All’s well that begins well.

And begin well it has.

Truthfully, I don’t believe it could begin any better.  Eight intrepid souls converged on May 2cnd, many of them having ridden for many days already, fully-loaded.  Eight-plus-one intrepid souls came together around a table in a breakfast room at an inn in Colonial Williamsburg –and with wit, intelligence, and kindness– discussed the guidelines which will govern our de facto tribe’s behaviors amongst ourselves and the world at large.

I have the utmost confidence in our group, and increasingly and surprisingly: myself.

I sat at the head of a table of nine, and spoke fluidly and confidently about what lay before us.  I had recently been advised by a seasoned Adventure Cycling leader to “channel my inner leader”– which sounded preposterous in the moment.  But  the moment I reached for the box of group gear to bring to the meeting; hoisting the bulk of pots and stoves and white gas and tee shirts on my shoulder… A wave of relief and ease washed over me, and I felt it would be alright.  I started speaking, and I knew it would be so.

That was yesterday.  Today we rode to Yorktown to dip our tires in the Atlantic Ocean:

Rainy yes, but deliciously so.  Warm.  Lush green deciduous forests on all sides…




Until the sea, that is.




And then shopping! And cooking!  And map meetings! And… And… all the things that set the rhythm we ride to.
And it turns out that rhythm is more akin to my own heartbeat than I’d reckoned.  I remembered the rhythm without thought.  Like remembering to pedal and breathe.


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