EPIBLOG

It's over.
Wow! Hard to believe...

For the record>>
75 days on the road including 11 rest days, 4224 miles pedalled in 12 states and one Canadian province.
5 flat tires, 4 million pedal strokes, 3 days without ice cream, 2 days without coffee, zero days without meeting a new friend.
Highest elevation attained-- 9666' @ Powder River Pass, Bighorn Mountains.
Elevation gained and lost--ask my dog, it was her job to keep record.

Most frequently asked question "Why did you want to do such a trip?"
Second most frequently asked question "How old is your dog?"
Question never asked "Would you like a cold beer from the cooler in my trunk?"
Second most frequent question never asked "Are you interested in a promotion to write a book?"
Most frequent answer to any question " No, I won't be cycling back."
Second most frequent answer to any question "From Seattle."
Third most frequent answer to any question "To Maine."
Most frequent emotion felt "Hungry".
Second most frequent emotion felt "Tired and hungry".
Weight loss during trip--nothing
Calories consumed--okay, now this is getting silly...

The short form of the feelings and thoughts I've gathered from doing this journey can be summed up in the following paragraphs: the country is large, much larger than one can imagine. There are corners to explore every time you turn. The land and terrain is diverse and at times rugged beyond control. There is beauty in so many forms; in the rocks, the rivers, the flowers, the creatures.
The people I met were genuinely loving and kind, helpfull and courteous. Many went out of their ways to help a stranger they would never see again. Some I hope to cross paths with again and probably will. I had NO bad or regrettable encounters. Traffic was respectfull, except for a few instances in New York State. South Dakota and Ontario drivers were absolutely the most polite of all. I only had to outrun two dogs, (not counting mine).
I have gained a renewed respect for the working class of this country, the large majority of Americans who are disenfranchised from the economic prosperity around them. Many live in communities whose regional planners have sold out to large corporations that have outsourced their jobs or let faceless mega-stores undercut their personal business ownership. The result is countless closed businesses, properties for sale, and economic depression in areas that once thrived. I understand protectionism and regionalism like never before.
I am very thankfull for the chance to have undertaken this trip. Only here in the first world is it possible to travel on such good quality roadways, along with courteous traffic, to have food, lodging and supplies readily available daily, and to be able to record events through photographs and blog. And how about the privledge of being able to afford a good bicycle and trailer and the healthy legs to pedal it? Yes, I am thankfull. I am lucky too.
Lastly, I want to encourage all of you who read this blog and find some aspect interesting or inspiring about it, to step out of your sheltered harbor, out of your comfort zone, and take on a challenge that lies buried in some recess of your being. Not everyone will find bliss in pulling 100 lbs. of gear and smelly hound around for a summer, I understand. But adventures come in all shapes, sizes and are just awaiting for someone to do them. Step out into the wind...

Thanks to all those who supported me, helped me, encouraged me, followed me and led me.
(Oh yes, and those who fed me!!)
Cheers, you made GravyTrain2Maine 2009 a reality!

Gary and Brindil-hound

July 29 WABI-TV and Oldtown

The last day starts with an absolute pea soup fog outside. We can barely see the light traffic on Rte. 1, and have no clue how close the ocean is or isn't. But there are good, clean shoulders, and we are well lit up, so agree to proceed cautiously northward. A call comes in from Rob Poindexter of WABI-TV5 from Bangor, asking us to do an interview of the trip, and we agree to meet in Bucksport 18 miles hence. (The interview was my sister's idea). Still more swirling fog as we go through gorgeous Searsport, with its grand inns and waterfront estates. Too bad we can't see more than 100' ahead.

Then a massive rock cut. A gorgeous tower and cable suspension bridge, hanging in front of us, with its highest masts disappearing into the fog. Beyond is the cutest-ever seaport town of Bucksport, with white sailed boats dotting the waters in between. Appears the WABI van.
The interview was fun and candid, no one was nervous. Rob shot lots of footage; some next to the bridge, some on the bridge, some at the Sea breeze Cafe just beyond. As if by plan, the fog lifts, displaying a perfectly sunny day. As we wolf down the last of lunch, Rob takes his leave to get the "footage" up to Bangor in time for the 5 pm news. The broadcast can be seen at>>

http://www.wabi.tv/news/6868/seattle-man-ends-cross-country-trek-in-old-town

The balance of the day's mileage floats by. A fine tailwind appropriately escorts us. Tho hot and a bit hilly, nothing matters except the realness that this is it, this is the last link, the last exhale of a long journey.
We turn off Rte. 178 and cross the Milford Bridge into Oldtown, and a few minutes later pull into the driveway of my sister's house at 64 Cedar Street.

