I've set my alarm clock only a few times on this journey where needed for important things like massage appointments or cave tours, so I thought it appropriate to set it on my last day to make sure I'd have more than adequate time to make it to Santa Monica for my 4:00PM ETA. I had been urging myself over the past few days to "finish strong" so it would be pathetic if I missed my own finish line party because I overslept. That didn't stop me from hitting the snooze 3 or 4 times though.

When I finally got up Jim had already procured bagels a box of ridiculously good blackberries for breakfast. After that we loaded up his car to drive back to Newport Beach where I'd left off the previous day before taking a 12 mile detour riding to Jim's place. Jim suggested he ride with me at least through Long Beach which might be, as he put it, "interesting." I began to learn that when Jim used the word "interesting" it meant "problematic,"—in this case, dicey neighborhoods, bad traffic, and no bike lanes.

Jim took his tour guide duties very seriously. If you were new to cycling or at all skittish about riding in traffic, Jim would be your ideal riding buddy, hands down. He informed me of each turn in the route well in advance, explained what we would be passing along the way, and was exceptionally well-versed in the local geography, landmarks, and history.

The previous day I'd appreciated his encyclopedic knowledge and his protective warnings about every pothole, sewer grate, glass shard, crevice, and curb, but today it was exactly the opposite of what I wanted. I couldn't process all he was telling me, and I didn't feel like talking. On this momentous last day, the minimalist landscape of Huntington Beach under a hazy gray sky lulled me into an introspective state of mind. I caught myself zoning out, reflecting on all I'd seen and done, not knowing quite how to feel about culmination of three and a half months of adventure, freedom, enjoyment, hardship, pain, sweat, tears, a little blood here and there, and many wonderful people, places, and experiences. There is no way to describe it to anyone who hasn't biked 4000 miles across the country, and even if someone had, theirs would be a completely different journey with its own set of experiences. Therefore, nobody could possibly relate to what I was feeling at that moment. Ironically, despite the rare experience of having riding company, I felt unusually alone.

I struggled to think of a nice way to tell Jim that I didn't want or need him to tell me in advance what we'd be seeing or doing a mile from now or point out every obstacle in the road, but I couldn't think of one so I didn't say anything. I knew he meant well. I probably seemed woefully inexperienced to him, which in fact, I am. I am walking proof that anyone with half a mind to do anything can, regardless of training, preparation, or experience. Having heard Jim and other people talk about cycling "technique," I dimly recognize there must be more art and science to it than just sitting down and turning the pedals. But that's been enough to get me this far, and I've loved every second.

We stopped about 20 miles in for second breakfast (I'm going to miss eating Hobbit-style, especially elevensies) at Chuck's, a beachside diner where I ordered their breakfast special unnervingly referred to as The Weasel, a not particularly appetizing-looking but amazing-tasting concoction of eggs, chili, cheese, onions, fries, and toast. From there we headed into Long Beach, first through a very touristy area with a huge park, a ferris wheel, and lots of shopping, then into a grungy industrial area which strangely provided a welcome visual relief from three solid days of uniformly beautiful Southern California coastline. Finally, here were details that struck me, distinctive images I could remember and hold onto. Huge lots filled with flatbeds stacked on top of each other. Guys grilling chicken on the sidewalk. Faded 50s-style ads on sides of brick buildings. Smokestacks. An abandoned shopping cart. A bearded man staggering down the sidewalk yelling, "Where you going, woman?" A pawn shop.

As we cruised along toward Redondo Beach, Jim finally said, as though reading my mind, "You'll have to forgive me for calling out so many suggestions. I'm used to leading group rides and shepherding a lot of novice cyclists. I do realize that you rode 4,000 miles here by yourself, with no help from anybody, thank you very much." Thanks, Jim, and of course I forgive you.

At Redondo Beach Jim and I said our goodbyes and Merry Christmases and he turned around to race back home before he ran out of daylight, while I hurtled down a steep ramp onto the beach path for the final 20 mile leg of the journey. I felt out of place among the casual beach cruisers, roller bladers, and dog walkers as I excitedly raced toward Santa Monica and everything it represented. Home. Family. Friends. Civilization. My own bed. Routine bathing. Decent coffee and a million other small quotidien luxuries. A dream come true. One of the proudest accomplishments of my life.

