Anticipation

"An intense anticipation itself transforms possibility into reality; our desires being often precursors of the things which we are capable of performing."

-Samual Smiles

While walking with controlled anticipation down the hall of the Salem, Oregon hotel, I leaned my pannier-loaded bike against the wall. I was a continental breakfast away from riding into day one. I soon found myself staring at a plate of waffles, eggs, and peaches and questioning my desire to put food in a stomach clenched tight with emotions. "Mornin'," a stranger said. "Where you headed"? I side-skirted the issue by saying, "Not far." "Lot of stuff on that bike to go not far?" he responded. There is a time, I suppose, when anticipation becomes reality. I mustered up all the confidence I had and stated, "I'm riding my bicycle across the United States." With that one admission to a stranger, I walked away from a world of anticipation and stepped into my new reality.

The air in Pacific City, Oregon (the starting point), was moist with recent morning fog. The town surrendered, it seemed, to Pacific ocean spray. Eastward mountains revealed lush greenery from time spent canopied with clouds laden with rain. Surrounding beauty, however, offered little comfort as I looked into the mountains and wondered if I would make it through the first day. Not allowing too much time to think, I swept the Pacific sand off my feet, put on my riding shoes, clipped in, and rolled away to the gentle hum of the tires. 78 miles of first-day struggle would ensue leaving uncertainty about my body's ability to cope. It seemed as though my Texas legs struggled up mountain passes both long and short. My heart rate stayed high as I grinded my way along roads of uncertainty.

For reasons unkown, I awoke the next morning and hopped out of bed with a zeal that surprised even me. My legs felt so fresh, so ready to ride, I couldn't help but look forward to the day. With new spirits I headed to the blinking truck stop dinner sign, ordered coffee, and found myself observing and listening to those around me. What I saw and heard, as simple as it seemed, changed my perspective and my mentality forever. The waitress took my order; her face was pleasant, yet lined from years of smoke and struggle. She kept holding the side of her face. When asked, she said she had a toothache. Her boss would let her take time off, but she wanted to work. To my right a truck driver with overalls and buttons that strained against his weight. The side of his head was shaved revealing a recent scar. He left a tip, grabbed his keys, hopped in his truck and went to work. Just like that, nothing said, no complaining; the guy went to work. The flag out front was half staff. The community, it seemed, had soldiers in Iraq. I'm beginning to see an America that does have standards, an America with people that ask for nothing and work for everything. An America that wakes daily, stands on its own feet, and strives, despite adversity, for a good life. I left that little diner in Coburg standing a little taller and understanding that my country is a great place to be. It will be an honor to see more.