Friday, November 23, 2007
Sunday, November 11, 2007
Onward Chicken: Indiana and Ohio
I didn't expect these states to be part of this trip but here I am. Go figure.
Eastward and Upward
Sunday, November 11, 2007
Last I chimed in with a note to you all I was getting back on the roads of eastern Missouri on Halloween after sustaining a partially broken bike and spirit. My bike was repaired quick and cheap with the help of a super family who hosted me overnight and gave me a ride to the closest shop (an hour's drive). And my spirit... What did I say in the end of that email? Something like, don't question the road? Well fucking-a-right!
The use of expletives has their place. Like punctuation's exclamation point, the sparing use of a 'bad' word also works to accentuate the dramatic, the illusory, the rarity or sheer dumb luck of fate/chance (give it a name) that circumstance sometimes presents. I had no way of knowing when I wrote that last email that my downed spirit would see a repair similar to the one paid to my busted axle. But such turned out to be the case just later that day. Happy Halloween indeed.
With the sun drawing down on the western horizon on a crisp day over more shoddy Missouri roads, I raced south in search of a way across the Mississippi into Illinois and hopefully easier territory. Coming down a hill and around a corner opened up a view of a long road ahead, one I will never forget. Not because I was either daunted by the sight of a gargantuan hill or relieved to find a wide-open vista able to be cruised all quiet, smooth and with ease. Those are the extremes to which I'd grown accustomed. No, what caught my eye in the distance was a sight on the shoulder neither mailbox, trashcan, nor car. The two dark dots were taller than wide and, though stationary, irregular in their composition. I knew what they were on first sight but couldn't quite believe. I hadn't seen another touring cyclist since Idaho and here I was coming up on two of them together--and they were heading in my direction.
Now as much as I like to talk to passersby about my trip, and they with me, the explanation and fascination are greatly one sided. I'm pretty much answering questions and enjoy doing so only out of the recall of past experiences and in the joy at their reception by an astounded or perplexed audience. But in the case of fellow touring cyclists--much like that with fellow war vets--the connection is real, instantaneous and very enthusiastic. Especially when you're standing aside the road.
Valerie and Guy were making a pit stop at the house of a friendly local so that Valerie could take care of something that Guy and me have less of problem with on the road. They'd been cycling eastbound across America more than a month longer than I had and were following the same TransAmerica maps that I've only been flirting with and that we were both heading back to. The local told us about a Mississippi ferry crossing in a small town just ahead and, with a loose agreement to stick together, we rode out for Ste. Genevieve.
Coming into town I approached a pair of policemen in front of their station and asked them about the city's park. Sure enough, camping was OK and I waited for and told my newfound friends. Wanting to tour the town a little, I left them to go set up. The park was sizable and at a good distance with only brief directions from where I last left them. But sure enough, they'd found my tent while I was away enjoying Halloween in Ste. Genevieve. Not wanting to mistake their own enthusiasm for an invitation into their trip, I left them room to breathe. But as it turned out they were more than happy to have me along.
I was amazed. Unlike me, neither Guy nor Valerie had done any cycle touring before embarking on their cross-country adventure. Though fairly traveled, I couldn't dig out any previous experiences that would give me reason to bet on their success--yet here they were more than two months and 3500 miles across America. Hearing their accounts of places we'd both traveled brought out laughs and feelings of relief. Forget certain local establishments, we'd met some of the same people. We'd both had ominous feelings in Jefferey City, WY after meeting the bartender of the area's sole service provider. No gas station or grocery store, but the place still had a bar. Yeah, I really slept soundly that night after asking these guys where to camp in their nowhere town. It was the only place I'd set up noise-making trip wires to ensure I had time to grab my knife and dial 911 before being [a gruesome violation, past tense].
So from just west of the Mississippi, over the southern tip of Illinois and into Kentucky I was no longer riding alone. And this was the most welcome surprise. Also mentioned at the end of the last email was my realization that it's important to stay focused on the road just ahead and not let your mind wander on the greater realities of the adventure. It's just like Iraq. Get through the day and eventually you'll be done with the deployment. Think about it the other way around and you'll have your daydreaming or depressed head blown off before you can take it home. In this regard it sure helps to have companions. With one sure turn of unlikely events my whole trip was healed. These were some great miles.
As it turned out, Illinois was a pleasure to ride through. In praise of the people at Adventure Cycling, my trip may have been easier had I followed their route more closely. Of what I've ridden, the roads on the Bike Centennial route (so called since it was created for a summer of ‘76 ride across America in celebration of her bicentennial) are less trafficked and especially scenic. To critique my method, sometimes the quick and short may burn you out faster than the roundabout. Remember, my night caught in the rain spent under a bridge was the day I chose to run the gamut of the freeway. (Yeah, but to digress, we do like to suffer the elements now and again in temptation of the fates and under the ever-watchful eye of the gods now don't we? Is it a secret to some that we never truly leave the child in us behind? It's the risk of censure that makes us feel alive.)
And so with the perspective of other riders at my side I took account of all aspects of the trip. My methods and techniques took new light when seen in contrast to those of others. And some of my habits have proven a little self-destructive. Though I was used to riding faster than my new companions, I was by no means any faster than them. They simply had a different way with the road. And though I adopted their pace for a time I never really embraced it even though I did witness its reward. My legs felt more relaxed and I had less off-bicycle pain when I followed their routine, yet I still tended to run ahead. On the super-rural farm roads like those we traversed along some of Illinois ' levies, we could ride side-to-side and talk uninterrupted by the road. But in places where a car would interject an unwelcome roar every minute or more I preferred the solitude I was used to and would jog ahead alone, always grateful to meet Guy and Valerie at the end of the day.
And camp together we did continuously from the evening we met. It helps to have a female presence on the road. Maybe our hosts would have been equally responsive to my own inquiry for sanctuary but the two of them had told me that some people they'd met had specifically said they were happy to help her and not necessarily Guy. But still, roadside help has continued to be forthcoming as I/we delved further east.
On our first day together we completely ran out of sun before finding a place to camp. An unsuspecting couple answered our knock on their door and allowed us to set up behind their house. Curiosity and their good nature turned a simple place to sleep into a warm cup of co-co and slice of cake to cap off a cold night. And in the morning the three of us were again invited inside for a full breakfast--despite the fact that John and Sylvia didn’t eat that early. All together we probably spent three hours around their table laughing and telling stories and I’ve already corresponded with Sylvia online. (The picture of we three cyclists is from her camera.)
Good company, good weather, good roads. Along with the obligatory no-frills stay at the-side-of-the-road-you’re-on
This is not to say that we don’t recognize the dangers inherent to our undertaking. The starts to my other trips were always tinged with an acute trepidation and dread. Weather, traffic and people can all cause us problems spanning the annoying to the catastrophic. But just a few days down the road the realization of the good overtakes these feelings when you see hands outstretched to help you along and those steep climbs and wet days give way to spectacular views of a lush, vibrant land. Above the thickest clouds and just around the corner from the darkest night shines a sun that will return to warm you. And contrary to this trip--though equally relevant--a pounding sun will equally subside as shadows grow long in an always-spectacular conclusion to the natural day. Now if only the heavens could take care of all those pesky dogs, overall life on the road would be perfect.
Yep, my mongrel problem grows as I continue east. Heckled, chased, downright hounded, my opinion of dogs is ever diminishing. But I did come across one I would have liked to send home if only to make traveling safer for the both of us. He was a cute little guy and was playful from the start. I stopped right when he started to follow me so that hopefully he’d satisfy his curiosity and return to the house he came from the vicinity of. Sans collar, however, I quickly determined he must not have had a home since this stupid dog wouldn’t give up the idea of following me.
