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Joe Yu was smart in keeping his distance as we headed out of the mountains and down into the valley. Then we heard the crack of thunder, and saw an ugly black cloud forming over the top tower of Simitai. In a flash, I was getting out my rain suit, yelling at Joe Yu to do the same. We barely managed to make it to the village below before being pounded by golf ball size hail. Joe Yu wanted to stay in the shelter of a hut. That would be a problem since we were in the path of a flood channel. Another sonic boom split our ears. We never saw the flash flood hit us, tossing our bodies to and fro like rag dolls. We fought to stay afloat until the waters were kind enough to spit us out a mile or so downstream. This time I laughed at Death. The section called 9 Dragon was the size of a football field, and two days away from the finish. We came across a group of villagers; starving mothers who didn't have enough in their breasts to feed their babies. They came begging for milk. Gao and Joe Yu tried chasing them off. During the journey, they had become used to being well fed, forgetting that the poor will always be with you. What did I need the rest of my powdered milk for? I gave the order to distribute all the rations we had, and a box of water bottles. The women bowed gratefully. “Shay shay nee. Shay shay nee.” Thank you, thank you. Over and over before returning to their homes. Shortly after, one of the women returned with her husband, offering me an entire watermelon as grateful payment to what I had done for their baby. A pound of powdered milk would last quite awhile. The watermelon was of most value, and I declined to take it, but they insisted, bowing all the time until I accepted it for honors sake. That night, while my team slept in one of the towers, I sat outside, listening to the villagers below play music and watching the stars twinkle across the sky. I imagined myself as a guard a thousand or so years ago. “What do we do after this, Lord? Where do we dream from here?” The next day was 12 Cliff Wall, and it was just that…the Wall between 12 natural cliffs with a thorn covered jungle covering the entire area. The bike would be out for this section, as Peng and I chopped our way through the growth, getting cut along the way. By day's end we had hacked our way through the last mountainous cliff and were rewarded by a view of the Sea of Bohai and the Great Wall stretching out to the horizon. The next day was an oxymoron. Joyful sorrow. In a way, I was glad to see the journey end. Thankful to God He allowed me to go the 1165 mile distance thus far, yet sad to see the dream end. I had been chasing the vision for over half my life, and now, in a matter of hours, it would all be over. History was about to be fulfilled, and where I fit into the puzzle didn't matter to me at the moment. All I wanted to do was reach the Sea. The international press was buzzing around the base of 12 Cliff Wall, snapping their cameras, while I pretended not to notice, as I finished shaving. Peng would join me on these last 15 miles into Shanhaiguan. And as I had done on the first day, I rubbed some dirt into my sweaty palms, slipped on my cycling gloves, scanned the horizon to where the Wall ended, and rode off. Several yards away, I stopped and looked back. “What's wrong,” asked one of the reporters. “Nothing,” I replied. “Just thanking the Wall for allowing me to be a part of her these last couple of months.” Then I rode out of the dream and into reality toward the “First Gate Under Heaven.” A boy went to China to fulfill a dream. A man returned to his own country. My manager, Charlie, had dozens of news and magazine articles from around the world waiting for me. It was estimated that over 1 billion people were a witness to what went on during the summer of 1990. I was giving at least 3 interviews a day for a month. I did public events for my sponsors, and motivational talks to school children and corporate officials. Somehow, I had become the American Dream. When I thought the entire fanfare had died down to where I could focus on what my next move would be, Charlie called, squealing with excitement. “You've just won the Cyclist of the Year award over Greg LeMond!” “But why,” I moaned. “Greg won his third Tour de France. I'm no cyclist.” “You are now,” laughed Charlie. “Don't you realize who you are to the public?… you're the man who cycled the Great Wall of China. Better get used to that fact. Now, what are we going to do for our next cycling adventure?” “How about the moon? I'd like to try some wheelies over the Sea of Tranquility.” “Uh, I was thinking a little more down to earth,” replied Charlie. “Like something for your own country this time.” “What did you have in mind?” I groaned. Charlie laughed. “That's your department, Captain America.” I wasn't thinking of a Tour of America, or any other tour for that matter. I had guest appearances to make, speaking engagements to do, and a life to live… The next phase of my life was about to become a different reality for me…
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captainamerica@kevin-foster.com
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