The theme of this second half is getting out of our own way.

It sounds so weird now, after the fact, to write this: but in the moment, I really had to get out of my own way once the intuitive hit of “go back on the trip and rejoin the group” landed.

I’d said goodbye, I’d come home, and fully unpacked, I’d left my feedback with the company and done my post-trip debrief call with the folks at HQ. I’d had some pointed things to say about a few experiences I’d had on the first leg of the trip, and suggestions for ways I thought they might address some of those items on future trips.

On their end, they’d cancelled the hotel rooms booked ahead for me, and they’d removed me from the group, and I’d opted out of the participant WhatsApp channel. I sincerely came home and thought I was done -done.

But as the dogs showed me they were ok, as we neared the end of their “quarantine two week window” and as I gave it more thought, I realized it was totally silly to take myself out of the remaining 17 days of the ride — when it was paid for, there were no refunds coming, and there was still plenty of time left to ride on the East Coast. 17 days in fact. By most people’s standards, my own included, that’s a pretty dang solid vacation.

It sounds really funny now, but I literally had to give myself permission to not worry what people would say, and to go back- to restart, and to rejoin the group. Trek Travel said they had to be sure they could get my hotel rooms re-booked, and then confirmed they could. My bike was still in the vans and had been riding along in the van without me while I’d been away. The dog facility said, “absolutely bring the pups back we’d love to have them here again,” (I know they’d felt really badly about me having to come home from my trip…).

So, two weeks to the day that I’d flown back from Billings, Montana, I boarded a plane once again and landed in Madison, Wisconsin. The next day the group would have their final ride of a ten-day block and then enjoy a rest day in Madison, so we reunited over their ride into Madison where the trek travel team met everyone with a hearty lunch (originally planned for the lawn at the Capital building, but due to rain had been moved to this gorgeous hotel/mansion owned by the Trek family).

I rejoined the group at the same time that a fellow rider named Ralf also rejoined. He had left the trip before I had due to some medical issues and had always planned to rejoin but had kept his plans fluid. We connected in the days prior to Madison and decided to time our return for the same time, knowing we both felt like outsiders now in the group since they’d continued to ride and bond while we’d been away. Again I know this sounds silly- Megan, it’s a trip you paid for, who cares what people think or say if you leave and come back, you spent the money and deserved to be on the trip. Yes. AND - in a traveling container of people doing a really hard thing together, the group dynamic was a really strong, powerful force. Regardless, I gave myself permission to show up again, with rested legs and a newfound appreciation for the trip, and was determined to make the most of the final leg.

Another reason I’d decided to rejoin in Madison is that the group had a very special outing on the calendar: a private after hours tour of Trek bikes HQ in Waterloo, as well as a dinner at the Trek Lodge, just across the road from HQ. There was also a ferry ride across Lake Michigan I was excited about…. And finally, I had friends Danielle in Madison and Cherie in Milwaukee whom I really wanted to see in person, and that made the return even more of a no-brainer.

Looking ahead, I’d seen that we’d likely be riding in colder, cloudier and wetter temps as we went east from Madison, and my projections were correct. We had several rainy days, and let me tell you- starting a ride in the rain takes a special mindset. It’s one thing to have rain start once you’ve been riding for a while, but it’s another animal when you walk out of the hotel doors to rain and you know you’re about to get soaked from the first pedal stroke.

From Madison we rode to Milwaukee, and then in Milwaukee we boarded a large ferry to cross Lake Michigan. To set the scene here, let me preface it by telling you that within a few hours of the ferry departure, the ferry company was very nearly going to cancel all ferry rides for the day due to the high winds and wake/waves on the lake. They decided to run the ferry, but as we arrived and saw the lake turbulence, we concluded we may be in for a rough ride. Within 10 minutes of being on board, staff was running around with puke bags, handing out motion sickness meds, cranking the AC and telling everyone to STAY SEATED. It would be comical, except that so many people suffered badly on this 2.5 hour ride.

The ferry pushed into walls of water that felt like we’d run smack into a brick wall. I had images of all the cars and bikes stowed below sloshing around into each other. I determined not to let myself get sick and really went deep into a mental reservoir of focus, with my eyes locked on the horizon, forcing myself to stay in control. While I felt ill and uneasy, I never felt like I’d get sick (thankfully), and towards the end, I was able to actually get some lunch in just before changing into my kit for our short ride to Holland.

