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by Nancy Sathre-Vogel
What do you get when you take two burned-out school
teachers, their eight-year-old twin sons, and a brand new
bicycle as long as a circus train? I can't speak for others,
but in our case, the result was a whole year filled with
magic. I'll never forget that day – the day my husband, John,
came home after a particularly rough day in the classroom and
said, "Nancy, I'm tired of this.
Let's quit our jobs, buy a triple bike, and take off with
the kids." Never one to sit back and let life pass me by, I
jumped on his plan wholeheartedly. Three months later we were
ready: our teaching jobs had been quit, the big bicycle had
been purchased, and my old bike rebuilt. Our bags were packed
and good byes said. There was no turning back; there was only
a year of adventure ahead of us. A year to pedal at will, turn
on a whim, and explore sunsets without end. Ah yes, we were
ready – ready to tackle this great continent of ours with our
children, ready to live and experience and grow beyond our
wildest imagination. Ready to be pushed farther than we had
ever been pushed. And ready for magic.
On June 18, 2006 we pedaled away from our home in Boise,
Idaho. John rode the "stretch limo" (bicycle built for three)
with our boys, Davy and Daryl, while I followed along behind
on a single bike. Anticipation, apprehension, excitement, and
a little bit of dread filled our thoughts on that summer day
as we wondered just what kinds of adventures we would find. It
didn't take long to find out.
Those first few days went by in a blur. We pedaled when we
felt like it, took naps under trees when tired, and reveled in
the idea that we had a whole year ahead of us; 365 days of
life in the slow lane. Sure, we sweated like pigs climbing
hills in 105 degree heat, and our bums screamed in agony at
the injustice of being suddenly forced to spend hour upon hour
in the saddle. But slowly, surely, we fell into a rhythm which
worked for all four of us: young and old, big and small,
energetic and not-so-energetic.
Chaos-filled days where we couldn't remember where anything
had been stashed gradually morphed into days where everything
had its place, everyone had their jobs, and we were a team
working seamlessly together toward a common goal.
As we took on and achieved tiny goals we set, we
celebrated. Crossing into Oregon sixty miles from home was
cause for a good ol' pat on the back; reaching the Pacific
Ocean 550 miles away resulted in an even greater celebration.
We looked back at those first few days of the journey and
marveled at how far we had come; at how many hundreds of miles
we had pedaled and the even greater emotional and mental
distance we had traveled. Yeah, we knew there would be
thousands of miles to pedal in the future, but we chose to
focus on today; to live for the moment, smell the roses here
and now, and relax and enjoy being together as a family.
As we spent our days exploring the spectacular Pacific
coast, John and I marveled at our boys – how they took
advantage of every second to play. Our break spots were
anything but predictable, but Davy and Daryl became masters at
the fine art of sizing up their surroundings in a fraction of
a second and never found playthings lacking. One break might
find them throwing rocks at a leaf "boat" as it floated
merrily along in a stream. The next time they climbed off the
bike sticks would magically transform into swords. They
climbed trees or rocks or sand piles. They dammed up streams,
blocked ant holes, and threw sand to stop waves from crashing
to shore. They 'ooh'ed and 'aah'ed at starfish and sea
anemones in tide pools, and buried themselves in sand at the
beach.
Discarded Coke bottles became soccerballs, cardboard boxes
turned into alien houses, and an old TV ended up being a
throne fit for a king. No matter where we were, our boys found
something to occupy their time, and we never heard those
dreaded words, "I'mbored."
Days turned into months, and still we pedaled along. Summer
turned into fall, and we knew winter wasn't too far behind.
The beautiful fall colors brought with them cold nights and
frosty mornings. Campfires became an integral part of our
lives as days grew shorter and we had more hours in camp each
night. We all loved sitting around the fire making fireballs
with burning plastic bags and talking about anything and
everything. There was no pressure and no deadlines. There was
only here and now; and here and now was dang cold!
Temperatures plunged into the low 20's as we explored the
Grand Canyon region. We got used to waking up to frozen water
bottles and a frost-covered tent. Fortunately, our sleeping
bags were warm, but packingup in the mornings with frostbitten
hands was anything but pleasant. In fact, it was downright
brutal. We made a beeline south – off the frigid high
plateau.
Our wheels kept turning until we crossed the border into
Mexico and began a whole new adventure. Baja proved to be just
what we needed after nearly six months in the saddle. Day
after day we pedaled beneath massive cardon cacti and boojum
trees. Night after night we found spectacular campsites out in
the desert where the boys could roam and explore to their
hearts' content. Peaceful, idyllic days where we frequently
pedaled no farther than twenty miles were exactly what we
needed to replenish our spirits and energy reserves.
None of us expected mainland Mexico to be quite so
different from Baja, nor quite so fascinating. Mainland Mexico
threw more unique situations at us than the previous seven
months: we stayed with a gold miner, helped out at a dairy
farm, and took shelter in a tin shack in a migrant workers'
camp for a night. The boys helped catch a raccoon, nearly got
lost in corn fields, and Davy managed to get a cast on a badly
sprained wrist. Each day Mexico threw another twist into our
journey, turning our family trip into a true adventure, and we
continued on despite it all.
Back in the USA we camped out in the middle of a major
maneuver by border patrol agencies against drug smugglers,
fought head winds from hell, and met more wonderful people
than we could have dreamed of. We crossed the Texan plains,
ground up the Arkansan Ozarks, and played in the mud of the
Missouri River. We cycled alongside Amish horse-drawn
carriages and pedaled through Manhattan in pouring rain. Each
and every day was a new adventure, and we awoke every morning
wondering just what today would bring. Some days went
smoothly, other days were anything but. We learned to treasure
each moment, knowing that each one was part of the "chicken
soup" that had become our journey. Each moment, each
ingredient in the soup, added more magic to our lives.
9300 miles and twelve months after we first hit the road,
we caught ourfirst glimpse of the Statue of Liberty. For
centuries, Lady Liberty has signified a new life and a new
beginning for immigrants as they arrived in the USA. For us,
she also signified a new life – the end of our journey and
beginning of a "new normal". All four of us have been
indelibly changed by our adventure. We've been touched by
angels and beguiled by magicians' charms. We've laughed and
cried; we've sweated and shivered. And we've returned to Boise
forever changed by our experiences.
Our family adventure has forever changed all four of us.
John and I have been privileged to have the opportunity of
being with our children 24/7 for a year – watching them grow
and mature into responsible young men. Davy and Daryl have
seen more of North America than most Americans do in their
lifetimes and have gotten to know people of all walks of life.
There is no doubt in my mind that each of us is far richer for
living this journey and that we've learned lessons we will
take with us on the rest of our journey through life on planet
Earth.
About the author:
Nancy Sathre-Vogel and her family
returned home to Idaho in June 2007 after one year on the
road. They will be taking off again in June 2008 to pedal from
Alaska to Argentina – and there is no doubt in anyone's mind
that they will learn even more on that journey. You can read
about their past and future adventures at http://www.familyonbikes.org/
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