My Ride Across America: Overview

Why I chose to ride my bike solo across America during a pandemic, racial and political injustices, record worse fires and a coin shortage. I chased the best coffee and beer along the way and met incredible people who helped me more than I ever thought possible.

The Backstory

A little bit about me. My name is Tina Roach and I am 26 years young. I’m always in search for a wonderful cup of black coffee or a hazy IPA. Prior to this trip, I worked for an incredible start-up corporate wellness company based out of Philadelphia, where I was responsible for all things Operations. I love shaking things up and challenging myself. I want to know, I’ve done all I can to enjoy this life, to not feel stuck. Sometimes that means trying new hobbies, getting out for a few days, or giving up coffee (a tragedy). I was starting to feel stuck last year and brainstormed how I could shake things up. I decided to substitute two trains, a short car ride paired with a short walk to the office for a 15 mile one-way bike ride from New Jersey. It wasn’t the most scenic or bike friendly ride, but it was fun and gave me a little victory each morning before I started the workday. So how did I get to riding my bike across the country?

Purchasing the 1987 Cannondale was intentional. I wanted to ride this bike across the country. I felt really empowered biking to work, which was fueled by the internal victory as well as the surprisingly positive response from my coworkers. After really enjoying the two month bike commute experiment, I knew I wanted to go further, see more. The tricky and hardest part of the equation was determining the right moment. I loved my job and I didn’t want to sacrifice my career or disrupt the team in order to ride into the unknown. At the end of April the company needed to make strategic financial decisions to deal with the pandemic. This meant our internal team was flipped to partial unemployment for the foreseeable future and work remotely indefinitely. It was during this moment when I thought, the time is now to ride across America.

The Decision to Ride On

Was it really the best time to hop on a bike? Our country, no; our world is facing a global pandemic, divided on how to handle it. Businesses and stores were closing left and right. During the middle of April, New Jersey was seeing their record high COVID numbers. Despite all of the discourse regarding COVID-19, at the end of May, protests erupted demanding justice for George Floyd, Breonna Taylor and countless others surged America. On top of it all, with the election around the corner, the political climate was tense to say the least.

Riding solo already presented a slew of challenges, such as what route makes the most sense, carrying all the weight yourself, being responsible for all the decision making, food search, being female (and all the fear people attach with it), all of the bike repairs, traffic watch and when camping, doing all of the chores. Many of the resources and people I spoke to before my trip raved about the people on the trail, how helpful and welcoming they are.

Would this be the same during our current political and health climate? I feared people wouldn’t want an unknown cyclist in their hometown and be less hospitable or willing to help. More logistically, I didn’t know if resources would be more limited, especially in smaller towns. After reading more about thru hikers weathering this realty, another element became evident. Do I want this experience to be attached with potential controversy?

I kept going back and forth on the decision and I really have to credit my boyfriend, Pete. His confidence in me and encouragement pushed me to keep going. For that, I’m eternally grateful. I monitored the cases and only kept going if the numbers didn’t spike in the areas I was in. I took my temperature each day and followed CDC protocol across the country, even when some areas were more relaxed.

The Prep (or lack of)

I knew going into this I wanted to use what I had and spend as little money as possible. I geeked out and made an excel spreadsheet listing all the items I may need and the cost. I wanted to keep all costs under $1,000. I modified and substituted items I already owned to avoid purchasing certain things. For the tent and sleeping bag, I reached out to a good friend over at Kelty who happily gifted me a set. Friends at Tonewood Brewing gifted me the jersey I wore everyday (not pictured) and all the little items were bought mostly at REI. I used my North St. Morrison backpack pannier, which held all my electronics and kept them bone dry on the rainiest of days. Two front small Ortleib bags, a rear Ortleib bag on the back, and an inexpensive handle bar bag. The “training” I did consisted of two back to back riding days 50 & 61 miles semi-loaded. I quickly regretted this decision…

TransAmerica

The Route

This was the route I imagined when I first dreamt this idea. If I was going to travel across America by bike, I wanted to do it pilgrimage style. This route is the first and oldest route with three amazing mountain ranges, the deepest canyon in north America, and loads of history. I did modify it slightly. Instead of starting at the traditional, Yorktown Virginia, I started from my house in Cinnaminson, New Jersey. Contrary to the popular westward wind start in Astoria, OR, I wanted to start in familiar territory and be rewarded each pedal of the way of the unknown, beautiful country.

