Gravy Train 2 Maine - My map: http://tinyurl.com/rcqqwd

EPIBLOG

2009-08-04T10:24:00.001-07:00

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

2009-08-01T10:15:00.002-07:00

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!

2009-08-01T10:15:00.001-07:00

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

2009-08-01T10:14:00.000-07:00

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

2009-08-01T08:56:00.000-07:00

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...

2009-08-01T07:54:00.000-07:00

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

2009-07-31T07:52:00.000-07:00

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.

2009-07-30T10:59:00.000-07:00

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

2009-07-22T14:30:00.000-07:00

Ah yes, to be inside whilst it rains outside!

July 21 Those New York drivers!

2009-07-22T13:41:00.000-07:00

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

2009-07-20T19:45:00.000-07:00

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.

July 19 The New Appalachia

2009-07-20T19:44:00.002-07:00

Today's plan is to progress eastward and once again rejoin the Erie Canalway bike path, after our two day diversion south to Ithaca. Under grey skies and over more hilly terrain on SR 20 (Ellen not happy with hills!) we visit Nelson, Morrisville, Bouckville, Madison, Sangerfield and finally downhill to Bridgewater for a lunch of leftovers. (Sometimes, one is compelled to eat up the remains of the staples one has been lugging around for days, so to allow for the accumulation of more staples to lug around.) It's nice to see new flowers roadside: purple Asters, Black-eyed suzies and Queen Anne's lace adding to the lilies, cornflowers and treefoils. Most of the trees are deciduous: maples, ashes, sumacs, oaks; all vivid in my childhood memories.

In East Winfield, we meet Paul out riding a recumbent and owner of the local Precision Cycling bikeshop. Retired from auto mechanics, he has turned his efforts to bicycles. We talk briefly about local cycling and the failing local economy, and he sadly dubs the region 'The New Appalachia". Sad, but true.

We turn northward on Rte. 51 and follow a sweetly flowing stream, gently downhill, to Ilion and back to the Mohawk River. (The Erie Canal and the Mohawk River, as well as other natural bodies of water, make up the navigable ship canal across NY state that covers over 500 miles. Locks and gates were used to control water levels and flow.) A short 10 miles along SR 5S takes us past historic Herkimer and into Little Falls. Little Falls, a onetime commerce hub and producer of tools and cheese, sits gracefully in a valley, cut long ago by the Mohawk River, and boasts a downtown of ornate and very European-looking stone and brick buildings. Tho suffering as well financially, there was an attempt to attract and accomodate visitors. There was a decided upbeatness to our visit there.

We close down the evening with a stuffed pizza that was New York delicious and retire to the Knights Inn.

July 18 Cazenovia Hills

2009-07-20T19:44:00.001-07:00

Jim R leads all on the charge out of Ithaca, and fueled by an enormous waffle feed at breakfast time, it's up and down the backroads eastward toward Dryden. My Gosh, my legs had forgotten how to climb hills, it has been so long since the Black Hills in South Dakota!! Pain clears the senses quickly, and I am shifting into lowend gears I had long forgotten. The glaciers sure did a good job of scouring out this part of the country 10,000 years ago, producing deep north-south lakes and crossing the terrain in between with transverse drumlins and rolling hills. No flat stretches anywhere!

Jim leads us on more backroads into Cortland, another farming town that was elegant in a past era, but has fallen to the scourge of economic decline. Outsourcing of jobs due to foreign competition and the discontinuation of the Erie Canal, and the rise of "big box stores" has killed the downtowns of many upstate New York towns. My heart aches seeing all the gorgeous gingerbread houses of the Craftsman era (pre-WW2) calling out for restoration (or at least a paintjob). We pass rows of homes with intricate corbels, kneebraces, soffits, gable ends, porches, widow's walks, and terraces.

Time to turn around for Jim, so after fond farewells, Ellen and I head NE on SR 13. Homer, Truxton, Cuyler and De Ruyter, all with the similar rows of dilapidated homes and boarded up downtowns, pass by us. Rolling farmlands and the Milk MOO-tel. A quick ice cream stop in Sheds (Brindil scores big!) before cruising into the more affluent college town of Cazenovia and ending the day on an upbeat.

Passed 3600 miles.

July 17 Rest in Ithaca

2009-07-17T20:06:00.000-07:00

All agreed that it was time for another "feet up" day, so between naps-all-around and a session of bike maintenance, we talk future bike trips (Jim is formulating some bike adventures for next year) and enjoy a relaxed day in Ithaca. Thank you Jim and Tammy! Hope that "Kitty Kat" is back down from the top of the frig now that Brindil has left.
She thanks him for the tins of food!

July 16 Geneva to Ithaca

2009-07-17T13:37:00.000-07:00

Monica McGowan is not one to let a guest out of her sight without a mega-breakfast, and we were no exception. Wish I could have eaten more but I gotz fulled up! Somewhere in between repairing a flat tire on Ellen's bike and visiting Dan's shop in town, a reporter from the College's Alumni newpaper shows up and we do photos and a brief interview about my trip, perhaps to show what can be done with a Bachelor of Science degree after 30+ years hanging on the wall.
Finally...around noon...more farewells and photos and GT2M reverses course back through Geneva town and around the north end of massive Lake Seneca (one of a half dozen or so deep, glacier carved Finger Lakes of upstate NY). We take Rte. 96A southward, and with a light tailwind find ourselves in rolling farmlands. The sky is high today and warm. In Ovid, we meet Jim Rundle, a longtime friend of Ellen's, who has cycled north from his home in Ithaca to meet us. The China Dragon supplies us with some tasty takeout and we have a fun, lunch round of eat and gab under the shade of the town park's gazebo. Brindil scores a lunch treat from Phyllis, a local senior, who comes quickly across the street with a handfull of raw hamburger meat and tells us each individually that she's "always loved animals, was raised on a farm and thinks that animals are much smarter than people". Who can argue with that?
It's great to see Jim again and he leads us southward on secondary farm roads toward Ithaca, with only a much needed stop at the Interlaken creamery for "you-know-what".With all the jigs and jogs, plus some gravel roads, the afternoon is long and we, at last, descend (and descend!) down 10% grades into the lovely town of Ithaca. We meet up with Tammy, Jim's wife and others for a fast, but fabulous, dinner prepared by Andrea, before carpooling exhausted people, bikes, dog and gear back to the Rundle's home 5 miles south of town.

July 15 The Goose Gauntlet to Camp Hobart

2009-07-17T13:36:00.002-07:00

Chris Brown leads us out of Rochester, along East Avenue past the Eastman House, and thru the SE affluent suburbs, and we must say our farewells at the touristy town of Pittsford, perched right on the canal. It was too short a stay in lovely Rochester! Thank you Chris and Suzanne, and best of luck on the new porches!
It's back to toting bales along the canal cinder path and trying not to run over flocks of insistent Canada Geese along the way as we maneuver thru Fairport, Macedon, Palmyra and to Newark. Today is rather humid, with temps in the low 80s, the skeeters are out (lots of sluggish water around the canal area), but the track is tree lined most of the way. Sticky and sweaty are us and the afternoon wears us down. Some sections have thick, loose sand that stalls progress. There are canal crossings (on bridges) and brief stretches on road to bypass private property. At Newark, we opt to leave the canalway and head south on SR 88 to Phelps, then Rte. 6 to Oaks Corners and Geneva. Now we're talking home turf for me; I attended Hobart College in Geneva from 1975-1981 (somehow it took 6 years to do a 4 year degree!?). Tho Main Street has been repaved, the town is exactly as I remember, and aside from some new buildings and facelift, the college campus raised me some goosebumps as we cycled through! On Rte. 14, just south of town, we reach the lovely Seneca lakefront home of Dan and Monica McGowan, where we'll stay tonite. Dan is a retired Professor of Economics who, ironiclly, I never had as a teacher while a student at Hobart and William Smith Colleges, but met later through friends. The evening is complete when Larry (retired Prof. of Mathematics who I did have as a teacher) and Faye Smolowitz join us for a round of chat and catching up.
The calm lapping of Lake Seneca waters on the shore directly below our bedroom window rocks us easily to sleep (or was it the bottle of South African Merlot that Dan and I split til midnight finishing up the catchup?) My last thought was of Jack, the McGowan's year old Maine Cooncat, doing flips on the kitchen floor amidst his scattered toys.
Ah, it's great to see old friends again! Thank you Geneva, for all the memories!
It was nice to be back. 30 years, wow!

July 14 Fifteen miles on the Erie Canal

2009-07-17T13:36:00.001-07:00

I gotta a hound, her name's Brindal,
Fifteen miles on the Erie Canal.
She's a good ole sleeper and a good ole pal,
Fifteen miles on the Erie Canal.

I've hauled a trailer some miles this day,
Filled with water, food n' Brindal-fay.
And we know every mile of da way,
From Seattle to Buffalo.

Oh low clouds, everybody down,
Low gears, for we're coming to a town.
And you'll always know your route
and you'll always know your gal,
if you've ever bi-cycled
along the Erie Canal!

By 8 am this morning, I gotta squeeze the big toe of my wife to be sure she's still alive;
appears that yesterday's long day was a bit tiring for both of us. Rte 31A is more farmlands, with roads lined with naturalized orange daylillies, blue corn flowers and yellow treefoil. Terrain is just about flat and temperature in the 70's. Just about perfect. We tack south to avoid some traffic and explore the quaint hamlets of East Shelby, West Barre and Barre Centre, then back on 31A thru Clarendon and to a Friendly's for lunch in Sweden. (Both Ellen and I remember Friendlys restaurants from our NY days, only this time Ellen qualifys for the free hot fudge sundae as a Senior!!)
In Spencerport, we find the Erie Canal bike trail, and like a hounddog on a mission, we happily and determinedly strike eastward. The track is a mix of some pavement, but is mostly hard cinder, which is very cycleable with our road bikes at 10 mph. The track is dedicated to pedestrians and bicycles and parallels the canal just a few feet away. Small towns en route, at one time hubs of activity and commerce, have seen their flames once again relit by the restoration of traffic, albeit touristic. Chris and Suzanne Brown, friends of Ellen's and our gracious hosts for tonite, direct us into Rochester along the canalway and we reach their lovely 1910 Victorian Craftsman house by 6:30 pm.
Ellen, Chris and Suzanne disappear off to partake in musical events, leaving me to finish up the homebrew beer, and search out the neighborhood for ice cream, (which I do find, BTW...)
Ellen has brought me out my pocket trumpet, so I had the (dis)pleasure of trying to blow a few notes after 8+ weeks. Ouch, glad noone was around!

July 13 The Falls at Niagra

2009-07-17T13:35:00.000-07:00

So now the expedition party is three>> Ellen and I, and the family dog. And we are off to Niagra Falls, where I haven't been in nearly 30 years! And today is our 19th anniversary! (I went to college at Hobart College in nearby Geneva, so I know upstate New York well, tho 30 years does cloud things). We say farewell to Jeri Jaeger and her family in East Amherst and fold ourselves into the morning commute over to the University of Buffalo campus, where we pick up another good bike trail through campus to the Niagra River. There sure are a lot of Canada Geese on this route! And a slimy trail they make! Over the I-190 bridge and onto then off of Grand Island, then a turn westward out toward the rising cloud of mist and the destination spot for so many tourists each year.
As it approaches the famous drop, the blue Niagra River starts to churn with energy as the otherwise gentle grade gradually steepens. There appear many "Boats prohibited beyond this point" signs. One can feel the impending energy as the gallons of whitewater reach, then plunge over the rocks and disappear below. There are two sets of falls: the American and the Horseshoe, which I believe the Canadians claim. Canada has an elaborate and overwhelming buildup on their side of the river, and no doubt the straight on view is glorious. Gawking tourists are everywhere, jockeying for the best places to get those special photo album pix. When 2 Indian fellows got in our "perfect" line of sight with the falls, I courteously asked them if they wouldn't mind taking our "anniversary" picture, whereupon we grabbed their perch and the deed was accomplished. For a brief and dreamy moment, I looked about for the "one time use" barrel store, but didn't see one. Lunch calls and we find some delish red-hot Indian Thali dishes before heading out.
The town of Niagra Falls, outside the 5* hotels and fine eateries of the actual falls, is quite depressed and impoverished, and our route east took us thru some of the worst. Another place where one does not want a flat, tho a stretch where the shoulders were full of glass and debris. We meet a young lady and help her get the chain back on her bike. Out SR 62 a few miles trying to outrace the heavy truck traffic before turning NE and into the corn fields and flatness, where, even after 10 more miles, we are still in quite a heavy rush hour. Seems that we have spent all day riding around Buffalo and are still quite close to its suburbs. On Rte. 31, we pass Lockport, Royalton and Shelby, for a soft serve ice cream break. (NY state must have the most soft serve ice cream joints in the country, and memories of my youth are happily reinstated.)
We finally make Medina, a simple crossroads town en route to Rochester, after 73 miles, and the Dollinger's Motel. Ellen's first day on the road has proven to be a long one!
And she did great!
Pass 3400 miles today.

July 12 Reorg in Buffalo

2009-07-17T13:34:00.000-07:00

Today is a fine opportunity for all concerned to rest and reorganize. Ellen from her redeye flight the day before, me from the sprint across Ontario and for Ellen's bike, which needed reassembly after a night in the box. Since tomorrow is the 19th anniversary of our wedding date, we'll head northwest to Niagra Falls to celebrate. Then eastward to New England!

July 11 The Ralfs reunited

2009-07-12T17:34:00.001-07:00

Day3 of Ontario today. The sameness of terrain and farmlands is wearing, but in a good way. County road 3 brings me past an enormous US Steel facility along Lake Erie, then to Nanticoke and into Selkirk for breakfast and trip story telling. As I gab with the GOBs over waffles and scrambled eggs, the weather deteriorates, low grey clouds get lower and the 30% chance of rain becomes 100%. Everyone inside the cafe is simultaneously concerned with the dog sleeping outside on the green sleeping bag who is getting soaked by the downpour, so I close up talk shop and hastily finish up my grub. Donning wet weather garb, we slide east.
Rainham Centre, South Cayuga and then to Byng. The (nice) shopkeeper in Byng mentions a paved biketrail from Pt. Colburne all the way to the Peace Bridge into Buffalo. What a boom, since Buffalo will be the largest city on my trip and bike trails are a cyclist's dream, especially into and out of congested urban areas. It's south to Lake Erie at Lowbanks and past waterfront cottages and breakwater towns that have replaced the ag fields of further west. My wife Ellen, has just landed with her bicycle at Buffalo airport. Drizzle now instead of rain. Thru Long Beach and Burnaby and into Pt. Colburne where some (nice) lads direct me to the aforementioned biketrail, and it's a beaut... 20 miles of smooth, paved trail flanked by sumac, wild sweet peas and ash trees. The only interruption of the afternoon was another flat rear tire. I trade email addresses with Nelson, a young Portugese cyclist with cross-country plans. Just past Fort Erie appears the spectacular skyline of Buffalo, NY across the Niagra River and just beyond that, the Peace Bridge.
My energy is waning faster than the day as I cross the windy international border at mid-span of the Peace Bridge and I am soon through immigration and back in the USA sucking down a large choco-shake at BurgerKing. Ellen and her friend Jeri Jaeger are en route! Jeri is a linguist and Divisional Dean at the University of Buffalo and is graciously hosting Ellen and I tonite. I give in to all weaknesses of the flesh and decide to forego the 20 miles of intercity byways across Buffalo and have a delicious Korean dinner with 4 linguists instead.
The Ralfs (Ellen and I) are reunited and tomorrow we'll prep for the last leg of my trip.