Many in our group were not so fortunate- I’d say about 50% of us did okay, and 50% did very poorly and were extremely sick. I felt so bad for everyone who got properly ill… there is NO worse feeling than watching the clock tick the minutes slowly by while feeling helpless about your body being in total rebellion; it’s the worst. I had mad respect for everyone getting through the day and the short two-hour ride after. It was quite an eventful day!

From Michigan, we entered Ohio and rode to Rossford, Oberlin, and to Newbury. Ohio really blew me away, the parks and lakes were gorgeous and mixed in with some cloudy or rainy days were some delightful, sunny, warm days —and these were extraordinary.

The leaves were starting to turn as we approached late September and made our way from Ohio into Pennsylvania. We rode into Meadville and Bradford, and I got to enjoy my first time ever riding in Amish country, seeing families in horse-drawn carriages on the roads alongside us, before entering New York state and the city of our final rest day: Corning.

While some took the tour of the glass facility, I opted to lay low and rest for the day. The stretch from Madison to Corning had been big, with several days being 100+ miles, and weather and temps offering some challenges. At this point, I really felt several people in our group were getting anxious to be done. The fatigue of the daily routine- eat, ride, eat, unpack, sleep, repack- was wearing thin. The hotel breakfasts often left much to be desired, as did the hotel coffees, and people’s personalities were getting on one another’s nerves.

I was feeling all of this, (I pick up on a lot of things both said and unsaid), and noticed for myself that the group meals were becoming more and more stimulating and that I was craving more and more time alone in my room.

Thankfully while on the bike during the day, it was heaven; the C group that I rode with (myself and 3 other guys in their 60s) had become a well-oiled machine by this point. Little was said on the ride, we communicated with hand gestures and mutual understandings. As we’d become more efficient, we’d also become much faster, often finishing off a 100 mile day in 5.5 hours, which is really something when you consider just 4 people taking pulls and some of the winds we battled. It was also something to see that just one calendar week on Strava showed me riding close to 600 miles— something I’d never done up to that point.

Tim from MN (66), Steffen from Germany (62) and Robert from Manchester, UK (62) were strong and getting stronger by the day. Some days it was all I could do to just hang on and take my pulls.

The truth about that kind of effort and day after day exertion, is that you can really eat whatever you want and you’ll still be calorie deficient. It was fun to indulge in desserts with almost every dinner, snacks and treats on the ride, and more calories ingested than I ever believed possible. I had a whole new appreciation for why people say the Tour de France is really an eating contest. I saw everyone’s bodies changing in the group - amazed at how faces slimmed down, almost to the point of appearing gaunt, and leg muscles appeared more and more chiseled. Some handled the load well, some were starting to dig into a deeper and deeper hole and it wasn’t going their way.

Everyone was managing their own physical and mental stressors in different ways and with mixed results. Some wanted to deflect with humor and sarcasm, some expressed self doubt, some talked smack about other riders behind their backs. I picked up on a fair bit of judgment and couldn’t really understand it. Some felt directed my/our way, that our group wasn’t “enjoying the journey or taking any photos” really seemed to miff some folks. How funny, I thought, that we all paid to be here and yet some have thoughts about the experience we are choosing to have. Each day deepened my sense that this was a spectacular psychology experiment unfolding before my eyes. So much to see, hear and observe. For me, my work was remaining neutral in it, and trying not to “get slimed” by some of the negativity along the way.

My hero of the ride and a true master in many senses, was Jack Hudson, who turned 76 on the trip and was the oldest rider among us. A retired three-star general from the Air Force, Jack represented the very best of us as riders and human beings, and I watched him just methodically chip away at the miles each day and ride his own pace, putting one foot in front of the other. Even as he began to express that his fatigue levels were becoming bottomless, he still brought his smile and warm heart and kindness and sincerity to every group dinner. I never heard him speak ill of someone else or say a negative thing about anything. He fast became one of my favorite people on the trip to talk to and spend time with. As someone later said in our closing dinner, he represents all of the best of America and is what we all aspire to be like. He is pure gold- and he said his goal is to ride 100 miles on his 100th birthday; when he asked me, I fervently accepted the invite to be there as a rider when that day comes. Along the way he had numerous friends and family members join him and it just became so clear to me what an amazing human he is and how well loved he is.

