1) "First Day of Ride"
2) "Bad Weather" 10-8-08
3) Added picture of grain silos
4) "Couple of Flat Tires" 10-8-08
5) Added picture of Kansas wheat field 10-08-08
6) Added picture of Kansas Cemetery 10-27-08
Thursday, October 2, 2008
Monday, August 11, 2008
New Pictures Posted Below
I'm back. Not much to say. I lost 6 pounds; 2 on the first half and 4 on the second. Haven't planned an encore, and probably won't.
I put the pictures at the end because there is greater resolution.
I put the pictures at the end because there is greater resolution.
Friday, August 8, 2008
Whooooo!!! Whoooooo!!!
Will I made it! A little over 667 miles, from Cleveland to Beantown. After a lot of mountains, days of rain, and countless trucks and cars, and I was standing in front of the U.S.S. Constitution.
The final 40 miles were the worst: I took route 9 from Worcester to Boston and that was a BIG mistake. It started out ok, but the road narrowed down, trapping me in a spider's web of 60 mph cars, ruthless ruts, and concrete barriers. I honestly thought I would die; that's not an exaggeration. I was sure that someone would plow into me and crush me like a grape.
So why didn't I get off? Well, what choice did I really have? This was it, there were no back roads. So I pushed the thoughts of death out of my mind and rode in the center of the lane, where I assumed I would be the most apparent to drivers. I didn't pray; I just rode. Miserably (sic). Scared. Like so many times before.
The road became two lanes in each direction. In my direction there were often no shoulders, just concrete fences. No wiggle room. None.
The speed limit was 55 mph. We all know what that means: it's a starting point. The ruts on the lanes' right side were so deep I had no choice but to ride in the middle of the lane. Think of a riding a bicycle in the middle of the lane of a local expressway during rush hour. If that isn't terrifying, I don't know what is!
Now for the good part. Most of the drivers seemed understanding. No one blew their horn, flipped me off, or yelled. They knew I didn't want to be there. They just slowed down and passed me. Boston drivers are polite?! Don't pass that secret on!
The car that was to use me for a hood ornament was far behind me; our paths didn't cross.
It's hard to believe I did it, but I rode from one ocean to another. I meet so many really great people. James from Springfield. Joyce and Aldon in Kansas. Gary and Tracy in St. Louis. Richard and Anita in Denver. Jan and David in Erie. There were so many that helped, even if was just giving me water! The list is long, but you were all like spokes in a wheel, enabling me to make and complete the journey.
So thank you everyone! Thank you for helping me realize a dream, and thank you for contributing to my cause! I owe each one of you, and without your help I would have never made it.
The final 40 miles were the worst: I took route 9 from Worcester to Boston and that was a BIG mistake. It started out ok, but the road narrowed down, trapping me in a spider's web of 60 mph cars, ruthless ruts, and concrete barriers. I honestly thought I would die; that's not an exaggeration. I was sure that someone would plow into me and crush me like a grape.
So why didn't I get off? Well, what choice did I really have? This was it, there were no back roads. So I pushed the thoughts of death out of my mind and rode in the center of the lane, where I assumed I would be the most apparent to drivers. I didn't pray; I just rode. Miserably (sic). Scared. Like so many times before.
The road became two lanes in each direction. In my direction there were often no shoulders, just concrete fences. No wiggle room. None.
The speed limit was 55 mph. We all know what that means: it's a starting point. The ruts on the lanes' right side were so deep I had no choice but to ride in the middle of the lane. Think of a riding a bicycle in the middle of the lane of a local expressway during rush hour. If that isn't terrifying, I don't know what is!
Now for the good part. Most of the drivers seemed understanding. No one blew their horn, flipped me off, or yelled. They knew I didn't want to be there. They just slowed down and passed me. Boston drivers are polite?! Don't pass that secret on!
The car that was to use me for a hood ornament was far behind me; our paths didn't cross.
It's hard to believe I did it, but I rode from one ocean to another. I meet so many really great people. James from Springfield. Joyce and Aldon in Kansas. Gary and Tracy in St. Louis. Richard and Anita in Denver. Jan and David in Erie. There were so many that helped, even if was just giving me water! The list is long, but you were all like spokes in a wheel, enabling me to make and complete the journey.
So thank you everyone! Thank you for helping me realize a dream, and thank you for contributing to my cause! I owe each one of you, and without your help I would have never made it.
Wednesday, August 6, 2008
Radio Active
If you know me you know I like my secrets; I like my games too.
So yesterday I met a powerful man, who will remain anonymous. A really nice guy! He got the Springfield newspaper to write an article about the ride. This morning, when I got back to my room from breakfast, the message light on my phone was flashing. A local radio station wanted me to do an interview. I was happy to oblige.
Also yesterday I met Mary and her daughter Heather. Mary's husband raises bees. She told me how he has to keep the hives on their roof so the black bears won't raid them. There is also a local wild turkey that attacks people that she warned me about. Mary gave me a Coke and we talked for quite a while. She and her husband are fighting a proposed cell phone tower and I tried to explain to her how radio waves work. I'm not sure that I did a good job of it. After leaving Mary's house it was a long, long, downhill ride. It was maybe 10 miles downhill. Nice.
This morning it was pouring rain outside; I really futzed around looking for excuses to not ride. I finally got started around 9:30 a.m.
The ride to Worcester was fairly uneventful. It rained on and off and I had a long grinding ride uphill against the wind. After I got to Worcester, I rode to downtown and looked for a Hampton Inn. I ran into Laura, she gave me directions and I was off. But I got lost again.
Again I ran into Laura, now in a different part of town (told you there was a lot of weird things on this ride!) She gave me directions again. On the way, I came across a Hilton. They gave me a REALLY good rate (yeah Hilton!) so I'm staying there. I should complete the ride tomorrow, God willing.
So yesterday I met a powerful man, who will remain anonymous. A really nice guy! He got the Springfield newspaper to write an article about the ride. This morning, when I got back to my room from breakfast, the message light on my phone was flashing. A local radio station wanted me to do an interview. I was happy to oblige.
Also yesterday I met Mary and her daughter Heather. Mary's husband raises bees. She told me how he has to keep the hives on their roof so the black bears won't raid them. There is also a local wild turkey that attacks people that she warned me about. Mary gave me a Coke and we talked for quite a while. She and her husband are fighting a proposed cell phone tower and I tried to explain to her how radio waves work. I'm not sure that I did a good job of it. After leaving Mary's house it was a long, long, downhill ride. It was maybe 10 miles downhill. Nice.
This morning it was pouring rain outside; I really futzed around looking for excuses to not ride. I finally got started around 9:30 a.m.
The ride to Worcester was fairly uneventful. It rained on and off and I had a long grinding ride uphill against the wind. After I got to Worcester, I rode to downtown and looked for a Hampton Inn. I ran into Laura, she gave me directions and I was off. But I got lost again.
Again I ran into Laura, now in a different part of town (told you there was a lot of weird things on this ride!) She gave me directions again. On the way, I came across a Hilton. They gave me a REALLY good rate (yeah Hilton!) so I'm staying there. I should complete the ride tomorrow, God willing.
Tuesday, August 5, 2008
The Guy Was Waiting For Me
After I left Pittsfield, I rode on Route 20 toward Springfield. After about 20 miles, I rounded a corner. the guy was there looking toward me; making eye contact: "Sir! Can I talk with you?"
I wondered what he wanted. I hadn't flipped anyone off all morning; maybe he wanted directions. I pulled over.
"Sir, can I shake your hand?" he asked. "I saw you riding in Cazenovia, NY a few days ago! When I saw you again just now, I had to shake your hand!"
Daryl is a civil engineer. He had seen me just after I crested the monster in Cazenovia. We talked a while: He hit 56 mph going down that hill on his bike. I told him about my ride. Great guy!
We shook hands again. I hate to sound too sentimental, but there are a lot of good people in this country. On this trip I've been fortunate enough to meet a few.
I wondered what he wanted. I hadn't flipped anyone off all morning; maybe he wanted directions. I pulled over.
"Sir, can I shake your hand?" he asked. "I saw you riding in Cazenovia, NY a few days ago! When I saw you again just now, I had to shake your hand!"
Daryl is a civil engineer. He had seen me just after I crested the monster in Cazenovia. We talked a while: He hit 56 mph going down that hill on his bike. I told him about my ride. Great guy!
We shook hands again. I hate to sound too sentimental, but there are a lot of good people in this country. On this trip I've been fortunate enough to meet a few.
The Silver Tongued Devil
Offered me a ride.
I left Albany yesterday morning. The big question was: How was I going to get across the Hudson river?
No one I asked knew specifically. Everyone told me to go down to the river and follow the bike path, heading north. Everyone thought eventually, I'd come to a bridge.
I stopped in downtown Albany and asked a guy sitting in a truck. "Go to the street behind us, and follow it to Broadway. Turn left."
"Will the street in front of us take me to Broadway?" I hate to backtrack.
"Sure!" He was wrong. It was a dead end alley.
I came to the end, straddled the bike, wondering what to do. A man and women came around the corner. She wore a pretty pink dress, he was business casual. I asked them.
"Not a problem he said. Turn right on that street there. It's Broadway. Bear left at the Y and go under the Dunlap Bridge, When it dead ends, you'll see a ramp on your right. Go up the ramp, it will take you across the river."
His companion exclaimed: "I didn't know you could do that!"
"Sure you can, I've done it frequently." Was the reply.
He was dead on. The funny thing was: It was so perfect! I don't think I rode more than 50 feet out of my way. I could not have done better even if I lived there.
The road to Pittsfield was poor, and the weather the same. It was hot and muggy; always threatening to rain. Ruts routinely wrapped round the road's right, forcing me to ride near center.
One guy buzzed by me, missing me by just inches. If he'd slowed for the oncoming traffic, and let it pass, there would have been plenty of room. I gave him a nice salute. He pulled off the road and jumped out of his van.
"Why'd you flip me off?!"
"Because you almost hit me!"
"I had no choice, there was traffic!"
"Why don't you slow down?"
"Why are you riding on the road? he asked, Why don't you use a bike trail?"
"Because there is no trail!" I said, and rode off.
I kept hoping I was out of New York, but I knew better. Not that I had anything against the state, I just wanted the psychological boost that would come with crossing it. Sorta like a junkie wanting his fix. I finally got to a quaint little town called Nassau. It was a beautiful little New England village, with a nice looking church, pretty houses, and quiet roads. Surely, this was Massachusetts!
Nope. I had about twenty miles to go. I rode on. In Brainard, there was a light rain falling. I found a house with a porch and went to the front door. Knock. Knock. Knock. No answer. I waited on the porch for 15 minutes until the rain let up. After it did I walked back to my bike and promptly stepped in a pile of dog poop.
Finally made it to New Lebanon, NY. I wasn't hungry, but I hadn't eaten all day. At a diner I ordered a piece of pie. No luck, fresh out. I settled for chili and ate half a bowl.
When I came out it was pouring rain. Phil (the devil) worked in a toy shop next to the diner. He came out and talked to me about the ride. "There's a huge mountain between here and Pittsfield. Why don't I give you a ride to the top?"