July 10 Strathroy to Simcoe

2009-07-12T17:33:00.001-07:00

Day2 crossing Ontario's bread basket of corn, wheat and soy runs me symmetriclly eastward on a gridwork of country roads. Coffee in Mt. Brydges is excellent. We pass Delaware and Belmont. A curious, but persistent male husky gives chase for half a mile before giving up. He was not threatening, tho one never knows, even in courteous, (nice) Canada. Brindil didn't even look up from her mid-day nap.
Disaster strikes as I look back at the Bumbleberry (Canadian for "Fruits of the Forest") pie I had carefully placed in the trailer and see Brindil standing in it!! See, it was too juicy and heavy for the designated pie-neir bag, so I had set it ever-so-gently in the trailer next to B. Dimbo move. Time to stop and eat what is left in it's jumbled, bumbled condition. Fred and Sarah cycle up and, for some reason, decline my offer to join me for pie... We chat about future bicycle trips and they are now on a shakedown trip, in prep for a West Virginia adventure later this summer. East through Avon and Ostrander. Endless fields of crops. Kinda muggy. Ice cream in Springford, where a chubby Canuk lad of 12 says he would be "so bored" on a long cycle trip. I wonder how exciting a life in a tiny farming community in southern Ontario would compare, eh?
We push thru Otterville, then down to Delhi and busy Rte. 3. Slam a Coke, then hammer the last 10 miles down to Simcoe. Even though the Queensway Motor Inn is a bit drab, I pretend I am royalty amidst the stained carpet and peeling paint. Then on goes the Tour de France for more dreaming...
I see the wife tomorrow. My first date in 2 months...

July 9 O On-TAR-i-o...

2009-07-12T17:28:00.000-07:00

Big fog surrounds me out of Imlay City, as we head east on M-21 on poor road surface and visibility 50'. This must be an alt truck route as well, cuz every few minutes a big one emerges out of the mist in front and roars by or surprises me from behind. But the fog soon dissolves and the shoulder widens and we pass thru farmlands of Capac, Emmett and Wadhams (So who is in charge of naming all these towns, the same crafty fellow who does paint colors or Crayola crayons?)
I catch up with Fred, riding his onespeed, homemade bicycle, en route to a church meeting, just outside Pt. Huron. In the plastic milkcrate attached to his handlebars is the too-cute 6 week old pup, Angel of my Dreams, who is contentedly munching his leash with puppy pinteeth. Angel is all black: half Black Lab and half Jack Russell terrier, and would be the angel of anyone's dreams. Despite the warnings of the nice policelady from North Branch about Pt. Huron, and Fred's statement that it is "a little Detroit", I agree to run the convenient and scenic bike path into town to pick up the Blue Water bridge into Ontario, and tho rundown and depressing, the tire gods did not strike me down with flats and I was soon on the ramp under the sign "Bridge to Canada".
As on the Mackinac Bridge on the upper peninsula, I am not permitted to cycle or walk the 2 mile Blue Water Bridge over to Sarnia, Ontario. The VIP pickup truck is summoned and we enter Canada the easy way, and even bypass the 40 car lineup at immigration via some special wormhole. The nice Canadian immigrationlady was more interested in cooing over Brindil than looking at docs and I happily turn my back on the chaos and frustration that is a post-9/11 border crossing and look for a $ exchange and Ontario map. The nice Michigan Bridge Authority lady who drove me over mentioned that in her 21 years of working the bridge, Brindil and I were the FIRST dog with biker pair that she had met. The nice Canadian moneychangerwoman tipped our new currency with a can of milkbonz and the two nice ladies working the Tourist Info Center wanted to see my dog and rig, which I assumed meant Brindil and my bicycle, tho one never knows in a different country...
Wow, it was true! All my predictions about Canada were correct. Sarnia was immaculate and properly ordered, with helpful persons and courteous traffic. I have a free, detailed roadmap in hand, $100 CAD jingling in my pocket, a province full of (nice) doglovers in front of me, and in a few minutes, a cup of tasty java in the system... Too good!
We cycle eastward on Rte. 22 thru corn and soybean fields and past farms just aready for postcards. A slight jog over to lesser travelled Rte. 39. I cross paths with Bess, a solo cyclist doing a cross-Canada journey, and the first woman I have met. She started in St. Johns, New Brunswick and was heading for Nelson, BC. and she was one of the most upbeat travellers I have ever met. Safe travels to you, Bess! More flat miles through Watford, Kerwood and finally to Strathroy's one Motor Inn after a fun, yet diverse, 83 miles. A NICE first day in Canada.

July 8 Waylay in Imlay City

2009-07-08T12:52:00.000-07:00

We'll rest up today for the upcoming push across Ontario. Besides the usual day off stuff, we prepared ourselves psychologically for crossing the border by drinking Labatts and Molsons at pre-beers hour, plus started considering the crazy idea of people (with health care) in proper ques, fences all mended and straight rowed surrounding immaculate farms, good coffee served in Tim Horton's (almost as frequent as Starbucks), and courteous drivers on superclean streets measured in clicks (kilometers)...
Contrast is good, change is good. We shall see.

July 7 AAA Marc

2009-07-08T12:40:00.001-07:00

Indecision reigns until 10 am this morning, when I decide to leave Bay City. I had accidently reversed the orientation of my rear tire yesterday in the late afternoon repair, so I needed to switch it back this morning. Plus email. Plus blogwork. (Let's forget to mention the late night coverage of the Tour de France). It's getting harder to rise and shine early these days!

At last I get moving through a series of in-city construction zones, but with a hopefull breeze at my back, I head SE on SR 15. Soon, we reach a biketrail crossing, but after inquiring at a nearby car service center, find that we are at the southern terminus of a gorgeous local loop trail. Oh well... It's off into the farmland. Today, we'll try to keep off the secondary roads that are major truck routes, as the shoulders, tho consistent, are only 24' wide and the semis persistent.

First a jog east thru Munger and Gifford and to quaint and quiet Fairgrove for a quick lunch at Angie's Place, where all the locals, chowing on big burgers, were all "ears" as my story unwinds over soup and salad. I guess after you have cycled 3000+ miles, it is easy to gather an audience. I appreciate the attention in spite of my stained garb and smelly essence and blab on and on. Out of town, I take a wrong turn and end up on busy SR 24, heading into Caro after a few miles, but quickly find my way back to small roads. (My map indicates many tertiary roads without names or numbers, thus I am relying on conferring with locals and, as we know, such info is often worth the cost.) Jog east 5 miles, then 7 miles due south for an ice cream stop in Silverwood (I highly recommend the Mackinaw Island Chunky Vanilla), then east 2 miles, then 6 miles south to North Branch. There, a helpfull policewoman tells me to avoid south Port Huron and that the reason the hotels in Yale and Peck didnot answer their phone by day is that they specialized in "hot sheets" rentals. The fun aspects of approaching a border crossing!

My rear tire, with it's patched tube, is slowly losing air, and after 3 stops to pump it up, I decide to replace it with my other (patched) tube. As I do the roadside repair, a small blue car pulls up and a smiling face pops out the window, asking "Do you have everything?". This is a standard question one cyclist will ask another cyclist upon encountering, since it is often the case that one doesnot have everything. And indeed I was short one floor pump. And indeed, this is exactly what Marc Smielewski had with him! Marc, an avid mountain biker, lives closeby and was heading home after a ride with friends. We progressed into a lively 45 minute chat and finally, at 7 pm, I needed to ride on before losing the daylight and Marc had to get home to cut his lawn. Cheers to you Marc for the help today! I really enjoyed meeting you! (and it was great to run on fully inflated tires!)

It's quickly thru Lum and finally into Imlay City (after 83 miles), amidst a very pretty sunset.

Dinner is some fine salad, bread, Cajun salmon, and Labatts at Lucky's across from my Super-Duper8 motel while B-hound snoozes in the bed of petunias outside...

July 6 Brindil bites back

2009-07-06T20:00:00.002-07:00

For some odd reason this morning, the motel brew-your-own coffee was very tasty and I drank 3 big cups, plus the rest of an old Pepsi (and skipped breakfast). I guess the wheels were not completely on the ground for the 18 miles to Rose City from the caffeine OD, and I did not stop until I hit an oddly located chunk of curb in town and tumbled from my bike. Luckily, I was able to unclip my right foot from the pedal and only looked stupid in landing on the pavement.

"Yes, here arrives the jacked up Seattle-ite!! Look at his grace and style!"

Better eat, Gary. Details, details... After lunch, I groggily push up and down light hills, along with the remainder of the holiday traffic. Pretty pooped from yesterday. An apple tree provides shade for a 45 minute nap. Still light-headed. Head south on small roads past Skidway Lake, as we return to ag fields near Sterling. Continual traffic into Standish. From Standish to Bay City is a nightmare. Stuck on a narrow shoulder between a rumblestrip and gravel, alternately rumbling me senseless or dragging through gravel. Get a 1" nail in the rear tire near Pinconning that pierces tire and both sides of the tube. Roadside repair. Brindil insists on standing as trucks and traffic pour by 3 feet off my elbow.

I stop and tell Brindil to sit in the cart. She sits for 1/2 mile, then stands again. We stop again. She stands up again. I try to tell her that it is for her safety that she sit. No luck. She's up again. We stop again. As I reach down to make her sit, the queen BITES me! I can't remember that happening before. Now I can feel the frustration of the day all around me. The kids are fighting. Finally, I have to pull down the front net on the cart and close her in, for her own safety. I know it's hot, but it's the only way.

"Ha, ha, ha", I hear her say, "I'll get you back for this!"

"You can always walk, my ingrate", I reply.

We push on, counting miles.

At long last SR 13 splits away from the southbound traffic, and the last few miles into Bay City are easier. At the Fairfield Motel, I crack a jigger of Jack Daniels to celebrate passing 3000 miles today, then go eat lots and lots, washed down by two grande margaritas.

Decompression therapy needed.

This has been a long holiday weekend for the lone biker!

July 5 Oh Meo Mio...

2009-07-06T20:00:00.001-07:00

The Mackinac Bridge... What a gorgeous structure!
Five miles long, separating the upper and lower peninsulas of Michigan, with center standards over 500' high, and thousands of feet of cable. To my west is Lake Michigan, to the east, Lake Huron. After paying $2 ( a pittance), the pickup truck escort service arrives and within minutes we are across the isthmus to Mackinac City. (From here, one can take a ferry to non-motorized Mackinaw Island, highly recommended for the romantic destination vacation).

Once on the lower peninsula, it's SE to Cheboygan, past Black Lake then to Onaway. Next to an iron fabrication plant are the evidence of hours of dedicated effort: 10 foot high busts of Lady Liberty, Abe Lincoln and George Washington, creatively formed from welded steel and cable and painted brilliantly. I chose the Lady to sit under while munching my Subway footlong (still $5!) Heading south, I meet Larry Erickson just north of Atlanta. Larry, out on a 300 mile cycle ride, lives in Vermont now, but is originally from Michigan. More hot miles (sun's back out today) south on SR 33, through some hills near Comins, then on tired legs into Mio and the Pinewood Motel. I didn't add up all the short legs of today's ride til after and it turns out to have been a 110 mile day.

Restaurants are all closed by now, so it's a can of chili, a can of cream corn and quick night... (except for the Tour de France, of course...)

4th of July Pasties in St. Ignace

2009-07-06T19:58:00.000-07:00

You know you've been "on holiday" too long when you watch both 'The Terminator' and 'Rambo' movies til way late in the morning, wake up rubbing your red eyes looking at an empty 40 oz. beer bottle and half-eaten bag of licorice on the bedside table. But, national birthdays wait for noone, not even tired bikers...

Today was 90 more miles of very scenic Rte. 2, most under ideal weather conditions, from Manistique to St. Ignace, which concluded my tour of the upper peninsula (UP) of Michigan. But I was not alone: traffic was double from yesterday, and the constant whir and whistle in my left year wore down my patience by days end. Bad thoughts came into my head. I swore and practised what my friend Jerry taught me "Bad air out, good air in"... In huge numbers on the roadway today were fire trucks, doing double duty as parade participants and late night wardens of firework displays.

Seems that the Cornish miners, when they settled the UP in the 1800s from the Cornwall area of the United Kingdom, brought with them the pasty (pass-tee), a dough wrapped meat and potato meal-in-one, and this traditional meal spread throughout the region and down to today. In fact the roads are lined with Pasty shops. So tonite's in-motel dinner consists of 2 large pasties with coleslaw and pickle, washed down with 2 Fosters Ales, and finished off with 5 choco-chip cookies (comps from the Quality Inn's staff), all the while being entertained by time trials of the Tour de France. (I have had occasion of late, as I cycle all alone across some long expanse of road, to dream of being on a solo breakaway... You know, a guy thing...)

With my senses overloaded from today's events and the pleasure gland satiated, we forego the fireworks event in town and opt for some actual sleep. Happy birthday, USA!!!

July 3 Hello Lake Michigan!

2009-07-06T19:57:00.002-07:00

Glad to be leaving Escanada! What a dirty hole! I struggle along littered shoulders, weaving thru wood chips and bark from logging trucks, piles of sand, and the usual roadside litter of an unmaintained highway. After Gladstone, we at last leave the mess and return to green conifer forests and cattail swamps. It's Jack's Cafe in Rapid River where I can finally relax into a Friday lunch, and the egg and hashbrown wrap narrowly beats the pie down the calorie chute.

From the cyclist's perspective, the whole world is gearing for this holiday weekend. Every other vehicle is a giant, gleeming pickup truck, with half of them pulling trailers holding dirt bikes, ATVs and jet skis. Giant RVs and airstream RV trailers zoom past, all dileriously pedal-to-the-metalling to get to a long sought vacation spot before the other. Cars and vans are packed to the windows with bags and kids. And one lone biker with a geriatric dog tries to tune it all out.

