Prince Rupert, British Columbia

Distance: 54 miles (total: 371 miles)

Climb: 884 feet

The Texas flooding is heartbreaking. But what has touched me are the stories of hundreds of heroes and volunteers who stepped in to rescue and help victims. While all the stories are worth telling, given the tensions between Mexico and the U.S., these stand out.

Silvana Garza Valdez and María Paula Zárate, two 19-year-old Mexican camp counselors, helped protect and rescue 20 younger girls at Camp Mystic. And the President of Mexico unconditionally sent rescue workers and firefighters to Texas to support the relief efforts. Four members of the Mexican non-profit Foundation 911 joined the humanitarian mission.

These volunteers and humanitarian workers didn’t hesitate to help fellow humans in need.

With all the greed, abuse, and neglect in the world, heroes still exist. We all just need to do a little more of it. And we all have the capacity to make someone’s bad day just a little better. Lend a hand when it’s needed. We don’t need to wait for an emergency rescue mission. We can offer a smile. Hold a door for an elderly person. Give a bottle of water to a thirsty traveler. Praise a lawn worker’s trimming.

Enough of that.

I was up a little after 4 a.m., a bit apprehensive about today’s rainy ride. I knew it was going to be long, hard, wet, and cold.

I drank coffee, transferred videos, and worked on the blog for the next few hours. When Andrea came in, we snapped a photo. She wished me luck. I packed up Lucy and filled the water bottles and my CamelBak bladder. I knew there would be no gas stations or shelters of any kind along the way.

Around 8:40 a.m., I eased Lucy down the many concrete stairs into the cold and rain. It was in the low 50s. She didn’t like it much, but I didn’t really mind.

Within fifteen minutes, I was pretty much drenched—except for my shoes, which were covered with black rubber riding galoshes of sorts. The riding wasn’t bad: flat, no wind, and nothing more than heavy drizzle. Soaked, sure—but bearable.

For the next two hours, the road stayed the same, minus the drizzle. But I knew a 500-foot climb was coming. When I hit it, I didn’t mind. I pushed about 40 minutes or so up maybe a mile-long incline. Even that wasn’t bad. I was making good time. As long as I kept moving, I could bear the cold.

But then the rain returned. Not a downpour exactly, but a hard, non-stop shower for the last two hours. My pants were saturated. My shoes held puddles of water in the toes. My chest was soaked. I felt like my core temperature had dropped—but I didn’t shiver. I just pushed and pushed and pushed.

The most difficult, most unpleasant two hours of this trip. Bordering on miserable. Rain pelting my eyes. Semi-trucks splashing me and spraying me with an unwelcome road-mist of dirt and grime. And the hills didn’t stop coming. When I was sure I had completed 900 feet of climbing, another hill would appear. And after that, another. And then another. Most of them I rode, dropping to great-granny gear. But a couple I had to push.

When I finally got to Prince Rupert, I was met with a large hill. I dismounted Lucy and pushed. I didn’t freak out. I wasn’t frustrated. I didn’t even let misery or despair set in. This was just something I had to do.

And I looked on the bright side. Lucy’s tires were good. Her chain was good. I was progressing, one mile at a time. I was tired—but not totally exhausted. I had enjoyed a relatively good 30 miles before the last 24, which were less pleasant.

I was alive. Healthy. Strong enough to keep pedaling. In many ways, this is a manifestation of life: good parts, bad parts. We can give up, we can complain. We can blame others. We can work ourselves into a frenzy.

Or we can buckle down and press on. Do the best with the resources we have.

It was a good day to be alive.