1.
Once more with feeling… I’m on the road again, much like my May 2008 trip, I’m biking from my home in Brooklyn to my parents home in LA. Things are so different I hardly know where to begin.. so… I’m doing it again for many reasons, probably first that I simply enjoy it so much and it proved such a fantastic source of song material (check out Flowers at Cheyenne Wells, Chasing You and Slap Me or Kiss Me elsewhere on this site). The possibility of seeing the inspirations for these songs this time through really sweetens the deal. Also, I was so naïve and inexperienced last time, it should be easy to improve on that performance. I’m sure I still have plenty of naiveté and inexperience, I don’t want to get dangerously cocky…
The biggest disappointment last time was the low daily mileage average, 85 miles a day. After the ride, the more I looked into it, the more I realized the many ways in which I’d been laughably inefficient. First, there’s good reason why May is Tornado Season – the spring is the windiest time of the year, and not only that, he wind direction is the worst, i.e. most westerly. For most of the country, wind speeds are about a third less in the summer, and the wind power, a good measure of how much you are going to be slowed down, in the spring is three times what it is in the summer. In other words, just by switching seasons, I could eliminate two thirds of the wind impact. To quote Homer Simpson – Doh! Add to that the fact that my shirt was so baggy it increased my drag on the order of 15% (it’s my lucky Buddha protector shirt; I had my former Angela, a clothing designer, alter it to fit), and that for some reason I didn’t figure out that I should be getting up at dawn to exploit the morning wind calm, and I think you’ve got a formula for being immensely faster this time.
I think today’s performance reflects that – although I
only rode 95 to last years 83 mile first day, today’s effort had a number of
tougher factors. First, I only slept about two hours last night, in my effort
to lose the late start syndrome (huge impact on riding, not to mention
writing). Then,,
the south bike path over the
I’m keeping up the tradition of staying in an ancient hotel on the first night – I’m at the Deer Head Inn, just redone, a little pricey for me at $90 a night and $33 for dinner, but everything is great and there was a quite talented jazz pianist and vocalist performing at dinner.
It was a little strange riding today – possibly in part because I was so tired, virtually the only thing I remembered from traveling much the same route was the sign that said, “Butzville – 11 miles”. I know, I know – my juvenile streak is going to remain cute and endearing until I’m senile….
I had a classic “easier to ask for forgiveness than permission situation – I learned at a gas station that the Columbia Portland bridge over the Delaware, which Google had me crossing, was off limits to bikes. At the gas station, the Boomhaur like guy indicated there was a pedestrian/bike bridge nearby, but his directions seemed to include a number of food items, animals and local businesses, so I just headed for the auto bridge. As I approached, I did see the “bicycles and pedestrians prohibited “ signs, but I noticed that the toll booths were on the far side of the river. So I did the old bum rush over the river, and when I pulled up to the toll booth, I said, “I know what I just did was illegal….” The guy said, “Yeah, next time…” and just opened the gate – I didn’t even have to pay the dollar toll.
OK – gotta sleep. But I wanted to get my foot in the blog door, seeing how as I have a nifty little “netbook” (I’d be the guy at the marketing meeting who would say “why don’t we call them ‘retard laptops?’”) complete with broadband access (causing the Verizon chip on my shoulder to gain two pounds)….
2. 8/31/09 To: Danville, PA Distance: 95.3 miles
I had hoped to do a little more, but when I reached the outskirts of Danville at around 5, the next town seemed like it would be pushing it, and anyway they are PA miles. I did put some more distance on last year’s effort: I arrived at Hazleton, last year’s day two destination, at around one, then rode another 40 miles or so. I’m feeling very strong, no injury foreboding pain whatsoever, just a kind of good feeling normal soreness in my quads.
The strangest thing happened with my Cateye bike computer – when I finished lunch at Subway in Hazleton, I got on my bike, then looked at the two Cateye mileages. One was the total for the day, the other the distance from the last Google instruction, they should have read about 55 miles and 15 miles, but it was way off – something like 190 for the day, 60 from the last instruction. Kinda scary – is the battery low? Is there some kind of Bermuda Triangle like effect around Broad Mountain, between Google’s last instruction and Hazleton? Last year, that instruction, to turn off onto PA 93, was the only one I blatantly missed and had to backtrack on. I did stop in at a Radio Shack luckily on my route soon after Hazleton, bought a spare, but the battery seems fine. Hmmmm…. Amazing how much I depend on that little guy, fortunately the rest of the day after the incident had really only one instruction, could have been a disaster if the instructions were any more intricate.
I’m still a little sleep deprived, though better than yesterday. I was in bed from about 12 to 6, should have been enough, but the room was very light and I had a fitful night. It takes me about 2 hours to eat, pack and go at this stage. I was on the road by 8, not bad but I’m hoping to improve. Sad to say that probably means a 5 or 5:30 wakeup….
Weird vibe at the end of the day – cantankerous mini-mart dude who seemed to get a little insulted at my inquiries about what motels might be down the line, wound up sending me to a nearby motel run by an ancient crone who didn’t seem to want to let me have a room, sent me to another nearby motel (though she was extremely helpful and even drew me a highly accurate, detailed map). This motel, the Pine Barn Inn, is right next to Danville’s major hospital and has some odd religious bent. Oh, well… maybe I just need to take a nap…
3.
A little bit much, but again the last alternative motel was at around 95 miles, I was getting a little bored with that, plus I figured that if I’m going to average over 100 miles a day I’d have to pony up sometime… so…. Neiiiiiiighhhhhh!!!
I’m at the same Comfort Inn I stayed at last year on day 4, so I’m already a day ahead of that pokey dude…. Oh yeah… it was me… I think that’s reflective of how things will wind up; with all the improvements I figure I’m about 40% faster, but I only want to put up 90% of the effort.
Today’s ride was actually kinda easy, considering it’s Pennsylvania – A lot of the day was overall a gentle incline along the Susquehanna River, and there was a light tail wind. I haven’t mentioned the weather – it’s been great, mostly cloudy but dry and not too warm. This morning I was up at 5 and on the road at 7, it was only 46 degrees, with an eerie thick fog.
Got a little cold lesson later on – it warmed up, I took
off my overall tights at around 10:30, but I was getting a little chilly
sometimes on steep downhills in the shade – finally I got a huge jolt
of pain in my right knee, very unusual, particularly since I had been musing
about how any temptation to throw on extra effort, be it hills, wind, whatever,
reduces the overall mileage, and working on keeping a nice low, constant
effort. I realized that it was just my
right leg was cold – when in the sun, it was over my left shoulder, so my left
leg was in the sun, my right leg in the shade.
When I had lunch in
Speaking of
Had my first Google snafu – I thought I was done with them, because even though I have a Google map with the little green lodging dots, I now know them to mean “Roll the dice, buddy! Maybe there’s a hotel nearby!”, so if there is a clump of about five dots, I’m pretty sure I won’t be spending the night in the woods. Then there’s the actual map… As Google has it, US 22 becomes a freeway in Lewisville, but only for a mile or so, so their “avoid highway” directions send you on side streets through Lewisville, and put you on US 22 supposedly where the freeway reverts to a regular road. Well, they must be yearning for the good old days because – this just in – US 22 is now freeway for about 6 miles! Where they had me get on, it clearly says “motor vehicles only”, but I figured it was at worst another good forgiveness/permission thing, and I headed up the ramp. Ironically, it was one of the safer stretches of the trip so far, with a broad, clean, smooth shoulder on the other side of a deep set of “Wake up dummy!” indentations at the side of the right lane. When a state trooper passed me about 2 miles after the freeway ended, I had to laugh.
Had my first doggley encounters, non-encounters really, I hope it is a sign of things to come – the first, I approached a big unfenced front yard with two big dogs in it, they scoped me out as I approached, both got these “oh boy!” expressions that didn’t bode well… but the owner was right there, he knows the game too, and instantly shouted “Dubya!! Ronnie! Get over here!!!” (okay, I made up the names). Both dogs obeyed sheepishly with looks on their faces that said “Damn! The most fun thing that’s passed this whole summer and Duface here has to be in the yard with us!” Later on, a cute little Black Lab puppy came after me, too slow and young to be a threat, the scary thing was he ran out onto the busy highway from the opposite side: that little dude is at serious risk.
Also had my first performance – not long after I’d committed to making it to Duncansville, at around 103 miles I stopped at a gas station. An old guy teased me about the guitar, asking if I was going to play. It was nearly 5, I had about 22 miles to go, I really didn’t want to delay, but if I’m not going to play for people what am I doing with the guitar? I told a quick story about my two rides and the songs I’d written inspired by the first ride, then played “Chasing You” (available on the “songs” page). The only drawback – I didn’t anticipate having to get a pick while packed for the road, so I played without one, tough for that song plus I got a nice little blood blister at the base of my thumbnail from trying to compensate.
4. 9/2/09 To: Monroeville, PA Distance: 77.1 miles
Rough day. US 22 is fast becoming the US 160 of this trip, and I still have to deal with US 160 down the line!
Coming out of Duncansville this morning, Google had me turning right on S. Juniata St. as a way of getting to the “Old 22.” I never saw S. Juniata, got tricked into turning right by a sign indicating US 22, but meaning the new freeway. Last year, same thing, I actually got on the freeway for a bit, this time I remembered and only went a block or so. Both times, I couldn’t see any indication of “Old 22”, but last year I asked at a gas station, it’s just the continuation of the street after the turnoff to the freeway. This year it was disconcerting at first, but after a while I started recognizing landmarks, the first being the beautiful Altoona Reservoir. The Google directions are usually quite accurate, as I think they were today, but there is a ton of construction along the 22, and today I never could identify exactly where I was with respect to the Google instructions, so I was uneasy the whole day. In Ebensburg, I was on the Old 22, and suddenly there was a sign that said “road closed”, with a huge gaping pit where the road used to be, with a bunch of heavy construction equipment on the other side. Fortunately, there was a little caged in ramp over the pit, which I was able to scoot through on my bike. The construction guys on the other side were quite happy to accommodate me, and said I could squeeze around their bulldozers and cranes and continue on. They couldn’t make heads or tails of the Google instructions, but assured me I was on the Old 22, which was the basic idea for the next 40 miles or so. A woman at a nearby Subway thought the instructions were chronologically out of order, with instructions to turn on nearby streets stated by Google to be 60 miles away. But as disconcerting as these instruction problems were, and as much time as I wasted grilling a number of people about them, they were a lark compared to the real problem of the day: road condition. There were numerous construction zones, with a variety of shoulder conditions from excellent through hugely aggravating to nonexistent. The worst was near Blairsville. Concrete barriers had been put up, blocking the right shoulder and squeezing the road down to a very narrow two lanes to their left; to their right were 2 nearly complete new lanes. As I rode along right next to the barriers, which, as if they weren’t scary enough by themselves, had a flat 4”x4” piece of steel sticking off them every few feet at waist level, cars could barely squeeze by me, and trucks couldn’t pass me unless there was a gap in traffic coming the other way, which wasn’t often. The trucks would lurk along right on my tail, doing that little gun the engine thing they do which reminded me of a bull snorting and stomping his hoof, and when they were able to pass, it was no picnic. Talk about your good practice at not being goaded into exerting unnecessary energy: I was as patient as a clam, just scared shitless. After one truck passed me dangerously closely just as a patch of gravel appeared on the ground right in my path, a new lifetime record Yikes! moment I assure you, I thought, “This is insane,” and when I saw a little crew working on the new lanes, I approached and asked if the new lanes went all the way to Pittsburgh, 30 miles off. They said they did. I asked if I could ride on them, ready to give a sob story about how risky it was riding in the traffic lanes, but no need – they seemed pleased as punch at the prospect of my riding there. Woo hoo! I had two lanes of pristine freeway all to myself. It was only like that for a few miles, they just meant the road ran to Pittsburg, but still, I learned my lesson: the construction dudes all seem happy to accommodate me, I shouldn’t hesitate to ask when my safety is at stake.
