Yorktown to DC to Home

380 miles. In a car.

I've made it home, the official, official, for realsies end to the adventure. Well, the physical part is over, but the journey always continues, so I've learned.

Yorktown was a delight. It was filled with grandparents, grandchildren, and 3 very classy young adults. The night we finished, we listened to a live jazz band on the town green with all of these sophisticated grandparents; I felt a little out of place in my spandex pants, but I fully enjoyed a relaxing evening before the madness began.

McKinley and I thumbed a ride from Yorktown to Newport News to avoid a 15 mile bike ride. Sure, it was only 15 miles, but our bodies were just over it. Plus, I didn't want to get all sweaty if I didn't have to. So we picked up the beast of a rental car, boxed her bike, shipped all of her worldly possessions back to Tennessee, met up with Stephanie and Brian for lunch, in which I twice had to drive over the 4-mile wide James River because Stephanie was too interested in our stories to be a good navigator, and then headed up to DC.

DC was great! Andy came down from Baltimore to spend the evening with 2 fabulous biker chicks. In tow was a gigantic bag of Maryland crabs, and some sauteed fruit and brownies to celebrate our kick-ass adventure. We played an epic long game of Jenga, which proved to be an intense match of 3, learned about the "trap door" on crabs, and had a feast until 3 am; I don't know how I didn't have a raging stomach ache after all of that food. Andy is a 24-7 party, meaning, he's always ridiculously silly, so it was a perfect second ending to the TransAm.

I woke up in the morning with a slight feeling of dread; McKinley and I were going our separate ways. Ugh, I always hate this part. Anyway, we navigated the city streets to get McKinley to one of the many museums. We hugged tight hugs, and of course, I cried. By the way, crying is not conducive to driving around DC, if you didn't already know that. An overwhelming sadness poured over me as I drove away. I never noticed her sunglasses go down over her eyes as I pulled away, but apparently they did. The closet crier strikes again. I just hope, for the benefit of strangers, it wasn't the ugly-cry-in-a-random-gas-station-in-Kansas cry. (Sorry McK, but I just blew up your closet spot)

I cried some more on the way home. The terrible news arrived of a semi-estranged friends dad who had just passed 2 days prior, and already being so sad, I sort of lost my shit. But I rallied well with a superbly awesome jam session; DC has some fantastic radio stations, and I clung on to them until I was listening to fuzz. I never thought I'd be so excited to blast Rolling in the Deep, and didn't realize how much I needed that alone time before getting home.

My plan was to surprise my mom; she thought I would be home 2 days later. After returning the rental car, I biked home, in a DRESS, and got a million looks. As I began to pedal away, I went to point out pot holes, forgetting I didn't have a riding partner behind me. Habit, I suppose. Once I arrived at the top of my street, I set up my camera and was able to video the whole surprise; my brother, Frankie, answered the door with a look of shock, and I bum-rushed my up the stairs and hugged my crying mother. Poncho, the best dog in the whole world, was also insanely excited to see his awesome momma once again.

So, that's my story. I am home and still riding my bike every day. I was so sick of riding, but I knew once everything was taken away from me, I'd want it all back, and that's just how it goes. Yesterday, I did a short 15 miles, but I cranked it hard in a high gear and went up hills fast; Hills that normally I went up at 4 or 5 mph, I was rocking it at a breezy 8 or 9. As sick as I was of being in constant transit, I miss my cycling life, and of course, my cycling partner; I have plans to visit in the fall.

Some favorite photos from Virginia: