Amy goes AWOL

So. It's not that I didn't believe people when they said it would be hard. Not at all. And the closer we got to it, and the more practicing and preparing I did, the more convinced I became that this was going to be tough and probably not one of my more enjoyable adventures. But that didn't keep me from wanting the experience of it. I didn't want to back out because it sounded like it might be tough.

What I didn't account for--and I'm not sure how much this would have affected my decision even if I had known--is that hills and mountains are mostly what comprise the trek. And my fear of speed and heights is not absolved by frequent descents on narrow-shoulder mountains, feeling the draft of trucks whizzing past me. I definitely knew that such situations would be part of the journey. I just didn't know it would be such an enormous part of it.

After five days of riding and an anxiety attack on Sunday night, I realized I didn't want to do this to myself anymore. There is no higher motive here, just the personal victory of having done it, and I don't value that more than my mental (and quite possibly physical) health (because honestly- what can you do to "look out for logging trucks" aside from not being on a bike in the first place?).

So I told Chris and Jen that I was thinking about getting on a bus or something. Chris suggested getting a SAG vehicle and we stopped at a library to look into options. Suddenly a vague idea became an immediate decision. Renting a car one-way for that long proved cost-prohibitive, but the bus and train were still options, and Chris's friend Amy was coming to meet us that night and could take me back to Seattle to catch some public transportation. Following a Dairy Queen Dinner, that's what happened.

This part isn't about the bike trip, but I will say what happened next for those who are curious. Amy insisted that the train station was too sketchy to stay in over night, but we struck out with nearby hotels, and the Best Western was $150 for the night, so I decided to just hang out at the Amtrak anyway. I set up a little area where I plugged my phone in, locked my bike to the seat, put my panniers in a duffle bag under my feet, and got in my sleeping bag, prepared to make it to the next morning in relative security. This continued to be my plan until 1:15, when a guy woke me up to tell me that the station closed at 10:30 but stayed open longer to wait for a train, but I couldn't stay there. They would re-open at 6:15.

I called my sister Angie who got a number for a nearby hostel and made sure there was a vacancy. I got a cab, lugged my bike and all my gear up 2 flights of stairs to the hostel, and a few minutes later entered a dark room with 3 bunk beds and clothing thrown around everywhere. I found an empty bed, threw some clothes off a ladder, and climbed up.

The next morning I got to the station with plenty of time, and the baggage guys were really nice about boxing my bike up for me (and it only cost $5 for the entire operation). I got on a train headed for Monterey, and 29 hours later we pulled into the Salinas station, where I was met by my friend Emily, her husband and new baby. So here I am.

I kind of feel like I am running away from running away. I feel bad for the people who were really excited to see me finish this for my own sake and who helped me in the process. I know this must seem strange but I don't regret it. I don't regret having had this to look forward to and prepare for. I don't wish that I had simply never planned for it just because it had the promise of an enormous challenge. But I also don't regret re-assessing the situation once I had experienced that level of anxiety and, honestly, terror, for several days straight, and with many more to go.