I’m at the the little old fashioned Sunrise Motel in Monroeville, $45 a night cash including tax as opposed to the $90 plus tax I’ve paid the last three nights. It’s on the outskirts of Pittsburgh on “Business 22”; no construction in sight but a tight 4 lanes with next to no shoulder. Don’t like. A big part of the Google instruction confusion was caused by the fact that two streets with rare names, Beulah and Macradey, are in both Ebensburg and Monroeville, so, despite my fears, the Google instructions are ok. I intend to get up early and zip, I know it will take a while to get through Pittsburgh, but if I can keep the average up around 100 miles a day I should be able to make it to my friend Jeff’s house outside of Columbus, Ohio by Thursday. Last year my route took me through Bucyrus, about 60 miles north of Columbus, and he and his family popped in to have breakfast with me at my hotel: this time I’ll do the popping in…
5. 9/3/09 To: Cadiz, OH Distance: 92.3 miles
Pittsburgh wasn’t the dangerous one – turned out to be the combo of me and West Virginia… but first…
Pittsburgh was kinda cool – I checked Google maps in the morning, and saw that Google was confused between new and old versions of various highways. I still wound up on a freeway at the height of morning rush hour. I got off, pulled in a U-Haul gas station at the immensely busy intersection of Marlboro and Ardmore, on a steep hill, to figure out where I was. The station was closed, and traffic was extremely heavy, so there was no chance to ask anyone for directions. So I pulled out my netbook, hooked up to the internet and Googled my way out. I’d been reluctant to do that, I feared the hassle of unpacking my laptop, hooking up etc., but it’s far easier than I thought, if I had any reservations about having gotten broadband, they are gone. Turns out I was quite close to the route, Ardmore turned into Penn Highway just a few blocks down, and finally after more than a day of uncertainty I was back on course. I got a chance to use some of my crazy New York City biking skills going through downtown Pittsburgh; the highlight was Liberty Bridge followed by Liberty tunnel, which is 1.3 miles and a slight downhill, so I was able to maintain 25 mph and hog lane. After I was through, a guy pulling away on another street rolled down his window and said, “Asshole!”, but I could tell he was a bit of a chicken shit so I just said, “Anything you say, Princess.”
Like leaving New York, things got nicer as I got further from Pittsburgh. Usually when you pull into even modest sized towns, the roads go to hell. Turns out the same is true for West Virginia. Holy potholes, Batman. At one point I was going down a hill, keeping the speed down around 20 because of the dicey conditions, when I kind of got forced off to the side by four passing cars, only to find myself heading right for a gaggle of little potholes surrounding the granddaddy of them all, about two feet across, and as far as I could see, bottomless. I basically bunny hopped it, but like a fat-ass bunny, because there’s no way to get my rear end off the ground with 30 pounds of bag and guitar back there. But I did manage to skip over the pothole entirely with the front wheel, and get enough weight off the back wheel so going over wasn’t too traumatic. A yikes moment to be sure, but nothing compared to the truck/gravel pile incident of the day before.
So, I dance through downtown Pittsburgh traffic, bridges and tunnels, leap potholes in a single bound, then what do I do? Rattled by the rough road conditions in West Virginia and pissed because Google says I should come to National Road in a mile but I look over and see that I’m already on National, I pull off to the side and stop to figure out what to do, and, like Artie Johnson on Laugh-In, I lose my balance, can’t get my right foot out of my pedal in time, and fall over. Got a nice little scrape on my knee out of it and I suppose a cheap lesson on how not to handle things on the road. If anyone teases me about it, I’ll either say “Yeah, but you should see the truck,” or, “Yeah, but you should see the other guy’s knee.”
I’m in another $45 motel in tiny Cadiz in the spectacular rolling hill country of eastern Ohio. Despite Verizon’s clever ad campaign, there is no cell phone reception in my room, I have to walk down to the end of the motel to make calls. The broadband, however, works in my room.
Though it’s still been kinda slow going because of the ups and downs, the downs now outnumber the ups, and between the feeling of their easing and the fact that it was so much easier than last time, I’m experiencing a kind of glee. I’m about 130 miles from my friend Jeff’s house near Ohio State. Terrain, wind and weather permitting, I may be there tomorrow.
6: 9/4/09 To: Dublin, OH Distance: 141.7 miles
7. 9/5/09 Speechless
8. 9/6/09 Speech returns, but entirely expletives
9. 9/7/09
A little perfect storm sequence of events and then – while standing on the street quite nearby my friend Jeff’s house in Dublin, OH, I got slammed into from behind by a car, utterly crushing my new custom made rear wheel and pitching me quite severely into the street. It was a surreal scene, within moments the cops were there, they must have been passing by, and soon thereafter an ambulance and 3 emts showed up. The guy who hit me was a doctor, who insisted I not move for fear of spinal injury. After a while I was permitted to get up, no spinal injury, but a major league blow to my butt – I had been standing straddling the bike, and the seat front had smacked into my butt ridiculously hard by the force of the impact. I was taken to nearby St. Anns hospital in the ambulance, where I was given a tetanus shot x-rayed, and allowed to clean up. Nothing is broken, but I got an impressive array of abrasions, both elbows, arms and knees, forehead, right eyebrow and eyelid, right hand, left thigh, right shoulder. The insides of my quads just above the knees and my right buttock are extremely tender and sore, limiting the range of motion of my knees and requiring me to walk quite slowly and gingerly, and I’m sure that anyone who sees me in the buff in the future will wonder where I got that beautiful silver dollar sized purple tattoo of the moon on my butt.
As to the question of fault, legally speaking it is clearly the driver of the car – I was standing still off to the side of the single lane, facing the direction of traffic with my new, quite bright flashing light on, and he simply rear ended me. In a broader sense, a number of factors contributed. I had had a flat earlier in the day, in part due to the fact that Alex, the guy who built my back wheel, had not put the little nut on the valve stem to stabilize it. I had noticed and asked him about it; he said that it wasn’t necessary because the wheel had two points of support. At this stage, I would beg to differ. The flat had delayed me a half an hour, and caused me to arrive after dark. Google had given one of its highly dubious instructions – travelling up the Polaris Parkway, Google said to make a slight right at E. Powell after 4.9 miles. When I got there, the options seemed to be to continue on Polaris, which veers off slightly to the left there (and apparently becomes E. Powell, though I saw no indication) or turn right on E. Powell, which I did, which both made me laugh, because it was more than a 90 degree turn and typical of Google to call it “slight”, and made me a little nervous because maybe it was the wrong way. 2.7 miles down E. Powell it ended in a T intersection with a light at Worthington, despite the fact that Google said I had another 4 miles or so to go on the road, which was supposed to change names a couple of times before I was to turn on Dublin Rd. I made a left at Worthington, pulled off to the side and asked a driver stopped at the light coming up Worthington the other way where I would find Dublin Rd. when…. Boom. Then there is the question whether I should have done anything differently. No doubt I will be more vigilant on strange city streets after dark in the future. And I should have had a flashlight with me – without one, it was very difficult to read my instructions and the mileage on my Cateye, which introduced an element of uncertainty and distraction.
I’m also wondering why the guy hit me in the first place. The road is curvy but straight for a good 300 feet before where I was standing, and while the single lane in either direction is narrow, there is an equally wide painted center lane, all or part of which he could have used to go around me. Was he watching the light, which would have been red for him until just seconds before he hit me, trying to time it well and shoot through the intersection, distracting him from seeing me? Was he talking on a cell phone, texting, or distracted in some other fashion? I should be able to get a copy of the accident report tomorrow, which will hopefully shed some light.
What to do next? It is now Monday, three days after the crash. My injuries are mending quickly; the night of the crash I could support very little weight with my right leg and could barely walk. As of today I can walk slowly quite comfortably, though I have to use just my left leg to go up and down stairs and biking is still clearly not on the menu. Jeff took me to The Bike Source on Saturday, where they assessed the damage to my bike. It seems if I’m to leave here on bike the best solution is to get a new one. Two problems: first, I’m not sure when I’ll be physically able to ride; and second, I’m a little wary of heading out on a huge ride on a brand new bike and an un-broken in seat. On the other hand, I’d hate to bail on the ride – I spent so much time preparing, then out of the blocks made it further in 6 days than I did last time in 8. If it seems like I can comfortably depart in short order as of tomorrow morning, I intend to administer the accident (get the police report, hospital bill, contact the guy who hit me’s insurance company, contact my health insurance company), then go to the bike shop, pick out the bike, have it customized to my needs and get a comprehensive fitting.
One way or the other I’ll be heading west in the next few days. In the meantime, I was very lucky that this happened so close to my friend’s house. I’ve had a great time the past few days hanging out with Jeff, his wife Christine and kids Emily and Thomas, noshing, goofing with guitars, playing Mexican Train, having dinner at a scrumptious Indian restaurant, discussing everything from politics through comparative religion. Jeff has been incredibly gracious, taking me all over Columbus, to Guitar Center to replace my Taylor Big Baby case, back to the scene of the accident where we retrieved my guitar tuner and sunblock, and he gave me a tour of his offices and labs at Ohio State, where he heads up the Alzheimer’s research program. I’ve always been hugely impressed with his research, and seeing his digs only reinforced that impression. I’m utterly confident he’ll be making astonishing breakthroughs in the years to come.
10. 9/8/09
New bike! After obtaining a copy of the accident report and speaking with my health insurance company the guy who hit me’s insurance company then giving an extensive interview to a claims adjuster from the same company, I decided to do my waiting for the investigator for the company, who was supposed to photograph the damage to my bike, on the move (he never did show). I threw my old bike’s carcass in the back of Jeff’s minivan, and headed off to Bike Source. Again I’d recovered further, I thought I’d see if they had an acceptable bike, and see if I was well enough to ride. I was in luck – they had a beautiful “3 ring” Specialized Allez 56 cm, the exact same model as my old bike, just 5 years newer, and a much brighter, spiffier red black and white color scheme. Before I committed to buy it I needed to take it out and ride it to be sure I actually could and I was a little nervous going out the door, for this was the moment that would determine whether I could go on or not… and… I can ride!!! A slight stiffness in the right knee, probably wouldn’t do to ride far today, but really nothing given the rate at which I’ve been recovering. What a feeling – I’d been trying to keep a stiff upper lip, fearing I’d have to pack it in and wait till next year but - we’re back in business. The new model has a ton of improvements over the old and rides, shifts and handles like a dream. The shop guys were great, pulled the gear cassette from my old bike which has that slightly larger 26 tooth big gear, transferred my ultra puncture-proof front tire over, swapped out the rear tire for an ultra-puncture proof one, swapped over my custom fitted handle bar stem and fittings and pedals, then measured and matched the new bike to my old bikes setting’s, a smart alternative to a comprehensive setup given my temporarily altered physicality and saving me money to boot. The one thing they didn’t have was a match for the mangled rack, but they found one at a sister store 20 minutes away, which I went and got while they worked up the bike. On the way over to the other shop there was an incredible downpour; visibility dwindled to nothing and the freeway instantly flooded with 2 inches of water. My first thought was, “I am not going to call Jeff with another “You’re not going to believe this…. I’m in an ambulance,” but things lightened up pretty quickly, and I thought “Hee hee… first rainstorm of the trip and I’m driving down the freeway in a beautiful dry car with the radio blaring and my dream intact…” In the end it took them about two and a half hours to work up the bike, they didn’t charge me a cent for labor, I walked out the door with a new bike, helmet and mirror for less than a grand. Immensely therapeutic.
I still need a little more time to mend, plus I’m superstitious about the number 9, so for now I’m targeting a Thursday departure. That means I’ll have taken a 5 day layoff. I’ll quibble with Guinness about that when the time comes. In the meantime – don’t expect to see a blog entry for day number 7 until my next riding day…
11. 9/9/09
I’m ready to roll – the new bike is great, what an improvement. I adjusted the tilt of the seat today, the old bike had a single screw setup that was very difficult and could only be set at certain clicks, the new bike has a two screw method, smooth as silk and anywhere you want.
Terry the insurance appraiser came by today, very friendly and charming, if he is to be believed I’ll simply be reimbursed for everything I bought in the last couple of days, bike, helmet, rack, mirror, guitar case. Free bike? I’ll be pretty irate if they try to depreciate it down too much, the new one cost $800, just what the old one cost, and I put $700 into the old one in the weeks before departing.
