10 things I thought I understood before, but didn't:

1. COMMUNITY
Between our friends, people we've met along the way, and the fantastic staffs of Breast Cancer Action and the Lymphoma Foundation of America, countless people have made this trip more than a bike trip -- they (you) have made it a powerful journey into the meaning of community.

We have heard from people who loved Bud, who want to give because of all he has given to this town and to them. We have heard from our friends, who helped us see our new form of transportation as just a new adventure rather than some sort of failure. And, we have heard from strangers who have either read about our trip or who we have met along the way.

We also drew on the support that I personally didn't realize I still had. The North Tahoe community has been truly amazing. We have received calls, emails and donations from the beginning. Though I grew up here, I would never have guessed that even after 8 years away, people from my hometown would embrace this ride and, perhaps most surprisingly, stand with us when we had to shelve the bikes. I bear witness to the strength of this community my parents have shared, cultivated and enjoyed for the past 35 years.

2. GENEROSITY
As of today, we have raised over $5,776.00 -- and the gifts keep coming. Wow.

Thank you so much for your support of us and of these important groups. I had secretly hoped we would hit $3,500, or $35 gifts from 100 people. Instead, we have received so many generous gifts - and equally important words of encouragement - that we far surpassed my goal. (After he made sure I was alright in the hospital, my dad starting wondering about refunding the money. I said our supporters were getting more bang for the buck -- instead of $.01 per mile, you've given $.05 per mile. Hope that's okay.) :) More than anything, I hope we have helped spread the word about BCA and LFA as resources.
(Side note on generosity: across North Carolina, truckers were so generous with space. If I had a top 10 list for the state, their consideration of bikers would definitely rank. This may seem simple, but you'd be grateful too if just about every huge truck waited as long as necessary to make a safe pass around you and your bike.)

3. RECOVERY
I've gained new respect for the miracle of recovery -- in body, mind, or community. I've already written about the people we have met who have survived cancer in one form or another. I stand in awe of those who have weathered this most intimate and sadly common of experiences.

When my sister gave birth last December, I could hardly contain my wonder when I walked down the street, thinking, "Every single person here has had a woman go through that." This trip has left me with a similar expansive respect for the people who experience cancer and for those who stand with them. I salute their strength and their recovery.

In our hyper-toxic world, with striated access to health care and soaring rates of long-life-expectancy diseases, I can't help but believe we can do better. I know "science" is doing what it can, chugging away in the directions where it can get funding. Good things are happening. Progress is being made.

But I'm talking about the people side. The side where people can afford to spend time with ailing family members or friends without going into debt that will plague them from the rest of their lives. I am talking about medical information that is, for once, not brokered through pharmaceutical companies, but through organizations like Breast Cancer Action and the Lymphoma Foundation of America, which put patients' interests first. BCA will tell you if studies have not yet proven the side effects of a new "miracle" treatment, or if your libido will tank more with X pill over Y. And, unlike some of the doctors my mom has seen, BCA will understand if you need a little time to think over a commitment to five years on Tamoxafen. Plus, they'll do the research to help you make an informed decision.

When I imagine recovery, I picture the individual resilience I have encountered and a collective social healing I hope is on its way.

4. TAN LINES, BIKE SHORTS AND CHAMOIS CREAM
On a lighter note... Though our trip was abbreviated, Dad and I are still sporting the "heading West" left calf sun burn. Who doesn't love a the tan-limbs-pale-center look from riding in bike shorts and a t-shirt? (For those of you privy to Rafe's equivocation and outright refusal to wear bike shorts, you'll be happy to know he's a convert now.) As for chamois cream, don't judge until you've experienced the tingle. Enough said.

5. WISTERIA
I had to throw this in. In the Bay Area, wisteria plants give hints of wildness, bursting out around trellises and climbing walls. However, I was unprepared for the flower's explosive abundance, 30 feet high and on the move, chasing us for miles. Spicy sweet, almost sinister, its scent carried me across North Carolina. I wonder what other olfactory surprises await in the states I've yet to pedal.

6. HUNGER
First, of course, I mean our voracious appetites. In just a day on the bikes, we were eating like horses (I'd say pigs, but turns out pigs actually stop when they're full and horses will go on forever). I don't recall a time I've been so hungry or put down so many snickers bars.

Once in the Green Turtle (the Volvo), Dad and I listened to Barbara Kingsolver's "Animal, Vegetable, Miracle." She describes North Americans as "the fattest people closest to starvation," because of the poor nutritional content of our huge diets. For good measure, I'll throw in hunger for good, locally grown and accessible food.

7. MY RIBS
Talk about taking for granted the structure that valiantly stands guard 24-7 for our most vital organs. These bones and their equally important intercostal cartilage do a great service and, when they're out of whack, you know it. For better or worse, I have no rugby analogy to help understand this particular healing process. All I can say is that for now, I have a new awareness of how everything thing from my tail bone to my head connects. A good metaphor? Though my spirits are mostly high and my muscles starting to calm down, I'm still not a pretty sight getting in and out of a chair or attempting to pick things up. You know you're in trouble when people 3 times your age are helping you reach for something you've dropped. Well folks, looks like Kellea will be slowing down for a bit.

8. FLEXIBILITY
Physical, mental, emotional, geographical... The works. (Thanks, Scott, for helping on the physical front. Once I'm back up and running, I swear I'll be working those IT bands.)

9. THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
I know I only saw snippets, between the Route 4 ride in North Carolina and Interstate 40 for much of the drive. Still, for someone who has traveled around the globe, this trip brought me closer to the nation I tend to leave rather than explore.

This is the America I am learning to love. The complicated, dirty, upside-down, "over-fed and under-nourished," historically and presently bloody, bold, daring, polyglot (if mostly thanks to immigrants, arguably pillars of our citizenry and economy), multi-ethnic, multi-national (yes, I'd say we're a multi-national nation), open, generous, hopeful and absolutely breathtaking America.

10. MY DAD AND DIANNE
This is public space, so I'll save the mushy stuff for offline. Still, I would be remiss if I did not share a little about Dianne's amazing "central command." Di carried our aspiration and disappointments with open arms, enthusiasm and understanding. This ride would not have been possible without her. She organized the blog and fundraising effort, offered endless love and support to us, and even convinced Dad to take a helmet along. (He did wear it... for at least two whole days.)

Then there is Dad. Rafe Miller, man of mystery and the great outdoors. He was the first to take me backpacking, to force me onto a bike (rather late in life), and to instill a love of wide open country. As Bonnie Raitt croons, "Yes the road is in my blood, 'cause I'm my daddy's kid. You have to learn how to let me go, just like my mama did."

In 20 days, 60 meals and 15+ shared motel rooms, we never got sick of each other. He hasn't disowned me, and I think we just might understand each other. On this trip, I got to show him a bit of my world, staying with friends like Dorothy and explaining what I mean when I say I'm going to study sexual rights for the next five years. In turn, dad toured me through the part of the country that makes him come alive no matter how many times he's visited.

More than that, we built an adventure together. We tested our mental and physical strength, adjusted to road closures, headwinds, flat tires and sore joints. We swapped stories, rode in silence, and fashioned new and unexpected memories. When I got hit, we decided together that we could not keep riding. He's not usually so public - i.e. as with the blog, the fundraising, etc. - but for a good cause we'd raised a bit of noise. The change was a tough one to swallow, knowing how many people were behind us. I am proud of him for shifting gears, proud that he was there for and with me, and proud of our trip and our relationship. As he says, "Let them know the ride is not over." Next time, there might be more family members along, but the adventure will continue...