Kevin and Nicole's Bike Tour

Lions and Tigers and Bears on the East Coast Greenway!

2013-04-25T00:43:00.000-04:00

Nicole and I recently took advantage of winter's receding coarseness to meet some of our animal friends at the Bronx Zoo. The Zoo, which lies just on the south side of Fordham Road, along with the Botanical Gardens which lie to the north, collectively make up what old-timers refer to as "Bronx Park." These 718 beautiful acres are surrounded by various bike paths, several of which contain current portions of the East Coast Greenway. And believe us, it is worthy stop for day cyclists, weekend warriors and cross country-trekkers alike.

Ahh, the sullen look of a surly teenage tiger.

Any who visited the zoo last summer had a chance to see some baby tigers. Nicole and I loved seeing the three siblings play to the hearts content. Sadly, now these three have left the childhood behind, and spend their days as brooding teenagers. And they say people are more intelligent than animals!

Although the tigers were a thrill to see, perhaps nothing brought us closer to nature than our trip to "Africa." Most of the Bronx Zoo's African wildlife gets transferred to warmer climate zoos during the winter months. Not only do the animals need to stay in warm weather, but it also helps gives these captive creatures some of the variety that they so sorely need.

One such animal was certainly new to the territory at wanted everyone in New York to know he was King. A young male lion decided to roar--loudly and repeatedly. To say his manly lion-call gave us a chill would be an understatement. We could literally feel the sound waves of his roar, and we actually felt a touch of mortal terror. Incredible, to say the least. The female was more subtle, as females generally are, as she patiently and methodically sharpened her claws on a tree trunk for all to see, before slowly slinking away to leave Mr. Macho to himself.

If all you're going to do is yell, Leo, I'm going to walk out.

If you are riding towards Florida: Follow the Pelham Parkway bike path as you travel from east to west. After you ride underneath the "2" subway elevated tracks and under the Bronx River Parkway overpass, Pelham Parkway becomes Fordham Road. You will cross over a bridge and reach the intersection of Fordham Road and Southern Boulevard. Turn left on Southern Boulevard and ride for two and half blocks. The pedestrian entrance to the Zoo will be on your left. And yes, they have secure bike parking.

If you are riding towards Maine: Northbound riders have two options. Option 1 is to follow the East Coast Greenway route north on Broadway in Manhattan's Marble Hill, through Van Cortlandt Park, then travel southeast on the Mosholu Greenway. Upon reaching the New York Botanical Gardens, you can make a right turn on Southern Boulevard and ride between the Botanical Gardens and Fordham University. After riding for about one mile on Southern Boulevard, you will reach the pedestrian entrance to the zoo on your left.

Option two is to take a shortcut. Instead of taking the Broadway Bridge over the Harlem River, simply take the 207th street bridge into the Bronx. Once in the Bronx, 207th street simply becomes Fordham Road. Follow Fordham Road for about two miles until you reach Southern Boulevard. Turn right at Southern, and the entrance to the Zoo will be on your left. Though less scenic that riding through Van Corltandt Park and the Moshulu Greenway, this will save you about two and half miles of riding.

Please enjoy the video below, and if you're biking in the neighborhood, definitely make time to make the Bronx Zoo a destination!

It's Cherry Blossom Season!!

2013-04-21T23:30:00.001-04:00

Greetings fellow Atlantic and/or cross country bike tourers!

Unfortunately, Kevin has a non-bicycle related injury, so much of our activity for now is based on trips closer to home. Not that we are unhappy about this. Since we still live near the New York portion of the East Coast Greenway, we have much to discover in our own backyard.

A Great time to see cherry blossoms and other pretty things.

Now that we have relocated to New York City, we have become regular members to the New York Botanical Gardens. Located in the north Bronx, the Gardens offer some of the finest views that the Big Apple has to offer. Not only do the New York Botanical Gardens display a world-class collection of trees, patios, and the like, but perhaps its Crown Jewel is the Thain family forest. In all, there are over 250 acres of natural beauty.

We love visiting the gardens, and do so nearly every weekend. Every visit, we see something different. Urban life is so static, so the gardens are a welcome respite, as we enjoy the rapidly changing ephemeral periods between the seasons. One week, its a stub coming out of the ground. The next week, its a daisy. The following week, the flower could be turning inwards, ready to disappear until next year.

Two months ago, we had the privilege of walking through the gardens in after the great February snowstorm that brought New York City to a standstill. With everything snowbound, we enjoyed the gardens and its accompanied two feet of newfallen snow. All 250 acres were practically ours.

Hey buddy! You certainly look familiar.

At one point, we walked down daffodil hill, a few trees all that could stand out in a see of winter white. Nicole saw some life amongst the stillness after the storm. She saw some young chickadees--so young and small that we wondered if they had ever seen humans before. Our little smartphone cameras didn't allow for the finest in long-range photography, so we had to get close to get our pictures. Incredibly, the little creatures didn't seem to mind. One of the young chickadees was so fascinated with the constant "clicking" of Nicole's smartphone camera that it left its perch on a tree branch and landed right on her phone! We couldn't believe what we saw, and before we had time to even grasp what had happened, the little bird took flight, back to the safety of the tree.

All that was two months ago. On our most recent trip, we got to enjoy the lovely cherry blossoms that show their radiance only in early spring. Like the snow, they will wisp away, slowly at first, then vanish until next season. So of course, Nicole and I made time to visit the gardens again.

As we walking through one of the Garden's many trails, we saw some chickadees. Were these the same birds we saw in winter? One of them seemed very comfortable around us. Perhaps he recognized his former friends and wanted to say hello. It always good to stop by and catch up with an old friend.

And yes, the New York Botanical Gardens are great for cycle tourists. There a very few places in the five boroughs where you can lock up your bike where it will be under the watchful eye of a security guard. And the East Coast Greenway itself runs right along the southern and western edge of Botanical Gardens. So by all means, if you are riding by the East Coast Greenway in New York, this is definitely worth your time.

Getting there:
By Bike: Use the auxiliary entrance at the intersection of Southern Boulevard and Bedford Park Boulevard. Walk through the gate and lock your bikes on the bike rack. Wave to the security guard.

Nothing gold can stay . . .

By Public Transportation: Easy. Take the Botanical Gardens stop on the Harlem line of Metro-North. If one is traveling by car from regions outside of the New York Metropolitan Area, it is best to drive and park the car in White Plains, New York.

By Car: If one must drive into New York City, relax: The Bronx isn't nearly as crowded as Manhattan. No traffic tie-ups and no tolls. The Gardens has its own parking lot, but if one wants to save some cash, there is parking garage at the intersection of Bedford Park Boulevard and Webster Avenue, and the Gardens are a very, very short walk away.

And no, you don't have to worry about crime in this part of New York. So what are you waiting for?

Winter is dead. Long live winter!!

2013-04-09T23:25:00.003-04:00

For the first time since November, our home in the northeast was sunny and warm. Finally, we can put another winter firmly behind us as we spring forward into good weather.

Winter and us have shared some good times over the last few months, but it is clearly all over for now. See you later!

Bronx River, February 7th, 2013.

Getting Married on a Bicycle

2013-03-07T01:24:00.002-05:00

How do I find the words? The culmination of a six-year romance is now defined as a love that shall last forever.

When Nicole and I met by an act of random chance in May of 2006, it was as if we had a history even before we knew each other. The spark was instantaneous. A combustion that neither had ever experienced in all our lives.

Special thanks our irrepressible wedding party!

Two years prior to meeting Nicole, I conceived that I would undertake a cross-country cycling journey--alone. In the summer of 2006, the year I planned to undertake this journey, I fell in love, truly, for the first time. My plans for a solo-cross country bicycle sojourn were put on hold, indefinitely.

2006 became 2007. Nicole I were still in love. 2007 became 2008. 2008 became 2009. And so on. And in the ensuing years I learned that no man is island--together, we are permanently affixed. My trip became our trip. My dreams became our dreams. I began to see things in a different light.

Truly, to experience the world alone is a world that can show nothing to me. God only knows what I'd do without you . . .

And so it was that we descended on the shores of Long Island Sound at Rocky Neck State Park with our wedding brigade. How lovely it was to have all the special people in our lives, all with us at the same time.

Special thanks to Jess, Francis, Joan, Monkey, Alex and King James!

At 4 pm Eastern Standard time, scores of friends and family arrived on the shores of Rocky Neck State Park to witness our celebration. I walked down the aisle, strumming my guitar, hoping to set the mood just right.

Admittedly, I was feeling a little tense. Our initial Justice of the Peace had suffered an unfortunate accident, and could not attend. Thankfully, our good friends Francis and Michael pulled through an 11th hour miracle. With the clock ticking, we were able to secure a wonderful Justice of the Peace. Not since Aaron Boone had come of the bench in game 7 of the 2003 ALCS had anyone seen such a heroic performance off the bench.

The day Kevin and Nicole got "fixed."

And so I spoke. We gave our vows. I told everyone what I had learned after truly, falling in love.

As a species, humans assign value to artificial entities. We assign value to gold, to silver, to money. These are mere abstractions, and they do not compare to the power of our love.