Of course my confidence, like my butt, has taken a blow, but I know the drill, you hang in there and get over it. The injuries are, for me, unprecedented, but seem to be short term and almost miraculously improving. I’m not sure how they will impact on riding; from what little I’ve done so far it looks good, but even under normal conditions the real test doesn’t start until you’ve hit about 40 miles. The goal here, despite some trying circumstances, is still to move far and fast, and now includes not overplaying my hand in the short term to the detriment of the overall objective. I love a challenge, and well, here it is. And trust me…. I’m on it.
12. 9/10/09 To: Mt. Summit, IN Distance: 132.8 miles
Ok, y’all know the reference, and I know you know the tune, so sing along with me: “I’m the happiest gimp in the world.” And… honest doc… I didn’t overplay my hand… there were these smooth, flat roads and a tailwind. If I were healthy I would have made it to LA today…
Joni Mitchell said, “You don’t know what you got till it’s gone,” but what I found out today is, if you think something is gone and you get it back….. Powerful medicine. I was probably insufferably gleeful today: I was telling my tale to a woman directing traffic across a construction zone when she said something into her walkie-talkie then said “Go on, Honey.” I started yammering again before I realized she meant, go on across the zone, not go on with your story.
Nevertheless… man it felt good to ride today. The fact that I had five days rest helped immensely with my recovery, but still, riding seems to present fewer problems and sorenesses with my legs than walking. Riding wise, there was some discomfort, but having to do with the adjustments of the new bike. The seat itself isn’t as uncomfortable as I’d feared, though I’m sure it will get better as it breaks in. The problem is, there was no way to set it like the old bike, because the old bike seat got so smashed and mangled you couldn’t tell how it was set. Toward the end of my segments, after 90 minutes or so, I was getting sore in the shoulders and between the shoulders. I was fiddling with the seat adjustment a lot to alleviate this, and it’s not so bad, it’s common to have a couple of things to nurse along to stay comfortable.
I’m staying at the Mulberry Lane Inn, an amazing bed and breakfast just beyond tiny Mt. Summit, IN. It’s a mansion built in 1845, run by Deana Harris, who has an adjacent hair styling salon. Deana and her husband bought the place in 1962 for $11,000.00, and have been fixing it up ever since. Luckily, I saw a sign on the road advertising the place; I had ridden through Greenville OH at 2:30, 88 miles for the day, and pressed on, not realizing I wouldn’t find a motel on the route for over 60 miles. The sign listed a phone number with no area code, so when a truck emerged, I asked him if it was open. He said he didn’t know, but pointed it out a couple of hundred yards back off the road, and said I could just go knock. Sure enough, Deana was in, and enthusiastically began giving me a tour of the various rooms, running me up and down the three flights of stairs to the top floor, not exactly what I had in mind after today’s ride and recent events. I was thinking, “Come on, lady, I rode 130 miles today and I was in a wheel chair 6 days ago for crying out loud,” but truth be told it was worth seeing, there’s a three room suite on the top floor that’s itself the size of a whole house with a hot tub, huge balcony and the works. My room is nothing to sneeze at with a big balcony, a sort of 60’s floral theme with a gazillion chachkies, remote control air conditioning and a claw foot, high back tub that was just what the doctor ordered. I was a little freaked out at first, there’s an air freshner that goes off every few minutes, making a sound just like Donald Duck sneezing, “Swiziss hurlurlurlurlurlur,” it’s kind of hidden behind the tub. When I was trying to figure out where the funny sound was coming from, I looked in the tub, and right on drain was sitting a little yellow plastic ducky. I thought, “Oh no. I’m sharing a room with some kind of oddball cousin of Chucky…”
13. 9/11/09 To: Crawfordville, IN Distance: 90.8 miles
Bit of a struggle. Between new bike and accident recovery issues, I’ve got my hands full, the glee of being back on the road was sweet but short.
I don’t know what it is with Google and wild geese. Actually, I do know. It’s Obama’s fault. See, Bush didn’t do squat, so Google’s 1974 maps of the country were hunky dory. Now Obama’s got crews out all over the country, and Google has 4 VW vans out, each with 63 billion dollars in it, and they can’t keep up.
Today I was to follow Indiana State Route 38, another blatant attempt to get me to play on the freeway. I started to get pissed, but I stopped myself. I’ve realized that both my crash incidences of last week were immediately preceded by anger inducing Google snafus. Today was another perfect setup – I find myself riding up a freeway onramp, get pissed and tricked into…. Oh no. I pull off to the side, out of the way of traffic to cool down. I even have a little mantra to chant. “Kiss di Google. Kiss di Google.”
My bike was messing with me too. Yesterday I noticed a little “doomp doomp doomp doomp doomp”, at a frequency suspiciously like that of the rotating tires. It had to be the back tire, but I looked at it and felt it but couldn’t detect anything. Today when I was at a gas station trying to untangle the Google labyrinth, I went to get back on the bike and – flatski! Funny how last year when I, who am about 3 steps beneath amateur as a bike mechanic, set up the tires, I went across the entire continent without a flat, whereas this year I decided to play it safe and have professionals do it – flat on the first bike day 6, flat on the second bike, day 2. When I changed the tube on the rear tire today, I saw that the prior tube had been put in with a bizarre overlapping twist. That is so bush league. I’m happy to be doomp free.
Had dinner at Arthur’s Café on Main Street, an old timey kind of place that is half of what once was a movie theatre. My waitress seated me in a little deserted upstairs area, and we chatted each time she came up with something. I didn’t catch her name, but she made my night – beautiful, friendly, poised, direct, engaging, interested, frank, straightforward, cute, funny, a little shy and humble at times, a perfect dream of a small town girl. It’s little encounters like that that make me sure I did the right thing in keeping on.
14. 9/12/09 To: Urbana, IL Distance: 72.6 miles
I had hoped to make it from Dublin to Bloomington in 3 days, but doing the final 135 miles today seemed like it would be redlining to destruction, so I decided to back off and split it into two days. I’m dealing with some tough discomforts, the biggest and scariest is a strange kinda stiffness just below my right knee on the outside of the right leg. There had been some abrasions and bruising there, but no pain after the accident while walking, that was much higher on that leg. The first day back on the road, I didn’t notice anything until I got the stair climbing drill at Mulberry Manor. The next day it bothered me a lot, it’s a kind of stiffness, not so much while pedaling, but affects certain other motions, like standing up out of the saddle, and the motions required to put the other foot down. And when I walk immediately afterwards, no fun. It disappears quickly with rest, and also when I walk. With today’s lesser mileage and more frequent rests on the road it was quite manageable: I’m hoping it’s related to the adjustments my body is making to cope with the accident and will disappear as I heal. It’s a drag, I can usually just ride till I drop, with no weak link like this.
The other problem is that the bike as purchased is simply too big for me, causing me to keep my arms locked straight if I’m not careful, causing much discomfort. It’s the same size frame as my old one, but I had had the “stem”, the little piece that holds the handle bars out in front of the bike, replaced with a shorter one during my initial comprehensive adjustment at Toga Bikes in NYC. I asked the guys at Bike Source to swap my old one in, and when I noticed they hadn’t when I brought the bike home to Jeff’s, I measured both old and new, and sure enough the old one was shorter. I took both bikes back to Bike Source, one guy assured me everything was set on the new bike to match the old bike to the millimeter, and another guy measured the two stems and said they are the same. I’m such a pushover sometimes. The guy at Bike Source used a tape measure placed next to the stem, I used a bike tool that actually fit into the little allen head screw that holds down the stem cap. My method didn’t produce a number, just a foolproof visual comparison. Anyway, when I got to Urbana this afternoon, I found a nearby bike shop and bought a 10 mm shorter stem, which I’m pretty sure will make a world of difference. I also bought an even more obnoxious blinking light, in the hopes that going forward people will be less inclined to run me over.
Minor disaster on the guitar front – my miraculous little trooper broke again – during the last trip the bike, on account of the weight on the back, flipped up a couple of times and kinda came to rest on the guitar neck, which sticks out the back. I think that weakened it, and when I got home I stepped on it very lightly one night and the neck broke cleanly off just below the tuning keys. I initially tried to glue it back together with wood glue, but that didn’t work, so I took it to Paul, a great tech at South Side Guitars in Williamsburg, and he did a much better job of putting it back together, but alas, I suppose the force of the collision must have loosened it (though when I’m nominated for sainthood, one of my miracles will be that the guitar’s body didn’t break during the crash), for when I went to take it out and play last night, it had broken again. Fortunately it’s still a clean break and the pieces fit together very nicely. I went to an Auto Zone and got some 3500 psi epoxy and really slathered it up. I hope to be strumming again tomorrow night.
Early in the ride I was very gleeful that it was so much easier than last year. Well, the tables have turned. Last time, the trip sort of took care of itself, I just played along. Now, I’m pretty much totally consumed with just getting back on my feet and pulling it off. A little dull, I’m afraid.
I spoke with Maryanne last night, she runs the Burr House Bed and Breakfast in Bloomington, tomorrows destination. Last year, she came and picked me up in Heyworth, wouldn’t charge me full rate for the room, the reasoning being I got there late and didn’t get full use, then dropped me off back in Heyworth, refusing any compensation for the 64 miles she had carted me and my bike. At a time when I’m so dogged with sales cons, it’s so refreshing to know someone who would do you a good turn without ulterior motive, and no wonder I feel so compelled to visit the people who took care of me the last time through. I’m looking forward to seeing her again.
15. 9/13/09 Destination: Burlington, IL Distance: 56.2 miles
Turns out Google isn’t the only one that wants me to play on the freeway. Apparently so does the State of Illinois. The ride from Urbana should have been only 52 miles, but when I got about half way, the US 150 had a detour sign. Normally I ignore those, and am able to somehow get through whatever construction is blocking the road, but as I proceeded down the road, I soon saw a sign that said, “Bridge out ahead.” Well, until I get my round the world clip in kayak, I pretty much need bridges to cross rivers, so I followed the detour signs, which in short order put me in I74, I for Interstate. It may have been legal, since it was a detour. I was on it for about 25 miles, and nobody bugged me, again it was a broad shoulder with a wake up dummy line on the left. Got some roundabout directions from a BP gas station Indian/Pakistani type, who told me to make a turn on Veteran and go 3 lights to Oakland. It was more like 10 lights, markedly similar to the guy from the same region that ran my motel in Urbana, who told me it was 3 lights to the bike shop, whereas 10 was more accurate. I don’t want to foster racial prejudice, but… Does 3 mean 10 in India?
Had a much easier time riding today. The new stem was a huge improvement, and to my surprise even made my right leg much better. Seems like the two challenges, injury recovery and bike adjustment, compound one another. Hopefully as both improve, I’ll be able to throw more coal on the fire, but for the time being I’ll go easy. Last year I did the 145 miles from Bloomington to Quincy in a day, but it was a total barn burner that took until 11pm and I took the next day off. Havana is just past a third of the way there and the only motel opportunity in between, so I ‘ll have another easy day.
The weather has been spectacular, taunting me in a way – sunny, low eighties, tailwinds every day so far; I wish I were burning up the road and capitalizing on them, but still they are a bright spot in my slightly sore world.
Speaking of bright spots, I met a set of youngsters, perhaps college students, at a Quiznos Subs in Farmer City. We had a lively discussion about biking with guitars, so lively we got admonished a couple of times for causing a commotion and holding up affairs there at Quiznos, kinda fun in itself. They had met another guy earlier this summer on tour on his bicycle, and commented, like the literary agency that wouldn’t bite on the manuscript of my last year’s blog, that it doesn’t seem to be that uncommon an event. On their way out the door one of them, Mara, gave me a big hug. Woo hoo! My spirit is mended, I can walk again.