He was a problem. He’d run next to me, either forcing me into traffic or running in the lane himself. When I’d race ahead he’d stray all over the place and I would hear approaching cars honk at him to get out of their way. After about a mile of him giving chase I came upon a sizable downhill and bid him goodbye. Boy was I wrong. He turned into a white speck in my rear view mirror but didn’t give up. As is common of Illinois roads, my descent turned into an ascent and he eventually caught up to me and continued to tag along. This happened over three such big hills and over the course of eight full miles. The damn dog crossed a county line with me. Twice I stopped to give him water but no food, all the while trying to reason with him to leave me alone. I think the little guy was mute because he would only bark a horse cry of the most abandoned distress when exhausted and trailing far behind. On those occasions when he would voice his pathetic howl I’d feel horrible thinking he’d been hit by a car or was about to collapse. Twice I tried to flag people down and get them to adopt the dog or simply call him away from me. No dice. There’s no happy or sad ending here. Upon pulling into a town after a long descent I made a stop to get a beer and see some scores (it was a Saturday). I spied the little guy making a wrong turn looking for me, tongue practically dragging on the ground as he caught up, but then I never saw him again. I hope he found someone nice to care for him in that town. Had those eight miles led us to my home I surly would have adopted him myself.
That story happened on a day I was still traveling with Guy and Valerie but raced ahead so I could watch some football. They caught up with me later at that bar but hadn’t seen my four-legged friend. Anyway, that was a week ago and since then we’ve parted ways. I always considered deviating from the TransAmerica route in favor of warmer weather to the south. They knew our journey together was a day-to-day operation and sure enough the day came I decided to change course--in a direction I shouldn’t have even considered.
My first thoughts about making this trip centered on the people I might be able to see along the way. Of primary focus, I’d wanted to visit some of my army buddies from the 110th Infantry whom I’d served with in Iraq. They’re scattered across southern Pennsylvania, a state just to the north of the TransAmerica route. Also of concern was some sort of eastern contact person who could provide a base camp of sorts where I could pack up my bike and aid me in transitioning home. Friends in Philadelphia and Atlanta both answered that call, offering to pick me up at whatever spot on the coast I ended up in their vicinity. So until last week, I was still undecided as to where I was going. Now I know. And if you’ve taken a look at the map, yes, I’m headed deeper into the winter’s cold.
Upon my late start I assured my northern contacts I would not be making a visit. By mid November the conditions in their area would not be good for riding. But two things changed my mind on the matter. On Halloween night in Ste. Genevieve I stopped into the local VFW to have a drink at the bar. There I got into a long and great talk with the Vietnam Vet who ran the place and we swapped stories about our wars. In the end, Ali reiterated something I’d known yet hadn’t put much weight behind since coming home; never lose contact with the people with whom you’ve served. With that on my mind, last Monday the prevailing winds were blowing north and apparently that was all the further encouragement that I needed. After a couple quick stops aside the road to open some doors along my prospective path, I altered my route. I spent one last night with Guy and Valerie camped under an enclosure aside a racetrack at the outskirts of Ford City, KY and then bid them a fond farewell. I was sad to be leaving their company but excited at the prospect of a challenging but rewarding finish to this already amazing trip.
Damn if it hasn’t been cold enough at night, now I’m riding in it by day. I quickly hopped out of Kentucky after camping in the yard of a nice family who kept me warm with a bundle of firewood and a huge bowl of chili. Stretching out my days in order to make good time I found myself in position to check off another goal of sorts just north of the Ohio River. Along with the cemetery, I’d always wanted to sleep in an abandoned house. 
With the sun just above the horizon and not a car to be seen around the place, I found myself that home. Beat up, totally deserted, and isolated enough for no one to notice, I circled around back and found my way inside. Just off the back entrance was a room with a decent couch inside which I settled in for the night. The place was in decorative shambles but structurally intact. Playing with the breaker I was amazed to find it still received electricity. No heat. But outside air that was surly in the low thirties overnight never dropped below 44 inside. Cold enough to keep the cold-blooded in hibernation but I was awakened periodically by the footsteps of some four-legged roommates. I barricaded my doorways to keep them at bay and the rats scratching around in the walls behind where I lay my head never made it through over the course of the night.
Besides southern Pennsylvania, western Ohio is home to two places of friendly sanctuary that helped make my detour north appear more doable. I had to fight ill conditions similar to Denver’s to get across Cincinnati to the home of some longtime friends. After a great night with the Stieglers I enjoyed a relaxing ride north on the Little Miami River Scenic Bike Path, a flat rails-to-trails conversion. From there, I had some trouble with the winds riding west to Tipp City but it was worth a little back-tracking to spend another night indoors with the Shirley family. (I’m writing this over a rainy weekend spent here at their house.)
Rain or shine, I need to start crossing Ohio tomorrow. I’ll have ten days to polish off the 600 miles from here to Philadelphia. It’s going to be rough. I’m sure to have some very cold and wet days ahead over terrain spanning the north end of the Appalachian Mountains. But with friends along the way and what may prove to be the most rewarding Thanksgiving I’ve had yet waiting for me at the end, this should be no problem. Friends make it easy. And I’ve been so fortunate to meet up with them--and make them--all along the way. Thanks everyone. I wouldn't be here without you.
Tuesday, November 6, 2007
How did the Chicken get to Kentucky?
Through Missouri and Illinois, though the later is apparently too cheap to post welcome signs on its side of the Mississippi and Ohio rivers.
Wednesday, October 31, 2007
Breaks in Missouri
Well, last Friday I parted with family and friends in Kansas and have been working my way through Missouri on my own. But that's not to say I haven't met some great people along my route.
The key to finding a good place to camp in the cities I pass through is local information. I always stop by a town store or gas station toward the end of my riding day to feel an area out before setting up. Mostly I'm directed toward the city park without hesitation from the clerk or fellow patron. Sometime I get a bad vibe about a place or hear too much talk about asking the police for permission. In those cases I may move on or just find a spot unseen. Humansville last Saturday night was a case in point.
The city park was tiny and right in the middle of town. The locals only told me to talk to the local cops which I didn't feel like going out of my way to do. Riding on, I passed a great place to set up. Upon a hill to the highway's east rested a sizable piece of property mostly unoccupied. In truth it was heavily populated but none of the residents were going to complain. So with a full moon shining on a clear Saturday night before Halloween I erected up my tent in the back corner of a cemetery. There was a mound of lawn rubbish that concealed my tent from sight--not that it would protect me from evil spirits or mischievous teenagers. None to worry. Except for the cold, phoning friends and a couple of wandering cows on the other side of the fence I rested quite soundly through the night. But that's an example more to the contrary of my general stay in Missouri. The night before my plan of action worked to a T.
Pulling into the town of Butler on Friday night I decided to kill a second bird while gathering local information. Instead of asking about where to camp I had sun enough to ask about the local watering hole first. Walking into the town beer joint with helmet and gloves still on and carrying my basket full of bike shit got me instantly looked at by all sixteen of the older patrons sitting inside. Well, my butt not ten minutes on a barstool and I had my second beer paid for, the manager was making me dinner on the house and the owner directed me to his property around the corner to set up my tent and build a fire. I had the whole place glued to my story and was fielding questions from every direction. These guys loved me and I had a great time in that place after I set up my things and came back to the bar on a much lighter bike. It wasn't a late night but was a refreshing bit of company with some really nice people in a place I was able to learn much more about. Thanks Butler. I needed that.
