The Wild Dork

The List

2013-03-04T20:09:00.001-08:00

Yesterday, I went climbing indoors at the Triangle Rock Club with my friend, Jon. Okay, before we go any further, here's a picture of Jon so y'all know what you're dealing with:

Climbing with Jon may seem rather not remarkable, but in a way it is. You see, Jon and I met in college in Pennsylvania and climbed together during our formative years with the sport. We used to live and breathe climbing, travelling with one another and friends around the continent in search of new challenges. But now for one reason or another, neither of us have really climbed much in the past year. And both of us find ourselves living in Durham, NC of all places.

The climbing session went by without a hitch. Our hands tied the necessary knots without a second thought. We efficiently belayed one another with movements firmly ingrained in our muscle memory. The two of us fell into a casual banter that reflected our comfort with one another borne from years of climbing in infinitely more committing situations. And we slightly sucked at climbing. The technique, the footwork, the movement was still there. Endurance and finger strength had obviously ebbed over time.

By the end of two hour's worth of climbing, my forearms were inflamed. I found my hands hardly able to maintain grip on the bulbous holds of a 5.6, a route I could have done blindfolded and in clown shoes in previous years. Jon and I resolved to get stronger and get out of doors. We began reminiscing about previous exploits in the mountains. We even ran into another climber we recognized from our haunts at Seneca Rocks, WV. The three of us parted ways promising to explore the vertical bounds of North Carolina together.

Just today, I was cleaning out my wallet. Movie stubs, receipts, stacks of women's phone numbers... anything but money of course. That's when I came across a list that I wrote to myself back on the eve of a new year entitled "GOALS FOR 2010". I cannot remember the exact circumstances under which I wrote it, but from knowing myself all too well, I must have been feeling particularly unmotivated at the time. The list was comprised entirely of climbing goals and would make for a busy year. What really stands out for me is that out of eight goals, I think I only accomplished one that year.

The year 2010 was the last year that I really devoted to climbing. It was a great year. I led some of my hardest routes. I earned a Single Pitch Instructor certification from the American Mountain Guides Association. But boy oh boy did I majorly fail in terms of the goals I set for myself. Looking at the list, I slowly remembered the reasons (or excuses) that made me miss each.

MOJO - Mojo is a classic bouldering problem at a climbing area in central PA called Hunter's Rocks. It is an overhung prow of rock with large bucket holds along the underside to a height of 10-15 feet, whereupon you must climb up a vertical face and finally mantle the finish at about 20 feet off of the ground. I think it is rated a V0 at Hunters. It would probably be rated a bit harder at other areas, but who knows. My weak upper body strength combined with the problem's reputation of twisted/broken ankles for those who botch the top out always had me worried. In truth, I had climbed the route a couple of times before 2010. I distinctly remember the first occasion, pulling up onto the vertical face, scared, and realizing it was safer to finish than to try and back off. My friends Brandon, Kim, and Erin cheered me to the topout. I can only guess that I put it on the list just to scare myself once again. That or I meant to climb the "second pitch" of Mojo, which some argue is especially fun when bolstered with certain herbal supplements.

Me. Bouldering somewhere. With a sweet afro.

5.10 SPORT ONSIGHT - My partners and I typically only climbed trad at moderate grades, so this should have been a pretty good goal. Unbeknownst to me, I had already ticked this box as well in the past. Jon actually reminded me of it yesterday. In a neglected corner of the Lower Quarry at the Bellefonte Quarry, there lies a short, dirty, overgrown limestone slab. On each square yard of its surface emerges a polished limestone orb which led my friends and I to refer to it as "the Boob Wall". If we were more PC than juvenile at the time, we would have called it the Knob Wall or something. I'm just reporting history here. There I led a 5.10 sport route named Buried Treasure, a reference to the amount of cleaning the first ascencionists performed before climbing it, no doubt. But, as the sole "goal of 2010" that I actually completed, I also onsighted a 5.10+ in Birdsboro Quarry within the year 2010. Kevin and Denise watched me lead the seemingly holdless face of Welcome to Safe Harbor Direct. Whenever I attempted to repeat the feat on toprope however, I was as mystified as them.

TRIPLE S ONSIGHT - Triple S is actually an acronym for Shipley's Shivering Shimmy. The only guidebook for Seneca Rocks where this notorious and difficult 5.8 corner crack is located lists the name in all capitals: TRIPLE S. So, you can always tell a newcomer to the area when they say they're "just gonna go climb a 5.8 called 'Triples'." Invariably you see that same climber later, completely cowed, having been shut down on "just a 5.8." I have always wanted to lead the route onsight and turned down many offers to follow it. In 2010, I had climbed most of the classic 5.7s. On a ridiculously hot day with my friend Aaron belaying, I onsighted The Burn and Discrepancy, both softer 5.8s. I should have gone for Triple S right then, but I didn't. On the drive back home, both of the front wheel bearings in my truck blew out. I don't know if I drove back to Seneca that year.

I'm sexy and I know it. Ellingwood Arete emerges directly from behind my head like a giant dunce's cap.

ELLINGWOOD ARETE - The Ellingwood Arete is a classic multipitch 5.6 deep in the Wind River Range of Wyoming. In fact, it is one of the 50 Classic Climbs of North America. It is a knife edge ridge that continues straight up for about a thousand feet. On my first trip into the Winds, my friend Jeff and I planned to climb it. We took a rack of hexes, some cams and nuts along with us. Those never saw much use since we stuck primarily to 3rd class and snow climbing. Since neither of us had climbed a multipitch rock route before, perhaps it was better that we didn't get to the Arete. On my third trip to the Winds, I hiked to within sight of it on a rest day when I went trout fishing in Indian Basin. On my second and fourth trips to the range, I climbed in the Cirque of the Towers, 40 miles to the south. I didn't even get to the Winds in 2010.

If I ever do get to Rainier, at least I already know what altitude sickness feels like from climbing Pico de Orizaba in Mexico.

MT RAINIER - Um, I didn't get to Rainier either. The closest I had even gotten to Washington State was the year before when my boss and I tried to climb Mount Hood on the tail end of a business trip. Two days of whiteouts led to us poaching lines at the Timberline Lodge on our backcountry skis instead. In 2011 I was offered a job guiding on Rainier for the summer by Alpine Ascents International. Stupidly, I turned the job down. In 2012 as I biked down the Pacific coast, I finally saw Mount Rainier for the first time from about 50 miles away. It is big. I wanna go back.

Coming off the Columbia Icefield and down the Athabasca Glacier. Jon is behind me.

N FACE OF ROBSON - Mount Robson is the tallest mountain in the Canadian Rockies. Its North Face is another route included in 50 Classic Climbs in North America. Back in 2007, I went climbing in the Canadian Rockies with my friends Jeff and Jon. We climbed Mounts Athabasca and Columbia in preparation for driving 50 miles or so north to go tackle Mount Robson's North Face. At the Athabasca Glacier, a ranger told us that no one had climbed Mount Robson by any route that year because of dangerous conditions. We went to the Tetons instead. I have since returned to Canada in order to fish for northern pike, but alas no mountaineering. I still have my passport. I still gaze longingly at pictures of the mountain.

GLASS MENAGERIE - I'm not even sure which Glass Menagerie I was writing about here. Was it the Grade 4 ice route at Roadside Gulley in Lockhaven, PA? Or the multipitch aid route on Looking Glass Rock in western North Carolina? I actually led the ice route, Glass Menagerie, the following year. I was pitifully slow. Now that I am living in NC, I'm a lot closer to the other route. Too bad I gave all of my bigwall gear away whenever I divested myself of belongings to bike across the country... I guess I will have to work on that.

This is pretty par for every ice climbing trip I've taken to New England. Sleeping in a parking lot after driving until 4 am.

3 GULLIES IN A DAY - This refers to climbing three different routes in Huntingdon Ravine on Mount Washington of New Hampshire in one day. I really thought that I was going to get this one since I was familiar with a couple of routes. I had already climbed Pinnacle Gulley with my friend Seth as my second ice climb ever. On another trip, I climbed Odell's Gulley with my friend Ieva. That would be the same one where George, the eccentric caretaker of the Harvard Cabin, kept asking her if she wanted to spend the rest of the winter there with him. Each time he asked, she would barely suppress her laughter while I tried to divert his attention with Oreos and Wild Turkey. It worked. Barely. In early 2010, the ice season was terrible. Even so, I managed to finally organize a group to head to Baxter State Park in Maine and climb Mount Katahdin (another longtime goal). On the approach to the mountain, I caught a ski edge on some ice and fell while wearing a 100lb pack, dislocating my arm. No more ice season for this guy.

My day of thrashing at the gym and the surprise unearthing of my list from 2010 make me want to dust off my climbing gear and get back out into the mountains. But even more than that, it highlighted the importance of conspiring with old friends and setting goals for oneself. Whether they're written down or not, I always have several goals on my mind. All are outdoors related. Sometimes I achieve them. Sometimes I fail big time. But they always serve to sustain me. Motivate me. Challenge me. Right now I have undocumented ideas that propel me to keep trail running, riding and tuning up my bike, paddling my packraft, and perhaps even trying to remember un poquito of my high school Spanish... We'll see what comes of such ideas.

I wonder what others set as goals for themselves.

Let it snow?

2012-12-09T08:32:00.000-08:00

Protect Our Winters and the National Resources Defense Council recently released a study detailing the negative economic impacts of reduced snowfall due to climate change. A copy of the report can be downloaded here. To vastly summarize the report, a few key findings are:

-winter temperatures are expected to rise 4-10 degrees F by the end of the century if no changes are made to climate change contributors

-this could cause a 25-100% reduction in snow depths in the west and reduce the length of the northeast's snow season by half

- the US wintersports industry is currently valued at approximately $12.2 billion

-over the past decade, the downhill ski resort industry lost $1.07 billion which resulted in a loss of 13,000 to 27,000 jobs

Whitetail deer in Pennsylvania's Laurel Highlands. I think I took this picture about a decade ago. Will this eventually be a sight of the past?

Well, sufficed to say, I think that sucks. I am sure that many people in the wintersports industry and wintersports enthusiasts would agree with me. I like to go cross country skiing, ice climbing and build snowmen. For many years, my paychecks were largely made from selling equipment and clothing for winter time activities. But at the same time, many of my other actions contributed towards the progression of climate change. I drove my car to the ski hill and the state forest. I flew in a plane to go climb a volcano and note it's receding glaciers. I also took planes 3 or 4 times a year to attend national outdoor and ski industry trade shows along with thousands of others who had done the same.

Here, quoted in full, is the last paragraph from the conclusions of the above report:

We must safeguard our winters and with them, a way of life for thousands of communities, a global winter sports industry, and local business across the United States. We can do this by supporting clean-energy and climate policies that reduce our carbon pollution, and opposing attempts to block such policies from moving forward. We need to protect the laws we have, specifically the Environmental Protection Agency’s authority under the Clean Air Act to set carbon pollution standards for major polluting industries. And we need to put in place policies and standards for the longer term that will ensure that vibrant, prosperous winters endure for generations to come.

I think these are all correct and admirable goals to combat climate change and our disappearing winters. There are plenty of industries and societal practices that produce large amounts of carbon emissions that we need to address. But I think that we as wintersports lovers also need to be honest and not ignore our own contributions to climate change as well. What do I mean by that?

-just about every snow film in recent history that I see at the Banff Film Festival world tour involves someone flying to Alaska and then getting helicoptered to the top of a peak, again and again

-the outdoor and snowsports industries host numerous national (and international) trade shows each year where thousands of folks fly and drive great distances to attend

-snowmobilers drive trucks the size of tanks into the state forest and then run their snowmachines for the entire day

-folks fly from areas of little or poor snow to the West and go skiing

-areas with poor snow run snowguns that draw electricity for long stretches of the winter

And why do I bother to mention this? I don't like to see lovers of winter only point their finger at someone else, be that big industry, coal, cars, etc. While those are very real and significant contributors to global warming, I would ask people to keep in mind that just about no one is innocent in this problem. And I unequivocally include myself as a contributor to global warming as well. So I am asking is that all of us that love winter and want to see it stick around in our lifetimes, remember to look inward as well as outward. Not only do we owe it to ourselves so that we may keep skiing and boarding, but I would argue that we owe it to future generations of skiers and snowboarders.

Okay. I'll shut up now.

The Spoon

2012-11-13T16:11:00.001-08:00

In late October, I rode my bike from central Pennsylvania to southern, southern Virginia where my parents own a farm. They are in the process of renovating the farmhouse that sits on the property and I traveled down in order to assist. I've spent the past two weeks patching and sanding and painting and putting up molding and all of the sorts of things that you do to old houses to give them new life. Yesterday, as I finished a couple of hours of scraping 50 year old carpet glue off of a staircase, I decided to take a little break. An aside if you will. I was going to make a spoon.

