Day 22: Columbus, OH to Xenia, OH

Distance: 57.8 mi, Climbed: 1,099 ft
Completed: 812.3 mi, 44,839 ft

Today wasn’t just about the people we met—it was also about the miles that carried us between them.

Rich and I left our downtown Columbus hotel and quickly found ourselves on the trail, heading into the Ohio prairie. The riding was as steady as it gets—long, straight stretches of rail trail cutting through farmland that seemed to go on forever. Unlike the rolling farms we rode through in Pennsylvania, this landscape felt wide open and exposed—fields stretching out in every direction, the horizon always just out of reach. No traffic, no turns, just a quiet rhythm of pedaling. It was the kind of riding where you can settle in, let your mind wander, and watch the miles quietly add up.

Leaving the hotel, we had walked our bicycles through the parking garage, where we met Ian, the parking attendant. He asked where we were headed, and when we said Xenia, he mentioned his grandmother lives nearby. Then he noticed our jerseys and asked about our connection to epilepsy.

At first, we thought it was a professional curiosity—he had recently graduated from physician assistant school and was about to begin work with the National Health Service Corps. But then he shared something more personal. His older cousin had a seizure while they were sledding as kids, and he remembered how frightening it was not knowing what was happening. He spoke about how people often avoid talking about epilepsy. He asked whether our daughter Leora is able to drive, explaining that his cousin cannot because of uncontrolled seizures. Before we left, Ian wished us a blessed trip, and we wished him the same as he begins what’s ahead.

Back on the trail, the miles came easily. The surface was smooth, the grade almost imperceptible, and with so few people out on a quiet weekday afternoon, it often felt like we had the entire path to ourselves.

At a rest stop, Ed noticed the “New York to Seattle” on my jersey and stopped to talk. He said we were the first cross-country riders he’d seen this year and mentioned that most he meets travel west to east. Rich explained that starting in April makes east-to-west the better choice, with snow still lingering in the higher elevations out west.

It quickly became clear that Ed knew his way around long-distance cycling. He talked about different routes, asked about ours, and shared that he lives near the Ohio to Erie Trail, which runs from Cincinnati through Columbus to Cleveland. Today, as we made our way toward Xenia, my favorite stretch was the Prairie Grass Trail—wide open, flat, and unmistakably Midwestern. Ed, meanwhile, was out on a 25-mile training ride as he prepares for a 326-mile Cincinnati-to-Cleveland trip. Go, Ed!

The openness never really changed. Mile after mile, the prairie stretched on—no hills to break it up, no forests to ride through—just sky, fields, and the steady line of trail pulling us forward.

Which is why Michelle stood out.

We saw her far ahead—a large backpack with a sleeping bag attached, walking sticks in hand. As I rode up, I asked where she was headed. She told us she was competing in the Coast2Coaster Road Race, a roughly 230-mile self-supported race across Ohio, from Cedar Point in Sandusky to Kings Island near Cincinnati.

Michelle is a grandmother, a surgical ICU nurse practitioner, and an experienced ultra-endurance competitor. In this race, there’s no outside support—participants carry what they need and decide when to stop, sleep, and resupply. She chose not to bring a tent to save weight. The night before, she had found a pavilion to rest in, only to be woken by a powerful storm—strong winds and heavy rain tearing through. We had seen the aftermath ourselves: branches scattered across the trail, even a few downed trees.

We rode alongside Michelle for a while, offering food, water, or a battery if she needed it. She didn’t—she was completely prepared.

When we eventually rode on, the trail returned to its quiet rhythm—just the two of us, the steady hum of tires on pavement, and miles of open Ohio ahead.

Days like this remind us that the ride is never just about distance. It’s about the landscapes you move through, the people you meet along the way, and the stories—both theirs and ours—that keep unfolding with every mile.

And, in its own way, every one of those conversations is part of why we’re out here—bringing a little more awareness, one mile at a time.