Speaking of last year’s blog, in part because Maryanne here at the Burr House in Bloomington didn’t get to see it last year, I posted it again for anyone who might be interested – Just click on Bike Trip 2008 on the Primordial Ooze homepage, http://www.primordialooze.net/bikeblog2008.htm. And speaking of the Burr House – I had an awesome room, king sized bed, Jacuzzi, beautiful antique décor, perhaps a little too refined for a road thug like me, but it was great to see Maryanne again, and she gave me a big safety pin, the critical missing piece in my upgrade to 100,000 watt second blinkers. So… Save my life again, Maryanne? Now there’s a song idea…
16. 9/14/09 To: Havana, IL Distance: 69.1 miles
Last year, when I got to Havana, I had lunch at the McDonalds. I had ridden from Heyworth that morning, where Maryanne had dropped me off. I could see a motel right across the street, and had to decide whether to stay there or press on to Quincy, 90 miles off. I pressed on, had quite a day and a night ride to boot. Today, coming directly from Maryanne’s, about 12 miles further and with the need to go easy, I knew I would stay at Havana, and I knew just where. When I saw a billboard about 5 miles outside of town for the Sycamore Motel that said “Right across from McDonalds”, I whooped – it’s fun to know places along the way. And here I sit. Since my first three nights at $90 a night, my average room rate is well below $50. Tonight - $39 plus tax.
The guitar, she sings once again! What a relief. I go kinda crazy if I can’t play, especially if there are any emotional or spiritual challenges in the air.
Physically, riding continues to improve, though I’m dogged by the knee problem when off the bike, even though walking around during breaks while riding has also improved. I’m thinking a lot about how long the entire ride will take. Last year I did it in 37 days. If I ride to Quincy and leave the next day, I’ll be 3 days behind last year’s pace. At the level of effort I put out from NY to Dublin, that would be easy to make up and pass, but though the body is quite willing, the knee might not be able. For the time being I’m just trying to give myself the best shot, and playing things one day at a time, or, as my brother-in-law would say, “by the ears.”
17. 9/15/09 To: Quincy, IL Distance: 97.5 miles
Old timers rock! I went into Suzie Q’s, a gas station convenience store in Rushville, Il, to stock up on drinks and grab a quick bite. I struck up a conversation with the old timer who runs the place. After a while, he asked me where I was going and how, the answer being Quincy on US 24. He said “that’s not how I go to Quincy.” My ears went ”boing,” seeing as how I had been taking a drubbing all morning on US 24 – gnarly cracks most of the time, lots of construction, a few miles of pristine new surface here and there but also a 3 mile of stretch where the top of the road had been ground off, the remaining surface bumpy, raw, and capable of knocking your fillings out if you’re on a bicycle. He said he took “the old blacktop” which started right there behind the station, ran pretty much parallel to the 24 but was much smoother, nicer, and less traffic. He pulled out a map and showed me, that little road hooks up to the Illinois 336 which puts you back on the 24 5 miles outside Quincy. A couple of other guys in the store concurred, seems like everyone in town knows that’s the way to go.
What a ride! 35 miles, just as they said, scenic, virtually no traffic, smooth as glass. It’s actually Camden Road for a while, then Prairie Lane. I did over 20 virtually the whole time. That’s the second time I’ve been offered alternative directions, the first time was equally impressive – a guy in Norton, Kansas last year told me to take the Kansas 383 and avoid the 83. The next day’s local papers all had photos on the front page of a big bad tornado barreling right down the 83. I need to find a way to provoke more of that sort of input – perhaps a tee shirt that says, “Google sucks – got any suggestions?”
I got to Quincy at about a quarter to 5, called the Madison & Davis Bicycle Shop across town on S. 8th where I had been so well treated last year. They close at 5 but said they would wait for me. I got there just after 5, and, as luck would have it, they had the perfect stem for me – the one I got in Urbana was an improvement but a little too long and not quite angled enough at 100 mm and 5 degrees. The new one is 90 mm and 17 degrees – third time’s a charm – perfect. Finally, 6 days and 500 miles down the line, the new bike is comfortable. Again, it was great to see the familiar faces, Jeff, who runs the shop, his pop who minds the till, and their little counter top Pekinese, who lolls on a glass display case all day long and mooches affection from all passersby. I never would have made Quincy by 5 if it hadn’t been for that tip from the old timer back in Rushville.
I’m staying at “Microtel” right on the eastern bank of the Mississippi. You can see the two bridges that cross the river right from the parking lot (and I suppose from the higher end rooms). Had dinner at The Patio, a restaurant a block over, with something new to me – pasta bar, all you can eat for $8.95. Just like the NYC salad bars where you tell them what you want, here you choose meats and veggies, which are thrown into a pan and sautéed for a bit, then they add your choice of sauces (Eric the wizard recommends a mix of red and white, which I went with) then herbs and spices, top it off with cheese if you please. Deliciosa and plenty of carbos to boot.
My various little physical challenges do seem to be trending in the right direction, my spirits along with them. Done with the east, now on to the west…
18. 9/16/09 To: Brookfield, MO Distance: 112.5 miles
This is the first time I’ve duplicated start and destination on both trips – Quincy to Brookfield – and holy moley what a difference – mostly the wind. Last year it was a knock out physical effort –I arrived at Macon, 80 miles along, in 20 mph plus headwinds at 6:30 pm, exhausted, not knowing how I could possibly summon the energy to make the 33 miles to Brookfield, but I had a reservation at the Best Western, so on I went. I got to the Google destination at the fall of darkness only to discover it was nowhere near the motel, had a helluva time finding the motel, finally arrived around 10 pm so spent I could barely manage 60 miles the next day.
Today I sailed into Macon on a tailwind at 2:30, had a leisurely snack at the same BP station, got to the motel in Brookfield before 5:30, already having picked up dinner at a local Subway and other snacks from a Casey’s. So nice to know the lay of the land.
One thing was the same both times, which surprised me, and explains the foreboding feeling I had this morning. Last year, there was an evil stretch of US 36 for about 40 miles before Macon. They seemed to be adding new lanes, and the road you could drive on was one lane in either direction, no shoulder, just a wide gravel strip immediately to the right of the lane. It was hairy and quite unnerving, usually trucks would wait until the other direction was clear before passing, but sometimes they would try to squeeze by. I figured in the fifteen months since they would have finished, but there seemed to be no change. Fortunately, the traffic was light enough so that for the most part trucks passing wasn’t a problem. About 20 miles in, a Missouri State Trooper passed me then pulled off to the side and got out of his car. I pulled up to him, and as I approached, he said, “Do you mind if I ask you a couple of questions?” I said, “I was hoping to ask you a couple of questions.” I said I had been through last year, figured the construction would be done by this year, but it was terrible on the bike, and asked if he knew any nearby alternative route. It was an amazingly friendly conversation; I think it was very helpful that I was able to mention a lot of little local details from my trip last year. There was no alternative, what I was doing was legal but someone had called and complained, he had to check it out. He told me the new lanes, which were just gravel where we were, were paved in another 10 miles, and I could ride them until just before Macon where the road became divided 4 lane. Once I got on them it was great, my own personal humongous bike path, and the occasional workers along the way seemed amused and pleased to see me.
The weather continues to be amazing and unusual – tailwinds days on end, and it’s a little bizarre to see tv radar maps with all the systems moving from east to west. I was quite tempted to press on from Brookfield this afternoon, but the need to rest and the lure of a familiar enclave held sway.
19. 9/17/09 To: Hiawatha, KS Distance: 137.2 miles
Off the map again – and lucky to be so. Google’s instructions had me turning off the US 36 just before St. Joseph, MO. I was a little puzzled, for last year they had me just stay on it right through “St. Joe,” as all the locals call it. This time I was to turn off on a little obscure road about 7 miles before St. Joe, then head down south through Atchison, then up north again on the US 73 to rejoin the 36 at Hiawatha. There was a gas station right at the corner of the 36 and the little road. I asked someone if the Google directions made sense – decidedly not. After .6 miles on this little road, 85th Road, I was to turn left on Mitchell Street – a gravel covered dirt road. Aha! I’ve seen that trick before – last year I was sent over 1.7 miles of gravel covered dirt, Tullis/Old Airport Road, between Havana and Quincy, Il. I very nearly took a spill, and was relieved that this time Google offered an alternative – of course it turned out to be the gnarly US 24, but at least it’s paved. Today the guy gave me immensely complicated directions to achieve Google’s detour on pavement, but I wound up just chucking it and sticking to the 36. Hiawatha was a bit of a haul, but avoiding the detour probably saved me 10 miles or so. My google instincts seem to be sharpening.
I made up about 60 miles of the 320 I’ll need to make up compared to last year’s effort to complete the ride in fewer days. Hope springs eternal… 60 down, 260 to go.
I’m staying at the Sunflower Motel in Hiawatha, not for the faint of heart. To begin with, it took quite an effort to roust out the manager, who proceeded to act like a bear emerging from hibernation, staring off into space blankly long enough for me to start composing little one liners in my head such as, “If it’s too much, I can come back some other year.” He did come around eventually, nice fellah, really, just not a morning, afternoon or evening person. The $39 room is pretty cool, actually, with a strange drive in closet (perfect for my bike), fridge and microwave (useful for drying clothes). The one drawback is there is no tub, actually ok because, one, I’m finally recovered enough to not need a tub and two, if what’s on the floor of the tiny shower were allowed to occupy the area of a tub it might constitute a state-wide bio-hazard.
20. 9/18/09 To: Bellville, KS Distance: 113.5 miles
If it’s not one thing it’s another. I had such a good run going, I wanted to make Bellville, there are 3 towns between, Seneca at about 30 miles, Marysville at 60, Washington at 80. I was sailing along, again a light NE wind ie from 45 degrees behind me. I took breaks in Seneca and Marysville, 30 miles is a nice segment length, and was making good time and feeling great when I got to Washington just before 3. I sailed through, thinking that if I take a short roadside break somewhere between there and Bellville, I can arrive around 5 and have a long leisurely evening. Ha! Just outside of Washington, the road surface disappeared – seems they had ground it off quite some time ago, clear from Washington to the county line 15 miles to the west. It was a nightmare, the ribbed rough surface grabs at my narrow tires, I can only go about 8 mph, it’s very wobbly and the vibration renders my mirror useless. After about 5 miles of that I saw a woman sitting beside a big open trailer, a kind of roadside bazaar, right next to a seemingly abandoned radio station with a huge antennae tower. There was a guy in an idling pickup there talking to her. I quizzed them about the road going west, and got quite a history – It had been that way for quite some time, and they were paving it slowly from the county line east. They were right – after another 6 miles, it was pristine blacktop the 4 remaining miles to the county line.
I got to Bellville around 6, only to find that the motel I stayed at last year, the Super 8, was completely full – it seems to be garage sale weekend in the area, I’d noticed countless signs on the side of the road to that effect (my favorite – Attic Finds at Basement Prices), and that causes a big influx of people to Bellville. Fortunately, there’s a little motel right across the street, a mom and pop type place, the S&H. When I mentioned I had been here last year, Sharon, the owner, asked me where I had stayed. When I said across the street, she said “Silly man.” – and she was right. Her place is far superior –quaint, well appointed and kept, unlike yesterdays Sunflower, and only $34. I highly recommend it.
21. 9/19/09 To: Norton, KS Distance: 123.0 miles
Another point to point match with last year, Bellville to Norton. Last year, it was the preamble to my tornado adventures, with a fierce tailwind from the east. This year, it was a mild day in the mid seventies, a light wind now trending towards the south. That’s probably the end of the lucky weather conditions – tomorrow is supposed to bring a strong wind from the south, just when my route heads that way, so I’ll probably be moaning about headwinds soon. Rain is forecasted for Monday, but where it’s coming from isn’t yet evident on the radar maps. Maybe I’ll be spared as I move west.
I’m a little sad tonight – I had hoped to visit a family I’d met in Cheyenne Wells, Colorado last year, they let me use their computer to blog and were all wonderful to me. When I got back to New York, I wrote a song about that afternoon, Flowers at Cheyenne Wells, http://www.primordialooze.net/CheyenneWells.mp3. They’re not responding to my emails. I won’t speculate as to why this might be. Suffice it to say… I’m sad.
Meanwhile… gonna get up early tomorrow and try to duck them headwinds.