A day on the bike

A typical day started at sunrise with me begrudgingly unzipping the sleeping bag beginning to gather all the things I needed to start the day. I liked to break down everything and pack the bike before I indulged in my wonderful breakfast which consisted of pop-tarts, sometimes two packs, a Clif bar, and if I was lucky either Honey Stinger gels or Clif Blocks. If not, fruit snacks. It wasn’t the healthiest but it did the trick. I went over the route on my phone and set off. I picked where I wanted to end each day and understood if the weather or other circumstances decided otherwise, so be it. It only happened a handful of times that I didn’t make it to the set out destination.

I rode for about six to seven hours a day eating while riding during the morning and stopping for lunch to eat what I packed or opting for the local cuisine, which was usually a lovely gas station. I usually ended around 3:00 or 4:00 pm, unless I was riding in Montana. I rode until 7:00-8:00 pm each night. A story for another time. I’d set my tent up, secure my bike, and drift off. Rinse and repeat. After the first two weeks and my body was somewhat adjusted, the nervousness wore off little by little, and each night I’d drift off excited for the next morning to ride my bike wondering what I was going to see. 

The Challenges & Lessons Learned

EAT, EAT, EAT! The first week, tackling the Appalachian mountain range and the extreme rolling hills of Western Pennsylvania presented a challenge I didn’t quite expect. The first day, 65 miles and over 2,200 feet of elevation resulted in my first breakdown. Doubt and uncertainty washed over me as I sat on the side of the curb discouraged. Thankfully Pete rode with me the first week and we pushed on realizing I was not eating enough, the first lesson learned. We switched up the tactics the next day and finished off the week climbing the mountain range. I noticed after week three, my body was positively responding and the journey became more personal; my mind was in charge.

No need to fear. I spent too many hours and rides worrying about things that never happened despite locals warning me of events that have occurred in the past. Worrying more about a bear or mountain lion coming on the road to attack me didn’t prevent the bear or mountain lion, but it ruined some moments to enjoy the beautiful ride. I decided to stop worrying unless something happened. This made such a difference and I truly enjoyed Montana and Idaho because of this mentality.

Ask for directions and take it with a grain of salt. I learned most directions are not applicable for cyclists. Many locals describe routes either being all downhill or uphill. Both are untrue, no ride is all up or down. I did listen to a suggestion in Illinois to take the ferry instead of a long sketchy bridge, which ended up being a beautiful scenic ride and an opportunity for a free delicious coffee.

Always pitch your tent. I had gotten away in the beginning of setting up as a free standing tent. This was mostly a lazy decision that was working out, until the sprinkle saga happened. Not staking my tent created a pool of water and a freezing morning in Missoula, Montana. The rest of the trip I staked my tent and stood up to hail, 35mph winds, and rain.

The fires erupted towards the end of the trip. A day before I was scheduled to ride McKenzie pass, which I already knew would be one of the biggest challenges the trip. I heard the news that both passes, Santiam and McKenzie were shut down due a massive fire, which left me only one option to get to Eugene, Route 58. This was not a bike-able option. I had to make a difficult decision and decided to rent a car to safely get to Eugene, OR. The rest of the ride from Eugene to the coast was extremely challenging with air quality at historically poor rates and visibility extremely low.

The Hard Moments

I’ve been riding for almost a week in the high desert. The beginning was Hells Canyon in Idaho, which was 105 degrees for 25 miles of the total 40 miles that day. The name absolutely was honored. For 60-ish miles, the only store I had access to was a small convenience store midway through the canyon. Once I eventually popped out of the canyon, I entered a little town, where I planned to camp and quickly learned the only food store, and the campsite was shut down due to COVID. It was 3:00 pm, blazing hot. There was a sign for a gas station two miles on the left side in the direction I would be heading the next day. I knew I had to get to Halfway tonight for any real food or hope of a shower. As I biked to the gas station, I convinced myself someone would be there, and going in that direction, I surely could get a ride to town. I pulled up and there were two trucks. The gas station closing in twenty minutes, I had enough time to obviously get ice cream and ask the two gentlemen if they were going toward Halfway and if I could join them. They were and, I did. The total ride was 65 miles with over 2,600 feet of elevation. 