Much unlike Kansas, these roads here in Missouri are a mess. I'm in some beautiful, hilly terrain covered with colorful trees. But the irregularity of the roads here are tough on my body and my bike. Though the elevation hasn't varied more than two hundred feet, the inclines and declines are windy and steep. My speed has been greatly reduced and I'm spending more time attentive to the (thankfully light) traffic that I share the street with. I get a little tense at times in light of the "thundering assholes" as I call them that occasionally disturb the peace of the woods and my mind. Most drivers slow on my approach and even wave or honk a hello. But some trucks and cars are just too busy to obey the speed limit let alone pay me the typical courtesy of a polite and safe pass. Though I've uttered some unclaimed curses, I've yet to issue my first. No one has yet forced me off the road or really caused me to worry. At least, none of the humans I've been passed by.
Except for the wind, the weather has been good to me out here. Not too cold at night and mildly warm by day, I'm riding under clear skies. Too clear. Four days without a shower (six without cleaning my shorts) and I finally succumbed to my desire to get a hotel on Monday night. Usually I'd wait for wet weather to take shelter but I needed a break. I think I've recently hit my wall. I've just been feeling tired all over of late. Not that I'm going to quit but this is getting a little tedious. And, as I've said, the road has been hard on the body and the bike.
Yesterday was a breaking point. I was having some trouble with my rear rim. It wasn't bent at any point but was rolling out of alignment when I'd put extra force behind my peddling. I couldn't figure it out having never experienced the like but after the problem got too severe to ignore I pulled off the road and took the hub apart. Turns out I'd snapped my axle sleeve in two. The thin quick-release rod held everything in pace but was pretty bent out of shape. Not dead but crippled in a very rural part of Missouri, I chose to try and flag down some help. And just as in other times of need on the road I had a ride show up on the spot.
Headed my way was a construction worker named Mike who lived in the small town that was my aimed destination for the day. Still quite rural, at least his place was much closer to a bike-shop sized city than I was broke down in at the time. I asked Mike if since late in the day he wouldn't mind if I set up camp on his property. He and wife wouldn't have it. They had their little girl sleep in their room and I had a warm dinner and place to sleep for the night.
This morning, Mike drove me almost an hour to the closest bike shop we could find. And though it wasn't the exact part, my bike is again fully operational and now has (sans quick-release) a much stronger axle.
It's funny. Maybe it's just putting my mind on the concrete problem right in front of me that I needed. Though tired and troubled by a new and disastrously unfathomable break, I didn't think about turning my sights toward the nearest bus station. Dial the phone, stick out the thumb; just get it fixed. And here I am and here it is with some pleasant help had to make it so. I don't think it's necessary or even possible to understand the road. So far as everything has been concerned, it just always seems to work. That’s life. In all reality it is no easy feat to suffer any of the ultimate defeats. We just fool ourselves into thinking otherwise and let our passions seep away little by little via fear and doubt.
Well, that’s it. It's time to go put some miles under my belt on the remainder of today. Let's see how it feels. My hotel stay two nights ago didn't seem to do the trick. We'll see if yesterday's break was the break I needed to get me fresh and fixed.
The key to finding a good place to camp in the cities I pass through is local information. I always stop by a town store or gas station toward the end of my riding day to feel an area out before setting up. Mostly I'm directed toward the city park without hesitation from the clerk or fellow patron. Sometime I get a bad vibe about a place or hear too much talk about asking the police for permission. In those cases I may move on or just find a spot unseen. Humansville last Saturday night was a case in point.
The city park was tiny and right in the middle of town. The locals only told me to talk to the local cops which I didn't feel like going out of my way to do. Riding on, I passed a great place to set up. Upon a hill to the highway's east rested a sizable piece of property mostly unoccupied. In truth it was heavily populated but none of the residents were going to complain. So with a full moon shining on a clear Saturday night before Halloween I erected up my tent in the back corner of a cemetery. There was a mound of lawn rubbish that concealed my tent from sight--not that it would protect me from evil spirits or mischievous teenagers. None to worry. Except for the cold, phoning friends and a couple of wandering cows on the other side of the fence I rested quite soundly through the night. But that's an example more to the contrary of my general stay in Missouri. The night before my plan of action worked to a T.
Pulling into the town of Butler on Friday night I decided to kill a second bird while gathering local information. Instead of asking about where to camp I had sun enough to ask about the local watering hole first. Walking into the town beer joint with helmet and gloves still on and carrying my basket full of bike shit got me instantly looked at by all sixteen of the older patrons sitting inside. Well, my butt not ten minutes on a barstool and I had my second beer paid for, the manager was making me dinner on the house and the owner directed me to his property around the corner to set up my tent and build a fire. I had the whole place glued to my story and was fielding questions from every direction. These guys loved me and I had a great time in that place after I set up my things and came back to the bar on a much lighter bike. It wasn't a late night but was a refreshing bit of company with some really nice people in a place I was able to learn much more about. Thanks Butler. I needed that.
Much unlike Kansas, these roads here in Missouri are a mess. I'm in some beautiful, hilly terrain covered with colorful trees. But the irregularity of the roads here are tough on my body and my bike. Though the elevation hasn't varied more than two hundred feet, the inclines and declines are windy and steep. My speed has been greatly reduced and I'm spending more time attentive to the (thankfully light) traffic that I share the street with. I get a little tense at times in light of the "thundering assholes" as I call them that occasionally disturb the peace of the woods and my mind. Most drivers slow on my approach and even wave or honk a hello. But some trucks and cars are just too busy to obey the speed limit let alone pay me the typical courtesy of a polite and safe pass. Though I've uttered some unclaimed curses, I've yet to issue my first. No one has yet forced me off the road or really caused me to worry. At least, none of the humans I've been passed by.
"The Show me State" needs a new motto. Missouri should really be the "We Don't Lock up our Dogs" state. Damn, I counted four different dogs that have chased me down along my entire trip to and through Kansas. But in one instance in Missouri I almost doubled that mark as a pack of three left their front porch in pursuit of yours truly. Since then, I've friggin lost count of the total out here. I must have been running from a dog an hour over some stretches yesterday and the day before. None of them ever get me. All but one, they're too stupid not to give away their position before they race off in pursuit. I finally found a smart one, either that or he was mute. It was only after he was right behind me that I heard his feet on the pavement and turned on the juice to get away.
Except for the wind, the weather has been good to me out here. Not too cold at night and mildly warm by day, I'm riding under clear skies. Too clear. Four days without a shower (six without cleaning my shorts) and I finally succumbed to my desire to get a hotel on Monday night. Usually I'd wait for wet weather to take shelter but I needed a break. I think I've recently hit my wall. I've just been feeling tired all over of late. Not that I'm going to quit but this is getting a little tedious. And, as I've said, the road has been hard on the body and the bike.
Yesterday was a breaking point. I was having some trouble with my rear rim. It wasn't bent at any point but was rolling out of alignment when I'd put extra force behind my peddling. I couldn't figure it out having never experienced the like but after the problem got too severe to ignore I pulled off the road and took the hub apart. Turns out I'd snapped my axle sleeve in two. The thin quick-release rod held everything in pace but was pretty bent out of shape. Not dead but crippled in a very rural part of Missouri, I chose to try and flag down some help. And just as in other times of need on the road I had a ride show up on the spot.