A spoon? Yeah, I'll bet you didn't see that one coming. Well, if you know me or you've read enough of my ditherings, you already know that logical transitions aren't my strong suit. But let me explain myself...

Just about everyone at some point in their life, be it as a child or an adult, thinks to themselves, "Wouldn't it be great to just go off in the woods and build a cabin and live there and forget about the 2012 election/terrorism/my 401k?" You can silently muse about this, but once you voice it aloud, your mother/husband/rabbi quickly tells you that this is not possible. And that's precisely when (hopefully) you also hear about Dick Proenneke. Dick was dropped off at a lake in the interior of Alaska in 1968 where he went about building a cabin by hand, alone. He also constructed much of the other items necessary for daily living out of natural materials or castoff packaging. Proenneke would live by himself in the cabin for about 30 years (aside from occasional visits from a float plane and a couple of trips back to the lower 48 to see family). Whilst he went about all of this, he filmed himself and kept a lengthy journal which were the basis for the documentary Alone in the Wilderness.

Whenever I am hanging out with my friend Ieva, conversation begins with a normal discussion of how things are going and how much we have or have not been climbing/biking/running. With pleasantries aside, we switch to the important stuff: building cabins, goats, sewing your own clothing, persistence hunting, etc. About a month ago, we got together in order to watch Alone in the Wilderness as I had still never seen it. Upon watching it, I felt like all of life's troubles were washed away. I knew what to do with myself. To seal the deal, we also watched the sequel, Alone in the Wilderness II. Ieva and I were understandably excited to go out and immediately build a cabin, but we let logic prevail and decided to start with something simpler: making a wooden spoon.

In Alone in the Wilderness II, Proenneke shows the process of making a spoon. As he is a superb craftsman, he makes it look really easy. Also they edit out all of the laborious parts to shorten the footage. We felt like this gave us some idea of what was going on and set about finding the necessary tools. One implement called for is a gouge (a rounded chisel) and Ieva and I went to two different hardware stores and searched around town, but couldn't find this specialty tool. The effort sort of lost steam at that point. My father is a devout woodworker so I asked him to locate a gouge for me while I was bicycling down to the farm. When I arrived, a gouge was awaiting me and I thus had the tools I needed. So, without further adieu, I give you the process for making a wooden spoon by hand.

Select a young tree that is slightly bigger in diameter than how wide you want to make your overall spoon. Chop it down. I don't have my copy of The Foxfire Book on me but it has a good discussion of what wood to use for what purpose. I selected an oak because there were a lot of oak around. (Before anyone decries me for cutting down a healthy tree instead of using deadfall, you should know that "green" wood is much easier to cut and shape. You can now return to reading this post inside of your house made of 2x4s.)

Next, "limb" the tree. That is, cut the protruding limbs off of the trunk. I really like to use the Gransfors Bruks Scandinavian Forest Axe for this. Its large enough to fell a tree and limb it and light enough to use for small shaping functions later in the process. During all of this cutting, be EXTREMELY CAREFUL that you do not cut your foot, leg, hand, fingers, etc. You can do a lot of damage with a sharp axe. And then as Gem says in The Town, "there goes college soccer".

Haul your tree trunk out of the woods to your cabin/yurt/commune and put it up on sawhorses. Okay, Dick Proenneke would have used a tripod made of other tree sections, but I didn't want to make my parents apoplectic by cutting down the entire forest. Get yourself a carpenter's saw.

Cut a blank for your spoon. It should be relatively straight and free of large knots. You want it to be a bit longer than your desired spoon length and a touch wider. This blank that was about 20 inches long and 3 inches in diameter yielded a finished spoon of 12"x2".

Flatten one side of the blank with your axe. A small hatchet could make this easier (and perhaps safer).

Continue by flattening the other side taking care to try and make the sides parallel.

Draw the outline in pencil of your overall spoon shape and the area where the "bowl" or concave portion should be.

Begin cutting out the bowl of the spoon using a gouge. I was using a #7 sweep 3/8" gouge which is good for small and medium sized spoons. For a larger "serving" sized spoon I might use a wider gouge.

Continue chiseling until you have the concavity as deep as necessary. Don't worry about how thick the "walls" of the spoon are at this point.

With your axe, now rough out the top profile of the spoon around the bowl and along the length of the handle.

Then draw the side profile of the spoon in pencil and then rough it out again with your axe. Leave the "walls" of the concavity thick still. Trying to shave too closely with the axe at this point can ruin your whole project.

Next, step in side. Cozy up to the fire. Put on some NPR or some folk music. Make yourself a mug of tea. And get out your hunting knife. I suppose you could use some sort of carving knife, but that's just unnecessary baggage when you're taking a float plane in to your homesite. Start slowly whittling the spoon towards its final form. Go slowly. Use your index finger and thumb as "calipers" to gauge how thin you're making the bowl of the spoon.

After you've gotten it to where you're happy with it, break out some sandpaper and smooth out the surfaces of the spoon. Yes, Dick had sandpaper with him. I found that it was ineffective to sand the wood while it was still quite "green" and damp, so I am letting it season and dry for a few days before giving it a proper sanding.

And voila! You have a fully functional spoon that you made with your own hands. Proenneke finished his spoons with shellac or varnish or something that I cannot recall. I'm fairly sure that the health industry would frown upon that these days. My friend Lauren teaches youth in the outdoors and occasionally they make spoons as an activity. She said that they finish them with a cooking oil. Makes sense to me. Once this gets its final sanding, I'll rub a light coat of olive oil on the spoon to protect the wood.

For my first attempt ever at making a spoon by hand, I think it turned out pretty well. I believe the scoop portion of the spoon should be deeper and the walls should be thinner. I was a bit timid with the chisel and later whittling as I didn't want to make them too thin and ruin the spoon. Rome wasn't built in a day and even Dick Proenneke probably didn't make a perfect spoon the first time. But, this first one is perfect for putting dollops of sourdough batter on your cast iron fry pan to make pancakes, as Dick would do. I believe that my friend Liz, upon hearing of Ieva and my intentions to make spoons, laid claim to the first one that I made. Hopefully she'll put it to good use. Kindling is not a "good use".

If you've read this far, you probably need no justification on why you should make a spoon. But there's probably someone out there thinking "Why waste your time?" It was fun. I hate eating with plastic. It's rewarding to actually make something in this day and age. Or in the words of the cashier at the consignment shop in Mount Joy, PA who rang me out for a Foxfire book and a guide on bowmaking, "the way the world's heading these days, you're gonna need to know this stuff". In either case, I hope that you enjoyed the step-by-step explanation and are perhaps inspired to make something yourself!

J.A. Stein Mini Cassette Lockring Tool

2012-11-05T17:46:00.000-08:00

What follows is a review of a really esoteric and very specific piece of bike equipment. If a thousand people read this post, perhaps one might find it useful. Which is excellent. Except probably only four people read this blog. Oh well.

On a recent multi-day ride, a friend and I pulled off of the road into a the parking lot of an Italian restaurant buried in central Pennsylvania. Our chains were dry and shrieking for want of lubrication and it was sorta time for a lunch break too anyways. My friend rummaged through his panniers and happened upon the correct one with his repair stuff in it. As he removed everything to find a bottle of chain lube, I noticed something wrapped up in a grocery bag.

Me: "Is that a chain whip?"

Him: "Yep."

Me: "I really wouldn't want to carry that."

Him: "Yeah, me neither. But what are you going to do if a drive side spoke breaks and you need to remove your cassette?"

Me: "Commit seppuku with a tire lever."

First off, I am not criticizing my friend. Both of our bikes (and wheelsets) have over 10k miles on them. We carry lots of heavy stuff in our rear panniers. We ride over things like rough trails, the cataclysmic streets of Baltimore, hippies, etc. Prime situations to break a rear spoke. And we do all of this often at great distance to a bike shop. If you break a spoke on the drive side of your rear wheel next to the cassette, you need to remove the cassette in order to replace the spoke. The usual necessary tools are a chain whip, a cassette lockring tool and a crescent wrench. Unless you're my friend who opted to carry these along, you're not likely to find such specialized tools outside of a bike shop while out touring.

I have always been aware of this potential situation. For many thousands of miles of touring, I simply adopted the "I hope that a rear spoke never breaks but if it does make it right by a bike shop" mentality and tried not to think how royally screwed I might be in certain places. Perhaps somewhere like Wyoming's Great Divide Basin. I assure you that I am not alone in this mindset. Actually, I'll bet that many cross country cyclists have never even considered the predicament I just laid out. But right then and there, in the parking lot, I promised my friend that I'd determine a solution. We had both heard of "emergency" lockring removers, but hadn't purchased one since they cost about $40 and we had no idea how they worked.

The only such tool in current production that I have heard of is the J.A. Stein Mini Cassette Lockring Tool. It's been recommended by other long distance cyclists, but I could not find anywhere that clearly explained how the tool operates. I ordered one through Harris Cyclery for $35.95 and I would urge you to call them and try to negotiate their $10 shipping fee since what I received could have been essentially mailed in an envelope. For your forty odd dollars, you receive a small plastic bag with several loose metal bits and you begin wondering if you've been swindled.

Now, I have the advantage of having removed my cassette a couple of times to replace it. I used the ubiquitous Park Tool Cassette Lockring Tool and Chain Whip and a crescent wrench. This gave me an overall expectation of what had to happen here. If you haven't removed a cassette using conventional means, it would probably behoove you to ask for a demo at your local bike shop before playing with the Stein tool. But once you look at the Stein tool, you will note that the larger plate has splines machined on it much like a conventional lockring removal tool. With your skewer removed, you engage the splined plate with the lockring on your cassette. Then with a 3mm allen key, you attach the smaller arm to the plate. With the wheel in your bike's dropout, you reinstall the skewer, clamping down the slotted end of the arm. As you rotate your crankarms in the easiest gearing, the tool rotates until it contacts the frame whereupon further crankarm rotation causes the lockring to be loosened by the now immobile tool. By changing the orientation of the tool slightly, you can tighten the lockring back on by rotating your rear wheel backwards by hand.

This may sound quite complicated. I assure you it isn't. It's just hard to put into words. If you have experience with a usual cassette removal procedure, you will be able to follow the directions that come along with the tool. You will need to be carrying your own 3mm allen key and if you are the type to carry an emergency cassette remover then it would stand to reason you're also packing a multitool. The tool worked fabulously once I read through the instructions. I had to remove a bolt holding one of the fender arms on that would have blocked the tool's rotation. In order to get the lockring to "break free" I sat on the bike and pushed down on a pedal with my foot. I doubt that handstrength on the crankarm alone would be enough force. And likewise, reinstallation of the lockring was a snap too (albeit with one caveat that I will describe below). I can absolutely recommend carrying the Stein tool along on bicycle rides that take you far away from the bicycle shop or your home workbench. Just remember to bring extra spokes as well, otherwise this is all for naught.

DISCLAIMER for Surly Long Haul Trucker owners: I have an LHT and by my observation, a heck of a lot of other cycletourists do too. When I went to reinstall/tighten the cassette lockring, the directions are at odds with the LHT dropouts. When reinstalling, you set up the tool with the arm pointing 180 degrees in the other direction and thus the arm contacts the frame by the chainstay, instead of the seatstay as in the loosening operation. If you look at the above photo where the tool is installed for the loosening operation, you'll see a flange of sorts where the chainstay meets the dropout. If you follow the tools directions, when you are tightening the lockring back on, the arm of the tool will ride up onto this flange and get bent. I know because I did it. I was able to hammer the arm back flat and I'm sure it will work fine in the future. What I would do next time is allow the tool to contact the back of the derailleur hanger instead of the chainstay. The directions clearly say that you should not do that as you may damage your derailleur. With that in mind, I would probably unbolt my derailleur first since it isn't necessary for the tightening function to avoid damaging it. Again, if you own an LHT and are using a Stein tool, this will make immediate sense when you're sitting there looking at it.

The Bicycle Luggage Debate

2012-10-17T18:51:00.000-07:00

The one thing that I have noticed folks get really wrapped up in when bike touring is how to carry their stuff. Specifically, people love to argue the merits and drawbacks between panniers and trailers. Everyone is convinced that whichever they've picked is correct and the other is inferior. Well the other thing that I have noticed is that typically these same people have only ridden with one system thus making their claims biased and unfounded. To satisfy my own curiosity and to inform you, fair reader, I decided to ride with both setups.

Well why don't you cry about it, Saddlebags!?! (Obscure Ace Ventura reference... sorry) Panniers work great.

When I say "ride with both setups" I don't mean write some crappy magazine review in which I borrowed something for an afternoon and took it along when I got coffee. (Although I drank lots of coffee whilst using both panniers and trailer.) No. I mean I tested the heck out of this. I rode across the country (approx. 5,000 miles) this summer using Ortlieb Back-Roller Plus and Front-Roller Plus panniers. Just a couple of weeks ago, I went on a 750 mile tour using the same front panniers and a BOB Yak trailer. In both cases, I was also using an Ortlieb Ultimate5 Plus handlebar bag. During both trips, I got opportunities to ride pavement, gravel, dirt, long climbs, steep climbs, fast descents, windy straightaways, car-choked urban environments, and just about every other condition imaginable. I'd say it was a pretty darn fair test.

