The morning in Green Bay was quiet, but a feeling of restlessness stirred in me. After weeks on the road, the road ahead seemed less like an invitation to adventure and more like a final burden to be endure. The long miles, the moments of triumph, and the trials had all culminated in this—a race toward home. After saying goodbye to Joe, I rode out, hoping to make good time and dodge the inevitable snarl of Chicago's morning commuters.

As the miles ticked by, I couldn’t help but reflect on how much had changed since I first set out. The roads that once whispered of the unknown now felt familiar, even comforting. I wasn’t chasing the thrill of the open road anymore; I was chasing home. And Alyssa. She had been a constant in my thoughts, an anchor that kept me grounded during the loneliest moments of the journey.

Chicago came into view as a distant blur on the horizon, and soon the city skyline rose like a beacon. Traffic thickened, but fortune smiled upon me as I slipped through with minimal delays. At a toll booth, I fumbled with my wallet, and it dropped precariously between the engine casing and the high-mounted exhaust pipe. Momentary panic hit. I squeezed my gloved hand into the narrow, superheated space, and fished it out with two fingers. It was a minor inconvenience compared to the trials I’d faced previously on the trip, but a reminder that I couldn't relax until I crossed the finish line, and that was still a few days away.

Indiana’s windmills greeted me next—hundreds of them turning in midwestern wind. The hypnotic rhythm of their blades provided a welcome distraction from the monotony of the flat, endless roads. I busied my mind attempting to calculate the speed at which their tips traveled, amazed at the numbers I was coming up with. Simple things like that had kept me sane on the stretches where the road seemed to go on forever.

The sky darkened once more as I pushed through Indiana and into Ohio, and by the time I reached Dayton, rain was falling in earnest. There was no escaping this storm. It felt right, though—after all, I had started this journey in rain, and now, as I neared its end, the skies had poured on me once more. Like some cosmic symmetry, the rain washed away the bugs and dust that had accumulated over thousands of miles, leaving the bike almost as clean as when I set off.

That night, I holed up in a hotel, my thoughts racing ahead of me. I had planned to visit a friend in Pittsburgh, but now I found myself tired, longing for home more than ever. Alyssa. I could be there by tomorrow. I made my decision: I would bypass Pittsburgh and surprise her by arriving a day early.

The next morning, the storm had moved eastward, but the roads remained wet, glistening under the gray sky. I messaged Alyssa, telling her I was taking a detour around the rain, hoping to keep the surprise intact, should she be watching my progress via the SPOT tracker. My wheels rolled steadily southeast, each passing mile bringing me closer. Again the rain returned, as if determined to accompany me on this final leg, but I embraced it. It felt poetic, a fitting end to the journey.

As I crossed into West Virginia, the rain eased and sunlight broke through the clouds, casting a golden glow over the Appalachian hills. The landscape transformed, reminding me of the beauty I had seen on my first day, nearly a month ago. The mountains were welcoming me home, their peaks and valleys familiar and comforting.

Virginia came next, the final state before I reached home. As I rejoined the same highway I had started on weeks earlier, I couldn’t help but feel a swell of emotion. I had set out to see America, to challenge myself, and to experience the freedom of the open road. Now, I had ridden nearly 9,000 miles across this vast country, and in just a few more, I would be home.

Crossing into Arlington felt surreal. The streets were familiar, but they also seemed different—perhaps because I was different. The barren trees lining the roads when I left were now a rich and vibrant green, the height of their springtime colors. As I turned into the alleyway behind my apartment, a wave of relief and satisfaction washed over me. I rolled to a stop in my parking space and shut off the engine, the bike beginning to tick quietly as it cooled. After 8,966 miles, I was finally home.

I dismounted, taking a moment to just stand there, staring at the bike. It had been my steadfast companion, physically carrying me through every challenge, every mile, and now, together, we had made it back. I felt a deep sense of camaraderie with the machine, as if we had been through something monumental together. And we had.

A couple of nights later, Alyssa and I walked back to the apartment from a happy hour with her coworkers, the world around me settling back into its familiar rhythms. But inside, I knew something was different. The trip had changed me in ways I couldn’t fully articulate yet. We sat on the couch, and I pulled out the cooler where I had stashed all the souvenirs from my journey. I grabbed my camera and set it on the tripod, positioning it to record. I wanted this moment captured, documenting the epilogue to my adventure.

I showed her the maps first—places I had been, stories I could now tell. Then came the railroad spike from Durango, which she held up to the light, marveling at how it sparkled. “It’s like diamonds,” she joked, and I laughed, quietly wondering if she had guessed at what was coming.

I pulled out a magnet from the Grand Canyon. “I know you wanted a rock, but I figured this was close enough—rocks, painted on a magnet,” I teased. She smiled, playing along. Then I handed her the real rock I had picked up at Zion—a polished pink quartz. Her eyes lit up, and I could see the genuine joy in her reaction.

But there was one more thing. One more souvenir that wasn’t just for her, but for us.

“I got you one more thing,” I said, standing and reaching into my bag. “I went as far west as I could, until I hit the ocean—” She cut in, “Seashells?” I smiled, staying focused on what I had rehearsed. “And I found something.”

“Seashells!” she repeated, laughing.

“Close,” I said, pulling the small box from my pocket and kneeling before her. Her laughter stopped, her eyes wide as I opened the box to reveal the ring I had carried across the country. “Will you marry me?” I asked, my voice steady despite my racing heart.

Alyssa stared at me in shock, her eyes shimmering. “Are you serious?” she whispered, as if she couldn’t believe it. And then, after what felt like a lifetime, she said it: “Yes.”

Laughter, tears, and kisses followed, and in that moment, I knew that this was the real end of the journey—and the beginning of something even greater. The road had brought me home, not just to Arlington, but to Alyssa. And now, together, we were ready to start a new adventure.