22. 9/20/09 To: Oakley, KS Distance: 80.1 miles
Another point to point, a few rough spots, but I feel a little like Dustin Hoffman in Wag the Dog – that was nothing, you should have seen me last year with the 45 mph crosswind, rain, hail, thunder, lightning and tornados.
I got an early start this morning, as I looked down US 83 after picking up a bottle of juice at the One Stop across from my motel, I saw half the sun peeking above the horizon. I made good time for the first couple of hours, then the wind began to pick up as projected. Last year I chided myself a little for stopping for a grilled chicken sandwich at a little gas station convenience store by Rexford, about 55 miles along, because for one thing it was a hugely negative experience – the wind was insane, blew the front door of the place open so violently it destroyed the spring hinge device that closes it, and a 60ish farmer at the next table was explaining to his friend in front of whom he likes to use the term “nigger”, which I felt was a taunt directed at me, but as I’d seen Easy Rider I didn’t bite. The delay slowed me, had I not stopped I might have made the turn west onto highway 40 and been blown beyond the dangerous weather. Today I saw it was a reasonable choice, as it is the only thing the 80 miles between Norton and Oakley. To drive the point home, it was closed Sunday. When I arrived today, I saw the sign said, “Gas 24 hours,” and a couple of trucks were parked in front of the convenience store so I thought I was in luck, but it turned out that the gas part is independent and works by credit card, and the folks with the trucks were just hanging out and chatting. I had only about half a water bottle of juice, a stretch to make the remaining 25 miles to Oakley, but I snooped around back and found a funky pump with a garden hose attached, and pulling up the pump handle produced a nice flow of water, so I filled up my empty water bottle and asked the people hanging out in front if that water was safe to drink. They assured me it was, but I wasn’t too comfortable about it and wound up rationing my remaining juice and making it to Oakley without drinking any of the water. Nothing like a little dehydration to make a 32 oz root beer taste devine.
I arrived here around 2:30, allowing me some much needed extra recovery time. I had dinner at the Continental Steak House, part of a little island of businesses here where the US 83 meets I 70. Now I’m trying to figure out a how to efficiently make time the next few days given the projected strong north winds and showers and the spacings of the motels. Last year it took me 4 days to get to
Walsenburg, gateway to the Rockies, from here. With a little luck I can cut that to three, and if I’m really lucky and surf the north wind just right I might be able to cut it to two days.
Necessity is the mother of invention – I typically do a little laundry in the sink every day, challenging because if I do it around 7, unless there is some kind of help like a blow drier, heater or microwave, things are still wet the next morning. I always hang things to dry on the hangers in the room, but this room has no hangers, so I realized that the bungee cords I use to strap my bag and guitar to the bike when linked end to end make a cracking good clothesline. There was a broad swinging bench outside my room in the sun, and I attached my clothesline (requiring only 2 of my 4 bungees) from one side to the other on its frame, from which I dangled 2 pairs of biking shorts and an assortment of underwear and socks. An hour and a half in the sunny breeze is just the ticket for a head start on an overnight dry. I was afraid that the motel management might accuse me registering under a false name, that I was really a Clampett, but no complaints were made.
23. 9/21/09 To: Sharon Springs, KS Distance: 55.3 miles
A winterish storm came barreling in dumping snow in the Rockies and providing 35 mile per hour gusts and driving rain shortly after I reached Sharon Springs, 33 miles short of Cheyenne Wells, my destination for the day. Much as I hated to do so, I decided it would be wiser to hole up here for the night. I did hear from the Cheyenne Wells family at last, and hope to see them. I’m angry because it seems that the decision to postpone the ride a week at the outset has seriously compromised one of the primary objectives of the trip, and I’m trying to deal with that.
24. 9/22/09 To: Cheyenne Wells, CO Distance: 33.7 miles
Temperature 47, brisk wind and rain bearing down from the north, it looked like I had perhaps an hour before the rain crossed my route on Highway 40 when I headed out at 7:40 am. The wind was from the north west, partial headwind, I was struggling to maintain 13 mph. I could see clear skies ahead, but off to my right the sky was ominously dark. But the storm for the most part broke in my favor – I could see in my little mirror the road behind me getting engulfed in showers, and it looked like I was going to break out ahead into the clear. Around Arapahoe, about 12 miles from Cheyenne Wells, it started to rain lightly. I passed a sign with an arrow to the post office and considered ducking in and letting the shower pass, but I thought if I hung in there I could outrun it to the west. I got a little nervous as the drizzle intensified and cars coming the other way had their windshield wipers on, but I did finally outpace it and sailed into Cheyenne Wells dry if a little chilly.
At the Kwik Korner, I had a Fajita (really just a slightly uppity burrito) and a nice conversation with a motorcycling couple on 2 bikes heading from Detroit to Utah, who had surfed the storm in a slightly more submerged fashion. Once I was warmed up and looked at the weather to assess my chances of continuing rain free (zero), I called the LeFlores and headed over.
Walking through their front door I got another impressive opening greeting from Sully, their 5 year old, who last year had somehow found out my name and cutely introduced me as I walked through the door, saying “This is Gary, he’s my friennnnnnddddddd.” This time I got a running, flying hug from him which nearly knocked me back out the door.
I instantly had the same striking good rapport with the family as last year, and understood a little better why – Jeff, Sherry and I are all very close in age, and Jeff was raised in Southern California like me. We hung around the house a while and shot the breeze, and I got a chance to play their song, Flowers at Cheyenne Wells, for them, and explain the opening, which had confused them since the rest of the song was simply little details of what they had done during my last visit. The opening describes the young filly that had run along with me for a time in Navajo country and seemed to find me amusing, which reminded me of Millie and provided a way into the song. The three eldest, Millie, Cherokee and Rachel are off at college, so only Moria, Marissa and Sully were home. Jeff is a sheriff’s deputy and prairie dog control expert. I went with him over to the office of the county newspaper, the Plains Ledger, where he was dropping off an article for Thursday’s paper. The editor, Nancy, was interested in the story of my two trips and asked me to write down a slew of details for her, and listened carefully to Flowers at Cheyenne Wells, which I played from my website. Jeff will send me a copy of the article to come.
Then it was back to their house for a delicious meal of potato soup, fried homegrown zucchini and homemade bread and rolls, a few card games and tricks, and off I went to check into the Trail Inn on the outskirts of town.
It rained on and off all day; the weather will remain wintry, wet and windy for the next few days. I’ll do my best to pick my way through.
25. 9/23/09 To: Ordway, CO Distance: 104.0 miles
Another cold blustery day. Having the netbook with intenet anywhere is miraculous, there is an art to reading the radar maps and making a judgment call on how and when to ride, I’ve been very lucky so far. This morning in my motel room it looked like I had a clean shot at getting to Kit Carson 25 miles due west, there were plenty of showers around but none looked like they would cross my path on the US 40 for the next 2 hours or so, which, even allowing for the brisk NW wind, would give me enough time to get there unscathed. But when I walked out the door, there was a misty drizzle, so I went over to the Kwik Korner across the street, ordered an uppity burrito, and broke out the computer again. There were a bunch of tiny showers right in the vicinity, but it still looked like by and large a dry run, so I packed and dashed. Other than a few sprinkles, I got to Kit Carson fine, and by then the sky looked pretty friendly, so I decided to make the turn onto 287 and make the run for Eads, 20 miles to the south. By then the wind was about 25 mph and a straight tailwind, so that segment was fun and fast, I made it in well under an hour. There I went to Cinnamon Joe’s, a little pizza/sub joint, and got out the computer again. The next decent sized town was Eads, 60 miles off, about 2/3 west and 1/3 south, so mostly cross wind with a little tail now and then. On the radar, it looked like there were 2 major north-south bands of rain, but really bracketing my route, and kind of rotating in a way that made it look like if I got lucky I might stay dry the whole run, though it could take a good 5 hours. But when I headed out, almost immediately it began to drizzle, slowly increasing in intensity. Then you’re thinking, “do I stick with the plan and try to outrun this little squall? Do I duck for cover and do up the waterproofing? Which clouds are causing the mischief, and can I get away? Where were those bands on the radar?” I know I’ll get in trouble one day for this, but I tend to think the original call was good, the route is clear, just grin and bear the little anomaly. Today it worked out.
I’m at the Ordway Hotel, Ordway is tiny, old fashioned western town. This cold snap is supposed to end after tomorrow. With luck I’ll make it to Walsenburg tomorrow, then head into the Rockies under warmer climes.
Great news on the insurance front – they’re going to give me full value for everything the appraiser wrote down, meaning the purchase of the bike, helmet, mirror, sunglasses, tire, plus nearly three hundred for the upgraded derailleurs I had had put on my old bike after a minor collision during a race. So…. Free bike plus a little pocket money!
26. 9/24/09 To: Walsenburg, CO Distance: 82.7 miles
Yet another dodge the drizzles run, a little warmer and a good deal of sunshine. The Rockies came into view, and are stunningly covered in snow to the base of the mountains. There are snow showers as I write at 10 pm. The warming trend is supposed to continue, getting quite hot by Sunday.
Walsenburg is at around 6,000 feet, and on the way into town you get up to around 7,000 feet. I’ve said after last year that the altitude didn’t seem to affect me, this year I paid more attention and that’s a little bit of an oversimplification. The deal is, because I pedal at a sort of constant level of output, I don’t really notice changing conditions too much, I just vary my effort to maintain a comfortable sustainable output. Today I could tell that the muscle power is noticeably reduced, though because of the thinner air, the speed is reduced but not that much.
Because I trained at much longer segments this year, I’m covering the same ground surprisingly faster. I got into town at around 3 today, and then did a banner first for me – I went to a laundromat and did all my laundry. I usually do a handful of things each night in the motel room sink, but with the extra time I figured I’d do it up right. This laundromat wasn’t geared towards out of towners – no soap vending or change machines, so I had to go to a nearby Safeway to get soap. Disaster! The cheapest bottle of detergent was $5.00. No way! I got a little bottle of dish detergent (Joy!) for $1.79. So now not only are my clothes clean, but you can eat off them.
27. 9/25/09 Day off
When I got up at around 6 this morning, temperature at La Veta Pass was well below freezing with a 20 mph headwind, and though I could see on satellite pictures the road seemed relatively clear, there were still snow showers moving through the mountains, Wolf Creek Pass, which will be the day after La Veta, is in worse shape and probably needs 2 days to be safe to cross… so…. Nope… I’ve ridden 15 consecutive days, still have some quite pretty bruises on my right leg and derrière (see how much classier injuries get as time passes?), a new speed record is pretty much off the table, so how about a little safety and…. Back to bed.
I puttered around Walsenburg a little, looking for the “mini-SD” disks which would enable me to shoot stills with my video camera.
I have to let go of the record attempt and the sort of funk that has accompanied its evaporation, and, like the huge sign I saw on a funny broken down aluminum shed the other day, “Think Positive.” There is so much more to the ride than that. One of my biggest kicks is, through music, giving someone a sort of unexpected but singular gift. I got a couple of major league ones the other day at Cheyenne Wells. The first was when I went with Jeff to the newspaper office and played “Flowers at Cheyenne Wells” on the editor’s computer. A number of people were there, it was great to see Jeff, he clearly knows the song well, tapping his foot along with a sort of discreet look of pride and happiness on his face. When we went back to his house, I played the song live. Sherry was puttering around the kitchen. She has a quiet and shy side; last year, after she’d invited me over to use their computer, she very shyly said, “I’m not much of a housekeeper.” While I was playing the song at the dining room table, she walked by just as I got to the lines, “You said I could come home with you and write a little while, never mind the mess. Now that I was there, Sherry don’t you dare, you deserve the highest praise for the order of your house, I do hereby attest.” Her response was beautifully subtle, but I’m pretty sure she doesn’t mind hearing that now and then.
28. 9/26/09 To: Monte Vista, Co Distance: 92.7 miles
Into the Rockies. La Veta Pass is 28 miles from Walsenburg and 9400 feet, I had hoped to crack it with a single rest at 17 miles, but at about 25 miles, I thought, ok, I admit it, the altitude does get to me. I was over by noon, and there was a brisk headwind, so going down the other side, a gentle drop for miles, was kinda slow. In Fort Garland, the first town of the humongous San Luis Valley, I had lunch at Dell’s Diner, a little stand alone place on the edge of town with the most spectacular mountain backdrop (see photo in last year’s blog). Though it was a little chilly in the mountains, it was warm in the valley.
