A sobering moment on the bike as the direction of my trip shifts from east to west.

We all pack our gear back on our bikes and say our goodbyes to all of the family friends who stay in the neighboring cottages. My uncle Jason departs for Long Island solo and Jim, Steve, my Dad and I prepare for our trek back to Upstate New York. I realize that this marks the beginning of my trip west. Weirs Beach, NH is the most easterly longitude Ill reach, the rest of the journey is west. It seems apropos that the major milestone of the trip marks the physical turning point.

We say goodbye to my grandpa and Glen who will be driving back tomorrow and hit the road. We decide to stop at a great retro roadside diner called Diner 104 on our way out of town for a hearty breakfast.

Eighteen miles into our ride, in the small town of Bristol, NH, we approach a stoplight to make a left-hand turn. I’m leading the group and glance in my rearview mirror to confirm the pack has joined me in the turning lane. In my peripheral vision I witness an oncoming blue truck attempt to make a quick left turn, across our lane, directly behind me. In what seems like slow-motion, a motorcycle glances off the side of the truck, smashes into the curb and highsides into the dirt. I immediately assume it’s someone from our group, until I notice the bike was carrying a passenger. We all jump off our bikes and run over to the young guy and girl picking themselves up off the ground. Thankfully they both seem relatively unscathed other than minor scrapes. The driver of the truck doesn’t have much to say and is shockingly unapologetic. After calming them down, assessing the damage, offering clearheaded advice about what to do and discussing what we witnessed with the police, I exchange contact info with them incase they need anything more from us. The police officer points out that the guy in the truck was making an illegal turn against a Do Not Enter sign, so fault in the accident is very clear. Luckily disaster was adverted and there were no major injuries suffered by anyone involved.

Witnessing an accident firsthand makes the next few hours in my helmet very somber. I think a lot about the 4800 miles I’ve completed safely on this trip and the many more I have ahead of me.

The rest of the day is spent weaving through the beautiful roads of New Hampshire and Vermont as the four of us make our way back to New York. The bright blue sky overhead is not taken for granted, it typically rains at least once on the ride home.

I peel off from the group to stop at my mom and stepdads house for the evening. Five minutes after getting off my bike, it starts raining. My dad, Jim and Steve are able to still say that they have never ridden to Laconia Bike Week and back without getting wet.