“Slow streets,” the residential streets that provide corridors that have low vehicle traffic to promote safer streets for non-drivers are something that I appreciate about San Francisco. I followed one of the slow streets to Ocean Beach upon my departure from the City. These streets are clearly marked with a sign with different languages and images of all types of transportation that people may use. The intention to create welcoming places to walk, bike or roll for people of all ages and abilities was clear. We need more of these streets to reduce death and injuries caused by vehicles. The more I went south, the vehicle traffic increased so was my anxiety to get hit or run over by cars and trucks. So, shortly after I reached Pillar Point on Highway 1 and saw a sign for a bike path, I was relieved.

I followed Half Moon Bay Coastal Trail, which goes along the ocean. On this quiet path, I was at ease to fully enjoy the beautiful day even though it only lasted for a few miles. Once I entered Santa Cruz, I also found a dedicated bike route called Coastal Rail Trail and other bike paths to my friend Christie’s home in Aptos. She came to support me at Ebbetts Pass when I was on the PCT. I was so happy to see her again. I was welcomed and comforted in the arms of her family.

The next day, I was reminded of how our sense of smell sparks our memories so vividly. As I neared Watsonville, the air carried sweet scent of strawberries that immediately brought me back to a time when I went strawberry picking with my friends. The smell shifted to California laurel as I got closer to Big Sur. It again took me right back to the 35-mile loop bike ride ritual on Saturdays in Marin. They both are scents of California – my home. The smell not only brings memories but also emotions – I felt excitement and comfort mixed with sadness that I no longer have a physical home in California. With nostalgia, I pedaled into Big Sur’s steep hills and glided through the air as I made many steep descents. The fog was rolling in and out. The blue sky was playing hide and seek behind the fog. The nature is dynamic. It is constantly changing. So am I. So is my life.

I rolled into Kirk Creek campground in the dark. The campers next to me came visit and asked if I need any support with bike maintenance or food. I was surprised with their generosity. On the PCT, I met so many trail angels, people with big heart who dedicate their time and resources to offer support to the hikers. They often showed up at trail heads and offered us food, water, rides or any other needs we may have. It is a big part of PCT culture, a network of people who make our endeavor successful. In contrast, I didn’t meet road angels until I met this couple who happened to camp next to me. I wondered why and thought that maybe because there is an assumption that we may have better access to the support we need. In some cases, it is true – such as becoming a member of Warmshowers, a fee-based cycling community that offers hospitality for bicycle tourists, allows bikers to stay with people along the way. In my experience, in many cases, I wished there were more random road angels who can help on the road from water to bike maintenance to trouble shooting. If that is established as a culture similar to the PCT trail angels, it would help increasing safety and access to bicycle touring, and building a community.

There was one specific occasion that I wished I could have benefited from random road angels. The day I left San Luis Obispo, as I crossed one bridge about 40 miles northwest of Santa Barbara, I heard a loud explosion behind me. The next thing I knew was that sealant was spewing and flying all over and my rare tire was flat. I pulled over right away on Highway 1. I saw a 4-inch long nail diagonally went through the tire, leaving two punctures. It went into the tread and came out on the sidewall. I pulled out the nail carefully, and inserted two plugs into the puncture on the tread since one wasn’t sealing. It worked. The tear on the sidewall was bigger. I placed 3 plugs and pumped the air – it didn’t work. I put fourth and the last plug, a total of five plugs, in a hole. They didn’t work. It was getting late. I was frustrated and incredibly annoyed. Then I saw a man who seemed to have mental health issues walking on the highway and coming toward my way. I became anxious and frightened.

During this entire operation of trouble shooting, many cars passed by and I wished there were road angels who would have stopped and helped me. Even they don’t have any tools or skills to fix the problem, I would have appreciated the emotional support or a company.

As the man coming closer and closer to me, I had three options – one was to continue the repair by un-mounting the rare wheel and installing an inner tube. Second, start walking and out-walk the man to the closest town, which was 6 miles away. Third, attempt to hitch a ride and see if anyone would help me to get out of the highway and bring me to a more comfortable place to fix the issue. I decided to go with the second option first to get going then shifted to the third option. I put my thumb up and an SUV stopped for me right away. Fausto and Karla, a couple who was traveling to visit their friends in Santa Barbara, stepped out of their car and they saw that I had a flat. They gave me a ride and dropped me off at east beach in Santa Barbara. They said, “We camp here and this place is safe. There is a bathroom, water and a bike shop is a mile away. You’ll be okay here.” They were my road angels. I was lucky.

It turned out that REI Santa Barbara was 1.5 miles from where I was dropped off and opens at 9 AM. Most bike shops don’t open till 10 AM. The next morning I walked to REI and they fixed the tire so I could continue my journey. Right when I was done, Raj, a local cyclist, was picking up his bike and offered me to ride together so that I could see the best part that I missed the day before. He took me to Goleta Monarch Butterfly Grove where butterflies overwinter from October to February at this site. I saw them flying against the clear blue sky. When my eyes finally adjusted to see them hanging from the trees, there were so many of them! Raj then took me to ride through UC Santa Barbara, where he went to school. He told me that there weren’t that many Mexican men in his age who like to be in the outdoors and enjoy bike riding. We shared a similar value of role modeling and supporting for people who look like us to get outside.

