A couple miles into the day, we began to climb. The good fortune of downhills and flat roads from the day before had obviously ended. Perhaps it would bestow us again later in the day, but for now we had some serious climbing ahead of us. Four hours, one state (New York) and thirty miles later, Alex and I stopped at the top of a mountain to take a break. We parked our bikes on the side of the road and hiked a few hundred yards to a rock that overlooked what was ahead of us. To the south, about 40 miles in distance, was the majestic skyline of New York City. We both stood quietly and gazed at the greatest city in the world. After a few minutes, Alex broke the silence with the thought that was apparently on both of our minds, "I suppose you could have seen the smoke from the Trade Center all the way up here."

To the east were more mountains. As far as we could see was one ridge after another. I took out my cell phone and called my parents. I told them if the mountains continued like they were, and like it appeared, there was no way we were getting home tonight. If we were lucky, we'd get home on Saturday, but perhaps even Sunday. There was a hint of disappointment on the phone, but then my dad said what I've said the entire trip "you can only ride as far as you can ride, just keep us posted."

Much to our delighted surprise, once Alex and I descended from the mountain, the road that we were on took a turn north and began to follow the valley between the mountains. We knew better than to think that we had seen the end of our climbing, but also knew that the Hudson River was quickly approaching. Once we crossed the Hudson, we'd be on the home stretch. If it was late, then we'd head north to Danbury to spend the night. If it were still early, we'd take the more direct southern route and head for home. Luck was on our side and the road remained flat except for one last mountain pass before we got to the Bear Mountain Bridge to cross the Hudson and enter Peekskill.

After crossing the Hudson, we were faced with a short steep climb and then a long descent into town. Peekskill is a much busier and bigger town than I had thought. It's actually, pretty much a city. Not wanting to leave our bikes around in the downtown, we decided to climb the hill out of town and find a place to eat there, where we could make our final decision as to whether to head for Danbury and finish the ride on Saturday, or head south and finish the ride tonight. If we finished the ride tonight, we would again be riding in the dark, as it was already 3:30, but we were only 60 miles from home.

We had ridden a few miles from the downtown and hadn't seen a place to eat, so while we were waiting at a stop light, I asked a cab driver if we were near a restaraunt. She said there was a deli just over the next hill, past the hospital, around the bend, and on the left. I thanked her, then Alex and I rode over the hill and past the hospital. Right before the bend was an intersection where a road merged with our road on the right hand side. As I approached the intersection, I looked up the joining road to make sure the oncoming cars were going to stop at the stop sign. Satisfied that everyone was stopped behind the white truck at the front of the line, I kept on riding. Then I heard Alex starting to scream "YO, YO, YO, YO!"

I looked to my right and saw a line of cars stopped at the stop sign, then looked to my left where I saw a car making a left hand turn across traffic, onto the joining road, and right towards me. I tried to speed up as quick as possible, but it was too late. SMACK! The car ran right into my back wheel and my trailer, throwing me from my bike, onto the pavement and rolling me and my bike into the bumper of the white truck waiting at the stop sign.

The car that hit me, kept on driving through the intersection. Alex still screaming, but now at the driver of the car, started chasing it up the road. "STOP NOW! PULL OVER!!!" The driver, quickly pulled over, apparently she was looking for a better spot to stop so she wouldn't cause so much traffic, and exited the car, visibly shaken.

"Did I hit him? I couldn't see. The sun was right in my eyes, I couldn't see a thing. Is everyone okay?"

The lady who was driving the white truck, got out as well to check on me. By this time, I was standing up, brushing myself off and looking around for blood. It had appeared that I had escaped without a scrape, so I then started to inspect my bike. It was all in one piece, but when I tried to roll it, it wouldn't move. My back wheel had been bent so bad, that it wouldn't spin around in my frame. When everyone came over to see if I was alright, the only thing I could say was "I'm fine, but my trip's over."

By now, a pretty large traffic jam was forming, so I pulled my bike over to the side of the road to further assess the damage. The lady that hit me kept shaking, almost crying, saying over and over how the sun was in her eyes and how she couldn't see. The lady in the white truck kept wondering what we wanted to do. Eventually, we decided to load my bike into the lady with the white truck's truck and drive to the Burger King parking lot a quarter of a mile away. From there, Alex and I re-examined my wheel, hoping we saw something that we would be able to fix easily, but ultimately decided it was unridable.

There was nothing we could do, there were no bike shops around, and no motels. If I was in the middle of the country, I would have tried to be more resourceful, but I wasn't. I was 60 miles from home. I had ridden my bike 4,440 miles, climbed countless mountain ranges, crossed almost every significant river in the country, endured extreme heat and cold, battled fatigue and overcame mechanical problems. At no point did I ever think about stopping. At no point was I ever going to quit. Then, 60 miles from home, I had to call my parents and ask them to come pick me up, my trip was over.

An hour and a half later, pulling into the parking lot of the Burger King were my parents. Before my dad had fully stopped the car, my mom opened the door and jumped out to give me a hug. She had tears in her eyes. I told her I really wished I didn't have to see them today, but was sure glad they came. Within minutes, Alex and I had packed our bikes and our gear into the back of their car and were on our way home.

During the ride, we told stories from the road, recounted the accident, and said over and over it could have been worse. And it could have been. My bike could have been completely totalled, I could have been in the middle of nowhere, and of course I could have been seriously hurt. Yes, it could have been a lot worse. But you know what? It could have been a whole lot better too.

An hour and a half later, we exited the turnpike and began the final stretch to my parent's house. They live in a condo right on Long Island Sound. For three months, I had envisioned what it would feel like to ride the final mile of my trip, down Naugatuck Avenue, park my bike in my parent's parking lot and jump into the Atlantic. I tried not to play the scene over in my head too often, or else I would get caught up in finishing and stop enjoying where I was at at that moment. But sometimes it was hard. When I reached the Mississippi, I felt a huge swelling of accomplishment, when I sat on the mountain in New York, overlooking Manhattan, I felt amazed and awed by what I had done, but I knew it would be nothing in comparison to how I'd feel riding my bike down Naugatuck Avenue. As much as I tried not to, I built up that moment inside of my imagination, each time, downplaying a feeling of accomplishment, telling myself, wait until you reach Milford.

Now I was in Milford. Now I was riding down Naugatuck Avenue, but now I was in a car. My trip ended 60 miles ago. I tried to fight it, but I couldn't help it. I started to cry. That lady in Peekskill robbed me of that feeling of accomplishment that I was waiting for. Within an instant, it was over. Yes, it could have been a whole lot worse, but it could have been a whole lot better.

The next day, I took my back wheel to a bike shop. Fortunately, the rim wasn't damaged, just the spokes were bent. A couple of hours later, they had fixed it. My parents, Alex and I then decided that the next morning we would drive back up to Peekskill, to the parking lot of Burger King, and finish the ride without our trailers. I was so close to home, it only made sense to finish.