This year, Pedal the Pacific has brought together nine strangers. At almost halfway through this summer’s ride, we’ve learned a good amount about each other, but there’s still a lot left uncovered. We’ve gotten used to hearing each other’s answers to “Why do you ride?” and “How did you find PTP?” and one common thread is that Pedal the Pacific found each of us at the right moment—for me, my last adventure before I begin my career.
PTP found me four months into my post-grad gap year. I had spent a summer in my parent's house, taking advantage of the free time I had by relaxing for the first time in a while. It was a little early to begin my teaching certification process, and I wasn’t looking for a career-focused full-time job quite yet. But by the end of August 2024, I was getting antsy and was ready to do something, anything. If PTP had been brought to my attention in previous years, I would’ve made excuses: I had summer classes or I wanted a break from the school year. Any later, and I would be focused on the beginning of my long career. Without an excuse to hold me back, and filled with a need to do something, PTP was an easy decision.
From my studies in school revolving around immigration, labor, and disability rights, I had known about various intersections with sex trafficking. I spent three years in school learning about injustices from textbooks and screens, going home, eating dinner, and going to bed. I knew I wanted to do something to combat what I was seeing, but it felt out of reach. Now with PTP, I can learn about these injustices from survivors, get involved with my community, and put my whole body and mind behind a cause.
I’m proud of what I’m doing and what PTP stands for. I’ve met strangers down the coast who share their stories and gratitude. However, on really hard days, I struggle to remember that we’re making a difference. I hear daunting statistics with higher numbers than I can comprehend, and I wonder if what I’m doing is truly changing anything. Why pick sex trafficking as a cause to fight for instead of the ten million others I read about in the news every morning? Is climbing this hill really doing anything? Is this really going to alter the number of terrible headlines I read every morning?
In Eureka, CA, we met with Tina at the annual Human Trafficking Awareness Walk organized by a local anti-trafficking organization, Empower Protect Invest (EPI). Tina passionately welcomed us with open arms, shouting to her coworkers across the lawn, “Pedal the Pacific is here!!!” The days of biking through Northern California were proving to be more difficult than I felt prepared for. This was cured the moment the survivors started sharing their stories and the work that they’re so passionate about. I felt like it was all worth it. This journey is not going to cure all of the world's ailments, but it’s doing something, anything. I see the changes, no matter how small, in each person we talk to who has a personal connection—they know someone is fighting for them. I see the changes in people who carried misconceptions about sex trafficking as their perceptions are altered right before my eyes.
I have the opportunity to remind people that even though the fight against sex trafficking can feel massive, change doesn’t have to start with a grand gesture—it begins with choosing to do something.
When I’m about to turn around a curve and I know that the hill keeps going, I try to remind myself that a small change is still a change. I am privileged to have had a free summer to throw my whole body and mind behind a cause I’m passionate about. I have the opportunity to remind people that even though the fight against sex trafficking can feel massive, change doesn’t have to start with a grand gesture—it begins with choosing to do something. I may not be able to change the world overnight, but I’ve learned that showing up, listening, and riding forward—one mile at a time—is creating an impact.