Our love is an investment that is guaranteed to appreciate in value. Our love appreciates and grows every day, every hour, every moment. And so it was that these value matured at 4 o'clock on August 25th, 2012. Finally, a day where two lives became one at last.

That evening, the sun set, the and moon rose. The sky grew dark, and the stars glistened. Out of the random chaos of nature, there is order, there is certainty. Such is the same our love.

For ever, and ever.

Amen!

Without a doubt, the happiest day of our lives.

Getting Engaged on a Bicycle

2012-08-01T00:09:00.003-04:00

May 25th, 2011

"Can I help you?"

He works in retail. I work in retail. I knew what I was there for. Easy enough. All I had to do was tell him what I wanted.

"I was just stopping by," I said, with my chest thumping. I smiled at the clerk and walked out the door. With my heart still racing, I walked down Chapel Street and headed towards York, where I had parked my car. Once I got to the car, I sat in the driver's seat and took a few deep breaths.

All right, I thought to myself. I am going to do this.

I walked back to Celtica. The clerk, an elderly man in his 70s, smiled at me when he saw me return.

"I'm actually here for a wedding ring," I said.

"Ah," his eyes lit up.

Keeping all this a secret from Nicole was challenging. I had told her that I was driving down to New Haven to visit my grandmother--which was true. I didn't share any other details about the trip. That night, I penned a proposal to my dearest. The following morning, I was going to have to put this plan in action, as coyly and discreetly as possible.

The following morning, Nicole asked me if I had planned to do anything special today. After all, it was our five year anniversary. I had to give the appearance that I wasn't planning to do anything to out of the ordinary as to arouse suspicion.

"Well, it is our day off."

"And?"

"I was thinking we could go hiking up a tall mountain--or go for a bike ride."

We ended up taking our bikes to the Farmington Canal Trail--the secluded path from Simsbury to Massachusetts where Nicole and I had started training for our epic journey last year. I knew just the spot where I would We started pedaling. After about mile 20, we crossed the bridge over Salmon Brook.

"Let's turn here," I said.

Nicole wasn't too pleased, because she knew we were traveling downhill to the riverbed. Arg, she thought to herself as we coasted towards the river's edge. One more hill to climb.

Once we reached the river's soothing waters, I handed Nicole a note to read. It read as follows:

"My dearest Nicole,

I am writing to let you know that the things I enjoy doing mean nothing without you.
Even the simple act of waking up in the morning has special meaning when I wake up next to you.

I have learned what it means to be in love after spending five wonderful years together. I can feel the aura of your love like a magnet, and I love the feeling of being loved by you.

You are the one constant in my life. Your affection is unlimited and unceasing. I never understood true love until we lived together. All my hobbies have an augmented feeling when we do them together. It is clear that our love will never temper, but only grow stronger with the passage of time.

When we play tennis, make stir fry, or watch movies together, it is exciting because we are in love. When we enjoy and endure epic bicycle travels together, we are in love. And when I freak out and yell at traffic as much as I try to restrain myself--I'm glad you can forgive my impatience because we are in love.

It is clear that not a soul can love understand me the way that you do. Your gifts as an artist and a chef are only exceeded by your empathy, compassion and understanding. I love to be in love with you.

Please accept my proposition for extra special love. My dear Nicole, is it so clear to me that we are right for one another. Please say Yes when I ask you to marry me, so that we can finally display to the whole world what our relationship means. Please wear this ring to symbolize our ever fixed mark, a love which has no limit.

Please say yes because our love is real, yes because I love you, and you love me.

Please say yes,

Your Love,

~Kevin.

Nicole read carefully, looking at me to gauge my reaction to her reaction. When she had finished reading, our eyes locked. She held the letter in her hand.

"Is this for real," she asked.

I nodded.

She said Yes!!

Central Park on bikes again!!

2012-03-15T17:02:00.001-04:00

Turn back the clock. It's springtime. Last year. The blizzard of blizzards. Followed by blizzard after blizzard after blizzard. Back when I was dreaming about a full-suspension 29-inch wheel mountain bike just so that I could commute to and from work. Back when melting snow revealed cars that had been parallel parked and buried under snowbanks months before.

Ah, springtime!

And what better way to celebrate than a return trip to lovely Central Park. Nicole and I had visited mid-town Manhattan to see a special exhibit on Andy Warhol's "screen tests." The verdict: fascinating!

It was as if Dali himself made an appearance!

Afterwords, we walked over to Columbus Circle, where we ordered the strangest, most exotic, and perhaps, tastiest pizza ever: mango rhubarb! The rhubarb were fresh and in season, and the mango, rhubarb and blue cheese were just sitting on the crust, displaying their odd comoradie, waiting to be consumed.

Not only was the taste alone worthy of an investment, but for $15, we had probably scored the cheapest lunch for two in Central Park West!

We headed outside again, and then was shining. Nicole spotted about two dozen steel-gray Trek 7300s that were part of a bike rental fleet.

"Ah, Connecitcut!" He said, with a conniving green. "I give you the special rate!" He displayed a card with prices per hour for rental, with each additional hour costing substantially more than the hour that preceeded it. "It takes about an and half to ride the whole park," he said, with a smile that wouldn't dim. "I'll give you a special rate for the second hour" he said as he turned towards Nicole. "Since you're from Connecticut."

I was a bit turned off by the huckter-ness of this man's nature. But he seemed to have a good fleet of bikes, and it was a beautiful day. And I could tell Nicole was very excited to get on a bike again.

So we decided yes, we'll take it. "Come with me he said. "I'll get the bikes for you." With that, he started walking us 180 degrees in the opposite direction of the bike rental stand. Huh? "Where are you taking us?" I asked.

"Towards the bikes he said."

Well they appear to be over there," I said, pointing to the bike fleet under the giant sign that said, "rental."

His smile disappeared, and he became firm. "They are more expensive." He said, trying to reassure us that we had made the right decision. "We have the same bikes."

Nicole and I just sort of looked each. Okay, whatever. We continued to follow from the southwest corner of the park to the sidewalk on 59th street. The man picked up a walkie-talkie. "Yeah, two bikes" he said. "That's right, two of them."

The operation was sketchier by the minute. Sure enough, one of his comprades brought out a Wal-Mart bike. I had had enough!

"All right," I said to the mysterious stranger. "We're not riding those bikes."

Wheeee! Coasting down the park's west side.

"But they are more expensive!" He replied. Clearly, he had gone through this routine before.

"I don't care," I said. "I'll pay more so I can ride a bike I actually like!"

He followed us briefly, trying to win us over one last time. "I'll do half off for the whole ride!"

"Forget it," I said, as we kept on walking. Boy I do feel sorry for anyone who took his "special" rate for 25 percent off.

We walked over to the bike fleet and talked to someone behind the counter. Oddly enough, they had a flat hourly rate. And it was cheaper that what the sketchy dirt-bags who walking around with rental pamphlets peddling all the passers by.

We briefly signed up to ride a tandem. After a few minutes of riding, we quickly realized it wasn't for us. Whoever was sitting in the rear seat had a lovely view of the front riders shoulders. That, and pretty much every nut and bolt needed to be tightened on that damn thing. We politely returned said tandem for the 7300s that had first caught our eye and started riding again.

As we rode up "museum mile" across from Fifth Avenue, we couldn't help but soak in the amazement that we had been here on a gray October day just a few months before. This team we saw color everywhere--the blue sky, the budding flowers, and the leafy greens and the beautiful edifices that line the eastern and western edges of glorious Central Park. What a day!

We also felt some of the same feelings as on our ride before. The power of Central Park's combination of landscaped lawns and unspoiled beauty does not diminish with each visit. The jagged rocks of Manhattan Schist that jut out of the ground, the running brooks, the majestic trees--all of them inspiring in their own way. And there is no better way to experience what is perhaps Manhattan's greatest asset than on a bicycle.

The unmatched subtle majesty of Central Park .

After we reached the park's northern border at 110th street, we followed the park's winding road south towards home base. Here we encountered something unusual in most of Manhattan: hills. Despite our efforts to stay in shape with the occasional ride on a stationary trainer, we noticed our legs were a bit out of tune after a few months of relative inactivity. It made us want to start riding bikes again--preferably our own. Nicole commented on how our bikes were lighter and faster than the 7300s we had rented. I knew what she was thinking, but was bit daunted as to the logistics of bringing our bikes down for another Manhattan day trip.

When we returned our bikes, though, Nicole was still grinning with the prospect of a future bike ride through Central Park. In the meantime, however, I figured our trip wouldn't be complete without a ride on the Lexington Avenue Express to the Brooklyn Promenade. With that, we walked a few blocks east on 59th street and took the subway to downtown Brooklyn. We perused the neighborhood's historic Federal Townhouses and were treated to sunset views of the Statue of Liberty and the Manhattan skyline. Beautiful. But, still our day was not done.

At dusk we continued our walking tour of the neighborhood and spotted a sushi restaurant. We were especially enticed with the two drinks for the price of one with dinner purchase. Unlike the bike rental hucksters, this was a real bargain. We enjoyed a lovely meal of fresh sushi for two, along with a few glasses of plum wine. The total bill--tax and tip included--came to less than $35. I couldn't help but marvel that a price for a similar meal would be difficult, if not impossible, to come by in Connecticut.

