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by Nancy Sathre-Vogel
What do you get when you take two burned-out school teachers, their eight-year-old twin sons, and a brand new bicycle as long as a circus train? I can't speak for others, but in our case, the result was a whole year filled with magic. I'll never forget that day – the day my husband, John, came home after a particularly rough day in the classroom and said, "Nancy, I'm tired of this.
Let's quit our jobs, buy a triple bike, and take off with the kids." Never one to sit back and let life pass me by, I jumped on his plan wholeheartedly. Three months later we were ready: our teaching jobs had been quit, the big bicycle had been purchased, and my old bike rebuilt. Our bags were packed and good byes said. There was no turning back; there was only a year of adventure ahead of us. A year to pedal at will, turn on a whim, and explore sunsets without end. Ah yes, we were ready – ready to tackle this great continent of ours with our children, ready to live and experience and grow beyond our wildest imagination. Ready to be pushed farther than we had ever been pushed. And ready for magic.
On June 18, 2006 we pedaled away from our home in Boise, Idaho. John rode the "stretch limo" (bicycle built for three) with our boys, Davy and Daryl, while I followed along behind on a single bike. Anticipation, apprehension, excitement, and a little bit of dread filled our thoughts on that summer day as we wondered just what kinds of adventures we would find. It didn't take long to find out.
Those first few days went by in a blur. We pedaled when we felt like it, took naps under trees when tired, and reveled in the idea that we had a whole year ahead of us; 365 days of life in the slow lane. Sure, we sweated like pigs climbing hills in 105 degree heat, and our bums screamed in agony at the injustice of being suddenly forced to spend hour upon hour in the saddle. But slowly, surely, we fell into a rhythm which worked for all four of us: young and old, big and small, energetic and not-so-energetic.
Chaos-filled days where we couldn't remember where anything had been stashed gradually morphed into days where everything had its place, everyone had their jobs, and we were a team working seamlessly together toward a common goal.
As we took on and achieved tiny goals we set, we celebrated. Crossing into Oregon sixty miles from home was cause for a good ol' pat on the back; reaching the Pacific Ocean 550 miles away resulted in an even greater celebration. We looked back at those first few days of the journey and marveled at how far we had come; at how many hundreds of miles we had pedaled and the even greater emotional and mental distance we had traveled. Yeah, we knew there would be thousands of miles to pedal in the future, but we chose to focus on today; to live for the moment, smell the roses here and now, and relax and enjoy being together as a family.
As we spent our days exploring the spectacular Pacific coast, John and I marveled at our boys – how they took advantage of every second to play. Our break spots were anything but predictable, but Davy and Daryl became masters at the fine art of sizing up their surroundings in a fraction of a second and never found playthings lacking. One break might find them throwing rocks at a leaf "boat" as it floated merrily along in a stream. The next time they climbed off the bike sticks would magically transform into swords. They climbed trees or rocks or sand piles. They dammed up streams, blocked ant holes, and threw sand to stop waves from crashing to shore. They 'ooh'ed and 'aah'ed at starfish and sea anemones in tide pools, and buried themselves in sand at the beach.
Discarded Coke bottles became soccerballs, cardboard boxes turned into alien houses, and an old TV ended up being a throne fit for a king. No matter where we were, our boys found something to occupy their time, and we never heard those dreaded words, "I'mbored."
Days turned into months, and still we pedaled along. Summer turned into fall, and we knew winter wasn't too far behind. The beautiful fall colors brought with them cold nights and frosty mornings. Campfires became an integral part of our lives as days grew shorter and we had more hours in camp each night. We all loved sitting around the fire making fireballs with burning plastic bags and talking about anything and everything. There was no pressure and no deadlines. There was only here and now; and here and now was dang cold! Temperatures plunged into the low 20's as we explored the Grand Canyon region. We got used to waking up to frozen water bottles and a frost-covered tent. Fortunately, our sleeping bags were warm, but packingup in the mornings with frostbitten hands was anything but pleasant. In fact, it was downright brutal. We made a beeline south – off the frigid high plateau.
Our wheels kept turning until we crossed the border into Mexico and began a whole new adventure. Baja proved to be just what we needed after nearly six months in the saddle. Day after day we pedaled beneath massive cardon cacti and boojum trees. Night after night we found spectacular campsites out in the desert where the boys could roam and explore to their hearts' content. Peaceful, idyllic days where we frequently pedaled no farther than twenty miles were exactly what we needed to replenish our spirits and energy reserves.
None of us expected mainland Mexico to be quite so different from Baja, nor quite so fascinating. Mainland Mexico threw more unique situations at us than the previous seven months: we stayed with a gold miner, helped out at a dairy farm, and took shelter in a tin shack in a migrant workers' camp for a night. The boys helped catch a raccoon, nearly got lost in corn fields, and Davy managed to get a cast on a badly sprained wrist. Each day Mexico threw another twist into our journey, turning our family trip into a true adventure, and we continued on despite it all.
Back in the USA we camped out in the middle of a major maneuver by border patrol agencies against drug smugglers, fought head winds from hell, and met more wonderful people than we could have dreamed of. We crossed the Texan plains, ground up the Arkansan Ozarks, and played in the mud of the Missouri River. We cycled alongside Amish horse-drawn carriages and pedaled through Manhattan in pouring rain. Each and every day was a new adventure, and we awoke every morning wondering just what today would bring. Some days went smoothly, other days were anything but. We learned to treasure each moment, knowing that each one was part of the "chicken soup" that had become our journey. Each moment, each ingredient in the soup, added more magic to our lives.
9300 miles and twelve months after we first hit the road, we caught ourfirst glimpse of the Statue of Liberty. For centuries, Lady Liberty has signified a new life and a new beginning for immigrants as they arrived in the USA. For us, she also signified a new life – the end of our journey and beginning of a "new normal". All four of us have been indelibly changed by our adventure. We've been touched by angels and beguiled by magicians' charms. We've laughed and cried; we've sweated and shivered. And we've returned to Boise forever changed by our experiences.
Our family adventure has forever changed all four of us. John and I have been privileged to have the opportunity of being with our children 24/7 for a year – watching them grow and mature into responsible young men. Davy and Daryl have seen more of North America than most Americans do in their lifetimes and have gotten to know people of all walks of life. There is no doubt in my mind that each of us is far richer for living this journey and that we've learned lessons we will take with us on the rest of our journey through life on planet Earth.
About the author:
Nancy Sathre-Vogel and her family returned home to Idaho in June 2007 after one year on the road. They will be taking off again in June 2008 to pedal from Alaska to Argentina – and there is no doubt in anyone's mind that they will learn even more on that journey. You can read about their past and future adventures at www.familyonbikes.org
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