Then around the corner, at Big Bay de Noc, comes the blue expanse of Lake Michigan! It may as well be an ocean; it goes forever south, hundreds of miles in fact. The sun is warm, not hot. The lake just shimmers in a deep, inviting blue. We pass thru Garden Corners, Thompson and into beautiful Manistique, perched on the shore, where we will stop tonite after a short 56 mile day. The Colonial Motel is very clean and it's easy to settle in after last night's dump. Plus, there is an ice cream shed just 100 yards away and I find the energy to visit there twice this evening. Dinner at a local family place is Whitefish (a plain tasting, but delicious deep water fish from Lake Superior).

A stroll along the 2.5 mile boardwalk provides a relaxing finish to the day.

Where are all the advertised blooms of misquitos, I wonder?

July 2 Swedish Pancakes

2009-07-06T19:57:00.001-07:00

Under grey skies, we're out of Iron River on Rte. 2 and heading SE after a recuperative 36 hour furlow. Lower legs are slightly swollen again, which seems to have become a regular side effect of the strenuous activity, diet and otherwise odd extremes of this lifestyle. Makes me look like the locals. Lots of truck traffic accompanys me into Crystal Falls, a stately community with traditional brick downtown and American flags galore. I pass Sagola thru mixed farmland and forests, before turning off the main in favor of lesser travelled SR 69. What follows is 50 miles of happy riding; low traffic volume, comfy tailwind and ample shoulder... all the way til I rejoin SR 2 into Escanaba. In Foster City, I meet Chris Knoeller, an English professor from Purdue, who is out on a month-long bicycle tour around the Great Lakes. We enjoy lunch and chat at a Swedish Pancake house.

Escanaba arrives at 7:15 pm after 94 miles, and I could not figure out the hour loss til I was reminded that I had slipped into Eastern Standard Time just 10 miles west. The Eagles Rest Motel is close to the worst overnight accomodation I have stayed in on this trip: rundown, dumpy and dingey and on the eastern outskirts of town, such that I need to walk a mile just to find a can of dogfood and some bad restaurant food (but not a camel). The town was no better: a dusty, dirty chain of boxstores and fastfood, cleaved by always busy SR 2 and its steady flow of semi trucks and increasing holiday traffic.

Oh well, so the town is ugly, the motel is a dump and dinner was a letdown. At least I don't live here...

Wish I could have found a beer or three...

Passed 2600 miles this morning amidst all that happy riding!

July 1 A Rest for the Iron Goat

2009-07-01T23:45:00.000-07:00

After 600+ miles in the last week, we rest today in Iron River, Michigan. The grey skies and 60 degree temps continue, tho I hear that fairer weather is a comin'. And I hear the tomatoes are flourishing back home in Seattle right now! Have to make some plans and reservations for the 4th weekend ahead and be sure I get myself to Buffalo by the 11th, cuz I have a date!
I've pedalled nearly 2600 miles with a smelly dog; what a guy will do for a kiss...

June 30 To the limit

2009-07-01T10:00:00.000-07:00

Dear Mom,
As I write from cycling summer camp, I wanted to tell you thanks for all the good advice you gave me growing up. Stuff like "Always clean your plate" and "Whatever is worth doing, is even better in excess". I'll always remember you telling me I was never really happy unless I was slightly uncomfortable. And thanks for that first bike, you remember the StingRay with one gear and the gold leaf seat? Look what it's led to!
Your type "A" son Gary

Last night, the nice librarian at the Park Falls Public Library told me of a big construction project on SR 70 east of town that I surely wanted to miss, and in fact traffic was being rerouted north in part. This was going to be a long day! In a gentle misty rain, I head further north along SR 182 up to Manitowish before starting the long tour of county roads eastward, truly in nowhere's-ville lake country for 70+ miles (that's 5" of my map!), taking me thru such hamlets as Boulder Junction, Star Lake, Conover, Phelps and Nelma. All very isolated, all very beautiful in their greenery, all very wet in their veil of mist. At times today I felt like the broccoli in the QFC produce department getting the hourly dampening. The communities were diverse: Boulder Junction was a "Looky Lou"tourist destination with an arts and crafts market and many SUVs scurrying about, Star Lake had a good share of trophy homes sitting proudly on secluded lakes separated by a roller coaster of small hills, Conover was a trailer park, Phelps' downtown was a complete mud puddle while undergoing replacement of all its roads and I don't remember Nelma because I was too tired.
At long last after 12 hours, I reach the main road again and run the last few miles to the Michigan border. I am SO damp from the on and off rain and from sweating all day, and SO tired. It was SO nice to see the AmericInn sign in Iron River that I almost forgot everything else. That is, til I saw that my tripmeter said 120 miles today!!
Dinner was enormous and washed down with an entire bottle of a fine Pinot Noire. And yes Mom, I cleaned my plate, cycled and ate to excess and was uncomfortably happy all day...
Love you and thanks. You are here with me...

June 29 FOR SALE

2009-06-29T16:55:00.002-07:00

4:55 am arrives way too soon; it's grey skies again and the west wind is still blowing. More free miles ahead! Since coming north from the St. Croix River, the ag fields have been replaced by mixed deciduous forests (a combination of deciduous trees: maples, oaks, sumacs, ashes, aspens and conifers: firs, pines and larches) It's an outdoorsperson's playground up here in the northwoods of Wisconsin with all the lakes and trails. I opt for small county roads today to get me into the heart of lake country and pass thru the Lac Courte Oreilles Indian Reservation (could this be the Cut Ear Reservation?) The roads are lined with orange Hawkweed, white Daisies, yellow Buttercups, pink Clover, and purple Lupines. It's also very economically depressed up here with many boardups, closed businesses and properties for sale.

By afternoon, and in need of a refreshment, I unfortuneately choose to stop at the Draper Tavern. Inside this tiny, dimly lit and dilapidated structure, I find 6 chain-smoking barflies and one smiling bartender, all blabbing away at 1:40 pm about some tourist out on the road replacing a tire on his boat trailer that had just exploded, littering the road with tire rubber. Having just plowed my way through the same tire parts littering "my" shoulder, I had an inroad into this rediculous group conversation, so I didn't have to drink my Coke alone. More awkwardly (you gotta picture one fit-as-heck biker in tight nylon amongst 7 doughy, ugly rednecks in dirty bluejeans) the conversation turned to my trip, why I would want to do such a thing and how I could afford the time and $$ involved. Let's just say that I did not say what I wanted to say, which was something like "what are all you unmotivated losers doing wasting an entire afternoon talking about absolutely nothing, all the while smoking yourselves to death". I believe the 30 minute adventure into the "other side" ended for me with the line "let us all have the freedom to chase our obsessions", and I was off down the road faster than you can say "see ya later Draper"!
But depression has its rewards and the Mason Motel in Park Falls, at $32 for the night, proves to be a neat, clean deal. Plus I found a marked down apple pie at the one grocery store, with crumble topping, for $2.50 to go in the pie panier, you know, just in case...Plus the library was open late and so this blog lives on...

June 28 New Friends

2009-06-29T16:55:00.001-07:00

Early to bed, early to rise, gets a cyclist across the bridge into Wisconsin and to the St. Croix Cafe in time for the #3 B'fast combo early bird special. (I never was very good at poetry). At the cafe, I ask about the Gandy Dancer bike path out of town and, after much discussion among the locals, a concensus is reached that it is "up the hill". They are indeed correct and I soon find myself grinding slowly along a flat, cinder track, another example of a "rails to trails" project. A local dog walker tells me of a black bear cub he just saw. Soon after that, I meet Chris and Katie from Tucson, visiting family members who live nearby, and we decide to meet up again in 20 miles for lunch in Frederic. Though the bike path continued north, I jump onto parallel SR 35 and whiz north to meet my new friends. Lunch and chats in the Frederic Bakery follow, and we are joined by Mark, Katie's brother from Poland. Thank you, Chris and Katie for the lunch treat and all the photos! Was great to spend some time together!
At Siren, we turn east, and with the help of the continued westerly wind, reach Spooner directly after an easy 71 miles. As a Subway vege-sub slides down the sandwich hole, washed down by a 24 oz. Miller (in a can), I think about all the wonderfully friendly and giving people I have met, especially in the last few days. You have really made the trip for me!!!

June 27 Taylor Falls on the Ste.Croix River

2009-06-29T16:54:00.000-07:00

It's always a treat to cycle out of a city early in the morning, beating all that traffic you had to fight through the afternoon before when entering. The remains of last night's rain lay in puddles in St. Cloud and the skies are grey with temps in the 60s, another big change from yesterday. A convenient westerly breeze, and I know what to do with that>> sit up tall and straight and float! SR 95 eastward takes us through Duelm, Glendorado, Princeton, Pinebrook, and to Cambridge for lunch, passing more corn and soybean fields, broken only by the occasional small lake and cattail wetland. A bald eagle and young doe look up as I whiz by. The pecan pie slowly disappears as the miles add. I happen upon a bike store in Cambridge and pick up new rear flasher lights and chain lube.
Just east, I meet Raymond and Bryanda, who are heading north to canoe, along the road at a route detour and we get in a serious 40 minute chat, specifcally about declining local animal life in Minnesota, and in general about how disconnected many people are from their environment. On the latter topic, I am in complete agreement; so much reliance on mechanization and power engines, and very little use of the human body, in recreation and in work. I have never seen so many riding lawnmowers as I have seen in Minnesota. Monstrous power boats are hauled long distances to fish small lakes. Bus size RVs pull SUVs which pull more power boats, with a shiny, unused bicycle hanging uselessly on back. Underexercised men in oversized pickup trucks, hauling ATVs, fly by me all day long. On and on, disconnected from their bodies, disconnected from their land. What madness, what desperation!
In a small measure of redemption, and while all vehicular traffic is diverted, I am allowed to run some 6 miles of newly rolled, unlined pavement, and like the proud hound in his master's pickup truk, I ride right down the middle of the smooth, black expanse all alone. Hee-Haw! Taylor Falls on the St. Croix River is reached at 4:30, but not, of course, before the daily choco-redemption-shake. The Pines Motel sits neatly next to the river in this quaint, slightly touristic town. Taylor Falls was an important and strategic stopping point for upriver barges in the late 1800s, and the place where overland travel started in the area due to the upstream rapids. Today the rapids still exist but a hydroelectric dam has been built upstream.
Feeling the heat and the cumulative miles of the last few days, dinner is foregone and Im asleep at 7:30 pm. Passed 2300 miles today.

June 26 Prairie Porches and Pecan Pie

2009-06-29T16:53:00.002-07:00

Sun's hot early today, and I'm off in a T-shirt at 7 am (normally T-shirt time is 9 am). Early fishermen wandering around Starbuck with bait pails at the ready. Take SR 55 southeast into a breeze thru Sedan and to Brooten, where I NEED to stop and eat. I happen into the Prairie Porches Cafe, and upon entering this quaintly adorned (reminds me of my Granny's kitchen) and fine aroma-ed (what's that- good coffee?), there are 2 ladies in the kitchen doing the final spicing on vats of potato salad and macaroni salad. "Can I have a taste?" , I blurted out. Well, sampling turns into bowls of and then into lunch (crabmeat on croissant with rhubarb cobbler) and then into 2 hours of across-the-board, good-natured chatting with proprieter Debbie P , all washed down with 3 cups of soul rejuvenating (yes, good) coffee. Debbie has lived locally for 18 years, and we talked of many things as if we were longtime friends; associations with disfunctional friends, the struggling local economy from undercutting by "bigbox" stores, our rural childhoods, and international struggles about which we have strong opinions yet feel helpless to affect.

Well, it's 12:30, getting hot and I need to move on. Thank you, Debbie, for the very enjoyable visit. It's folks like you that have made this trip wonderfull. And thank you for lunch! 7 miles later in Belgrade, The Red Onion Ice Cream stand stops me and forces me to down a choco shake. As I turn NE on SR 23 in Paynesville, I spy a lovely table of homemade baked goods being (wo)manned by Neva Miller. Unfortuneately, she only has whole pies, thus I am forced to purchase an entire pecan pie and devour half as we chat. (I now firmly believe that every long distance biker needs to keep an emergency fruit pie in one panier (or would that be pie-nier?)

It's gotta be 90 degrees by now as I pass thru Roscoe and stop at Cold Springs. The weekend traffic is building as I approach St. Cloud. As I down a (sodium free) Gatorade outside a convenience store, Dan, a local carpenter taking his family of 10 (!) out to a friend's farm for the weekend, strolls over and we shoptalk and triptalk a bit and he wishes me luck. As we part, I think I hear another person yearning to ride a bike on such a journey someday. At least he would have many options for persons to drive the sagwag!

To avoid traffic, we take the quieter Rte. 2 north to St. Joseph before the final sprint on SR 75 into busy St. Cloud. A handfull of grapes save me from "bonking" and the (big green, neon fish) logo of Super8 (they have now employed me for direct endorsing) welcomes me.
Hot day today!
Ankles shrinking!

June 25 Super Swell Me

2009-06-29T16:53:00.001-07:00

Whoa! My lower legs are swollen up and look horrible. What's the deal?

A quick call to the Group Health Consulting Nurse makes us stop and think about...my diet! Turns out that I have been exceeding the 2400 mg of recommended daily sodium intake (and by a wide margin) of late, resulting in fluid retention. What do you mean I can't eat french fries and chips, and salty, processed foods all day, washed down with half a dozen soft drinks??? Just because that's all the food I've encountered for the last 1000 miles...

Well, I can still push down the pedals painfree, so in the still early morning air, we cross the last few miles of South Dakota and enter Minnesota at Browns Valley. Some sort of platting symmetry is in effect here and every 7 miles we reach a town>> Beardsley, Barry, Graceville, Johnson, Chokio, Alberta, Cyrus, and finally Morris (for a quick pizza (14", low sodium version, of course!) and 3 lemonades. A gleaming metal complex of grain silos provides some midday relief from the hot sun. About all I remember about this stretch is that, in the morning, the corn was on the right and the soybeans on the left. The next time I noticed, the soybeans were on my right and the corn on my left. Attention to this sort of trip detail is vital; I can just imagine awakening from a lunchtime nap and heading off in the wrong direction. I also noticed that the white pelicans were on the right in the afternoon... Sure is hot....
Brindil and I have coordinated our breathing during these hot afternoon finishes, and we pant together the 20 final miles into Starbuck, a simple resort town, popular for lake fishing, and full of people walking around with bait pails and Supersized Biggulps. I claim our spot at the Cedar Inn and right down the road, claim my Choco-Blizzard (sodium free) at the convenient DQ. And no, there was no coffee shop in Starbuck (I know you were wondering) but the town does claim about every other ammenity, according to the enormous list of international symbols posted on the welcome billboard. The nurse told me to put my feet up, so I think I will (for about 10 hours...

