the University of the South.  To me it might as well have been a European university plopped down amongst magnolia trees, spanish moss and an occasional palm tree.  The stone buildings towered over us as we biked along the main road.  The chapel was something out of a tour book, complete with the organist filling the space with Bach on a random Tuesday afternoon. The bell tower rang the top of the hour and I overheard a tour guide telling prospective students that her friend was the one whose job it was to ring those bells. She went up there with her once and decided it was both exhilarating and terrifying. Students meandered past. Some sort of an event was being organized on a beautiful shaded lawn. The peace and quiet of a small college town campus wrapped itself around us.  This too is our country: an unexpected haven of learning set on a most idyllic campus on the top of a mountain.  

We are on the Timpoochee Trail, a bike path that hugs 30A which is a renown two lane highway that goes through several small towns along the Florida Panhandle.  The trail is 18.5 miles long so the plan is to do half of it on each of the two days we are down here and the there-and-back will get us about 20 miles each day.  

I want this to be a turning point ride for us.  The first 4 in Tucson were hard.  Neither of us had biked for quite some time, we were on rental bikes rather than our own, there was some elevation gain that we struggled with. We spent our rides watching the more fit and seasoned sail past us.  Rides 5 and 6 seemed to be a struggle for Dave.  Not eating enough before a ride, a long things-to-do list weighing heavily on his shoulders, knees and feet that are still clamoring for attention. All of this seemed to be creating a lot of noise in his head.  

But today it seemed as if the headaches occurred before we actually started pedaling.  We seemed unorganized with our gear.  Why are we just throwing things into the car instead of having a designated biking bag?  Trips back and forth from the parking garage to the condo to fill water bottles, retrieve a forgotten trip computer and sunglasses slowed our roll before we were even rolling.  A phone call from his mom right before we were about to take off telling us she tested positive for Covid seemed almost an omen.  

Yet then, we got on our bikes.  We passed singing children from an elementary school on a field trip, rare coastal dune lakes, small vacation towns with names like Blue Mountain, (there is no mountain), and Watercolor.  We experienced the tourism of Seaside, the little town that became famous for being the location of the filming of the movie The Truman Show. We ate an incredible breakfast at Blue Mabel and ended the trip adding on 3.5 miles at Topsail Hill State Preserve where we had parked our car. Our quiet roll through a tall pine canopy was a nice contrast to the hustle and bustle of the Timpoochee.  

Once we hopped on our bikes, It just seemed like everything worked. When we began this challenge we had told ourselves that a ride was a minimum of 20 miles. We had yet to hit that mark until today.  On day 5 I was wondering if this 60 4 60 is even worth an attempt. By day 7, I am convinced that it is.

Riding along an all purpose path through several small vacation towns in April is not for the easily distracted.  There are times when we are dodging strollers, scooters, dogs and young children.  You come to appreciate those who know the rules of the road: stay to the right if you are walking, say “on your left” as you, as a cyclist, are approaching a walker. It certainly takes you out of the reverie of your ride when you approach a walker from behind who moves to their left forcing you to pass on the right.  

Luckily, they are few and far between. Most people understand the basic traffic courtesies of the bike path. But then there is the woman with two dogs who you cheerfully say, “on your left” to with plenty of time to spare because it’s obvious she's got her hands full.  She moves to the left making you awkwardly pass on the right and you can hear her saying, “those people need a bell!”  (Insert eye rolling emoji here.)

All traffic issues aside though, this second half of the Timpoochee Trail is a lovely glimpse of what the Florida Panhandle is all about.  Little towns with lots of construction going on.  Cottages lining the two lane 30a highway that look fresh and modern and clean and are three sometimes four stories tall.  Their colors and the names of their towns and neighborhoods make me think of the names of paint chips in my local hardware. Watercolor is actually the name of one of the towns. Seagrove, Alys, Rosemary are a few others.  The crisp shades of the homes and condos are in varying shades of linen, azure, and sea foam green and harmoniously reflect the natural surroundings of sea, clouds, sand, sky. 

My favorite? Alys, (pronounced Alice).  Nobody puts Alys in a corner, I think, as we ride along a road that turns into a tree lined boulevard.  The entrance to town is announced by large white pillars that frame either side of the road. The palm trees are tall and stately looking as they stretch to the sky. On either side of 30a sit buildings of a brilliant white, ( if only I knew the color names on a paint chip that would best describe how clean and rich this looks.) So many verticals! So many clean lines! It’s as if this little town along the sea is insisting on being bigger and bolder than the plot of land it is confined to.  

And maybe that’s why I liked it so much.  Lately, I have burst out of my own shell.  I have decided to stop shrinking and live larger.  Like Alys, making the most of the space allotted her, I am making the most of the precious time given to me.  Shedding those perceptions that often ground me, I long to soar.

First, all the good things.  It is an incredibly gorgeous day.  70 and sunny, blue skies, trees fully leafed. The epitome of bike riding weather.  The Chief Ladiga Trail is one of the smoothest, flattest and well maintained we've been on to date.  It is clearly marked, has very few cross roads, and is quiet and peaceful as it meanders through forests and fields, a small college town and wetlands.  It is 32 miles to the Georgia line where it then connects to the Silver Comet, a 61 mile rails-to-trails path that stretches east. I am impressed with what we have seen on this western leg and think that the farther east you go it must be even more spectacular because of the mountain scenery.  We ride 25.1 miles total so we have the satisfaction of besting our rides thus far. 

But, and we both really hate that there is a but, we are both longing for the days when I struggled to keep up with Dave.  When did it switch? How did it switch? 

Quite honestly, this ride was a piling on for Dave.  The challenge of staying in shape and simply being active when you have foot pain, knee pain and chemo-induced neuropathy that never went away is real.  

I think back to how hard it was when I fought through years of low back pain, a rupture of the plantar fascia and then tennis elbow thrown in for good measure.  It was as if my body was waging war against me.  Pain is exhausting, depressing, frustrating and seemingly unending when you are in the thick of it and Dave is surely in the thick of it.  

I have a memory of trying so hard to do the 24 mile bike path loop at home.  It was when Dave first got into biking and was really into it.  I told myself, you are going to like biking, whether you like biking or not, so we can have this activity to enjoy together. I struggled. I hurt all over, was out of shape, overweight and probably somewhat depressed. It took me until the end of the summer that first summer to be able to ride the loop. I felt so accomplished.  I was so proud that despite the pain and exhaustion I was feeling I had done what seemed like this big thing.  

Fast forward a few years and after several years of riding, 24 miles is simply expected.  That’s really not fair to Dave.  My impatience, his frustration, our fear and anger over foot and knee issues that seem large and unending are getting the best of the both of us.  We should be applauding 25 miles and instead we are bemoaning all the pieces of this 60 4 60 that we are coming to realize may be out of our control.