The second most pivotal stop of the trip.

It was to be my first ascent, a climb to an elevation of over 5,000 feet at McKenzie Pass. I was nervous, unsure if I was physically prepared for it. My last Warmshowers hosts assured me I was, and yes, I was. I struggled up, no doubt, for many hours. The view from the top was stellar. There was a cool castle at the top. At this time of year, the road is closed to all cars and open to bikes only on the weekend. Eugene kids seem to like to drink and smoke themselves crosseyed and bike up, camp in the castle and ride down the next day. I enjoyed the frighteningly brisk descent.

I camped for the night in Sisters. And I felt done. I was finished. I did not want to continue another mile. Not because I was scared, or unsure, or worried, or anything. I was just done. I felt that I had seen what I had come to see. I had met great people, rode my bike hundreds of miles and biked my way over a freaking MOUNTAIN. What more could there be? I was tired. I was afraid after this point the returns would be so diminished that it wouldn't be worth continuing. I could not see the point of continuing.

I was fully prepared to go home.

From the beginning, I had a few rules to govern the trip. Most important--and set for this exact scenario--were the permissible reasons for throwing in the towel. I didn't want to tell all my friends and family that I was going to bike thousands of miles away from home and not even make it out of Oregon... at least not without a good excuse. So there were a handful of reasons that I would accept as valid for not continuing. One reason was bike theft. If my bike was stolen, I would not get another. I would accept that as a sign that I was not to continue.

And so I awoke in Sisters before dawn. I wanted nothing less than to put more miles on the road. I wanted to go home. Instead, I went to the town's diner. I propped my bike up on a pole and I did not lock it. I stood there looking at it intensely, my mind full of conflict and confusion. I set my helmet helpfully on top and angled the handlebars out, ready for any enterprising thief to hop on and take off. I repositioned it a few times to make it look more appealing. Then I went into the diner, sat with my back to the window and drank many cups of coffee.

I was so ready for my bike to be gone. I would have cried tears of relief if I turned around and saw that Nishi was gone--nowhere to be found. I was in that diner for hours. And when the host started refilling my cup more and more infrequently, I got up, turned around, and saw that damn bike exactly where I left it. With a deep sigh, I went out, got back in the saddle, and headed for the next town.