Headed my way was a construction worker named Mike who lived in the small town that was my aimed destination for the day. Still quite rural, at least his place was much closer to a bike-shop sized city than I was broke down in at the time. I asked Mike if since late in the day he wouldn't mind if I set up camp on his property. He and wife wouldn't have it. They had their little girl sleep in their room and I had a warm dinner and place to sleep for the night.
This morning, Mike drove me almost an hour to the closest bike shop we could find. And though it wasn't the exact part, my bike is again fully operational and now has (sans quick-release) a much stronger axle.
It's funny. Maybe it's just putting my mind on the concrete problem right in front of me that I needed. Though tired and troubled by a new and disastrously unfathomable break, I didn't think about turning my sights toward the nearest bus station. Dial the phone, stick out the thumb; just get it fixed. And here I am and here it is with some pleasant help had to make it so. I don't think it's necessary or even possible to understand the road. So far as everything has been concerned, it just always seems to work. That’s life. In all reality it is no easy feat to suffer any of the ultimate defeats. We just fool ourselves into thinking otherwise and let our passions seep away little by little via fear and doubt.
Well, that’s it. It's time to go put some miles under my belt on the remainder of today. Let's see how it feels. My hotel stay two nights ago didn't seem to do the trick. We'll see if yesterday's break was the break I needed to get me fresh and fixed.
Thursday, October 25, 2007
Ups and Downs in Kansas
From the start of this trip there were a couple milestones I was looking toward. First, I wanted to put a week behind me on the bike as proof that my body and mind were up to the challenge. No problem. Second, I was worried that my late start could pose disastrous in the Rocky Mountains. With a little luck and rerouting away from areas of extremely lofty or out-of-the-way terrain, I was able to weather the high ground with few setbacks. I came down out of Wyoming into Denver middle of last week and had a celebration of sorts visiting family friends over a much appreciated day off. I'd made it. So far as things appeared to me, the worst was past. Sure, eastern Colorado isn't even half way across the country but it takes me out of the higher elevations and into the plains.
Well, only a week into middle America and I now have a new outlook. Though Kansas is indeed a pretty flat land this place has given me some real ups and downs. Put simply, I'm still very much riding through rocky terrain. Have fun with this post and don't be alarmed. Though a little put off I'm still strong in spirit and have had a great time even when sidelined at the worst--and yesterday it got bad. Here goes, enjoy...
My entry into Kansas proved quick and mostly easy. It was my pleasure to leave the congested city streets of greater Denver and rejoin the rural highways that are my bread and butter. Colorado was beautiful as some of my prior pictures can attest but there are a plethora of reasons why bike routes avoid big cities. Shoddy roads, cross-traffic, distracted drivers, non-existent shoulders, choking exhaust fumes, Denver had its share. Well, on a day that the eastern end of the Rockies were sucking a weather front dry, I was pushed out of the state by strong winds. Not always with me, they did help me put down two consecutive one hundred mile days.
Small town camping has been comfortable if not warm out here. City parks were easy to find and very hospitable. Ashton, KS had a beautiful park at the edge of a dry lake supplied with wood stacked around its large barbecues. It was the first night of this whole trip I'd had my own fire. I roasted some large rocks and brought them into my tent for a little extra warmth. Good thing. Despite descending below 4000 feet, I'm still waking up to below 40 degree temps.
The day after Ashton was warm if not hot. The temp was somewhere in the 80s and with that came extra activity amongst the local critters. I'd been lucky to see an absence of bugs on most of this trip and it was around this time that I came across my first live snakes. Two days ago I actually ran over one too small to catch my wandering eye until I was right on top of his tail. Anyway, struggling into the town of Norton on Saturday I saw a drivers license on the side of the road. I stopped, picked it up, and wondering why it was sitting there all alone, set my bike down to take a wider look around. Sure enough, further off the road and fifteen feet behind me I found a cluster of cosmetics surrounding an open purse. I spent ten minutes putting nearby business cards and sunglasses back in it and then rode off in search of a place to camp and a cold beer--I was anxious to see how Cal was faring at UCLA (damn Bruins got the best of my Bears).
After a beer and my typical dinner of cold Top Ramen and mashed up peanut butter sandwiches I called home. My internet-savvy folks were able to put a local phone number to the name on the ID I'd found. I called and left a message on a nondescript answering service. Sure enough, I was awakened at eleven by a frantic sounding woman inquiring about her purse. I told her where I was camping in Norton's sizable park and she promptly arrived to claim her property, all of which I'd found. It seems her purse wasn't stolen but simply left on the roof of her car which makes sense being that I found it at the beginning of a curve. Asking if I wanted some sort of reward I told her I'd settle for a picture to help tell the story and she was back on her happy way.
Reward? Hell no! So many people have done so many nice things for me out here that I was just glad to be able to return a favor. Finding her purse filled up my karmic tank. But only a little as I would soon find out.
It's rare that all the elements of the road align for a perfect day and Kansas hasn't been the exception. While nice to have flat terrain, north winds have proven a continuing problem and in Norton I awoke to a Sunday anything but. The night's low temperature became the day's high under the cloud of impending rain. Not wanting to waste a day, I raced through some light drizzle to a hotel for my first shower in 300 plus miles over the four mostly warm and dusty days since Denver.
Starting a day warm is a real help on the road. And as I've moved further east into Kansas, sanctuary has met me along the way. Inquiring about the legality of camping in the city of Lincoln's park, the gentleman chaperon of a group of boys I'd asked there made me a proposition. If I'd tell his cub scout troop about my adventure he'd let me crash in their sizable cabin situated in the park's center. Deal. The kids wore dumbfounded expressions as I explained what I was doing but did ask some pretty good questions about how I operate. Thinking on this reveals much. Most people ask me less how I do this than why, to which I reply that it's all about what I see. Ultimately that all depends on where--and who--I am. Such are adventure's revelations.
Now a great deal of the beauty of this solo trip is that I follow the whims of nature. I go where the roads, winds and my spirit take me. My methods and goal are fluid generalities. I wear no watch nor do I follow a set path. Well, I should have known that putting constrains on the game would not bode well. But in an effort to visit with people in central and eastern Kansas I've packaged and portioned my routine. I've set constraints and targets, scheduling myself for a series of three straight nights with family and friends. It was a long day that brought me to Herington, one fraught with troublesome roads, winds and finally two broken spokes. But I did make my destination just after sunset on Monday and was rewarded with great company, food and a warm bed. From there though, I had before me one hundred plus miles to make it to my friend Shanna's home in Lawrence. This was doable. I figured that as long as I started early I'd have no problem. I was wrong.
Yesterday my karmic tank ran dry. The day started great but quickly devolved as the morning stillness gave way to gusty winds pushing me back from my destination. At a crossroads I found myself blown into a lose-lose situation. I'd spent the morning getting beaten up by nasty cross-winds on a road with no shoulder. This posed a relative danger when being passed by large trucks. Think Maverick and Goose getting caught in Iceman's jetwash. Forget the delay, I was getting tossed around bad on Highway 56. So at the junction with Interstate 335 that cut my nasty grid route short with a near-direct shot to Lawrence safely but slowiy right into the wind I opted to change course. Avoiding the toll collector who wouldn't have let me onto the road, I ventured into the illegal. Winds and damaged bike (turns out I had three broken spokes, not two) I had my thumb out as I rode on the clean, wide shoulder of the freeway. Who would find me first, a sympathetic driver or the state police? Though it took eight miles over the course of a whole hour, I finally had my answer.
