Suddenly it was time to leave.
For six months most of what I'd done every day was ride a bicycle in preparation for a 3,300 mile journey west to Santa Monica. I woke early, rode thirty to fifty miles on the Tobacco trail near my Durham, NC home and then catch a nap, have a big middle of the day post-ride meal, read, write some and go to bed. Rinse and Repeat. Rinse and repeat for six months.
I rode a thousand miles before thinking I was ready to ride 3,300 miles. And it wasn't enough, not nearly enough as the Blue Ridge Parkway proved. "Martin," my mother told me when we stopped in Tennessee to se her,"you could get get to the Mississippi and stop since that is a big body of water".
My mother was worried. But if we could make the mighty Mississippi we could make Santa Monica.