Ace of Hearts — The Biking Jay

51 days

3446 miles

I prepared with diligence for my last day of riding. I lubed the chain, set aside my Sunday best -- the spare cycling uniform I try to always keep clean and ready for emergencies -- and even gave myself a little pedicure with the Benchmade 154 cm. Despite this, I didn't particularly savor the last 100 miles or so. I've waited to post until I arrived in New York City because I wasn't sure I'd survive that stretch on the 9W, terrifying enough as is (a shoulder that disappears at will, grates and potholes that push a rider further into traffic) but New York drivers are in a class of their own. They don't give a fuck about you.

And then there are the trucks. I wept every day of this trip for the dead deer, fox, rabbit, squirrel, turtle, porcupine, raccoon, and skunk left to melt into the hot pavement. But the thousands of bugs that met their death when they crashed into my glasses or my mouth or my spokes or whatever were nothing but an ignorable inconvenience. To the leviathans of steel trucking in supplies for nyc's residents, I am but a bug. They're probably already insured against my death.

In the last few days of riding, the altitude differential between point a and point b (Albany and nyc) was just a few hundred feet, but I faced more than 6000 feet of climbing through these damned rolling hills (highest point in the Rockies was 5610, by the by). And it's been hotter and muggier than hell. Toward the end of it, I was praying for the land leveled by developers. Ten miles from the George Washington Bridge, I entered New Jersey. Brand new asphalt, massive shoulder, lush green roadsides, and nothing but downhill all the way to the bridge. Before I knew it I was crossing the Hudson. I stopped to take a quick picture and was yelled at by some passing cyclists. I made it.

When I was 9 years old, my aunt KJ (who at the time lived in nearby Larchmont with daughters Kelsey and Laura) took me on my first trip into Manhattan. We got out at grand central and after walking a few blocks down Park Ave, I said in a voice full of wonder, "you could be the weirdest person in the world and no one would even notice you here."

All along the way, when people asked where I was heading and I said New York City, I typically got one of two responses: "I've always wanted to go there," a woman at a gas station on the Nez Perce reservation said to me ("Grab your bike, let's go."); or, "Why? I'd never want to go there." The latter response always shocked me. I've got nothing but love for this city. I can only survive it a few days at a time but ain't that how it goes with love. I'm lucky to have always had family here, especially an aunt who taught me to navigate the jungle of traffic and anonymity with deterministic aplomb. This whole NY family of mine (Kelsey, Laura, KJ as well as Alli [cousin from another mother] and her Liz) were waiting for me at the Ace. Only my wildest fantasies could've prepared me for the other surprises that lay in store.

After I crossed the GWB I rode south down the Hudson River Greenway from 181st st to 30th st, then cut east on 30th, riding the 7 terrifyingly thrilling blocks from 12th ave to 5th ave, weaving around cars, trucks, scooters, bikes and pedestrians at overflowing intersections. At a couple points I thought it might all come to an end under the wheels of a truck. "Well, at least I've made it to Manhattan." I turned right on 5th, then right on 29th. Welcoming me out in the middle of the street with my family was Jan Rozenveld, managing director of NYC's Ace, with a bottle of champagne in hand. Suddenly I was there, drenched in sweat and done riding. A valet ushered the bike up to the room. Jan opened the champagne for the first of the night's many toasts. We chatted for a moment over the bubbly, then walked into the lobby. Everyone who worked there knew I'd be arriving; I've never felt so cool. Quick check-in and then Jan took us all up to the room.

Unequivocally the best part of this trip has been the people. My heart has been wrenched open by the kindness and generosity of my fellow countrymen, who, without hesitation, welcomed a neon-spandexed stranger into their lives. Jan here is in a class of his own. We got into the elevator and he hit the button for the top floor. Then walked us down the hallway to the corner suite. I think I'm still in shock.

The past 51 days don't know how to catch up to my current reality. How do I begin to sing the praises of my new abode? I've never so treasured a toilet, shower and bed. There's room and quiet enough to set up the tent in the middle of the suite if I need some transition therapy from the forest. I won't. The claw foot will do just fine. On the dining room table were bottles of wine and beer, notes of welcoming love. I've found myself in a new level of paradise. Bay windows just above the city's noise line pulse with the wilderness beyond. The Empire State Building stands watch four blocks north.

But life in nyc waits for no one. I grabbed a quick shower and from there, KJ treated us to a swordfish dinner at a rooftop restaurant in Chelsea. Our waiter greeted us and, because of the crowd, asked the reason for celebration.

"He just rode his bike here from Portland," KJ -- ever my hype guy -- announced.

"Oh, I was just in Portland."

"He just rode his bike here. For seven weeks."

"I have a bunch of friends there. It's a cool city."

"His bicycle, for almost 3500 miles."

"And the donuts were amazing."

New Yorkers don't give a fuck. But when I feel invisible in this city, when my west coast charm hits yet another disinterested face and the last 51 days feel like an impossible memory, I have my own little world at 29th and 5th where I'm still a celebrity. And a room that gives me the solitude of past forests.

Very early on this ride I relegated my "math mind" to the distant background. I couldn't handle hearing what fraction of an incomprehensible whole I'd just completed ("In 5 miles, you're 1/2 way there for the day and 8/51 to the finish line. Keep it up old boy."). But now that I'm 100%, 51/51, I'm going to give the brain's left hemisphere his moment in the sun. This is all based on some pent-up back-alley number crunching so maybe take it with some salt.

Miles: 3446

Number of hamburgers: 70

snickers bars: 20

Granola bars: 205

Beers: 185

Eggs: 120

bags of chex mix: 25

scoops of ice cream: 15

gallons of water: 80

Pounds of animal flesh: 50

Least number of kinds animals consumed: 9 (cow, chicken, pig, turkey, fish, elk, horse [Montana], rattlesnake and rabbit [North Dakota])

Flat tires: 3