PS The song lyric from yesterday was from 'Wooden Ships" by Crosby, Stills, and Nash circa 1970. Anyone get it?

June 24 YES, We have NO vinegar

2009-06-29T16:52:00.000-07:00

So hard to leave the palacial Comfort Inn...

But there is a fair wind blowing warm out of the west over my shoulder, guess I'll set a course and go... (who can name the tune from which this line was stolen?? Answer revealed tomorrow)

Under greying skies, after cruising the 18 miles of cornfields to Groton on SR 12, we get off the main and jog north, then back east thru tiny Pierpont to Roslyn. Some scary and scaly, grey and engulfing cloud formations seem to be moving in from the south. Some light rain. Clouds separate, sun peeks and then recedes, then more odd formations above me. I keep looking around (sorta hoping, sorta not daring to hope) to catch a funnel on film. You know, one of those "Look mom, no brain; I got to watch a tornado come at me. I'll just lie in this here ditch while the cows and houses blow over; it'll make a great story at the Wedgewood Broiler!"
But no luck; I made it to Roslyn just fine.

Now, I did notice on my roadmap that Roslyn is the home of the (popular!) International Vinegar Museum, so I had to put it high on the morning's stopslist. I was in a bit of a pickle timewise, but what the heck. Three Senior Sitizens on a front porch in town directed me to the appropriate address and concluded with "Hope you didn't come all this way just to go to the museum!". And I assured them that I had INDEED.
Unfortunately, museum days were Thursday- Saturday and today was Wenzday. Dejectedly, I settled for a photo of the doorway and lunch across the street at Jim's Cafe. The meal was nothing special, but oddly, when I asked (naturally, I thought) for oil and vinegar dressing for my salad, I was told that they didn't have any vinegar! I thought best to not press the issue...
Pushing northward under more grey skies, I reach the crossroads town of Eden under deteriorating conditions, then go east toward the Buffalo Lakes. The expected cloudburst, accompanied by a driving south wind, chase me under a large, lime green road grading machine for 20 minutes til skies clear again. Squirming around under the belly of the beast got grease and oil all over my otherwise spotless cycling wear. (Black grease shows well on flourescent yellow, my friends...Oh well, another step lower on the sartorial scale.) The Buffalo Lakes are little blue gems, but are surrounded by rows of abandoned and dilapidated cabins and the remnants of a onetime quaint resort, and the only sign of life appears to be orange-spotted turtles trying to cross the road. (I did usher a few along for fear for their lives). Back on busy SR 10, I finish the last 10 miles into Sissento into a nasty, dark grey cloud and another soaking rain. But there is still spirit alive to stop at DQ for a large choco-choco chunk blizzard before reaching the Super8 Motel dujour.

40 days and 40 nights, isn't something special supposed to happen now?
I entered Roberts County, South Dakota and passed 2000 miles today.
Guess we've reached the Promised Land.

June 23 Midterm Report

2009-06-23T07:42:00.000-07:00

Day off at the plush Comfort Inn here in Aberdeen. I declare that the halfway point of this odyssey has been reached. Blogging, sleeping, eating, chain cleaning and route planning happened today. Self assess as follows>>>

Bike>> My Kona Sutra cycle has held up very well. Is comfortable and stable. One flat tire.

Trailer>> The Burley trailer has also held up well (should ask Brindil regarding comfort). Two flats, but none since I switched inner tubes. Tracks very well.

Weather>> Until yesterday, the hottest day was May 22nd in Walla, Walla! Trip has been coolish, with only the one rainy stretch as I crossed the Rockies. Hot and Humid Are Us as we approach July and the upper midwest. Can't wait to outrun the skeeters...

Brindil>> Uncomplaining and faithfull. Loves to stand in the cart, esp. when the wind is in her face (aka a nasty headwind). Has not had an "accident" in a motel (yet)! My gal Sal...

Me>> I started off very unsure that I could manage the physical demands of this trip, given all the nagging injuries I deal with regularly. But at halfway, I am more reassured and confident. I still see the beauty, find the humour and am amazed by the enormosity and grandeur I am passing through. The legs are no longer exhausted after the cycling day, as opposed to the first weeks when I felt wiped out. The bionic right wrist is strong, I think I'll have some hardware installed in the left; it's been a bit tingly at times. The sit muscle continues to be my limiting factor and brings new meaning to the term "sit tight"! The chaffing and irritation can be controlled by deliberate and frequent "butter and flour" sessions. (You figure it out.)

I eagerly look forward to the next 2000 miles, which includes meeting my dear wife in Buffalo, NY, and to finally getting back to my friends and the gorgeous Pacific Northwest.

June 22 Rumblestrips and Roadkill

2009-06-22T18:13:00.000-07:00

Ugh, the smell...! Ugh, the display...! This entry is not for the weak of stomach.

We've all experienced roadkill. But it's tough to have to learn the fauna of a region by the rotting body parts along the road. Innocent little critters just going for a curious stroll, to gather food, or to get warm. And then wham, it's all over... Except for ugh, the smell and ugh, the display...

Today we had pheasant, prairiedog and turtles. Days before it was snakes, skunks and huge prairie jackrabbits (haven't seen the infamous jackalope yet). In the Blackhills; fox, porcupines and possum. In Wyoming; pronghorn antelope and mule deer. Toss in the occasional unlucky domestic feline or canine and it makes for a smorgesborg of carnage. On the inorganic side, the assortment is incredible >> shredded, blown tires, bungy cords and S hooks (I'm starting to pick them up, Oh No!), gloves (never a pair), rope and baling twine (I've noted green, blue, red, pink, orange, yellow and orange colored), bolts witout nuts, nuts without bolts, washers without either, assorted wire (most too short to use), capped pop bottles with about a cup of yellowish liquid inside (brought to you by your enlarged prostated trucker) and about anything else capable of falling off a moving vehicle.

So, while dodging and weaving through the shoulder obstacle course, I manage to creep through 20 miles of thick fog this morning, which finally starts to dissolve by 9 am. I pass the 100th Meridian, which historically was the western limit to deliberate investment by banks and insurance companies in the 1800's. Further westward was considered too risky and "redlined", and today still lags in wealth and prosperity. Terrain has really flattened. The rolling green grasslands west of the Missouri River have become expansive, see-forever mega-farms. With no wind today, I fly at will, 15-18 mph, and quickly reach affluent Ipswich after 53 miles. A bumblebee flies with me for a stretch but he too gives up. There is security in knowing I can outrun nasty dogs and bees.

In the shade of a huge maple tree, I'm treated to a revealing chat with a retired farmer, about how years of handling farm chemicals had left him in toxic shock til he retired and changed his lifestyle and diet. Now, he splits his year between Ipswich, SD and Casa Grande, AZ. (He insists that he does not miss the minus 40 degree winters.) Then the eye opener>> Believe it or not, in todays geneticlly-modified food industry, he told me that "engineers" have developed a corn seed and a bean seed that are immune to the herbicide Roundup, so that the chemical can be broad-based sprayed on fields directly after planting, with no harm to the crops (It kills the farmers and poisons the soil, but what's to worry?) There is no more soil tilling and manure fertilizing. A seed injecting machine pressure sets the seed, various watering methods containing Roundup and fertilizer pass over during the growing season, then the crop is harvested in record time and with record produce. The bottomline is well nourished. I mentioned the small but existing organic farming culture in the PNW, and he said that he now only eats "organic". Wow!

Feeling secure that the animals are dead and the ground toxic, I'm back into the 90 degree heat for the last 26 miles into Aberdeen (pop. 24,000). I knew I was approaching "the big city" when I spied a discarded Starbuck's cup along the road. Tonite's palace is the Comfort Inn, with a plate of freshly baked choco-chip cookies waiting on the counter (thinking of you Rick!) and the air conditioned lobby, and settling in is way too easy. Think I'll stay an extra day...

Pre-beers, pampering the queen, and a delish pasta dinner fill up the evening (and my stomach) nicely. There is a nice purr coming from the air conditioner.

June 21 Over the Missouri River and into CST

2009-06-22T18:12:00.000-07:00

It's another convenience store breakfast this morning. Just no cafes lately. As I'm downing a banana-nut muffin with some nasty black coffeelike liquid, a slender, middle-aged man walks over and we chat. Paul Evans, a wholesale jeweler from south Florida, is also an avid and active road cyclist, and has bike toured in the USA as well. He heads off in his van and I follow, into the southeasterly headwind. It's another slow creep at less than 10 mph again.

As I stop to photo some roadside flowers, I hear a bark and turn to see a white German Shepard coming at me 100' behind. Uh-oh! I jump on the bike and start cranking (more like sprinting!). Now he's snarling and gaining on me as we both fly at full tilt. He's 20 feet behind me and I'm fearing for Brindil and one of my ankles. I downshift and in a rush of adrenaline, barely pull away from the raging creature. Luckily, I was on a rare downhill section of road or, I fear, I would not have been able to outrace him. (Whitney, it's that Guardian Angel again. How many times does it work? Does it have a Taser or Hyperdrive switch?)

A bit further along, I meet Paul Evans again. He has parked ahead at Mobridge and cycled back (had his bike in his van) to ride with me. We descend to and cross the Missouri River into Central Timezone and have lunch in town before parting. Great to meet you Paul! Just out of Mobridge, I meet another road warrior cyclist, who asked not to IDed, going westbound (tho hard to tell with him, since he had been on the road for 22 months).

Today is a short cycling day, and I stop at Selby's Hilltop Motel after 51 miles.

The sun finally sets just before 10 pm on this the longest day of the year.

June 20 100 years for McLaughlin

2009-06-22T18:11:00.000-07:00

Up @ 4:45 am and out an hour later. Looking forward to the northwesterly wind from yesterday working in my favor as I turn east this morning, I am confronted with a steady southerly wind!! Gads! No break today... Gentle, green grasslands roll me through Keldron, Morristown and Watauga and into McIntosh @ 40 miles. The breeze stiffens and pedalling becomes hard work again, the sessions of cussing followed by reassuring start up and continue through the afternoon until McLaughlin's watertank comes into view. (Whereas concrete grain silos identifieded towns further west, it appears that a 40' tall, metal water tank on a tower, usually artisticlly emblemed, identifies towns here in the Dakotas.) The F&M Motel, tho not a "looker" from the outside, was very clean and comfy. Besides, it was the only lodging in town.

Today, McLaughlin is celebrating 100 years and I find myself again the stranger in a strange land, walking amidst a wonderful small town celebration. We are within the Standing Rock (Sioux) Indian Reservation and the townsfolk are predominantely Native Americans. The town park has been turned into a maze of inflata-sculptures for kids, and they are jumping on, bouncing off of and screaming in glee. Adults are most all parked in the shade of a large awning, drinking beer and chowing BBQ and burgers, and seem captivated listening to the drone of an MC, as she recites noteable anecdotes from the past, with breaks for raucous applause. The men seem enthralled as a stream of young, thin things begin a parade, wearing costumes from past eras of local history. I remember stopping at every food booth and eating (the German knoefl was tasty!) before returning to F&M for a nap. When I awoke the sun was settling and the rodeo was still hopping. 100 more to you McLaughlin!

Reached 1800 miles this morning on day 36.

June 19 F#^!*&? Lemmon

2009-06-22T18:09:00.000-07:00

Ever have those days when you knew you should have done something different than you did? Today was like that. The word from the locals was that there was "nothing" (no food, no lodging, no sights) due east of Faith out on the Cheyenne River Indian Reservation, and that heading north to Lemmon would be more rewarding. My present general course, for now, is northeast toward the Great Lakes, so either route works, it's just a question of quality of trip. Well...

Five miles out of Faith, en route due north to Lemmon, I knew this was gonna be a long day. The "wind du jour" was a northwesterly and steady against my left shoulder. The road surface on SR 73 was poor, with stress cracks every 20 feet resulting in the "20 feet ka-bump, 20 feet ka-bump" syndrome that is more mentally wearing than anything. I struggle to make 10 mph and clear only 20 miles by noon. But the rolling grasslands are bright green from all the recent rains and it's sunny but not hot. It's just so exhausting to cycle; a bit like jogging with ankle weights, or postholing in deep snow.

10 more weary miles and I plop under a tree next to a church for late lunch. We've entered the Grand River National Grasslands. (National Grasslands are a mix of private and public lands). Winds out here usually increase in strength as the day matures and rarely change orientation, and today was no exception. I find my thoughts drifting to topics of negativity and bring myself back by remembering the simple fact that I am out here BY CHOICE and what a privledge that is.

As my friend Jerry says "Bad air out, good air in". As hard as I am breathing, I got to practise that therapy afternoon! At 55 miles I reach the first "services" of the day, and drain a Sprite.

It appears that there is a bit of road work ahead, and unfortuneately, in the heat of the day (mid-80's now), the road serface is being re-oiled. I had gotten rides through 2 previous road projects, but not this time. The operator driving the road oiling truck (and this is one nasty looking rig whose backend is entirely covered with shiny, black goo) tells me to get going cuz he's about to run the stretch I'm riding, and I challenge him to the race. Off I go as he turns around for the chase. At least there's some excitement to go with the wind and heat and oil fumes! With a quarter mile lead, I look back and he's gaining on me and coming quick, spraying a nasty but uniform oil film across the roadway. More frantic cranking and I catch the road sweeper, who is sending up a huge plume of light brown dust in front of me. Half mile more and I reach the end of the section and pause to turn back for a photo as the the trucks close in. Jokingly, I yell back at the truck operators "I beat you, I beat you!" and they ime a smile and a thumbs-up.

Little did I know, but the oil would win in the end, as the newly oiled surface extended the entire 12 miles remaining to Lemmon, having been done that morning! Gagging in the 85 degree heat, and with a balled up, tightened feeling in the back of my throat from breathing in the intense oil fumes for an hour, I bang out the last miles, reaching the Prairie Motel at 6 pm after 70 hard miles. A MUCH appreciated hot shower and excellant pizza (or perhaps a really hungry guy and a bad pizza) follow. Brindil and I walk the town and find a surreal, Gaudiesque park made up of petrified wood sculptures. That, along with a larger than lifesize, junkmetal sculpture of a cowboy riding a Triceratops dinosaur, gave the town an odd twist. I had found a treasure tucked on the ND/SD border, out in the most desolate part of this region, but decidedly worth the struggle to get there.

June 18 Rolling Green to Faith

2009-06-18T17:28:00.001-07:00

There was a huge thunder, lightning and rain show last night. Brindil was not allowed in the room so slept just outside my room under the tarp, but stayed dry. I was in a fix last night arriving in Newell and finding 2 of the hotels closed and the other, a neat historic (albeit rundown) place on Main Street, available but with a "no dogs" policy. I was able to get a room with an outside door and so the hound and I were "close", only a threshold apart.