Since I had toured so much with panniers, I had my biases against trailers somewhat going into the second tour. I thought it would be slower. I thought it would "pull me back" on steep ascents. I thought on extended gravel and dirt it would just add drag. I thought it would suck weaving around cars in the city. I thought I would instantly be disgusted. And what happened? I didn't really notice any difference. Nope. I was just as happy pulling a trailer as I was with panniers. In fact, on the last day I forgot that I was using a trailer. As Porky the Pig says, "That's all, folks!" Get over it.

Trailers work great too. Don't worry. They don't make you spontaneously yardsale in plazas.

But seriously, the debate is just silly. There's a simple series of questions that can make this an easy decision for you. I should have drawn some sort of Venn diagram or flow chart, but I never took graphic design. Microsoft Paint sucks to use with a laptop touchpad mouse too. So I guess I'll just write this out longhand.

-If you already own a bike that won't accommodate racks, buy a trailer and go touring. Ignore all of the pannier geeks.

-If you're on a strict budget, you may want to choose the trailer. A BOB Yak Plus which includes a waterproof duffle will hold 94 liters and goes for $359. My panniers hold 25 liters (front) and 40 liters (back) and I'll say that I strap 30 liters of stuff to the top of the rear rack to make the volume capacity the same. Those bags plus my front and rear racks amount to about $460. Yes you can certainly get cheaper panniers, but Ortlieb bags are the de facto choice for most cross country riders by my observations.

-If you want to haul random stuff like packrafts, beer kegs, mule deer, etc. the trailer is more versatile for that.

-If you're also using buses/trains/planes in your travels, panniers are a lot easier to get around with.

-If you're wheedling your bike around in urban spots, taking it on elevators, carrying it up stairs, etc. it's a lot easier without the added length of the trailer.

Then again, why choose at all? Just overload your bike beyond all reason and go have at it. Okay... don't do that.

Of course, these are just some of the bigger questions to be mindful of. I'm sure you can think of minute differences or situations where only X will do! But the point of this post is to say that it really doesn't matter in terms of handling. I tested that. If you can ride a bike and make panniers weigh equally side to side you can figure that system out. My brother who had never even seen a bike trailer slapped a loaded one on his road bike and was racing the taxis of Pittsburgh within minutes. Either one is fine. The important thing is that you choose a system, throw some stuff in there and get outside.

A special warning: Do not choose a double wheeled trailer. They won't track as well behind you and when you're riding suspect roads, the right side wheel will invariably be hitting all of the nastiness by the curb/shoulder/road edge despite your best intentions. Riding through Baltimore last week, if I hadn't been using a single wheeled trailer that followed my bike's tires exactly through the miasma of broken concrete, grates and trash, I may very well have died. I'm not exaggerating that. The only exceptions are if you are hauling a child in a two wheeled trailer or if it's just crucial because you cannot balance a single wheeled variety correctly.

I leapfrogged across the country this summer with two families that were biking on tandems with double wheeled trailers. They chose these because when you're asking an 8 year old and a 15 year old to bike together on a tandem, they cannot deal with the added frustration of balancing a single wheeled trailer. But each and every one of the group of 12 still took turns cursing the two wheeled versions for the aforementioned drawbacks.

Simple joy

2012-09-28T09:54:00.000-07:00

I spent this spring and summer riding my bicycle around a bit of the United States coming across many beautiful natural and urban scenes. High elevation, low elevation, no elevation, forests, plains, streams, ocean, cottages, skyscrapers... I saw a lot. But as the old saying goes, "There's no place like home."

Unbeknownst to me, it would take over two weeks to get my bike shipped from the Oregon coast to Pennsylvania. Two weeks of me wandering around town, not getting more than a handful of miles away from my friend's house where I was crashing. For many of you, this confinement would be similar to having your car in the shop for two weeks. But at long last, I received the bike and quickly reassembled it. The beginnings of autumn in Pennsylvania awaited me.

Yesterday, I took the opportunity to ride up to Black Moshannon State Park carrying my Alpacka Raft Denali Llama packraft on the rear rack. My plan was simply to ride up some big hills to the park which sits atop a plateau and paddle around in the bog area there. As I have tried to advocate before, stuff doesn't have to be complicated to be fun. The simpler the better. Certainly biking around the country is great, but there are still magical experiences to find in your backyard.

Consider the day: Meet a friend for breakfast, talk about fishing and drink enough coffee to leave us shaking like a leaf in a hurricane. Ride twenty odd miles along quiet, damp back roads under overcast grey skies. Shoot the breeze for a bit with the park rangers as one of the few weekday visitors. Paddle through acres of bog, complete with lily pads and old stumps, in complete silence save the dipping of paddle blades and the occasional frightened fish. Contemplate incoming storm clouds after hours of paddling and head for shore. Ride the asphalt roller coaster of ridges back home to a hot shower and fresh burritos.

Simple joy.

This. This is exactly what I love the most in Pennsylvania. Quiet back roads in the fall. Whether its for fishing, hunting, climbing, biking or whatever, I never get enough of them. Riding up Beaver Road towards the top of the Allegheny Plateau

My able vessel is inflated and ready to go. Their website mentions this, but it warrants a reminder. The floor is just a single sheet of material so it is well worth padding and insulating with something like a 3/4 length self inflating sleeping pad. Which you'll obviously already have with you on your backcountry overnight packrafting adventure.

Out on the open waters as the only boater in sight.

And the not so open waters of the bog area. As you paddle through areas of lily pads, they make a faint rushing, scratching sound below you. At any pause in the paddle stroke, the vegetation grabs at the hull, gently bringing you to a halt.

Looking out across the acres of lily pads, water lilies appear here and there like errant ping pong balls scattered about.

The bog awaits all those that care to visit. Make sure that you do. I would certainly welcome company the next time that I go.

The "Not So Great" Divide

2012-09-15T17:36:00.000-07:00

It's been less than a week since I returned to State College from riding across the country on my bicycle. In an effort to reduce expenses and my carbon footprint, I decided to take a bus from Newport, Oregon which is on the Pacific Coast all of the way to Pennsylvania. Most people will shake their head and laugh at how stupid I am to choose a three day bus ride over a antiseptic, quick flight. Greyhound buses have the advantage of maintaining stations in many small towns that you bike through and accepting any sort of items as luggage. My bike is still in the process of getting shipped back, but I could easily throw things like a camp stove, a knife, etc. into my bags with nary a second thought. Also, the more relaxed schedule and pace of travel by bus doesn't create the anxieties of TSA, tight connections and enclosed airline cabins that flights incur.

A cross country bus trip is not without its odd occurrences though... For brevity's sake, I will only recount incidences of police being involved and leave out all of the other strange stuff:

Saturday 9pm Boise, ID An extremely drunk passenger had repeatedly tried to open the emergency escape windows. He is arrested and led off by the police.

Sunday 8:10am Ogden, UT A man misses the bus when it stops at the station. He catches up with the bus on a freeway overpass, drives in front and blocks the bus's lane. After several minutes of standing outside demanding to be let on the bus, the police arrive and cuff him.

Sunday 11:45am Evanston, WY Two state police SUVs are awaiting the bus at the next scheduled stop. All passengers are ordered to exit the bus. The police search the bus with dogs for drugs possibly left by a passenger that was arrested the night before.

Sunday 8pm Denver, CO A guy yells across the bus terminal, "Hey! That's not your f**king bag!" The target of his outburst is an extremely drunk man urinating directly onto the first man's luggage which sits out in the middle of the terminal. The urinater is put in an armlock by security, taken away and arrested.

Monday 2am Colby, KS A woman starts verbally abusing the bus driver because she wants to smoke another cigarette before the bus leaves. The police are called and they escort her off of the bus with her two children. Some other passengers are irate over her treatment, however it was observed that the woman had loudly told her kids earlier, "I can't wait til I get you two home so I can go out and get drunk."

Despite these disruptions, I still made it back to State College safely and surprisingly on schedule. After only approximately 12 hours, I started getting edgy. After a day, I knew that I needed to give myself a new all encompassing goal to focus on and work towards. I made the mistake of watching Ride the Divide, a documentary about the Tour Divide mountain bike race. The race entails riding approximately 2,750 miles along the Continental Divide from Banff, AB to the Mexican border in New Mexico. The route follows Adventure Cycling's Great Divide Mountain Bike Route. The current course record is something like 15 days which works out to about a 180 mile per day average. During my cross country ride this summer, I had paralleled the route on pavement for over half of it's length and I had often thought about riding the Divide.

I decided to (try and) race it next year.

Do I know what I'm in for? No. Am I in shape for it? No. Do I have the gear for it? Nah. Is this going to completely destroy me? Yep. Am I looking forward to the biggest challenge ever? Yes. Do I expect to place on the podium? No. Am I going to try and have fun with it? Certainly.

The Great Divide Basin is one of many, many long desolate and lonely sections that the race takes you through. I had the pleasure of riding through it this summer on the few paved roads that cross it. So I have some idea of what I'm signing up for. Scratch that. I have no idea what I am signing up for.

I am calling my effort Not So Great Divide 2013. The route is great mind you. It's my style of riding it that will probably be "not so great". But that's the fun of it. Picking a seemingly impossible challenge and working towards it and hopefully making it look a little less impossible. I will strive to document the process of starting from scratch, getting my equipment together, detailing the planning and logistics and training harder than I ever have before. Actually I don't train for much so this will be a new experience too...

So join me for the fun and games. It's gonna be a long, bumpy ride.

The final finest miles

2012-09-07T15:59:00.000-07:00

I decided to end my tour today. This may sound a bit abrupt, but it was not induced by a sudden panic attack or anything. I was never quite sure how long I would continue riding. Truth be told, I had been entertaining the idea of riding down the Pacific Coast and then riding back to Pennsylvania for months. But as I cycled through the early morning fog of the Oregon coastline on Highway 101, I realized that the tour was over for me.

Initially my concern was that I would be disappointed with not riding an even greater distance, even possibly back to the East Coast. But I realized that I achieved what I set out to do and that is bike across the United States under my own power. The challenge for me was really a mental one when I look back on it since I've biked around plenty and new my capabilities there. It was keeping myself motivated and cheerful day in and day out and not let my anxieties get to me. Those of you that know me well know what a challenge that was for me. But after leaving Seattle (which had been my earliest stated goal) I just couldn't honestly drum up the same gusto for travel. I rode to Newport, OR today and realized the mental fire wasn't stoked anymore.

That's not to say that the riding along the Oregon Coast was disappointing. Not by a long shot! You can ride miles along the coast within sight and sound of the booming surf. The scenery is out of this world and a post card photographer could make their living within 20 miles of shoreline. In the midst of this beauty, I really wanted to be sharing the experience with someone else. After riding 5,000 miles largely alone, I knew that I needed to be around a friend or two to add the spark back. Sure there was a chance I might bump into someone to tour with, but I really didn't want to ride on that notion for more days, weeks or months.

With this trip's success, I am not hanging up my bike touring hat or my adventure hat either (they're both sweet looking hats by the way). I learned a whole lot more about long distance bike touring and about travelling with myself for company. This knowledge will help in future plans and adventures. Which I don't necessarily want to do alone, that much I know. But for now, I am content to return to State College where I know plenty of folks and the Pennsylvania countryside where autumn is approaching. I dropped off my bike at Bike Newport to get shipped back and booked a three (yes, you read that correctly) day bus ticket back home. Three days on a bus may sound utterly horrible to some of you. But consider that I spent 100 days on a bicycle seat covering the same route!

The Highway 101 bridge leading out of Astoria was cloaked in fog. This is where bright clothing and reflectors come in handy!

The first beach that I came to in Orgeon, Arcadia Beach, was similarly clad in fog. I took my shoes off to walk through the sand and saltwater. The sea was far colder than I expected. All of you who where hoping for skinny dipping photos will be disappointed.

Yeah, definitely don't skip pushing the button. It sets off flashing lights at either end of the tunnel that alert drivers to the fact that some idiot is riding their bike through the dark tunnel. Regardless, you may still be passed by a semi. Or a logging truck. Or two. And they are louder than heck in a tunnel. A little unsettling, but all in a day's ride!

When you're not riding right down by the ocean, you will find yourself riding up over a cape and gaining a high, scenic perch. This is looking down at the beach at Manzanita. Somewhere down there is a guy kite surfing.

Upon arrival at a city campground in Bay City, OR, the campground host handed me a freshly cooked crab leftover from her dinner. Said crab did not survive for very long.

Scenic Route. Always choose the scenic route. Except this time the scenic route included multiple 800' climbs in the cold fog to panoramas that were entirely obscured by dense fog. Okay, so maybe you shouldn't always take the scenic route.

