From Oregon to New York: John Wood, MD, on Family, Resilience, and the Road
John Wood, MD, is a retired program director and faculty member of the University of Minnesota Department of Family Medicine and Community Health’s Duluth Family Medicine Residency Program. In the summer of 2024, he completed a 4,000-mile cross-country bike ride with his son Peter, traveling from Oregon to New York. The journey offered moments of challenge, connection, and unexpected generosity from strangers along the way. In this interview, Dr. Woods reflects on the lessons learned through the ride, the deepening of his relationship with Peter, and what the experience taught him about perseverance, presence, and trust.
What were some of the most memorable interactions or unexpected acts of kindness you and Peter experienced along the way?
One day, we were biking out of the Columbia Gorge. To get out, you have to climb about 2,500 feet up to the plateau of Eastern Oregon. It is not like a cliff that you can ride over 20 or 30 miles. It was uphill for a long time, and the temperature was extremely high. That day, we were riding from a town called Biggs Junction to Condon, a small town in eastern Oregon. When I left in the morning, I noticed the tire on the back of the trailer was flat.
Being not very handy, I went across the street to a gas station, pumped it up, and it held air for five minutes. I figured, "Oh, we're good—it'll make it." So we started riding, and ten or fifteen miles down the road, the tire went flat again. Then my pump didn't work, so I couldn't inflate it. All I could do was keep biking in 103-degree heat. There was no air in the trailer tire, so we weren't going very fast. Also, it was brutally hot, and we ran out of water. At one point, I had to take Peter off the bike to hide him in the shade of a fence post to give him a break. Then this guy must have seen us earlier while he passed. He was in a big Dodge 250 or 350, one of those massive trucks. He pulled over, rolled down the passenger-side window, handed me two bottles of water, did not say a word, and just drove off. That water saved us. Further down the road, at a rest area, a woman helped me pump up the tire and gave me more water.
Another interaction that same day occurred when a guy passed me in a pickup, stopped, and we chatted for a bit. It turned out I knew the doctor who delivered his baby because I used to work in the same town (and clinic) where he lived. That was a fun little moment, reconnecting with someone from a long time ago. He handed me some Sprite and potato chips, then turned around, found another can of pop in his car, and gave that to me, too.
These were people I would have never met. And without those few people, we never would have made it to Condon.
Were there any particularly challenging moments that made you question whether you could finish the trip?
I had some tire troubles in Nebraska. Nothing catastrophic, but slow leaks, probably caused by goathead thorns. Fixing the tires was not easy. With a regular bike, you would think, "Okay, I can fix this." But with our bike, it was not that simple. The tires were difficult to remove, and the rear gearing was so complicated that reassembling everything back together proved to be a challenge. Usually, I would try to find a bike shop, but in this part of the ride, bike shops were often several hundred miles apart. So, rather than remove the tire to change the tube, which would take several hours, I would guess, I would find people who had air compressors because my pump worked, but not very well. So I would stop and ask folks, usually farmers or people along the way, and they would take me out to their barn or shop and fill the tire with an air compressor.
Then I could keep going. One day, coming out of the Grand Tetons, I broke two spokes on the rear tire. I heard them snap. It was around five in the evening, and Jackson was still about 40 miles south. I was heading north. If I were alone, I would have just rolled out my sleeping bag and camped somewhere. However, with Peter, I did not want to do that. I was really worried.
I started pushing the bike along the side of the road (planning to walk to a parking lot I had passed about a mile earlier), hoping someone might help. Many cars passed by, as it was summer in the national park. Then, out of nowhere, this couple, Tommy and Dinah, who had seen us earlier that morning on the road, happened to drive by again. Tommy told me later that when he first saw me riding with Peter, he said to his wife, "Lord, pray for that man. He's a good daddy." That night, when he saw me pushing the bike, he knew something was wrong. He was a retired police officer, and he pulled over, walked across the road, and asked, "Do you want some water?" And I told him, "Honestly, I need more than water." I asked if he could give us a ride to Jackson. I told him it was okay if he could not. I understood, but I had to ask. And he said yes. We piled the bike and all our gear into his vehicle, and he drove us 40 miles out of his way. My wife found a hotel for us that night. Without their kindness, I do not know what we would have done.
How did this ride change your relationship with Peter, and what did you learn about him during your time on the road?