"I can't. It would be cheating."
"It would only be cheating for 3 miles. How far have you ridden?"
I looked at the rain. It had rained off and on for a couple of days now. I was tired of it.
"About 1,400 miles. Sure. Why not?" I replied.
"Let me finish lunch and we'll load you up!" He seemed excited, like he had just made a sale.
As I waited, I sat outside and watched the rain. I saw another rider on the road. I think it was a woman. She had red panniers on her bike, nothing else. No tent or sleeping bag. I watched her ride past, disappearing in the mist. To me, it was a beautiful picture: the rain and the cyclist.
After a few minutes of thinking, I went back to Phil: "You probably don't understand, but I've got to ride this. I really appreciate your offer!" And I mounted the bike in the pouring rain and started up the mountain.
It was any easy ride.
I left Albany yesterday morning. The big question was: How was I going to get across the Hudson river?
No one I asked knew specifically. Everyone told me to go down to the river and follow the bike path, heading north. Everyone thought eventually, I'd come to a bridge.
I stopped in downtown Albany and asked a guy sitting in a truck. "Go to the street behind us, and follow it to Broadway. Turn left."
"Will the street in front of us take me to Broadway?" I hate to backtrack.
"Sure!" He was wrong. It was a dead end alley.
I came to the end, straddled the bike, wondering what to do. A man and women came around the corner. She wore a pretty pink dress, he was business casual. I asked them.
"Not a problem he said. Turn right on that street there. It's Broadway. Bear left at the Y and go under the Dunlap Bridge, When it dead ends, you'll see a ramp on your right. Go up the ramp, it will take you across the river."
His companion exclaimed: "I didn't know you could do that!"
"Sure you can, I've done it frequently." Was the reply.
He was dead on. The funny thing was: It was so perfect! I don't think I rode more than 50 feet out of my way. I could not have done better even if I lived there.
The road to Pittsfield was poor, and the weather the same. It was hot and muggy; always threatening to rain. Ruts routinely wrapped round the road's right, forcing me to ride near center.
One guy buzzed by me, missing me by just inches. If he'd slowed for the oncoming traffic, and let it pass, there would have been plenty of room. I gave him a nice salute. He pulled off the road and jumped out of his van.
"Why'd you flip me off?!"
"Because you almost hit me!"
"I had no choice, there was traffic!"
"Why don't you slow down?"
"Why are you riding on the road? he asked, Why don't you use a bike trail?"
"Because there is no trail!" I said, and rode off.
I kept hoping I was out of New York, but I knew better. Not that I had anything against the state, I just wanted the psychological boost that would come with crossing it. Sorta like a junkie wanting his fix. I finally got to a quaint little town called Nassau. It was a beautiful little New England village, with a nice looking church, pretty houses, and quiet roads. Surely, this was Massachusetts!
Nope. I had about twenty miles to go. I rode on. In Brainard, there was a light rain falling. I found a house with a porch and went to the front door. Knock. Knock. Knock. No answer. I waited on the porch for 15 minutes until the rain let up. After it did I walked back to my bike and promptly stepped in a pile of dog poop.
Finally made it to New Lebanon, NY. I wasn't hungry, but I hadn't eaten all day. At a diner I ordered a piece of pie. No luck, fresh out. I settled for chili and ate half a bowl.
When I came out it was pouring rain. Phil (the devil) worked in a toy shop next to the diner. He came out and talked to me about the ride. "There's a huge mountain between here and Pittsfield. Why don't I give you a ride to the top?"
"I can't. It would be cheating."
"It would only be cheating for 3 miles. How far have you ridden?"
I looked at the rain. It had rained off and on for a couple of days now. I was tired of it.
"About 1,400 miles. Sure. Why not?" I replied.
"Let me finish lunch and we'll load you up!" He seemed excited, like he had just made a sale.
As I waited, I sat outside and watched the rain. I saw another rider on the road. I think it was a woman. She had red panniers on her bike, nothing else. No tent or sleeping bag. I watched her ride past, disappearing in the mist. To me, it was a beautiful picture: the rain and the cyclist.
After a few minutes of thinking, I went back to Phil: "You probably don't understand, but I've got to ride this. I really appreciate your offer!" And I mounted the bike in the pouring rain and started up the mountain.
It was any easy ride.
Sunday, August 3, 2008
Monster Hills and Haunted Houses
I'm waiting out a rain storm 30 miles east of Albany. In the past few days I've ridden up hills that people train for the Tour de France on. We're talking 20% grade and a mile long.
On the day I rode up this hill, I rode from Geneva to Cazenovia. About 70 miles.
Brutal, brutal, brutal.
I didn't ride up one hill. I rode up mountain after mountain after mountain. When I got to the one with the 20% grade, I almost pooped my pants. I couldn't believe there was a road like that! Hadn't anyone here in NY ever heard of switchbacks?!
I wanted to take a picture of it but was too tired. I started up.
500 feet up, I fell. I was just too tired, too wobbly.
The front tire went off the pavement. It was fall then, or fall when I hit the ditch bottom. I fell then. As I laid there, I thought how nice it felt, to not be struggling. Several cars and a cop drove past. No one stopped. Finally, I extricated myself from under the bike. The handlebars and brake levers were a little bent. I straightened the handlebars and started up again.
1,500 feet later I stopped for a breather. 1,500 feet after that I stopped for another. I finally made it.
In Cazenovia I stopped another rider and asked for directions to my motel. The rider asked where I had ridden from. When I told him, he exclaimed: "My God! You must have b---s made of steel!"
I didn't think it was that bad, but secretly, I was proud.
The next day I woke to the sound of thunder. The clouds were sobbing. I waited tell they regained their composure, and started out.
I made It to East Springfield. Three motels, all booked solid. At the last one, I asked the owner: " You don't have anything?"
He replied he could rent me a room in his old farm house. I had to make the bed, and clean the shower. "How much?"
"$85"
I told him about the trip and asked if he could do better. "Ok, how about $50?"
"Deal!" I said. We talked a while and I invited him and his wife out for dinner, my treat.
They were extremely happy.
It was their first night out in two months. They had burgers, I had liver and onions.
This morning the owner told me about a ghost that haunts it, but I never saw it. I do remember waking in the middle of the night: I had bit my tongue so hard I cried out. Oddly enough it wasn't bruised or sore in this morning. Weird.
Made it to Albany.
On the day I rode up this hill, I rode from Geneva to Cazenovia. About 70 miles.
Brutal, brutal, brutal.
I didn't ride up one hill. I rode up mountain after mountain after mountain. When I got to the one with the 20% grade, I almost pooped my pants. I couldn't believe there was a road like that! Hadn't anyone here in NY ever heard of switchbacks?!
I wanted to take a picture of it but was too tired. I started up.
500 feet up, I fell. I was just too tired, too wobbly.
The front tire went off the pavement. It was fall then, or fall when I hit the ditch bottom. I fell then. As I laid there, I thought how nice it felt, to not be struggling. Several cars and a cop drove past. No one stopped. Finally, I extricated myself from under the bike. The handlebars and brake levers were a little bent. I straightened the handlebars and started up again.
1,500 feet later I stopped for a breather. 1,500 feet after that I stopped for another. I finally made it.
In Cazenovia I stopped another rider and asked for directions to my motel. The rider asked where I had ridden from. When I told him, he exclaimed: "My God! You must have b---s made of steel!"
I didn't think it was that bad, but secretly, I was proud.
The next day I woke to the sound of thunder. The clouds were sobbing. I waited tell they regained their composure, and started out.
I made It to East Springfield. Three motels, all booked solid. At the last one, I asked the owner: " You don't have anything?"
He replied he could rent me a room in his old farm house. I had to make the bed, and clean the shower. "How much?"
"$85"
I told him about the trip and asked if he could do better. "Ok, how about $50?"
"Deal!" I said. We talked a while and I invited him and his wife out for dinner, my treat.
They were extremely happy.
It was their first night out in two months. They had burgers, I had liver and onions.
This morning the owner told me about a ghost that haunts it, but I never saw it. I do remember waking in the middle of the night: I had bit my tongue so hard I cried out. Oddly enough it wasn't bruised or sore in this morning. Weird.
Made it to Albany.
Thursday, July 31, 2008
Great Day
Rode 70 miles today. Made it to Geneva, NY and am staying at the Hampton Inn. Nice place. They gave me a reduced rate; $99. I actually enjoyed the ride today. Had a bit of a tailwind (thank you God!) and made good time. The terrain is hilly, but not as bad as Kansas. My butt hurt but wasn't killing me.
After dinner I took a walk in town and found a bike shop. I bought a new saddle, but am taking the old one with me just in case. Larry, if you're reading this it's your fault! It's a B-17 saddle. $75, but they tuned the bike too.
I'm going to go rehydrate my body now. There's a business across the street that specializes in that line of work.
After dinner I took a walk in town and found a bike shop. I bought a new saddle, but am taking the old one with me just in case. Larry, if you're reading this it's your fault! It's a B-17 saddle. $75, but they tuned the bike too.
I'm going to go rehydrate my body now. There's a business across the street that specializes in that line of work.
Wednesday, July 30, 2008
Always ask a local.........
about your route! I'm stopped for the day. I feel bad about stopping so early but........I've been riding up and down some monstrous hills, and I mean monstrous. I rode up the worst hill that I've ever been up.....I put my bike in 1st gear and had to stand up! I got to a town called Varysburg today and stopped in Durfee's diner (great soup & pies!). Barb is the owner there and I was talking to her about my route on Rte. 20A and about going to Warsaw. She warned me about the hills on Rte. 20A and offered to drive me up the hill after she got off of work! I didn't take her up on it so she remapped my route using Rte. 20 instead. Barb also called the Attican hotel in Attica, NY and booked me a room there. Then, on top of it, she bought me lunch.....very nice lady!
When I got to the Attican, I met an Indian woman named Kavita. She had a very gracious personality and said she was expecting me. I couldn't decide whether to go on a little more or just stay the night here. Kavita said to go up to my room and make myself comfortable.....she said I was their guest. I came down after taking a shower and told Kavita I would like to check in, that I've decided to stay the night. She said that I wasn't checking in......She meant I was their guest and the room was free! The room turned out to be very nice and clean and had a nice view.....very pleasant people at the Attican!
When I got to the Attican, I met an Indian woman named Kavita. She had a very gracious personality and said she was expecting me. I couldn't decide whether to go on a little more or just stay the night here. Kavita said to go up to my room and make myself comfortable.....she said I was their guest. I came down after taking a shower and told Kavita I would like to check in, that I've decided to stay the night. She said that I wasn't checking in......She meant I was their guest and the room was free! The room turned out to be very nice and clean and had a nice view.....very pleasant people at the Attican!
Tuesday, July 29, 2008
Assault on Boston
Well, I began my assault on Boston! I made it to Erie, PA yesterday, 105 miles. I hope to make it a little past Buffalo today. I'm not sure what route I will take, but it's been pretty easy so far.....flat. I'm riding with Larry today, another bike rider who's riding around Lake Erie.