Did I mention there was fog?

Holy smokes! In Pacific City, I was able to reconnect with Henk and Marja, my Dutch cycling companions. The last time that I had seen them was in Berea, KY approximately 4,000 miles ago! We had been playing a game of cat and mouse with them trailing me by approximately a day until I headed north in Missoula. They continued west to complete the TransAmerica route and this resulted in us riding into one another on the coast.

I love this sign. The road is closed, but someone thought it was necessary to add "No Way through for Bikes or Cars".

Necessary indeed if you look closely. I probably would have tried to ride through too.

Watching the pounding surf at Boiler Bay, I realized that I was content with how far I had come. The Oregon coast is a terrific place to cycle. I want to return in the future with a friend to share the experience.

And then I rode through more cold, damp fog. Are you sensing a trend yet? I'm told that it isn't always like this. Maybe.

I have come to the metaphorical end of the road for my trip. Except for right here where the edge of the road crumbles off a thirty foot seacliff. That's more like the physical end of the road.

The Coastest with the Mostest

2012-09-04T14:33:00.000-07:00

Right now I am listening to The Final Countdown by Europe, a favorite glam metal ballad of mine, so excuse me if I write like a over caffeinated schizophrenic who's rocking out. Because I just finished several cups of coffee too.

The past several days were spent forging my way through western Washington and to the coast of Oregon. Between Bremerton, WA and Astoria, OR the Pacific Coast route (as mapped by Adventure Cycling) keeps you well inland with no hint of an ocean. The terrain made me think of Pennsylvania with its continuous rolling hills and small farms. That and the dogs. One day around Centralia (it's a coal mining region, like the one in PA) I was chased by at least 7 dogs and nipped by one. It felt like I was back in Kentucky for a moment. Mostly unscathed though, I plowed on to Oregon and the coast.

Well, to be honest, I still haven't even made the true coast. I am at the port town of Astoria, which is in the mouth of the Columbia River. But tomorrow, I'll be taking US 101 south and have the ocean off of my right shoulder. Whooo! Still, with its huge container ships and seagulls and sea lions it feels much more like the coast than when I visited the beach for the first time at Anacortes. More or less every cyclist that I have spoken to has said that the Oregon coast line is the iconic, archetypal, best riding of the whole route. With that overwhelming expectation in my head, I'll continue south.

There was a small moment that I thought I may not make it any further however. Up in Bremerton, I had an anxiety attack suddenly consume me. For those of you that have never experienced one, basically with no warning or justification whatsoever, anything that has gone wrong in the world and everything that can go wrong in the world manifest themselves in your mind in unison. It can scare you shitless and it can also preclude you from any meaningful thoughts about what's actually going on around you. For me this is usually accompanied by a bit of depression too. So up in Bremerton, I have the sudden chain of thoughts, "What the heck am I doing/Why am I doing this/I'm wasting money/Where am I going to sleep tomorrow night/I miss my friends/Whoa that car passed really close!" This resulted in me sitting down and researching bus and train tickets home and trying to remember why I was sitting on my bicycle in the middle of nowhere.

At times like these, I just have to laugh, take a deep breath and pull my head out of my ass. Years ago, a psychiatrist prescribed medication to stave off this sort of thing, but I prefer to employ the "snap out of it" method instead. Once I get myself moving again, all of the negativity leaves me and I remember why I quit my job to aimlessly ride my bicycle around the country by myself. Because it is fun. And why to I bother to tell you about this mental jibber jabber of mine, dear reader? I dunno. It's all part of my trip. It's not always sunshine and roses for me, but keep the pedals turning and I'll find them again.

A good day indeed. Really, what is there to worry about? I'm riding my bike around for fun. I ate yesterday and I will eat again today. I won't get shot, robbed or thrown in prison for no reason either. Great. Now I am talking to a bar of soap.

When leaving Bremerton, a stranger named Scott felt absolutely compelled to give me directions despite my polite refusals. He took about 20 minutes to draw an illegible tangle of lines on a piece of paper, make random markings on my road map, and mutter incomprehensible cues under his breath. I made no attempt to use the fruits of his labor. Sorry, Scott.

One thing that western Washington does have are really big volcanoes. I was riding along through farmland and minding my own business. Imagine my surprise when I looked over and saw a snowy Mount Rainier dominating the skyline!

From the same vantage point, Mount Saint Helens, of explosion fame, was also visible.

Riding a bridge over the Columbia River onto Puget Island. Cathlamet, WA

And then waiting for the ferry off of Puget Island over to Oregon. I had to wait for about 40 minutes for the next ferry service to run. It was really hot. In order to feel less sorry for myself, I tried to imagine how Lewis and Clark must have felt when they finally got to this point.

I was amused to see that once in Oregon, I would be riding US 30 to Astoria since it runs within about 5 miles of my childhood home in Pennsylvania. It felt weird to be riding on the same road all the way out here. Toiling up a few 600' climbs on Route 30 made me feel like I was back in the Laurel Highlands for a couple of hours.

Upon arriving in the port town of Astoria, I heard some mysterious barking sounds echoing around the piers. I strained my eyes to locate the source of the noise.

Are those what I think they are? I had to get out on the pier to confirm my suspicions!

Yep, it's a bunch of sea lions lazing about, soaking up the sun and making an awful racket.

I know what Bon Jovi's next album will be titled.

Container ships hanging out for their turn at the mouth of the Columbia River. Astoria, OR

Astoria is billed as the oldest American settlement west of the Rockies. Much of the downtown has been preserved in a 1920s era feel. Which means there's a lot of old storefronts and signs for me to admire. I spent the evening in the Norblad Hotel, which now operates as a hostel.

Despite all of the ship and vehicle traffic present, forests of old rotting pilings hint at some amount of industry lost and overtaken by tourism.

US 101 beckons off in the distance.

Travelling habits of the city-bound human

2012-08-29T23:17:00.001-07:00

I've long felt that cities are my wilderness, my unknown. When I am out in the woods or the mountains or the open road, sure there are plenty of things that can happen that you cannot wholly prepare for. But I feel ready for most situations and can calmly rationalize my way through others. Having lived my life in suburban or rural areas though, cities are a bit of an adventure for me.

A few months ago I had ridden through the hearts of Baltimore and Washington D.C. From there though, the ensuing months only saw me travelling through tiny towns and cities. Sure I had hit Pueblo, CO with a population of about 100k, but the new norm for me was towns with populations numbering in the hundreds. So you may imagine my shock when the Bremerton ferry deposited me right in the midst of Seattle's downtown. Riding right off of the ferry and through the terminal and then BAM! you are at 1st and Yesler with speeding cabs and tour buses and pedestrians. The towering buildings around you form narrow gorges that leave you disoriented and you receive scant help from the streetsigns. And at some point, you need to pick a direction to move in.

When visiting a new city, many folks might make a list of popular attractions to visit. Or jump in with a tour group. Have a friend show them around. Undoubtedly in this day and age, they will have their smartphone tuned in to tell them where to move, where to eat and what to look at. Just as I spent a week in D.C., I pick a street unknown to me and start riding. No real idea where it will take me or what I will see. I'll carry a paper street map of the city stuffed into my back pocket. At a stoplight I might whip it out and quickly confirm a turn that I want to make, but largely I travel on serendipity.

Sometimes this can lead to trouble. In Seattle, the real problem has been taking small streets that go up gut wrenching hills that other thoroughfares would have avoided, had I taken the time to think. NW 65th Street comes to mind. With all of my touring gear still on my bike I found myself crawling uphill in my smallest gear and hallucinating that I was back in eastern Kentucky. In D.C. such aimless wandering can easily deposit you on a limited access freeway. One day my brother, Andrew, and I wanted to ride "over there" to Teddy Roosevelt Island. Without stopping to plan or look at a map, we found ourselves on a bridge, six speeding lanes of traffic across with jersey barriers preventing our escape. My bad.

But largely, just going with the flow usually pays off. I want to find the places that haven't been recommended and sought out by every visiting tourist. I want my eye to be caught by a random neon sign and get drawn inside. I mean, this is how I figured out what was going on in every little bitty town across America so why should Seattle be any different? One of the hidden gems that I found in my travels was R+E Cycles, a custom bike building shop and home to the Rodriguez and Erickson brands. It was a treat to look at their scads of beautiful frames including tandems with S&S couplers, a style I secretly covet. They have been building bikes there for over 30 years and there's plenty of history on display at the shop. I also like to avoid urbanspoon or any of the other restaurant recommendation sites, opting instead for Lady Luck to guide me. In Manhattan, I was strolling the streets after dark and went into a nondescript Mexican cantina. I was the only Caucasian in the joint and Spanish was the only language in use. The meal was one of the best I've had in a long while. Similarly, my friend, George, and I ducked into a Himalayan joint in Salt Lake City once on a passing whim. This was quite literally was a "hole in the wall" as rooms were joined by big holes crudely hammered through the brick walls. Not really knowing what to expect from the cuisine, we were both extremely pleased.

Of course, I still visit popular tourist areas like the museums and parks and shopping avenues. I'll take the suggestions of friends or complete strangers that I've struck up a conversation with. My friend, Lisa, told me that I "had to see the seals chomping down on salmon at the locks". Yeah, you can't pass up a spectacle like that. Or when my brother tells me which Smithsonian museum is his favorite I am definitely going to take the advice and visit. But by and large, I enjoy experiencing and feeling a city by making my own choices, taking wrong turns and getting lost. I love entering the current of rush hour traffic and letting the flow whisk me along, all of the city on display with its attendant sounds and smells and pulse. Eddy out on a sidestreet when something cool crops up. Maybe I miss some really great sights, but I'll sacrifice that for the taste of adventure.

A lot of people always ask how many sets of tires you used riding cross country. Also, a large proportion of traffic to this blog is from folks researching Schwalbe Marathon Mondial tires so I thought I'd give an update. This is what the tread looks like on my tires after almost 7,000 miles of riding.

In 7,000 miles I have only gotten two punctures. This is the front tire where a shard of glass cut through within the first 1,000 miles of riding. As you can see, the rubber has not eroded away from the cut and the lug remains largely intact. I also got a bit of wire in my rear tire that resulted in a slow leak. Both tires exhibit those micro cracks from sun damage presumably.

Right at the bottom edge of the reflective striping, there is a little bit of separation now in places. I would guess this is where the tread overlaps the casing? In any case, it's not sufficient to make me worry although I am carrying a spare folding tire at this point.

The Olympic Peninsula and the Olympic Mountains off in the distance. I am on Whidbey Island and will take a ferry to Port Townsend and onto the peninsula.

I know this snapshot sucks but I needed to remember this moment. I was minding my own business on the streets of Port Townsend when I saw some folks struggling to lift the bow of some sort of boat out a door. I proffered my help and took up a spot at the bow. What eventually emerged from the restaurant's door was a 30 foot wooden rowing shell for 4 or 5 people. It was so long it had us doing acrobatics lifting it over parked cars and stopping both lanes of traffic to get it completely out of the building. The owners stored it as decoration in the restaurant, but they needed to get it out for a wooden boat festival that weekend.

Break out your low tech maps. It's time to go to the city!

When you get on a ferry, roll your bike up to the front of the cargo bay and tie it to a wall. Then go up top to enjoy the sights around you. This was the ferry from Bremerton to Seattle.

Sighting the Seattle skyline for the first time

Tom, prepare for Seattle. Seattle, prepare for Tom.

All sorts of commercial and recreation craft can be spotted in the Chittenden Locks that allow passage from Puget Sound into Lakes Union and Washington. Here's the commercial variety.

This is decidedly of the recreational variety.

Discovery Park is a large greenspace on the western part of town looking out towards the sound and complete with lighthouse. I rode around for a couple of hours on the trails there that varied from smooth pavement to grassy singletrack. It wasn't until afterwards that I discovered you weren't supposed to bike on most of them. Whoops. The park was nearly empty during the week so no harm, no foul.

The hills in Seattle rival anything that I rode in Virginia and Kentucky for steepness. If I lived here I would ride a carbon fiber bike with a triple crank. Or remember to avoid the hills. Yeah, that'd be cheaper. What am I saying? I enjoy suffering.

My friend, Lisa, invited me to come and cheer her softball team one evening. I readily agreed. Before this trip, I doubt I had ever attended a softball game. Kim took me to a couple in Steamboat Springs and I found it a blast to cheer and jeer the teams.

The biking infrastructure within the city is impressive with plenty of bike lanes on streets or devoted bus/bike lanes. Depicted is a pretty cool feature of their bike lanes that I've seen a couple of places before. The bright green swath of pavement is where the bike lane "flip flops" with the left turn lane. This helps limit cyclists getting cut off or sideswiped because it alerts the drivers that they should start paying a little attention.