But Connecticut was the next stop our list--home. After all, if there was one thing we had learned from our trip, home is where the bikes are. And our cats needed us.

Our next bike ride, however, proved to be more than just fun, but perhaps the most important bike ride of our lives . . .

What have Nicole and Kevin been up to lately?

2012-03-09T13:48:00.002-05:00

A great many, things, my friend. A great many things.

The last year has been very exciting, eventful, turbulent, stressful and gratifying all at once. What a year it has been!

But we have been up to?

Where is Nicole riding her bike now? Do tell!

We'd like share. We may not have known so at the time, but when Nicole and I rode our bikes away from the wild horses of Corova Beech, our journey together was by no means at an end. Merely, one exciting chapter had come to a close, and many new sagas were in the making that day.

We shall continue riding our bikes. Dreams of future epic bike tours loom on the horizon, while other exciting and important goals are close at hand.

And we'd like to let you know what we've been up to in the last 12 months that got us here . . .

Stay tuned!!

Flying Squirrels in Manchester

2011-04-29T20:29:00.000-04:00

About Six weeks. That's about how long it has been since we saw this mouse-like creature snacking away at our bird feeder.

Except that's not a mouse. It's tail was huge and poofy, it's eyes large in proportion to its head. "What the hell kind of mouse is this?" I asked.

Who's that pecking away at our birdfeeder!

Apparently, not a mouse at all. Nicole looked at the creature's eyes and tail. "It looks like a squirrel," she said.

Not the best resolution, but note the furry flap on the belly.

Dubious of her claim, we snapped some photos of the tiny beast pilfering from our birdfeeder and checked Wikipedia. Once we matched up the photos with the Eastern Flying Squirrel, we had our answer.

And yeah, we've seen 'em fly!

They don't really fly, but it's amazing to watch them glide. Sadly, we have not yet been able to capture them glide on video, but I keep trying. Last night, I was able to capture one of the squirrels running away (they tend to freak out when they see our cats in the window). It was starting to rain, my camera battery was low, and I just had this gut feeling that the squirrel was going to dart back towards the birdfeeder for more. No sooner than I turned off my camera than the little bugger leaped from my apartment to a nearby tree a good 20 feet away. After he jumped, he rotated his body to sail towards the tree at an angle, exposing the flap on his belly that enables him to glide. Dang!

In the meantime, take a look at these photos and video. It's amazing to watch them walk.

Cabin Fever in Connecticut

2011-01-18T11:25:00.001-05:00

Another day snowed in. Another day has me saying, " Oh I wish I wish I wish I had a Trek Rumblefish.

I can't tell if that's my car or somebody's minivan in the snow.

Last week Nicole and I were completely snowbound, solely because the company that our apartment manager contracted for snow removal didn't bother to show up until the following day. It's time's like these that I just like to pretend that I live at an exotic, remote European Ski Resort.

Today's weather is even more travel restrictive: nothing but pure sleet for several hours. Alas, another day forced indoors has lent to another day yearning for continued bicycle exploration.

Our recent hiking trip in Rensselaerville has lead me to cogitate another bike tour. We could roll right out of our apartment complex onto the Charter Oak Greenway and head east towards Hartford, cross over the Founder's Bridge, through Bushnell Park and spend a night in Torrington, Connecticut before heading northbound.

Dreaming of rent credits . . .

From Torrington, we could head northward, resting at the Appalachian Trail and then again at one of the many campgrounds at the foot of the Catskills before heading north to Renssaerville, resting for the night at the lovely Hotel Petrecek in Middleburgh.

But as the great Homer Simpson once said, "You can't go this far and not go farther!" Middleburgh is only about a day so by bicycle from the Erie Canal Trail. We could head west, enjoy New York's scenic wine country in the finger lakes and press on until Niagra Falls!

And heck, why not ride through Canada and into Michigan while we're at it?

To adapt to the snow, this car apparently grew a dorsal fin

If you give a mouse a cookie . . .

On the other hand, the other half of the East Coast Bike tour beckons. Nicole says that her adventure urges are satisfied for the time being, but 2011 may yet well be an eventful year to explore South Carolina. You might have noticed, I'm somewhat of a Civil War buff, and this year will mark the 150th anniversary of the attack on Fort Sumter. It seems like to big an event to ignore.

What do you think we should do? (Let us know by taking our poll in the top right corner!)

Hiking on Christmas

2011-01-16T13:36:00.001-05:00

December 25th and 26th, 2010

I got what I wanted for Christmas this year.

Having fun out there?

Nicole and I were fortunate enough to spend Christmas at her grandmother's house in Middleburgh, New York. It's not Christmas without snow, and this remote town just north of the Catskills had plenty to offer.

Just a half a mile from the house is a waterfall, and on Christmas Day, it was a solid mass of ice. Nicole and I took some photos while I braved some of the icicles to walk behind the ice mass. Quite a sight.

Growing up in the mid-1980s, snow on Christmas was like clockwork. I also remember the first time it didn't snow on Christmas. My mother, sisters and I went door to door singing Christmas carols in the rain. Alas, the snow did not come, and it seems like it's been a 50/50 chance that Connecticut will see a white Christmas ever since. So when I found out that Nicole's grandmother had invited everyone to her house in Middleburgh, I rejoiced.

There was a fair amount of snow on the ground--about three inches or so--and it made for some interesting hiking. Nicole and I made the mistake of not taking our walking sticks to walk to the waterfall. There isn't any trail to get there, and we found ourselves occasionally slipping and sliding as we walked towards the ice mass, silently hoping a bad fall wouldn't ruin our holiday. At one point, faced with a steep slope, I simply got on my butt and slid down.

The things I am reduced to when I am bikeless!

Still, it was fun. The following morning we said goodbye to everyone and starting driving towards Rensselaerville--a small town worthy of Rockwell. Like most small towns in this region of New York, there's a picturesque Main Street that hasn't changed in about 150 years and not much else. Rensselaerville won Nicole and I over this past summer when we ate at the town's only restaurant and went for a hike at the nearby Huyck Nature Preserve, where we were treated to a splendid view of an even larger, more majestic waterfall. Instead of dumping water into a large pool at its base, this waterfall had a series of smaller pools, each one looked like it had been terraced by man. Words are clearly insufficient to describe the majestic beauty of this natural phenomena. Instead, I suggest anyone who can take a look in person.

Dreaming of a White Christmas . . . oh, wait, I have one!!

When we arrived, the day after Christmas snowfall was just starting to drizzle down as we started walking through the woods. Today we had the foresight to use our walking sticks to provide much needed stability on our unstable walking surface. Visibility was both poor and rich at the same time--the snow obscured yet beautified the landscape simultaneously. And as for the waterfall? Once again, words fail to describe. In fact, photos fail to describe as well. Again, I suggest everyone who can take a good look in person. For me, the beauty of snowfall at the Huyck reserve was my Christmas present.

Not sure this is the right way . . .

The Crown Jewel of the Huyck Preserve. If you look closely, you'll see diamond encrusted snow caps--just kidding!!

The drive down was relatively uneventful until we reached Massachusetts, were we took advantage of the state's sensible commerce laws to purchase some wine for the evening. The snowfall had progressed to full-fledged blizzard status by the time we reached the state line, and the plows had barely reached the interstate, and even though our car handles great in the snow, it was a relief when we pulled into our driveway, knowing full well we could put our feet up and relax until our next adventure . . .

The Final Summation and some thought for food

2010-12-10T00:11:00.000-05:00

So what does it all mean? Nicole and I have been back for over a month now and people still ask us questions.

And we love answering them.

It's funny how when we first tell people about riding our bikes from Maine to North Carolina, the response divides almost evenly into two camps. About half will open their eyes wide with excitement and say, "wow, that's great, wish I could do that!" Another half will open their eyes wide with fear.

"Be careful!" They caution. "There's a lot of crazy people out there!"

We pretty much got this response everywhere. No matter what part of the country. From Bar Harbor to Kitty Hawk and all points in between. Kinda funny.

This trip was in and of itself so many things. What started out in the fall off 2004 as escapist adventurism gradually morphed into five weeks of (mostly) good times.

So what was the big take away? More than a month later and my mind is still teaming with thoughts, scattering in many different directions.

A large focus on the trip was on healthy eating, and touring the many cites of such historical importance often brought to mind John Locke, and his famous social contract.

I could write a whole essay on how I think the social contract should apply to food: I pay for food, I expect the benefits of food in return. That it will eliminate my hunger, that it will satisfy my sense of taste, and that it won't endanger my health and cause me to die prematurely.

But that was just one thing that I took away from this trip. Nicole and I were so fortunate (and in some cases, unfortunate) to see so much.

On the one hand we saw resurgent classic New England farms, integrated systems of sustainable agriculture

On the other hand, we also saw the monocultures of large-scale farming, farms that didn't even grow food.

On the one hand, it was fun and exciting to hear Jon Stewart's impassioned plea for reasableness, as evidenced by the "zipper" merge on the Lincoln Tunnel.

On other hand, that very night Nicole and I spent two and half hours on the New Jersey side of the George Washington Bridge. If we hadn't cut across four lanes of traffic to seek a different route, we might still be in New Jersey!