That was the blog post I called in to my office. It was short because Larry had loaned me his cell phone to make the call, and I didn't want to burn up his minutes.
Yesterday, the day I started to Boston, was a hot day; in the 90's until I got to Erie. In Ohio I stopped at the post office of North Kingsville, about 15 miles from the Pennsylvania border. I was sitting there resting and people watching. A car with two old ladies pulled up. I listened to their conversation. At one point they were talking about how old they were, and their ailments. The younger one, 86, couldn't see very well so the 92 year old was driving. The three of us talked a bit, and I asked which way they were going. "East!" came the reply.
I decided to wait 'til they left before starting out. I didn't want them behind me.
I waited and waited. Finally they left the post office, driving off...West!
"Oh well, it was a good break." I thought as I started riding. Two miles later I was coasting down a wee little hill and hit some glass. Reaching back behind, I put my palm on the spinning rear tire, trying to clear any glass. I felt something hit my hand. Then again and again, as the wheel spun. Pulling over and dismounting, I checked the tire. Damn! The glass had slit it. Should I replace the tire now or wait for it to go flat? I decided to wait for it to go flat, and started on my way.
Ten minutes latter the two old ladies drove past without any problem.
That was the blog post I called in to my office. It was short because Larry had loaned me his cell phone to make the call, and I didn't want to burn up his minutes.
Yesterday, the day I started to Boston, was a hot day; in the 90's until I got to Erie. In Ohio I stopped at the post office of North Kingsville, about 15 miles from the Pennsylvania border. I was sitting there resting and people watching. A car with two old ladies pulled up. I listened to their conversation. At one point they were talking about how old they were, and their ailments. The younger one, 86, couldn't see very well so the 92 year old was driving. The three of us talked a bit, and I asked which way they were going. "East!" came the reply.
I decided to wait 'til they left before starting out. I didn't want them behind me.
I waited and waited. Finally they left the post office, driving off...West!
"Oh well, it was a good break." I thought as I started riding. Two miles later I was coasting down a wee little hill and hit some glass. Reaching back behind, I put my palm on the spinning rear tire, trying to clear any glass. I felt something hit my hand. Then again and again, as the wheel spun. Pulling over and dismounting, I checked the tire. Damn! The glass had slit it. Should I replace the tire now or wait for it to go flat? I decided to wait for it to go flat, and started on my way.
Ten minutes latter the two old ladies drove past without any problem.
Tuesday, July 22, 2008
Home For Now
Finished the ride on Sunday, 7-20-08. I got to Elsberry, MO on Route 79. Just after Elsberry the road had been resurfaced, and rumble strips added. There is not a shoulder. None. The speed limit is 60 mph so everyone was doing 65+.
It was 100 degrees out. I started up a hill. I was tired and shifted into first gear. Now first gear, like most things, has its good and bad aspects. You can ride up almost any (paved) hill in the world, but you're going to do it really slow. And when you ride that slow, the natural tendency is to wobble back and forth a bit. And I was wobbling more than a bit! I was just too hot and tired to control it. I'd hit the rumble strip, veer into the middle of the rode, hit the rumble strip...Wobbling on a highway when cars are passing you at over 60 mph is not a good thing.
At a gardening center/nursery, I pulled over and thought about it. If things kept going as they were now, I had a good chance of being hit. And I had another 30 miles to go. I asked my body: What did it think? Could it give me just another 30 miles?
My body thought about it, and then in a loud voice said: "Screw you! I've had enough!"
So I called my friend Gary: "Come pick me up."
I think it was the right decision; I'd ridden 917 miles and those last 30 weren't going to do anything for me.
There's one final experience I'd like to share. The previous morning I was riding through Paris, MO. It's a small town; maybe 400 people. I was in the middle of the lane, when a car behind me angrily blew its horn. There wasn't any oncoming traffic, so I held my ground. They blew their horn again; I stood fast. As the car swung around to pass me, a passenger opened up their door, trying to hit me.
I was a little perturbed. I let them know by showing a certain symbol, sometimes called "The Bird."
The car hit its brakes and stopped, the doors swung open again. They started getting out of the car.
I wasn't very happy, and stood up on my pedals, charging them. I don't think that's quite what they expected, because the doors slammed shut and they drove off calling me a five letter word.
It was another adventure.
Now I'm off to Boston, probably leaving on 7-27 or 7-28-08.
Also, please note there are new pictures posted below.
It was 100 degrees out. I started up a hill. I was tired and shifted into first gear. Now first gear, like most things, has its good and bad aspects. You can ride up almost any (paved) hill in the world, but you're going to do it really slow. And when you ride that slow, the natural tendency is to wobble back and forth a bit. And I was wobbling more than a bit! I was just too hot and tired to control it. I'd hit the rumble strip, veer into the middle of the rode, hit the rumble strip...Wobbling on a highway when cars are passing you at over 60 mph is not a good thing.
At a gardening center/nursery, I pulled over and thought about it. If things kept going as they were now, I had a good chance of being hit. And I had another 30 miles to go. I asked my body: What did it think? Could it give me just another 30 miles?
My body thought about it, and then in a loud voice said: "Screw you! I've had enough!"
So I called my friend Gary: "Come pick me up."
I think it was the right decision; I'd ridden 917 miles and those last 30 weren't going to do anything for me.
There's one final experience I'd like to share. The previous morning I was riding through Paris, MO. It's a small town; maybe 400 people. I was in the middle of the lane, when a car behind me angrily blew its horn. There wasn't any oncoming traffic, so I held my ground. They blew their horn again; I stood fast. As the car swung around to pass me, a passenger opened up their door, trying to hit me.
I was a little perturbed. I let them know by showing a certain symbol, sometimes called "The Bird."
The car hit its brakes and stopped, the doors swung open again. They started getting out of the car.
I wasn't very happy, and stood up on my pedals, charging them. I don't think that's quite what they expected, because the doors slammed shut and they drove off calling me a five letter word.
It was another adventure.
Now I'm off to Boston, probably leaving on 7-27 or 7-28-08.
Also, please note there are new pictures posted below.
Friday, July 18, 2008
I Asked My Body
A friend, who is a doctor, told me to make sure I listened to my body. Today was another killer day,weather wise: 90+ degrees 80% RH. I'd ridden 40 miles and crawled, no, clawed my way up the last hill. The town, Salisbury, had a hotel. I was, to quote my father, "bushed." I was pretty sure I should call it a day and stay here. I asked the owner: "Any more motels between here and Moberly?
"No. "
"Any place to get water?"
"No."
"How far to Moberly?"
"Twenty miles."
"Do you mind if I sit out front and think about it?"
"No, go ahead."
So I sat in the sun, waiting for the answer. I picked off a tick crawling up my arm and crushed it between my fingers.
My body whispered, softly to me: "For you, Doug. For you, I have twenty miles. But I can do no more."
The last ten miles was in rush hour traffic. Cars raced by, literally inches from me: 60, 70, 80 mph. People screamed obscenities. As if I wanted to be here in hell, terrified that some idiot in a hurry would hit me and tear my body apart. That I would instantly become an unrecognizable pile of blood, guts, and bones.
In Moberly I had a reservation at the Holiday Inn. I told them about the ride; about the Davis Phinney Foundation. I asked if they could give me a discount. Jamie said "Sure. It was on the house." I was dumbfounded!
The room is beautiful, clean, quiet. The staff is friendly and helpful. What more could you ask from a motel? Fresh chocolate chip cookies perhaps? I'm munching on one as I write.
Other events today: Lots of cockroaches in my room at the Super 8 in Carrollton, crossing a creek that was having the bridge replaced. Randy picked-up my fully loaded bike and carried it up hill like it weighed no more than a book.
"No. "
"Any place to get water?"
"No."
"How far to Moberly?"
"Twenty miles."
"Do you mind if I sit out front and think about it?"
"No, go ahead."
So I sat in the sun, waiting for the answer. I picked off a tick crawling up my arm and crushed it between my fingers.
My body whispered, softly to me: "For you, Doug. For you, I have twenty miles. But I can do no more."
The last ten miles was in rush hour traffic. Cars raced by, literally inches from me: 60, 70, 80 mph. People screamed obscenities. As if I wanted to be here in hell, terrified that some idiot in a hurry would hit me and tear my body apart. That I would instantly become an unrecognizable pile of blood, guts, and bones.
In Moberly I had a reservation at the Holiday Inn. I told them about the ride; about the Davis Phinney Foundation. I asked if they could give me a discount. Jamie said "Sure. It was on the house." I was dumbfounded!
The room is beautiful, clean, quiet. The staff is friendly and helpful. What more could you ask from a motel? Fresh chocolate chip cookies perhaps? I'm munching on one as I write.
Other events today: Lots of cockroaches in my room at the Super 8 in Carrollton, crossing a creek that was having the bridge replaced. Randy picked-up my fully loaded bike and carried it up hill like it weighed no more than a book.
Thursday, July 17, 2008
Almost Died Today: Not Like You Think
Today was another 100 degree, 70% RH day. So of course I chose it for my longest ride yet: KC to Carrollton. It's a little over 70 miles; up a hill, down a hill... up..., down..., all day long. Riding a bicycle was like being in a sauce pan being used to cook a chicken dinner. While it is cooking away, (miniaturized) you have to ride up and down the chicken pieces (hills). It's something like that.
So I was tired after 60 plus miles. I stopped in Waverly and got a bottle of Gatorade. I sat outside in the buildings' shade leaning against it. A man and his son stopped and chit-chatted; the wanted to know all about my ride and I told them. "Only one more hill between here and the river." He assured me. "Then, it's downhill and flat land to Carrollton." The last hill hardly ranked as such; after what I'd been through, I'd almost call it level. But there was one big problem, a sign that read: "Bridge Out. Road Closed 22 Miles Ahead. Detour." Big problem!
If I took the detour route, it would add at least 30 miles to my ride. If I kept on my planned course and could not cross the bridge I'd add another 40. What to do, what to do?
I stayed the course.
I'd seldom hit a construction site that was so bad I could not walk across it. That's "seldom" not "never". I didn't feel confident about it, I was a little apprehensive in fact. "But ya rolls y're dice and ya takes y're chances."
Additionally, for reasons you all know, I have trouble with coordination. I came down a hill and there it was: the Missouri River. The road crossed with a high (50 plus feet) bridge.
I decided to pull over and take a picture. I headed toward the bridge guard wall. A little too fast. Tired, very tired.
I started to dismount, still moving a little fast. I tried to slow down more...too late!
I started to skid along the wall and almost fell over it. If I had I would have been killed by the fall or would have drowned. The river is wide, swift and deep. Close call.
The bike came to rest on a broken bottle.
But I didn't fall and am safe in Carrollton. Adventure continues tomorrow.
P.S. I'm wearing two (2) pairs of biking shorts, a biking shirt, and riding gloves.
