My cycling life goals are the coast to coast Southernly America trip, the Florida to Maine Atlantic Coast trip, to bicycle across Vermont with Jon (this might just be a half-days work if you've ever looked at Vermont), and of course to ride the Alpe D'Huez in France. I feel like they're all attainable, as long as I can get enough time off work.
In the meantime, I get my fix by reading about other folks' trips, like this one being made by a couple of fellas with Indiana connections.
Here's a bit I borrowed from the site that sums it up best, I think...
Thankfully, the attitude change worked. I've adopted some of Alex's zen-like acceptance of the situation, stopped questioning why, and learned to simply keep on riding. True, most of our day is spent grinding our way over roads that you wouldn't even think of trying to drive your car down, but every day has it's moments of brilliance: the warmth of the sun finally creeping over the opposing ridge and starting to thaw your tent in the morning, the sound of a hawk's wings slicing through the air only ten feet above your head, the view from atop a pass that while climbing you at times had to lean forward in your saddle to keep from tipping over backwards, a hot meal with real vegetables and meat in some otherwise unremarkable tent village in the middle of nowhere, and sometimes (when you're really lucky) a nice stretch of smooth road with the wind at your back.
That's what it's about. That's why I find myself out riding on days when I don't want to, when it's too cold and I've got snot running out of my nose, or my legs ache... because every time there's a moment, maybe just a minute, where everything clicks together and it's not at effort; it's just like breathing. I once explained to a friend in email that bicycling has become the closest thing to religion I've ever had; from the devotion to it even when maybe I'd rather be somewhere else, to the faith that my perseverance will pay off, to the moments of grace when everything comes together, to the overall sense of wellness it gives me, and the intense desire to spread the word.
It's kinda creepy, actually.