You know, there are a couple of my friends who would say that no cross-country trip is complete without an encounter with the law. Well, been there done that yesterday--times three. The first little piggy (sorry, poetic license precedes my real sense of respect for the profession) told me to get off the highway. So I rode on looking for an offramp not knowing that I was in the middle of a 28 mile stretch of road with no exit. The second watched me approach an overpass that I actually climbed the slope of only to discover that it was a dirt road going nowhere that I could see. Just shy of the very next overpass came cop number three. As soon as he exited the car I knew speaking wouldn't do me any sort of good as I watched his hands go to his cuffs and his cuffs go to my wrists. I got tossed in the Osage County slammer for violating section number 68-2004 of the vehicle code, 39-1-1(B): riding a bicycle on the Kansas Turnpike/I-335. I had my silly bike helmet strapped to my head the whole time. Quiet, then talkative, always polite I rejoined the flow after unwisely fighting the winds of the road. Deep inside I was kind of laughing. I knew this whole thing wouldn't amount to much and I was right.
The officer who took me in told the jailers that I was extremely compliant and I was the same with them. So much so that they had me in and out in less than an hour on a $250 bond, enough under my cash on hand to afford me a taxi (coincidence?). At first I was pushing for them to keep me overnight so I wouldn't have to inconvenience my friend who was expecting me. I'm glad I waited to make a phone call to the parents to alert the web of my latest overnight whereabouts since I was out so soon. On the street I remembered that they hadn't given me back my medication. Upon it's retrieval, the woman jailer who had gotten a kick out of my adventure and was also from California told me that she put out on the police dispatch that I would be walking north on Topeka Blvd. Sure enough, not five minutes later a local county sheriff pulled up and welcomed me into his K-9 unit and, after conversing with Shanna, drove me to a convenient rendezvous location with my friends. Only living a life like this can you follow up a cold trip to jail in cuffs with a personal police escort back to the closest home of sorts the Topeka area had to offer me.
I had a great second dinner (California jails have a lot to learn, in the hour I was in I was served a ham sandwich dinner) amongst a lot of laughs with Shanna Morgan Kimzey and her family. After another warm night's sleep and a trip to a Topeka towing facility this morning, I'm back on the road. A short day today to the home of another family friend and then I'll realign myself and my now fixed bike fully to flow of the winds and road, south and east and onward to the Atlantic. Almost November, 2000 miles and a month in, I'm well on my way and looking forward to whatever the miles have to bring--ups, downs, and all.
Until next time,
-Tony
Thursday, October 26, 2007
P.S. As soon as I got my property back on the way out of the slammer I snapped a few pictures. Here's my self taken mug shot and a view of my cell. Believe you me when I say these were luxury accomodations.
Well, only a week into middle America and I now have a new outlook. Though Kansas is indeed a pretty flat land this place has given me some real ups and downs. Put simply, I'm still very much riding through rocky terrain. Have fun with this post and don't be alarmed. Though a little put off I'm still strong in spirit and have had a great time even when sidelined at the worst--and yesterday it got bad. Here goes, enjoy...
My entry into Kansas proved quick and mostly easy. It was my pleasure to leave the congested city streets of greater Denver and rejoin the rural highways that are my bread and butter. Colorado was beautiful as some of my prior pictures can attest but there are a plethora of reasons why bike routes avoid big cities. Shoddy roads, cross-traffic, distracted drivers, non-existent shoulders, choking exhaust fumes, Denver had its share. Well, on a day that the eastern end of the Rockies were sucking a weather front dry, I was pushed out of the state by strong winds. Not always with me, they did help me put down two consecutive one hundred mile days.
Small town camping has been comfortable if not warm out here. City parks were easy to find and very hospitable. Ashton, KS had a beautiful park at the edge of a dry lake supplied with wood stacked around its large barbecues. It was the first night of this whole trip I'd had my own fire. I roasted some large rocks and brought them into my tent for a little extra warmth. Good thing. Despite descending below 4000 feet, I'm still waking up to below 40 degree temps.
The day after Ashton was warm if not hot. The temp was somewhere in the 80s and with that came extra activity amongst the local critters. I'd been lucky to see an absence of bugs on most of this trip and it was around this time that I came across my first live snakes. Two days ago I actually ran over one too small to catch my wandering eye until I was right on top of his tail. Anyway, struggling into the town of Norton on Saturday I saw a drivers license on the side of the road. I stopped, picked it up, and wondering why it was sitting there all alone, set my bike down to take a wider look around. Sure enough, further off the road and fifteen feet behind me I found a cluster of cosmetics surrounding an open purse. I spent ten minutes putting nearby business cards and sunglasses back in it and then rode off in search of a place to camp and a cold beer--I was anxious to see how Cal was faring at UCLA (damn Bruins got the best of my Bears).
After a beer and my typical dinner of cold Top Ramen and mashed up peanut butter sandwiches I called home. My internet-savvy folks were able to put a local phone number to the name on the ID I'd found. I called and left a message on a nondescript answering service. Sure enough, I was awakened at eleven by a frantic sounding woman inquiring about her purse. I told her where I was camping in Norton's sizable park and she promptly arrived to claim her property, all of which I'd found. It seems her purse wasn't stolen but simply left on the roof of her car which makes sense being that I found it at the beginning of a curve. Asking if I wanted some sort of reward I told her I'd settle for a picture to help tell the story and she was back on her happy way.
Reward? Hell no! So many people have done so many nice things for me out here that I was just glad to be able to return a favor. Finding her purse filled up my karmic tank. But only a little as I would soon find out.
It's rare that all the elements of the road align for a perfect day and Kansas hasn't been the exception. While nice to have flat terrain, north winds have proven a continuing problem and in Norton I awoke to a Sunday anything but. The night's low temperature became the day's high under the cloud of impending rain. Not wanting to waste a day, I raced through some light drizzle to a hotel for my first shower in 300 plus miles over the four mostly warm and dusty days since Denver.
Starting a day warm is a real help on the road. And as I've moved further east into Kansas, sanctuary has met me along the way. Inquiring about the legality of camping in the city of Lincoln's park, the gentleman chaperon of a group of boys I'd asked there made me a proposition. If I'd tell his cub scout troop about my adventure he'd let me crash in their sizable cabin situated in the park's center. Deal. The kids wore dumbfounded expressions as I explained what I was doing but did ask some pretty good questions about how I operate. Thinking on this reveals much. Most people ask me less how I do this than why, to which I reply that it's all about what I see. Ultimately that all depends on where--and who--I am. Such are adventure's revelations.
Now a great deal of the beauty of this solo trip is that I follow the whims of nature. I go where the roads, winds and my spirit take me. My methods and goal are fluid generalities. I wear no watch nor do I follow a set path. Well, I should have known that putting constrains on the game would not bode well. But in an effort to visit with people in central and eastern Kansas I've packaged and portioned my routine. I've set constraints and targets, scheduling myself for a series of three straight nights with family and friends. It was a long day that brought me to Herington, one fraught with troublesome roads, winds and finally two broken spokes. But I did make my destination just after sunset on Monday and was rewarded with great company, food and a warm bed. From there though, I had before me one hundred plus miles to make it to my friend Shanna's home in Lawrence. This was doable. I figured that as long as I started early I'd have no problem. I was wrong.
