The night before the trip began, a double rainbow appeared over the Atlantic in Yorktown. From the hotel courtyard, we all joked how it was a good omen for the trip. It turned out it was more than just wishful thinking: TransAm 2016 was, by any account, a complete success, and I’m sad that it’s over.

San Francisco, and California in general, met all of my ridiculous expectations. The Sierra Nevada mountains felt an awful lot like the North Cascades, riddled with small, picturesque lakes and forever-reaching trees. Sacramento and its surrounding suburbs were quaint, while Davis was probably my favorite place from the trip, a town I could absolutely see myself living in.

I had forgotten how magical the end tire dip is. After driving over the Golden Gate bridge, Kaylyn and I biked through Fisherman’s Wharf to meet up with the team and lead them to Crissy Field, where friends, family, champagne, and unforgettable memories awaited the team (Debbie’s daughter Alisha made an excellent video of the beach celebration).

Reaching the end as a Route Leader offers a different kind of satisfaction than reaching the Pacific as a cyclist. August 4th, 2014 remains one of the best days of my life, having reached the Pacific purely by bike. Riding every mile is (breaking news) a challenging physical feat, but being a Route Leader is more of a mental and emotional task at times.

I had ~36 hours in San Francisco before my redeye, and felt like I did well to make excellent use of my limited time. I think I took more Uber rides during my day in S.F. than I had the previous year combined, checking out every neighborhood. Chinatown, the Mission District, Pacific Heights, Embarcadero, and so on. I adore San Francisco, and could spend a lifetime exploring all its neighborhoods (and eating at the never-ending list of quality restaurants).

Now that it’s over, I’d like to point out some things that I was terrified of acknowledging for fear of jinxing them.

The weather this summer was dry and perfect. We had so little rain, I don’t even know what most of our rain jackets look like. We had tailwinds through the flats. It never got too hot (at least for my liking). There was no flooding. None of these were true of last year, so I kept on waiting for the weather to worsen but it never did. Also, I have now gone two straight summers without getting a flat. I want to chalk it up to smart riding and quality tires, but after a certain point, flats come down to luck and I’ve been rather lucky.

Assimilating back into society hasn’t gotten any easier, and this year I’ve been feeling especially emotional. It’s allllll over.  I think leading two tours is plenty for me, and I’m no longer Bike the US for MS’ Program Manager. I’m not even sure where to start when describing my time as an employee there. It’s the coolest job I’ve ever had and I loved it. For the thousandth time, I thank Don, Cassie, and the board of directors. Bike the US for MS has shown me the world and I’m grateful to have been involved in all these different ways. It’s been so much more than just riding my bike places and helping others ride their bikes places. I got to see as we wrote checks to MS patients who needed new wheelchairs, lifts, and so on, and I’ve read the thank-you notes they’ve sent weeks later.  I’m not done riding for MS, that’s for sure.

And to the TransAm 2016 team, I miss you all already and running around asking strangers how their ride was just isn’t the same. You’re all stars and I hope we can hang out and ride again soon. I am so proud to have been a part of this group.

And because I love a good cheesy quote, I’ll cite Robert Frost: “In three words I can sum up everything I’ve learned about life: it goes on.” Life is more or less going on for me, and it’s equal parts exciting and terrifying.

Thank you for reading.

In 1875, Ebenezer Bryce settled in south-central Utah, becoming the otherwise empty area’s first permanent resident. He famously described the land as “A hell of a place to lose a cow,” and he would go on to be the person for whom Bryce Canyon National Park is named. If southern Utah is a hell of a place to lose a cow, then I’d be interested to hear what ole Ebenezer would have to say about riding your bike through it.

For the first time this summer, I felt like I was in a place that was totally unlike anything I had ever seen before. Utah felt like Mars, but with roads. The painted canyons are even deeper reds and beautiful in person, and they’re all that exists out there. At camp, the temperature plummets in the 40s at night and heats back up in minutes when the sun rises. You wake up with a dry mouth and black boogers because of all the dust, and heaven help you if you run out of water. I honestly have no clue what would compel someone to ride the Western Express without support. There’s just no resources out there. This is a common thread out west.

Cedar City, Utah, home to Southern Utah University and some apparently impassioned karaoke singers (as we learned on our night out there), was our outlet into Nevada. If Utah is remote, with towns small and far between each other, Nevada is nothing at all.

We’re riding through Nevada on US 50. In 1986, the now-defunct Life magazine described US 50, saying, “It’s totally empty. There are no points of interest. We don’t recommend it…We warn all motorists not to drive there, unless they’re confident of their survival skills.”