Rolling green hills and pasture all day. Plenty of roadkill too. Foxes, porcupines, prairie dogs, skunks, pronghorn antelope, white tailed deer. Ugh! Nothing like doing the hard inhaling of an uphill climb and coming onto a smelly roadkill... Breath control, my boy!

Tired this morning. After 40 miles of straight road and verdent hills, I stopped at the Ben Ash rest area (a dedication to the early Black Hills explorers) and promptly fell asleep. That is, til some red ants bit me on the stomach and ended that. The bites still sting this evening.

Later, at another pullover (not too much in the way of places to rest out here on the plains. You grab what you can) I attracted about 50 brown cows, maybe cuz I was munching lunch. I decided not to try to tempt fate and feed them my oatmeal cookies, as 20 tons of restless beef stood 10 feet and one thin wire fence away. They soon bored and returned to grazing and I to my endless road.

The last 35 miles just flew by, the terrain levelled and I hit the "Wall of Humidity" that Gwyn had forecast. I've dropped in elevation and the Missouri River is just ahead. Welcome to the Great Plains! Welcome to the midwest summer! Sticky and wet, I use my last calories to reach Faith, SD and grab a lunch and room at the Prairie View Inn.

Off to the Library...

Mileage past 1700.

June 17 Black Hills to South Dakota

2009-06-18T17:27:00.000-07:00

Slip outta Hewlett early and start the climb into the Black Hills. The dense fir and pine forests give this range a distinctive dark hue, and historiclly, it was settled and overrun by prospectors in the late 1800's, moving off the plains seeking gold wealth. Today, many towns still exist, tho ranching and tourism have surpassed mining in importance.

I stop in Aladdin (pop. 15) for a fine cafe breakfast and wander through the 115 year old general store (bicycle travel really limits what you might buy, though one gallon size jar of pickles was tempting).

Soon I'm crossing into South Dakota, in a mist. State #5! The Mt. Rushmore emblem on the state entrance sign has been artisticlly marked with bullet holes thru all the president's heads. It must be too tempting a target, but I guess everyone has probably wanted to take a shot at some president at some point. The dust of Belle Fourche appears before the town and I stay just long enough to buy a Pepsi and a South Dakota map. (I felt oddly balanced and in relaxed in town, only to later find out that Belle Fourche is the geographic center of the lower 48 states. Don't have a clue how that was decided, but everyone needs the 15 minutes of fame, right?) I have a fun chat with Wilbert, a handlebar moustachioed rancher, who says that my intended route has "hardly no lodging" and that he needs to "watch his gas guage" when he travels SR 212 east.

But I'm going anywaysee, I don't have a gas guage to worry about) and soon it's just me, my dog, my bike and about 10 conspiring and dancing thunderstorms all around. It's way dark with a south wind blowing in my right ear. I pass Fruitdale and the Belle Fourche Reservoir, then pedal as fast as I can, not daring to look around, and hoping that the lightening I glimpse on every horizon just goes its own way. Whitney's Guardian Angel ruled once again and I arrived safely at Newell, after 67 miles.

Stephanie, the 18 y.o. daughter of the Newell Hotel manager, makes me 3 cheeseburgers for dinner and the world is 'A and OK' again.

June 16 Tower

2009-06-18T17:26:00.001-07:00

Powered by green chili and elk meat stew, cheerios and too many lite beers, I'm out of Gillette early and with a solid tailwind pushing me 18 mph eastward. In a blink, I'm 30 miles done and at Moorcroft, turning north toward Devil's Tower. A brief lunch stop at DT Junction at 50 miles just in the nick of time, as the rain starts. More up and down through some very green pastureland, lightly forested and punctuated by rock outcrops and small streams. Second rain storm blows through, another change into raingear.

And then it appears. Devil's Tower is right in front of me! There is something so imposing about an 800' tall, stand alone, monolithic rock pile! 5o million years ago, magma rose up through a weak spot in the crust and hardened into a phonolite plug made up of 5,6, and 7 sided columnar segments, some up to 600' long. Gradually, the less dense surrounding rock layers eroded away, leaving Devil's Tower (Bear's Lodge in the native tongue) for all us tourists to gawk at. A bit hard to keep the cycle on the road as I go by.

Head north into the next dark cloud and get soaked again, but finally roll into Hulett, a small lumber-oriented town (pop. 405) where I get the last room in the Pioneer Motel (Let's see, I've now been in a Pioneer, a Stagecoach, a Paintbrush, a Painted Buffalo, a Sundowner, a Prairie View, etc....)

Couldn't find any good ice cream in pint form, so I ate a half-gallon of chocolate chunky...

resulting in a close encounter with a stomach ache. I did find myself mounding the ice cream up into a drippy, goo-ee pile before consuming...

Hmmm.

Hmmm..

June 15 Saving the Red Tails

2009-06-18T17:25:00.001-07:00

An easy off day in Gillette at Mark and Gwyn's house. Besides napping and cleaning the bike, I learn about natural gas mining, about coal mining, about local weather, about local flowers, and about how business and natural resources "try" to work hand in hand. Mark and Gwyn are directly involved in the latter. Mark teaches biology and ecology in a local highschool, and works summers with his wife Gywn, whose more than full-time career involves working with mining and drilling companies to ensure that environmental impact regulations are followed. Her specialty is birds of prey, and as if on cue, she returns home from work with 2 Red-tail hawk chicks, just weeks old, that had been abandoned by mom at a coal mine, after an attempt had been made to relocate a nest that had been built on a cliff that was scheduled for blasting. Two mice later, the youngin's are well fed and ushered off to a set of Redtail foster parents, who will raise them before they are set free. Gwyn reports that the miners were all for saving the birds. The birds were all for the fresh mice sushimi dinner, so the ending is a happy one! (except for the mice...)

May all business vs. environment interactions end like this one!

June 14 Old I-90 to Gillette

2009-06-15T10:04:00.000-07:00

Plan A>> Ride as much of the 100 miles of old I-90 highway, Buffalo to Gillette, as possible today, sleep in a ditch, and finish up the route tomorrow morn, arriving in Gillette at midday.
Plan B>> Ride the 67 miles of new interstate 90, which is the "as the crow flies" route but comes with 80+ mph traffic.
Plan C>> Ride the 100 miles of the old route in one push.

Plan A rules for most of the morning as GT2M heads north through 30 miles of flat rangeland, passing through the now forgotten, backwater towns of UCross, Clearmont, Leiter and Kendrick. It's so quiet here, it's Sunday morning with no traffic and I almost feel like I'm intruding on the peacefullness. I'm sharing the shoulder with only the occasional pile of cow flop and can recognize the towns only by the boarded up stores, cafes and defunct, concrete grain silos. Reaching Campbell County, the road surface becomes red pebbled and bumpy, you know, "ka-bump, ka-bump", every 25 feet. Taxes the sit muscle! (Now I'm thinking Plan B mightta been better.)

Terrain becomes rolling, with a slight north breeze. The air is warm with very pleasant temps in the mid-70's. I'm feeling the miles as I push past my 50th, no doubt from the long Bighorn climb yesterday. Atop a small rise, the Spotted Horse Wide-Spot-In-the-Road (combo Post Office, Tavern and pool hall, Town Center, and regional collection of junk cars and buses, wooden wire spools, appliances, dead farm equipment, and a host of other items my wife would never let me have in our yard) appears. After towelling off, I step into the poorly lit building but step back a few decades. Every conceiveable knick-knack and tacky, western adornment is stuck somewhere; including license plates, elk antlers, cowboy riding gear, wind chimes made of beer cans, maps and photographs of better times, and all covered in a heavy layer of red dust. A dozen squinty-eyed looks great me from under large brimmed cowboy hats. A stranger in a strange land has interrupted the tranquility of their 3 light beer chats. They 'up and down' the sweaty redface, clad in tight black shorts and neonic yellow jacket, but quickly turn back to their conversations on gas drilling, price of beef and weather. I spy the cooler and choose 2 Pepsis (over the light beer) and strike up a chat with 2 motorcyclists.

Before leaving, I did learn that the local drilling stations I have been passing are shallow, coal bed methane gas wells, with extraction done by first removing the layer of subterranean often-brackish water that lies above the gas, then collecting the gas as it fills the vacuum. Frequent pumping stations compress the gas for pipeline transit. The NE quadrant of Wyoming contains 51,000 such wells, roughly one per 60 acres and the removed water measures a staggering 2.5 billion barrels per year! There are a plethora of environmental issues that arise from this process, many under continual debate. We get our natural gas supply, but at what cost? Evidently, the price of natural gas is depressed now due to less national demand, so the place is not "crawling with ants", as it was when oil was at $140 a barrel.
Guess the sugar and caffeine kicked in shortly after my pause at the Spotted Horse, and along with a convenient tailwind, I start a sweet float, now due southward. Reach 60 miles, then pass 70. Now I'm thinking Plan C! Reaching the Gillette Airport at 84 miles, I call my guests to let them know that THIS biker is not ready to sleep out tonite and was heading IN... In Gillette, a cooling rain comes with a welcoming rainbow, afterwhich I crunch a few more miles south of town to Gwyn McKee and Mark Winland's home. Mark is kind enough to escort me in the last couple miles by car as daylight wanes. A glorious sunset with streaks of gold spraying out from behind towers of grey clouds chases me. How nice to NOT be in a ditch tonite! Thank you Mark and Gwyn!
My first (and possibly last) century. Tired!

June 13 ^^ Crossing the Bighorns ^^

2009-06-13T21:57:00.001-07:00

Slightly hangdogged from too many beers last night, and with only a PopTart for breakfast (Yes it's true, my first PTart in 40 years!) followed by a big convenience store coffee, I fall off my bike! Hard to believe, but I biked 100 yards, decided to stop quickly to take a photo, and didn't get the foot outta the clip and, well you know... Lost some knee skin, bent a dropout, and was very lucky.
Up, up, up we go. Gradually at first as we leave town, then into the lower canyon surrounding Ten Sleep Creek and Canyon Creek. Walls are sheer, and the outcrops are varied. Many formations are labelled and dated; the oldest is pre-Cambrian (5 billion years old!!) Trophy houses are set in unbelieveable niches and bends of the river, aspen groves replace sage hillsides. The grade is unyielding uphill, but gradual and the sun is warm, but with cool air. About the best conditions possible. Pass through a band of peak wildflowers. Pines and firs appear and houses change to campgrounds as I push past 8000'. More up, but the miles don't come quick at 4 mph! Finally, after 6 hours, I reach Powder River Pass (9666') at 2 pm, amidst a hoard of motorcycles, RVs, trailers and NO other bicyclists. Brindil stands on the last stretch to the top and I'm thinking the charriot race in Ben Hur with Charleton Heston (she's got the whip and me getting whipped!). What a L O N G climb...
What goes up for nearly 5000' must go down, so it's 5 miles quick down (Where's that runaway bike ramp?), then 10 miles of short, tiring ups and more quick downs. Here comes the rain that has been threatening all afternoon. Then more sun. The raingear goes on and off three times in 2 hours. Shore Lodge provides a needed refuel of decadent choco cake and 2 Cokes, then it's down a long 7% runout all the way to Buffalo, Wy's Super8 @ 68 miles.
The Bighorns were sure a treat and seeing their cross-section all in one day, from 4500' to 9666' and back down to 5000' was quite the unforgettable crank!
Somehow, the odometer passed 1400 miles today.

June 12 Summer Again!

2009-06-13T21:21:00.000-07:00

At 6:15 am, I timidly peek out the window, and with fingers crossed, see nothing but blue, early morning sky, with only a few thin layers of innocent clouds. Could be a dry day!! There is a fine breakfast buffet worth waiting for, and some tableside chitchat goes on with other guests. I meet Flora and Duane from Dayton, Ohio, on a 3 week roundtrip to California. There is the obligatory posing for photos (Nicole, the Coachman Motel manager, seen here with her dogs: Bo and Roxie). Nicole, Brindil wants to extend yet another thank you to your hounds for parting with some of their dog food!
Feeling strong this morning (not the norm) as I leave Thermopolis, first passing Hot Springs State Park, site of an enormous mineral buildup from the thermals, then thru ag fields 30 miles to Worland. Tried unsuccessfully to get mares with colts (and does eat oats but little lambs eat ivy?) and mama ducks with ducklings to pose for "warm fuzzy" pix, but with no luck. (Signposts and roadwayshots are way easier, but I'm getting too many of them.)
Temperature is great, mid-70's and a fine return to summer, at least for today. Still lurking on the horizon in the form of ominous, dark grey thundercells, is the remains of this nasty front that has been doing a good job of ruining my days lately... Fields turn to sage steppe turns to heavily eroded sand formations exposing magnificent color bands. Scarlet globemallow and Indian Paintbrush inflame the ground. Ah, yes>> a preview of the Badlands! The first oil pumping stations appear. [Seems that Wyoming "is" wide open spaces, large trucks and energy production. Employment seems to teeter-totter between large trucks driven on the road and road crews fixing the roadways for these large trucks, who beat up said roadways, etc., etc.]
Just ahead, the mighty Bighorn Mountains, shrouded in clouds, await. There is not a level stretch between me and them I'm afraid, and I brace myself for a roller-coaster afternoon. The last couple miles are downhill to the sleepy, stopover town of Ten Sleep, set in a beautiful, green valley, as cliffs of bright red, sagey green and grey sands surround. A rustic cabin in Tom Broek's RV park is my stop for the night and the very cute waitress at the Ten Sleep Saloon somehow gets me to drink 3 big beers with dinner. Had to settle for Bunny Brand Ice Cream, as it seems that I am out of B&J IC territory.
Tomorrow is a big day over the Bighorns.

June 11 The Gates to Thermopolis

2009-06-11T16:05:00.001-07:00

Good morning, Gary.

Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to deliver the Queen Fluteskera to the ancient city of Thermopolis. This journey may present some discomfort but will reward those who persevere. Start out with a damp, 20 mile morning ride into a slight headwind and light rain northward to Shoshoni, where you will breakfast at the Desert (or is it Dessert) Cafe on 3 large, fluffy pancakes doused in fake maple syrup and lots of butter, washed down by 3 cups of black coffee. This non-natural breakfast will present gastrointestinal difficulties as you turn onto SR 789 and climb slowly into the low clouds around Boysen Reservoir for 15 miles as the rain continues. Enter the Wind River Canyon, where your terrain will alter drasticlly. Hemmed in by steep canyon walls with junipers, mule ears and sage clinging desperately to its sides, the road will wind and narrow. Three short, but shoulderless, tunnels may scare you, but ride quickly through my friend! Don't run off the road while gawking at the vistas. Many of the exposed rocks are from long ago eras. The multi-colored rock bands will defy words. The sagey colored Wind River will churn below you. Do not listen for Sirens. As you reach the end of the canyon, the sun will force through and your mission is almost completed. Steady as she goes for 6 more miles and the Coachmen Motel will be the arrival point for you and the Queen into Thermopolis.