Let's go surfin' now

2012-08-23T11:08:00.001-07:00

I rode my bike across the country. Wow. What a succinct statement that sums up 3 months and over 5,000 miles of biking. But simply put, that is what I accomplished by rolling into Anacortes, WA yesterday. The date was August 22nd and it just so happened to be exactly three months from my original departure of May 22nd. I am not sure if that counts for anything, but it was neat nevertheless.

The rest of Washington state continued the trend of each day being better than the last. The central section of the state is mostly desert and temperatures were pushing into the low 100s again. Climbing a few passes in those conditions made for interesting times, but the heat of Missouri and the climbs of Colorado had conditioned me. One of the highlights of my trip came on the second to last day- riding over the Cascades. Riding to the top of Washington Pass that marks the highpoint on the North Cascades Highway turned out to be the easy part. Descending through the Skagit River Gorge was pretty breathtaking. The scenery was out of this world. The winds were as well. Under calm conditions one could rocket down the gorge and average close to 30mph. Headwinds kept me in the 10mph neighborhood. Violent crosswinds throughout the gorge made some sections a bit harrowing at times. Eventually I was disgorged (ha!) and continued along the Skagit River towards the coast.

Well, now that that is over I guess all that's left is to figure out how to get home...

I've seen plenty "fake" painted cattle guards in national forests along my ride. They are used to control the swaths of open range that the Forest Service leases. I understand the concept of physical cattle guards on roads. I always wanted to see a cow interact with a painted one and see if it actually works.

The effects of 3 months of UV damage can be clearly seen on my bike panniers. Most mornings I wore a long sleeved shirt for as long as I could bear it. Otherwise I slathered myself in SPF 50 sunscreen. Still, my glove tan is pretty impressive.

A short break in the Mazama Store was a good idea to wake up for the climb over Washington Pass. I kept hoping that Steve House, an acclaimed alpinist, would stop in for his morning coffee. He didn't. Mazama, WA

This was my first time through the Cascades and I was excited for the ride over them.

The views did not disappoint along the way.

Yup. There's still snow up in the pass! I didn't dilly dally too much right here. Those cavernous points fore and aft of my bike were formed by big blocks of snow cleaving off the bottom of the slope. The large rock that my front wheel is sitting against fell off of the cliff face above. Further up the pass, fresh rock scars could been seen along the cliffs lining the switchbacks. Newly fallen rocks lay strewn on the side of the road opposite the scars. Not the safest place for a picnic.

The North Cascades Highway snaking up behind me towards Washington Pass.

The last obstacle between me and the ocean has been surmounted. Until you descend a bit and still have to climb a few hundred feet up and over Rainy Pass. But who's counting?

A mini Lotus Flower Tower sits at the top of the pass found me wishing I had brought my rock shoes. And a rope. And a rack. And a climbing partner. Next time. And there will be a next time.

Descending towards Rainy Pass

And then descending from Rainy Pass towards the Skagit River Gorge. The steep part of the descent would go on for about 30 miles. This was while it was still fun in the sun. Then the walls closed in and the winds kicked into high gear. I stopped taking pictures.

The gorge is so narrow in points that the road travels through a couple of tunnels. That's a good way to spice things up!

I don't know what that means. But I am sufficiently intrigued. Marblemount, WA

I spent the night in Marblemount at Clark's Skagit River Resort. At the side of the bathhouse, I saw this sign. What?

Uh, looks like about two dozen loaves of day old bread...

Turns out that one of the hallmarks of Clark's is the rabbit population hanging around. I asked the owners how many rabbits were around and they said "no fewer than twenty". Then I read somewhere that usually they have upwards of a hundred hopping about when they're breeding. Whoa.

Once through the Cascades, it's back to low lying farmland that reminds me of Pennsylvania. Right now we're less than 10 miles away from the Pacific Ocean.

Yep. Just chillin' with the cows a stone's throw away from the saltwater.

Fewer than 10 miles away from completion, they close the road on you. I laughed a little as I made another slight detour . It would take more than that to discourage me after so much riding.

The Tommy Thompson Trail leading over Fidalgo Bay to Anacortes

Down at the beach looking out towards the San Juan Islands and the Strait of Juan de Fuca. Yeah, I just wanted to say "Juan de Fuca". Can't go much further west without getting wet!

The final tally? Five thousand and forty three miles. Plus maybe a few more from the times my previous bike computer kept dying partway through the day.

New states of being

2012-08-19T08:42:00.000-07:00

Montana was my last "known point" and I left it approximately one week ago. Up until that time, I had already traveled through the states that I was seeing on earlier trips by car. As I have espoused before elsewhere, you see far more things crossing even the same path by bicycle. You meet new folks. The trip takes on an entirely new character. But still, even if you're biking to it, you already know what Jackson, WY is like. You know that Kansas is about 400 miles wide. Some of the mystery isn't there.

It was with great anticipation and excitement that I left Missoula, MT and began heading directly north. I was leaving the TransAmerica biking route and heading up towards the Northern Tier route, meeting it by Glacier National Park. When I turned westward just before hitting Canada, I truly felt like I was in new territory... because I was. This feeling only heightened whenever I crossed into Idaho as this was my first visit. Granted, I spent less than 24 hours in Idaho, crossing its narrow northern Panhandle, but it was a new state nevertheless. Now I am in central Washington, another new state for me. The eastern portion contained vast forests and tall passes giving way to a desertscape in the center of the state. It was really odd making that transition in about 15 miles of riding and 3000' elevation loss. The 100 degree temperatures and winds make me feel like I'm back in Missouri or Kansas. The desert atmosphere hearkens back to eastern Colorado or Wyoming. So odd.

When I begin riding tomorrow, I only have about 3 days of riding left until I hit the Pacific coast at Anacortes, WA. From there some island hopping with the assistance of ferries will get me to Seattle. It is so odd to be sitting here only days away from completing a cross country bicycle ride. On one hand, it's nigh impossible to believe that you biked across the entire United States and only have 3 days left. Then you reflect on the past 3 months of pedaling, think back to the climbs, the dogs, the miles, the junk food, the campsites and remember all of the effort that went into it. It makes it a little more believable. My sense of accomplishment is a little diminished, not because it wasn't difficult as it does take some doing. It's diminished a little because the trip was so fun with each day better than the last. It seemed like such the right thing to do. It's so logical to bike across the country. Somehow, with it seemingly making good sense to do, it has less of an impact on me. Odd. Don't worry. I'm still quite pleased with myself though.

FULL DISCLAIMER: For anyone who haven't followed my travels the whole way, my ride may not qualify as an "official" full cross country ride. I started in State College, PA and rode southeast first and came closest to the Atlantic coast at Baltimore's Inner Harbor. No, I didn't dip my wheel in. Since I had ridden 500 miles to join up with the TransAmerica route in Ashton, VA I didn't bother to go approximately 80 miles east to the coast at Yorktown. So, I guess I won't bother contacting Guinness... The reason I mention this is that some cyclists that I have encountered actually care about this stuff. I am not one of those people. Obviously.

Of course this is assuming that I can pull myself out of Omak, WA and finish the remaining 210 miles to the Pacific. Talk about putting the cart before the horse. Jeez, Tom!

If there is one thing that I will remember my cycling partner of three days, Justin, for it will be his drinking. I mean that in the nicest way possible. I just found it so humorous for us to pair up with one another. I completely quit drinking to go on this trip. Justin was never without a beer in hand. Never. Breakfast, lunch and dinner. It just seemed a bit comical at times, the disparity between us yet how well we got along.

Justin getting his portrait taken at Adventure Cycling headquarters in Missoula, MT. His portrait and mine will be part of the National Bicycle Touring Portrait Collection

Greg Siple, one of the original founders of what would become Adventure Cycling, taking our portraits behind their headquarters

The moment we've all been waiting for. Greg asked me to guess the weight of my bike and I wrote "115 lbs". As I lowered my bike on the scale, he first said "Oooh, triple digits! We don't get many of those." Then he followed it up with "Wow, this is one of the heavier bikes we've seen this year." Damn.

The final tally? 112 lbs. Justin's bike weighed a full 20 lbs less. When I relay that number to other cyclists they usually begin making fun of me. In response, I ask "Do you remember all of those mountains? Do you remember all of those miles? Do you remember me riding them just as fast or faster than you? Did you hear me even once complain about how heavy my bike was?" The conversation usually comes to an abrupt halt.

The police in Missoula have a far lighter bike lock solution than I

Drift boat fishing for trout on the Blackfoot River along the route leading north from Missoula

Let's play "Spot the Wildfire"! It's not too hard. And if you win, it means you're an idiot because you're biking within sight of a wildfire. So I guess you lose. Condon, MT

That isn't early morning fog. A pall of smoke from a wildfire hangs over the Swan Range.

Convenience store wisdom. So true. Swan Lake, MT

It wasn't until I got on this gravelly backroad in northern Montana that I realized I had been riding on state and federal highways exclusively for the past 2000 miles or so. It was so nice to be on a true backroad again. This particular descent transported me to Rothrock State Forest and the descent on Bear Meadows road down to Detwiler Run. I found myself actually getting slightly emotional for a moment.

I ran into this couple on day One of their Great Divide bike trip. How did I know it was day One? They're still smiling. Just kidding! Sort of.

Biker gang at Cafe Jax in Eureka, MT. The Great Divide and the Northern Tier routes intersect here so you get a number of cyclists passing through. The pancakes were delicious.

My friend, Kipp, should be a fire marshal. He doesn't go anywhere without a bucket of fresh bacon.

Likewise, this stretch of road into Libby, MT made me think of the road that you take into Gemini Gullies. Same crappy road and jumbled cliffs. Same railroad and river. A woman warned me that I should be careful as the road is "really narrow and people drive really fast." Once on it, I had to laugh as it reminded me of 95% of the roads I ride in central PA. I felt quite at home actually.

The shores of Lake Pend Oreille in Idaho. It's pronounced "Pawn du Ray". Get it right or people will snub you. I asked while I was still in Montana.

Same lake and beach again at dusk.

Indeed.

I don't want to sound cocky, but the zero shoulders and coal trucks of Kentucky make Washington feel like you're on a separate bike lane with Matchbox cars passing you. But it was nice that they posted a warning. Overall, the state feels much more accepting of cyclists.

As I was biking 4000' feet up Sherman Pass on a 95 degree day a couple who had ridden sections of the Northern Tier stopped their van. They put out quite the spread for me!

I think that while it certainly wasn't the steepest, Sherman Pass was the most difficult climb overall on this ride. It rose 4,000' in 25 miles or so. It was really hot. There were two construction zones on the uphill. But I carried on and the descent more than made up for it.

Did you smear cupcake frosting all over your hat again, Tom? Nope. That's all sweat- the fruit of my labors over Sherman Pass. I'm going to visit Outdoor Research in Seattle. I'll commend them on their hats' sweat crusting technology.

Car(e)free

2012-08-17T19:05:00.000-07:00

As I was interminably riding 4,000 feet continuously uphill today, I had some time to think. My $7 FM radio couldn't tune in any Top 40 hits so there was no real opportunity to just zone out. And it occurred to me that it's been one year that I have lived car-free! Yes, that's right viewers/listeners/readers. I sold my 2001 green Chevy Silverado 4WD extended bed pickup truck one year ago and haven't purchased a motor vehicle since then.

The Chevy truck in question, moments after its fuel pump quit in the middle of Rocky Mountain National Park

"Why, oh why, would you have gotten rid of it and not replaced it with another one?" you may ask. Well here goes:

1) Environment- I won't elaborate on this one since unless you live under a rock you've heard arguments of why cars suck for the environment. You either believe it or don't. Anything I write won't convince you otherwise. Personally I cannot reconcile the paradox between my desire to enjoy the outdoors and driving a gasoline powered vehicle that aids in destroying said environment. I've tried to not care, but I can't avoid it anymore. In fact, now I attempt to only use mass transit if I need to get somewhere far away and don't have 3 months to do it (more on that later). And by that I mean bus. No airplanes.

2) Cost- My friend, Eric, and I have talked at length about this one. When you tally up the initial cost of a vehicle, repairs, fuel, insurance, inspection, registration, parking and all of the other expenses associated with it, it's a lot of money. A lot. We both figured if you eliminate that expense, you can either work less or spend the money on cooler stuff, like Twinkies and copies of Point Break. Personally, I'd rather work less and have more fun.

3) Insulation- What the heck do I mean by "insulation"? Vehicles insulate you from the world. They insulate you from the people around you. They insulate you from the sounds, smells, and sights around you. They shrink distances. They blind you to geography and topography. If you like the fact that you can leave your air conditioned home, step into an air conditioned car and blitz past all the shit you don't care about until your air conditioned destination arrives, good for you. But there's those of us who don't. Like me.

Nope. Still don't need a truck.

"Well obviously you haven't accomplished as much without a car." you will protest. No. Not really. I will admit to needing to make a lifestyle change though. You need to relax. You need to transport yourself back to an era where you cannot get anywhere around town within minutes. Or zip around the world. You need to plan ahead a little bit better when you go out running errands and make sure that you leave yourself more time before making appointments or get togethers. You may choose to walk. You might choose mass transit. I chose to bike a lot.