Shortly after hitting the beach path I got stuck at a touristy pier where a sign told me to walk my bike through a knot of restaurants, carnival games, and cotton candy stands, all crowded with pedestrians. I realized in that moment that my brain is now hard-wired to travel at 10-25mph, as walking felt frustratingly slow, like wading through molasses, while riding to San Diego on the freeway the night before at 70mph had felt like hurtling toward certain doom. I keep saying I am done biking for a while but it turns out I'm addicted to the pace.

I could see where the bike path resumed on the other side of the pier, but no matter which path I took I seemed to encounter a daunting flight of stairs between me and it. I'd either have to drag the 80 pound bike up the steps; unload everything, take everything up in several trips, and reload; or keep looking for another way around. I finally rode into a parking garage, following its barely perceptible downward spiral to the level where the bike path picked up again, but STILL had to haul my cumbersome bike up a short stairway. I did so and was back on my way.

After that my ride did not deviate from the twisty paved beach path except for a quick detour around Marina del Rey, where I stopped to text my welcoming committee to tell them I was only 3 miles away. At that point I slowed down just a little to savor the last few miles through Venice Beach, through crowded T-shirt shops and medicinal marijuana clinics and skateboard parks. When I rounded a bend and first glimpsed the ferris wheel and roller coasters of the Santa Monica pier lit up against the fading sky, I simultaneously felt a huge, unstoppable grin spread my face and tears well up in my eyes.

<As I approached I heard clapping and cheering and then saw my group of friends standing beside the bike path welcoming me in. After a round of hugs, more tears, and lots of smiles and laughs I took the SuperTour for a dip in the ocean and then dove in myself. Everyone kindly pitched in to carry all my gear over to the parking lot where I dried off and changed in a public restroom before heading over to the Library Alehouse for a celebratory dinner.

I knew we'd come to the right place when, as we sat down for dinner, someone pointed out a bike hanging from the rafters. The management at the Library Alehouse supports various local cycling organizations, and when they heard about my accomplishment they sent me a glass of champagne and some desserts on the house. I felt so appreciative of everyone coming out to greet me and share such an amazing and life-changing moment with me, and particularly grateful to my friend Denise for organizing this in the midst of a move. In fact, she had dropped off her moving truck that afternoon just before coming out to the pier. Back at her new apartment, everything was still in boxes so we sat on the floor of the kitchen and opened a bottle of wine.

Denise's boyfriend Richard asked me a question that, surprisingly, nobody has asked me yet: what is the biggest thing you've learned about human nature from this ride? I wasn't quite sure I had a complete answer yet, but I said that this trip has proved my theory that people are generally good, kind, generous, and helpful. He said that most people walk around fearing what would happen in a crisis: would they be able to deal with it, and would other people help out? He gathered from the stories I'd told at dinner that I had seen the overlap of my own resources and the willlingness of others to help. I think that's exactly right. I was always surprised that even at my most exhausted and burnt out I could always do more, and the help, support, and encouragement of complete strangers almost always exceeded my wildest expectations.

I may write an epliogue when I get back to Boston to describe the whole reintegration into society and/or my welcome home party on January 9th, but since this is the last official post of the ride I want to take a moment to thank my friends, family, and all the amazing people I was blessed to cross paths with along the way. I could never have done this alone. I can't possibly convey what it meant to me when you took time out to chat with me, send words of encouragement, cook me dinner, buy me lunch, offer roadside assistance, put me up for the night, give me a shower, let me do laundry, hand me gas money, help me figure out a route, give me directions, give me a lift, include me in your social plans, entertain me, root for me along the way, and pray for me. I know these probably felt like small gestures to you but each one was a huge deal to me. I have learned many things about generosity, hospitality, love, and kindness from you. Thank you SO much, and God bless you all!

Oh, and speaking of the welcome home party: all are invited, even (especially) if I've never met you in person. If you are in or can make it to the Boston area on Saturday, January 9th you are more than welcome to join in! Just get in touch and I'll make sure you get the details!