So I was tired after 60 plus miles. I stopped in Waverly and got a bottle of Gatorade. I sat outside in the buildings' shade leaning against it. A man and his son stopped and chit-chatted; the wanted to know all about my ride and I told them. "Only one more hill between here and the river." He assured me. "Then, it's downhill and flat land to Carrollton." The last hill hardly ranked as such; after what I'd been through, I'd almost call it level. But there was one big problem, a sign that read: "Bridge Out. Road Closed 22 Miles Ahead. Detour." Big problem!
If I took the detour route, it would add at least 30 miles to my ride. If I kept on my planned course and could not cross the bridge I'd add another 40. What to do, what to do?
I stayed the course.
I'd seldom hit a construction site that was so bad I could not walk across it. That's "seldom" not "never". I didn't feel confident about it, I was a little apprehensive in fact. "But ya rolls y're dice and ya takes y're chances."
Additionally, for reasons you all know, I have trouble with coordination. I came down a hill and there it was: the Missouri River. The road crossed with a high (50 plus feet) bridge.
I decided to pull over and take a picture. I headed toward the bridge guard wall. A little too fast. Tired, very tired.
I started to dismount, still moving a little fast. I tried to slow down more...too late!
I started to skid along the wall and almost fell over it. If I had I would have been killed by the fall or would have drowned. The river is wide, swift and deep. Close call.
The bike came to rest on a broken bottle.
But I didn't fall and am safe in Carrollton. Adventure continues tomorrow.
P.S. I'm wearing two (2) pairs of biking shorts, a biking shirt, and riding gloves.
Wednesday, July 16, 2008
Into the Jungle at Night
Two postings in one day, no extra charge!
So I left the really dumpy motel. It was so bad that I didn't unpack any more than I had to out of fear of bugs getting in my stuff. The TV had three different stations. I refused to take a shower because I thought I'd get dirtier.
As I said, I rode to Lawerence, KS (Doug S, don't say I don't listen!) and the guys at Sunflower Bike Shop were super! They tuned up my bike for free, and gave me three (3) inner tubes "for the cause!" They also gave me directions, warning me about Kansas City. It was the third warning. Dan told me to avoid Prospect, they found dead people there every morning.
Note to Dan at Sunflower: 6th is a dead end. Eighth is a dead end. Seventh works. How do I know?
24 was uneventful, but hot, for about 15 of the 30 miles I was on it. Then it turned into: "Let's kill the cyclist!" No berm, no shoulder and 65 mph posted limit. Two lanes, each way. The only way to survive this is to ride in the middle of the lane and force the traffic to move. But God, that is so hard to do!
Then things got bad: Long, Steep (like Brigham; see "older posts") climbs. With lots of pot holes.
Mark N.: Imagine riding up Brigham 15 times in a row. That's what it was like. Really.
Bad section of town: like East 55th in Cleveland. The Meth capitol of the U.S. Frankly, none of that bothered me. 24 came to an abrupt end. I rode up to a gas station. Inside the tiny vestibule were 12-14 people. I was the only white one. The car radios were booming. I walked up to the biggest guy, with two gold teeth, and asked for directions. Just as I expected, he was very helpful.
I followed his directions and it was perfect; I crossed the Kansas river.
It was up the Missouri bluffs. Like riding two Brighams in a row! The temp is 94, you've ridden 65 miles and the road is terrible. It's called "Quality Hill." Really. I understand why; quality is tough. Listen guys: it was a really hard, hard climb. I'll probably cry remembering it, sometime in the future.
In downtown Kansas City (MISSOURI! I made it to Missouri! Everything from here until further notice is Missouri) it was evening. I went to the Marriott. The manager refused to even consider my plea for assistance: $250 take it or leave it. I left it. What an -------. If I ever go to another Marriott before I croak, it will be too soon.
I went a half block to the Phillips Hotel. Patty, from Poland, gave me a special rate of $109. Patty is cool.
WHAT A GORGEOUS PLACE!!! It is the nicest, most classy, debonair, neat, cool, wonderful, place I have ever stayed! If you go to Kansas City, stay here! Art Deco, this is your home.
A lot more happened today: I met Vickie; she's pretty cool too. But it's time for bed I'm tired. Oh yes, one last thing: so far I've lost five pounds.
So I left the really dumpy motel. It was so bad that I didn't unpack any more than I had to out of fear of bugs getting in my stuff. The TV had three different stations. I refused to take a shower because I thought I'd get dirtier.
As I said, I rode to Lawerence, KS (Doug S, don't say I don't listen!) and the guys at Sunflower Bike Shop were super! They tuned up my bike for free, and gave me three (3) inner tubes "for the cause!" They also gave me directions, warning me about Kansas City. It was the third warning. Dan told me to avoid Prospect, they found dead people there every morning.
Note to Dan at Sunflower: 6th is a dead end. Eighth is a dead end. Seventh works. How do I know?
24 was uneventful, but hot, for about 15 of the 30 miles I was on it. Then it turned into: "Let's kill the cyclist!" No berm, no shoulder and 65 mph posted limit. Two lanes, each way. The only way to survive this is to ride in the middle of the lane and force the traffic to move. But God, that is so hard to do!
Then things got bad: Long, Steep (like Brigham; see "older posts") climbs. With lots of pot holes.
Mark N.: Imagine riding up Brigham 15 times in a row. That's what it was like. Really.
Bad section of town: like East 55th in Cleveland. The Meth capitol of the U.S. Frankly, none of that bothered me. 24 came to an abrupt end. I rode up to a gas station. Inside the tiny vestibule were 12-14 people. I was the only white one. The car radios were booming. I walked up to the biggest guy, with two gold teeth, and asked for directions. Just as I expected, he was very helpful.
I followed his directions and it was perfect; I crossed the Kansas river.
It was up the Missouri bluffs. Like riding two Brighams in a row! The temp is 94, you've ridden 65 miles and the road is terrible. It's called "Quality Hill." Really. I understand why; quality is tough. Listen guys: it was a really hard, hard climb. I'll probably cry remembering it, sometime in the future.
In downtown Kansas City (MISSOURI! I made it to Missouri! Everything from here until further notice is Missouri) it was evening. I went to the Marriott. The manager refused to even consider my plea for assistance: $250 take it or leave it. I left it. What an -------. If I ever go to another Marriott before I croak, it will be too soon.
I went a half block to the Phillips Hotel. Patty, from Poland, gave me a special rate of $109. Patty is cool.
WHAT A GORGEOUS PLACE!!! It is the nicest, most classy, debonair, neat, cool, wonderful, place I have ever stayed! If you go to Kansas City, stay here! Art Deco, this is your home.
A lot more happened today: I met Vickie; she's pretty cool too. But it's time for bed I'm tired. Oh yes, one last thing: so far I've lost five pounds.
Sunflower Bike Shop
I'm at the Sunflower Bike Shop in Lawrence. Their phone number is 785/843-5000. Dan at the bike shop has been very helpful.....checked out my bike and helped me route my trip through Kansas City.
Tired, Sore, & Lonely!
Well, I'm tired and sore! I'm east of Topeka and 22 miles from Lawrence. There's a good bike shop there, so I'll have them take a look at my bike. I met two beautiful ladies in Silver Lake; Gwen and Jamie. Jamie works at Casey's General Store. I slept in a trashy motel last night.....cash only and it smelled like smoke in my room. Today it's 94 degrees and I'm starting to get lonely! I hope to make it to Missouri today.
Monday, July 14, 2008
No more Mr. Nice Guy
Long story short:
I got into Bennington last night. Nice town of 300-500 people. Went to the city park to camp (no hotels or stores) and this very strange guy kept coming up to me. He was not a "townie." So after a great amount of soul searching, I called 911. The town cop came and took him away. He was a very suspicious guy.
This morning a rancher named Forest bought me breakfast. We talked about energy, our lives and our problems.
The 40 mile ride to Junction City was grueling. (Very high winds, high heat and lots of hills.)
Ten miles later, after going through Fort Riley I got to Manhattan. Rout 18 between Fort Riley and Manhattan is a death trap for cyclists.
It felt so cool here in Manhattan; it was only 89 degrees.
I got into Bennington last night. Nice town of 300-500 people. Went to the city park to camp (no hotels or stores) and this very strange guy kept coming up to me. He was not a "townie." So after a great amount of soul searching, I called 911. The town cop came and took him away. He was a very suspicious guy.
This morning a rancher named Forest bought me breakfast. We talked about energy, our lives and our problems.
The 40 mile ride to Junction City was grueling. (Very high winds, high heat and lots of hills.)
Ten miles later, after going through Fort Riley I got to Manhattan. Rout 18 between Fort Riley and Manhattan is a death trap for cyclists.
It felt so cool here in Manhattan; it was only 89 degrees.
Saturday, July 12, 2008
Rattlesnake Heaven
The two things I didn't expect are the hills and the rattlesnakes. The hills are crawling with snakes. You see the on the road, dead, all the time: big ones, little ones, fat ones... Terry the Postmaster told me how three of her horses have been bit. The two bit in the nose lived. The one bit on the leg died.
I must have passed 50 rattlesnakes today alone. Yesterday I saw a perfect one, the only way you could tell it was dead was it was on its back. I was tempted to stop and put it on its belly and take a picture, but then I could see this headline in "Knuckleheads In The News."
Possum Playing Snake Supprises Silly Cyclist
So no pics!
Today was the first good cycling day. This morning was cool and overcast (perfect!) The afternoon was clear and cool with a light southwest wind. So I had a headwind the last 50 miles, but I made it to Lucas.
I don't know what I'll do tomorrow: ride or take a break. My butt is killing me!!! The blisters put me in agony, but frankly they'll take more than a day to heal. So I don't know what I"ll do. Probably ride.
By the way, there is no way on Gods green Earth I'll do this in 10 days. Nor 11. Twelve would be a miracle.
I must have passed 50 rattlesnakes today alone. Yesterday I saw a perfect one, the only way you could tell it was dead was it was on its back. I was tempted to stop and put it on its belly and take a picture, but then I could see this headline in "Knuckleheads In The News."
Possum Playing Snake Supprises Silly Cyclist
So no pics!
Today was the first good cycling day. This morning was cool and overcast (perfect!) The afternoon was clear and cool with a light southwest wind. So I had a headwind the last 50 miles, but I made it to Lucas.
I don't know what I'll do tomorrow: ride or take a break. My butt is killing me!!! The blisters put me in agony, but frankly they'll take more than a day to heal. So I don't know what I"ll do. Probably ride.
By the way, there is no way on Gods green Earth I'll do this in 10 days. Nor 11. Twelve would be a miracle.
Friday, July 11, 2008
Recipe for a Baked Bicyclist!
Set oven to 101 degrees Fahrenheit. Add in rolling hills. Blend in howling wind. Voila!
Today I'm in Oberlin. I hope to make it to Phillipsburg tonight. I rode 68 miles last night and I hope to ride 78 miles today (Friday). I'm baked!
Woke up around 7:00 a.m.
Today I'm in Oberlin. I hope to make it to Phillipsburg tonight. I rode 68 miles last night and I hope to ride 78 miles today (Friday). I'm baked!
Woke up around 7:00 a.m.
Thursday, July 10, 2008
Couple of Flat Tires!
