There I was, sitting on the curb, waiting for a rescuer of a friend to pick me up. Sweaty and feeling pathetic, I looked at my bike, seeing the problem clearly and remaining powerless to fix it myself.
This wasn’t the first time my bike had broken down.
The truth is, I’ve been in this exact situation probably five or six times throughout training. Once, I had to be picked up by a friend multiple times in the same ride. I’ve called the founders on the verge of tears, frantically sent wonky pictures of a tangled chain to my teammates, been dropped off at bike shops mid-ride, crashed my bike in front of a crowd of people, etc etc etc. Long story short, I’ve felt pretty in over my head.
Training has been a rollercoaster ride. I’ve been confronted with feelings of inadequacy, and struggled much more than I could’ve expected when I first got that acceptance email. Of course I knew that this entire experience would be physically challenging (to say the least). However, I didn’t anticipate what it really feels like to fall off my bike forty miles into a ride. I couldn’t predict how much I’d want to quit after riding for six hours straight. But as strange as it sounds and as it felt in the moment(s), every time I found myself on a sidewalk after a fall or stranded on a curb somewhere with a broken derailleur, I’d get back on the bike.
I got back on my bike when I fell because I’m not riding in vain. I’m doing this weird, exhausting, exhilarating, sometimes miserable thing because I believe in survivors. I believe in the restorative, redemptive work The Refuge tirelessly provides for their girls. I believe in the communal efforts to stop the sale of human beings being carried out at NCMEC. I believe in this cause so much that I didn’t quit 50 miles from home under the heat of a Texas sun. Time after time, I think about the revolutionary stuff happening at the Refuge Ranch and at NCMEC, and I get back on my bike because I’m not trying to prove how strong or how cut out I am for something so difficult (because most of the time, I can’t prove that to myself or anyone else). I am proving that every single human person who has been sexually exploited or trafficked is worthwhile.
The last ride I went on before I shipped my bike to Seattle was our first and last 60 mile training ride. To spare the details, this ride was particularly difficult. I was nervous out of my mind that I was going to have some kind of maintenance problem, that traffic would get hectic, I would get too tired to finish, I would get lost. I dreaded it, for all these anticipated anxieties. I realized quickly that no matter how prepared I was (which I really grew to be by this point in training), I could still run into a problem and I wouldn’t know if I would be completely capable of handling it. So I swallowed my nerves, got on the bike, and miraculously finished the ride. It was hot, the hills were awful, I had to ask for directions, traffic was anxiety inducing at best, and I still had to make some phone calls for help. It took me more than six hours, and I was sore for two days. It was the last time I rode my bike before launching from Seattle. At the very end of the ride, I changed course a bit to swing through a neighborhood I passed on my first training ride. I was there again, having conquered 60 miles, on the same route that had served me my very first miles on the bike. It was a cheesy and wonderful moment that had me tearing up as I passed the familiar houses in that very familiar bike lane. I thought of every girl currently being exploited and trafficked, every survivor facing a daunting and painful journey through healing at the Refuge, every child’s name in every Amber Alert released by NCMEC, every call that had been made to all the hotlines, and I thought about each mile that I had ridden on that bike throughout the recent months. It was all surreal. And it all clicked. Every person who has been sexually exploited, manipulated, abused, and trafficked is worth what I had just done and would continue being equally worth it, even after I was finished.
Pedal the Pacific, believe it or not, is not about pedaling the pacific. It’s just a name that starts conversation, and a way to get folks involved in the anti-trafficking movement who wouldn’t be exposed to it otherwise. This method of advocacy is strange and unique, interesting and fun. But the moment I had as I finished up that sixty mile ride felt like the entire movement was spread out in front of me. The work both survivors and the professionals who serve them put into the eradication of sex trafficking became so overwhelming and incredibly powerful to me. It was visceral and intimate, and really breathtaking.