What this trip taught me about Peter is that he is a lot wiser than I had realized. He really carried that trip. You know how when you're with someone for a long time, especially in a challenging situation, people can get down? They start to question things like, "Why are we doing this? What is the point?" and it wears on you. But Peter never did that. He was always present, always in the moment. He would be listening to Taylor Swift, smiling.
At one point, we lost the brakes while going down a steep hill. We were traveling at approximately 30 miles per hour. Peter was right up front on the bike, and we had hydraulic brakes, which, as I now know, are supposed to be pumped gently. However, I was unaware of this at the time, so I continued squeezing until, eventually, the hydraulic fluid overheated. So we were sliding down this hill, and I stretched my foot out, dragging it along the pavement, trying to slow us down. I am thinking, "If we crash, Peter is the one who is going to get hurt. I will probably be fine." Eventually, we spotted a dirt road and turned off. I stopped the bike and let the brakes cool off. Once they started working again, we just got back on and kept riding.
Most people would have said, "That is it. I am done! No way I am getting back on that bike." But not Peter. Five minutes later, he was still ready to go. What he taught me on that trip was the power of the present moment. How to stay “in the now,” and also the power of perseverance. You can keep going if you do not let the small stuff stop you. It is easy to get caught up in the little defeats and magnify them in your mind. But when you zoom out, most of the time, everything is actually okay. If you focus too narrowly, it can feel overwhelming. But in the big picture, you are still moving forward.
I have come to believe this: It was my legs that powered the trip, but it was Peter's spirit that carried it. He was the energy. And even though being his parent has come with challenges because it is not the life you might have pictured, it is clear to me that this trip was not something I made happen. It was something Peter inspired. He was the reason we did it. I was just along for the ride. What I learned from him is that it is easy to underestimate people. We assume they can not do something or do not know something, but when you give them the opportunity, they often rise to the occasion. That is what Peter did.
After all of the planning and challenges along the way, can you describe what it was like to finally arrive in New York and reach the Statue of Liberty with Peter?
We made it to New York. I rode across the George Washington Bridge, which, at the time, I did not realize was the busiest bridge in the world. It was super busy, but there was a bike path, so we were fine. When I got to the middle of the bridge, I could see the Manhattan skyline stretching to the south and the Statue of Liberty way off in the distance. The Manhattan skyline was beautiful.
It felt like such a long journey. I pulled off to the side of the bike path. I was no longer on the road, just standing there. I started crying a little. It had been an emotionally charged journey. I was thinking about everything we had done, everything Peter and I had been through. And then Peter asked, "Are we there yet? When are we going to get there?" I looked at him and said, "Peter, we are here. Buddy, we did it." I gave him a high five, still tearing up. He looked at me and said, "Dad, why are you crying?" And I told him, "Peter, we just rode 4,000 miles. You did it." And I gave him another high five.
We pedaled through Manhattan, crossed the Brooklyn Bridge, and ended our journey at Jacob Reis Park, on the shores of the Atlantic. I jumped into the water, we had a little celebration, and I even poured some ocean water on the bike. Then, the day after that, we finally went to the Statue of Liberty. When Peter saw the Statue of Liberty, he understood that we were there. Some of that kind of stuff can be a little abstract for him, but in that moment, he really got it. We had made it. And then we drove back home. That was the end of the trip.
What advice would you give to other families who want to embark on adaptive adventures like yours?
I believe that the most important thing is to trust the person you are doing it with. Believe that they have the instincts and will let you know if they can do it. Especially when you are a family member of a child with special needs, you are often used to thinking, "I am doing this, or I am handling that." It becomes all about what you are doing for them. But really, there is an exchange. It is vital to trust your child. They will let you know if they are up for it. Have faith in that. Of course, it is still your responsibility to provide structure and to keep them safe. But beyond that, they are likely to surprise you.
They will do things you did not expect because they are capable of more than we often give them credit for. The problem is that we do not always offer those opportunities. Day-to-day life is so structured with things like school, home, and routines that it leaves little room for something unexpected, like biking 60 miles. I learned from Peter that he is a lot more adaptable and willing than I had thought. More than my wife, I, his brother, or Peter realized. And honestly, most of us are like that. We do not always know what we are capable of because life does not always make space for us to discover it. We say, “Sure, maybe I could do that... but I have to go to work today, or I have these things to take care of.” Life rarely gives us those moments. So you have to make that time. That is the key.
Past news stories:
From Oregon to NYC: Father and son duo traveling the U.S. on a bike
John and Peter Wood’s Cross-Country Bike Adventure
In One Ear: 'Opportunity for reflection'