Well, I made it to St. Francis. It was a hard ride. I left Anton at around 7:30 a.m., after packing my tent and gear. Didn't have anything for breakfast. The good news: No more hills! The bad news: weather is still hot and windy. One of the harvesters in Anton told me I only had one more steep hill before the town of Cope. I never really found one that i considered particularly steep, but the wind made up for it. At first I was riding into a quartering headwind, coming from my right. Up ahead you could see the road turning about 45 degrees to the right and when i made that turn i was riding straight into the wind. This lasted a couple of miles and then there was a turn to the left. The trend of turning into the wind and then a mitigating turn repeated a couple of times until I finally got into Cope. Cope is only 22 miles from Anton, and despite the wind, it went pretty fast. Probably because it was still cool all morning.
Cope is a pretty little town with a great grocery store. The store has an impressive selection of fruits including mango's and kiwis, something unexpected out here in the middle of nowhere.
It also head a table with coffee and donuts. Four guys were sitting there talking about the latest news: one of their friends tried to swim across a pond the other day and drowned. They were signing a sympathy card. He left behind his wife and two kids. He was drunk.
The other topic was the wheat harvest. One guy was complaining about how his harvest was a little damp, and the silo operator made him wait for three hours until they had dry wheat to mix it with. But, he admitted, he thought it was a little damped when he harvested it. He gambled and lost. Sort of like the swimmer.
By the time I left the grocery store, it was about 95 degrees out and the wind was still blowing hard. Only nine miles to the next town, Joes (there is no apostrophe in Joes). But by the time I got there I was drier than a load of wheat.
Joes is (is that grammatically correct?) much smaller than Cope. There are a couple of houses, a church, and a liquor store. The liquor store doesn't open until 3:00 p.m.; just in case you're planning to visit. The guys I talked with back in Cope had emphasised that. I suppose liquor helps counteract the boredom.
I rested in a tree's shade on the church lawn, driving a neighbors' dog crazy. He hadn't a leash and I tried to coax him up to me. But he wasn't buying what I was selling.
After ten minutes or so, he stopped barking and lay down. I decided to do the same, and shut my eyes. Twenty minutes later, my alarm clock, the flies, woke me. I decided to fill up my water bottles and push on to the next town, Idalia, 22 miles away. There is nothing but wheat fields between the towns. I found a hydrant behind the church, filled up, and pushed off.
The temperature kept climbing. Harvesters probably liked it, but it was brutal for bicyclists. No real shade.
I was cooking in the sun. I'm sure it was over 100 degrees, probably 105 or so. You can't imagine what it's like to ride a loaded bike in that heat. It's a big mental game, I'll tell you that. I just kept telling myself it wasn't too bad. But my body, like the dog in Joes, didn't buy it.
After a few miles I saw some trees ahead, and pulled over for a break. After ten minutes the flies drove me off. Six or seven miles later, I was begging God for shade, but there wasn't any. Finally, I saw a small silo. I pulled over, wadded through the grass and weeds, put my back against the warm metal, and lowered myself into a meager wisp of shade. I had to pull my legs up to get them out of the sun. But I was thankful. Beggars can't be choosers. Again when the flies came I started out.
Just like yesterday, the wind blew constantly, and not in my favor. It wasn't a straight headwind, and when the road changed direction, it wasn't too bad at all. Unfortunately, the road seldom changed direction! But up ahead I saw a long sweeping turn to the left, so I eagerly pedaled toward it. The respite was brief, only four miles or so, but when the road swung to the right, and into the wind, at least I could make out the speck of a town ahead. A town meant shade, water, and maybe ice cream.
But not so fast! I was just dead on my ass. I'd say dead on my feet, but I was riding. And there simply wasn't any shade. So I pulled off onto a field access road and sat in the sun. Sometimes you have no choice. As I sat there, I found a pretty pebble, and added it to my collection.
The town was Idalia. It has a post office, general store, a couple of restaurants, and some small businesses. One restaurant closed at 1:00 p.m., the other didn't open until 5:00 p.m. I went back to the general store. A girl sat behind the counter, playing a video game. I was disturbing her and she let me know it by ignoring me as much as she could. It was a dark, tiny, cramped place.
"Got any ice cream?"
"Yeah."
"Where?"
"There."
"Thanks. Mind if I eat it inside here?"
"You're not supposed to. Don't sit down anywhere."
So I stood there and scarfed my Nutty Buddy ice cream cone down. I decided to go to the post office. Maybe the reception there would be warmer. Terry, the Post Master, greeted me. She asked if she could help me, and I told her about my ride. Terry is friendly, offering me water and a chair. We talked for a while, and she told me all about the pros and cons of being a Post Master of a small town's post office. As we talked, a plan grew in my mind: I'd wait until closer to sundown before starting for St.Francis. I remembered how the wind had died down after sunset yesterday.
Terry told me I was welcome to stay until closing; 5:00 p.m. She called a motel in St. Francis for me and I made a reservation for that evening. I showed her my blog, and we talked about her horses. Rattlesnakes had bitten three of them. The two that were bit on the nose survived, the one bitten on the leg died. She guessed the poison went straight to that one's heart.
I invited her to dinner and she said she'd have a drink with me; maybe a burger too.
Terry liked the restaurant, she seemed proud of it. I stayed until a little after seven and we said our good byes. It was still windy, but soon the road turned due north giving me a nice tailwind. I speed along at 20 mph. Up ahead I could see dust clouds from Harvesters' tractors. The jaunt north was short; just three miles and then the road turned east. While making the turn, I noticed the bike didn't feel quite right. I got off and felt the rear tire. It was almost flat. By now the sun was setting, if I wanted to fix the flat in any kind of light, I had to work fast.
Tearing the panniers and camp gear off, and flipping the bike upside down, I pulled the wheel off. The sun was just an orange glow below the horizon. Pulling the tire off the rim and ripping the inner tube out took only a moment. Feeling inside and outside the tire for the punctures' cause proved futile. I searched again. Still nothing. I tried a third time: Nada.
Now if you don't figure out, and correct, what caused the first flat you're doomed for a second, so I pumped up the inner tube, found the hole, and looked in the corresponding spot inside the tire. Zippo.
Deciding that it must have been a piece of glass, I installed a spare tube in the tire and began mounting the wheel on the bike.
About then another cyclist rounded the corner; a large RV was following him. That's how I met Bruce. Bruce is a minister riding coast to coast raising money to build a hospital in Africa. Bruce was slick. He had a printed color brochure about his ride and had several Christian organizations sponsoring him. They had paid for his flight out, and for his wife too. They'd paid for his son, Isaac, to drive the RV from Maine to California, and were paying for him driving back. As I said, Bruce was slick. Several Christan Radio stations were plugging him. He blew more money just on gas than what I raised for the Davis Phinney Foundation. I'm envious. He isn't lugging any gear either; it's all in the RV. He averages 16 mph, about 5 mph faster than me.
We ride together for 5 miles......by now it was getting dark. I've really got to strain to keep up with Bruce. The RV drives ahead to find a camping spot in St. Francis. Just after it pulls away, I get another flat! It's dark. I tell Bruce to go ahead; I don't want to slow him down. He says "nothing doing"; he won't leave me in the dark with a flat. The Parkinsons is making me shake like a dog pooping bricks. After finding the flats cause, a piece of wire, Bruce helps fix the flat with another spare tube I have. I have one last spare tube.
We ride and talk together in the cool night air. Bruce wants to know if I'm a Christian. "No." "Why not?" He wants to convert me. I don't believe just as strongly as he does believe. He backs off, and tells me I can let Christ into my life at any time.
We move on to other subjects. At one point I ask him "How's your ass feeling? Any blisters from riding? My ass is killing me!" He seems a little uncomfortable about the topic; I don't think anyone has ever asked him about his ass before. He replies that he washes it every night, and he hasn't had any problems. I grin in the dark.
We get to St. Francis around 11:00 p.m. and he rides off, looking for the RV. I check into my motel and never see him again.
Cope is a pretty little town with a great grocery store. The store has an impressive selection of fruits including mango's and kiwis, something unexpected out here in the middle of nowhere.
It also head a table with coffee and donuts. Four guys were sitting there talking about the latest news: one of their friends tried to swim across a pond the other day and drowned. They were signing a sympathy card. He left behind his wife and two kids. He was drunk.
The other topic was the wheat harvest. One guy was complaining about how his harvest was a little damp, and the silo operator made him wait for three hours until they had dry wheat to mix it with. But, he admitted, he thought it was a little damped when he harvested it. He gambled and lost. Sort of like the swimmer.
By the time I left the grocery store, it was about 95 degrees out and the wind was still blowing hard. Only nine miles to the next town, Joes (there is no apostrophe in Joes). But by the time I got there I was drier than a load of wheat.
Joes is (is that grammatically correct?) much smaller than Cope. There are a couple of houses, a church, and a liquor store. The liquor store doesn't open until 3:00 p.m.; just in case you're planning to visit. The guys I talked with back in Cope had emphasised that. I suppose liquor helps counteract the boredom.
I rested in a tree's shade on the church lawn, driving a neighbors' dog crazy. He hadn't a leash and I tried to coax him up to me. But he wasn't buying what I was selling.
After ten minutes or so, he stopped barking and lay down. I decided to do the same, and shut my eyes. Twenty minutes later, my alarm clock, the flies, woke me. I decided to fill up my water bottles and push on to the next town, Idalia, 22 miles away. There is nothing but wheat fields between the towns. I found a hydrant behind the church, filled up, and pushed off.
The temperature kept climbing. Harvesters probably liked it, but it was brutal for bicyclists. No real shade.
I was cooking in the sun. I'm sure it was over 100 degrees, probably 105 or so. You can't imagine what it's like to ride a loaded bike in that heat. It's a big mental game, I'll tell you that. I just kept telling myself it wasn't too bad. But my body, like the dog in Joes, didn't buy it.
After a few miles I saw some trees ahead, and pulled over for a break. After ten minutes the flies drove me off. Six or seven miles later, I was begging God for shade, but there wasn't any. Finally, I saw a small silo. I pulled over, wadded through the grass and weeds, put my back against the warm metal, and lowered myself into a meager wisp of shade. I had to pull my legs up to get them out of the sun. But I was thankful. Beggars can't be choosers. Again when the flies came I started out.
Just like yesterday, the wind blew constantly, and not in my favor. It wasn't a straight headwind, and when the road changed direction, it wasn't too bad at all. Unfortunately, the road seldom changed direction! But up ahead I saw a long sweeping turn to the left, so I eagerly pedaled toward it. The respite was brief, only four miles or so, but when the road swung to the right, and into the wind, at least I could make out the speck of a town ahead. A town meant shade, water, and maybe ice cream.
But not so fast! I was just dead on my ass. I'd say dead on my feet, but I was riding. And there simply wasn't any shade. So I pulled off onto a field access road and sat in the sun. Sometimes you have no choice. As I sat there, I found a pretty pebble, and added it to my collection.
