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.

July 23 Not hard, just Slow.

The morning sun shines early over the lush hills in Ash Grove, sparkling off the expansive green lawn surrounding Lisa and Tony's farmstead. A bit too bright for a guy who was up til 1 am the night before uploading trip photos, with only help from Sonny, one very furry, callico pussy-cat.
After one final round of strong, boilerplate coffee and the ritual topping off of tire air pressure, it's farewells around and the 5 mile glide downhill to Cambridge and east on SR 313 toward Vermont. Arlington, Vt. is traditional New England: old money displayed in expansive estates, rows of mature maple trees lining the streets, cemetaries of aged headstones, most slightly cocked and surrounded by beds of lillies, hostas and roses, and tight and orderly downtowns of red brick buildings full of quaint eateries, craft shops and lawyer's offices. We turn north on historic Rte. 7A and reach even-richer and more oppulent Manchester. I'm sure many important events from 225+ years ago happened right here where I now stand, per the number of Historic Markers and statues of dead heroes around us. The town was very, very neat, and I feared that my dog might soil the local green, but she held.
Ellen has been fearing the climb up and over the Green Mountains and the Bromley ski area, and I have done my best to assure her that nothing in cycling is hard, only that some days are just slower than others! So, after more reassuring, we slug uphill for 2 hours, keeping the pace out of her "red zone", and reach Peru, another old town with lots of important piles of stones, for a pizza carb snack, before moving on. Lots of roller coaster hills and dales all afternoon, which were more way more tiring than the Bromley climb, before the long downhill runout to end our day in Chester, after 58 miles.
All in all, Ellen handled the hills very well, even tho she readily admits to absolutely hating them. A fine bottle of Argentine wine at dinner erased all memory of the day's pains and I trumped that with a pint of , and no kidding, "Flying Dog Tire Bite" local ale.
Luckily, none of those kinds of canines appeared today from out behind one of those estate buildings.

July 22 Day off at Lisa and Tony's

Ah yes, to be inside whilst it rains outside!

July 21 Those New York drivers!

Seems like every part of us was tired and stiff this morning. Ellen's back and shoulders are complaining, my toes are aching and my legs remembering the last few days of climbing. Good thing we have a short journey on the schedule today; crossing the Hudson River and climbing out of the valley to the Appalachian foothills and the farming community of Cambridge, NY, where we'll be staying with Lisa Jennings, an old college friend and her husband Tony. Short journey, but not sweet.

Another grey day is before us, and we warm up slowly on Rte. 29, hugging an 18" shoulder, desperately guarding our place on the road amidst heavy mid-week, mid-morning traffic. At the Mango Cafe, we meet Sheila Lyons, an equestrian vet from Boston, and have a cheerful chat over coffee and lunch. We were surprised to note that the Mango Cafe "proudly" serves only "Seattle's Best" coffee. Back on the bikes, we drop to the Hudson River and cross at Schuylerville as the rains start. A wet and nasty 7% climb from the river ensues on a rotten-shouldered road, and we fight heavy non-yielding and continuous traffic into Greenwich, prompting me to yell aloud "New York drivers are a##!oles" as I watch one pass us in downtown, crossing a double yellow line and causing the oncoming NY driver to swerve and stop. Eight more wet and busy miles dump us into Cambridge, where Lisa and Tony graciously come down in pickup trucks and drive us up to their gorgeous farm in Ash Grove, saving us 5 miles of soggy pedalling. Much ado and catchup follows, including pre-beers, beers and post-beers. I get to meet Lisa's parents again after 28 years! The last time I was in this area was August 1981, when I passed through during a hike on the Appalachian Trail. I was reminded, by Lisa's dad who never forgets anything, that the Jennings family record of '48 ears of sweet corn consumed' was set at one of the meals during my stay. Dinner tonite was a fabulous bounty from the garden, but the sweet corn record was not threatened...

July 20 Forty more miles on the Erie Canal

It's a sluggish morning, and in between coffees and photos, it's 10 am before we are happily rolling , once again, along the peacefull Erie Canalway. The route is about perfect: free of traffic, easy to pedal and under a canopy of mature sumacs and ashes>> scoring me big points on the "romantic spots to take the wife" scale. We pass rock outcrops, aisles of flowers and scampering bunnies. Historic Ft. Plain, then Canajoharie and Fultonville. Then Auriesville. The canalway path conveniently passes directly through these small towns; it's a pity we couldn't spend some time in each since they all proclaim nearly 400 years of history, (white man's history, that is).

After 40 miles of cinder track, it's time to head north and away from the canal corridor. We fight our way thru busy and depressing Amsterdam, parking for a short time at a Dunkin' Donuts to chug an iced coffee and regather our wits. It's rush hour and we still have 30 miles to go! SR 67 out of town eventually has a small shoulder, but traffic is relentless, and we finally find sideroads into the suburbs of Saratoga Springs.

In West Milton, 3 odd gentlemen sitting on a picnic table, sipping coffees at a convenience store give us (what proves to be good) directions. It goes something like>> "You three guys look like you know the area?" Gary directs as he stops his bike. Odd looks from all three. "We're trying to get to east Saratoga but don't want to ride on any of the busy highways", I continue. More odd looks then a quick conference between them. More conferring. Paper is produced and a crude map is drawn with dots and lines. We hurriedly fill in names and numbers so we don't forget and find ourselves 1/4 mile down the road trying to remember right turns from 2nd right turns. After 10 minutes of route explanation and countless additional (and unnecessary) details, we are confidently off. Half hour later we arrive at Broadway and a maze of tourists all looking for or leaving eateries. Light is waning, and after a ride down a highway marked "no bicycles", and further redirecting, we arrive at Comfort Inn after 78 miles, and slip into the "all you can wedge in" Golden Corral restaurant with 5 minutes to spare.