Day 68 — Home Again: The End of the Road, But Not the Mission

68 days. 12,000 miles. New York to Alaska and back.

And today, somehow, we were riding the final 350 miles home.

It’s hard to put into words what that feels like.

There was excitement because we were finally heading home. We were ready to see our family, our kids and grandkids, our parents, and even our family dog. But there was also a sadness that was hard to shake. We didn’t want this adventure to end. After 68 days of waking up wondering what God had planned for us, every mile had become part of the story. Every road, every person, every unexpected turn, every divine appointment had reminded us that this journey was about so much more than riding motorcycles.

We were going home—but part of us wanted to keep going.

The weather looked good as we prepared to leave, although rain was in the forecast. We prayed that the Lord would clear the skies and give us safe passage for our final miles.

And once again, He was faithful.

We rode for about 30 minutes before pulling off for coffee. From there, Melvin took us onto side roads toward Binghamton, where we would eventually pick up Route 12 and head north toward home.

What an incredible route he chose.

Instead of highways, we traveled back roads through tiny towns, rolling hills, farmland, and beautiful countryside. Every now and then we would crest a hill and suddenly see mountains and valleys stretching out for miles.

The sky was dark with rain clouds, but the rain continued to hold off.

As I rode, I couldn’t help but think about how appropriate it was that our final day was filled with roads like these. Quiet roads. Winding roads. Roads that required us to slow down and take in the scenery.

Maybe that was God’s way of reminding us that the destination matters—but so does the journey.

“The steps of a good man are ordered by the Lord: and he delighteth in his way.” — Psalm 37:23

For 68 days, God had ordered our steps—and our wheels.

Today was no different.

The ride through the rolling countryside of Pennsylvania was quiet. We both knew that our motorcycle adventure was coming to an end.

And then reality began creeping into the back of my mind.

Work.

I had meetings beginning as early as Thursday. That meant I would have only one day at home before jumping right back into the grind. Emails were already filling my inbox with schedules and plans for opening day. School was starting, and students were eagerly awaiting the return of their teachers.

After 68 days of freedom on the road, it was time to face the reality of responsibilities waiting at home.

But even that reminded me of something important.

God doesn’t only call us to adventure. He calls us to faithfulness wherever He places us.

So we kept riding.

We kept making miles.

And then, just when I thought we were simply finishing the final leg of our journey, God reminded me once again just how fragile life is.

We had just pulled out of a gas station. I was traveling around 45 mph when a truck approached in the opposite direction carrying large, square garbage containers with wheels and flip-top lids.

The wind caught one.

It lifted right off the truck.

Suddenly, that huge garbage container was airborne.

I watched it fly over my left shoulder and land behind my rear tire.

I didn’t even have time to react.

It was one of those moments when you realize just how quickly something could have gone terribly wrong.

But God was watching.

“The angel of the Lord encampeth round about them that fear him, and delivereth them.” — Psalm 34:7

I believe God protected me in that moment.

Just another reminder that even after 12,000 miles, countless miles of gravel, mountain passes, rainstorms, wildlife, traffic, mechanical issues, and every other challenge this journey brought, our lives have always been in His hands.

But God wasn’t finished with our divine appointments yet.

We pulled into a gas station, and while we were there, Melvin noticed a landscaper named Steve working nearby, weed-eating.

After 68 days on the road, we had learned not to overlook the seemingly ordinary moments. Sometimes a divine appointment doesn’t look like much at first. Sometimes it’s simply noticing someone God has placed right in front of you.

Melvin started talking with Steve, and before long, he asked him the question that had become so familiar throughout this journey:

“Can we pray for you for anything?”

Steve said yes.

His son-in-law, who is a preacher, is battling cancer.

Immediately, Melvin began to pray.

There in that gas station parking lot, surrounded by the sounds of traffic and a weed-eater, we stopped our journey for a moment and lifted this family before the throne of God.

Melvin prayed for healing and reminded Steve that Jesus paid the price for our sickness and that “by his stripes we are healed.”

“But he was wounded for our transgressions, he was bruised for our iniquities: the chastisement of our peace was upon him; and with his stripes we are healed.” — Isaiah 53:5

Steve and Melvin connected in a way that went far beyond a simple conversation at a gas station. Steve shared that he had grown up Mennonite, and the two of them talked about faith, Jesus, and the things of God for a while before Steve had to get back to work.

Eventually, we said our goodbyes and climbed back onto the bikes.

And as we pulled away, I couldn’t help but smile.

Our last day. Our last 350 miles. And God was still sending us divine appointments.

That was the moment I realized something important.

The mission had never been about how many miles we could ride.

It was about being willing to stop whenever God put someone in our path.

From Alaska all the way back to New York, God had repeatedly reminded us that the road is a mission field.

And even on the final miles, He gave us one more opportunity to stop, listen, pray, and point someone toward Jesus.

What a perfect way to finish this incredible journey.

The destination may have been home, but the mission was still happening all around us.

“And whatsoever ye do, do it heartily, as to the Lord, and not unto men.” — Colossians 3:23

We continued down the road, knowing that somewhere ahead was home.

But now we knew something even more clearly:

We may have been riding home, but we were never riding alone—and we were never off mission.

The skies remained dark as we continued east. We caught a few raindrops here and there, but once again, the rain seemed to come and go just as we reached each town.

Finally, we crossed back into New York.

We were almost home.

We rode north out of Rochester, and suddenly it hit me—

We really were almost home.

Family was already gathering for our welcome-home celebration.

Before making that final push, we had to make one last stop at our favorite gas station in New York—Stewart’s Shops.

After traveling 12,000 miles across the country, our favorite place was still our favorite place!

We grabbed our usual treats: cold brew iced coffee and an ice cream sundae.

