I then traveled northeast on Highway 191 towards Guthrie. The bottom photo was the view as I looked back on the route I had just taken. It was definitely a very lonely portion of road and I took my time knowing the importance of warming up for the climbs soon ahead.

But a pass is a pass and it was indeed a tough one. Bend after bend in the road, I engaged in mental tricks to encourage myself. I replayed upbeat 1970's and 1980's music over and over in my head, and resolved once again that I would have a large dance party in my small Colorado town to celebrate my feat when it was all done. My dear friends Derrick and Anne, who generously picked up my mail, opened bills, and paid them using my checks, will surely be there, I thought. I went into my own fantasy world, envisioning the dance floor and the sound of tunes, thinking I would recall this very moment of me struggling up this eastern Arizona pass. It helped.

NOTE: As of this writing (April 11, 2008), the dance party has not yet happened, but it will. It's just a matter of timing and working out some details! :)

Thank heavens for the one and only convenience store and a nearby porto-potty for construction workers at "Three Way" - the junction of Highways 191, 78 and 75 in Greenlee County. See Mule Creek on the sign? That small New Mexico town was along the route.

The Loneliness

I peddled out on Highway 78 (photo above) eager to continue towards the New Mexico state line just 20 miles away. As you can see, another mountain range was out there - the Big Lue Mountains.

This road was very quiet, really quiet! There was nothing but myself, some nice views, the sound of occasional wind gusts, and a vehicle in either direction every five minutes. That was it!

Yes, bicycling across America was an intensely lonely experience. I'd like to think I'm well acquainted with the experience of loneliness. I have been single my entire life, work alone, run a business alone, cook all my meals alone, live alone, go on vacations alone, etc. Ah, but this trip provided me with a new experience of loneliness.

A week before my trip, a supportive woman at my church enthusiastically suggested I would have all sorts of wonderful interactions with people, where God in his masterful planning, would set circumstances just right for me to be a blessing to someone. "You will be Jesus to the people you meet!" she insisted.

After two weeks, however, the results were clear: I could have been Jesus to more people if I would have stayed home! Out here, it was just myself and the road, my bike and my body. I simply did not encounter many people. Imagine spending 5-7 hours everyday on a bike on side of the highway without speaking to another person. I saw hardly any bicyclists for much of my 45 day journey and definitely none on today's route. My social interaction was limited to when I sought some kind of service, mainly eating at a restaurant, buying supplies in a store or paying for a motel room. Lastly, being exhausted after a day's ride did not provide much ambition to seek meaningful connections either.

I thought a lot about this woman's suggestion while cycling and perhaps I was too cynical. Now representing Jesus is definitely a noble endeavor, but I observed an ironic twist: I needed people to be Jesus to me! I was the one without a car, appearing as a transient in their town or sitting by myself in restaurants. I was the one who was sometimes confused, frustrated and anxious about being in an unknown environment, or acutely needing an encouraging word to boost morale.

On this journey, I was the lonely pioneer embarking on a task few would ever consider doing. Heck, the vast number of people out there seemed anethema to the concept of exercising regularly in any form. Even though my heart warmed as I thought fondly of supporters back home in Colorado, the reality in this world of highway shoulders, motels and convenience stores was most people did not give a rat's ass about who I was or what I was doing. It was a profound loneliness indeed.