For three days, I saw roughly 15 cars and 2 cyclists. Halfway was a small town and deeply affected by COVID. The food options sparse and most stores closed. The next day, the plan was to ride to Baker City, OR. At first, I noticed a constant gradual climb. My first thought, okay a little morning warm-up, until I looked a little further down the road and noticed a long winding peak in the distance. With no other roads or turns insight, I still believed I wasn’t doing that. Thirty minutes later, with no other road options, I was pedaling maybe 5mph only seeing winding road without an end. Turn after, turn after turn. I was still climbing and seeing beautiful the views were and started to think was this the summit? As I kept turning and I kept wondering when it was going to end, I eventually climbed 3,500 ft to an unnamed summit sign. Pissed off and relieved I decent for about 15 miles with a fierce 7% grade that my bike can barely handle. I made only a small pitstop at 1 of the 2 cafes in Richland, population 175 to refuel before continuing onto Baker City. After about 20 miles of (mostly flat) riding, I start to see glimpses of civilization. I had a slight climb to descent into the beginnings of Baker City and was smiling ear to ear. Beautiful views of the mountains in front of me, less desert vegetation and actual trees and some grass, I was so excited. I barely had any service since Hells Canyon and I noticed the bars on my phone are increasing as I approached. I was greeted by bike lanes and cars wheezing by me again and the Blue Mountain Range. I got wind of a lovely hostel in Baker City that was an old school, that’s all I knew so I was determined to find it. I went to a few bike shops and eventually, one knew what I was talking about and gave me a card. I showed up and was greeted by two lovely people who converted this old school into an art studio, bike & ski hostel. I had my own room and all of the amenities I need and could hope for. 

They had another permanent tenant living there too, who was also a cyclist. I told them my vague plan knowing I needed to nail it down and was open for suggestions. Explaining, I had a pretty physically challenging few days. The plan I posed had me riding roughly 60 miles. They suggested getting to John Day because the campsites I was aiming for probably weren’t in service. They explained it’ll be a lot of climbing, three mountain passes but doable. I looked it over it all night and wondered maybe I should use this as a rest day? I ignored that thought in the morning and headed out right as the sun was up. I committed to the ride and decided to listen to an audiobook and started pedaling. The first summit. Sumpter Pass came and went. I felt confident and even said, “oh I can totally do this.” I roughly knew how the passes were distance and began to mentally prepare for the next one, which shouldn’t be for another 20 miles or so.

I barely make it five miles and I feel another gradual climb. Pete called and I completely broke down. I was at my wits end, exhausted. Blubbering, I managed to spit out, all I have done the last four days is climb and today was only supposed to have three summits and I’m already climbing after summiting. There’s nothing around and all I wanted was to stay in Baker City. I don’t want to be on my bike today. This isn’t fun. I’m tired and I’m alone. He barely could hear what I was saying and service shortly cut out. It was labor day weekend and I knew everyone was relaxing enjoying their Saturday. I felt defeated.

Moments later, a motorcycle gang was roaring past me. Each one of them lowering their right hand with the peace sign motion. One by one, they each did this. This lasted for about five minutes. I got emotional and I took it as, keep going, don’t stop. It was exactly what I needed. By the last motorcyclist, I was over the climb and enjoying a beautiful descent alongside a lush forest. The day offered other micro-challenges, but I made it up the last two summits and finished the ride with 81 miles and 4,383 feet of elevation.   

The Stats & Figures

Days: 79

Miles: 3,448

Elevation: 115,028

States: 12

Centuries: 1

Sleep Pads: 3

Flat Tires: 1.5 (patched a slow leak)

Bike Repairs: 5 (replaced chair, cassette, cable housing, grip tape, & brake pads)

Weight Loss: ~6 lbs (lost in the first 2 weeks and gained back in the fourth week)

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The Hopeful Impact

You’d be surprised what you can achieve if you’re stubborn. Before I left, I hoped to empower my eight year old niece, Kylie to see you don’t have to have all of the answers, experience, or things to get started. That merely starting was enough. To trust your strength and your intuition. They are stronger and more powerful than you think. During the ride, I hoped others saw me on a fully loaded bicycle and felt motivated and inspired to go for it. I hope other women, all walks of life, take the plunge and brave the wilderness. That as a women you can experience and explore the world alone. People will dish out their fears onto you and that’s not personal. Those who did stop me and asked my story quickly learned I wasn’t a super athlete or that I trained for months to get started. Just start. Your stubbornness will do the rest.