I began this ride talking about “riding for those who can’t.”
I still believe in that. I rode with my aunt Alba in my thoughts, and supporting wounded Airmen and Guardians gave those miles a purpose beyond finishing another endurance challenge.
But Clint made me think more deeply about that phrase.
I need to be careful about deciding what somebody else can or cannot do. Clint has cerebral palsy, and he completed every mile of this ride. He did not need me to ride for him. In that moment, he needed someone to stay behind him, make him more visible to traffic and give him the time and space to finish for himself.
Maybe that is the better lesson.
Ride for the people who cannot be here. Ride beside the people who are. And when someone is struggling, do not take over their journey, just make sure they do not have to complete it alone.
That idea showed up throughout all four days. It was the group telling me to “grab a wheel” when I was struggling on Century Day. It was John volunteering to ride sweep with me. It was hundreds of riders, volunteers and supporters helping one another travel from Kitty Hawk to Washington. It was every person who waited, encouraged, protected or pulled someone else forward.
M2M also brought my Air Force career full circle. I began my service in the Air Force Band, telling the Air Force story through music. Today, I tell that story through recruiting. During these four days, I had the opportunity to tell it through cycling… riding through communities, meeting future Airmen and showing what Air Force teamwork looks like when the road becomes difficult.
We started at the place where two bicycle mechanics changed the world of flight. We finished beneath the spires of the Air Force Memorial.
Four days. Roughly 350 miles. A ferry, endless hills, tired legs, new friendships and more food logistics than any bike ride should require.
Most importantly, everyone made it.
That is how M2M was supposed to end.