Nevada has leaned into this harsh criticism, proudly describing 50 as “The Loneliest Road In America” and each town along the route has passport stamps for The Official Survival Guide to 50 (the bit of literature from which I read about the Life quote). Collect enough stamps along 50, mail them to the Nevada state offices, and they’ll send you a certificate signed by the Nevada governor declaring that you survived Highway 50.

So, yeah. We’re riding our bikes along it? Again, I don’t know how anyone could ride this route on their own, it is so mind-numbingly desolate that to be out there alone is terrifying. You’re at the mercy of the sun, and if you were to get heat exhaustion or have a mechanical issue on your bike, the odds of someone driving by you are slim. It’s so unexciting I haven’t even taken photos of it. There’s simply nothing to look at.

Nevada is an area that clearly wasn’t meant to be inhabited. The heat and lack of vegetation, water, and resources makes you feel like nature is saying, “Get out of here, everything here is dead.” And so that’s what we’re doing.

In two nights we’ll be into California, and in six days we’ll have reached San Francisco. The last week is always mentally challenging for me: I’m just so excited to get to civilization and welcome the team into the Pacific, that I’m begging the days to go by faster. Knowing just how great the end is makes the final riding days feel that much longer, but I’m doing my best to enjoy the time left and to not focus on the glee that’s awaiting us in San Francisco.

 

I’m unsure where to start, so I guess I’ll dive right in.

A week ago, Bike and Build cyclists Anne Davis and Laura Stark were hit by a car while biking. Anne was killed and Laura is in critical condition.

This is my third summer on a cross-country tour, and this is the third time I’ve heard of other cyclists on charity rides getting hit and killed by cars while I was on the road. In 2014, Jamie Roberts was killed while riding with 4K for Cancer. Last year, Patrick Wanninkhof was killed while riding with Bike and Build. Before then, Bike and Build suffered losses in 2010 and 2011, as Paige Hicks and Christina Genco were hit and killed while riding.

I apologize if there are other losses that I haven’t heard of and am not listing. I really hope that’s all there is, and all there ever will be. Digesting these stories hasn’t gotten easier. I can’t help but feel afraid I might be next.

Cycling across the entire country, and cycling in general, are inherently dangerous, but that doesn’t make these accidents okay. And it certainly doesn’t mean they’re not preventable. I’m afraid some drivers see cyclists as intruders on the road instead of as people with lives, with families, with futures. No hobbyist should have to be afraid of getting killed by someone else while doing what they love, yet it’s the sad reality cyclists face.

Of course not every driver is aggressive, and I’m regularly passed by people who slow down and give the legal amount of space while overtaking me. But those who do drive aggressively toward cyclists keep me up at night, and they fail to realize that when they’re buzzing someone, honking, yelling, and most terrifyingly, running them off the road, that they’re putting another human’s life in danger. I try to empathize with people who do this, but I can’t for the life of me figure out why someone would turn someone else’s life into a game of inches instead of taking an extra five seconds out of their day to pass safely.

There’s nothing I, or anyone, can say that makes the passings of Anne, Patrick, Jamie, and the hundreds of other cyclists who are killed each year, easier. This isn’t an attempt to eulogize people I never knew. It’s just a plea to, if you’re a driver, please consider that cyclists are people. They’re fathers, mothers, sons, and daughters. Just take the extra time to pass safely, and please, please don’t text/talk/drink and drive.

I hate vague statements like “X is more than a Y” but for me, cycling has been more than a hobby. It’s given me a job, friendships, and countless hours of joy in the saddle, and I don’t plan to ever stop riding. It’s just hard to want to when I hear about what happened last week. I’m not the only one who’s afraid.

I can’t imagine the sadness everyone impacted by these fatalities is feeling. On behalf of Bike the US for MS and the 2016 TransAm team, I extend every sympathy to the Davis family, Stark family, and the entire Bike and Build community. We’re thinking of ya’ll.

I’m in Cedar City, Utah, a mere 12 days away from San Francisco. After last week, I just want to use my final dozen days as a Bike the US for MS route leader to get this amazing team through the Nevada desert safely to the bay. I’ll post some pictures and anecdotes from Utah when I’m feeling more up to it.

RIP Anne, and best wishes to Laura.

 

Much of the joy of the TransAm has been how new everything is. A year ago, I was mostly concerned about reliving all the best parts of my 2014 tour, which was a mistake. This time, I haven’t even been in many of these states, much less stayed the night. The childlike wonder I felt in 2014 is back: I have no idea what to expect each night. And it’s been really rather nice.