After being back, and compiling my thoughts, with so many odds and ends in this topsy-turvy, I couldn't help but cogitate a grand vision: Everyone should ride a bike across America.

Seriously. In Lieu of summer reading, America's high school students should take a good look around. Too much of our national discoursed is poisoned by a complete and utter lack of understanding of our own countrymen. What better to see into America's past and its present than by pedaling along. If absolutely nothing else, we'll learn climate and topography (no small feat given that 76 percent of our high school seniors can't locate Iraq on a map)!

If our high schools are unable to take the challenge, perhaps America's colleges and universities could fill the void. College students in every discipline need real world experience, and a cross country bike trip could fall under so many studies: History, Geography, Political Science, Abnormal Psychology, etc.

The big one is personal health. Diabetes, once an incredibly rare disease, currently afflicts nearly 10 percent of the population. Approximately 1 in 3 Americans is at risk for diabetes. The Centers for Disease Control predicts that half of all Americans may suffer from Type II Diabetes, which is completely preventable. Eating real food that your body recognizes as food along with a reasonable amount of exercise can keep you safe from this monster disease.

Ironically, eating is a reasonably healthy diet could reasonably be done without various food substances: Margarine is a substitute for butter; High fructose corn syrup, substitute for sugar. Partially hydrogenated soybean oil is a substitute for olive oil.

And of course, blogs are poor substitutes for good reading material. Don't call me out on the irony--I'm already well aware--but blogging does have its limitations. If your interested in learning more about my food-ideology, I highly recommend In Defense of Food by Michael Pollan for an interesting narrative about the confusion between food and nutrients. Even more instructive and more interesting to read is Animal Vegetable Miracle, primarily written by Barbara Kingsolver. She writes a fascniting account in which she and her family eat nothing but local agriculture, the bulk of which is farmed on their Virginia property.

In the meantime, I'll be collecting compiling my thoughts so that the brief synopsis on this blog will flower into a fuller account of our adventure. I've already got a great title: Riding uphill and into the wind!

Until Next Time

~Kevin

Thoughts on being back home.

2010-11-15T11:16:00.000-05:00

People often ask us: How does it feel to be back?

When we hear that, Nicole and I kind of look at each other, searching for the most polite and truthful way to answer the question.

"It's kind of boring," we say.

We've checked the mail, paid our various bills and look forward to going back to our respective jobs.

Nicole puts the brush to another canvas, and Emma sets her eyes on another bird.

For me, the itch is out of my system.

I went through my stack of mail and pulled out some back issues of National Geographic Traveler, Backpacker, and Adventure Cycling. I no longer feel the need to get up and go far, far away. It's a relaxing feeling.

Nicole feels inspired. She did two pastels in about two minutes. Unsatisfied with landscapes, which she feels constrains here imagination, she is already working on a much larger piece befitting her surrealist style.

Now she says all she needs to get inspired is go on a month-long bike tour.

Our cats are very, very happy. Alison had been such a fantastic sitter, so much so that Emerson lost about a pound of weight. She offered her theory as to our gargantuan cat's new fitness routine: "Wickett [Alison's kitten] whipped him in to shape!"

That may be, but after a month of unfamiliar territory, a sudden departure from his masters, and a strange kitten, he didn't put up much a fight to get in his cat carrier. Instead he just gave Nicole a glaring look of disapproval for abandoning him before leaping into his carrier.

Emma tried to hide in the basement, unsure of where we would take her next. After about a day of being back, they had gotten over life at Alison's and her "torturous"(ly adorable!) kitten. They are happy to be home.

The warrior-cat sits atop his perch on the living room bookshelf.

And even though "home" for me has changed several times over the years (I've had about eight different mailing addresses since 2006) it's brought a renewed appreciation for what home is. I don't have to worry about reaching any "next" destination for quite some time. Washing dishes is much, much easier. Heck, I even have a refrigerator! I can buy milk again!

And not just any milk, Connecticut farm fresh milk. The unpronounceable Re-combinated Bovine Growth Hormone (RCBGH) is a nightmare for taste. Thankfully, Connecticut dairy farmers banded together and have distributed milk under the name Farmer's Cow. Call me crazy, but I prefer not to have my milk trucked across the country. State residents can find it at most any supermarket.

They also gave Connecticut Residents a real treat: Farmer's Cow Ice Cream! And, not to sound overly moralizing, they also have Connecticut Eggs as well.

So this is home, and I'll admit, Connecticut cider has a stronger taste--a "kick" if you will-than North Carolina cider.

So it is good to be back home. And another treat: The town of Manchester has cleared in order to pave an addition to the Charter Oak Greenway!

So is it really that boring? I think it's more welcoming and relieving than we we first got back.

Of course, the Charter Oak Greenway is part of the larger East Coast Greenway, which always begs the question of a sequel . . .

Epilogue Part 2: Driving through the dreaded Northeast Corridor

2010-11-11T11:52:00.002-05:00

October 30th

It wasn't supposed to be this way.

If time and money were no factor, Nicole and I would be riding our bikes through North Carolina's Outer Banks and on to Florida. We would be rewarded by traveling in a sleeper train car back to Connecticut.

If time and money were not a factor, I wouldn't be stuck in traffic trying to get through D.C.'s Beltway.

The drive up wasn't all bad. Nicole and I were able to listen to the Rally on C-Span radio. Ah, Washington, you know what's entertaining!

To avoid some very hideous tolls, and for the irony of the situation, we road the Pulaski Highway once we passed Baltimore. Did we lose a little time? Sure. Was it worth it to save eight dollars just to ride on I-95 for eight minutes in Delaware? Absolutely.

It was very late once we got to the New Jersey Turnpike. At the rate we were going, we wouldn't get home until about 3 o'clock in the morning. The days of finding interesting and obscure soda's were far behind us. From here on the only taste was Coca-Cola. They didn't even have Dr. Pepper, owned by Coca-Cola. And you know what? Coke tastes awful. Did they get it from a Coke oven?

Nicole and I tried to keep up pointless conversations like these to stay awake and alert. Once we reached the George Washington Bridge, though, we could have just fallen asleep.

As we got closer to the onramp, we reached a complete standstill.

"How is this possible?" I nearly shouted. "It's 1:30 in the morning!" Nicole calmed me down a little bit. Just be patient, she reminded me. "I'm sure we'll get through eventually."

Okay. Over time, we slowly crawled forward. Very slowly. In about an hour we had traveled a quarter mile.

And we still hadn't reached the actual bridge.

"Do they have a traffic report at this hour?" I asked as I violently punched the radio knob. CBS News 880, traffic and weather on the 8s.

Apparently, there was an apartment collapse near the top level and the bottom had already been closed due to maintenance. Estimated clean-up time: an hour and half.

Well, we've been stuck for an hour already, we thought. Therefore, we only have half an hour to go. Then came another report ten minutes later. Estimated time to clear up: two and half hours!

Enraged, I navigated our way to the exit lane for Fort Lee. It took 15 minutes to reach the offramp because other drivers, in their own will of delusional lunacy, were using the offramp lane to drive another, oh, 16 feet before reaching the traffic tie up and thought I was going to do the same. Instead I floored it and drove to the Lincoln Tunnel. Once we reached Manhattan Island, I skipped out on the West Side Highway to instead reach FDR Drive.

I wanted to get as far away from that cursed bridge as possible. Even with the time it took to change my flat tire, it took me no more than 20 minutes to cross this bridge on a bicycle.

I had no time to lament the freedom lost, though. I wanted to get home before I fell asleep. We switched driver's once we reached Connecticut. Out of curiosity, I checked out the traffic report: It was just at that moment that the congestion was "starting to clear."

The remaining two hours were uneventful. We had to stop at Jeff's house (Nicole's brother) in order to get the keys to our apartment and our car. After that, we each drove the final leg into Manchester.

It was almost sunrise when walked in our front door. A dog from our downstair's neighbor screamed to the heavens upon our arrival.

Welcome home.

Epilogue Part 1: D.C. and the Rally to Restore Sanity

2010-11-10T14:31:00.002-05:00

October 30th

It was our last night in North Carolina. Heck, it was our last night for the bike trip period. So we made darn sure we got a view of the sunrise the following morning.

We woke up before dawn, a bit groggy, but a bit relieved that we didn't have to ride 50 miles with 50 pounds of gear on our bikes.

There was slight pre-November chill in the North Carolina air before dawn. A small crowd of about six stood on a deck overlooking the beach, waiting for morning's glow. It came, it glistened, and yet it seemed anti-climatic. A sunrise isn't a sunset from the opposite direction. A setting sun leaves its light behind: The light show made more brilliant by sunlight's eight-minute lag time in reaching the Earth.
The fiery beams linger a full eight minutes even after the sun has gone down.

So perhaps I'm a little bit partial. Still, a brilliant sunrise is a brilliant sunrise, and the beach by the sea is a beautiful way to start the morning. Much better than what will be our very last "continental breakfast." While we're in the lobby, a mother is asking hotel staff where she can find an appropriate Halloween party for her seven-year-old daughter. The mother explains her dilemma: "We live in the mountains--they won't celebrate Halloween because it's Sunday."