And as I said- the group was struggling from the daily grind and while this was a vacation we’d paid for and signed up for, the truth is that some mornings it just felt really hard. But we had set departure times and we knew the routine and what I kept reminding myself more than anything was, “I’ve got one job today: to ride my bike from point A to point B, and what a privilege that is!” And also at any point, anyone could choose to ride in the vans and that was ok, too.

Some of the Comfort Inns and local lodges late in the trip caused further demise in morale— eating rubbery cold chicken at a Comfort Inn was honestly part of the whole experience. One night it was 5-star dining and the next night it was 1-star and we never really knew till we got there which it would be.

From Corning it was into Cazenovia and this really cute spot we stayed in called the Brewster Inn, right on Lake Caz. We rode from there to another lake in a really gorgeous area of leaves popping off like fireworks - called Piseco, where we stayed at this cute rustic lodge on Piseco Lake.

From there it was Ticonderoga (home of the No. 2 pencil), and into Vermont, riding into St Johnsbury. At this point we could taste the end of the trip, and I think people slipped back into savoring it versus rushing it.

Steffen our German stoic surprised us with some humor as he provided us the daily briefing in German before we departed Piseco Lake.

For me, my legs were officially hollow. I don’t think I’ve ever felt this before. They had nothing in them, and as my riding mates had just gotten faster and stronger by the day and I’d held pace with them, digging deep to take pulls and be part of the 4-some, there came a day when that pace and push were no longer doable for me. I just couldn’t turn the legs back on. It was a shame coming into the final days feeling so poorly on the bike but it was what it was.

I hated holding up my crew, and that led to us splitting into two groups of 2 in the final days, with Steffen from Germany refusing to let me ride alone, but slowing himself way down to accompany me. He’s got a heart of gold too and while we navigated language barriers the entire time, with his English being ok but him being difficult to understand, we figured out how to communicate almost wordlessly while riding. I was repeatedly humbled by his kindness, and by the group for waiting for me as my pedaling became more and more square-like.

On the last century ride of the trip we had over 8,000 feet of elevation as we rode the “App Gap” ———————————->

The leaves were changing, and the “leaf peeping” had everyone out driving and gawking. Thankfully drivers were kind to us despite it being a Saturday with fall festivities in full swing, and we made our way bit by bit up and over those mountains…

From St. Johnsbury it was into North Conway NH (a new-to-me state!) and my legs were officially dead. At this point I was limping through the day and was sad that I was more interested in getting the day done than savoring the final few rides. I just had nothing left, and at the same time, had so much respect for everyone on the trip who’d done the entire thing, unlike me getting a two-week break in the middle!

From North Conway we rode into Maine (another new-to-me state) and made our way to the Atlantic Ocean for a dip of the tires and photos and celebrations.

My cousin Jessica and her fiancé had driven in for the day from Massachusetts to meet me at the finish and take pics. It was so lovely to see them and get hugs and just to see everyone’s joy at the end. Tears of joy and also sadness at it being over were cried by many, including our wonderful guides.

That’s me on the far left, rocking my Maximum Enthusiasm team cycling jersey, wanting to represent our team and sponsors on this arrival at the Atlantic Ocean!

It’s really something to take 24 people — ordinary humans, ranging in age from 43-76 — who’ve never done something like this (well except for Stan, this was his THIRD XC ride!), and to help us travel 3700 miles across 15 states. Everyone finished; no one had dropped out (though, as I said, 2 of us had left mid trip and then resumed). That’s with massive credit to the 5 guides for feeding us and keeping our bikes rolling and shuttling us to dinners etc. Yes a few folks crashed. Yes a few folks had head colds or saddle sores or aches and pains, you name it. But everyone finished. That is really something special.

I learned a lot about myself: giving myself permission to rejoin the trip, reinserting myself into Group C, getting stronger, and then having really bad legs at the end and being humbled by the way I was slowing my group down, and so on. I learned a lot observing the people on this trip — those who were determined to have a great time no matter what and those who complained about literally everything, weather and food and hotels included. I saw really successful people being insanely rude to waitstaff and hotel staff as we overwhelmed some of these places, and then I also saw a lot of grace and humility as we were greeted with hospitality and kindness each place we went (that was my experience, anyways).