Eastern Colorado is remote and flat, with Pueblo being the only point of interest east of the Rockies. Though Pueblo itself was really interesting. The Arkansas River rips straight through Pueblo, and it was once a major steel mill city, bringing in immigrants from all over. It was truly refreshing to see some diversity in culture following the monotony of towns in Kansas, and the moment you’re west of Pueblo, you’re in Rockies.

Since then, we’ve been at least 5,000 feet above sea level as we’ve climbed and descended through the Rockies. The landscape out here is breathtaking twofold: the mountains are beautifully imposing, and it’s literally hard to catch your breath out here due to the elevation.

I say this all the time, and have probably written it in the past, but it really is shocking how quickly it’s gone by. In three weeks, I’ll be in San Francisco, which is just wild. We’re on the western edge of the Rockies in Telluride, with eyes set on Utahn canyons and Nevadan deserts.

I’m a bit pinched for time, so here’s a photo diary from Missouri and Kansas:

A cyclists’ hostel in Farmington, MO complete with air conditioning, laundry, and beds. Basically a five star hotel.

There’s quite a bit of hooplah about Virginia on the TransAm. I didn’t really want to believe my native land was considered hellish, unforgiving, and among the most challenging states on the route. But compared to Virginia, Kentucky was much smoother, literally and figuratively.

Adam said Kentucky’s slogan might as well be, “Kentucky: Pretty much what you thought it was.” There’s Wildcats gear everywhere, every local town seemed to have a bluegrass festival, and the countryside was vast and serene. I don’t have many interesting things to say about Kentucky. It was nice. I turned 25 in a place called Booneville, which is a sentence I never thought I’d write. I had a wonderful day, yet it’ll be forever afflicted by the shooting in Orlando. My heart aches for all those affected and lost. I am disgusted at the Senate’s faux empathy for the LGBTQ community, and I hope and hope and hope that the LGBTQ community gets the protections it deserves and that firearms are embargoed. I digress.

But we’re onto the midwest! After a night in the eponymously named Cave In Rock, IL, where there’s a (you guessed it) cave in a rock, we have a day off in Carbondale! Oh, let me tell you about the Green family and Carbondale.

Brian Green is a Bike the US for MS legend, having ridden and route-led both the TransAm and Northern Tier from 2010 to 2013. Now, when the TransAm team rolls through his hometown of Carbondale, his family puts everyone and them some. Yes, they provide smoked turkeys, homemade garden salsa, kegs of beer, and (brace yourself) HOME-MADE ICE CREAM SANDWICHES, but just being around a family who are so enthusiastic about the cause and willing to talk with us about our travels (they know more about the routes than I do) is a dream. They’ve done so much more than just house and feed us, and I really can’t say enough good things about them. Thank you to Pam, Gene, Brian, and the entire Green family.

It’s shocking to think we’re 1/3 of the way through the trip already. In a few days we’ll be in Missouri, before going into Kansas. Keep sending me your addresses and I’ll keep sending you postcards from bizarre places. Best wishes.

“Route leading is cake,” I thought to myself, like an idiot in the spring, arrogantly undermining the calamity that is the first week of any trip.

Week one of TransAm 2016 was consistent in its attempt to smash both my sanity and the team’s collective legs, but we are here in Kentucky, and things are settling in.

 

Having a gaggle of alumni around for Virginia was a delight, and if you’re reading this Rob, Zach, Joe, Brian, or Olivia, come back. We need you. These are the first three days of my entire Bike the US for MS experience which Joe Letchford hasn’t been around for, and I feel like a lost child at a county fair. Come find me, Joe. Regardless, it was a really nice first week, highlighted by going along the Blue Ridge Parkway, rendezvousing with Harding in Charlottesville, and a much-needed rest day in Blacksburg.

Leaving Blacksburg was particularly hard, especially in light of some personal news: upon reaching San Francisco in August, I will be leaving my position as Program Manager with Bike the US for MS. I hope very much that this isn’t the end of my involvement with this organization, and I feel inclined to use cliches when I talk about all of the memories I’ve made thanks to Bike the US for MS. Holding this job has been a  joy, and I am forever thankful for the opportunity. Thank you, Don and Cassie.

What’s next for me is a meltdown for another time. Right now, I’m in Kentucky on the eve of my 25th birthday. All I want for my birthday is blue skies and a tailwind tomorrow.