Oh my!

Nicole and I have other concerns. We disassemble our bikes and put them in the back of a rented Chevy. We're on our way to D.C. and the Rally to Restore Sanity.

We took photos of other ships, but they were far to blurry beyond belief.

We turn around and head towards our nation's capital, covering by car in a little less than an hour what we generally achieved in a day on a bike. The state that took us a week to ride through on our bicycles takes only a few hours on the Interstate. We see some Navy Destroyers at Newport News, Virginia. Nicole snaps some blurry photos as we travel over and then under the mouth of the James River.

Miraculously, we find a parking spot once we reach the Capital. We're only about 20 minutes by bicycle away from the The Mall. We open the hatch and re-assemble our bikes (minus the panniers, of course) and race down to the mall. At first, we assume it's at the Lincoln Memorial. Is it over? It doesn't look there was any large mass of people here? Did they march somewhere?

We ride our bikes to the other end of the mall. There they are! And by "they," I mean the quarter million people who showed up with their signs and in some cases, costumes. It takes some maneuvering to get close enough to the speakers to actually hear some of what's going on. It isn't until we get to the Air and Space Museum that we can faintly make out the voices of Jon Stewart and Stephen Colbert on the loudspeakers. We can't even see the stage our quite make out what it is what they are saying.

Nicole enlisted the help of a tall gentleman standing atop a fire hydrant.

I try to get closer. Nicole tries to follow me but instead starts taking photos of the more interesting rallygoers. Jon is making his final plea for sanity, and I'm sort of like the characters from "The Life of Brian" when they come to see Jesus' Sermon on the Mount. I can faintly make out what Jon Stewart is saying, something about "Blessed are the Cheesemakers." I clap when other people clap. I'm willing to go out on a limb and assume that what he's saying is both funny and poignant.

What about Pancake and Sausage on a stick? Where are those people? And what about Baconnaise?

Eventually the rally ends, and as the crowd thins, Nicole and I finally find each other. All that remains is the final ride home . . .

Wild Mustangs in Carolina

2010-11-07T11:13:00.001-05:00

October 29th

Finally. Adventure, more so than before.

To all those who say that the breathtaking wild scenery of America is west of the Mississippi I say, take a good look at the east coast.

And today required some very good looking. These horses were hard to find. Once we arrived at Corova Beach, we temporarily jettisoned all our cargo, save for the camera. There are no roads of any kind, save for packed sand from four wheel drive vehicles. At times we wondered which was more futile: trying to ride over the sand at a pathetic 4.5 miles an hour, our just walk at half that speed.

These stubs are all that remain from a massive docking system centuries ago.

Over 400 years ago the Spanish tried to colonize this island. We could see the ruins of an elaborate docking system as we rode in. For whatever reason, the colony never took off, but the horses stayed, and stayed, and stayed. For 400 years. And we are going to find them.

We spent nearly an hour walking, riding, and cursing. The wind didn't do us any favors either, blowing at 15 miles an hour right into our faces. Eventually, we saw horse tracks and took a photo. We were tired and the sun was going down. Would this story have a sad ending?

We were ready to give it up. Nicole's knee was hurting and we hand sand all over the moving parts of our bicycles. Frustrated, sad, we turned around.

Suddenly, behind a dune, I saw a tour group. Hey, they are looking for the same thing we are, and where they are, the horses can't be far behind!

"Wait," I shouted to Nicole. I chucked my bike behind a sand dune and started running. Behind the dunes was a landscape of plants and shrubs that were literally able to grow right out of the sand. The tour group had already driven away. No horses. Yet.

I walked about 100 yards towards where I saw the tour group vehicles. No horses. There were some thick bushes and trees on the other side of the sand packed road. Could the horses be in here?

I walked into the forest growing on the sand. Hmm, no horses, but just in front of me were horse droppings. Well, that's a sign. I stepped to the left of the horse droppings. More horse droppings. Fresh ones. I've got to be close.

I head back towards the dunes, where Nicole is sitting by my fallen bicycle. I'm excited to share her the news that they must be very, very close. Then, to both our surprise, we see them: A mother and son grazing the brush. The mother is tall and jet black, with a white splash on its forehead. The young colt is a fantastic brown, with a crescent moon on his forehead. At first they stop eating and look at us, then they simply resume eating. They don't run, as people are not allowed to walk within 50 feet of the animals. They're used to people gawking.

I see you!

The young one hadn't seen people gawk for so long, the mother could care less about us as she keep eating.

Riding where the old dock once stood as the sun slowly sets.

Nicole and I are ecstatic. Wild horses! We each take, oh, about 30 photos, basically squandering what little daylight we have left to capture these magnificent creatures on camera. And my god, they are beautiful.

Of course, we couldn't stay. We had to head back. We were running low on resources (specifically cash) and decided this would be a fitting end, a crown atop the mighty bicycle journey across the east coast.

The majesty is so transcendent.

Sunset on Abermerle Sound on the other side of the island.

Touchdown in Kitty Hawk

2010-11-06T23:57:00.002-04:00

October 28th

After yet another tasteless and unfilling continental "breakfast," we decided to take a look at what we presumed would be downtown Elizabeth's fine eateries. We rode by several that didn't look very inviting from the outside, then did a circle through downtown looking for something that would match the colonial character of this port town. Eventually, we found the Colonial Restaurant. It didn't look any more inviting than anything else we had seen, but the name had me. Also it was drizzling and this place had an awning to keep our bikes dry.

When we walked into the restaurant and we see 1970s formica tables and somewhat dim lighting. Is this supposed to be an upscale elementary school lunch room?

We sat down and looked at the menus. Hmm. Not much going on here. They had about ten different sandwiches on the menu and various side dishes to order with each sandwich. Okay, I thought. They didn't say there were a sandwich shop, but that appears to be their specialty.

Johnson/Humphrey 64'

"I'll take the hot turkey sandwich," I say the waitress as she takes our order. She starts to write it down but then has to let me know:

"It's deli meat," she says. "It's not the--the whole thing, I just say that because I'm particular."

"Well, that's fine."

"Now the roast beef," she says, holding her hands together to illustrate, "that's the whole thing right there."

"Well, the turkey will be fine."

Nicole, however, is won over by this woman's description and orders the hot roast beef. A few minutes later, we see our sandwiches as we could not have possibly imagined them: one piece of bread, lots of gravy, and deli meat. With both have two razor thin pieces of deli meat. Room temperature!

At least my vegetable sides are palatable. Nicole ordered turnip greens with her sandwich, and they're just awful. The waitress sees Nicole grimace as she tries to stomach her greens and asks if she would like some vinegar. Nicole says yes.

"Spciy?"

Nicole deliberates momentarily and uneasily says yes. Seconds later the waitress returns with a four and half decade old bottle of Texas Pete's Pepper Sauce. We're not sure what's in it, but if I had to guess, it was some kind of gag gift from Lyndon Johnson during a campaign stop in 1964. I can just see that smiling Texan on his way out the door after handing over his gag bottle of "hot sauce" saying, "Y'all don't vote for Goldwater, ya hear!"

Nicole isn't too fond of her memorabilia, and I tell her that this terrible gravy and tasteless turkey is a problem of my own. "Here," she says, trying to contain her laughter, have some of my turnip greens."

She dumps some on to my sandwich. I grimace a little as I brace for a single bite.

Just then I feel a man put his hand around my shoulder.

"How are you doing sir,"

"Oh, fine," I say startled. "Just fine."

I turn around and look at a rather pole shaped man wearing an apron. I assume he's the brains behind the kitchen.

"That's good," he says reassuringly. He comments that he like my Irish Cycling Jersey and asks if those are my bikes outside. I tell him yes.

"That's also good. You know what, I heard Louis Armstrong just had himself another baby!"

"That's right I say." I know which Armstrong he was referring too.

"Well God Bless you," he says and walks back into the kitchen. I'll be darned if that man didn't make the worst food and somehow made me feel good about trying to eat it.

Not only is the great convertible, but the keys are still in the ignition!

Once we leave Elizabeth City, we're right back on Route 158, and the terrain is very rural, much like previous days, until we reach Coinjock Bay and 158 veers sharply southward. We get excited as we start seeing farmstands everywhere--by which we mean three stands each about five miles apart. All of them cater to tourists, but in late October Nicole and I are free to peruse without the crowd. We stock up on local cider, local peanuts, local fudge, local everything. Real food is a welcome departure from the meaningless fields of soybeans that we've been riding through nearly half a week.

This family owned farm was a sight for sore eyes.

We stop so often that it's getting late by the time we reach Kitty Hawk, and there's only one way on or off that island. It's the Wright Memorial Bridge--three and half miles across Abermerle Sound. And there is no pedestrian section.

We turn our our SuperFlash taillights and ride on. Nicole is nervous as the sun starts to set in the horizon. We're about halfway over the bridge when I see a state trooper's car drive by us, only to slow down and stop a few feet a head. Oh no, I think to myself, not again. I ride by and brace for the bad news, but to my surprise, he doesn't say anything. I stop riding and twist my head around.

"You can keep riding," he said, with a sweet southern drawl. "I'll just follow you."

Well that was helpful and unexpected!