Another point to point match, I’m again at the Keloff family’s “Movie Manor” just outside of Monte Vista, Mr. Keloff’s dream come true, a drive-in movie theatre with adjacent motel, so you can watch from the rooms. Apparently the season is over, so no movie tonight. Last year it was a struggle to get here, the motel was much further out of town than I expected and I had a kind of meltdown. This year it was easy, probably a combo of being in better shape and knowing exactly where I had to go.
The place has a movie theme, and in the cement around the office there are a bunch of “signatures” a la Graumann’s Chinese in Hollywood, sans hand prints, but the funny thing is, they are all pretty much block printing in the same handwriting. The rooms are all named for actors, I’m in the Burt Reynolds suite, and Dustin Hoffman is right next door.
I’m back on my old friend, US 160 – it started in Walsenburg and runs about 500 miles all the way through Navajo country, where last year its gnarly cracks provided the most difficult and discouraging part of the trip. Here in the San Luis Valley it’s actually pretty nice. I’m hoping that knowing the extent of it this time through will keep me from losing my mind down the line.
29. 9/27/09 To: South Fork, CO Distance: 30.3 miles
I didn’t sleep so well last night, so as I’m riding the 30 miles to South Fork, I’m thinking, ya know, I’m really not in the mood for Wolf Creek Pass. I’m a little tired, a little cranky, remembering how narrow the shoulder is on some of those switchbacks that have been blasted out of solid rock, and of the two long, steep tunnels that you have to go through. It’s a shame, really, last year a major league headwind kicked up about half way to South Fork and it took me 3 rough hours to get there from Monte Vista. A trucker at a rest stop had told me that in winds that intense even motorcycles wouldn’t go over the pass. I still made an attempt, only to be driven back to South Fork by heavy rain coming down the mountain. This year there was a mild headwind, took less than two hours from Monte Vista, and you couldn’t ask for better weather for making the pass, breezy, blue skies and in the seventies. But grumpy and dull just didn’t seem like a good idea for some of the challenges.
Plus – I’ve been looking for a kind of lemons-lemonade deal now that a speed record is off the table. Last year I met a nice couple, Denny and Marie, who run the Rainbow Express and a couple of affiliated businesses in South Fork. When I had gone up to pay for my Blimpie sandwich, Marie had said, “It’s on the house,” though we hadn’t spoken and at most she had seen me pull up on my bicycle. We got to talking, turns out Denny’s grandfather, who was there with Denny’s pop, was one of the town’s founders. Marie joked that maybe next time I would play them a few songs, I said “Better sooner than later,” got my guitar and played. After that, when I went up to pay for some postcards and snacks, again my money was no good.
I pulled in this time, and once again Marie was there, though I wasn’t quite sure it was her, I didn’t remember her being so blonde. I said, “Marie?”, she said, “Yes?”, clearly not recognizing me either, but after a moment we had reestablished contact, and after a brief conversation, lunch was again on the house. I asked if there were anywhere in town I might do a gig today, and after a brief powwow with a couple of employees, they agreed that Sudz and Shaft were both likely candidates, and they called Skip at Sudz to arrange a meeting. I went over, and Skip, who’s real name is Gary, a little strange because my pop goes by the nickname Skip, told me to come around at 4:30, that I could play between football games until around 6. I then stopped at Shaft, which is a big restaurant with a little bar attached, and went in the bar. There I spoke with Buff the bartender and played an audition song, told him I was playing at Sudz until 6. He said I 6 would be fine. I asked him if there was a place in town I might get a set of strings, as I didn’t have a set of spares. He called the unpredictable music store owner, who open’s the shop whenever he pleases, but couldn’t reach him. Buff told me that Patrick at Sudz might be able to hook me up.
As I pulled away from Shaft, I noticed that there was a nice looking Inn/Motel/Cabins, the Spruce Inn, right next door. South Fork is very woodsy, stretched out along the 160, but Sudz and Shaft are within a half a mile of one another. I figured if I stayed there I could walk to both gigs. For a city slicker like me, they had a kind of surprising check-in method – about 5 room keys dangled from a hook on the locked office door, with an elaborate handwritten note describing the features and rates of the various rooms. One had to simply choose a room from among the hanging keys, then go and occupy it. I’m imagining a homeless person seeing a set of keys like that and thinking they’d died and gone to heaven.
The Sudz gig was kind of tepid – not too many people, and I just wasn’t really their bottle of beer. Patrick was there, he said he could probably cover me if I broke a string but didn’t have a whole set to sell. It was still fun to be jumping around with a guitar.
The Shaft gig was unbelievable. When I walked in, Buff handed me a set of expensive Elixer strings he had procured, but he wouldn’t take any money for them. He had also given the business card I had given him earlier to the director of South Fork’s yearly music festival. The bar was hopping, and everyone was immensely friendly and engaging. I opened with my Cheyenne Wells song, really fun to do because it’s in Colorado and so nearby, and the line “State of Colorado, State of grace” went over particularly well. In the end I’m not sure exactly how it happened, but a few people gave me money, the bar bought me dinner from the attached restaurant then one of the customers paid for my dinner and the bar gave me some money, I wound up with a tidy little stack of bills, a great set of guitar strings and a delicious meal (the Dynomiiite, a hefty grilled chicken and mushroom sandwich). To top it off, Buff told me of Kips, a restaurant in Pagosa Springs, the first town on the other side of Wolf Creek Pass, where the owner is very partial to musicians. As luck would have it – I ate there last year.
30. 9/28/09 To: Bayfield, CO Distance: 85.5 miles
First – Wolf Creek Pass with guitar – done. I don’t know what it is about that, it’s the highest point of the ride, the continental divide, somehow it seems like my finest moment… this time, I encountered more resistance enroute… now that I think about it, the tornados seemed like a lot of resistance. Maybe what I meant to say was, this time I got run over… This time, the immediate approach was much easier. The weather was beautiful, 34 when I headed out at eight but warming. Fall colors are in full force and spectacular. Between being in better shape and knowing the road, it seemed like a breeze – it’s only 20 miles and a 2,600 foot climb from South Fork. My bugaboos from last time, the two tunnels, were conveniently arrayed to make things simple – the first was just minutes after a 2 mile construction zone with a pilot truck shuttling back and fourth leading the line of vehicles that had built up while the pilot truck led the line the other way. I wound up at the back of a pack of about 20 vehicles, the pilot truck went pretty slow, I could almost keep up. When we got to the other side, the other cars sped ahead, and almost right away the first tunnel came into view. I knew that the pilot truck would lead the opposite direction vehicles down to the other side, then turn around and bring the next round up, giving me a gap of at least 10 minutes to get through the tunnel. Perfect! The second tunnel was even better – it was itself a flagman-operated construction zone, so I got to go through with a line of vehicles, and rode alone in the blocked off lanes.
Once at the summit, I shot videos of Chasing You and Flowers at Cheyenne Wells. It was a little chilly and there was a strong west wind and I got a serious chilling going down the other side, despite wearing my rain jacket. I stopped at the lookout viewpoint about half way down, where now there are tiny chipmunks that are so tame they kind of harass the tourists. I had a bag of trail mix with nuts, I gave one of the little guys a couple of peanuts, he was so bold at one point he grabbed my shoe and tried a little nibbling at the cleat on the bottom. He contented himself with munching the peanuts I dropped right there, but when I gave him a big strip of dried date, he got all excited and kind of flipped and scurried off among the rocks, I guess to put it in the bank. He was quickly replaced with another, who did the same peanut routine until I gave him an almond, then bam! Gone.
Once I arrive in Pagosa Springs, I went to Kips for lunch. My waitress gave me a little attitude about everything. I asked about Joe, the owner, and the possibility of performing, she said she might be able to call him, but not until either people stopped coming in or her shift was over. She did wind up calling him, and he said there wasn’t enough of a crowd on Monday nights to warrant a performance, so I decided to continue on. I asked her if there were motels in Bayfield, she confidently said there were, just not so many as in Pagosa Springs. From a pure math standpoint, she was right – there are zero motels in Bayfield. However, I have now discovered a method to create motels where there are none: 1. Approach someone coming out of an apartment or other dwelling. 2. Ask if there are any motels nearby. 3. If the answer is no, say “you got a room I could crash in? I’ll give you 50 bucks.”
So far, I have had 100% success with this method. I’m sitting in a comfortable rocking chair in Kevin’s spare room, and as far as I’m concerned, it’s 10 bucks less than last night’s room, and the water pressure in the shower is much better. And there is one of those little signs hanging on the doorknob that says, “Maid, please have this room made up as soon as possible.” Kevin is an interesting character – former Air Force teacher, leftie rabble rouser, lived outdoors in western Colorado for years, Looks like Travis Bickle as a 60 year old hippie. He now has a tidy little apartment at this former motel (hence my arrival) in Bayfield. He now is fond of stationing himself at local outdoor hotspots and displaying Pacifica Radio type political placards, which has led to a slight aversion to bikers, who’s right wing leanings and love of trouble has made them natural enemies. The apartment is full of tie died items and hanging rugs with a mix of Persian and Bob Marley themes, and you can imagine the aroma. It looks like Kevin is glued to political tv – Hardball is on as we speak.
Other than the fact that Bayfield has no motels (or should I say, has only one motel room), it’s actually a better choice for splitting the distance to Ute Mountain, where I kinda have to stay because the next motel (unless I want to pursue my motel creation scheme) is 110 miles off in Kayenta. Last year I did 105 to Durango then 55 to Ute, this year it’ll be 85 and 75.
I’m pretty much stuck with last year’s destinations – things are so far apart, and Prescott is a must, so it’s hard to imagine jumping ahead anywhere that could lead to shaving a day, which means Ute, Kayenta, Tuba, Sedona, Prescott, Salome, Parker, 29 Palms, Victorville, LA. The flip side is, with all these short days, I’m getting very comfortable and rested up, so you never know.
31. 9/29/09 To: Ute Mountain, AZ Distance: 76.6 miles
My motel last night – 5 stars, though I’m not at liberty to disclose the scale. No question – way better than being eaten by wolves.
Easy day, moderate wind but a mix of directions. There is a long steady climb coming out of Durango I’d forgotten about. Early in the climb, I noticed a biker in my mirror, catching up to me and seemingly making a concerted effort to do so. So I tossed a few more coals on the fire and kept watching. After a couple of minutes, he began to recede in my mirror, so I slowed to let him catch up, and we rode side by side up the long hill for about 20 minutes chatting. I’m always looking for symbolism in things, and from that standpoint, he has the coolest name – what I might say to confirm my occupation while flying – Roger Singer. He’s a 60ish guy, sounds like quite an accomplished bike tourer, about to do a 3 day 240 miler. It made the long hill pass in a flash.
After Roger turned off, there were some foreboding clouds and a few sprinkles, but although there looked to be some serious showers in the area, my course turned away from them, and once I descended from the mountains into the desert the threat disappeared.
I had another of this trip’s non-threatening dog encounters – two beautiful cream colored Labs saw me from a fenced in cow pasture, and chased me along the fence for a long while, barking merrily and having a grand old time, as did I.
Speaking of talking with the animals – I learned a game from the LeFlore kids last year, called Count the Cows. You drive by a herd (I got made fun of this year at the Cheyenne Wells newspaper office for calling it a “pack”) of cows and yell, then count how many look. There doesn’t seem to be any rule for what you say. Lately I’ve settled on “Excmooooooooose me.” I really attract a lot of attention, but I’m not sure if it’s the excmooooose me or the way I laugh like an idiot after saying it.
I stopped off at the Kokopelli Bike and Board on the 160 at the west end of Cortez and chatted with Pete, who last year hooked me up with a great set of tires and accessories. I think that makes 17 people I’ve visited from last year’s trip, nobody can believe it’s been well over a year since my last visit. What’s even more surprising is the number of places I’ve gone to where the faces have changed completely.