Some final notes:

• Send me your address so I can send you postcards! I’m serious. mike@mikeplatania.com. Gimme it. They’ll be good. Promise.
• If you want, send me stuff! We get mail drops from the following towns on the following dates: June 20th: Carbondale, IL 62901 | July 1st: Larned, KS 67550 | July 11th: Telluride, CO 81435 | July 21: Milford, UT 84751. If you want to send stuff just address it “General Delivery. Attn: Mike Platania” (I like cookie dough Larabars, hint-hint-nudge-nudge).
• Since my photos are often too large for the free public WiFi I use to write these, check out my Instagram for more frequent photos of what I’m seeing and doing. Similarly, I’ll be using Strava whenever convenient.

 

 

 

 

“You have brains in your head. You have feet in your shoes. You can steer yourself in any direction you choose.”

 

 

 

 

In 2000, I was given Tony Hawk’s Pro Skater 2 mistakenly for my birthday. My best friend and neighbor, Tim, said he planned to get me Cool Boarders 3, but he and his mom could only find THPS2. 

I couldn’t be bothered that the gift was a second-choice, as we ripped off the cellophane packaging and threw the bright-yellow disc into my Playstation and logged hours into what’s now considered one of the most iconic video games ever. This happy accident has affected my life more than my nine-year-old brain could ever have imagined.

What followed were my teenage years, which I spent skateboarding, identifying as a “skater” and revering skating as the sun around which my life revolved. And my Mecca was California. Skateboarding was invented there. Jamie Thomas’ iconic Leap of Faith happened at a San Diego high school. California was where all the major companies were based, where all the best skateparks and spots were. School II in THPS2 was set in California. Blink-182 recorded “The Mark Tom and Travis Show” there. Things were happening in California, and I couldn’t get there, which only worsened my desire to get there.

“One of the great activities (for kids) is skateboarding,” Jerry Seinfeld said.

“To learn to do a skateboard trick, how many times do you gotta get something wrong until you get it right? And you’re falling and hurting yourself. You learn that trick, now you got a life lesson. Whenever I see those skateboard kids, I think, ‘Those kids will be alright’.”

16 years later, I still haven’t been to California, I don’t skate anymore, and Tim and I don’t talk nearly as much as I’d like. All of which bum me out, but such is growing up, I guess. I’d like to change all of these. At least I know I’ll get to do change one of them.

My employment at Bike the US for MS started in October, following two summers of riding and then route leading. My hiring is a testament to the notion that if you hang around long enough, you’ll eventually find yourself in the right place at the right time. And if you’re really lucky, you might find a way to weasel a paycheck out of it.

I’m really fortunate to have the job I do. It afforded me a chance to get out of my parents’ hair in Richmond and head back to Blacksburg, which has been a joy. I had struggled mightily to find work, as is documented on this site, and when I got a call with a job offer on the other line instead of another rejection, I was euphoric. I still am. And one of the fruits and vegetables that comes with being Bike the US for MS’ Program Manager is being a route leader when called upon. Last winter, I was called upon.

This summer, I’ll be leading a group of cyclists from Yorktown, Virginia to San Francisco, California. At long last, I get to go to California. I suppose it’s only appropriate that I go by bike.

The TransAm is a grand, obfuscating, and hot ride, a tour about which I know little. I’m really excited to write about it and share my experience here, and thank you for reading.

The final ride of the Northern Tier is a 33-mile trot from Snohomish, in through the north end of the city. We wake up at the Snohomish Youth Soccer Fields, tear down our tents one last time, zip up our kits, and get ready for the day of days. Our celebrations are uniquely calculated: the cyclists ride rogether down a puzzle of paths to Gas Works Park, which is where we first see the city skyline.

By the time the riders hit Gas Works, they’ve ridden 4,291 of the 4,295 miles on the Northern Tier. You don’t have to think about navigating the final four miles because the penultimate task for the route leaders is to rendezvous with the team at Gas Works and (literally) lead everyone to Peddler Brewery to present a donation to the Swedish MS Center, quaff beer, and embrace Don, Cassie, family members, alumni, and everyone else who made it out to Seattle.

Being someone for whom a celebration is for is a delight, but helping set the stage is a different kind of thrill. Riding out to Gas Works with Lucas and Joe and waiting for the team was unlike anything I’d ever felt before. We had a gaggle of 31 riders coming down the way, counting for us to take them to one of the most magical afternoons of their lives. We waited, knowing the champage was on ice, the hotel rooms booked, and the Pacific waiting.

After the revelry, we lead the team one last time to Myrtle Edwards Park, where our front wheels touch the Pacific. And just like that, the crescendo hits and it is over. It takes 69 days to cycle from Bar Harbor to Seattle, and it takes a few minutes for it to end. When everyone steps over the logs and onto the beachy rocks, they’re Bike the US for MS alumni, and everything present-participle about the trip ceases. And I think the abruptness of the end makes the connection to your teammates, trysts, memories that much more enduring. You never feel like you’re done being a part of the team. I waded in the ocean, knowing I was in a moment I’d surely romanticize and remember both immediately, and years after.