A great accquistition from Morris Farm.

We get our escort service for another mile and half. Nicole feels sorry for the trooper, so she edges me to ride faster. We're riding at about 17.5 miles an hour as we roll into Kitty Hawk--quite a feat with so much gear to carry. The Wright Brothers would have been proud!

It's after dark now, and we ride a few miles into town to find a hotel. I cook some pasta in the parking lot, and we enjoy it with some of the local food we picked up from the days riding.

Tomorrow: Wild Horses!!

Spiders down here are scary

2010-11-05T15:16:00.003-04:00

October 27th


I know children read this blog, so enjoy this frog instead!

Nicole found it funny that I panicked so much and slept so little last night. The ladies room, however, wasn't so funny, as she saw a giant wolf spider hanging out by the door. Wolf spiders have a body about the size of one's hand, with legs that stretch out even longer. After trying to find a way to open the windows--and failing--Nicole spotted a nearby traffic cone. She grabbed the cone and pushed it towards the spider. The arachnid didn't want any part of this and ran across the bathroom floor, giving Nicole access to the front door.

"Kevin," she said once she got back. "I don't want to stay too long."

We packed up our tent and headed back towards the main office and its much cleaner facilities. After a rather enlightening conversation about wolf spiders with one of the camp staff, we started the days ride and headed west towards North Carolina's outer banks. We stopped in Sunbury--the only "town" on route for another 50 miles--and purchased some boxed pasta for future use as well as a gallon of fresh water to hold us over.

The Great Dismal Swamp.

Once we left Sunbury, we found ourselves riding alongside the Great Dismal Swamp. Despite its name, its actually quite scenic, and the trees in the swamp were displaying their late October colors.

Lunch posed itself a problem. There was only one restaurant on this road--in fact, the only restaurant accessible within 15 miles. I set my GPS for Peggy's Country Cafe, and was none to pleased to hear the machine blip and the display say, "Now arriving," when all I could see where residential houses and more swampland. Had they closed? Moved? I called them to find out.

They were less than 1/16th of a mile up the road, obscured by a slight bend in the road and a few tall trees. What a relief!

The menu was basically fried everything. I think I had fried fish, although it may have been fried chicken. We also ordered a side of fried apple slices. Seriously. We had sweet potato pie for dessert just to add some variance to our meal.

As we got closer and closer to the shore, the wind starting picking up, and Nicole's knee started hurting from overexertion. After we ran out of ice packs, we decided to go off the route into Elizabeth City rather than try riding another 30 miles into Kitty Hawk. We were treated with excellent sunset views as we crossed the bridge over Abermerle Sound into the city.

We arrived on the outskirts of Elizabeth City just in time for sunset.

After we had time to shower and change into regular clothes, we asked the hotel receptionist if there were any places to eat that were in walking distance.

"Not many," she said. "There's really only one that you can walk to."

I guess Elizabeth City isn't known for walking, because we found about five restaurants that were about 1/10 of a mile from one another--all literally across the street from the hotel. To our surprise, we found a Mexican restaurant. It seemed like a welcome change after lunch.

Tomorrow, Kitty Hawk. After that, the wild horses of Corova Beach . . .

Alligators and bobcats and bears--Oh My!

2010-11-03T22:14:00.002-04:00

October 26th


This was only one of many. An old estate abandoned an in disrepair

North Carolina, here we come. We started riding through light rain to the town center of Suffolk where to eat lunch. Multiple townspeople were impressed with our bikes and our sojourn. One such person approached us as we where leaving the restaurant, and shared his experience as a younger man traveling through hostels across America. Suddenly his eyes lit up as he kept talking.

"You've inspired me," said the middle-aged man. "To go quit my job and ride my bike around the country!"

Have we become the pied pipers of cycling?

Rain gave way to sunshine as we entered the great state of North Carolina, but the moisture didn't want to leave. It was hot and humid as we crossed over creeks that feed into the Great Dismal Swamp. For the first time in a long time, we were actually sweating. Oddly enough, the swamp is actually quite majestic in its own unique way, and it made for good scenery as we reached our destination at Merchant's Millpond State Park.

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!

It was a relatively short ride from Suffolk to the state park, so we had ample time to set up our tent and tour some of the museum and grounds. The millpond is the result of damning a nearby creek to run a grist mill, and the pond basically turned a natural landscape that was accustomed to constant seasonal flooding into what is basically an extension of the Great Dismal Swamp.

We heard owls hooting and bobcats howling after nightfall.

The area is teaming with wildlife. Wild bobcats and bears roam the woods at night, and Alligators (yep, Alligators) sun themselves on top of downed tree trunks in the swamp. That's in addition to the many species of frog, spider, and snake.

Just a day's riding on a bike, but we're a long way from cotton fields!

The great majesty of Merchan't MillPond at sunset.

We took some spectacular photos of the swamp at sundown. The sun's light painted the sky and clouds and left its reflection over the water. The turning leaves on the trees were the perfect accent to nature's masterpiece.

Once it was time to sleep though, we felt a little less inspired.

"I'm nervous," said Nicole.

"Oh, there's nothing to worry about. Obviously these animals don't bother people."

"What was that?" She asked as we heard a howling throughout the woods. "Was that a bobcat?"

"It sounded exactly like one," I said, smiling.

"I'm scared," Nicole reiterated. "But I'll get over it."

I put my arm over her reassuringly as she fell asleep. I on other hand was not so lucky. Over the course of a few minutes, my inner paranoia set off with fears, mostly baseless. So what if our peanut butter is sealed, can't the bears still smell it anyway? What if some animal sees us anyway, won't it attack, leaving us that incredibly rare statistic of wild animals actually unprovokingly attacking people? And so on.

We had the rainfly up because there was a chance of rain, even though it was clear skies above. I kept it up like a cowardly ostrich sticks his head in the sand. Hey, if they can't see me! Eventually I had to take the rainfly off because I was basically dehydrating myself and I needed the ventilation. It was a little cooler and I could relax a little bit--until the wind picked up. Like clockwork, I would settle myself down, squash the ridiculous fears in my mind and close my ears. Then the wind would pick up and rattle the leaves, sounding just like impending rainfall.

Eventually I did go to sleep. At about 4:30 in the morning it rained--for about five seconds. Nicole and I put the rainfly up, but this time there wasn't much time between me falling asleep and my head hitting the pillow.

60 miles to Suffolk

2010-11-03T15:10:00.004-04:00

A full moon provided ample light for us to pack up and leave "town" before sunrise.

October 24th

We woke about an hour before sunrise today and for the first time since we crossed the Mason-Dixon Line, we were greeted with cold air. At first we were shivering, but once we added extra layers we were all peaches. Neoprene shoe covers are on a cold day what apple pie is to your mouth. It just feels good!

The challenge of where to eat breakfast was also paramount. We didn't have enough fresh water to cook our oatmeal, and the nearest convenience store--heck the nearest business establishment--was 20 miles away. Our only choice was to ride on, and drink our water sparingly.

One of many cotton fields.

These concerns gave way to excitement once we saw our first cotton field. It was the South all right. Hey, where there's cotton fields, we reasoned, there must be business.

Not so, apparently. Mechanized farming has replaced manual labor, and with it, any and all signs of commerce. Multiple times we saw monuments to what was once the town General Store, some of which had been in business since 18th century colonial times, others built from the ground up by grown descendants of freed slaves.

Robert Holmes' General Store opened in the 30s and lasted 50 years.

Once we got to convenience store, we found it a little inconvenient. The hours said the place was open, but the locked door and dim lights indicated otherwise. Not that it would have helped had it been open: The shelves were half empty, even more barren than some of the other roadside convenience stores on our trip so far.

Fortunately they had vending machines out front. We purchased some bottled water and cooked outmeal, saving the rest of the water for the ride. By now it was almost 11 am, and we had no choice but to pedal onward. No sooner did I get back on the bike than did I lament--and fear--how hungry I really was.

But fate soon turned a twist in our favor. On the edge of "town" we saw a rather nondescript building a few hundred feet from the main road. A few feet from us was a sign that said, "Fresh Sandwiches." According to my adventure cycling map, we where in for another 20 miles of nothing but cotton and soybean fields.

"Is this to good to be true?" I asked Nicole.

"I don't know, where do they serve the sandwiches?"

This was eerily disturbing.

It was tough to tell. The building looked like some kind of school or community center that was built in the 1950s or '60s. Unlike most other buildings we had sign, it wasn't falling apart.

We stood by the side of the road, deliberating until somebody finally saw us and waved us towards the building. "Come in and get your sandwiches."

Success!

We parked our bikes outside and walked in. "Hi," said an older woman behind the counter. "We just opened last week."

Alleluia!

Nicole and I each refueled with some good, homemade sandwiches and were on our way. We rode well for the next 35 miles, but the last five miles proved the hardest. As we approached the outskirts of Suffolk, Virginia, we starting running low on water. We had only a few miles to go before we reached a hotel, and given that we were know on the outskirts of an actual population center with actual businesses, we expected that finding potable water would not prove to be difficult.

Grow-Green Nitrogen Solution plant. Who can resist the taste of Nitrogen!