As always, should any of your group be captured or killed, this Blogsite will disavow any knowledge or record of your existence.

This message will self-destruct into the binary ether in 240 million years, roughly the age of the rock outcrops you just observed.

Good luck, Gary.

June 10 A Break from the Elements

2009-06-10T18:47:00.000-07:00

Nine hours of uninterrupted sleep. Nothing better. A day off in Riverton. Hee-haa! Baths for all!
Winds still going strong outside.
Big event of the day was the purchase of a new rear tire and a NEW ergodynamic and cushy Teddy seat, to replace my 20 year hardened Avocet. Better life through science, so we'll see...
Still grey skies, still windy, still dusty. Reminds me of Patagonia in Argentina, where Ellen and I "did" time for 2 sabbaticals in 1996 and 2001.
Back to tacking my way northward, and onto Thermopolis tomorrow.

June 9 >>Buffetting ^v^ Crosswinds<<

2009-06-10T12:39:00.000-07:00

There's a reason why the Wind River Range is so named.
I procrastinate til 10 am over whether to layover today or push on to Riverton, and at the last minute, and probably from seeing Brian shove off this morning, I decide to leave too. A bit of bike cleaning, shopping, banking and mailing need to occur and at noon, and with a fine tailwind, I put the outkirts of Dubois behind. I soon cross paths with Paul Brennan (trip blog on Twitter) who is following the Transamerica bike route, having started in Virginia, and hopes to finish up by the 4th of July in Florence, Oregon. Yes, more crazyguysonbikes than one would think.
I'm a bit tired today, esp. the SIT muscle. Legs are down a quart as well. The terrain is mostly gentle, though with winds changing direction frequently, but predominantly from the northeast. From my vector, this is a nasty sidewind, and I find myself having to strain to lean into it to make progress. Plus, the dog decides to play "Stand up Sally" for most of the afternoon, further slowing me to less than 10 mph. (Stay tuned for an action photo of the flying hound, as soon as I perfect the simultaneous "ride and photoshoot" . So far, the photos are mostly of my dairyaire and the sky.) Pass Bull Lake, then Morton, then stop at Kinnear in the Wind River Indian Reservation for a quick ice cream at 6 pm. It's late and the winds are still strong and against me. I ask the very friendly shopkeeper at the Kinnear convenience store how far it is to Riverton and he replies "23 miles". Not half a mile out of town is a destination sign the notes "Riverton 18 miles". Go figure. Anyway, after 18-23 more miles, with the needle on "Empty", I land at the Paintbrush Motel just east of town at 8 pm. The winds blow into the night.
The last few days have been exhausting and I'll definitely lay over here tomorrow.
Passed 1200 miles today, 25 days out.

June 8 ^^^Snow on the Divide^^^

2009-06-10T11:26:00.000-07:00

5 am on the internet, 6 donuts and coffee and it's farewell to the showy and bustling Jackson, Wyoming at 7:30 am. It's pretty cool out, prob only the high 30's to start, with more low clouds. Being in the rain shadow of the Tetons, my 26 mile route up to Moran Junction is dry(ish). Along the way, I stopped off at the turnoff to the town of Kelly for a coincidental photo. My book-of-choice for this leg of the trip is "Merle's Door" by Ted Kerasote. It's the story of Merle, an adopted and super savvy and intelligent Golden Retriever mix, who is taken in by the author as a pup and is an incredible account of their life together. I was tempted to take the trip into Kelly, which is where most of the book takes place, to try to find Ted, a professional writer of nature and adventure travel.
Knowing I had a big climb today, the tire gods decided to give me a flat one, and with no phone service to call AAA, I did the repair just east of Moran Junction, and just as the mighty Tetons showed themselves (albeit briefly). In case anyone is wondering where I am right now, just look at about any postcard ever printed of the Teton Range; they're that vivid.
Now it's up. And up and more up. It's a 3400' climb up to Togwotee Pass from here. Rain begins as I ascend into the clouds. The temperature is falling. It starts to snow. In 15 miles I reach Togwotee Mtn. Lodge (where I stayed 5 years ago while hiking along the Continental Divide). Now it is snowing heavily, but not sticking (that's good!) The new raingear jacket is keeping my core warm, tho the new pants are leaking (not good!). Grab a couple bananas and a yogurt at the lodge convenience store and hear that Yellowstone NP's south entrance has been closed today due to snow accumulation. It's 9 more miles to the pass. I feel a dull tension in the back of my head--elevation!, as I pass 9000'. In 4 more miles, I hit road construction, and in the ensuing 3 miles of mud and rain, get covered with muck. Not good for the chain and gearing at all. Now we are moving so slowly, the dog is whining and I'm really concerned about hypothermia with the temperature not much above freezing...
Last we saw our intrepid adventurers, they were mired in mud, rain and snow, freezing and tired, climbing endlessly. Well Rocky and Bullwinkle, what now...
More halting road construction. This time, I need to stand for 20 minutes waiting for the pilot car, for a ride thru only 1 mile of bulldozers, front loaders and mess. Road workers are in fur-lined parkas and stomping their feet to keep warm. Me, I'm in 3 layers of sweat and rain soaked nylon, trying to politely tell them that I am COLD!
Finally, I'm back on the bike and cranking the final switchbacks to >> The Continental Divide! At 9658 feet!! Yahoo!!! [I'm not one of these outwardly demonstrative athletes who does a jive dance in the endzone, but you should have heard the woop I let out when I topped out!!!! Brought a tear to my eye and choked me up with emotion.] Time for a couple quick photos before the inevitable down, this time for 10 miles, with snow, then freezing rain in my face. I can't feel my fingers or toes, the road is all water and grit, but I barely touched the brakes til I found the Lava Mountain Lodge and the sun burst out. (Whitney, it was your guardian angel again!) Got some funny looks from the proprietors as a dry dog popped out of the mud encased trailer (kharmic turn of events from the world of sled dogs), but the very cold and wet musher got the cocoa and soup while the dog watched.
Descending back into sagey butte country, it's still 2 more hours before I get to the Super8 in Dubois, but what a welcome sight, after 83 hard miles. As I check in, I meet Brian Kliment, the Phantom rider, (see Dave Manley and the Phantom, May 28). Brian is doing a 10,000+ mile perimeter ride of the USA, having started in San Francisco a month ago. (PS: it was not his mesh bag I found near Council, ID). Check out his ride (www.crazyguyonabike.com/doc/fruitloop)
All's well that ends well and as I melt into bed after a fine dinner, I am thankfull for having made it.
Today was not a day for sissys.

June 7 Drenched2 !

2009-06-07T21:05:00.001-07:00

Knew I should have stayed under the covers today...
Like yesterday, this early morning's calmness slowly deteriorates into first a light drizzle, then as clouds lower, into a full-fledged rain. The odometer clicks over 1000 miles as I climb to Palisades Dam, then along the curvy, palisades above the same named reservoir before the descent into the crossroads town of Alpine, in WYOMING! (Rick, I gotta be legit now buddy!) Sodden, I plop into a booth at the ?? Cafe, to the gawking of all the clean and dry Sunday morn brunchers. What's with you folks? Isn't a soaking, wet ride in the rain the first choice of early Sunday morn activities for you all?? Consumed a 5-4-3-2-1 breakfast, (Now that's 5 cups of coffee, 4 slices of bacon, 3 eggs, 2 pancakes, and a piece of razzleberry pie, for those not aware of a countdown of this type just ask Stephen Jaeger) Change my soaked outfit for the merely damp ones in my kit and off we go along the Snake River, bound for Jackson.
Cold motivates me AFAP (as fast as possible) and I reach Hoback Junction after 23 more miles along the roaring, coffee colored Snake bound by steep hills, where the SUN busts thru! Maybe only a few blue patches, but it sure felt nice. More importantly, I was relieved that the weather would not worsen, given my wet and tired state. I knew I was approaching the sporty, prosperous Jackson area when I began to see the trophy houses on the hills, the Thule gear racks on every Subaru and endless billboards for lodging and eateries. The Painted Buffalo Motel accepts us for the night, some new attractive rain gear is purchased (hopefully that keeps the rain out this time) and the stomach is overfilled. Improvised clothes lines are strung around the hotel room to dry basiclly all my gear (In case it comes up again, does anyone know what happens if one ties a clothesline to the ceiling mounted sprinkler system head?? Just checking.) and I monopolize the lobby computer to close out the evening. Here's to fairer weather up ahead...

June 6 Drenched !

2009-06-07T21:04:00.000-07:00

Idaho Falls is the largest city I've been thru on the trip thus far (pop. 56,000) and it took 5 miles to wander thru it's mazes of stoplights, past the light industry section (mostly rows of plain, lightguage metal boxy structures), and out into ag fields. Though grey skies predominate, the air was still, with maybe a hint of tailwind. In 2 hours though, the grey intensifies, drizzle has begun and the temperature has dropped. Now we have a respectable rainstorm brewing. I pull over and put on another layer (basiclly, that means the rest of my clothes since I only carry one change). Unfortuneately, the rainpants that I hastily pulled from the back of a drawer in my basement didnot perform the basic task of holding back water, and immediately leaked and froze my legs. The rain jacket I had was a lightweight Tyvec, STP 2006 issue, and, as good as it performs in light Seattle mists, was repellant for only a short time B4 perking. In addition, I had no shoeguards and my helmet was designed for lightweight and was ribbed, not continuous. Basiclly, I was unprepared for an all day, windy rainstorm in the 40's degree range.
Pretty miserable for a few hours, but I did find a Rest Area with a heated bathroom to restore some circulation to my extremities and cram down a Butterfinger bar. SR 26 is a semi-main truck route and being a weekend, the traffic was heavy. Even though I tucked to the furthest offroad part of the shoulder, the vehicle spray was constant and annoying.
As I am slogging my way up a long, slow upgrade, I hear a double horn honk from the opposite lane, and looking up, I reflexively wave at a white Land Rover speeding by. Two minutes later, the same double honk sounds, as they pass me in my direction and pull off the road a quarter-mile ahead. [A note on honking>> one, loud arrogant honk just as a vehicle is passing you is not good and means "Get out of my way, you damn cyclist!", while one or two light horn taps is a good thing and means "Hey, great going, keep it up" or similar.] In a minute I am meeting Pam and Lowell, cyclists from nearby Victor, and they offer me lodging and any assistance I may need while in the area. Since I had already booked my night's lodging I had to decline their invitation, but I was touched by their open generosity to a stranger. One of those road kharma things (more on that later...)
A long, cold downhill drops me into Swan Valley and after stocking up at a local grocery, I fight against a stiff headwind over the last 3 miles to Rendezvous @ the South Fork Cabins. And what a cute little nest I lucked into! I'm in a brand, spankin' new cabin; cleanest I have ever seen. (Given my present soaked state, I would prob have been dilerious sleeping on a dry spot under a picnic table!) I think I was in the shower for an hour, ate a bag of licorice chased with a 24 oz. Coors and fell asleep. Rain continues all night...

June 5 Stimulus on the Sagebrush Steppe

2009-06-07T18:34:00.000-07:00

Dusty Arco quickly fades away as I set out eastward across the sagebrush steppe at 6:35 am, heading for only a thin band of sunrise beneath an otherwise complete grey haze of clouds. Tiny peaks appear, and as I focus, I recognize the unmistakable contour of THE TETONS! I'm about to reach the ROCKIES!
I was just getting warmed up when I see stopped traffic up ahead, and road construction. No biking allowed on the one driveable lane so the GT2M is loaded into a pickup and driven (yes, driven) through the 8 miles of repaving. (Miles NOT counted in the daily tally) Evidently, this resurfacing project is being financed via President Obama's Stimulus package (of which Idaho received the most per capita in the nation, Washington 2nd most). So Brindil and I have gotten a small perk off Unc Sam. How nice, how long will it take to get paid off? Lots of very straight road with the only interruptions to the sameness being 3 buttes (remnants of volcanic cones), and the entering and exiting signs for the INL (Idaho National Lab) complex. Hmm, what goes on there??
A heaven sent tailwind catches us and into Idaho Falls we sail, at times travelling 18+ mph barely pedalling, reaching town at 1:15p. Time for a hottub, walk to the library and tour of the downtown, incl. the impressive falls and discovery of Grandpa's BBQ. Lloyd and Lorretta make some fine applewood-fired BBQ (and collards, baked beans and sweet potato pie) and I enjoyed chatting with them between bites.
A big grey cloud settles over town this evening and, in the course of 30 minutes, rains, hails and blows everything around that's not bolted down. I remember opening my Motel West door and having a small pile of dime-size icechips blow in, covering the doormat. I was momentarily trying to think what the appropriate response was in the event of a tornado. [According to The Weather Channel, the meteorological group Vortex2, weather geeks who spend their days chasing tornadoes, found one in SE Wyoming today, so I am in the vicinity.]
Was nice to chat to a group of friends tonite having dinner at my house (aka Supper Club). I don't think they have properly allocated or distributed my dessert portions since I've left; there was quite a bit of heated discussion in the background...

June 4 Arco Day Off

2009-06-04T12:45:00.000-07:00

Today, Brindil has been waiting patiently outside the Arco Community Library as I blog, blog, blog, blah, blah, blah... Time for a walk. Maybe down to Pickles...
At pre-beers* at the DK Motel this afternoon , I met Angie, an adoptee from Kazakistan. Her English speaking was quite impressive, given that she had been in the USA only one year. I didn't offer her any pre-beer*, but she sampled the chips.

*The pre-beer tradition was introduced to me by Dan Johnson, during travels in 1997 in Argentina, while with our wives, we explored much of Patagonia and the Falkland Islands. Basiclly, it is the tip-em-back beers that one needs to prepare oneself for what is termed "Happy Hour"in the northern hemisphere. You know, an excuse for a mid-afternoon brew. Tragiclly, we lost Dan 3 years ago, but pre-beers and countless others of his anecdotes and truisms still live on. I proudly wear his shirt on my cross-country trip. Cheers to you, my fellow road warrior!!!!!