Yesterday my karmic tank ran dry. The day started great but quickly devolved as the morning stillness gave way to gusty winds pushing me back from my destination. At a crossroads I found myself blown into a lose-lose situation. I'd spent the morning getting beaten up by nasty cross-winds on a road with no shoulder. This posed a relative danger when being passed by large trucks. Think Maverick and Goose getting caught in Iceman's jetwash. Forget the delay, I was getting tossed around bad on Highway 56. So at the junction with Interstate 335 that cut my nasty grid route short with a near-direct shot to Lawrence safely but slowiy right into the wind I opted to change course. Avoiding the toll collector who wouldn't have let me onto the road, I ventured into the illegal. Winds and damaged bike (turns out I had three broken spokes, not two) I had my thumb out as I rode on the clean, wide shoulder of the freeway. Who would find me first, a sympathetic driver or the state police? Though it took eight miles over the course of a whole hour, I finally had my answer.
You know, there are a couple of my friends who would say that no cross-country trip is complete without an encounter with the law. Well, been there done that yesterday--times three. The first little piggy (sorry, poetic license precedes my real sense of respect for the profession) told me to get off the highway. So I rode on looking for an offramp not knowing that I was in the middle of a 28 mile stretch of road with no exit. The second watched me approach an overpass that I actually climbed the slope of only to discover that it was a dirt road going nowhere that I could see. Just shy of the very next overpass came cop number three. As soon as he exited the car I knew speaking wouldn't do me any sort of good as I watched his hands go to his cuffs and his cuffs go to my wrists. I got tossed in the Osage County slammer for violating section number 68-2004 of the vehicle code, 39-1-1(B): riding a bicycle on the Kansas Turnpike/I-335. I had my silly bike helmet strapped to my head the whole time. Quiet, then talkative, always polite I rejoined the flow after unwisely fighting the winds of the road. Deep inside I was kind of laughing. I knew this whole thing wouldn't amount to much and I was right.
The officer who took me in told the jailers that I was extremely compliant and I was the same with them. So much so that they had me in and out in less than an hour on a $250 bond, enough under my cash on hand to afford me a taxi (coincidence?). At first I was pushing for them to keep me overnight so I wouldn't have to inconvenience my friend who was expecting me. I'm glad I waited to make a phone call to the parents to alert the web of my latest overnight whereabouts since I was out so soon. On the street I remembered that they hadn't given me back my medication. Upon it's retrieval, the woman jailer who had gotten a kick out of my adventure and was also from California told me that she put out on the police dispatch that I would be walking north on Topeka Blvd. Sure enough, not five minutes later a local county sheriff pulled up and welcomed me into his K-9 unit and, after conversing with Shanna, drove me to a convenient rendezvous location with my friends. Only living a life like this can you follow up a cold trip to jail in cuffs with a personal police escort back to the closest home of sorts the Topeka area had to offer me.
I had a great second dinner (California jails have a lot to learn, in the hour I was in I was served a ham sandwich dinner) amongst a lot of laughs with Shanna Morgan Kimzey and her family. After another warm night's sleep and a trip to a Topeka towing facility this morning, I'm back on the road. A short day today to the home of another family friend and then I'll realign myself and my now fixed bike fully to flow of the winds and road, south and east and onward to the Atlantic. Almost November, 2000 miles and a month in, I'm well on my way and looking forward to whatever the miles have to bring--ups, downs, and all.
Until next time,
-Tony
Thursday, October 26, 2007
P.S. As soon as I got my property back on the way out of the slammer I snapped a few pictures. Here's my self taken mug shot and a view of my cell. Believe you me when I say these were luxury accomodations.
Monday, October 22, 2007
Why did the Chicken go to Kansas?
Some of these pictures are also from Colorado. No time to write anything substantial but I will post an update Thursday afternoon. In short: I'm alright, the weather is holding and the varied terrain is opening my eyes ever wider to the amazing landscapes that comprise our beautiful United States. Damn do I feel good.
Wednesday, October 17, 2007
Monday, October 15, 2007
Sunday, October 14, 2007
Notes on Wyoming
Sunday, October 14th, 2007
Laramie, WY
Here we are again. The weather is starting to follow a pattern for this trip. Another weekend and I'm put to the side of the road because the skies decide to start crying. Did I say side of the road? What I really meant to say is under the road. In a bold attempt to get ahead of things, yesterday I decided to save some time by riding on the shoulder of Interstate 80. My maps had me on that freeway for 20 miles anyway and I figured I could eat the additional 76 miles to Laramie in one chunk if I just stayed put. Usually freeways are ill-advised but traffic was light and the shoulder clean and wide. What I couldn't see were the hills, winds and eventual rain that would stop me short. At about six yesterday evening, with only 13 miles to go, I decided that there was too little light and too much rain to continue. Not wanting to wait for a ride, I pulled my bike off the road at a small bridge spanning a dry creek bed and set up camp under the freeway. No need for my tent, I climbed the northern slope of the southbound lanes and slept on the dirt ledge three feet below the concrete that supported the thundering trucks above.
I slept pretty good down there. I was shielded from most of the night's light winds and stayed warm in long underwear and my sleeping bag. I got used to the traffic noise/vibrations (the whole structure would shudder under the weight of the bigger trucks) and was kept perfectly dry. When I got up this morning it was still drizzling so I slept a little longer. Mistake. Before I knew it that rain turned to snow. Running out of water--and not wanting to say there another day anyway--I geared up. With extra sleeves, the fingered gloves, beanie under the helmet and my first day wearing pants on the bike yet this trip, I jumped out in it. At first I thought I'd hitch hike but, no, I rode. It's actually easier to ride in snow than rain I found. The snow doesn't seep through as easy. The freeway stayed plenty wide for me to avoid any truck spray and that last 13 miles proved to be flat and safe. If half the love of the road is doing things the hard way then it makes sense why I had such a great time this morning. With a warm cup of coffee in my hand here at this computer and a dry hotel room down the street, the wet, the cold and a night spent under a freeway overpass are but a distant memory that I will never forget.
Where Idaho seemed to be more about the people, Wyoming has been more about the land. Monday and Tuesday saw me riding through Yellowstone and Grand Teton National Parks. I've already sent out some pictures from those areas but now let me tell you in words. When I once believed that I picked a poor time to undertake this trip, I was wrong. Snow capped mountains, autumn trees, light tourist traffic, I couldn't stop stopping to take pictures. This state is downright amazing. But also desolate. I resorted to a dinner of nothing but the half jar of peanut butter I had with me in deserted Jeffrey City. And I have found myself ever challenged by the elements (this in a week of nearly continuous sun). The winds have not favored me here. Though not enough to force my thumb like the day going into Vale, OR they do do a job on a rider's psyche. It's no fun peddling like you're doing 14 MPH yet only going 8. And the hills... let's just say I was happy to meet a cyclist at the beginning of this trip who reminded me that there is no shame in walking.
So far, so happy. I've been pushing myself to get out into the early cold and make extra miles late I've and come up nearly 100% successful. Even when I couldn't make my target last night I was neither nervous about my circumstances nor did I second guess my judgment. I'm really feeding off this whole experience. I am starting to feel some long-term fatigue. My hands feel sore at all times and can grow numb on the bike. My legs are never loose and perfectly fresh. A slight knee pain and sore back need extra attention here and there but I do my best to keep all systems running smooth. I've had a second spoke go out but all-in-all the bike is running smooth and strong. What it's really all about is the weather and the reward of staring it straight in the face.
