14: Wheel Dipping

30 people dressed in black shorts and multi-colored cycling shirts, running down the sand, some with bikes held above their heads, is not something you usually see at 7.30 am on a Sunday – even in Los Angeles.

The few onlookers gawk. I’d gawk too, but I’m part of the madness; not close enough to be drawn in, but safe, on the pier. Still, I’m dressed the same way and I have a bike. As they say - what looks like a duck, smells like a duck, quacks like a duck…

Some riders have shown great wisdom and removed their wheel for its baptism in the Pacific. No doubt they’ll show the same wisdom in Boston and remove the other one. Others struggle with the entire bike, sinking into the sand as they try vainly to keep it aloft.

Several foot washings, goodbye hugs and group photos later, with everyone set in granny gears, we cross the bike path in groups, then grind up the hill to the red light at the intersection. Ahead, lies the remaining 3,410 miles to Boston.

Without Crossroads staff so close, I’d not be surprised to see them all run the red light. But they don’t.

We’re off!