Partytime!!

July 28 It Must be the Atlantic!

The decision has been made to head eastward to the Maine coast and spend our last night of the trip in Belfast, along famous Rte. 1. The route out is very hilly, hot and tiring, esp. for Ellen, but she hangs in there as we reach Windsor and Somerville. Very rural. A llama farm where each llama has a different hairdo-up. A nice Chinese lady gives us water when we run out and marvels after hearing a quick account of the trip. Finally onto Rte. 3 for two hours, then over one final hill gleams the blue waters of Penobscot Bay and the Atlantic Ocean!! At this moment, the reality of crossing the country by bicycle really hit home, giving me an unforgettable rush of satisfaction mixed with disbelief. Not quite done, my boy, as we scream downhill, meeting Rte. 1 in Belfast and heading north 2 miles to our little cottage #15 at the Seascape Motel.
Quite a session of imbibing occurred that night, from pre-beers thru wine to bloody marys, accompanying a fine fish dinner. We skipped the deep fried corn on the cob, or at least I think we did. Brindil has her first motel room "accident". One more day.

July 27 Fergys ' R ' Us

Rain halts by morning and we are ushered out of Sebago Lake by Jimmy's escort service, feeling kinda special with our own personal sag-wag. SR 202 has heavy traffic up to the twin cities of Lewiston-Auburn. We happen upon Luiggi's sub shop for lunch; not knowing that the place has a good local following and is known for its "Fergy" subs (a special layering of ham, cheese, lettuce, and lots o mayo on a cut of French bread, with a menu progressing from Fergys to Tuna Fergys, Turkey Fergys, Fergy juniors, Meatball Fergys, etc..) According to my wife (who is always right), Fergys were a particular sandwich delight of Sarah Ferguson, of British royalty, known for her diet schemes, and so a sandwich sub-species was born.
It's hot out now with high humidity. We opt for SR 126 north, which takes us over rolling landscape of deciduous forests, broken by the occasional cattail bog. At South Monmouth, we decide to take the flatter option of routes east to Gardiner, where we pick up the lovely, paved Kennebec bikepath north to Augusta. Another rails to trails project, the path parallels a functioning railroad, and is framed by rows of gorgeous Victorian homes on the city side and by the Kennebec River on the other. Grey clouds are gathering and it's a race to town. On Water St. the rain gods triumph and Ellen has the good sense to huddle us under a store awning. Cats, dogs, cows and horses rain down for 45 minutes, as the sky turns darker and greyer. Waves of rain lash by us and a torrent runs down the gutter at our feet. At first break, we resume our search for Motel 6, and find it just up the hill, fairly close to the end of the rainbow. Jimmy, who has spent his day looking up old friends in Portland, pulls into the parking lot 5 minutes later, and the 3 musketeers are reunited.
Tomorrow, we head for the coast.

July 26 in2Maine

Pushing tired legs thru the morning fog of the Seven Lakes basin, we round a corner and reach Maine!! The trip's not over til it's done, but this moment is as exciting as cresting the Continental Divide. My 13th and last state!
A honk from the road and we look up to see Debbie, our waitress from last night, and her friend Jean, with cycles ready for action in the back of their car. A few minutes later they have joined us on the road for their morning 20 mile workout. Birds of a feather! We pass thru Newfield and stop in Limerick for a late breakfast. Limington, then North Limington, then Standish. Heavier traffic into North Whindam. Jimmy is accompanying us again today by truck: it's reassuring to have a support vehicle. Along the busy Rte. 302, he creeps along behind us with hazard lights flashing, all the way to our hotel on Lake Sebago! And just in time, as the heavens let loose a torrent of rain at 5 pm, which we gleefully watch from under the motel awning.
It's lobster rolls, steamed clams, cole slaw and corn on the cob this evening, just to reassure us that we are really in Maine. And oh yes, a horde of mosquitos, some with fangs...