I hope all of you have had the pleasure, or displeasure, of working some job that had you exposed to all elements at some point in your life. Be it Lake Mission Viejo, the military or this for me, it's a comfort and a dread to see your future physical comfort level out there on the horizon. Out here I'm constantly making the decision to either get on the chair lift for another run or go have a beer in the lodge. Either way, weather you judge it right or wrong, it feels good in the end. A little rain, sleet or snow won't kill you. It will only make you... smile when you counteract its effect. It's the simplest of rewards, one we Californians have all but eliminated from our lives. My suggestion: next time it rains, go for a jog.
To close, I'd like to say thanks to all the people who've make this trip a pleasure for me from back at home or right here on the road. Some of you have given me a ride or a warm place to sleep. Others are keeping me strong with a kind word or putting them out into cyberspace for me. I love and thank you all. It is a lonely road. But because of you I don't feel its full weight.
To sunny skies, high highs and high lows,
-Tony
Laramie, WY
Here we are again. The weather is starting to follow a pattern for this trip. Another weekend and I'm put to the side of the road because the skies decide to start crying. Did I say side of the road? What I really meant to say is under the road. In a bold attempt to get ahead of things, yesterday I decided to save some time by riding on the shoulder of Interstate 80. My maps had me on that freeway for 20 miles anyway and I figured I could eat the additional 76 miles to Laramie in one chunk if I just stayed put. Usually freeways are ill-advised but traffic was light and the shoulder clean and wide. What I couldn't see were the hills, winds and eventual rain that would stop me short. At about six yesterday evening, with only 13 miles to go, I decided that there was too little light and too much rain to continue. Not wanting to wait for a ride, I pulled my bike off the road at a small bridge spanning a dry creek bed and set up camp under the freeway. No need for my tent, I climbed the northern slope of the southbound lanes and slept on the dirt ledge three feet below the concrete that supported the thundering trucks above.
I slept pretty good down there. I was shielded from most of the night's light winds and stayed warm in long underwear and my sleeping bag. I got used to the traffic noise/vibrations (the whole structure would shudder under the weight of the bigger trucks) and was kept perfectly dry. When I got up this morning it was still drizzling so I slept a little longer. Mistake. Before I knew it that rain turned to snow. Running out of water--and not wanting to say there another day anyway--I geared up. With extra sleeves, the fingered gloves, beanie under the helmet and my first day wearing pants on the bike yet this trip, I jumped out in it. At first I thought I'd hitch hike but, no, I rode. It's actually easier to ride in snow than rain I found. The snow doesn't seep through as easy. The freeway stayed plenty wide for me to avoid any truck spray and that last 13 miles proved to be flat and safe. If half the love of the road is doing things the hard way then it makes sense why I had such a great time this morning. With a warm cup of coffee in my hand here at this computer and a dry hotel room down the street, the wet, the cold and a night spent under a freeway overpass are but a distant memory that I will never forget.
Where Idaho seemed to be more about the people, Wyoming has been more about the land. Monday and Tuesday saw me riding through Yellowstone and Grand Teton National Parks. I've already sent out some pictures from those areas but now let me tell you in words. When I once believed that I picked a poor time to undertake this trip, I was wrong. Snow capped mountains, autumn trees, light tourist traffic, I couldn't stop stopping to take pictures. This state is downright amazing. But also desolate. I resorted to a dinner of nothing but the half jar of peanut butter I had with me in deserted Jeffrey City. And I have found myself ever challenged by the elements (this in a week of nearly continuous sun). The winds have not favored me here. Though not enough to force my thumb like the day going into Vale, OR they do do a job on a rider's psyche. It's no fun peddling like you're doing 14 MPH yet only going 8. And the hills... let's just say I was happy to meet a cyclist at the beginning of this trip who reminded me that there is no shame in walking.
So far, so happy. I've been pushing myself to get out into the early cold and make extra miles late I've and come up nearly 100% successful. Even when I couldn't make my target last night I was neither nervous about my circumstances nor did I second guess my judgment. I'm really feeding off this whole experience. I am starting to feel some long-term fatigue. My hands feel sore at all times and can grow numb on the bike. My legs are never loose and perfectly fresh. A slight knee pain and sore back need extra attention here and there but I do my best to keep all systems running smooth. I've had a second spoke go out but all-in-all the bike is running smooth and strong. What it's really all about is the weather and the reward of staring it straight in the face.
I hope all of you have had the pleasure, or displeasure, of working some job that had you exposed to all elements at some point in your life. Be it Lake Mission Viejo, the military or this for me, it's a comfort and a dread to see your future physical comfort level out there on the horizon. Out here I'm constantly making the decision to either get on the chair lift for another run or go have a beer in the lodge. Either way, weather you judge it right or wrong, it feels good in the end. A little rain, sleet or snow won't kill you. It will only make you... smile when you counteract its effect. It's the simplest of rewards, one we Californians have all but eliminated from our lives. My suggestion: next time it rains, go for a jog.
To close, I'd like to say thanks to all the people who've make this trip a pleasure for me from back at home or right here on the road. Some of you have given me a ride or a warm place to sleep. Others are keeping me strong with a kind word or putting them out into cyberspace for me. I love and thank you all. It is a lonely road. But because of you I don't feel its full weight.
To sunny skies, high highs and high lows,
-Tony
Wednesday, October 10, 2007
More Notes From the Road
Sunday, October 7, 2007
Let's see. Last I said hello I was in a Presbyterian church in Dayville more than a week ago. From there I had a great Saturday (Sept 29) traversing mid Oregon. I was making such good time on a beautiful day to allow me to stop and watch the second half of the the Cal vs. Oregon matchup in enemy territory. My uncontrollable exclamations of joy at Cal's victory did not result in my head's mounting on the wall of the Prineville hunter's bar I was in. The main theme continues. In all situations, people encountered on the road are spectacular. Proof, the next few days.
Last Sunday I ran into some serious headwinds on my way out of Oregon's eastern hills. I fought them for about 10 miles before I gave up and stuck my thumb out on a deserted section of Hwy 26. It was funny. The first truck I flagged drove right on past. But walking on with my thumb out to any larger car that could take my bike I kept trying. Only ten minutes into this, a truck going the opposite way pulled up to the side of the road ahead of me. It was that first truck. The driver, Dave, had driven four miles up the road before turning around to get me. Great guy. A poly-sci teacher at a local high school, we talked about my ride, Iraq and the state of the nation. He dropped me at a RV park in his town (Vale, OR) and I was set for a brilliant ride into Idaho after a rainy night and those winds had disappeared.
Two days later I also caught a ride on a section of the 84 freeway that I had to bike in order to rejoin the 26 across Idaho. Same thing. Only took me about ten minutes before a dude taking some drilling equipment to Colorado got me out of that shitty situation. (Mark would have taken me all that way but I really didn't want to cheat my ride that much.)
Amazing hospitality and great people. The best example thus far I came across in Boise. I had heard there was a camp ground along the river but couldn't find it. I asked a passing cyclist on Boise's beautiful Green Belt bike path that skirts the river. He didn't know where it was--so he offered to put me up at his place. Adam had known me a whole 90 seconds before opening his doors to me. I really didn't want to backtrack to his house but he wrote his phone number on my map. After a futile search for the camp and thinking I was a fool to turn down his offer I called him up. He said he didn't need to clear it with his wife and he was right. They were both avid cyclists and found my company pleasant if not helpful. Besides getting a lesson in Pokemon, I helped his little kids with their homework. I told them just a place to set up my tent was gift enough. They had none of that and made up the little girls room for me and made her bunk with her brother. Breakfast, a morning ride with Adam through Boise on his way to work and off I went on my trip through Idaho.