And on my bike, I don't think that I have made any compromises. In the past year, I've gone on climbing trips. I've gotten out on my packraft. I've attended a wedding that was 250 miles away (suit in tow) and attended another reception. I set up a trade show booth at a convention using my bike trailer. I've gone and picked up beer kegs. So far this summer I have ridden 4,500 miles and am sitting in central Washington as I type this. That's more than can be said for my shitty truck that couldn't conquer the Rockies. While riding my bike even on routes that I had driven hundreds of times, I met new people, saw new and interesting things and appreciated my surroundings far more than was possible by car. I am in better physical and mental shape than when I drove around. I love not having a car.

Am I suggesting that everyone does this? Not necessarily.

Do folks have legitimate reasons that this wouldn't work for them? Maybe.

Have there been situations in the past year that I rode in or operated a car? Sure.

Are plenty of folks going to want to discredit my lifestyle? Definitely.

Do I care? Nope.

Places your car won't take you- Exhibit A

Seriously. I don't care. This is my blog and I am writing about me. While I doubt anyone will take the time to fully read this let alone comment on it, the only comments that I want to see are questions concerning how you can make your own lifestyle "car light" or "car free". I'll be happy to discuss it with you. Any disparaging comments can be saved because I really don't care. You love cars? You live 65 miles away from your job and are certain that a car is the only answer and I'm a jobless hippy? You have 5 kids to get to soccer practice and flute lessons? Good. Great. Leave me to my delusions.

In the end, I am just psyched to announce that I have made it one year in our very car-centric nation without owning a gasoline powered vehicle. I had my doubts when I first decided to do it. But now, all that I can think about it all of the cool stuff that I am going to do without one.

Montañas y Montana

2012-08-08T07:11:00.001-07:00

For those of you who don't speak Spanglish like me, that's "Mountains and Montana". 'Cause that's what my last couple of weeks have been. Except for the post-apocalyptic, Mad Max-like Great Divide Basin... but we'll get to that.

I'm pretty sure the last point that I updated y'uns on my travels was from Rawlins, WY. That's pretty much down in the southern part of the state along I-80. The TransAmerica route takes you diagonally north and west alongside the Wind River range (my favorite), into the Tetons and Yellowstone National Parks and then you kinda sneak up into western Montana. This entails many, many crossings of the Continental Divide which aren't too bad unless there is wind. And there's always wind.

I have discovered a humorous situation: the national parks that everyone loves the most and find the most scenic turn out to be my lesser enjoyed spots and don't seem as scenic. The spots that I have come across in the national forests are significantly more beautiful and impressive and serene. I know that the parks are still beautiful, but the crowds just turn me off. Being narrowly passed by hundreds of lumbering RVs piloted by folks who don't know the first thing about them and trying to sleep in obnoxiously loud campgrounds kinda sours you on the parks. I didn't even take a single picture in Yellowstone this time. The same goes for the towns that you pass through. The larger "destination" towns that have been gussied up for tourists don't seem too inviting. But when you get to the small dusty outposts with a handful of residents, those are worth stopping at because they have real character.

Look at this pair of Trolls. I was referring to the bikes. This is Joe and Rhea whom I met in Rawlins, WY outside of a grocery store. Minutes earlier, you would have been hard pressed to see them smiling. Joe had lost a cleat bolt for his shoe (which helps clamp your shoe on your pedal for riding) and had been riding for 200 miles without it. The bike shop in Rawlins had closed down. When I produced a bolt and a spare for him out of my parts kit, they both smiled like kids on Christmas. They are cycling the Great Divide route south.

Joe is a serious backpacker and has hiked the Pacific Crest Trail, the Continental Divide Trail, and the Appalachian Trail. In doing so, he's gotten adept at making his own gear. He decided to make his own framebags, which I though turned out quite well. He may go into business making them when he's done riding. I'll be one of his first customers.

This is the Great Divide Basin which rests between two "branches" of the Continental Divide. It comprises a stretch of ~120 miles between Rawlins and Lander where there is nothing. There are a couple of places that one could make a stretch and call it a "town" and there may be one business open. Most people I know would be afraid to drive a car through here let alone bike. It was awesome.

Jeffrey City is one such "town". In a 100 mile stretch of road, it is the sole habitation and contains maybe 50 residents. This old uranium mining town has only one business, a bar, still open unless you count the pottery studio that is on the other side of the road. The owner of the studio, who another cyclist referred to as "a modern Hunter S. Thompson" allows people to camp in his yard, or sleep in an old RV with a door that always accidentally locks you inside, or stay in his disheveled abode. I have heard so many awesome stories from folks who have spent the night. While at the bar, I was invited to wait around til the next day for the Twig & Berries festival- all you can eat bratwurst and Rocky Mountain oysters and all you can drink for $10. Unfortunately I missed this scene of debauchery.

One night I camped at the Mormon Handcart Historic site in Sweetwater Junction, WY. It's actually the only thing there. Young Mormons from around the world come to relive their ancestors experience of pulling a handcart west to the fabled lands of Salt Lake. It was actually a pretty interesting spot.

I spent that evening with another cyclist, Lance. Lance was in his late 60s and retired and knew how to relax. He was also full of great information about touring. One of his sayings that he came up with on the spot was "The wind taketh and the wind rarely giveth back". So true in Wyoming.

Another one of Lance's sayings was "If you're not eating good food, then what's the point?" Lance made me pancakes with peach mango jam and coffee one morning. I couldn't argue with his logic after that.

In Lander, I could finally find fresh produce and prepare some good eatin'. I know that everyone who has ever lived with me is saying, "Why doesn't he go to that effort at home?"

Sleepy time.

The Wind River Range peeking out from behind the Wind River Indian Reservation.

Oh how I love Mexican Coca-Cola. It's bottled in Mexico and they still use real sugar cane so it tastes much better than the stuff in plastic bottles. Typically you can't find it back East anywhere.

There are two families of six riding the TransAmerica route together. They are riding tandem bikes with trailers. I last met them in Booneville, KY months ago and then we were finally reunited here in the middle of the reservation. The children's ages range from about 15 down to 7. Yes, 7. And he still pedals.

Here are their rigs. All Co-Motion tandems made in Oregon with two wheeled Burley trailers.

I know. I know. I'm thinking the same thing. Worst campsite ever. This was at the top of Togwotee Pass heading towards Grand Teton National Park. The ride up to the top at twilight was magical and camping in the national forest was the best night I've had on the trip yet.

Sunset over Togwotee Pass.

Descending Togwotee, you run dab smack into the Tetons. There was so much haze from wildfires in the area that I never got a really good picture of the Tetons. I assume you've seen better pictures elsewhere so I'll spare you.

I'm sorry, Ieva. I was going to stage a photo shoot to appease your love of livestock. I ran into a procurement issue. Jackson, WY

In the national parks, you put everything that could possibly smell into the steel bear boxes provided. I don't want to be woken up by Yogi Bear. He'd probably want to talk about his baseball career all night and wrangle my Fig Newtons.

My friend, Jon, put me in touch with his friend Amanda in Jackson where she put me up for the night. Upon seeing me for the first time, she promptly bought me lunch and continued to try and fatten my up. When I left, she gave me a loaf of fresh banana bread. It didn't make it out of the Tetons alive.

Welcome to Montana. First bighorn sheep sighting of the trip! I tried getting a photo of him squaring off with me in the road, but I wasn't fast enough.

Riding through the Madison River gorge and valley is so... Montana. I really don't know how to describe it otherwise.

Kurtis is 75 years old and riding around the country by himself. I told him that there was no way he was 75 for the great shape he was in. "Cycling keeps ya young," he replied. He showed me his license for proof.

I started cycling with Justin for a few days in Montana until we part ways in Missoula. We were talking to a very interesting guy in Twin Bridges who told us we had to get the best Mexican food in the northwest. It's a school bus converted into an eatery in Dillon, MT. It was pretty good indeed.

I like where this bus is headed.

Here's Justin laboring up towards me at the top of Badger Pass. The one day between Twin Bridges and Jackson, MT, we rode about 80 miles and climbed over two large passes with headwinds the entire way. We were pretty beat at the end to say the least. It was good to be riding together this day to keep spirits up. There was lots of swearing, cursing the wind, and talk of what food and beverages we hoped to find in Jackson.

Tom's Guide to Camping in Town Parks

2012-07-29T09:18:00.000-07:00

When one is riding any of the Adventure Cycling routes and using their maps, finding places to stay for the evening is usually pretty easy. Besides campgrounds and motels, often times there will be a note that cyclists can camp in a town's park. For the thrifty traveler (I try to be thrifty but then my pancake and omelet binges wreak havoc on my budget) these are just the ticket. Now while you may think it's as easy as throwing down your sleeping pad and getting some shuteye, there are a few guidelines or tips that I would like to share with you.

1) GET PERMISSION

I can't believe that I need to state that, but you would be surprised. Most parks explicitly state that they are closed after dark. It sucks being woken up by the police at 2am. It sucks having parents think you're a potential pedophile or something. If the notes on the Adventure Cycling map says "check in first with police", check in with the police. It not only makes what you're doing legal, it shows courtesy on the part of cyclists. I have met cyclists in Kansas who had not once checked in with the local authorities since leaving Boston. My only exception to this rule is if 2 or more townspeople tell you "Oh, it's just fine to camp in the park, honey."

2) SELECT YOUR TENTSITE

In the above photo, you will note that I am camped on dead grass. "What a jerk," you're thinking. "He's just gonna kill the grass further." There's a reason there is dead grass and lush green grass: automatic lawn sprinklers. I lost count of the number of cyclists who recounted being woken up in the wee hours by a sprinkler shooting water in through an open tent door.

Of course if there is a pavilion, then you're set. Just don't yardsale your stuff all over the place. Citizens of the town may want to use their park as well. This saves you the hassle of setting up your tent. Sometimes conditions warrant setting up the body of your tent anyway. Like the time I saw a skunk moseying around the pavilion at twilight.

3) CHECK THE BATHROOM

Is there a bathroom? Is it unlocked? Did you check in with the police who will gladly unlock it for you? Is there toilet paper? These are all important things to reconnoiter before you should need to utilize the facilities. I travel with a spare supply of toilet paper just in case. Which reminds me- Is it general practice in Mexico to provide your own toilet paper? The first few days of travelling there I found myself being rather inventive til I caught on...

Sometimes you will luck out and there will be a shower at the park. Many times if there is a public pool, you can go up to the counter and the teenage girls running the joint will take pity on your state and let you shower for free. Check in at volunteer fire departments too. Or just forgo a shower. The clerk at the 7-Eleven wasn't buying any of your pickup lines anyway.

4) FIND A WATER SOURCE

Is there a water source around? Are you capable of actually filling a water bottle from this source? Don't laugh. If you only have tall 24oz bike bottles, you may encounter water fountains or faucets that completely foil you.

5) GET SOME POWER

Now that you scored a free shower, you probably want to break out your hair dryer and do some styling. Or you need to charge up your iPod so that you can listen to Kenny Loggin's Danger Zone on repeat tomorrow as you mindlessly drift through Kansas. The best place to find some power outlets would be around a pavilion or inside a bathroom. 2% of the time the power will actually be turned on.

6) HANG YOUR FOOD

If there is any possibility of critters getting in your food or a bear being attracted, make some attempt at hanging your food out of reach. Much of the time you can easily clip it to a pavilion beam or sit it on top of a bathroom roof but you may want to carry some cord if you need to hang food from trees. Locals will assure you that there is no need to do anything with your food. You will acquiesce because you're tired from a long day of riding. You will meet the resident raccoon that is the size of a German shepherd that's opening your panniers the hard way.

7) OTHER STUFF TO STAY AWAY FROM

Do not camp anywhere near a ballfield. Ever. It may be late and you'll think, "No one could possibly start a game this late." They will. You will believe that you have been transported to Williamsport, PA for the evening- the home of the Little League World Series. They will turn on the spotlights that transform night into day. There will be an announcer. You will not sleep.

Stay away from standing water. Standing water breeds mosquitoes. Despite my best efforts, last night the mosquitoes were tapping so furiously against my tent fly that it sounded like it was lightly raining outside. If you camp at the Mormon historic site in Sweetwater Station, WY you needn't worry though. They run around camp on an ATV with an industrial mosquito fogger on it at 6am. I wish I were kidding.

Stay away from the playset. Believe it or not, there are parents that will allow their children to play unattended well after dark. It may not matter. One night in Ellington, MO I had kids concealing themselves behind my tent during a raucous game of Hide and Seek. If any parents are chaperoning their kids while you set your tent up next to the playset, they may mistake you for a vagrant and then call the police who you forgot to check in with earlier.

Stay away from the swings. Unless you really want to hear two 14 year old girls describe just how much they hate their parents and learn why Johnny Cooper is the cutest boy in school. Then lie back and relax. It's sort of like a juvenile podcast I guess.

