The idea came to me on a train in Ecuador during an immersion trip my sophomore year. I wanted to plan an adventure that would spur insight and reflection at the end of my senior year.
I also wanted to defer any responsibilities of work and money and anything else not concerning my physical and mental health. I wanted to be free before committing to medical school.
A cross-country bike trip seemed like a good way to bring all that together.
I rode on cliffs in Oregon that overlooked the Pacific Ocean and climbed passes with four-foot snow banks on either side. I saw steelheads swimming up stronger Idaho river currents, the Big Sky in Montana, buffalo and geysers in Yellowstone, and the ridges of Grand Teton National Park.
I shouted for pure joy as I gazed at my surroundings from Colorado’s Hoosier Pass, elevation 11,547 feet. It had taken me a month to get there, the highest point of my journey. From there I would begin the long descent to the plains. Then and there I knew nothing could stop me.
I rode toward vast horizons in Kansas and on the steep hills of the Ozarks and the Appalachians. On the Colonial High-way just outside of Yorktown, VA, I finally saw Chesapeake Bay. I laughed, uncontrollably, for at least 10 minutes. I had made it! I had traveled across the country on my bike, with little previous experience camping or biking, only to complete the journey with no real problems.
There was no single most memorable moment, but a stream of events populated with people—strangers, actually—who opened their arms and welcomed me into their homes, provided me with a warm meal, shower, bed, and laundry.
Jane was one of those people. I met her after a tough day riding in the Appalachians. Those hills really beat me up! The constant grade exacerbated the fatigue of seven weeks on the road. I had ridden a little over 130 miles—nearly 15 hours in the saddle—and well past sunset—when I rolled into the town of Lewisburg. Helmet-in-hand I approached a man and woman on the street to ask if they had
any camping suggestions. It was Jane who responded, “You can stay at my place if you’d like.” I was exhausted, and this stranger offered me a place to sleep, a shower, and anything in her refrigerator. Later I caught a bluegrass band at a bar with Jane and her friends. These sorts of unexpected random acts of kindness made the trip.
There was my friend, Paul Buescher ’12, who called me nearly every day. He made me laugh, had great stories, and listened to both the highs and lows. As much as I remember sights, people, and events, I remember exact locations or moments because I was talking to Paul. He rode with me in spirit.
About four weeks into the trip I found this quote from Lao Tzu in, of all places, a fortune cookie: “A good traveler has no fixed plans and is not intent on arriving.” Those words completely changed my attitude. I also took to heart the advice of a 60-year-old man along the way who said, “It’s only hills, wind, and miles. You can do it if you want.” Remembering that helped me to enjoy the little things, like
a sense of peace and serenity.
In that serenity I became attuned to the type of person I am and the changes I need to make to become the man—and the physician—I envision. I enjoy solitude and reflection, will always be hyper-motivated and competitive. I need to work on being compassionate. Trips like this inspire that. I believe people innately want to help one another, and I experienced that help myself. It validated my faith in humanity and made this adventure a learning experience I’ll reflect on for the rest of my life.