July 25 Sagging wife...

Let me be up front with the titling of days blog>> It was approved by the "appropriate cycling terminology" committee. Any misuse, misinterrpretation, or misrepresentation caused by today's titling is unintended and coincidental. Do not try this at home, gentlemen....

A knock on our motel door this morning at 7:30 am. Opening, I see the mischieviously smirking face of one James Karney Kuhlthau. Jimmy stories abound from my past, including a 1985 Himalayan trek together, a 1988 month in Hawaii hiking volcanoes and a host of road trips around the northeast from my single guy days. I've known Jimmy for 24 years and he has not changed: still a faithfull friend, still a road warrior, still a complete non-conformist, still a packrat and super-recycler, and still living in New Brunswick, New Jersey. But this morning, he's buying us breakfast! (I guess he has changed a little!) In addition, we get treated to the interesting story of him and his new girlfriend Lore, details ommitted for the sake of saving precious blogspace...

Ellen is "down a quart" from the last two days of hills, so after a morning of heat and more short, tiring hills thru Belmont and Gilmanton (we term them "sudden sevens" for the quick 7% grades), and the temptation of Jimmy's nearby truck, she takes the opportunity to "sag" for the afternoon. Brindil occupies center stage at a Wraps cafe for lunch, sagging gracefully in the shade of a picnic table while a host of admirers try to wake her with treats.

No sagging allowed for the GT2M this afternoon, and we cruise southeast to Farmington and across to Milton, taking the southerly route around the enormous and tentacled Lake Winnipesaukee. Then I make two mistakes: getting onto SR 16, and getting off SR 16. Relentless weekend traffic. The shoulder reduces to a rumblestrip and gravel track. No room for a bike with trailer at all. I am forced to cross the crazy 4 lane highway and ride the opposite shoulder, facing oncoming traffic. At last an exit. Relief. Or so I thought. (It turns out that SR 16 becomes a fine biking route after the exit, with ample, consistent shoulder and reduced speed limits.) I opt for the country roads approach to Wakefield, and pay dearly. Endless "sudden sevens" and unmarked roads got me lost and tired (honestly, the first time I need to admit this in a month) and I finally creep into the Palmer's Motel at 7 pm and meet up with Ellen and Jimmy, both of whom are perky and energetic after their relaxing, "sagging" day. The one thrill of my afternoon was watching the trip odometer pass 4000 miles as I inched up a hot incline near Milton Mills.

The Poor People's Pub was an excellant choice for dinner refreshments and we meet our waitress Debbie, who is an avid local cyclist, amidst lively chat and Jimmy stories. Then to bed for the real sagging...

July 24 A dog loving town

The peek out the window at 6:30 am shows gobs of rain a fallin', so Ellen and I burrow under the warm covers til 8 am, grab some "continental" b'fast, and hit the road. New England, in general, has narrow roads, narrow shoulders, and very few east-west routes due to the north-south orientation of the hills, and we are stuck on SR 11 with a few too many trucks and weekend traffic for comfort. The rugged winters here create major potholes and a fractured road surface, so with the recent rains we resort to dodging holes of brown water and spider-cracked sections of roadway, all the while keeping an ear out for fast approaching trucks. The New England drivers have shown themselves to be very courteous thus far, way less aggressive than their westerly neighbor, making the riding tolerable.
We move thru Springfield, losing some traffic at the I-91 interchange, then onto Claremont and Newport. Another fact about New England geography is that all towns, in addition to being originally laid out and built for much smaller horse drawn carts and pedestrians, is that they are located in hollows or valleys, near waterways, thus requiring a climb out of after a drop into. Keeping all these conditions in mind and underfoot, passing thru towns requires keeping one's wits sharp and senses alert, continually. Finally, after 30 miles of tiring riding, we leave the busy Rte. 11 and take the southern leg around Lake Sunapee and its shoreline of expensive vacation homes, cutting a roller coaster finish into Franklin by 7 pm.
The owner of the DK Motel welcomes me with a handfull of dogbones and lively chat, whilst Ellen makes herself at home with the 2 resident pussycats. A local Greek run pizza house serves up some scrum pizza and brews, Brindil scores more attention and treats (she's still way ahead of me in the mooched food tally) from the staff, and yet another hard day of pedalling ends well.