8) BE RESPECTFUL

Treat everyone that you meet with respect. The townspeople are the ones paying local taxes that keep the park open and the water turned on. It is by their good graces that they allow you to camp there. Clean up all trash, even if it isn't your own. Close doors and gates. Don't make a lot of noise where there are nearby houses. Think of it this way: if you weren't riding a bicycle and doing something that they think is awesome, the local police would lock you up for being a homeless bum and parents would pepper spray you for saying hello to their kids. Don't screw it up for the rest of us.

Hopefully you have found this short guide to be helpful for camping in parks along your bicycle journey. It's typically the cheapest legal way to spend the night and affords you the opportunity to meet new folks all of the time. Also, a community welcoming strangers into their park in order to fulfill that cyclist's dream of riding cross country truly warms my soul. In an age where we are conditioned to fear one another and be shocked and awed by the news every morning, it's nice to see regular folks helping one another out.

Wind watchin'

2012-07-26T13:23:00.001-07:00

Crossing into Wyoming, one discovers the truth behind all of the rumors about the winds. Sure I had ridden through the pancake flat Kansas where nothing exists to interrupt the wind. Very often there was breeze coming from the side or directly in front. An annoyance for sure, the winds would contribute to a slow pace.

Wyoming has redefined the term "headwind" and "crosswind" for me though. Yesterday, I rode about 115 miles from Walden, CO to Rawlins, WY. I was blown about in all directions... except from behind much to my disappointment. Most of the day it was a consistent headwind that held me to only 11 mph where I should have been averaging 15 or more. After a truckstop dinner in Sinclair (of gas station fame) I encountered far more. A crippling wind hit me from the side that made a straight course virtually impossible. When the road turned into the wind, I would struggle to make 6 mph in the easiest of gears.

Although painfully slow, I made it into Rawlins, WY. It's more or less a giant truckstop on I-80 which I had the pleasure of riding for a dozen miles yesterday. Since I was feeling under the weather for much of yesterday despite regular intakes of orange juice and adding to it the energy sapping mileage I racked up, I stuck around Rawlins today. There was no way I was getting an early start. But I have studied the forecast and readied myself to wake up extra early to try and avoid the strongest winds and steal 125 miles up to Lander tomorrow.

I love the irony of a sticker criticizing an esoteric sport being pasted on an equally esoteric bike. I want a snowbike so bad.

Steamboat Springs, CO is equal parts ski town...

and cowboy town.

One night was spent bar hopping with my friend, Kim, in Steamboat. In her case, it truly was bar hopping since she had recently chipped the end of her tibia in a mountain biking crash. She stole my bike to coast from bar to bar. I really need to work on my action photography. Jeez.

Bear spray. Bug spray. Don't confuse the two. The clerk at the store really didn't appreciate when I asked if I could save money and use the bug spray for both applications. Some people have no sense of humor.

I have been in an avocado desert for so long. I finally found avocado on a menu in Alma, but when I ordered it , they were sold out. Steamboat finally delivered. That reminds me of the time that I received a suspicious USPS flat rate box in the mail from my friend, Jeff, who lives in southern CA. It turns out it was stuffed with 5 lbs of avocados that he had gleaned from the tree in his yard.

Like I said, I hadn't seen avocados in a while. At brunch following a night on the town, it was understandable that I had the best appetite.

For those that care, my Schwalbe Marathon Mondial tires are still holding strong after more than 4,700 miles of riding. There are a few small cracks from sun damage like what you would expect on a car tire, but otherwise they look unblemished. I hope that I haven't horribly jinxed myself before heading into the barren regions of Wyoming.

Thunderstorms and the sunset vie for attention over Steamboat.

Well this looks like trouble. Except for the Fig Newtons. That's a whole unopened package sitting back there.

Wyoming: Forever West & Forever Manhandled by Air Currents

Refuge in Steamboat

2012-07-18T13:50:00.000-07:00

I don't have a whole lot to report to y'all, but I wanted to check in nevertheless since I passed a psychological and physical milepost by riding into Steamboat Springs, CO yesterday. My uncle, Mark, lives in Steamboat Springs as well as a couple of friends, Kim and Cat. When leaving my brother's place in Washington D.C. about a month and a half ago, I knew that Steamboat would be the first place I'd come to where I had preexisting friends and family (as I have made many friends in between on this trip). It sorta boggled my mind and I only half believed that I would actually get here. But after a 100+ mile day yesterday that included another climb up and over the Continental Divide, here I am. And as I was approaching town, my trip odometer turned over 3000 miles. Whoa.

Steamboat looks like it will be the perfect place to take several days off. My uncle readily offered up his house as a base of operations. I already have a couple of friends in town and am bound to make more quickly, what with my ravishing good looks and charm. There's an awesome, funky bike shop, Orange Peel Bicycle, that is going to replace my broken rear shifter that admittedly did hold together admirably for 1000 miles longer. But I don't want to tempt fate... There's plenty of free concerts, events like the rodeo, shops, restaurants and a gigantic adjacent national forest to keep me busy. I think the only problem with the town is that from the moment I got here, everyone started an intense lobbying campaign to convince me that it was inevitable that I would never leave town. Everyone tells me "I came here X years ago for just a visit and never left". My uncle was telling me that he picked up two hitchhikers in Kansas who were trying to get to Steamboat Springs. That's how he arrived here some 30 years ago and never left. I'm hoping that I can maintain forward momentum after a bit so that I can still visit the west coast.

Almost there! This was my first crossing of the western Continental Divide by bicycle. Eric Durante and I biked over the eastern Continental Divide last fall on a rail trail. It's always very difficult to ascertain the grade of a climb from a photo. So far, the climbs of the Rockies are quite gentle, they just go on for a really long time.

Look who's sitting on top of the Continental Divide. Some other cyclists are really disturbed when I show them the laptop I am carrying, or the three books, or my giant bag of trail mix. It ain't stopping me none.

To go where others have boldly gone before.

Thus begins the descent down into the heart of the Rockies towards Breckenridge, I-70 and really expensive houses.

Yes. The road actually does what the warning sign is telling you. That combined with incessant SUV traffic and loose sand on the roadside is why you check your speed down from 40mph occasionally.

I met Geff and Mary Anne in Vesuvius, VA when I was just beginning my ride and they were nearly finished with theirs. When they invited me to stay at their house in Frisco, CO I couldn't comprehend how I would ever actually get there. They were terrific hosts and welcomed me into their home with a warm shower, warm food and plenty of welcome conversation about our experiences on the road.

Another cyclist passing through, Anna from Sydney, Australia, found their info on warmshowers.org and spent the night too. Here she is next to our identical blue Long Haul Truckers. She was lamenting about how much stuff she was carrying since she was encountering Hoosier Pass the next day.

So I left Frisco and once in Silverthorne, I checked my phone. There was a message from Lauren Reed, an old friend, saying she and her friend were arriving in Frisco that night on a thru hike of the Colorado Trail. So, I turned around and rode back. Killing a day in Frisco, I spent part of it at a pavilion at the trailhead, looking for Lauren and Brandon. This photo does not do justice to the afternoon thunderstorms that sweep through with fierce rain, thunder, lightning, hail and a 20-30 degree temperature drop. I felt bad for the two of them out on the trail.

All throughout the Rockies, I've been seeing the effects of the mountain pine beetle. They have been killing off massive numbers of trees. Then the Forest Service is forced to cut down the dead or dying trees. In this clearcut field, someone went to the trouble of building cairns on most of the resulting stumps.

Here's Brandon running the Low Heat/Tumble Dry cycle at the deluxe in-room laundromat. They had been fairly well soaked by the storms that I was able to sit out in town.

I hadn't seen my friend Lauren in about a year or so I think. She lives in southern Utah. It was utterly random that we both arrived in Frisco, CO within one day of another- she hiking and me biking. Awesome!

The Breckenridge/Frisco area is quite bike friendly with many bike paths. There are also some longer distance paths that parallel I-70 that can get you over to Vail and elsewhere. This morning (when I left Frisco for real) it was 46 degrees.

You're only riding on bike paths for about 0.1% of the time though. Out west, I've been finding more instances of 4 or 6 foot wide shoulders, but very often the shoulder will be about the width depicted if you're lucky. For long stretches though, there's no shoulder whatsoever, which I'm thoroughly used to. Many other cyclists are not and they would warn me about upcoming sections. It's certainly a valid concern when traffic is doing 65-70 mph on two lane roads.

F. M. Light & Sons is this awesome Western wear shop in downtown Steamboat Springs which I can't wait to visit again. I almost forgot about it. Except for the fact that between Kremmling and Steamboat Springs, there are approximately 100 signs advertising it along US 40. Keeps things interesting at least.

Another climb up and over the Continental Divide to get to Steamboat Springs. At this point, I was deviating from the official TransAmerica route.

Another view of the same spot. Since it was about 2 p.m. the requisite thunderstorm was approaching fast. Right as I snapped this photo I realized that I was photographing a thunderstorm while I stood on top of the Continental Divide next to a 25 foot tall metal sign. I guess everyone's concerns about my intelligence level are justified after all. I quickly got out of there and made the 25 mile screaming descent to Steamboat.

The whole "not drinking thing"

2012-07-15T13:42:00.000-07:00

I rode my bike over the Continental Divide this morning. I was really, really proud of myself. The normal yardsticks of success like having ridden 2,800 miles over 7 weeks and blah, blah, blah weren't what made me proud. That was all secondary. What made me proud was that about 7 months ago I told myself, "Self, if you don't quit drinking for real, you're never getting off your ass and certainly not riding your bike over the Rockies." And here I was at over 11,000 feet, seeing my commitment to sobriety paying off.

I don't know why this was my motivator to quit drinking again, but Hoosier Pass delivered.

Living in State College, PA (the home of Penn State University), a drinking problem can go easily unnoticed. The vast majority of students and a lot of residents are out every evening getting drunk in an attempt to sleep with one another. I started out drinking innocently enough since it's somewhat of a rite of passage when you're in college. What my friends and I didn't realize is that it quickly went beyond that. Over the years, I cannot recollect the number of nights that I was blackout drunk and have no idea what transpired. I can't recall how many people I pissed off or friends I turned ugly on during my drunken periods. There are plenty of conversations, people that I was introduced to and odd events that were drowned out by my drinking. What I can remember is sitting at work many days, thinking about when I could start drinking that day. I can remember having my roommate Clay talking sense into me when he found me sitting alone in the dark with an open liquor bottle more than once. And I can remember feeling worse and worse about myself for drinking so much and then trying to quell those feelings with more alcohol.

One morning, waking up with the omnipresent hangover, I finally had enough. The only thing that I could remember from the night before was that I had gone to several bars and a party on a night that I hadn't planned to drink at all. Friends clued me in to the facts that I had been a complete ass, I crashed my bike attempting to ride home at some late hour, and a whole host of other troubling things which I won't recount. This was the first time that I saw my drinking affecting others and I had to stop lying to myself. I wasn't a social drinker because I either drank alone or drank with others in order to make me not look like an alcoholic. I didn't "like the taste of beer" since I regularly would drink the cheapest thing I could get ahold of be it beer, wine or liquor. Drinking didn't make me more social since most times I would drink myself into a sort of tightening "tunnel vision" where all I paid attention to was the drink in front of me.

I quit cold turkey. Oh man was it hard. I didn't go to AA. I only had the support of a couple of people close to me. At first I thought it would help by avoiding situations where I would encounter people drinking, but quickly realized that this impact on my social life would just make me resent sobriety and not succeed. I took to drinking bottled root beer as a placebo. Sometimes I would drink non-alcoholic beer but since it tasted so close to the real thing, I was afraid I might accidentally switch to the real stuff. At bars I would drink enough Coca Cola or ice water to drown a fish. At some parties, I would take shots of just water in order to be part of the crowd. I'm glad that people like my friend, George, humored me in this way. Other times I would go running or biking to take my mind off of wanting to drink. I can remember several Friday and Saturday nights running through town in the snow while drunken frat kids chucked beers bottles at me as I passed by.

After almost two years of maintaining my sobriety by tooth and nail, I unfortunately fell off of the wagon. I had decided to make a life change and go on a long roadtrip to go mountaineering and exploring. Accordingly, I had given my notice at work and was preparing to sell my house. With the accompanying stresses and uncertainties, I started drinking while away from home at a trade show with none of my support group around me. And it continued for a year. All of my great ideas about leaving town and touring North America largely came to naught since I was drinking again and not looking at life clearly. I feel like I wasted yet another year of my precious life in this downward spiral.

One night about seven or eight months ago I was sitting alone, drinking beer, when I had a sudden realization: I was never going to do shit with my life if I just kept drinking. I would just shuffle along making the motions of living. And I would probably never ride my bike over the Rocky Mountains. (For some reason, that thought stuck in my head) So, once again I was resolute in quitting drinking. I wavered several times, once going so far as biking to the liquor store until I dangled the image of the Rockies in my mind. I turned home and drank some tea instead. I won't tell you that it was easy.