Of course, that would have been too easy and too uncharacteristic of the day's riding. My mouth was dry, and the cool morning air had long since given way to what folks in Connecticut would consider summer heat. As we reached Route 58, we passed building after building that was open for business--just not on Sunday.

Finally, we reached a gas station. We each drank what felt like a gallon of water before riding another mile and half to the Suffolk Day's Inn, which, coincidentally, shared its parking lot with a supermarket.

Virginia's been a long ride, and North Carolina is within reach . . .

The Dockside Restauraunt leaves much to be desired

2010-11-03T12:02:00.002-04:00

Oct. 23

Today was a day of Civil War Battlefields, red hot ginger ale, and probably the worst restaurant I've been to in my life.

As usual, our continental "breakfast" left a lot to be desired. To stave off starvation until lunch, we went to a convenience store on route. This convenience store, unfortunately, served mostly beer and candy, so Peanut M & Ms was once again the "food" of choice. Nicole also saw some vintage Ginger Ale, and I spotted what looked like a knockoff coke--only the label on the bottle said the company had been brewing its trademark soda since 1913. It seemed like a mildly exciting way to add some sugar fuel up for the day ahead.

My soda looked and tasted very much like a Cherry Coke, but Nicole's Ginger Ale was something to get excited about. This beverage was so strong on the ginger that it left a burning aftertaste, first in your throat, then all the way down through your esophagus. You could still feel the flavor, so to speak, once it "settled" in your stomach, but Nicole just thought it was her insides burning. "Since 1885" the bottle proudly proclaimed. It seemed like a pro-temperance substitute for Whiskey.

Fire in the Hole!

Shortly after our cola/ginger ale fiasco we toured the battlefield of Malvern Hill, where, one year to the day after Gettysburg, Grant decisively defeated Lee. Incredibly, the war lasted one more year.

Unlike Fredericksburg, the whole field is a National Park, the landscape unchanged over the last 150 years. Once again, we felt the same power of humility and understanding of sacrifice as we stood on a field where so many brave soldiers fell.

Our journey continued as we pedaled on towards the James River. Our continental breakfast and subsequent search for food had left us hungry and frustrated, but once we got to the bridge, we were hopeful. There was a restaurant on the other side, and by the looks of this majestic, wide-mouthed river, I was certain that whatever food they served would be good.

This certainty quickly morphed into doubt once we arrived at the glorious Dockside Restaurant. When we sat down, we had a long time to look at the menu. It wasn't too far off from My Cousin Vinny. We could have Breakfast, Lunch, or Dinner!

How can you tell it's a vulture? If it acts like the vultures from the Disney movie The Jungle Book.

Actually, it was a little more varied than that, but not much. Pretty much everything on the menu was some kind of fried fish or meat, but once we ordered, we noticed that it all looked at tasted exactly the same. It was as if the Dockside Restaurant had taken local fish off the menu and went straight to serving local water instead. The waitress was also pretty flustered with the concept of customers: she served everybody one at a time. People who had arrived only moments after we did had already paid and left before we got our main course.

Before we left, the lone waitress apologized for the chaos.

"I'm so sorry," she said frantically. "It was so busy."

"That's okay," reassured Nicole.

"It's like this every day," said the flustered waitress. "It's slow and then all these people come, I don't know what to do!"

Riding through one of the many vast soybean fields of Virgina.

Since we had lost so much valuable daylight for such bad food, I didn't bother to stick around and tell her the answer. Nicole and I didn't have much time to travel further before it was almost dusk. With her knee hurting and us miles from any sort legitimate lodging, we camped out behind a nearby school. Good thing it was Saturday!

NOTE:
Be sure to check old blog postings as well. We have added some great photos!

Riding in Richmond

2010-11-03T09:58:00.004-04:00

October 22nd

Good food. Great portions. Cheers!

This morning greeted us with another sunny Virginia day. We had another continental "breakfast" at the Henry Clay Inn and hoped to eat a more tasty and filling brunch at one of the many fine dining establishments we saw on Ashland's main strip. Trouble was, pretty much every establishment that served food in this town didn't open before 11 am. I guess Randolph-Macon College doesn't have many early risers.

With that we rode on, and once we left the center of town, we didn't see much in the way of dining until we reached Richmond. It was worth the wait. The portions were generous, almost Texas generous. And the prices were good, Texas good.

Shortly after eating, we came across Penny Lane Pub. As Beatles fans, it was impossible to resist a quick stop.

Inside the Penny Lane Pub they only played the Beatles.

Virginia is full of historical markers like this one.

The Richmond Capital was quite underwhelming. There was nothing wrong with it, other than the fact it didn't quite look like a capital building. If it were a library, I would say, "wow, that's almost as impressive as the New York Public Library!" But it wasn't, so I didn't.

"The building across the street looks much grander," said Nicole.

"Um, that's a Federal building."

"Oh."

Yes he is giving Nicole the evil eye as she snaps a photo.

Our ride out of Richmond proved complex. As we headed east to the city's outskirts, I missed a left turn do a road sign that was completely illegible. The road forked, and we turned right before we could see that we had missed the turn. To get back on the route, we would have to cross eastbound traffic that couldn't see us from the fork in road as well as westbound traffic back into Richmond. And there was no walk light.

We decided to pedal onward and just meet up with the recommended route about 12 miles down the road. This plan seemed to work well, until we discovered that the road we were on just turned into a highway with no shoulder!

Short on daylight, I cursed the city of Richmond and they're bent road sign. We had to ride backwards for about 45 minutes to find lodging for the night.

Perhaps, though, it was all for a reason. Outside the Best Western we where greeted by two small kittens. Somebody else told us that he had been feeding the cats for almost a week and that they likely didn't have a home. Nicole took some photos of the wee ones and we posted an ad on craigslist, hoping to find a home for these stray kittens. Hey, if you're traveling near Richmond, be sure to take a look. How can you say no?

The ride into Ashland and the rather regal Henry Clay Inn

2010-11-02T23:13:00.007-04:00

October 21st

These signs are so nice, no more wrong turns!

Once we left Fredericksburg, we were really out of the Beltway. In the morning, we saw more consistent farmlands instead of housing subdivisions, and an occasional glimpse of a more classic Virginia.

Nicole said it was rude to take a photo, so I didn't. I'll just give you the description: Trailer home, outhouse, circa 1950s Mercedes-Benz. Classic.

Fredericksburg just isn't populous enough to have any real suburbs. Sure, it looks like a city, and back in the mid-19th century, a town of 20,000 was quite populous. Now, it's got 20,000 people.

Fredericksburg hasn't changed much and neither have the "suburbs." We rode for nearly 20 miles before we found a business establishment that sold food. They made sandwiches, and if you were really in a pinch, the store had dusty boxes of Wal-mart brand pasta for purchase.

Nicole and I each had a sandwich and ate in the shade to seek refuge from the hot Virgina sun. Once we finished eating, we decided to quickly get moving again. The wind from riding a bike makes for good air conditioning.

It was getting late by the time we were getting near Ashland, a quaint town about 20 miles north of Richmond. Railroad tracks run right through the town center. Across the street from the train station lies the Henry Clay Inn, a modest, two story building with all of 14 rooms.

Henry Clay Inn

That place sure looks nice, I thought. But it must be expensive. I programmed the GPS to "Motel 6" and we headed towards the outskirts of town.

These railroads tracks make u-turns very hard to make.

As we got closer to the Motel 6, we realized that my GPS was out of date. There was a rather shady looking hotel, but it wasn't a Motel 6 anymore. Apparently even they bailed on this location, and I had eerie flashbacks of the Pulaski Highway.

Just down the street was a Super 8. Hey, it's a chain. They must at least be presentable, right?

The Super 8 was a rather tacky looking building that shared its parking lot with a Days Inn. Both of them had a cheesy 1970s era look to to them: hideous colors, puzzling arches, and not much else. When we walked into our room, it looked like it hadn't been cleaned since the 1970s.

Okay, perhaps I exaggerate, but when I flushed the toilet, it sounded like the pipes were going to burst and the walls collapse. And I saw what looked like a bedbug. That was enough. I wasn't going to spend any more nights in scary hotels, and since this is a once-in-a-lifetime journey, I figured I would splurge a little on the Henry Clay Inn.

Beautiful southern sunset as we enter Ashland.

We headed back downtown, but checking in at the Henry Clay Inn proved a little difficult. When we arrived, the front door was locked, with instructions to call after 6 pm. Given that it was after six, I called the number--and got a voicemail.

I left a brief message stating the obvious: I'm outside the hotel and I need a room tonight. A few minutes later I got a call back.

"Mr. Miner, how can we help you."

"Yes, I need a room for tonight."

We encountered the train 2x while trying to cross their main road.

"And where are you?"

"I'm right outside the hotel."

"You're outside the hotel? Oh, I can't help with that."

Well that was unexpected.

Fortunately the voice on the phone called an Inn employee who called another employee so that we could check in for the night. Time consuming and wasteful? Sure, but so is the U.S. Senate where the great Henry Clay made his career.

Beautiful, we even get a porch.

Once we arrived, the room was immaculate compared to our squalid conditions on the other side of town. I'll let the photos speak for themselves. And every time a train road by (as several did during the night) I could feel my whole mattress shake. It was like getting a fancy massage mattress at Bridgestone!

