I was trying to come up with a clever title, but the truth is that one word says it all. Certainly it conjures a different image for each of us, but I imagine the underlying feeling is similar. For me, coming home meant letting go of that sense of caution that comes with riding, of always having to be on the alert, and it meant not having to plan what came next.
But I am getting ahead of myself. I still had a 104 km to go. Yes, coming the backroads from St. Marys, following a route I have taken many times on my 200 km training rides, took me quite awhile. I went no faster than the day before, but it felt different; I wasn’t struggling against the wind. I accepted its presence, knowing i would be home soon enough, and I was on familiar roads, with very little traffic, so I could relax and enjoy those final miles. I saw familiar friends along the way; well, I saw them as friends; at least they didn’t run away from me.
It was an overcast day, offering a few raindrops but no more; occasionally the clouds parted, and the sun lit up the maple trees as I went along.
Coming into Guelph and stopping at my mum’s, I was finally home. I could feel not only my shoulders relax, but my mum’s as well. Once again, I had asked her to bear the anxiety of me travelling across the country by myself. She did so graciously, but her relief upon my return said it all.
After catching up a little, I got back on my bike and rode the final few blocks to my new house. (Many of you already know that Phyll and I separated amicably in June, at which time we sold the school house, and I had the amazing good fortune to find a wee house back in my favourite neighbourhood, blocks from Exhibition park and from downtown.)
I opened the door to see Griff, our beloved, old dog, sprawled in the sunlight, sleepy and oblivious. It took him some time to wake up and figure out it was me, then he did his best to lick all of the salt off my face. It was a true celebration.
But there was still more to come, as my mum had organized a celebration with family and friends, complete with, yes, donuts! She had done her research and found that With the Grain was said to make the best donuts in Guelph. Well, I cannot argue. The bavarian cream I had was the best of my journey, but perhaps that was in part because I enjoyed it surrounded by my mum and dad, and the very best friends I could hope to have. It was a wonderful, sunny afternoon on my back deck, and I could not have asked for a better homecoming.
I have so much to process about this trip, and I plan to post again in the days ahead, but for now my tired mind has only a few conclusions to offer. If I had to say only one thing about the trip it is this: people are generally good and want to help. Given a chance to connect with with others, most people are eager to do so. I never forgot I was in the US; the cultural differences were always right there on the surface, but again and again I found friendly people who made my days easier, better, brighter through their gestures of kindness. Even a wave from someone across the field was enough to lift me up, and I needed lifting so many times. I also found ways to get through difficult moments, and to reshape them. I am not super human, not really exceptional; we all have that ability in ourselves. I know that many of you who commented on my resilience have dealt with challenges much greater than the one I created for myself. You have faced illness and loss, and you have come through with incredible grace. I stand in awe and wonder of such, and I only hope to show the same grace when such challenges come my way.
In the meantime, I must face the quotidian challenges of cleaning up all of my gear, and of restoring the routines that keep me anchored to this lovely earth.