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Derailleur destruction caused by a rag sucked into the drivetrain—proof that even a tiny oversight can bring down thousands of miles of planning. |
I trained for a year—twelve solid months of sweat, hills, and heart—for one ride that I hoped would complete my dream of cycling across the United States. I had already pedaled from Las Cruces to Lubbock and from there to Florida. All that remained was the western stretch: San Diego to Las Cruces. This tour was meant to be the final chapter of a journey years in the making.
I didn’t take the challenge lightly. I logged over 6,500 miles in training, with a heavy focus on hill work, knowing the first two days would demand everything my legs had. Physically, I was ready. Mentally, I was locked in. Spiritually? Unshakable.
The Start of the Tour: Strong, Steady, and Full of Purpose
I drove the 1,100 miles to San Diego with anticipation and purpose. I rolled out on June 1st, feeling confident and free. In fact, I felt so good that I pushed beyond my Day 1 goal, riding 52 miles and attempting to summit an 18-mile, 2,400-foot climb outside Alpine, California—originally scheduled for Day 2.
Then, just as I was about to begin the climb, everything changed.
The Rag That Ruined Everything
I pulled into a small parking lot to refuel. I reached into my jersey for a fig bar—something I’ve done a thousand times. What I didn’t realize was that my microfiber towel, always tucked in that same pocket, had partially slipped out.
Fifteen feet later, my bike came to a violent stop.
When I looked down, my heart sank. The towel had fallen into the derailleur and wrapped tightly into the chain and cassette. The derailleur was bent and jammed into the rear spokes. The chain was destroyed. The hanger was warped.
My bike—my meticulously maintained machine—was unrideable. And I was just 34 miles into a multi-day cycling tour I had dreamed about for years.
No Fixing This on the Road
This wasn’t a flat tire or a slipped chain. This was the kind of mechanical failure that stops everything. With no bike shop nearby and no path forward, I had to pack it up and drive home—1,100 miles of silence and disappointment.
It took two weeks to get the bike repaired. But it took longer to process the emotional hit. Months of training, focus, and planning—gone in seconds.
Finding a New Road Forward
But here’s the thing about being a lifelong cyclist: you learn to keep pedaling.
I’ve ridden through storms, pain, headwinds, and heartbreak. This was just another climb—maybe the hardest one of all—but not the end of the road.
I’ve decided to pivot.
I’m moving away from solo touring. Not because I can’t do it anymore, but because I’ve grown in a different direction. I’m now focused on single-day events, one each month from July through October. These rides are still challenging, still meaningful—but they come without the logistical weight or the solitude that comes with solo tours.
I’ll still do multi-day rides, but they’ll be organized events like RAGBRAI or Oklahoma Freewheel—rides with community, support, and shared experience.
Letting Go of the San Diego to Las Cruces Dream
The dream of riding from San Diego to Las Cruces? That chapter is closed.
I won’t be going back—not in defeat, but in evolution. The road turned unexpectedly, and instead of resisting it, I turned with it.
Because that’s what cyclists do.
The Ride Continues
I’m still training. Still climbing. Still finding joy in the hum of the wheels beneath me.
The dream didn’t die—it transformed.
Because cycling has never been about just one tour, one summit, or one goal. It’s about the ride itself—the lessons learned, the road ahead, and the choice to keep pedaling no matter what.
Have you ever had a ride or tour fall apart unexpectedly?
Share your story in the comments below—I’d love to hear how you found a new way forward.
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