Wildflowers
“She’s a wildflower,” said Arvil from Kentucky, “a real free spirit.” This friendly stranger was telling us a story about a friend of his while we all shared a moment on a bluff of the Oregon Coast. As he said those words, I couldn’t help but gaze at the salty wind blowing through Anne and Sarah’s hair, the dirt caked under their nails, but also the soft grins on their faces. This expression is an ode to a sentiment always carried with them, an eager sense of curiosity for the unknown. I admired their abilities to take on this cycling challenge so willingly, given the seemingly infinite unknown that lies ahead of us.
This conversation was held just a day before our take off, our nervousness and curiosity peaking. We spent this day taking care of small things— charging batteries in a deli market, putting the finishing touches on our set ups, restocking our water in a Dollar General bathroom, and fulfilling our goal of jumping into the frigid Pacific for the last time in three months. After a very brief dip in the ocean, we met up with David (our friend Camille’s grandfather), Roger, and Janet (friends of David’s), who very graciously bought us our last supper (all three of us ordered clam linguine) at the most gorgeous restaurant overlooking the coast. They intended to join us for the first two days of our trip, and this dinner was merely the start of them taking on “Trail Angel” status in our eyes. After dinner, we wished this sweet trio goodbye for the night, and headed back to our mighty abode: a two-seater U-Haul we shlepped from Portland, parked at the most perfect cliff overlooking the ocean. We Tetris-ed ourselves into the back of the truck, wedged between our fully-loaded bikes, and slept so undeniably hard on what felt like the night before Christmas morning. Truly, not a creature was stirring.
We hit the ground running the next morning, taking care of the last few tasks before dropping off our beloved U-Haul and taking on the first few pedals of our 4,950 mile ride. We couldn’t help but giggle for the first few miles, wondering if we were really about to do this, if we were ready, or if there even is such a thing as “ready”. These thoughts were soon overtaken by the sheer beauty of the crystalline Elk River, adorned by the pinks, whites, purples, and yellows of the wildflowers on the banks, all nestled under the pines. I fell back, taking a moment to myself to admire this wooded landscape. Anne and Sarah rode ahead with David and Roger, their conversations growing inaudible to me aside from laughter here and there. I again fell into a moment of adoration for these two women, admiring the strength they carried so gracefully.
As I was taking this all in, I came to realize that these women are the wildflowers that stranger spoke of. They billow so blissfully, yet bear a strong demeanor expressed so colorfully. Much like the fireweed we’re cycling alongside, they’re resilient, they’re adaptive, they’re bold. It shows when Anne punches past me on a climb. Akin to the foxgloves, they’re unique, they’re whimsical, they’re true. It shows when Sarah blasts a descent with both arms outstretched.
And where would I be without these flowers? Their purpose is so evident, and much like the bees and hummingbirds, I am finding myself dependent on their presence more than I could put into words. It is almost instinctual the way we work together as a team, almost symbiotically, each providing something. These wildflowers are truly beautiful free spirits, and I couldn’t be more grateful to have them.
