When the journey began, it was a cerebral exercise in optimism. As time trundled by, optimism was replaced by small objects. First, a bicycle. Later, a rack with a basket of books. Soon, a new bicycle and another rack. Lights, a tent, panniers, and then, the impending day of May 1st was upon us. The final days called for bags upon bags, trips to every bike shop and outdoor gear store in the area, and a steady forming realization that all was not well, but would be totally fine.
And so I set off at 4:00 PM (UTC -8) from the hills of El Cerrito, California, where the family home nestles in a thorough fog. The initial descent goes well, the brakes work, the bike feels heavy, a little wobbly, but mostly sturdy. A light mist fills the air and I feel good. Certainly not like I’m setting off on a grand adventure. More like this just happens to be my life. And what a life it is.
As I make my way through Richmond, a mere 6 miles from home, I find myself dodging traffic, feeling small, and suddenly strange. My right foot feels off balance. A glance toward the pedal reveals a rather unfortunate truth. The crankshaft is not entirely connected to the pedal and is clearly shorn. I expect it will fall off soon.
I make it to the Richmond Amtrak station and have some time to assess the damage. It’s certainly not repairable and will require a visit to a bike shop. I’ll be spending the night at a friends house, about 1.6 miles from the train station in Davis. My plan is to try riding with one pedal… or I’ll have to push. Probably not the last time I’ll be on foot.
What this little situation reminds me is how little I know. It doesn’t take an expert to screw on a pedal. No genius is required to notice whether or not you’ve cross-threaded the bolt. And what’s more, I’ve spent 3 weeks on this bike with these pedals, watching, looking, checking, and prepping for all that could go wrong. And still, it hid below the radar, slowly working itself free just in time for the big day.
The pedal itself is fine, though the threads in the crank are completely eaten. I’ll be replacing a crank. Hopefully I can find a shop in town with something in stock. This first day was meant to be easy, but I was really looking forward to actually hopping on the saddle to journey north. The next few days hold 40-60 mile rides up through the Sacramento valley towards Chico and on to Mount Shasta. Or so I hope.
Despite the unpredicted start, it’s a lovely way to begin. This whole journey is designed to be slow, unexpected, and full of changing plans. There are a few dates and times that ground me, but they’re far enough away that I’ve got some wiggle room. Don’t get me wrong, I wasn’t ready to wiggle already, but such is life. It’s time to wrestle this bike toward tonight’s home, cook up some dinner, and plan a solution for the new day coming.
IsIt5am 
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