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.
Monday, August 11, 2008
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.
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