A Unicycle Trip Across the USA

by Keith Cash

Hey you! How the heck are ya? I'd like to share a story about my unicycle ride across the United States. A trip that both changed my life and gave me big calluses on my butt. Not too many events you can say that about, eh?

Please let me set the stage for this trek. It was March of 1981. I was a 23 year old, 5 foot 7 inch Air Force Veteran weighing in at a scant 165 pounds. I'd been living in Los Angeles for a year and a half busily spinning my wheels as a would-be-actor.

I would have become a famous and much sought after actor except for one thing - I sucked. I sucked so bad that in auditions I not only ruined my own chances of ever getting hired, but also took many other fine young actors down with me in my swirling vortex of mumbles and miffed lines. I was thinking very bad thoughts. They weren't quite suicidal, but they weren't quite not either.

One day I wiped my tear soaked, bloated face and decided I WOULD kill myself... in an incredibly slow, torturous way. I would ride my unicycle backward across the United States. YES! A fitting fate for one so lowly as I. Well, the backward part of the plan was jettisoned (for good reasons) early on. Also the trip's bizarre quasi-suicide theme soon transmogrified into a focused attempt to go beyond any limits I had ever known.

I was way busy for the entire self-imposed two-month lead time. Selling my useless stuff and my van, buying a load of feather-weight camping equipment and having make-shift handlebars welded onto my Schwinn 24" unicycle. My attempts to garner either a sponsor or a recreational vehicle fell on deaf ears. "You're gonna do WHAT? Yeah, right." was the universal response. I decided to start selling my blood plasma for $10 every other day to supplement my dwindling financial reserve. This turned out to be an excellent decision. Since all of my grueling training took place with diminished bodily fluids, I had bonus juice for the actual trip.

And what a trip it was. On May 1, 1981 I hugged my best friends Marilyn and Chip goodbye and rode away from the Pacific Ocean with $35 in my pocket. From my first mile I knew that my equipment was too heavy. Even with paring down to total necessities, my stuff still weighed forty pounds.

Provisions

With my hands and forearms on the handlebars to lift myself off the (too hard and sweaty) seat, the only way to balance was by moving my head. Don't get me wrong, I'm not complaining. I just want you unicyclists out there to think about this wacked-out set up. Oh yeah, I also had a seat belt slung from one handlebar under my butt to the other side which I cinched up and sat on when I just couldn't stand the pain any more. So if you think that swinging above one wheel while wrestling forty pounds of top-heavy weight with your neck ain't fun, don't ride across the U.S. on a freakin' unicycle.

I rode with a loose connection to The American Cancer Society. I didn't collect money for them and they didn't give any to me. They provided me with a T-shirt and a list of local chapters in case of catastrophic circumstances. I, in turn spoke to young people along the way about not starting to smoke cigarettes. I've never had anything against smokers, I just thought kids should know that riding up and down the Rocky Mountains would have been next to impossible with a two-pack-a-day habit. Some listened.

The Mojave Desert

And the people who stopped generally had ice COLD water. We would meet, joke and share a roadside chat. I was offered soda-pop, coffee and beer, but all I ever wanted was the melted ice from the bottom of their coolers. This disgusted most of my new friends, but they relented and turned their heads as I slammed down cup after cup of this life giving ambrosia. Many times as I would fill my boda bag I was offered sandwiches and goodies. I can't express to you how much care and encouragement I found on the side of that endless road.

If I asked a motorist why s/he stopped, the paraphrased answer was, "Well, I thought a guy on a unicycle in the desert 50 miles from a town in either direction must be nuts, but he's probably no danger to anyone but himself. So, I pulled over." Excellent diagnosis!

Back on the road again. I liked to smile and wave goodbye and let cars drive away before I remounted. With at least a quart of water in my belly as well as a sandwich or two and maybe a candy bar tied to my pack, my balance dynamics would be changed dramatically. Translation: I'd look like a doofus getting on. Under these conditions it took anywhere from 3 to 5 tries to mount the beast. Once I was up though, the riding was the about the same as ever. The only time the pack was a real hindrance was when double and sometimes triple tractor trailers blasted by inches from my elbow. The wind grabbed my bulky stuff as if it were a parachute, nearly spinning me completely around.

As an average, over the course of the trip I covered about 30 miles a day. My record was 50 miles in one day in Kansas. The wind was to my back, corn fields stretched out endlessly and all was flat. But the Mojave desert was quite different. I stopped when I had to. If I had covered only 15 miles, my water bag was nearly empty, no cars were passing and I spotted shelter like a culvert... BOOM - I was done for the day! Forget the average trip mileage.