Although he hailed from the slave state of Kentucky, Clay was adamantly opposed to the expansion of slavery into western territories and was was a unionist during the Civil War. I never really found out how and why it was that he got an Inn 20 miles from the capital of the confederacy.

Tomorrow, Richmond . . .

Raining on our parade

2010-11-02T15:18:00.004-04:00

October 20th

The morning rain poured mildly as we coasted down heavily trafficked Route 17. The traffic lightened up somewhat once we got off the main road into Fredericksburg, but the rain did not. We took refuge under the awning of a tattoo parlor while I searched the map and my Garmin 605 for a place a to eat lunch. As the GPS was searching, someone walked from the strip mall across the four lane road towards us.

"Are you guys waiting for this place to open?" he asked politely.

"No, we're just looking for a place to eat."

"Are you sure you don't want to come in?"

Struck by his kindness, we were too flustered to say yes.

"We'll be fine once we find a place to eat," said Nicole.

"Okay," he said. "Well, there's a Chinese restaurant across the street, and there's plenty of nice places to eat in town."

With that, he walked away. Nicole and I were struck that he was willing to open the store earlier just to get us out of the rain, particularly when we already somewhat dry thanks to our rain gear and the generosity of the building's overhang.

A few minutes later, the owner invited us in. First he asked us if we needed a tattoo, then he recommended one of Fredericksburg's many restaurants. We thanked him for his offer, but a tattoo was not in the cards for us today.

It took us less than a mile for us to cross the Rappahanock River into the heart of Fredericksburg. The building's hadn't changed much, but the businesses inside did show some of the changing face of Virginia. We saw a Thai restaurant and pounced on the opportunity, knowing full well that the rest of the South hasn't really progressed passed deep frying everything on the menu.

When we got out, the rain was letting up, but we took some time to view the local museum before riding our bikes to the great battleground of Fredericksburg.

Confederate General James Longstreet gave Union soldiers a proper burial.

We had originally intended to ride to the nearby Virginia wilderness, where Wal-Mart intends to build a supercenter where Grant's army camped prior to battle, but we were behind schedule. We rode up the very steep hill where thousands of Union soldiers admirably attacked Lee's northern flank. When we arrived at the top of the hill, we were overcome with emotion as we saw the many graves for the Union man who died in valor for a cause so just.

We rode onwards, touring the rest of the battlefield. Eventually, it was difficult to tell which was more disconcerting: that Union General Ambrose Burnisde foolishly walked into Robert E. Lee's well fortified defense, or that people have built houses on parts of the battlefield. I guess the moral to the story is that one should visit as many civil war battlefields as possible, even the ones that have been partially developed.

It's always easier on defense: seven months later, "Pickett's Charge" spelled disaster for the gray coats at Gettysburg.

By now, it was almost six o'clock and the Virginia sun was setting. We had spent so much time enjoying the town that it was time to retire for the night. We had two choices: ride ten miles to a "Kampground of America" or another Motel 6 that was just a mile away. Guess which one was cheaper. You may be surprised, but another night at Motel 6 was the answer.

Marching on to Fredericksburg

2010-11-01T19:25:00.004-04:00

October 18th and 19th

Sorry for the confusion, I don't have any hay!

The Arkel Panniers have been great for carrying gear. The clothing choices--particularly my Gore Phantom Jersey--have been fantastic. Our bike lights have allowed us to see and be seen.

None of this really helps, of course, when you and your traveling partner don't quite realize how malnourished you are.

This morning we felt the repercussions from last night's ice cream lunch and peanut m & m dinner. My first mistake was suggesting that we try to make up for lost time by skipping breakfast at the campground and finding a place to eat on route. Nicole rightly informed me that this was beyond idiotic and counter-intuitive. In light of her suggestion, I started preparing our usual breakfast of oatmeal and sugar.

"I can't live like this," said Nicole dramatically. "I can't live like this."

"I'm doing exactly what you asked me to do." I said.

This sparked an intense, idiotic disagreement about whether or not we were arguing, after which we agreed to eat more real food as originally intended and be less concerned about daily mileage. With that, we packed up our gear and hit the open road.

Riding on the open road didn't last long. We were both feeling the effects from yesterday's bizarre food choices. It was like we were going through real food withdrawal. I felt a little fatigued and lightheaded, and Nicole said she felt sick to her stomach. We rode for about an hour and half before she could take no more. "I have to stop," she said. "I don't feel good."

We decided to diverge from the route about a mile and half and stop at a hotel. It would require much eating just to get us back into shape after yesterday's food fiasco. We stocked up on some real food at a boutique natural food store to have some fresh food back at the hotel along with the freeze-dried meal that we had originally planned to eat the night before. We still felt fatigued. For dinner, we went to a very tasty sushi bar. Great taste, great proteins, we still felt fatigued. It was time to retire for the night.

When we woke up the following day, we ate the continental "breakfast" before returning to the road. We didn't get far before we saw a rather inviting diner. The chrome exterior was so shiny that it looked brand new and the sign proudly boasted that they purchased local foods. I couldn't resist, and even though we had only been on the road for 15 minutes, it was time for brunch.

The menus were fantastic. They let us know which foods were in peak season and the point of origin of just about every item the diner served. We could relax knowing that our eggs came from an Amish farm in Pennsylvania. Nicole was giddy when she saw that this place had pumpkin milkshake. After we ate, we finally felt energized and ready to go!


This pumpkin milkshake was tasty but too filling!

For future reference, if anyone is traveling in the DC suburbs of Virginia, this place is the Silver Diner, located at 14375 Smoketown Road, Dale City, VA.

Shortly after leaving Smoketown road we find ourselves outside of the DC suburbs and--quite unofficially--in the "real" Virginia. At first it's not a pretty sight. We see a giant landfill literally across the street from a pristine national forest--but these give way as approach rolling fields and undeveloped forests. We cross a few of Virginia's many "runs," those small streams of which the most famous is Bull. The houses are a mix of homes which date from three eras: recent McMansions, smaller, more modest homes from the '50s and '60s, and estates that go back hundreds of years. White picket fences hem in horses from these fantastic colonial-era edifices. We're in Dixie all right.

As sundown approaches, we find that the hotel we planned to stay at has gone out of business. There's a motel 6 a few miles away, but it requires us riding off the route and uphill. It is what it is, and since there's rain in the forecast, it's not a bad proposition at all.

Tomorrow, the fine city of Fredericksburg . . .

Mt. Vernon leads in the irony department

2010-11-01T12:57:00.006-04:00

October 16th

We're ducking jets on the other side of the Potomac River.

This morning we enjoyed a nice breakfast from Chef Jon. To our surprise, he offered us some creatine to go.

"I would think you need all the help you can get," he said.

We all chuckled a little bit. Sylvia too was skeptical of Jon's creatine consumption. If we had known how little nutrition we would get throughout the rest of the day, perhaps we would have reconsidered.

We bid farewell to Jon, Sylvia and Job and headed towards the mall won final time before crossing into Arlington, VA. Once we crossed the river, we were able to ride on a bike trail all the way to George Washington's home of Mount Vernon. On the way, we stopped in Alexandria. In lieu of lunch, we went for ice cream at Ben and Jerry's, assuming we would find a place for a more nutritious meal once we returned to the bike path.

Life's just upside down once we get into Virginia.

Unfortunately, that never quite happened. We rode all the way to George Washington's home of Mount Vernon before we realized our mistake. It was almost 4:30, giving us a mere two hours of daylight remaining. If we wanted to get to any campground before daylight, it would be best to just keep pedaling and cook one of our freeze dried meals after setting up the tent.

Not far from George Washington's home was his semi-restored grist mill, complete with gift shop where one could purchase corn bread from said grist mill. That sounded exciting, until we ran into an unforeseen (and unbelievable) obstacle: the gift shop staff and the Mount Vernon police.

"We're closing in five minutes," said the period-piece dressed woman standing outside the gift shop. "It's too late to walk the grounds." Standing next to her was an armed police officer.

I guess things get a little rowdy around here.

"That's fine," I said. "I just want to go to the gift shop."

"You can't go to the gift shop either," she said reflexively," we're closing."

"But you're not closed." I said

"Yes we are."

I could see this conversation was going nowhere so I hopped back on my back and turned around. It was a curious business model: If you see customers shortly before you close, get the law involved.

We rode for another hour before we fond ourselves racing against sundown to get the campground. There were signs everywhere that said, "camping this way." We followed them until we see a state park.

"I wonder if the campground is here," I said.

"I don't think so," said Nicole. "Look at the signs: they don't say anything about camping and they look like a waterpark."

Good point. We decided to keep riding and follow the signs. It was a mile and half before we got to the road to the park, then another half mile ride to the main gate.

"Do you have camping here," I asked once we got to the gate.

"No," said the man slowly. "We used to, but we don't anymore."

He assured us not to worry.

"We have camping at the other park."

Ugh!

We turned around. The sun was setting, and it was dusk by the time we finally got to our campsite. By the time I had the stove ready, it was already dark out. Exhausted from frustration as well as a day's ride, we ate packaged food (mostly peanut m & m's) and went to bed.