I looked at NOAAs weather site tonight for the first time. Jeff LeFlore uses it, it looks a little more detailed and hard core than The Weather Channel’s site, which I’ve been using. Both make tomorrow look difficult, with winds 25 -35 mph gusting over 40, and WSW, perfect direct headwind, along my path to Kayenta, which is about 110 miles along a road that’s itself gnarly as can be. The winds are supposed to dwindle the following day; I might just hang out here at my “Manager’s Special” $60 room at the Ute Mountain Casino. It’s soooooo nice, king sized bed, beautiful subtle Indian theme paint, clean and spotless, nothing makes you appreciate a decent hotel room like a fitful night on a backpacker’s pad in a cluttered apartment bedroom. Brings to mind and old Woody Allen line, “I wouldn’t stand up well to torture – as soon as they took my Macy’s card I’d tell them everything.”
32. 9/30/09 Hide under a rock from the wind day
The winds came up as predicted, there was a National Weather Service High Wind Warning, “Expect sustained speeds from 25 to 35 mph with gusts from 50 to 60 mph.” I pass. The 50 to 60 did freak me a bit, because last year approaching Oakley, there was a strong crosswind at what seemed to be the limit at which I could control the bike. Once in my motel room in Oakley, I saw that the highest recorded local gust had been 47 mph. I went outside a couple of times today to see what the wind was like, I don’t think overall it was as strong as those last year. The thing that kept me from going today was really the direction: straight in my face. I just don’t think I could have made the 110 miles in that wind during daylight. Tomorrow the wind is supposed to be much lighter and not so directly headwind.
33. 10/1/09 Need sleep!
Guess I spoke a little too soon when I said I was “rested and comfortable” – after a fitful night at Kevin’s, I proceeded to sleep less the following night and virtually not at all last night. Today was a decent day for the ride to Kayenta, but that sleeplessness wreaks havoc on my body, I wasn’t even tempted to ride. Last night I went to bed early, tossed and turned all night, dozed briefly at 8 am only to have a disturbing dream about a large tree on the side of a hill I was standing on become uprooted and begin to tear down the hill. I deftly stepped aside, but heaven help those below.
I was able to take a couple of decent naps today, so I’m not quite as catatonic as I was this morning when I wandered out to get breakfast. The sleep issue is huge: if I’m ever to put up a dazzling performance crossing the country that’s an area for vast improvement, but, drugs aside, I don’t even know where to start. My approach tonight: no caffeine, stop eating and drinking at a respectably early hour and take a hot bath before bed to relax and zonk me. If only there were a way to stop my mind from racing.
I spent a lot of time today finishing a book my sister lent me, “One Thousand White Women” by Jim Fergus. The premise is that a Cheyenne Chief proposed that the US Government provide his tribe with 1000 brides, which would in essence integrate the races. The government provides one small batch of brides before spectacularly reneging, and the book is the journals of one of them, May Dodd. It’s a brilliant premise, well executed. Of course the Indians don’t fare well to say the least, the ending is massively tragic and touching. It was strangely ironic to be reading it while kind of laid low on an Indian reservation, and hard to believe that stuff was coming down way less than one hundred years before I was born.
Tomorrow’s predicted to be mild wind wise and around 70, though the morning lows are a bit scary, 20 according to The Weather Channel but 29 according to a local radio station. It’s my first 100 mile plus haul with no lodging opportunities in between. Here comes the fun part of US 160, but I learned an important lesson last year – when there are huge cracks in the road, let a little air out of the tires to spare your bones, teeth and sanity.
34. 10/2/09 To: Kayenta, Navaho Nation Distance: 106.3 miles
How’s this for changing my tune: the ride from Ute Mountain Casino to Kayenta: pure joy! I think I deserve some credit – I tuned up my approach, and it really did seem to help a lot – I deflated the tires to about 100 pounds of pressure, rode a little slower, did a lot of “white lining”, where you ride right on the white line at the right side of the lane, the paint fills cracks and generally smoothes things. It was a nice day, sure it was 21 degrees when I started, but the elevation of the Ute Mountain Casino is about 7,000 feet, so the air is thin and doesn’t chill so much. By 10 I was in my tights and bike shirt, bright blue skies and mild breeze, often at my tail. At 80 miles, I was cheerful, by that point last year I was about 20 minutes from meltdown. But then the kicker – the last 25 miles into Kayenta have been repaved! Milagro! What was the worst stretch of road on the trip has become the best. Silky smooth black asphalt, 3 feet of shoulder beside the best sort of zipper pattern, every 5 yards a 2 yard space, so you can get out of it if need be. I giggled as I sailed by the point where last year I had stopped and was talking on the phone, giving attitude to the operator who was asking which division of the Department of Transportation I was looking for. When I first wrote my friend Jeff that I intended to repeat the ride this year, he wrote back and kidded me, “yeah, I heard Highway 160 was looking for you. Wanted to kick your butt…. Again.” I wrote back sarcastically, “You mean after my complaints to the Arizona Department of Transportation, they didn’t repave the road? I’m shocked!” What do you know. Of course, there’s still the Tuba City run in the offing, which actually had some longer destructo-stretches. I’ll ply my new techniques and pray for virgin pavement.
Had my apparently annual vision of Navajo Nation feminine beauty today – last year it was a young wild filly running along with me and seemingly giggling at me. Today as I rode through Teec Nos Pos, I saw a girl coming the opposite direction on a bicycle, and when she got close enough – Angelic! 16 or so, on a nice mountain bike, teenage slender, kind of prim and composed, creamy brown skin, stunning angular features, faded blue jeans, dark floral print just right too big dress shirt, black flaxen hair just washed, a little wet, pulled around and splayed down the right side of the front of her blouse. You could tell she was stylin’. I said, “Hey, hey!” which provoked a beautiful smile and a hearty shouted “Good Morning!” incredibly loaded with joy, confidence and welcome, pitch perfect, just blew me away. On the day after I finished a book showing the appalling set of choices thrust upon her ancestors 130 years ago. Behold their brilliance and wisdom: they chose her.
35. 10/3/09 To: Tuba City, Navajo Nation Distance: 75.1 miles
My prayers go unanswered – the road to Tuba City is unchanged. But my new approach, along with having been through it once before, go a long way to keeping the damage to a minimum. The one additional hitch – major league headwind, and apparently it’s only going to get worse.
I started out around 9 with a little tail breeze. It was 46 this morning, a world of improvement over yesterday’s 21. Going west out of Kayenta, pretty quick you start a long series of climbs out of the spectacular red rock valley, and almost instantly a strong headwind cropped up. The projection was for 15-25 mph winds, that seemed about right. These last two days I’ve been trying to do 4 1.5 hour segments with a half hour rest in between, eating only what I carry. I’ve been pretty good about it and both days I got in before 5. With the wind, today’s ride seemed much harder than yesterday’s, although it was only two thirds the distance.
Most of the way is pretty marginal but not terrible. The big bad butt kicking segment is only about 10 miles, from mile 53 to mile 63, ending around 10 miles before Tuba City. The wind made it worse in a way than last year, but I was ready for it. And, I’d done a much worse 10 mile stretch this year – West of Washington, Kansas, where the road surface had been stripped off. Today I saw the railing where last year I sat in despair, thinking continuing was impossible, not knowing vast improvement was only a mile and a half down the road. Today I sailed by, thinking, “hee hee – almost done.”
Still had to deal with single digit speeds today – don’t like. And tomorrow’s projection is for 25-35 mph winds, unfortunately Southerly just when I have to head south for Flagstaff. I’m thinking of laying low for another day, despite my aversion to paying the ripoff motel rates one finds on the reservation – over $100 both here in Tuba City and Kayenta, pretty much double what I’ve been paying the last few weeks.
On my way to the motel today, I stopped off at a 7-11 for the night’s treats, and outside met Chris, a fine upstanding Tuba City resident, and let’s just say, I wasn’t the only one pedaling, if you catch my drift. He asked me if I was recreationally inclined, and I said, “Not while biking.” He suggested I come by their place and play some music, but I said I had been done in by the wind and needed to get a motel room. He said, “F*** the motel room, come stay with us!” which I know from a number of things I’ve seen is quite consistent with the culture. Of course I’ve got a whole bag of cop-outs – wrong vibe, baths, sleep – but dang there goes one of my better chances to mix it up with the locals.
36. 10/4/09 Duck the Wind II
Another wind warning day, I stayed holed up in Tuba City. When I checked the Weather Channel website at around 2 pm, the winds were 29 mph gusting to 45, this time accompanied by an amazing amount of blowing dust and sand. I took a walk of about a mile to the market, and when I got back I rinsed off my face then wiped off with a white towel, which instantly assumed a deep adobe hue. Probably a good thing my bike spent the day snoozing peacefully safe in my motel room. It’s supposed to be windy again tomorrow but not nearly so much. I better get up early and skedaddle if I don’t want the 75 miles to Flagstaff to be a total barn burner.
Poked around the neighborhood a little – there’s the Tuba City Trading Post next door, established 1875 (the very year most of the action in One Thousand White Women takes place), with all sorts of Navajo goods and a little museum. There’s also a very cool, nicely designed skateboard park a block away with a pretty decent turnout despite the wind.
Watched snippets of a couple of films and then Juno on tv – love that movie. Spent some time writing what’s become my road mantra song, “Grinding Miles,” a blues tune in which I hope to put my journey in the context of our family drama of the last year. I also discovered that this little netbook does a credible job of recording, so as soon as a few of the verses fall into line I’ll post some audio.
37. 10/5/09 To: Flagstaff, AZ Distance: 74.2 miles
Harrowing day on account of the wind. Weather Channel predicted 15-25 mph in the Tuba City vicinity, 20-30 mph around Flagstaff. I’d say they were pretty accurate.
I’d packed and gotten all my day’s food and drink ready last night because I wanted to exploit the calmer winds of the early morning. I was on the road by 8, but it wasn’t long before the wind came up. Fortunately it was mostly crosswind, though at those speeds a crosswind can mess with you pretty good.
10 miles along this morning, US 160 intersects with US 89 and ends. There’s a sign about 50 yards before the intersection that says, “end US 160”. Last year I made a video, starting on a closeup of the sign and saying in a dramatic tone, “US 160, you kicked my butt but you ended and Ikept going.” I did a similar video today, with more of a teasing tone: “US 160 you bumpy old guy! Got repaved in a couple of places, didn’t you. It’s been fun – maybe I’ll see you next year.”
US 89 is for the most part good, though at first there are a number of stretches where the advent of a passing lane means the disappearance of the shoulder. This lessens as you get into the mountains approaching Flagstaff, though right as you begin to climb, the surface becomes “chip and seal,” a term I learned from Jeff LeFlore, which means they lay down tar then sprinkle pebbles on top, apparently very durable but very bumpy, I call it “chip and squeal.” The shoulder improves steadily as you climb, initially getting wider and wider then switching back to asphalt. The summit is just over 7200 feet, then you drop into Flagstaff, which is 6900 feet.
I’m staying at a Super 8 motel I saw just after I entered Flagstaff – it was only 56 out, so coming down the mountain in the shirtsleeves that were plenty warm for the climb chilled and zapped me. It turns out to be in an enclave of many motels and businesses, as well as oft-used train tracks, just far enough off to be colorful rather than annoying.
38. 10/6/09 To: Prescott, AZ Distance: 95.4 miles
The last of the major climbs done, and my Pinon Pines reunion plans up in smoke! Brandy, you’re a fine girl, but where the heck are you?
Last year I had stumbled upon a Tuesday open mic night at the Pinion Pines, a bar and grill in the rocky red desert about 10 miles before Prescott. Mom and Pop Nancy and Ron owned the place, daughter Leslie did the cooking, Brandy the bartending, Tim formerly of the Dharma Bums ran the show, and Ralo hosted “Live from Pinion Pines,” a weekly cable show. The place was hopping with regulars, I played a huge set. After someone played “Brandy You’re a Fine Girl” on the jukebox and Brandy went crazy with joy, I told her I’d play the song for her next time I saw her.