I enjoyed Raj’s company. I realized that I needed to be with someone who could listen and help me restore my emotional balance from the previous day experience. I was more scared than I thought. It was good to pause and take time to ease back into the riding. Later that day before arriving to Ventura, I met Gary, another cyclist, while I was riding. We had a pleasant conversation and it made my late afternoon more enjoyable. He told me where to camp for the night as well as an alternative route to avoid heavy traffic heading into Long Beach.

I made it to Sycamore Canyon campground at Point Mugu State Park right after the sunset. A ranger at the entrance station warned me about Santa Ana Winds and red flag warning starting from the midnight and lasting for the next few days. I mentally braced myself for the brutal dry headwind and went to bed early for the sunrise start the next day.

From Sycamore Canyon Campground all the way to Campo where I began my journey in May, I faced constant Santa Ana Winds. The next day, the wind was so strong that I was blown off to the ocean side of the road twice while riding. While passing Malibu, I saw porta potties blown onto the pavement at a lifeguard station and broken tree limbs on the bike lane. I was the only cyclist riding toward L.A. into the headwind. On the other side of the road, I counted more than 200 riders, catching strong tailwind and flying up the hills while I struggled to keep my bike straight.

I had a break from the wind when I took an alternate route around Point Dume State Beach and again at Santa Monica where the course changed to south instead of east. I enjoyed Santa Monica bike path along the beach that was away from Highway 1. It took me all the way to El Segundo where my friends Lenard and Bridget live. They hosted me for a night with wonderful meals and hospitality.

The next day, Bridget connected me to Erin who lives in Long Beach through their mutual friend. Erin didn’t know me. She said that she benefited from people she didn’t know hosting her when she was traveling in her younger age. To her, hosting me was a way to give back to the generosity she received. I was grateful to have a place to stay since urban settings are more uncomfortable to me than traveling and camping in the wilderness. I left El Segundo in the afternoon and followed the coast line, passing numerous beautiful beaches and bluffs and made it to Long Beach. Then the next day I rode to San Diego where my friend Caroline and her housemate greeted me at their home.

Where there is a beginning, there is an ending. An exception to that is a cycle, a circle or a loop that keeps things going. Even so, nothing is permanent is a Buddhist teaching and learning. There may be an ending to a cycle someday. I wanted my journey to symbolize a cycle of learning and remembering that can be carried on after I finish this adventure. I decided to ride to the Pacific Crest Trail Southern Terminus Monument where I began in May instead of Friendship Park at the US-Mexico border in San Diego, my original final destination.

My final day from San Diego to Campo was one of the most challenging days of my bike trip. I climbed over 4,500 feet of steep hills in the constant and strong Santa Ana headwinds from the east. The wind kept me slow while I struggled to maintain a steady pace on the winding highway. I thought about spawning Salmon I saw at Columbia River in Vancouver, BC where I began my cycling trip. They were swimming up against the current. Many fish took rest in a pool behind rocks. When they regained strength, they peeled out of the pool and swam upstream for a purpose. The purpose is to reach where they began their life journey to continue the circle of life. A rest is crucial. Strength and endurance are the gifts that we are all given to overcome struggles which are weaved into part of life. With struggles, there is a joy.

I lightened up with joy when I saw the first PCT sign on the trail, a few miles before reaching the moment. I was comforted seeing the familiar sign that guided me to Canada. Then I made a final push on the steep gravel road to the monument. As I climbed up, at the horizon, the first thing I saw was the endless brown wall that clearly separates the US and Mexico. What an anti-climatic scene, I thought. All I tried to do on my journey in the last five months was to remember connection. There, I was greeted by what separates us. As I reached the monument, I took a deep breath and intentionally looked away from the wall, feeling disappointed and sad. I sat leaning against the monument and I stared at the other way, unhindered land, and admired Cirrus clouds in the blue sky for a while. Then my gaze caught a monarch butterfly. It came from behind me. The butterfly was navigating through the strong wind, flying up and down, hang around me then disappeared to the north.

Something clicked in me. I turned around and I stared at the wall instead of looking away from it.

The butterfly is a symbol of movement, beauty, joy and freedom to me. It showed up for me to remember the purpose. My purpose is to work towards creating the world where we are all free to stay connected with our body, mind, spirit, our community and our Earth. The wall is there to remind me of the work ahead of us to create such a world. The uphill and headwind struggles is a metaphor to remember the hard labor of justice work, what it feels like to constantly push against the status quo and what happens when you stop. You’ll be swept away, joining the mainstream to reinforce the status quo. If you take a break, know where to take a break – just like spawning salmon taking breaks behind the rocks. The rocks provide safe sanctuary. I interpreted these rocks as a metaphor for friends, families and communities who stand by you and provide support.

The border patrol SUV came and idled near me -a symbol of power, intimidation and disconnection to me. Without much thought, I winked at them. It is a gesture of friendliness and confidence. I am strong that I just finished walking to Canada and rode my bicycle back. I wished that I could share a funny story or two with whomever sitting behind that tinted glass in the car and laugh together. Whatever duties and responsibilities they have, in the end, they are people and human-beings.

It was getting late. I kissed the monument, waved to the border patrol and pedaled into the downhills. That was it. That was enough. Tomorrow, this adventure would become something in the past. Life goes on – hopefully, with more joy, clarity and, indeed, connection.