Our Guides from left: Sarah, Clara, Quill, Scott and George - what a great group!

I watched the guides navigate the personalities and demands on their time and energy, with immense grace and aplomb. Not easy. I would’ve lost my temper often, if I’d been in their shoes. Whew. Talk about herding cats! ;)

More than anything I watched people do far more than they ever thought they could, and that’s just so dang special. For me, the riding was hard, seeing new places was amazing, chatting with strangers all along the way was humanity-affirming, and having this trip out there as a big scary goal had been positively motivating and inspiring all year long.

Was my ride complete? No, not technically -there is a gap in the middle of my map. Do I consider this incomplete? No I do not. It was the exact right experience that I was meant to have and honestly I’m really glad the dogs called me back for two weeks, where I regrouped and reset for the second part of the journey. My entire 2026 was anchored around this trip, based on where I could train well and get the prep miles in, where the dogs would have a place to stay while I was gone, where and when I’d be able to get van trips in or other trips or adventures with this big one being such a large undertaking. Yes, it is often a bit sad when a goal of this size is no longer out in front of us but in the rearview now. I knew there would be a “come down” and I’m glad I prepared myself for it well in advance, as I imagine the post-trip blues caught folks by surprise. (I learned this after our world record ride in 2019 - we were all stunned at how sad we got after it was done. That wisdom carried into this for me as I really made a point to savor it while it was unfolding, knowing that at the not-so-distant future, it would be finished).

Bottom line for my own personal growth is seeing myself navigate the challenges of the mental/physical/emotional stressors in this traveling circus and at times letting it knock me out of my center, but then coming back into my center over and over, using the tools I have learned, seeing and observing and really working to not take things personally. With my routines, the way I do my day, how I eat, when I sleep, all of my “optimization practices” totally stripped away, being in new places and spaces and around people I both liked and didn’t like, and in a setting where I felt physically supported but not so much emotionally supported, I really got to see where my spiritual practices could carry me in times of stress and uncertainty. Truthfully— SO much of what I was feeling and picking up on in this group was simply not about me. This trip was a masterclass for me in deepening the medicine I’ve been growing for myself and particularly, in not taking things personally.

As I completed the circle of the hero’s journey, and came back into the ordinary world from the lower world/the road of trials, I feel confident in saying that I’ve returned with the “boon,” or gifts of the journey. One is knowing myself better. As my mentor said repeatedly on this trip, “you didn’t go there to make friends or influence people, you went there to meet yourself.” And I certainly did.

That is the beauty of travel, of doing hard things, or having new experiences. It always shows us who we are. In the lower world we often receive help from guides, or we receive blessings to aid us on the path. Those things were very true for me on this trip, and often in the most unexpected places!

A book I read when I got home (A Lion Tracker’s Guide to Life) summarized these sentiments perfectly, to the point where this line jumped off the page at me: “To me, a master is anyone who can be themselves in any situation.”
It’s a goal of mine, to be fully myself in any situation, especially after observing how I wasn’t always “myself” in this traveling circus dynamic of personalities and demands.

So hey…
Thanks for reading. I hope this inspires you to not only take the trip or do the thing, but to go into the lower world/road of trials and meet your own adversity down there and see what you come back with. If you’re not familiar with the Hero’s Journey, maybe you start by reading about it in Joseph Campbell’s work!

Reflecting on the hero’s journey and its relationship to life, Campbell writes:

What I think is that a good life is one hero journey after another. Over and over again, you are called to the realm of adventure, you are called to new horizons. Each time, there is the same problem: do I dare? And then if you do dare, the dangers are there, and the help also, and the fulfillment or the fiasco. There’s always the possibility of a fiasco.

But there’s also the possibility of bliss.

Here is the youtube video I made of the second half of the trip: HERE.

Here is the itinerary for the 2027 trip. (I believe their trips are booked out a few years w/waitlists but check it out and sign up if it calls to you! Use code TTMegan to save a little money, also! (So long as you book before the end of 2026).