Some things never change.

Then came the final hour and forty-minute push toward home.

Our daughter Rebecca and our son-in-law, along with my lifelong elementary-school friend Barb, had put together a welcome-home party for us.

We came over Paris Hill, about 40 minutes from home, and could see storm clouds gathering in the distance.

They were right where we were headed.

So we did what we had done countless times over the past 68 days.

We kept going.

And once again, God made a way.

We drove right between two storm clouds and experienced only a few drops of rain. About 20 minutes from home, we finally hit a light rain—but nothing to worry about.

Then we pulled into our daughter and son-in-law’s driveway.

And there it was.

A huge WELCOME HOME sign stretched across the front of the house.

After 68 days on the road, seeing that sign brought a lump to my throat.

Then came the hugs.

The kisses.

Our three grandchildren.

Our daughter.

Home.

We were finally home.

And Rebecca was ready for us!

Coffee was already on. Iced tea was waiting. Our favorite vanishing oatmeal cookies were there, along with chocolate chip cookies and half-moon cookies. Hot dogs and hamburgers were going on the grill.

And then our CMA family started arriving.

One vehicle after another.

Friends we had missed.

People who had prayed for us, followed our journey, encouraged us, and waited for us to return.

Our pastor, his wife, and their son came.

Both of our sons-in-law were there.

Then came one of the biggest surprises of all.

Our son David and his wife, Makayla, arrived carrying our newest grandson—six days old.

Little August.

What a tiny little peanut!

Our hearts were overflowing.

And then my lifelong elementary-school friend Barb and her husband, Andy, joined us.

Then our son and his wife, arrived with our granddaughter.

And she was wearing a “Big Sister” shirt!

Wait…WHAT?!

We’re going to have another grandchild!

Seriously?

There was just so much happening.

So many hugs.

So many stories.

So many answered prayers.

So many emotions.

It was one of those evenings where you look around and realize just how incredibly blessed you are.

After 68 days of meeting strangers who became friends, experiencing divine appointments, sharing God’s Word, seeing breathtaking places, facing difficult roads, sleeping in tents, dealing with rain, cold, heat, mechanical issues, and exhaustion…

we were surrounded by the people we love most.

And it felt like the perfect ending.

“Give thanks unto the Lord, for he is good: for his mercy endureth for ever.” — Psalm 107:1

We spent hours sharing our stories and listening to theirs. We caught up on what had happened while we were gone and told them about the people God had placed in our path.

The hours passed like minutes.

Before we knew it, it was around 9 p.m.

We still had one more little ride home.

So we climbed back onto our motorcycles and headed out for those final few miles.

And wouldn’t you know it?

The rain had made the dirt roads home slippery.

After 12,000 miles, the hardest roads we had ridden were the roads right around our own home!

We laughed about it as we carefully made our way home.

And finally…

we pulled into our driveway.

We turned off the engines.

And just like that—

the adventure was over.

We unloaded only a few things for the night. Tomorrow we’ll begin the process of unpacking, organizing, and putting away the camping gear that has been our home for much of the past 68 days.

But tonight, we just wanted to breathe.

To be home.

To let it all sink in.

Tomorrow there will be one more ride on Freedom—to my parents’ house to pick up my truck, which we left there before our journey began.

Then we have one day to recover.

Because in two days, I’ll be back at work.

Meetings.

Classroom preparations.

Schedules.

A new school year.

Students waiting to see their teacher.

Life is moving forward.

And somehow, that feels right.

Because although this adventure has come to an end, the mission has not.

The motorcycles may be parked.

The camping gear may soon be packed away.

The miles are finished.

The Alaska adventure is officially in the books.

But God’s calling doesn’t stop when the journey ends.

If anything, I believe this journey has prepared us for whatever comes next.

We left home 68 days ago with a mission.

We wanted to explore.

We wanted to experience God’s creation.

We wanted to ride.

But most of all, we wanted to be available for whatever divine appointments God placed in our path.

And He gave us more than we could have imagined.

He showed us that the highway can become a mission field.

That a gas station can become a church.

That a stranger can become a friend.

That a simple conversation can become an eternal appointment.

That sometimes the greatest miracles happen in the ordinary moments.

And He reminded us over and over again that when we surrender our plans to Him, He can write a story far greater than anything we could have planned ourselves.

“Trust in the Lord with all thine heart; and lean not unto thine own understanding. In all thy ways acknowledge him, and he shall direct thy paths.” — Proverbs 3:5–6

God directed our paths for 68 days.

12,000 miles.

Through mountains and valleys.

Across borders.

Through rain and sunshine.

Over gravel and pavement.

Through breathtaking beauty and difficult moments.

And He brought us safely home.

So tonight, there is a bittersweet feeling in my heart.

I’m sad that this chapter is ending.

I’m grateful beyond words that we made it home.

I’m overwhelmed by the family and friends who welcomed us back.

And I’m excited about what God has next.

Because the options are endless.

There are more roads to travel.

More people to meet.

More stories to tell.

More lives to touch.

More opportunities to share the hope of Jesus.

And somewhere down the road, when God says it’s time…

we’ll plan the next adventure.

Until then, the bikes can rest.

We can rest.

And we can thank God for every single mile.

The adventure is in the books.

But the mission continues.

And whatever road comes next, we know who will be leading the way.

“For we walk by faith, not by sight.” — 2 Corinthians 5:7

Until the next adventure…

Keep the rubber side down, keep your heart open to divine appointments, and keep following wherever God leads.

Wrights On A Mission — 68 days. 12,000 miles. One incredible God.

If you’d like to continue riding along with us, we’d love to have you join us on YouTube and Facebook at Wrights On A Mission.

To God be all the glory.