June 3 Outta the Hills v v v v v

2009-06-04T12:37:00.000-07:00

The decision came to me quickly. We're heading south and outta the hills. Down go 2 yogurts and 2 bananas and off we go, hopefully all the way to Arco. Takes 10 miles to warm up and wake up (coffeeless again, darn...). Pass thru a cool mini-canyon that seems to gobble up the road from a distance. Five steady uphill miles and we top out on Willow Creek Summit (7160') at the 22 milepoint, then a spectacular 5 mile runout with the impressive Lost River Range of peaks to my left. Twenty years ago, I was here climbing Borah Peak (12,662'), highest in Idaho, with my previous dog, Samba. Gosh, I was single then. Today, it's snowy and shrouded in clouds, I'm happily married (Hi Boof!) and Samba has been reincarnated as Brindilhound.

It's another cool day and the my sweat soaked layers are chilling me as I coast along at 12-14 mph. My weaker right knee (twice operated on) is feeling a bit "tweaky" these days and wants to see the sunshine again. [ I must admit, I had been apprehensive all spring in anticipation of this trip. Unlike previous long distance backpacking trips, I had no concept on how my body would respond to 7-9 hours of cycling and the cardiovascular load. The daily "aches and pains" list is rather long. You'll be hearing from it along the way, I'm sure.]

The thunder cells are spectacular and luckily, always seem to be in the next valley over. 50 miles go by, lunch in Mackay (had some "burnt" lemonade, a new twist (of lemon) for me, made from charred lemons) was a cajun burger and fries (Hmm, wonder what this trip will do to my cholesterol level?) ,and in spite of another headwind, we kick into Arco by 4 pm, 72 miles in 9 hours.

The Corona was sure tasty this evening at Pickles Restaurant!

Passed 900 miles today.

June 2 Along the Yankee Fork

2009-06-04T12:32:00.001-07:00

Today's ride would have been a breeze, only I was going the wrong direction. With a steady wind (est. 10-15 mph) in my face all daylong, GT2M wiggled and waggled 52 miles downhill thru scrub canyon all the way to Challis, following the Yankee Fork of the Salmon River. At lunch in Clayton, I met a full-blooded American Indian, Allen Hull (aka Shawn Redfox) and we talked about the fictional story he was writing about local wild horses and his aspiring leather working business. The most exciting event of the afternoon was outracing a pitbull (brindil colored, ironiclly) who awoke from a sound sleep on a porch and lit out after us...

Tonite's lodging is a small camper trailer at the Pioneer RV Park. Quite comfy.

The 7-day weather forecast is for more cloudy cold, with showers. I need to make a major routing decision, as northward would take me over numerous high passes into Yellowstone, while southward may be hot on the Snake River Plain.

I'm leaning southward.

June 1 Cold n' Grey

2009-06-04T12:24:00.000-07:00

Ah yes, take me back to the old backpacking days, only this time I awaken in the damp dawn with an awful stiff neck. Gosh, that never used to happen on those month-long treks of my youth! Shake it off dude, you have a pass to climb. Noone else up at Bonneville CG, so I slip out (coffeeless again) onto SR 21 and begin the slow climb into the clouds. Must have been a gentle grade; 2 hours later I'm tieing a piece of celebratory blue ribbon (a "banner") on my flagpole, claiming conquest of 7200' Banner Pass. A Heath Bar assists the final push. (I've taken to loading up my handlebar bag with a shortlist of treats: Mounds, Butterfingers, Heath and Snickers bars, all on the ready for immediate devouring.) Basiclly, I'm having trouble inputting enough fuel by day to keep my 5000+ calorie needs met. (Where are those Pumphaus leftovers, boyz??) No serious "bonking" as yet, but close a couple times.

Very grey all day and temps in the 40's, at best. The descent off Banner is freezing; my fingers go numb but I can't let off the brakes (BTW, these disc brakes rock!) Then come my first views of the awesome Sawtooth Range, aptly named and snow-spangled. Wow! Miles of high elevation bogs bring me to Stanley, a collection of log structures spread out on a plain along the Salmon River. A mocha and large cheese pizza greet me, and are conquered as easily as the pass. Just down the road, in Lower Stanley is the Redwood Motel, our home for the night.

At dinner that night, I remember hearing the jukebox mornfully singing out the Seals and Crofts tune from decades ago "We, may never pass this way again..."

Being the nostalgic road warrior I am, this made me a little sad...

Life is short.

May 31 First Rains

2009-06-02T15:28:00.000-07:00

Ten hours later, and lying in exactly the same position as when I last closed my eyes, it's a new day. Nothing keeping me here and I'm REALLY looking for that morning coffee. This bicycle trip is proving VERY irregular with regards to the morning blend. Sometimes it's just a stroll downstairs to the b'fast buffet, sometimes it's a make-it-yourself in your room from some lame U-ban-like brown stuff, and sometimes, like this morning, there ain't none and there ain't none to mooch.
Quick pack and a sleepy-eyed dog and I head downhill the last 5 miles to the Banks Cafe, located in a dramatic canyon at the confluence of the North and South forks of the Payette River. What a loud place with all the seasonal whitewater! Guess I was a bit too excited to get my coffee cuz it's an hour before the cafe opens, so...
Decide to forego THIS breakfast opportunity and turn east onto SR 24, aka Wildlife Canyon Scenic Byway. Gentle climbing along with the South Fork, all thru sage covered hills broken by red-brown rock cuts, brings my caffeine starved body to a breakfast table in the historic town of Crouch, Idaho. Have an enlightening roadside discussion about old Crouch with Bill and Ellen: Bill is a 4th generation "Croucher". He explained to me how the house we were looking at had been moved from a nearby hill, involving a float over Canyon Creek. The ensuing breakfast was an enormous plate of eggs and the country fav "biscuits n' gravy", which I only get a yearning to try about every decade. To overfill the tank I tossed down a piece of rhubarb pie and a couple coffees.
Guess I don't learn very quick-like, cuz this pile-o-food sat like a rock-n-the-gut that I then had to cart uphill thru Garden Valley and onto Lowman. I was burning up from the heat of the day, which was in the low 80's. As I sat in the shade of aspens at the Lowman Lodge and Eatery, the entire Boise Chapter of the Harley-Davidson Club shows up, and man are they noisy when there are 50 of em! (Now this was the gentlemen's and gentlewomen's branch of the HDC, not the intimidating overtatooed, excessively hairy branch) Once the helmets and chaps came off, everyone was very friendly and had quite a bit of route advice for me. The motorcycles were gorgeous, obviously spic n' spanned up for the day's ride and one even had a cylindrical, foam-lined box attached in back for Fido, who was a teary eyed Spaniel that made quick friends with Brindil.
Managed to choke down a chocolate shake and 5 miles up the road, stopped for choco shake #2, where I met 2 young, strong-legged cyclists, Aaron and Neil, doing a 130+ mile day, including the climb over Banner Pass (my challenge tomorrow). Now it's raining, a nice cool sprinkling that cools a hot day and brings a refreshing smell to the air. It's on a bit further to Bonneville CG, where I grab a site and start prepping for a wet night. Turns out, this area of Idaho has quite a bit of geothermal activity and numerous hotsprings, and just 1/4 mile of trail leads me to some excellant pools. Now, keep in mind that it's 185 deg sulfur water mixing with 50 deg river water, so it's a bit of a trick to keep the pool regulated. A lot of hand mixing went on and I managed to not scald certain places.
I met Mel and Linda in the next campsite and they invite me over for an excellant dinner of baked spuds, roast corn and vege dogs. A welcome treat! Thank you Mel and Linda!
Rain forces us all indoors and I tuck in with hound under the tentfly, listening to the pitter-patter of droplets and the roar of the nearby creek.

May 30 Gentle Miles

2009-06-02T14:55:00.000-07:00

South outta McCall @7 am feeling a bit groggy from having blogged til early morning. (Gosh, I sure hope someone reads all this BS B4 it disappears into the binary ether.) Grab Farm to Market Road, an alternative to SR 55, which gets me into some pretty, rolling farmland and past a number of cattail marshes full of red wing blackbirds. Reach the town of Cascade and make the big decision to mail home my pocket trumpet and a few books. It was a tough decision, but in light of my creaky right knee and all the climbs looming ahead, I thought lightening my load the best move. Post Office had a delayed Saturday morning opening time, so I practised talking to all the GOBs (Good Old Boys) who were collecting in front. This does take some patience! Most of the converse comes down to complaining and bemoaning some national issue with which they feel powerless, then quickly turns to the fast-track method of solving absolutely all the world's problems and right away.
Rest of the day's miles are easy downhill along the roaring North Fork Payette River and I tuck into Swinging Bridge CG for the day after 57 miles. I grab a (very quick) cold bath in an eddy of the river, taking good care not to let the dog or my belongings get too close, lest they get swept away. Dinner is a piece of cold fried chicken, raw carrots, and a Snickers bar plus a bunch of Vit. I and it's to sleepy town.
Need to catch up on sleep!

May 29 Day off in McCall

2009-06-02T14:45:00.000-07:00

It was like a day in the Land of Oz...
Gary gets a hottub, a nap, a couple beers and an 8 pc. chicken dinner finished off with a pint of B&J NY SuperFudgeChunk IC, plus a new pair of bike shorts (should see the padding!)
Brindil gets 3 more milkbonz from the desk clerks, 4 long naps and a whole can of Alpo Primecuts.
The bike gets a chaincleaning, brake adjust, tire air and a "You're good for another 1000 miles".
And then to writing blog, which I did for as many hours as I was not doing the above.
A fine day at the Super8.

May 28 Dave Manley and the Phantom

2009-06-01T17:55:00.000-07:00

This morning, I'm finishing up a gi-nor-mosterous breakfast prepared by Debra of the Elkhorn B & B, and as I'm gazing contentedly out the front room windows, there goes another cyclist, loaded down, in a red recumbant bike going MY direction!! The first of the kind! Wow! Gotta catch him...
Packed darn quick, and roared outta Mesa, 6 miles thru Council, up a stubborn 3 mile hill, and then thru pine forests, campgrounds and onto New Meadows, where the Granite Cafe beckons me in for lunch. The phantom ahead of me has left me a "crumb" along the way in the form of a biker's mesh bag full of Cliff Bars. Now I really wanted to find him!
So, as I'm settling into lunch of bean soup, a burger and a bucket of lemonade, an old grizzled man wanders over and starts asking me questions, the type that I'm starting to hear more and more of. You know>> "Where ya goin' ", "Is that your dog I saw you with?", etc, etc. After a short conversation, I am introducing myself to Dave Manley, a 62 y.o. lifelong resident of New Meadows, and we plunge into an hour of trivia and lore from the WW2 logging days thru today's recession, with a few dispariging words about "those treehuggers". It was truly a delightful experience hearing him speak and seeing his eyes light as he recounted. Afterward, I realized that someday I'll be that old guy with stories just like his and will, no doubt, yearn for a patient listener. (Of course, in today's blog age, all the stories are already told) Dave also mentioned that he had met the phantom recumbant cyclist just before me and that he had turned north to Riggins. Oh well, cuz I was going south. Hey, now I got a new mesh bag and some extra Cliff Bars.
Pushing on, I face up to my first 7% grade climb on a windy, shoulderless, hot canyon road. I saw my slug-o-meter drop to a new low of 3.3 mph. Traffic was patient, the dog didnot dessicate and we triumphed at Brundage Summit (5324') in a couple of hours. (I took scalp in the form of a "Brundage Mtn. Ski Resort" roadcap found en route) A welcome downhill brings me into the resort town of McCall, full of trophy houses, ski bums, boat shops (sits on gorgeous Lake Payette) and tourists awandering about. We slide thru town and once again park at a friendly Super8 motel. Before I check in, Brindil is presented with a milkbone. Day off tomorrow!!!!!!

May 27 Brownlee Dam into Idaho

2009-05-29T22:58:00.000-07:00

Earliest arousal yet at 4:45 am (helps to be sleeping outside and a bit cold) and with no breakfast options, it's got to be>> Hit the road!. Along the Snake River for an hour in the cool morning air. No traffic at all. Took some fun shadow photos. [Riding early morn or at sundown gives opportunities to take photos, where the shadows recreate the stretchy mirror effect like in the circus. Good clean fun when your other options are pedalling or talking to your deaf dog.] Brownlee Dam rises mightily in front at the 10 mile point, and in so crossing the bridge over the Snake, I leave Oregon behind. I'm now getting quite hungry, but hear word of a cafe up ahead and close too. I gradually leave the water over a few windy miles along an ascending escarpment and turn SE, and the Gateway (to Hell's Canyon) Cafe materializes. Great breakfast, and even Brindil scores half a discarded omlette as she charms the hosts. (It's true, she has been scoring more free food than I so far. But the trip is young and at this point, she looks more pathetic than I. This will change)
As much as the double b'fast was triply tasty-great, hauling it all up the ensuing 3800' climb to Brownlee Summit was quadruply hard, and I lay on my sleeping bag for an hour on top til the little green men went away. Then I got out the trpt and (tried) to play some blues in C#, but all I got was some very odd looks from driver-bys, esp. the big equipment operators. [See, one of my little music projects for this trip is to learn to become more fluent in the remoter blues keys. Too hard to explain here if you are not in the know on this. Word to self, try this when not exhausted. And don't try to encultureate the local boyz too quickly.]
Downhill rules and we glide a full 10 miles (aka free miles) into Cambridge. The only thing I remember about this stretch was a half mile section where the road and air were alive with, get this... grasshoppers. They bounced off me like I had entered an asteroid field, and my tires could be heard doing squishes and squashes as we cut a swath thru them. Now, Dear Lord, today ye hath thrown at me 1)extreme heat, 2)steep hills and now 3)locusts. When cometh the hailstones and death to my firstborne blogsite???
Took a break under a watertank in a small park in hot, dusty Cambridge, that is til a local gentleman came up and politely told me that the sprinklers around me were due to come on in 20 minutes. Since the rest of the park was already under 2" of sprinkler water, I took this as the sign to hightail it. But I did re-establish cel phone contact with the outside world, so was feeling very secure in spite of the recent locust attack.
Only 13 miles more and I'm settled into the Elkhorn B&B near Mesa. This gorgeous loghome retreat sets neatly atop a small hill with expansive views in all directions and the owner, Debra Bruckner, has done a masterfull job creating a very comfortable get away. I would recommend this stopover for anyone passing through. Somehow, I passed out for most of the rest of the day, but I do remember a delicious dinner, fun conversation and 2 or 3 beers in there somewhere.
PS The Elkhorn's kitchen ceiling is adorned with 30' philodendron vines interlaced together. I suggested some Christmas ornaments as well...

May 26 Flowers Galore!