The town was Idalia. It has a post office, general store, a couple of restaurants, and some small businesses. One restaurant closed at 1:00 p.m., the other didn't open until 5:00 p.m. I went back to the general store. A girl sat behind the counter, playing a video game. I was disturbing her and she let me know it by ignoring me as much as she could. It was a dark, tiny, cramped place.
"Got any ice cream?"
"Yeah."
"Where?"
"There."
"Thanks. Mind if I eat it inside here?"
"You're not supposed to. Don't sit down anywhere."
So I stood there and scarfed my Nutty Buddy ice cream cone down. I decided to go to the post office. Maybe the reception there would be warmer. Terry, the Post Master, greeted me. She asked if she could help me, and I told her about my ride. Terry is friendly, offering me water and a chair. We talked for a while, and she told me all about the pros and cons of being a Post Master of a small town's post office. As we talked, a plan grew in my mind: I'd wait until closer to sundown before starting for St.Francis. I remembered how the wind had died down after sunset yesterday.
Terry told me I was welcome to stay until closing; 5:00 p.m. She called a motel in St. Francis for me and I made a reservation for that evening. I showed her my blog, and we talked about her horses. Rattlesnakes had bitten three of them. The two that were bit on the nose survived, the one bitten on the leg died. She guessed the poison went straight to that one's heart.
I invited her to dinner and she said she'd have a drink with me; maybe a burger too.
Terry liked the restaurant, she seemed proud of it. I stayed until a little after seven and we said our good byes. It was still windy, but soon the road turned due north giving me a nice tailwind. I speed along at 20 mph. Up ahead I could see dust clouds from Harvesters' tractors. The jaunt north was short; just three miles and then the road turned east. While making the turn, I noticed the bike didn't feel quite right. I got off and felt the rear tire. It was almost flat. By now the sun was setting, if I wanted to fix the flat in any kind of light, I had to work fast.
Tearing the panniers and camp gear off, and flipping the bike upside down, I pulled the wheel off. The sun was just an orange glow below the horizon. Pulling the tire off the rim and ripping the inner tube out took only a moment. Feeling inside and outside the tire for the punctures' cause proved futile. I searched again. Still nothing. I tried a third time: Nada.
Now if you don't figure out, and correct, what caused the first flat you're doomed for a second, so I pumped up the inner tube, found the hole, and looked in the corresponding spot inside the tire. Zippo.
Deciding that it must have been a piece of glass, I installed a spare tube in the tire and began mounting the wheel on the bike.
About then another cyclist rounded the corner; a large RV was following him. That's how I met Bruce. Bruce is a minister riding coast to coast raising money to build a hospital in Africa. Bruce was slick. He had a printed color brochure about his ride and had several Christian organizations sponsoring him. They had paid for his flight out, and for his wife too. They'd paid for his son, Isaac, to drive the RV from Maine to California, and were paying for him driving back. As I said, Bruce was slick. Several Christan Radio stations were plugging him. He blew more money just on gas than what I raised for the Davis Phinney Foundation. I'm envious. He isn't lugging any gear either; it's all in the RV. He averages 16 mph, about 5 mph faster than me.
We ride together for 5 miles......by now it was getting dark. I've really got to strain to keep up with Bruce. The RV drives ahead to find a camping spot in St. Francis. Just after it pulls away, I get another flat! It's dark. I tell Bruce to go ahead; I don't want to slow him down. He says "nothing doing"; he won't leave me in the dark with a flat. The Parkinsons is making me shake like a dog pooping bricks. After finding the flats cause, a piece of wire, Bruce helps fix the flat with another spare tube I have. I have one last spare tube.
We ride and talk together in the cool night air. Bruce wants to know if I'm a Christian. "No." "Why not?" He wants to convert me. I don't believe just as strongly as he does believe. He backs off, and tells me I can let Christ into my life at any time.
We move on to other subjects. At one point I ask him "How's your ass feeling? Any blisters from riding? My ass is killing me!" He seems a little uncomfortable about the topic; I don't think anyone has ever asked him about his ass before. He replies that he washes it every night, and he hasn't had any problems. I grin in the dark.
We get to St. Francis around 11:00 p.m. and he rides off, looking for the RV. I check into my motel and never see him again.
Wednesday, July 9, 2008
Bad Weather!
This morning, for the first time in twenty five years, I got stopped by a cop. When I first saw him, he had a semi traveling the opposite direction pulled over. A mile or so later he puts on his siren for a moment and pulls me over. He was a nice guy, and just wanted me to ride further to the right on the roads' shoulder. "These guys driving the trucks don't care about you. They'd just as soon make you a hood ornament as go around you. You don't want to be a hood ornament do you?"
I'm thinking this guy has no idea of what I've done, how far I've ridden, or even of how to ride a bike on a busy road. But I keep my big mouth shut and assure him that becoming a hood ornament is not on my "to do" list, and agree to ride more to my right. The guy is only trying to do his job and keep things safe. I try to keep that promise for the rest of the trip.
It was actually a bad day as far as weather was concerned.
Wind blew at a steady 20 miles an hour and gusted up to 30 miles an hour, often as a head wind. The temperature was at least between 90 and 95 degrees; probably more like 100. Around 2:00 p.m. or so, I just couldn't do it (ride) anymore. I was dead tired, exhausted! I remembered my friend Joe asking about what I would do if I "hit the wall". Well, now I was finding out because baby, I was there!
I looked for shade. Ahead I could see a dirt road on my left. There was a stunted bush on the side of the dirt road, so I rode to it. Stumbling off the bike, I collapsed in the meager shade, laying down in the dirt. My eyes were half closed, and I just tried to relax and gain a little strength. I picked up a stone as a souvenir and drank some water. After half an hour the flies had really become annoying. How the hell those little suckers can bit you through your clothes is beyond me, but bite they do!
I got up and pushed on. Frankly, I was quite pleased with myself: I didn't give up. Not that I really could, after all I was all by myself. It wasn't as if I could go up to someone and say "I'd like to go home now."
Ten miles later I came to a rest stop. It had picnic tables but no water. Again, bushes provided the only shade. I sat there sipping water from one of the bottles I carried until ,again, the flies drove me away. I decided to use the flies as a type of clock: when they started showing up it was time for me to go.
An hour later I was climbing a hill, leaving the town of Last Chance. I had originally hoped to find a motel there, but a shut down ice cream stand was as close as it got. Lisa, the bicyclist from Great Britain, had warned I'd find nothing there. Just another hill to climb in the miserable heat. She was right.
All the hills kind of took me by surprise. I say "kind of" because on one of my workouts in Cleveland I'd met a guy who had a friend that rode across the states. The friend had told him that both eastern Colorado and Kansas were quite hilly. At the time I simply hoped that the guy had taken a different route than the one I was planning.
"Not!" Not what I'd expected: an easy downhill ride. Not what I expected: a tailwind. Not what I wanted: cool weather. But my expectations and wants gradually changed to reflect reality.
It was climb one sucker and at the summit, see another. You'd climb that one, thinking "surely this will be the top!" But it wasn't. Just hell after hell (sic). I'd have bet good money I was higher than when I was when I left Denver.
The only good thing about Last Chance is that it means you're only 20 miles from Anton and just ten miles from Lindon. In Lindon there was a house and next to that an abandoned store with a large low wooden awning. Under the awning was a table. I ducked under the awning: Its rafters were lower than my head. There were faded newspapers displayed in the store windows. They told the story of a women murdered here, and the trial of her killer. It was a memorial. She and her husband had owned the store.
I read the stories and lay on the table. I fell asleep.
Maybe a half hour later, a car woke me up. A guy got out, at first I thought he was going to go up to the house, but he came to me. He wanted to talk about my ride. Like Lisa, he was from Great Britain. He had developed a new type of pannier, it was of molded plastic, and he claimed rainproof. I thought it weird that here I was in the middle of the freaking desert, and this guy was showing me waterproof panniers.
I finally made it to Anton, about 50 miles short of my goal of Idalia.
Anton has a grocery store and small motel. The motel is for sale, if you're interested. There were no vacancy's, all the rooms were snatched up by the Harvesters. Harvesters are the people that harvest the (here, wheat) crop. They usually start in Texas and work their way north. I never knew that before this ride. The motel also had a bunch of RV sites, the Harvesters had those full too. But I suspect the motel is a pretty lonely place once the harvest is over.
As I sat outside of the grocery store eating a burrito and drinking pop, I talked with Pat. She, her son Joel, and husband John were harvesters. Pat drove a semi, John a combine. What a life! I don't envy it. During school Pat and Joel stayed home in Texas and John worked the fields by himself.
I camped at the motel. The owner, Sue, said it was no problem and I could camp for free. She told me to just knock on her door if I needed to use her bathroom. I thought that was very considerate of her.
Even though I was behind a pine tree I had to fight the wind to pitch the tent. It seemed as if it would never stop blowing, but after sunset it finally did. Sue's cat was very interested in my tent and kept coming by the entire night.
That pretty much sums it up. Tomorrow I'm trying to make it to St. Francis which is 70 miles.
I'm thinking this guy has no idea of what I've done, how far I've ridden, or even of how to ride a bike on a busy road. But I keep my big mouth shut and assure him that becoming a hood ornament is not on my "to do" list, and agree to ride more to my right. The guy is only trying to do his job and keep things safe. I try to keep that promise for the rest of the trip.
It was actually a bad day as far as weather was concerned.
Wind blew at a steady 20 miles an hour and gusted up to 30 miles an hour, often as a head wind. The temperature was at least between 90 and 95 degrees; probably more like 100. Around 2:00 p.m. or so, I just couldn't do it (ride) anymore. I was dead tired, exhausted! I remembered my friend Joe asking about what I would do if I "hit the wall". Well, now I was finding out because baby, I was there!
I looked for shade. Ahead I could see a dirt road on my left. There was a stunted bush on the side of the dirt road, so I rode to it. Stumbling off the bike, I collapsed in the meager shade, laying down in the dirt. My eyes were half closed, and I just tried to relax and gain a little strength. I picked up a stone as a souvenir and drank some water. After half an hour the flies had really become annoying. How the hell those little suckers can bit you through your clothes is beyond me, but bite they do!
I got up and pushed on. Frankly, I was quite pleased with myself: I didn't give up. Not that I really could, after all I was all by myself. It wasn't as if I could go up to someone and say "I'd like to go home now."
Ten miles later I came to a rest stop. It had picnic tables but no water. Again, bushes provided the only shade. I sat there sipping water from one of the bottles I carried until ,again, the flies drove me away. I decided to use the flies as a type of clock: when they started showing up it was time for me to go.
An hour later I was climbing a hill, leaving the town of Last Chance. I had originally hoped to find a motel there, but a shut down ice cream stand was as close as it got. Lisa, the bicyclist from Great Britain, had warned I'd find nothing there. Just another hill to climb in the miserable heat. She was right.
All the hills kind of took me by surprise. I say "kind of" because on one of my workouts in Cleveland I'd met a guy who had a friend that rode across the states. The friend had told him that both eastern Colorado and Kansas were quite hilly. At the time I simply hoped that the guy had taken a different route than the one I was planning.
