DAY 43: Sunday, May 22, 2022 – Our 39th Anniversary!

This writeup of our last day has been a long time coming. Since finishing this trip, I have been unhappily immersed in a medical nightmare that is now, hopefully, coming to an end. I’ll say more about it after you read about our happy ending.

82 degrees was too hot to be riding 62 miles, especially with humidity and hills. But we did it. About 15 miles after leaving Cotuit we were on the Cape Cod Rail Trail, praised by many as a lovely means for traversing the Cape. But like so many rail trails we found it boring, with just a few glimpses of water and no small towns or even coffee shops to tease us into stopping. Having ridden along the coastline of the Cape before, we knew this was our safest option so we rode the rail trail for its full length of 25 miles.

In Wellfleet we stopped at the PB Boulangerie for a shared lunch of quiche, salad, and raspberry tart, which powered us for the last 20 hot miles. Don’t let anyone try to convince you that the Cape is flat. The first few miles after lunch we rode along the coast then inland on windy, hilly backroads. Then we were on Route 6 for about 10 miles. It had a decent shoulder, but it was hot and we’d average about one climb every mile. Then the last 5 miles into Provincetown we rode on Route 6A along the western shore of Truro, past picturesque cottages along the shore. Aside from being tired and hot, it was a pleasant way to end a six-week adventure.

Finishing this trip on our wedding anniversary was perfect. We had a room waiting for us at the Gaslamp B&B. After cleaning up we had time to wander around P’Town, then a celebratory dinner out.

Monday, May 23, after a leisurely breakfast at the B&B, we took the ferry to Boston, then a bus to Portsmouth, NH. We had no trouble getting our bikes on and off the bus, then finished our adventure with a quick 3-mile ride home.

In looking back on this section of our ride around the perimeter of the United States, we agreed that, while we were glad we did it, we couldn’t recommend it. I asked Rob if he remembered any days where the landscape we’d ridden through was at all memorable. He said no, and I agreed. Unlike the West Coast, or Montana, or Arizona, there was no eye candy on this trip. We visited historical places in the south, we sampled new dishes, we stayed in some lovely reasonably priced locally-owned hotels and inns. And we had fun visits with family, friends, and Warm Showers hosts.

So, here it is, November is coming to a close and Christmas is on the way, when I am finally completing the story of our East Coast adventure. Why did it take me so long?

In every story, there are details left out. They don’t fit the story line. Or, in the case of a memoir, they are too private. In this case, I left out details more for the former reason.

As soon as we arrived home on May 23 I began setting up appointments to try to solve a medical problem that plagued me throughout our trip, that began long before we drove to Florida in April. It was the beginning of a long journey through our medical healthcare system, one brought on by nothing more than the inevitability of aging.

Beginning last December, I began having daily pain in the front of my thighs every morning, and sometimes in the evening. Some mornings it was bad enough that I’d pop four ibuprofin. Then I’d go ski, cross country or downhill, it didn’t matter, I was fine. I thought it was just a muscle thing. I tried yoga, foam rolling, massage. Nothing helped. Then, just before we began this bike trip, the pain extended to the back of my thighs and buttocks. Not all the time, but when it hit a nine or ten, on a scale of one to ten, I decided to see a doctor. I’ll leave out the details, but there was no time for an accurate diagnosis before we left on April 7. And my legs were mostly pain free while I was riding. I was concerned, but not enough to put off this trip.

When we returned at the end of May, enough blood work had been done to rule out all forms of autoimmune diseases and the only thing left was an MRI of my spine, which I had on June 3. The diagnosis was lumbar spinal stenosis and a misplaced vertebrae. The solution? First, physical therapy to build my core. Tried it, did nothing. Second, a steroid shot. That worked for a few days. Then the pain came back and kept getting worse. I could bicycle and go on easy hikes but there would be times most days when the pain was so bad I wanted to scream. I couldn’t picture myself living another twenty or thirty years with this kind of pain, even if the intense pain lasted for less than an hour every day. I never woke up in the morning without being reminded of it. I couldn’t run. I stopped playing tennis. I wasn’t climbing any mountains. Backpacking was out of the question. So was our planned bike ride around the Gaspee Peninsula.

I had no choice but to go on to the final stop on this painful journey, back surgery. So here I am, almost six weeks after a level 1 spinal fusion and decompressive lamenectomy, mostly pain free.

I’ve always said that Rob has enough chronic conditions for two people, so I was home free. Not anymore. Even if this surgery does what it’s supposed to do, one of the surgeons I spoke with said that, looking at my MRI, there will quite likely be other problems down the road. Until now, I’ve felt that the only thing holding me back from physical challenges is my own willingness to push myself to get in shape. Now I know that this is the beginning of an inevitable physical decline. The same surgeon told me that it would not be wise to put off any of the physical adventures I am wanting to do, because my time is limited.

But for now, I’m focused on my recovery. No skiing for me this year, but in a month I can start bicycling, and I’m already hitting the hiking trails. And they tell me that I’ll even be able to run again. I can only hope, and treasure every game of tennis, and every backpacking and bicycling adventure I am able to enjoy in the coming years.