2009-05-29T17:15:00.000-07:00

What a day of scenery! Flowers, hills, and rivers were all for the taking in on the backroads of the Wallowas.
It was so cold (in the mid-30's!) this morning that I needed my gloves, down vest and balaclava just to feel sorta comfortable. The first long downhill was such a big chill that I longed to climb and warm up. And I got my wish soon enough, ascending 11 miles to mile high Salt Creek Summit. Wow! The fields of purple-blue lupines, salmon paintbrush, stalks of dark violet delfiniums, clusters of yellow-orange mule ears, plus a whole company of to-be-named-later varieties. It's their time and they weren't holding back. And neither did I on the ensuing 11 mile descent, racking up a max speed of 31.8 mph! But I was overtaken by a motorcyclist, and to my surprise, I encountered him again downhill stopped and taking photos of me as I passed, hanging on for dear everything. I stopped and we chatted and it turns out that Greg, now living in Snohomish, WA, had grown up in Seattle and attended Nathan Hale high school, just a few blocks from my house!
The fields of flowzers kept coming on as I finished the afternoon with another long climb then descent to join SR 86 and the final push to the Copperfield CG on the banks of the Snake River. We are back into barren canyons, sage and brown landscape. Idaho Power maintains a series of public, minimal cost campgrounds along this southern access to Hell's Canyon and they are stunningly well located and maintained. Good news tonite>> there were great showers, no bugs and a soft lawn to set camp on. Bad news tonite>> there was no store of any kind nearby for dinner or supplies. None of the lounging RVers took pity on the lone biker with the old, scraggly dog, and left him to munching feverishly on peanuts, crackers and half an apple after a 71 mile ride. Guess I'll need to start awakening my mooching gland...
Great stars tonite to end this gorgeous day.
Passed 500 miles today.

May 25 In Memorial

2009-05-29T16:45:00.000-07:00

Today is Memorial Day and there are flags everywhere. After a food fortification at the Waffle Iron Cafe, we climb through fields to Minam Summit at 9 miles. Here in the mountains, the early morning air is crisp, and makes for very easy breathing, as the warming sun slowly takes over. Very early starts are the best recipe for a good biking day; getting in miles early makes them seem easier and gets you into "camp" sooner. Late starts mean missing all those friendly, waving farmers driving by in older model pickups, hot late afternoon climbs, and panting dogs.
We drop into a canyon that is a preview of the Snake River Canyon and race downhill on winding curves, often with only a concrete barrier separating me from a long plunge. Mule ear flowers appear on the grassy slopes and there are fir trees mixed with the pines. The Wallowa River below is roaring. I pass the hamlet of Minam tucked into a rare straight stretch of road within the steep canyon walls. We wind along the river to the town of Wallowa where I get in a breather in the local park, chatting by cel with Peggy Hudson about what types of wildflowers I had just whizzed by at 25 mph. Most of the traffic is going against me, as folks head home from the long weekend, but the roads are sure full of RVs! Now into high cattle country and we pass through Lostine and Enterprise and stop in Joseph, set next to the incredibly gorgeous, snow spangled peaks of the Eagle Cap Wilderness. I am treated to a wonderful sunset as the cool evening falls here at 4500'.

May 24 Into the Blues Yonder

2009-05-29T16:18:00.000-07:00

Today just had to be Sunday :-(
I was so prepped to hit the Super8 B'fast bar hard this morning and get rolling early. As I reached the door to the cafeteria at 6:05 am, I saw the sidesign that said something to the effect that the only-on-Sunday opening time was 7 am! Well, on the road with black coffee and 2 cups of OJ. Thru a very quiet downtown, then south on SR 11 and suddenly "Welcome to Oregon" (and blank ag fields and a headwind). Thru Milton-Freewater (home of this odd frog theme which has the town adorned with at least 50 wooden carved and joyously painted frog statues and an exit slogan of "Thanks for hopping through". (oh well, musta been one those art grant type things).
More fields and Weston passes soon, then it's up,up,up, into the Blue Mountains, and I see the far off snowline. 20 miles and 3500' of hard climbing later, I reach Tollgate ski area still buried in 10 feet of snow and the Summit Blue Mountains (5158'). What goes up must come down, so we test (and tap) the brakes all the way to the Stampede Inn in the picturesque logging town of Elgin, which is our home for the night. Elgin has suffered badly from both the change in the logging industry over the last decade and the more recent economic downturn. People are super friendly, but one can detect the underlying depressed tone. I helped the local economy by purchasing a large pizza, 2 Pepsis, a bag of Fritos and a tub of Ben and Jerry's New York Super Fudgechunk ice cream. (Anyone else like that flavor? I find it intoxicatingly good.)

May 23 R & R in WW

2009-05-29T02:58:00.001-07:00

And on the 8th day, he rested. A quiet day, which is what it was supposed to be. Won't bore you with blogs on eats, sleeps or more eats and more sleeps, but I did have my first equipment failure.
This morning, I was surprised to find both trailer wheels dead flat! I had gotten my first experience with "goathead" thorns. Yesterday, when I had pulled the rig off the road through some grass, I noticed these innocent looking stickers in all my tires. Well, I carefully pulled them out, but evidently not all of them. The trailer wheels were softer rubber and had come "off the shelf" with very thin tubes... A trip to the local bike store scored some heavier, INLINE brand tubes and I installed Tufty tape tire liners as well. Talk about good timing, this could have happened in a lot of much less convenient places. (Whit, could this be the guardian angel!) Also broke down (in a very different sense) and got a wireless odo-speedometer. Gary, now the hightechgadgetguy. Hmm, maybe I need to get one of these for my '64 Ford pickup...

May 22 Wheatfields to Walla Walla

2009-05-29T02:55:00.000-07:00

The sun beats me up this morning, but not by much. (It was to beat me up much worse, in another sense, later in the afternoon!) After a delightful chat over breakfast with Cathy Umbarger and the basic daily "bike chores", like chain cleaning and tire air pressure plus checking for loose nuts, bolts and tiedowns, the GravyTrain2Maine heads east out of Burbank station. Unfortuneately, it's directly into an easterly breeze and not much to block it but me. After running the heat with semis on my tail for the better part of the morning, the decision is made to head south to Walla Walla via North Touchet road and some "backroads".
[A note on interpretation of road designations on maps is in order here. Unless one is willing to haul a detailed topo map with (which I was not), one is staring at a bunch of lines going A to B, with little info on elevations or road conditions. In general, continuous lines mean paved and dashed lines unpaved, tho this data can become out of date quickly. And generally, fatter and more colorful map lines translate into heavier used (and more gently graded with wide shoulders) routes, while thin black or grey lines mean backroads that are lesser travelled (with inconsistent shoulders and unpredictable ups and downs). In short, the path less travelled is less travelled for a darn good reason... ]
Well, the thin black line on the map sure LOOKED LIKE the shortcut to Walla Walla, or the hypotenuse of this big triangle I was making today, but then again it WAS a backroad. Well, our shortcut quickly left all signs of mankind behind, screamed us down several miles to a trickle of a river, then took us all the way back up in stages of climbs, all within steep canyon walls and rock cuts, with the 80 + temp beating down. Dog is panting heavily now and I think I hear " Hey daddy, this 4 mph speed you're doing uphill just isn't getting me any good air con. Can you step on it? Gotta a better date tonight!" After the third hour of hot and stuffy climbs broken only by short drops giving up just hard-earned elevation, the terrain relaxes into gorgeous green wheat fields and Walla Walla comes onto the radar. Parched and feeling like I have a touch of heat exhaustion, I straggle into the Super8 motel. Brindil gets a can of Alpo and me a Subway sub(footlong, of course, with everything on it). Still $5, what a deal!
As I close my eyes this evening, and recount the days events, as I'm prone to doing, I keep seeing this 1950's pickup truck in the middle of a pasture, rusty and abandoned, but proudly adorned with an American flag.

May 21 Nothin' like a tailwind!

2009-05-21T17:24:00.000-07:00

Woke with my diary on my chest and the last legible words written about a page back. Really cold at 5:40 am here in Othello and super calm. What a great little b'fast bar at the La Cabana motel here, and after a thorough face stuffing and lively chat over illegal (Mexican) immigration with the desk clerk born-in-Ballard, the dog and I load-em-up and strike out. Today's goal is John and Cathy Umbargers' place in Burbank, just east of the Tri-cities of Pasco, Richland and Kennewick, WA. The Umbargers are parents of Kristin Keene (married to Steve) whose place I just left 2 days prior. Caught this faboo tailwind and sailed the 50 miles of sagebrush and ag fields thru Basin City (where I bought an 8" crescent wrench to fill out my mobile bike repair kit) thru Pasco, and finally east to Burbank by 1 pm. I now sit in the shade of sycamores along the bank of the Snake River, two beers behind me and one giant tugboat with barges in front of me, working on this blog. You know it used to be that we went on trips to get away and to tell our tale upon returning. Not anymore. The curious want up-to-date and realtime streamlining of tales and lies...
300 miles along already.

May 20 Potholes and a sore butt

2009-05-21T16:59:00.000-07:00

Tough day. Legs really tired. Butt even worse; need to find some better butt butter. (There really is such a product, for those who don't know about the down side of too much cycling) Let's just say that I covered 56 miles, the last 2 being uphill into a headwind into Othello. Had to break out the parting gift from Dan Rowe: a tube of Hammer Gel, chocolate flavor, which has the consistency of butt butter, but has a better taste and different use (Hmm, hoping I never get the two mixed up...) The mocha in George was really needed, the birds around Potholes Reservoir were varied and numerous but all flew away when I started tooting lip slurs on the pocket trumpet, the ride thru Columbia NWR was spectacular with columnar-jointed columns of grey rock, undulating sagebrush terrain and nestled ponds full of waterfowl. The local Mexi-restaurant did serve up some great enchiladas, and as is becoming the pattern, I ate everything closeby.

May 19 On my own

2009-05-21T15:34:00.000-07:00

Somehow the night slipped by too quickly and it was light again with the road (and breakfast) calling. Too bad for the achy legs, huh? I am just a terrible keyboard guy and I spent an hour writing blog and moving pics around. It's just a lot easier with a tool box and a pile of untrue lumber, but I'll get faster. Thanks Steve, for helping me with the blogsite.
Now back to biking. This is the first morning on my own. No more bikemates for awhile. So with a paper of scribbled instructions for alternative backroads, I start south toward Wenatchee. Let's just say that the rule of thumb for asking directions of locals is that, if you get an answer that somewhere is "just a couple miles down the road", this actually means that it's down the road all right but actually six miles. Conversely, if you ask a local about somewhere quite close, you'll get several very detailed explanations of the same route, and way more info than you need, but are glad to receive anyway cuz now you don't feel so lost anymore. I did apply this route-seeking methodology, and after a variety of wrong turns and inquiries, did manage to reach Wenatchee, via Dryden, Cashmere and Monitor, and had a delightful tour of the Pioneer Village in Cashmere, where I bumped into Kristin Keene and little Jesse, who got to pet Brindil again (and share her lunch with). Back onto SR 28 and a hottish ride along the Columbia River thru Rock Island. Finally, I waved farewell to the Mighty Columbia, as a jet fighter roared overhead, turned east and stared at the last nasty hill up to Quincy. Two gals serving at the take out shop musta thought I was real hungry (which I was) and loaded me down with extra fries, sodas and rolls, in addition to my regular order of 2 sandwiches and salad. Brindil and I did are best job at cleaning up, but I confess that I left some (don't tell the brassbanders or the Pumphaus staff).

May 18 Over Steven's Pass^^^^^

2009-05-18T21:42:00.000-07:00

Cool morning! After some bad Folger's coffee and Deli b'fast we start up the pass at 8:30 (slowly, cuz I have never pulled this kind of weight up 3100' in one stretch). The idea was to ride some of the old SR 2 that takes a more circuitous route up to Stevens Pass. Well, we got in about 5 miles of gorgeous forested, meandering old route before reaching snow and being forced back out onto the new road. But we did surprise the heck out of a black bear who hightailed it up the ridge. Slow and steady and with verbal proddings from Dan, we reached 4061' Stevens Pass at noon after a 3 hour, 3100' climb, averaging 6.5 mph. Smokin'! One can almost count the flowers at that speed!
Dan and I say goodbye and he heads west. The phone rings and it is another longtime Seattle friend, Sarah Cooke, who was en route over SR 2 to attend a conference in Wenatchee. Sarah is always good for some treats and is a veteran of more long epic trips than anyone I know. She catches me 10 miles down the pass and out pops some delish homemade quiche. Gonna be hard when I get further from home and the "treat wagon" doesn't show...
Mostly long downhill runs (tough on the wrists) bring me to the gorgeous Tumwater canyon, some nasty headwinds, and the Bavarian-ish town of Leavenworth. It's much warmer down here on the plains of eastern Washington. A quick 5 more miles past many fields of fruit orchards and one big American flag, reach me Peshastin and the home of Steve and Kristin Keene. For many years Steve gave me trumpet lessons and was the originator and conductor of Brassband Northwest, in which I play. Steve and I spend the evening troubleshooting Gary's new blogsite, camera compatibilities, and cell phone. Technology is definitely moving faster than me on my bike!

May 17 Mickey says it's waffle time!

2009-05-18T21:37:00.000-07:00

My wife Ellen joined us last night, as Rick returned home, and Andy is busy in the kitchen this morning, and, wa la, it's waffles and strawberries that come out this time. Delish! Dan and Gretchen have just arrived, dropping Dan for the next trip leg. Dan Rowe and I have known each other for 27 years, and we have had all sorts of adventures together. Dan will accompany me (no doubt will need to urge me) up Steven's Pass, before returning home. After another round of farewells, we set off. It's Sunday and traffic is heavy, and the day is heating up. It's the weekend rush all the way up SR 2, with lines of weekend traffic in both directions. Finally Skykomish, at the foothills to the Cascade Range, and we find our room at the historic Cascadia Inn. The town of Skykomish is undergoing a 5 year decontamination project to clean up a decades old oil tank leak that reached the Skykomish River. This will necessitate the demolition or moving of most of this town of 200 persons, removal and replacement of a large amount of soil and infusion of many millions of railroad $$.

May 16, 2009 Off we go!

2009-05-16T10:24:00.000-07:00

Day 1 Well, after 2 years of thinking about and a year of training, my timeless Brindilhound and I are setting off to cycle from my home in Seattle, Washington to my sister's place in Oldtown, Maine. Let's see what adventures lie before us...
Out the pleasant Burke-Gilman biketrail, and Rick Hudson soon joins me. Rick and I have been cycling together for several years now, and it's only fitting that he comes along for the start. Then into the "burbs", where we take a wrong turn, climb a few extra hills, but pop out close to where we should have. The rig is heavy; 100 lbs. incl. a 43 lb. dog, clothes, food, water, maps, and the pocket trumpet. We land at my good friends Andy and Mary Wones' house near Carnation. Homemade pizza and catching up take up our evening. Gary falls asleep on the living room floor during a kids' drum and bugle presentation. Only 31 miles today, but I'm pooped!