Seattle has only ever seen me in hysteric joy. I had resigned myself to having to wait another two months until Drew’s done riding the Great Divide before seeing him, but he surprised us in Seattle! He’s probably currently gliding south through Alberta (and if you’re reading this, Drew, I expect an equal amount of reciprocated postcards from the Divide). Colin, who is the Brand Historian for Eddie Bauer, took the time to show Joe and I around the company headquarters in Bellevue on our day off in Seattle. We ogled the office and talked about what it’s like being a creative type at a major outdoor retailer, and I left the office hopeful to some day have an interview there. The Pacific Coast team is made up of mostly Northern Tier 2014 alum, and seeing my Route Leaders was a joy. I spent a good bit of the summer explaining to the cyclists that I was merely trying to emulate the bang-up job my Route Leaders did, and seeing Ryan, Duncan, Kevin, Rob, Larry, and Kenny in Seattle was the greatest reunion since when Ford Prefect and Arthur Dent found each other in So Long, And Thanks For All The Fish. I feel like I’m dropping the ball by being home and not riding down the Pacific Coast with them.

Oh, yeah. Home! I am home. Though “home” may be a bit generous because I have no permanent address, no employer, and no sense of where my life is going. And these are issues which may not be soon fixed because my top priority is seeing all the people I love in this city, not, you know, molding my future.

In 2013, I lived with Drew around the corner from Pete, and I’d regularly cycle right past the Bike the US for MS vans in his driveway on the way to class. That was when Drew and I started fancifully talking about what it’d be like to someday ride across the country, but the commitment cutoff was pretty early on. We just let “someday” do the heavy lifting in those conversations. Fast-forward two years, and I’ve just caught a flight home from Seattle, and he’s cycling his way down to Mexico. We, and all of the Bike the US for MS alumni, are lucky.

When you cycle your way into a place, you have more time to see its personality, its quirks, all the weird little details which make it what it is. Now when I think of all the places I’d like to go, I think “Yeah, but can I ride my bike there?” Cheers to Bike the US for MS for showing me the world.

Cheers to the 2015 Northern Team. You made it, and I love all of you. I’ll be hard pressed to find a group of people as fun as you lot. Cheers to Lucas, Joe, Emily, and Ayhson. We may have lost more than a little of our sanity, but we made it, and I’d hug each of you every day if I had the means to. Cheers to my 2014 Route Leaders. I didn’t know what I was doing this summer, but the only reason I managed to get to Seattle was because of the example ya’ll set for me. Cheers to Don and Cassie. It’s one thing to follow your dream to the other coast, but to enable people to chase down their dreams is truly something else. And cheers to you! Thank you for taking the time to scroll down this far. Thank you for donating, for the kind words of support along the way, and allowing me to share the trip with you. It has been an absolute joy.

I stumbled out of the van and into the hospital. The receptionist was an elderly woman, and I tried to sound as collected as I could when I maladroitly approached the window and said, “I…can’t stop vomiting.”

I suppose it all started on our last day in Montana, when Ayhson found himself sick and sad on the side of the road adjacent Lake Koocanusa. He thought he drank some spoiled milk, and after taking him to the hospital, he was diagnosed with Gastritis. But somewhere lurking in his insides was a nasty viral infection which would soon have it’s way with nine of the 35 of us.

Long story short, the stomach bug made haste. One day, I rode 100 miles into Idaho and felt fantastic. The next, I was peeled over in the gym we were staying at, having to count down from three just to summon the strength to stand up. The infirmed were flanked on either side of me, most of whom showed signs of improvement throughout the day. But the evening rolled around and I still felt like a shell of myself (“Mike, you are actually green” – real quote from a cyclist), so to the emergency room I went! They dumped two liters of IV fluid into me and sent me on my way.

There are still pangs of the bug floating around the group, but we haven’t had to take anyone back to the hospital so I’m counting it as a win. Montana, a proper albatross, was sure to send us out of the state with something dreary to deal with.

I’m writing this from the public library in Tonasket, Washington, which is famous for being the hometown to actor/comedian/musician Jack Black. Tonasket also has a grand café called Shannon’s and a taco truck. Oh, and it’s like 100 degrees here! Which to most is hellish, but to me it’s home. And speaking of home, I am scheduled to be there in a week! It really felt real when I called my sister and said, “Let’s get dinner next week” and it wasn’t a joke. I’m very much looking forward to the opulences of the real world, but there are a few mountains to climb before I can get there!