Boulder's Van Duzer: Oops, started out the wrong way

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Ryan Van Duzer hopes to make a scene all the way from San Diego to Washington, D.C.

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SAN DIEGO -

I started off the grand adventure by going the wrong way ... but luckily only for a few miles.

I was so emotional and worked up from all the excitement at the start of the Race Across America that I didn't really pay attention to where I was going. I just pointed my bike east and started pedaling.

When I found myself on the shoulder of a big highway, I knew I had gone the wrong way, so I backtracked, pulled out my map and found my route. I was now on my way to Washington, D.C. â 2,995 miles to go!

The first few miles were a breeze; I felt like I was back in Boulder on a casual Thursday night cruiser ride, ringing my bell and waving to people with a smile. This comfortable feeling didn't last long, though.

Within 15 miles, I was charging, or, should I say, puttering up a big mountain. The truth is I haven't ridden this bike farther than 5 miles, and definitely not up a mountain the size of Flagstaff.

There would be no more sitting down, so I stood up on the pedals and started cranking, as much as a three-speed connected to a trailer can crank. Luckily, it was a cool, overcast afternoon, about 65 degrees, so heat was not a factor. After a long, trying hour I got to the top of the mountain and treated myself to an ice-cream sandwich. It was time to call it a day â 30 big miles in the bag!

That night I camped in a strawberry patch off the side of the road and went to sleep by 8 p.m. I don't think I've been in bed before 10 p.m. on a Saturday since I was a kid. The rest was needed, though â all the preparation and anticipation in the weeks leading up to this had drained me.

The next morning I was a new man, refreshed and ready to cruise. I was moving right along until I hit Palomar Mountain. I knew I was in trouble when a speedy young woman dressed in Spandex rode by me and asked with a grin, "Are you taking that thing up this mountain?" then effortlessly sped off. I smugly yelled back, "Yes, this THING is going all the way to D.C.!"

The next couple of hours hurt really badly as I struggled to rotate the cranks. I could hear my friends' voices taunting me: "Dude, you're crazy. Don't ride this bike across the U.S."

My odometer didn't even know what to do with this pitiful situation. I wasn't going zero mph, but I wasn't going much faster, so the reading was locked at about 3.5. I had to keep reminding myself that I chose to ride this bike; I chose to have only three gears.

It didn't seem like a great idea anymore, but with every painful pedal stroke I got closer to the top. All I could think about was food, and luckily at the top there was a cute little country store for me to raid. Once again I treated myself to ice cream, but this time I really went for it, scarfing down an entire pint of double-fudge brownie in about five minutes. It may have been the best-tasting ice cream of my life.

The next 13 miles were downhill into the desert, and I had a grin on my face the entire way down.

The cool mountains have now been replaced by scorching hot desert. I like the desert, though, and the landscapes are breathtaking. It's completely quiet (except for semi-trucks racing by), and it's pretty flat. I'll take 110-degree heat any day over big mountains.

I think my average speed has been about 11 mph, which is precisely cruiser speed, and at this rate I'll make it to our nation's capital in no time ... .