"Not!" Not what I'd expected: an easy downhill ride. Not what I expected: a tailwind. Not what I wanted: cool weather. But my expectations and wants gradually changed to reflect reality.
It was climb one sucker and at the summit, see another. You'd climb that one, thinking "surely this will be the top!" But it wasn't. Just hell after hell (sic). I'd have bet good money I was higher than when I was when I left Denver.
The only good thing about Last Chance is that it means you're only 20 miles from Anton and just ten miles from Lindon. In Lindon there was a house and next to that an abandoned store with a large low wooden awning. Under the awning was a table. I ducked under the awning: Its rafters were lower than my head. There were faded newspapers displayed in the store windows. They told the story of a women murdered here, and the trial of her killer. It was a memorial. She and her husband had owned the store.
I read the stories and lay on the table. I fell asleep.
Maybe a half hour later, a car woke me up. A guy got out, at first I thought he was going to go up to the house, but he came to me. He wanted to talk about my ride. Like Lisa, he was from Great Britain. He had developed a new type of pannier, it was of molded plastic, and he claimed rainproof. I thought it weird that here I was in the middle of the freaking desert, and this guy was showing me waterproof panniers.
I finally made it to Anton, about 50 miles short of my goal of Idalia.
Anton has a grocery store and small motel. The motel is for sale, if you're interested. There were no vacancy's, all the rooms were snatched up by the Harvesters. Harvesters are the people that harvest the (here, wheat) crop. They usually start in Texas and work their way north. I never knew that before this ride. The motel also had a bunch of RV sites, the Harvesters had those full too. But I suspect the motel is a pretty lonely place once the harvest is over.
As I sat outside of the grocery store eating a burrito and drinking pop, I talked with Pat. She, her son Joel, and husband John were harvesters. Pat drove a semi, John a combine. What a life! I don't envy it. During school Pat and Joel stayed home in Texas and John worked the fields by himself.
I camped at the motel. The owner, Sue, said it was no problem and I could camp for free. She told me to just knock on her door if I needed to use her bathroom. I thought that was very considerate of her.
Even though I was behind a pine tree I had to fight the wind to pitch the tent. It seemed as if it would never stop blowing, but after sunset it finally did. Sue's cat was very interested in my tent and kept coming by the entire night.
That pretty much sums it up. Tomorrow I'm trying to make it to St. Francis which is 70 miles.
Tuesday, July 8, 2008
First Day Of My Ride!
I made it to Byers, Colorado today. I'm 40 miles short of my goal; the terrain and weather conspired against me to limit my mileage. It rained all morning which slowed me down. Not to mention some confusion about the route and riding against a headwind. It's not a terrible headwind, but it slows me down.
After arriving in Denver, Richard picks me up. Rich and Anita are two of my skydiving buddies. We go out to dinner at a fondue restaurant. They are vegetarians and fondue enthusiasts. It's my first fondue experience; I doubt I'd go back without a good reason.
The next morning I get up at seven. Anita wants to go out for breakfast. I'm feeling antsy, my gear and bike is still packed, but we go out for pancakes. Back home I finally assemble my bike and pack my gear. A friend made me promise to find a pebble to take along as a good luck charm. I find a red and black granite chip and pop it in my pocket. Even though it's raining, Anita wants to ride with me for a little bit. I'm happy for the company.
We ride about 25 miles together with me to the freeway and say good bye. I'd been hoping to avoid the freeway all together, but I have to ride on it a short distance; about 9 miles. Soon after I got off and back on to a secondary road, I met Lisa. Lisa is from the United Kingdom and she's riding from Houston to the West coast. Her bike is heavily loaded: front and rear panniers. She tells me she never camps and only stays at motels. She says she had to ride 110 miles one day in order to get to a town with a motel. That's a hard ride out here, I'd rather just camp.
I give her some tips to get across the Rocky Mountains. She only has one knee cap and has some difficulty putting a lot of force on the pedals. She's planning on walking the bike up the passes. I wonder if she realizes the magnitude of that task. Walking nine miles while pushing a heavily loaded bike is not my idea of a good time.
As we talk, I glance down at my front tire and see a piece of wire sticking out of it. It's a bit of the wire used to reinforce tires. Evidently it became stuck in the bikes tire when I was on the freeway. I thank my lucky stars that I saw it before I got a flat and pull it out.
I tell Lisa about my ride and she promises to think of me on August 9, the day everyone plans to celebrate with me in Boston. Boston seems impossibly far off.
Lisa tells me that after the town of Byers there's not much ahead for the next 100 miles or so. We chat a little longer, wish each other good luck, and push off. After a few miles I mentally kick myself for not giving Lisa Anita's phone number. Oh well, nothing I can do about it now.
A few miles ahead in the town of Bennett, a road crew is grinding up the road to resurface it. I decided to get out of the dust and heat and stop at a bar for lunch. Inside, I meet Philip. Philip works for a car rental company and is in charge of getting broken down cars back on the road. His buddy at the bar has Parkinson's too. The buddy is a lot worse off than I am; his speech and gait are both pretty bad. Of course, I exhibit some symptoms myself: Phillips buddy tells me he knew I had Parkinson's when he saw me walk in. I always deny, to myself, that I have it.
The three of us talk for a while, and I have a sandwich and a Coke. When I go to pay my bill the barmaid says it's already been taken care of: Philip paid it. I sincerely thank him. He says he admires me and that I have helped cheer his buddy. You meet the nicest people on a bike. It's so hot outside I don't want to leave the bar's oasis. But leave I must, and I do.
I'll try to make up some time tomorrow. Hopefully it won't rain!
After arriving in Denver, Richard picks me up. Rich and Anita are two of my skydiving buddies. We go out to dinner at a fondue restaurant. They are vegetarians and fondue enthusiasts. It's my first fondue experience; I doubt I'd go back without a good reason.
The next morning I get up at seven. Anita wants to go out for breakfast. I'm feeling antsy, my gear and bike is still packed, but we go out for pancakes. Back home I finally assemble my bike and pack my gear. A friend made me promise to find a pebble to take along as a good luck charm. I find a red and black granite chip and pop it in my pocket. Even though it's raining, Anita wants to ride with me for a little bit. I'm happy for the company.
We ride about 25 miles together with me to the freeway and say good bye. I'd been hoping to avoid the freeway all together, but I have to ride on it a short distance; about 9 miles. Soon after I got off and back on to a secondary road, I met Lisa. Lisa is from the United Kingdom and she's riding from Houston to the West coast. Her bike is heavily loaded: front and rear panniers. She tells me she never camps and only stays at motels. She says she had to ride 110 miles one day in order to get to a town with a motel. That's a hard ride out here, I'd rather just camp.
I give her some tips to get across the Rocky Mountains. She only has one knee cap and has some difficulty putting a lot of force on the pedals. She's planning on walking the bike up the passes. I wonder if she realizes the magnitude of that task. Walking nine miles while pushing a heavily loaded bike is not my idea of a good time.
As we talk, I glance down at my front tire and see a piece of wire sticking out of it. It's a bit of the wire used to reinforce tires. Evidently it became stuck in the bikes tire when I was on the freeway. I thank my lucky stars that I saw it before I got a flat and pull it out.
I tell Lisa about my ride and she promises to think of me on August 9, the day everyone plans to celebrate with me in Boston. Boston seems impossibly far off.
Lisa tells me that after the town of Byers there's not much ahead for the next 100 miles or so. We chat a little longer, wish each other good luck, and push off. After a few miles I mentally kick myself for not giving Lisa Anita's phone number. Oh well, nothing I can do about it now.
A few miles ahead in the town of Bennett, a road crew is grinding up the road to resurface it. I decided to get out of the dust and heat and stop at a bar for lunch. Inside, I meet Philip. Philip works for a car rental company and is in charge of getting broken down cars back on the road. His buddy at the bar has Parkinson's too. The buddy is a lot worse off than I am; his speech and gait are both pretty bad. Of course, I exhibit some symptoms myself: Phillips buddy tells me he knew I had Parkinson's when he saw me walk in. I always deny, to myself, that I have it.
The three of us talk for a while, and I have a sandwich and a Coke. When I go to pay my bill the barmaid says it's already been taken care of: Philip paid it. I sincerely thank him. He says he admires me and that I have helped cheer his buddy. You meet the nicest people on a bike. It's so hot outside I don't want to leave the bar's oasis. But leave I must, and I do.
I'll try to make up some time tomorrow. Hopefully it won't rain!
Sunday, July 6, 2008
I'm off (like a prom dress!)
Just about to leave for the airport. I'm excited and hopeful. I feel a little like I do when I go skydiving.
I weigh 175 pounds. I'll bet I loose at least 7 lbs on this trip. Ok, I'm too hyped up to write more; gotta go.
I weigh 175 pounds. I'll bet I loose at least 7 lbs on this trip. Ok, I'm too hyped up to write more; gotta go.
Monday, June 30, 2008
Thinking positive: I am positive this is going to be tough!
A friend complained to me about my (former) blog title "Can He Do It?".
"Much too negative." she said.
The reason I'm negative is I'm facing reality, and the reality is: I'm not sure I can do it. I really am not. 1,700 miles is a long haul on a bicycle. None the less, I've acquiesced to her wishes and changed the title to something more positive.
My route and timeline is planned. It is:
Day 1. Leaving Denver, take Route 36 east to either Last Chance (90 miles), Lindon (100 miles) or Anton (110 miles).
Day 2. Route 36 to St. Frances, Kansas (100 miles from Lindon).
Day 3. Route 36 to Norton or Philipsburg.
Day4. Either173 or 183 south to route 18. Take 18 to 176 to Lucas.
Day 5. Route 18 to Junction City (about 75 miles).
Day 6. Route 18 to Manhattan (No, not that Manhattan!) to route 24 to Topeka.
Day 7. Stay on 24 to Lavasy (30 miles) to Carrolton (71 miles).
Day 8. Route 24 to Keytesville (30 miles) to Moberly (60 miles) to Paris (90 miles).
Day 9. Route 154 to 54, through Curryville, through Bowling Green, to Louisiana.
Day 10. Route 79 south to St. Louis. Roughly 90 miles.
That's the plan. It's ambitious, but if I can do it in 11 days I'll still be happy. Twelve days I'll take. Beyond that, I'll be disappointed but only because it's going to kick up the cost of my airline ticket. I'll still be quite happy that I completed the first half of this sojourn!
One last thing: I need feedback. If you read these posts, please let me know. I'm writing for your entertainment, and if no one is reading these things, well, I've got better things to do.
"Much too negative." she said.
The reason I'm negative is I'm facing reality, and the reality is: I'm not sure I can do it. I really am not. 1,700 miles is a long haul on a bicycle. None the less, I've acquiesced to her wishes and changed the title to something more positive.
My route and timeline is planned. It is:
Day 1. Leaving Denver, take Route 36 east to either Last Chance (90 miles), Lindon (100 miles) or Anton (110 miles).
Day 2. Route 36 to St. Frances, Kansas (100 miles from Lindon).
Day 3. Route 36 to Norton or Philipsburg.