I awoke in Fairfax to super strong winds--at my back! I did 23 miles in my first hour and 112 miles total that day. Brilliant and beautiful lands. Such a pleasure except for a broken spoke that I just rode on with. That day I also found a hot spring just off the highway that I was informed about by a local and had a great lunchtime bath. (Showers have been few and far between since I've opted to camp for free in the parks of small cities.)
The weather has been an issue getting out of Idaho. Had a dreary day into Rexburb fighting a slight wind and the tedium of bugs, overcast skies and bland scenery. The one ray of light that day was found at a local bike shop where I was able to get that broken spoke replaced and my rim trued at minimal cost and in excellent time. I was able to ride on into that evening and good thing. The pouring rain that night stuck around and had me sidelined after only some 20 miles the next day. After a warming lunch in a local lodge I was going to continue but conditions were no longer safe. I got a motel for the night in Island Park and in no time had an invite to a season-ending party for the local park rangers/firefighters. A couple kegs, a huge bonfire and great people, what a night I had. And then I awoke to four inches of snow and counting. Spent yesterday (Saturday) grounded and so I watched football. Some of the same folks were around from the night before to keep me company. Let's just say I learned some new dice games at the bar that I look forward to sharing with you guys. Again, great, GREAT people.
Made it into Montana today under clear skies and dry roads though it is a little disturbing to ride in snowy territoty under clouds hovering their weighty cargo just a thousand feet up. Oh, and the high today was 35 degrees. But with legs always moving, shorts are still the way to go. Just cold fingers and toes really.
Oh yeah. To any of you who think I'm crazy, I passed another touring cyclist today. This guy started two monts ago in Alaska. His destination? Argentina!
For now I'm splurging on another night at a hotel to avoid the 18 degree temp and more snow coming tonight. Thankfully, tomorrow should be dry and warming. I look forward to getting back up to speed and making some good miles. But for now I'm going to enjoy the hot tub at this here joint and more good company of new friends. I love it out here. And out here seems to love me. Thanks to the road and all the people wishing me well; like Gary who I met a few days back at a laundromat. He spent 1979 and 1980 hitchhiking the country and in me found a way to pay back an old debt with interest. Back then he was given a dollar by an old woman in a laundromat and so to me he passed a twenty with the advice to do something good for myself when the times got tough. He was right on, that was the morning before I got grounded by the rain and then snow.
Feelin' good. I'm gonna finish this bitch. Atlantic, here I come.
-Tony
Let's see. Last I said hello I was in a Presbyterian church in Dayville more than a week ago. From there I had a great Saturday (Sept 29) traversing mid Oregon. I was making such good time on a beautiful day to allow me to stop and watch the second half of the the Cal vs. Oregon matchup in enemy territory. My uncontrollable exclamations of joy at Cal's victory did not result in my head's mounting on the wall of the Prineville hunter's bar I was in. The main theme continues. In all situations, people encountered on the road are spectacular. Proof, the next few days.
Last Sunday I ran into some serious headwinds on my way out of Oregon's eastern hills. I fought them for about 10 miles before I gave up and stuck my thumb out on a deserted section of Hwy 26. It was funny. The first truck I flagged drove right on past. But walking on with my thumb out to any larger car that could take my bike I kept trying. Only ten minutes into this, a truck going the opposite way pulled up to the side of the road ahead of me. It was that first truck. The driver, Dave, had driven four miles up the road before turning around to get me. Great guy. A poly-sci teacher at a local high school, we talked about my ride, Iraq and the state of the nation. He dropped me at a RV park in his town (Vale, OR) and I was set for a brilliant ride into Idaho after a rainy night and those winds had disappeared.
Two days later I also caught a ride on a section of the 84 freeway that I had to bike in order to rejoin the 26 across Idaho. Same thing. Only took me about ten minutes before a dude taking some drilling equipment to Colorado got me out of that shitty situation. (Mark would have taken me all that way but I really didn't want to cheat my ride that much.)
Amazing hospitality and great people. The best example thus far I came across in Boise. I had heard there was a camp ground along the river but couldn't find it. I asked a passing cyclist on Boise's beautiful Green Belt bike path that skirts the river. He didn't know where it was--so he offered to put me up at his place. Adam had known me a whole 90 seconds before opening his doors to me. I really didn't want to backtrack to his house but he wrote his phone number on my map. After a futile search for the camp and thinking I was a fool to turn down his offer I called him up. He said he didn't need to clear it with his wife and he was right. They were both avid cyclists and found my company pleasant if not helpful. Besides getting a lesson in Pokemon, I helped his little kids with their homework. I told them just a place to set up my tent was gift enough. They had none of that and made up the little girls room for me and made her bunk with her brother. Breakfast, a morning ride with Adam through Boise on his way to work and off I went on my trip through Idaho.
I awoke in Fairfax to super strong winds--at my back! I did 23 miles in my first hour and 112 miles total that day. Brilliant and beautiful lands. Such a pleasure except for a broken spoke that I just rode on with. That day I also found a hot spring just off the highway that I was informed about by a local and had a great lunchtime bath. (Showers have been few and far between since I've opted to camp for free in the parks of small cities.)
The weather has been an issue getting out of Idaho. Had a dreary day into Rexburb fighting a slight wind and the tedium of bugs, overcast skies and bland scenery. The one ray of light that day was found at a local bike shop where I was able to get that broken spoke replaced and my rim trued at minimal cost and in excellent time. I was able to ride on into that evening and good thing. The pouring rain that night stuck around and had me sidelined after only some 20 miles the next day. After a warming lunch in a local lodge I was going to continue but conditions were no longer safe. I got a motel for the night in Island Park and in no time had an invite to a season-ending party for the local park rangers/firefighters. A couple kegs, a huge bonfire and great people, what a night I had. And then I awoke to four inches of snow and counting. Spent yesterday (Saturday) grounded and so I watched football. Some of the same folks were around from the night before to keep me company. Let's just say I learned some new dice games at the bar that I look forward to sharing with you guys. Again, great, GREAT people.
Made it into Montana today under clear skies and dry roads though it is a little disturbing to ride in snowy territoty under clouds hovering their weighty cargo just a thousand feet up. Oh, and the high today was 35 degrees. But with legs always moving, shorts are still the way to go. Just cold fingers and toes really.
Oh yeah. To any of you who think I'm crazy, I passed another touring cyclist today. This guy started two monts ago in Alaska. His destination? Argentina!
For now I'm splurging on another night at a hotel to avoid the 18 degree temp and more snow coming tonight. Thankfully, tomorrow should be dry and warming. I look forward to getting back up to speed and making some good miles. But for now I'm going to enjoy the hot tub at this here joint and more good company of new friends. I love it out here. And out here seems to love me. Thanks to the road and all the people wishing me well; like Gary who I met a few days back at a laundromat. He spent 1979 and 1980 hitchhiking the country and in me found a way to pay back an old debt with interest. Back then he was given a dollar by an old woman in a laundromat and so to me he passed a twenty with the advice to do something good for myself when the times got tough. He was right on, that was the morning before I got grounded by the rain and then snow.
Feelin' good. I'm gonna finish this bitch. Atlantic, here I come.
-Tony
Why did the chicken cross the Snake River?
To get some potatoes.This was a few days back but I haven't had a chance to send this out.
Hope you enjoy it (I'm freezing my ass off today trying to get you guys another picture)
-Tony
Monday, October 1, 2007
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