Yes, that's it.

A soggy day in the country. Splattery and drippy out, steady rain. My mom's birthday and she's visiting and that's pretty grand.

I haven't checked into my cross-country bicycle journal for awhile to see what was happening 30 years ago to my 24 year-old self. Opening the pages I found my Fuji bike and me pedaling through the southwest and this morning I'll opt for a visit to that dry, hot weather. After having visited my sister for a week in Houston and having no desire to trek across Texas by myself, I'd packed my bike onto a bus bound for Sante Fe, New Mexico. There I met up with a tour of the American Conservatory Theatre in San Francisco, old friends who were performing "The Circle" and "A Month in the Country" in repertory and I enjoyed reunions of various kinds for a few days. Then off to Albuqurque and along the interstate for awhile before being routed back to 2-lanes. I don't know if it still holds true, but back then they allowed you to bike along the shoulders of the interstates in the southwest due to very few other road options. My feelings during this time were mostly expansive, aided by the sheer expansiveness of the land, I'm sure, which was breathtaking and majestic and challenging. I still battled negativity and looked for looming setbacks, but a great deal of the time I took in all the events, the chance meetings with colorful and generous people, the sights, the simple fact that I was doing this incredible adventure, with a mix of amazement and gratitude. There was some hostility from Indians I met, "warranted" I wrote down in my journal from the horrible treaty-breaking treatment we'd heaped on them over the years. That was the only dark spot, though. The long days were filled with steady ups and fun downs over mesas of various shapes and sizes. I crossed the Continental Divide; I lunched with a Senior Citizens group from Gallup atop a high rest park (they were dear and I have a picture of all of us posed together smiling); the dean of the Navajo school at Ganado, Arizona and his wife held a dinner party for me at their home inviting friends from the community to honor my ongoing achievement - they were so sweet and gave me a bed for the night and a breakfast to boot.

On July 24, 1979 I had 2 entries in my diary. By noon and the first entry, I had cycled 80 miles through Tuba City to Cameron where I had intended on spending the night because they had showers. When I got there and discovered the showers were on the fritz I was debating whether to keep riding for 30 more miles to Desert View and the Grand Canyon. I remember that noontime. It was so hot. I sat in the slim shadow of the side of a gas station and read several chapters from "Shogun", the book I'd brought along for the ride and which I'd rip out pages from after I'd finished them to rid myself of any extra weight. Around 3 or 4 I decided to go on and it was a steady, exhausting uphill for the next 30 miles. By sunset, I was there, amazed, spent, happy. There's an air of disbelief that I had made it in my 7:30 pm second entry. The campsites were all filled, but a kind couple from Vancouver who I had met in a general store a few days earlier between Sante Fe and Alburqurque befriended me and let me pitch my tent in their space. So kind. I was sipping a Coors beer and taking in the gorgeous light fading over the canyon. Glorious. I had done it! What a climb.

The next morning I would get up early in the clear, cool air and ride along the rim of the canyon about 20 miles to the main visitor's building at Grand Canyon Village. It was pristine, the air filled with the scent of pine, the sky clear and blue, all was silent except for the sound of my pedaling. At the Village, I sat on a bench and gazed out at the indescribable beauty of Grand Canyon. As I sat there, a tour bus came to a shushy stop behind me and the tourists disembarked. One rather large woman in tight pants walked to the rim of the canyon in front of me, looked into it for a second or 2, and then exclaimed, "Is that it?!"

Hmmm.