As I neared the Navajo Nation I was told by some that the American Indians would literally scalp and then kill me. Well, I was taken into Navajo homes and communities and accepted as family, just as I was everywhere. Weeks later as I left the Nation, a few Navajos told me to be very careful because there were crazy white men in the desert who would just as soon kill me as look at me. We fear what we do not know.

Pain

The butt pain was really intense for the next two weeks. The calluses weren't any worse, but getting on the cycle was the most difficult thing I've ever had to do. Once mounted, I had to tell myself that the pain would moderate after a half-hour or so. Then I could put most of my weight on the seat. After that I never wanted to get off. Dismounting made me grimace with agony. I avoided potholes, stones and speed bumps, so I could decide for myself when I would groan in pain and drop to my hands and knees. Needless to say... this sucked. A bicyclist I met shared some moleskin with me. It was OK, but the problem was mainly the pressure on my butt, not the calluses themselves. But enough butt talk. After a week and a half I began seeing some improvement. Life got MUCH better. I could think about other things, like food.

Keeping Going

Along the way I bailed hay, dug irrigation ditches, cleaned out restaurant /trading post back rooms and even swung a sledge hammer with a demolition crew. Mostly though, I was offered everything I needed along the way. I'd say I earned a total of only $300. Not nearly enough to sustain such a ride. But, I was never alone. There was something about what I was doing that many people identified with. They gave me food, advice, directions, liquids of every sort, even addresses of their friends that lay ahead. They also gave me real confidence. I began believing that I could really ride that unicycle coast to coast. I said hello and goodbye to a lot of people who believed in me.

Almost every person in this country is a beautiful creation. DO NOT BELIEVE THE MEDIA'S COLLECTIVE OPINION OF YOUR NEIGHBORS. The newspapers, TV reporters and radio newspeople seem to be discouraging us from meeting each other. No this isn't a conspiracy theory, it's just an observation.

During this ride I had plenty of time. I used most of it to enjoy the magnificent scenery all around me. I'd driven across America before, but as I was busy zooming at 60 miles an hour I missed many opportunities to really see. On top of the unicycle I was totally immersed in nature. I breathed it, listened to it, marinated in it and on some very special days I became it. Even on the most violent storms of my trip I never fought nature... we worked together.

The Rockies

Going down the Rockies was tough, though. Since unicycles have no brakes, my knees were taking a horrible beating. I would have to lean back, lock my right leg, lean back, lock my left leg... to make just one revolution... relentlessly. The backs of my knees were numb meat. My ankles began clicking. Damage to body - bad. I stopped to see a doctor in Telluride, Colorado. He said I should stop for a week. When I said I couldn't he said I should at the very least stop for two days and keep ice on the front and back of my knees. I stopped for one day and soaked my legs in a bitterly cold mountain stream. Whilst shivering I heard voices and it turned out to be the Nads, the visiting softball team I had kept score for the day before. We laughed a lot into the night. Excellent results... back on the road to the team's official cheer - "Go Nads, Go Nads". They were odd, but much fun. I left my fear of permanent knee damage at the stream.

On to the East Coast

THAT'S what my little ride was really about. Learning that people are looking out for each other. They're extending themselves, reaching out and working together. One can sit in front of the TV for decades and never see REAL Americans. If it took an excruciating ride on a unicycle to learn this simple truth... so be it. As I rode, I speculated that if we all got to know each other, one lawn mower would be enough for any neighborhood. This would not be good for lawnmower sales, BUT IT WOULD BE GOOD FOR OUR SOULS. Think about it, but skip the 3,300 miles on the seat of pain. Trust me.

I took a three-day weekend when I visited my dad in my hometown of Schenectady, NY. Then I was off for my final challenge... the Berkshire Mountains in Massachusetts. The grades were much steeper than the Rockies, but by then my legs were like powerful pistons that did my bidding without the slightest effort on my part.

Having worn three sets of pedals completely smooth as well as going through five tires and countless tubes, I finished the trip at the USS Constitution in Boston Massachusetts - exactly six months after I'd begun.

During this dangerous trip my life was protected by God, motorists, new and old friends, motel owners, skilled truckers and the warmth of well-wishers along one long and narrow black strip in the United States of America.

Thank you for reading this ramble. Live out your dreams! Try to help others living out their dreams. But more than anything else... pass on a little love today... damn it.

Bye, Keith Cash