I walked in today – ghost town. Nancy and Ron had sold the place about a month ago; the two new owners were there today along with a regular from the old days. Nobody knew of Brandy’s whereabouts – she’d worked briefly at another area bar, then went back to San Diego. Ah, well, percentage wise I still did pretty good with reunions from last year.
Otherwise the day was good. When I got up this morning, it was 30 in Flagstaff rather than the predicted 24. I thought, “Awesome – it’s warm out!” The big climb was out of Cottonwood up to Jerome, the cool gallery town built into the side of the mountains above, then over a 7,000 foot pass and down to Prescott. At the convenience store at the turnoff I met a cool character and a despicable one. Loren, dreadlocked motorcyclist with a basketful of organic produce on the back, struck up a conversation about my trip with me. He raises chickens for eggs in Jerome. After I gave him a business card, he gave me a little bag of spinach and a pomegranate, both delicious, although if you were to look at my motel room sink after I ate them and guess my career, mass murderer might spring to mind before organic produce aficionado. The store cashier came out to smoke and try to psyche me out about the downsides of my forthcoming climb, the narrowness of the road, the poor visibility on switchbacks, the altitude, contradicting with a grim smile any positive observation I might make such as the lightness of the traffic, the mildness of the day. Pure evil! She said the altitude at the summit was 7,326, I said, “that’s funny, the summit coming into Flagstaff is just over 7200, and last year I had the impression that this summit was slightly lower, just over 7000. “Nope!” she smugly assured me. Well, to quote the thinking man’s bully, Nelson Muntz: “Ha Ha!” There is a sign at the summit: 7,024 feet.
I’ve vastly improved at what I believe is the whole secret to long distance biking: sustainable pace. Easier said than done, the challenge is to ride at a pace you can sustain for a couple of hours. That’s easy on level ground on a warm breezy day, but put up any resistance like wind or hills and I think the natural instinct is to crank it up, which invariably zaps you in fairly short order. I think I’ve finally kicked the habit. Today I went from the turnoff in Cottonwood to Jerome in a half an hour, stopped briefly to pick up a few postcards, then went from Jerome to the summit in an hour and fifteen minutes, quite happily and relaxed, never out of breath. For me on hills this means spending a lot of time standing up, which is itself a trick to learn to do laid back, but choose a low enough gear, relax, and watch thousands of feet disappear beneath you. And to think last year half way to Jerome I was off the bike stomping my feet and cursing humanity, and on the climb from Jerome when I had to stop and rest and a car had gone by and the driver had given me a big two thumbs up, I was bitterly thinking, “yeah, but I’d use different fingers.”
39. 10/7/09 To: Salome, AZ Distance: 97.9 miles
Once again in magical Salome. I say this because last time I barely got here, arriving at sundown in incredible headwinds, only to fall prey to the crazy lady at the Munster’s motel at the edge of town. There is a café at that motel, but it wasn’t open. I asked the lady what eats might be available in town, she was very evasive in answering, but said she’d give me a ride. In my exhausted state, I accepted, only to see there was a nice array of motels and restaurants at the main part of town: she had offered the ride because she knew if I had ridden down by myself I would have discovered everything and not returned to her place. This time I knew better. I gave her a big “two thumbs up” as I went by.
It was raining buckets when I got up this morning in Prescott, lucky because first I could see on the weather radar that it was a line of showers that would be done by the time I hit the road at 8:30 and second the showers would seriously put an end to the “controlled burns” they were doing yesterday which filled the sky with smoke. The sky remained grey and threatening for the first hour or two, but nary a drop fell. I saw an oldster walking towards me along the side of the road in the forest outside Prescott, and when I said “Heidelie Ho,” he held up a plastic bag and said “People trash out the forest. I’ve picked up three bags so far.” I found that immensely touching – fancy cars and six figure salaries aside, this old guy has taken it upon himself to keep the world beautiful. Hats off to you for knowing what’s really important, Gramps.
Delightful day’s ride – moderate headwinds backed off after the awesome descent into the lower desert you go down after Yarnell – until then it’s hilly high desert, you drive through pretty Yarnell then boom you’re on the side of this incredible mountain, off to your left it’s as if the whole world has opened up, beneath you stretches a vast desert off to the west. 15 minutes and a handful of huge switchbacks later and you’re on the desert floor, completely different climate, today much warmer and less windy.
Soon after hitting the desert, I turned onto the Arizona 71, which only runs about 24 miles from the 89 to the US 60. The 71 is far too bumpy for my own good, not “chip and squeal” but it might as well be. The 60 is great – there’s a wide shoulder that’s not as nice as the pristine surface of the road itself but adequate: I would ride on the road surface unless I saw someone coming from behind me and towards me at the same time, in which case I would thread through the regularly gapped zipper pattern on the right of the road onto the shoulder until the cars passed. The last 28 miles of the day from Aquila to Salome were a model segment, taking just over an hour and a half. Instead of grabbing a handful of convenience store items and hopping into the back of Ms. Munster’s station wagon, I had dinner at Christine’s Cactus Café, a totally credible Mexican restaurant. One thing – cell phone reception all over town is like the atmosphere on the moon. Broadband reception in my room was little better: you may not see this post until I return to earth tomorrow.
40. 10/8/09 To: Parker, AZ Distance: 54.8 miles
Sort of a half day, easy ride to Parker, though the Arizona 72 and 95 are a little narrow and shoulder challenged for my tastes. And just when I was getting used to the setup, some genius put little mini-mini-speed bumps every six inches right on the white line at the right of the road, making escaping from mannerless trucks especially fun.
Stopped for a sandwich in Bouse, had a nice conversation with some high school students who actually attend school in Salome because Bouse is too small for a high school. Good thing because their teams would be the Bousers.
Had lunch and dinner at Coffee Urns, a little coffee shop at the edge of town I stopped in last year. I also checked into the Koffa Inn, right behind the restaurant, which is excellent at $50. I initially thought there was a hot water problem; turned out to be nothing running the faucet for 15 minutes couldn’t fix. And a deep tub to boot!.
Getting ready for the Parker – 29 Palms desert run, which has a 93 mile stretch with no services. Not nearly so harrowing as last year, when the temperature was predicted to be 104 with strong headwinds – tomorrow is supposed to be 90 with a mild tailwind. It’s still a little daunting. I’m carrying about half the water, and this time I know to start fully loaded rather than rely on the convenience store at Vidal Junction, 17 miles along (the 110 mile route), which claims to open at 8 but doesn’t necessarily.
42. 10/9/09 To: Twentynine Palms, CA Distance: 110.2 miles
California here I am, again at one of my old haunts, the Sunset Motel in Twentynine Palms. Bill Gates is so annoying. You’d think he’d know how to spell the name of a town with a population of 26,000. Not to mention Kayenta, one of the biggest towns in Navajo Nation.
Getting here today was a little tough – hard to imagine how I pulled it off last year, with the temperature 14 degrees warmer and a headwind. Today I did it in three segments, 40, 40 and 30 miles. I kind of “bonked,” the biker’s equivalent of “hitting the wall” at the end of the second segment – I couldn’t find a place to lean my bike, kept on when I wanted to stop. Hydration was probably the major culprit – I had plenty of water and juice with me, but I think I don’t drink enough when it gets hot and unpleasant to drink. I need to come up with a method of shading my bottles – other than the two water bottles that ride in the cages on my bike frame, I carry other bottles on top of my guitar case, so they get a lot of direct sun. I had a liter of water actually in my duffle bag, I didn’t use it but sampled it when I arrived – delightfully cool. Still, I managed to do the ride today in just over 8 hours. When I got here, I got a 44 oz. root beer at a convenience store, and it tasted unbelievably good.
I saw a guy walking along the road today about 5 miles before Vidal Junction. I guess he had to be going to Vidal Junction: to walk beyond there you’d need lots of gear and water; I wonder how often people hike across that stretch. I find there to be something oddly compelling about that ride; when you go by Vidal Junction it’s a kind of leap of faith, you’ve got to make it across the vast nothingness with only what you’ve got with you. I don’t think it’s dangerous – perhaps less than the other parts of the ride, for there is less traffic, though there’s certainly enough traffic to provide help if you need it – you rarely go for more than 10 minutes without seeing a car. Pulling in to Twentynine Palms is a rush, today just before I arrived I passed a big motorcycle club heading out to Parker; I got all manner of waves, salutes and thumbs ups, a little recognition from a bunch who know the crossing and what I had just done.
42. 10/10/09 To: Victorville, CA Distance: 90.9 miles
The jumping off to LA point. Last year I got snookered into staying at the Quality Inn by a promise of cheap computer use, which turned out not to be the case. I was amazed at how the little weasel that misled me belligerently defended the scam. Gave him a big drive by thumbs up today, and headed for the Ambassador Hotel which last year I was so tempted to bail to once the scam was revealed. I figured I deserved a treat for this last motel stay on the trip. Luxurious digs, and my one complaint about the low end motels – bad curtains or shades meaning the room isn’t dark at night – is literally well covered.
The ride today was pretty painless, temps in the low eighties, light wind. The 62, 247 and 18 each had a few areas of limited shoulders, always a little stressful, but traffic was light enough so there were no problems. The 247 is Old Woman Springs Road, you turn onto it at Yucca Valley. A couple miles in there are two downhills each followed by an amazingly steep uphill, they are at most a hundred yards each but man are they steep, particularly the second one. What I said earlier about relaxing and keeping it sustainable is out the window, you have to really crank to make it. If it was much longer at all, I don’t think you could bike up it – you couldn’t make it in one pop, and stopping and starting again would be big trouble.
So now the ride is coming to a close. Looks like tomorrow won’t be quite as easy as I’ve had it wind wise, but I should be ok with a decent early start. I have huge mixed emotions about what’s transpired and the outcome. On the up side, I think I did make lemonade: I continued the ride in a way that healed rather than aggravated my injuries; I met and had a great time with almost all of the people I met last year that I intended to revisit; I have some promising songs brewing; I learned a lot about how to accomplish this kind of ride. On the down side, there is a problem: I went to incredibly great lengths and invested a huge amount of time, thought, effort and money into setting myself up to do a record setting run across the continent, then allowed a last minute compromise that was detrimental to a wide array of factors and completely hosed the attempt. I will explain in greater length once I finish the ride. In the meantime, I’m pretty sure those of you following me have figured out that determination is not my short suit. Suffice it to say: I’ve already taken strong measures to fix this problem, and I’m determined to fix it completely.
43. 10/11/09 To: Woodland Hills, CA Distance: 107.9 miles
Oops! I did it again. When it finally seemed like the end was in sight, I did my impression of Ken, the mad drunk who haunts the NYC subways, provokes people then runs to a safe distance, mimes fisticuffs and cries, “You’re mine!” – I let out my best evil cackle and yelled, “The continent is mine!”
Oh Google, my Google – why did you make me ride 108 miles this year, when last year 100 sufficed? The morning was beautiful, clear blue skies, wind calm, I made it to Palmdale, about 40 miles, by just after 10 when out of nowhere a depressingly strong headwind popped up. At the same time, Google’s directions got fuzzy, heading me towards Bouquet Canyon, which I’d never heard of; neither had the half dozen people I had to ask directions from. Turned out to be a nice little 24 mile jaunt, you go up a shallow hill outside of Palmdale then it’s 20 miles of gentle curvy scenic downhill, just as the little group of motorcyclists I had asked at the mouth of the canyon had foretold. The wind calmed as I made my way towards Saugus. The canyon is so nice and has so little uphill, it’s hard to say whether the extra mileage was a fair tradeoff.
Though I had mixed emotions, it was still a gas to pull into the Valley, my home turf. This time I decided to take a little run down Victory Boulevard, which to my surprise has a cracking good dedicated bike path off by itself on the north side of the road.
Pulling up to my childhood home, the thing that couldn’t be done but was done was much different this year – not me crossing the continent on bicycle but rather my father standing there on his own on the porch as promised, 20 weeks after the death of my mother and 8 weeks after his suicide attempt and complete physical breakdown, grinning like a madman and snapping away with his camera. Oh ye of little faith…..
Afterward to follow.
Los Angeles, October 2009.