Why?

When people ask me what I do for a living lately, I tell them nothing. They then tend to give me rather quizzical looks, so then I go on to explain I've quit my job to bike across the country. Most people are very excited by the idea, asking how long it'll take to ride my motorcycle from here to Maine. I tell them I'm riding my bicycle across the country, and they look anywhere from a shade of incredulous to shocked to dumbfounded. "Why?" Not that most people aren't still excited for me and the idea of packing everything in to go on an adventure, I think it's the magnitude of the journey that prompts the question.

So why am I undertaking my journey? Well, I've always wanted to bike across the country, ever since I was in high school. Right after graduation, I tried to convince a girlfriend that it would be fun to buy bicycles, train together for the trip, and set out to see the country with nothing but the wind in our hair and the stars in our eyes. It turned out the stars in my eyes blotted out the reality that the bikes we bought (cheaply, from a third rate department store - they seemed to be made out of cast iron with tires suited more for a farmer's tractor) were much too heavy; we were "training" by biking to our summer jobs - to get there, we had to follow a hilly, windy road with tons of traffic. It was sweaty work and by the time we got to our jobs we were already tired, and had a whole day of work and a ride back to look forward to. I tried to ignore the obvious and keep up our flagging spirits, but our training regimen failed quickly, and the whole trip and our relationship was cancelled not long after our last ride home from a grueling work day (we both had jobs in the restaurant business, not so much fun in the summer.)

I never forgot the dream, though; I bought better bikes, went for longer rides, kept imagining the fun of being out on the road. But living my life seemed to keep getting in the way of the trek, as it can and often does. I went to college, got a job, was in a long term relationship, got another job. got lazy. I managed to cross the country in a car a few times (fun but probably irresponsible now, in the days of global warming and our dependence on foreign oil - a guilty former pleasure, I guess), got a few more jobs, and now here I am.

The opportunity to make the trek presented itself not long ago. I was working as a paralegal, the definition of drudge work, at a law firm I liked only a little more than a six year old likes spinach. I worked there solely for the salary, which is probably the reason most paralegals (or most of us in general, I suppose) do what they do every day. And in San Francisco you either bring home the bacon or you end up scrounging through a dumpster looking for dinner - seriously, the City has become an incredibly expensive place to live, and if you're not willing to do the work necessary to bring home a San Francisco sized paycheck you can't live here.

I was given a terrible review at this spinach factory, and I had what I think can be called a moment of clarity - I could stay on at a job I didn't like (and apparently didn't like me) in a field I fell into, or I could quit and make a total life change. I quit ten minutes after my review was over, packing the things at my desk I wanted to take and leaving the rest. I knew I didn't want to be a paralegal anymore; I knew I didn't want to work in an office anymore. I knew I couldn't afford to live in San Francisco anymore. A situation with dire consequences, no job in the big city? Or a golden ticket to a new life in another city?

A good time to ride my bicycle across the country. Why? Because I really do want to ride through the U.S. with the wind made by my pedal pumping legs in my face. Because I want to camp out by the side of the road listening to the howls of coyotes as I fade off to sleep. Because I want to meet the people of America, and visit their towns and eat their food and talk to them, whether I speak their language or not. Because I want to be at a fork in the road and choose which way to go without knowing exactly where I'll end up. Because I can - I'm single, I don't have kids, and I'm fairly young (38 is the new 25, right?) Because life is short and I don't want my greatest achievement in my old age to be my old age. Because maybe, just maybe, in the end I'll bike down the road I'm looking for.

That's why.