On the road again: North Middleton bicyclist revisits cross-country route decades later

So begins Michael Prest’s journal on July 7, 1976, the day that kicked off the “coolest three months” of his life.

Technically, the journal touches on a few other milestones first: his 1951 birth in Carlisle, getting his first bicycle on Christmas morning 1958 and a wipeout that claimed three teeth two years later.

But the bulk of the 208-page journal tells of Prest’s nearly 5,000-mile journey from Virginia to Oregon, all on the seat of his Raleigh Grand Prix bicycle.

On Sunday, the North Middleton Township resident will find himself back in Yorktown for a ride down memory lane, retracing the start of his cross-country trek nearly 50 years later.

Biking in the blood

Prest’s father died of leukemia before he was born, and his mother remarried but divorced a few years later.

“I just never had much of a male influence in my life,” he said. “... I think that all contributes to who I am, as far as being so independent.”

When he was 11 or 12, he recalls biking a roughly 30-mile round-trip from Camp Hill to Gifford Pinchot State Park in York County, only telling his mother after he returned.

“I didn’t have a helmet or anything, just a three-speed bike,” Prest said. “But something was just in my blood to be a bicyclist.”

He graduated from Camp Hill High School in 1969 and Shippensburg State College in 1974. The same year, a few words in a newspaper shifted his adventure into gear.

“For those young bicyclists who feel strong enough, the first cross-country bicycle route from Oregon to Virginia will open in 1976,” words in the Patriot-News announced, as they did in articles nationwide.

This TransAmerica Trail debuted with a Bikecentennial event for the United States’ 200th birthday

Prest casually clipped the article (it seemed like a good pipe dream) before it faded into a junk drawer. Fresh out of college, he was working for a local engineering firm.

“I thought, you know, this is a check, but it’s nothing that’s kind of lighting me up,” Prest said.

A year or two later, the clipping resurfaced. Prest pounced. By February 1976, he had committed to phase one of the journey and began accepting pledge donations to fight leukemia.

“This summer I’ll be riding from Yorktown, Virginia to Carbondale, Illinois with seven total strangers,” Prest journaled. “My life needs shook up, but I question if it needs to be massacred.”

Hitting the TransAmerica Trail

On the car ride to Yorktown, Prest was “panic-stricken.”

“Quitting crossed my mind virtually every mile,” he wrote July 7, 1976. “But having invested over 500 bucks in this thing, having over $1,000 pledged for leukemia and knowing I could never look myself in the eye again if I quit before ever starting convinced me not to.”

Having only ever ridden 10 miles with gear, the first few days were a challenge, especially entering into the Appalachian Mountains. When Prest peaked one hill, another took its place.

“The final blow was riding into Monticello, home of Thomas Jefferson, and hitting yet another incredible, humongous, disgusting, rotten and traffic-filled hill,” he wrote July 12.

Averaging 60 to 65 miles per day, Virginia gave way to Kentucky, which bled into Illinois.

Prest’s journal describes his worst-ever night’s sleep, a budding romance with his Bikecentennial group leader, Sarah, and an “immediate disliking” of another member that only grew as the miles ticked by.

On Aug. 5, Prest coasted into Carbondale, completing the 1,300-mile part one of the TransAmerica Trail.

“Many, many people, places and happenings made this what it was—THE GREATEST MONTH OF MY LIFE,” he wrote. “Words are inadequate.”

Back on the bike

Prest wanted to finish what he started, but the “financial realities of life” settled in after the first leg. He would have to wait.

Prest got a job at a country club. Sarah married someone else. Three years passed.

“I was 27 at that point, so this was the summer of ‘79 and I said ... ‘I don’t want to get involved in a career, I don’t want to get married until I do this,’” he said.

Part two of the cross-country trip began in June 1979.

“At exactly 10:45 this morning, I let out a gargantuan scream,” Prest journaled June 11. “At that moment, I was OFFICIALLY back on the Trans-America Trail!”

The second leg brought more mountains, this time the Ozarks. New characters drifted in and out of his life.

One day brought an emergency tooth pulling. Another day, hundreds of cows woke up him on their way through town. Most days included a pitstop for milkshakes.

While pedaling through Kansas, an evening weather forecast called for tornadoes. Prest and two friends stopped at Chanute Police Station for safety and sleep.

“They said, ‘Well, yeah, we can put you up, and you’re going to be in the jail,” he said. “’But once you check in, so to speak, you’re in for the rest of the night.’”

No crime, just time. A full night inside a tiny brown cell as 53 tornadoes passed through the Midwest.

Three weeks later, the trip’s climax: Wyoming’s Teton Range, a reward for a 25-mile climb.

“It’s such an awesome mountain, and it’s just very symbiotic of like, man, this is just such a great, great adventure,” Prest said.

He marked his arrival at the Pacific Ocean in Oregon Aug. 1 with a declaration: “We are now officially COAST-TO-COAST BIKERS!”

In total, the expedition took him about three months, nearly 5,000 miles and approximately 215 peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.

“It was really a cool moment to see the Pacific Ocean, knowing I had ridden all the way across the country,” Prest said.

His journey wasn’t over, however. A fellow bicyclist suggested extending the ride to California. A left turn, 500 miles and a week later, they reached San Francisco.

Pedaling on

With a self-diagnosed “incurable lust for adventure,” Prest didn’t hit the brakes on cycling.

Having ridden across the country from east to west, another two-part venture took him from Florida to Canada. Prest went on to ride in all 50 states, including Hawaii and Alaska.

Now 74, he continues to ride about 2,500 miles per year, many of them with his wife, Jeannie. If a winter is mild, Prest may cycle 320 days of the 365.

“Something just doesn’t seem right when you’re not on the bike a lot,” he said.

Last year, bicycling trips took him to Indiana, Pittsburgh, New York and Johnstown. This year, he hopes to tackle some trips to the Midwest.

Prest logs every mile he pedals, a habit he began in 1976. He reached 100,000 miles in August 2023 while riding along the LeTort Spring Run Trail.

It’s not often he revisits places, preferring instead to discover new towns. But he did return once to that small-town Kansas jail — outside the bars this time.

Heading to Yorktown on Sunday, Prest will recreate the early miles of his cross-country adventure, reminiscing on the the ups and downs.

“There’s a lot of great things that happen, but there was a lot of crummy things, and you just have to deal with it,” Prest said. “It’s like you can’t sit down and think, well, gee, Michael, every day is not going to be sunny with a wind that’s at your back and no rain. I mean, that’s just not how life works.”

His dad’s death at age 34 shapes how he lives. Prest’s advice: treasure every day.

“If there’s anything I can get out of this story, I really want people to just [know] you really have to live your life today,” he said. “Don’t put off doing stuff till you’re ‘retired’ or 10 years down the road. There’s no guarantee.”

There’s still a couple bucket list items left to cross off, but looking back, Prest is content with his journey.

“Good or bad, I’m not quite sure, but I seriously doubt if the coming 31 days will ever be forgotten,” he wrote in his journal the day he kicked off his 1976 adventure.

Nearly five decades later, they haven’t.