Today is Easter.
That probably isn’t news to you. It wasn’t news to us either. We knew months ago that Day 29 of this ride would land squarely on Easter, and we signed up anyway. No calendar surprises here.
And yet… it felt really strange.
We rode about 80 miles today, from Lumberton, TX to DeRidder, LA. The day started with a flat tire, and unusually cool weather. The second section had some stubborn headwinds. The logistics were fine, the bikes behaved, nothing broke, nothing went sideways. All in all, a pretty normal day on tour.
But it didn’t feel normal.
What made it strange had nothing to do with weather, terrain, traffic, or equipment. It was strange because it was Easter—and instead of being with our families, we were pedaling east on Highway Whatever with energy bars in our pockets.
Easter, for me, isn’t just another holiday. It’s the Super Bowl of Christianity. Except the outcome isn’t in doubt, no review booth is required, and the victory parade already happened 2,000 years ago.
It’s the day we celebrate that Jesus Christ—fully God, fully human—loved us enough to step into this broken world, take on our sin, die for it, and then do something no one else in history has ever pulled off: He conquered death and walked back out of the grave.
You might not be into organized religion. Honestly, neither am I. History shows us that a lot of harm has been done by people who confidently claimed they were right and everyone else was wrong.
What I am into is a personal relationship with Jesus Christ. A Savior who didn’t show up with political power, armies, or demands—but with humility, sacrifice, and love. A God who lowered Himself to lift us up.
And that’s why today felt odd.
Normally, Easter is loud in a good way. Family, church, shared meals, conversations that linger, reminders of hope that are best absorbed in community. Today, it was quiet—just two bikes rolling down the road, plenty of time to think, and a lot of gratitude mixed with a twinge of missing home… punctuated, of course, by the occasional enthusiastic shout of “We’re riding our bikes across the country!” to confused passersby.
I don’t regret riding today. This journey matters. But I did feel the weight of not being with family on the day we celebrate what I believe is the most important event in human history.
Maybe that’s okay.
Maybe the strangeness was the point.
Even rolling through east Texas and Louisiana on two wheels, the meaning of Easter didn’t diminish. If anything, it followed us mile after mile—quiet, steady, and present, just like the ride itself.