Day4. Either173 or 183 south to route 18. Take 18 to 176 to Lucas.
Day 5. Route 18 to Junction City (about 75 miles).
Day 6. Route 18 to Manhattan (No, not that Manhattan!) to route 24 to Topeka.
Day 7. Stay on 24 to Lavasy (30 miles) to Carrolton (71 miles).
Day 8. Route 24 to Keytesville (30 miles) to Moberly (60 miles) to Paris (90 miles).
Day 9. Route 154 to 54, through Curryville, through Bowling Green, to Louisiana.
Day 10. Route 79 south to St. Louis. Roughly 90 miles.
That's the plan. It's ambitious, but if I can do it in 11 days I'll still be happy. Twelve days I'll take. Beyond that, I'll be disappointed but only because it's going to kick up the cost of my airline ticket. I'll still be quite happy that I completed the first half of this sojourn!
One last thing: I need feedback. If you read these posts, please let me know. I'm writing for your entertainment, and if no one is reading these things, well, I've got better things to do.
Friday, June 27, 2008
The Song
It's the Parkinson's that gets me. Sometimes I just get so damned dizzy! Maybe I should write a song:
I'm so dizzy, my head is spinning.
Like a whirlpool, it never ends.
I'm so dizzy...
But I suppose its been done.
The other day I was walking down a hallway. I was feeling faint but thought I was hiding it pretty well. A women came up to me, and asked, "Honey are you ok? Because you look like you're about to fall down!"
I told her I was fine. She replied: "I have six grand kids, and when I see one looking like you, I know they ain't fine!"
So much for keeping my secrets to myself.
My doctor has thoroughly checked me out and pronounced me "fit as a fiddle." Stress test, blood work, BP, the whole nine yards: I'm in great shape. My body is in better shape than guys 20 years younger than me. "Yes, I'm bragging."
So, I suppose it's the Parkinson's. Which makes me so mad!
No one wants Parkinson's. No one likes it. But I feel like having it is a cosmic joke. I've been interested in it for years, because it's a weird disease. You don't go to the doctor, have a blood sample taken and get it analyzed.
Instead, you give the doctor a writing sample. He watches you walk, watches your face. Checks your balance, has you follow an object with your eyes. So the diagnosis is based on exhibited symptoms, not diagnostic blood work. That, to me, is what makes it interesting. I mean, some guy looks at your writing and says "You have an incurable disease that will slowly kill you. Oh, yes, have a nice day." It's like he's a witch doctor or clairvoyant.
I'm so dizzy, my head is spinning.
Like a whirlpool, it never ends.
I'm so dizzy...
But I suppose its been done.
The other day I was walking down a hallway. I was feeling faint but thought I was hiding it pretty well. A women came up to me, and asked, "Honey are you ok? Because you look like you're about to fall down!"
I told her I was fine. She replied: "I have six grand kids, and when I see one looking like you, I know they ain't fine!"
So much for keeping my secrets to myself.
My doctor has thoroughly checked me out and pronounced me "fit as a fiddle." Stress test, blood work, BP, the whole nine yards: I'm in great shape. My body is in better shape than guys 20 years younger than me. "Yes, I'm bragging."
So, I suppose it's the Parkinson's. Which makes me so mad!
No one wants Parkinson's. No one likes it. But I feel like having it is a cosmic joke. I've been interested in it for years, because it's a weird disease. You don't go to the doctor, have a blood sample taken and get it analyzed.
Instead, you give the doctor a writing sample. He watches you walk, watches your face. Checks your balance, has you follow an object with your eyes. So the diagnosis is based on exhibited symptoms, not diagnostic blood work. That, to me, is what makes it interesting. I mean, some guy looks at your writing and says "You have an incurable disease that will slowly kill you. Oh, yes, have a nice day." It's like he's a witch doctor or clairvoyant.
Monday, June 23, 2008
The Philosopher's Sport
On Saturday (6-21-08) I rode 21 miles down to the town of Stow. It took me 1 1/2 hours; there was a gentle headwind. I visited with a friend for about 45 minutes and came back. By the time I got home I was riding against a pretty good headwind.
The good news is I made it. The bad news is my legs were pretty tired. One reason I like riding is it gives me a chance to think about, and sometimes even solve, problems. I've thought about failed loves, failures in the stock market, and life in general. Lately, I think a lot about "Why the hell am I doing this? Why am I riding 1,700 miles, all by myself, across the United States?"
There are lots of reasons, but I think the one really driving me is to prove, to myself, my manhood. Now I know I don't have to really prove my manhood per se, but consider what Parkinson's does to a person. It doesn't just make you tremble. It weakens you and saps your strength. It makes you dizzy. You loose your sense of balance. It causes you to have involuntary movements with your hands and feet. It causes incontinence. It makes you freeze up; unable to move, and your face lacks expression. Your movements become slow and deliberate; you lose the beauty of continuous motion and coordination. You become emotional; little things make you cry. Depression is another symptom.
On the positive side, as Michael J. Fox said, "It doesn't hurt."
So by making this ride, by attempting it, I'm making a statement: Fuck you Parkinson's! And I hope making people more aware of the disease will help spur the fight against it.
That's the way I see it. Perhaps, in some convoluted manner, I am happy that this God damned disease is forcing me to live my life and experience all I can, while I can. I doubt that I'd be doing the ride without it. It's the philosophers sport.
The good news is I made it. The bad news is my legs were pretty tired. One reason I like riding is it gives me a chance to think about, and sometimes even solve, problems. I've thought about failed loves, failures in the stock market, and life in general. Lately, I think a lot about "Why the hell am I doing this? Why am I riding 1,700 miles, all by myself, across the United States?"
There are lots of reasons, but I think the one really driving me is to prove, to myself, my manhood. Now I know I don't have to really prove my manhood per se, but consider what Parkinson's does to a person. It doesn't just make you tremble. It weakens you and saps your strength. It makes you dizzy. You loose your sense of balance. It causes you to have involuntary movements with your hands and feet. It causes incontinence. It makes you freeze up; unable to move, and your face lacks expression. Your movements become slow and deliberate; you lose the beauty of continuous motion and coordination. You become emotional; little things make you cry. Depression is another symptom.
On the positive side, as Michael J. Fox said, "It doesn't hurt."
So by making this ride, by attempting it, I'm making a statement: Fuck you Parkinson's! And I hope making people more aware of the disease will help spur the fight against it.
That's the way I see it. Perhaps, in some convoluted manner, I am happy that this God damned disease is forcing me to live my life and experience all I can, while I can. I doubt that I'd be doing the ride without it. It's the philosophers sport.
Friday, June 20, 2008
Mr. Monkey
Ok, I'm depressed. I've denied it to myself for a month, but I can't get this monkey off my back. It's really hard for me to motivate myself to ride. And when I ride it's not with the intensity that I had last year. Last year I would average 17.5 mph on my workouts. That includes riding up out of Chagrin River valley; usually an 7-8 percent grade for almost a mile.
This year I haven't even bothered to measure my average. I'm sure it's under 15 mph.
The bit of good news is riding does improve my mood. I'm sure it's the endorphins. Hell, when I start riding to St. Louis, from Denver, I should be the happiest guy alive! Ha. Ha.
Last night I averaged about 9 mph coming up out of the valley. I took Berkshire Road, one of the easiest climbs out, but still that ain't (sic) bad. Latter on the ride I met another rider who told me he tried to keep up with me coming up Berkshire, but couldn't. That made me feel good too.
Still, I have big doubts. So do my friends.
Joe:
"So why you doing two legs of the ride this year? Why not ride to Boston next year?"
"Because Parkinsons is relentless, and I don't know if I will be able to do the last leg next year."
"Do you remember how you felt when you got back last year?"
"Yep. I was sick of riding. Went out for one ride around my circuit, and that was it. I was done. Kaput. Finished."
"So what makes you think this year is going to be different?"
"Nothing. I'm just going to have to tough it out."
"And what happens if you're in the middle of nowhere, and you hit The Wall?" (An expression for hitting your physical limits.)
"I'll just have to deal with that."
We'll see how well I deal with that. Stay tuned.
This year I haven't even bothered to measure my average. I'm sure it's under 15 mph.
The bit of good news is riding does improve my mood. I'm sure it's the endorphins. Hell, when I start riding to St. Louis, from Denver, I should be the happiest guy alive! Ha. Ha.
Last night I averaged about 9 mph coming up out of the valley. I took Berkshire Road, one of the easiest climbs out, but still that ain't (sic) bad. Latter on the ride I met another rider who told me he tried to keep up with me coming up Berkshire, but couldn't. That made me feel good too.
Still, I have big doubts. So do my friends.
Joe:
"So why you doing two legs of the ride this year? Why not ride to Boston next year?"
"Because Parkinsons is relentless, and I don't know if I will be able to do the last leg next year."
"Do you remember how you felt when you got back last year?"
"Yep. I was sick of riding. Went out for one ride around my circuit, and that was it. I was done. Kaput. Finished."
"So what makes you think this year is going to be different?"
"Nothing. I'm just going to have to tough it out."
"And what happens if you're in the middle of nowhere, and you hit The Wall?" (An expression for hitting your physical limits.)
"I'll just have to deal with that."
We'll see how well I deal with that. Stay tuned.
Tuesday, June 17, 2008
Amelia baby, where are you?
When I think about this upcoming ride I'm reminded of Amelia Earhart. She wasn't really prepared when she took off from Indonesia to fly to Howland Island. I wonder how prepared I am. Can I avoid disaster?
On July 7, 2008, I'm leaving Denver, Colorado and riding my bicycle to Boston, Massachusetts. Solo. By myself, no sag wagon. I haven't been able to train nearly as much as I should. Last night (6-16-08) I rode up Brigham Road hill (Gates Mills, Ohio). It's about three quarters of a mile long and the grade is about 8-9%.
What a bitch!
My legs were burning so badly! I almost thought I wasn't going to make it.
I did think I wasn't going to make it.
I got dizzy and light headed. The only reason I made it to the top is because I am so stubborn. I could have shifted to a lower gear (I was in fourth) but that would have been cheating, wouldn't it? I'm not trying to make this easy.
Will, I have another two weeks to train. Maybe I'll get stronger. Maybe I'll ride up Brigham a couple of more times.
And that's why I wonder: "Can I do it?".
On July 7, 2008, I'm leaving Denver, Colorado and riding my bicycle to Boston, Massachusetts. Solo. By myself, no sag wagon. I haven't been able to train nearly as much as I should. Last night (6-16-08) I rode up Brigham Road hill (Gates Mills, Ohio). It's about three quarters of a mile long and the grade is about 8-9%.
What a bitch!
My legs were burning so badly! I almost thought I wasn't going to make it.
I did think I wasn't going to make it.
I got dizzy and light headed. The only reason I made it to the top is because I am so stubborn. I could have shifted to a lower gear (I was in fourth) but that would have been cheating, wouldn't it? I'm not trying to make this easy.
Will, I have another two weeks to train. Maybe I'll get stronger. Maybe I'll ride up Brigham a couple of more times.
And that's why I wonder: "Can I do it?".
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