But now that I have been riding my bicycle across the country, I have been enjoying every moment of every day. I meet new and interesting people and see terrific new places. I know that I want to be able to spend all of my remaining precious life exploring these things and not stuck inside of a bottle. Since leaving on this trip, I haven't once felt like taking a drink. Another cyclist that I met on this cross country ride who is also a recovering alcoholic, agreed with me on this point. Whitney's plan is similar in occupying her mind with biking and living instead of drinking. Check out her blog, My First Sober Summer. I vow to never drink again and let it come between me and enjoying life. I know it won't be easy, but as long as I can remember what life can give me (like riding my bike over the Rockies) I think that I can do it.

This is not meant to be a commentary on people's drinking habits. There's plenty of folks who can handle their booze and it is enjoyable for them. But for some, it is an incredibly negative thing. If you know of anyone who is staying sober or struggling to become sober, please support them in any way that you can. It makes a world of difference knowing that there are others out there backing you up. And if you yourself are trying to get sober or remain sober and need someone to talk to, please contact me. I don't care if you don't know me from Adam- it's important to have someone to talk to that cares. Feel free to forward this along to anyone, share it on Facebook, print it out and glue it to a duck, or give my contact info to someone that needs it.

For a much more well written piece on this subject, please read Brendan Leonard's "The Toughest Thing". I realize that my story follows a lot of what he writes and I do not intend to plagiarize him in any way.

To the mountains!

2012-07-14T20:13:00.000-07:00

After about 1000 miles of riding flat terrain and something like 2000 miles of not really hanging out with any other cyclists, I was probably starting to get a little batty. Fortunately both of those things changed. From Pueblo, CO the terrain turns from flat into the foothills of the Rockies. Go a little further and you're then in the thick of it with 14ers all around you. Today I rode about 70 miles and it was pretty much all continuously uphill. Yeah. Think about that for a moment. Tomorrow is the big payoff when I crest the Continental Divide and get to ride nature's roller coaster.

Also in the past few days I have run into more cyclists and gotten to hang out. Think about this: in 2700 miles and 7 weeks, I think that I shared breakfast twice, dinner once, and a campsite perhaps twice with other cyclists. That leaves a lot of time to talk to your imaginary friends. The first day that I tried leaving Pueblo, I ran into two eastbound cyclists, Whitney and Promise, about 25 miles from town. Since they had me laughing uncontrollably within the first minute of meeting them, I quickly decided it was worth backtracking to ride with them into Pueblo and even take a rest day. Hanging out with them was a great recharge for my travelling spirits. Then in Royal Gorge I shared dinner with a father and son, Jerry and Chad, from Lancaster, PA. I was able to talk to them at length about how to connect the TransAmerica up to Lancaster since that sounds like what Chad is going to do.

In the next couple of days, it should get even better! I will be reuniting with Geff and Mary Anne in Frisco whom I met in Vesuvius, VA when they were riding eastbound. I was hoping to intercept my longtime friend Lauren Reed who is currently hiking the Colorado Trail, but I am not too sure that it will work out. And then I am detouring off of the TransAmerica route and heading up to Steamboat Springs to spend several days with my uncle and a couple of friends. I'm certainly looking forward to all of that!

Jon, I stand corrected. Marmots are not the most annoying thing on earth. Prairie dogs are. Pueblo, CO

The foothills of the Rockies are finally within sight! This was the first time that I left Pueblo. I turned around shortly thereafter.

Whitney and Promise were a blast to hang out with and also quite inspiring. This was their first bike tour of any kind and were steadily eating up the miles. In fact, Promise bought and rode a bike for the first time only three months ago.

Blue Surly Long Haul Truckers are a tad popular amongst cyclists on the TransAm.

When I mentioned I was going to try and get a haircut, Promise offered to do it. Since this was her first time giving a haircut and using paper scissors from the motel front desk, she was a little apprehensive at first. If she had ever seen the haircuts I regularly gave myself she wouldn't have worried. She and Whitney were concerned that a bad haircut could "ruin my chances with the ladies of Colorado". Don't worry, I will ruin my chances regardless. The haircut turned out great by the way.

I rode Route 96 through Kansas and Colorado for approximately 450 miles. Without making a single turn. I kid you not. This junction marks the moment I finally got off of it.

I stopped to take a picture of what I first thought were sheep for Ieva. The llamas are probably better suited for this terrain. Which reminds me- Ieva, the next time we go into Tittycomb Basin to eat Cheezits and drink Wild Turkey, we're totally getting pack llamas.

A wild dork in his natural habitat. Royal Gorge, CO

Surprisingly I did not notice any "No Trespassing" signs around this property. I think this skull on the front gate is sufficient.

The reason that you can't see many of the high peaks around me is because of the numerous storms that are also surrounding me. The last 25 miles of this day were riding into a strong headwind, uphill, with continuous rain. It will come as no surprise to those that know me that I was enjoying myself.

This was the first time on the trip that I wore both a rain jacket and a long sleeved shirt over my jersey. It was around 80 degrees in the morning but when the storms arrived, the temperature promptly dropped by 20 degrees. Apparently it is in the forties in the mornings at these altitudes.

I wimped out and decided to stay in a hostel in Alma, CO since I didn't really know where to legally camp. And I was tired. And wet. And cold. Sue me.

John Denver's full of s#*t

2012-07-09T16:23:00.000-07:00

Who can forget the classic scene from Dumb and Dumber?

The last time that I checked in I was in Hutchinson, KS which is roughly central in the state. From my readings, I learned that the Hutchinson area divides the state between the rolling Flint Hills from the true "plains". My position had been that while my next section of riding would be relatively featureless, there is beauty to be found in such a stark landscape. Right now I am reading Over the Hills by David Lamb and after travelling through a desolate section of Oklahoma, he writes:

The wind still blew and the land stayed empty, but now that it was nearly behind me, the Panhandle no longer seemed a hostile place. There is a beauty in its austerity and loneliness that sticks in your mind like a scrapbook photograph.

It's difficult to explain. Western Kansas and eastern Colorado are truly wide open and empty spaces. The towns dot the map every 20 miles or so. Not that a map is entirely necessary. One picks a road and rides it for nearly 400 miles. As you pass through a town, the grain elevators of the next one barely appear on the horizon. The towns' sizes vary from a handful of inhabitants to perhaps 1,500 and the amenities fluctuate along with the population. With these tremendous expanses travelling on a single road and passing through towns with a single gas station, I find simplicity and harmony. You can see where you're going and where you've been. You can ride around town in five minutes. Your choice of restaurant, motel or campsite are easy because it's either one or none. Likewise the landscape offers no distractions for the eye or mind. Some might find it boring or ugly. I find it a welcome and relaxing change from my otherwise visually and mentally cluttered lifestyle.

I believe this was the ninth day out of about ten consecutive days of 100+ degree heat.

Auto? I beg to differ. Larned, KS

Many a mile of this scenery in western Kansas. Everyone was excited at the prospect of rain.

They don't call 'em "the Plains" for nothing.

IS THERE A RALPH'S AROUND HERE?!? Yes. There is. Ness City, KS

I will give you three guesses as to where the rain might be. This day was one of running the gauntlet of storms all around me. There were also some really impressive displays of lightning in the distance. Despite the lack of proximity, they still scared the hell out of me.

I was really tired one evening and stopped into a food store to grab something for dinner. A 3lb tub of macaroni salad was not one of my more intelligent choices ever I must say. Live and learn. Dighton, KS

Overcast skies and a stiff breeze made this the first cool day I experienced in about a month. Such a welcome change!

These pancakes were each approximately 3/4" thick. Very hearty. While I was sitting in this restaurant, I overheard some locals making some slightly racist and quite misinformed statements about the current president and the presidential race. As he was leaving, another man said to me quietly "Don't mistake them for the brain trust of Scott County". I'm quite glad that he cared what a stranger on a bike thought of his town. Scott City, KS

We said "Mountain Time Zone" not "mountain zone".

Goodbye, Kansas! Hello, Colorado!

Y'uns got a Starbucks around here? Like I mentioned earlier, I like the simpler choices that I find out here. You want coffee? You get coffee. Small, medium or large. Done. Oh and we're out of soy-oat-banana-gluten muffins too. Pardon my Styrofoam cup though. Sheridan Lake, KS

Eastern Colorado is rather flat. There's also little traffic as evidenced by me laying down on the road to take this photo.

Dust in the Wind

2012-07-05T10:16:00.002-07:00

I can't remember if it was "Dust in the Wind" or "Carry On My Wayward Son", but both of my jerk friends, Eric and Jeff, tried to implant songs by the group Kansas in my head now that I am indeed in Kansas. Instead of having those tracks loop endlessly through my brain though, I have been listening to the radio which is an interesting blend of pop music like Katy Perry and Rhianna, country music, daily religious sermons, and announcers explaining why folks shouldn't burn down Kansas with their fireworks in the middle of a wildfire alert. It's been amusing. Except for the 75% of the time that I cannot tune in any station with my cheap noise box. Then I just listen to the wind. Which indeed has dust in it.

The name of the game in Kansas is certainly wind. Sometimes you're gritting your teeth trying to keep forward momentum while being buffeted by wind gusts. Other times you are cruising at nearly 20mph and don't realize that you've been riding a tailwind for an hour. Fortunately there are few turns to make or miss in Kansas so zoning out doesn't have dire consequences. Most of the time though, there's this annoying cross wind from the south west. Enough to slow you down. Enough to push you towards the edge of the road constantly. No help whatsoever. Most folks I run into are just rolling with the punches. A couple of folks vent their frustrations. When I asked one young guy how the riding was, he just lowered his head into his hands with resigned dejection. I didn't press the issue.

Thoughts on Kansas vary wildly. One Kansan, Chuck, who was talking to me about my ride and generously bought me breakfast in Chanute said something to the effect that "eastern Kansas is beautiful and there's plenty to look at but western Kansas is just flat and boring". One rider told me that he felt that "Kansas is just a state that is in the way of where you want to go". A man who had previously owned a bicycle shop said that "most cross country riders agree that the locals are the nicest but hate Kansas for the wind and lack of scenery". Oh man, why does Kansas keep getting such a bad rap? I guess since I have no itinerary or place to get to and my goal on this trip was to enjoy the areas that I ride through and meet people, I have gotten a different picture.

I think that eastern Kansas is absolutely beautiful with the rolling Flint Hills, the bluestem grasses, the herds of grazing cattle and the charming folks who populate it. And I've driven across western Kansas a few times so I know what I am in for. Last year when I was roadtripping, I purposefully spent two or three days in Kansas just to force myself to take in and appreciate the state. There is plenty of natural beauty here. And where traditional natural beauty doesn't exist, the starkness of the flat pastoral landscapes has a beauty of its own. Don't laugh. Plenty of people love the desert for the nothingness out there. Either way, I still have about 400 miles or more of beautiful starkness to ride through so I can contemplate my theory further.

I think this was from Farmington, MO, but you get the idea. I think it's been over 100 every day for the past week at least.

At some point in western Missouri, the shifting for my rear derailleur got really sloppy. When I stopped in Pittsburgh, KS to have it checked out, the mechanic pulled broken pieces out of my shifter mechanism (the indexing ring and the dust cover). He said that he had never seen a bar end shifter break like that before and this was later echoed by many other folks that I told. Great. He tightened it up and it's working fine in friction mode. Hope it'll get me 400 miles to Pueblo, CO. The mechanic was the crew chief for a two time Race Across America winner so I trust his judgement.

I have an odd fascination with older motels. I don't know why. Not crappy motels. Old motels. I've got a story about a crappy motel on this trip that maybe I'll tell sometime.

Yeah, so just head straight for like 40 miles. Stop at the first town you see.

The owners of this restaurant in Eureka, KS made creative use of an old bowling alley. Not only was it a diner, but they also had an American & Chinese buffet. Another cyclist and I pondered why they kept the name "Cherokee Lanes" when upon investigation we found that there was no bowling any longer. I dunno. I like it though. That also reminds me of the terrible soft drink "Cherokee Red". I thought it had been outlawed years ago. Somehow I found it down in a Seneca Rocks, WV convenience store. I bought some to remind myself what sugar and red food dye taste like. Youthful bliss.

This children's playground set reminded me of my old house. For those of you that don't know what I am talking about, I painted the first floor of my house in an UNO color scheme: red, yellow, blue, green. The front door was painted to look like a wild card. People would scoff at the idea until they saw it whereupon they agreed it was awesome.

Hanging out with Jade, John and Tamar who used Meetup to put a group together to ride from Boston to San Francisco. Eureka, KS

See? Kansas isn't totally flat or devoid of scenery. These are the Flint Hills of the eastern half of the state.

I did not know that. Cassoday is a town that you need to stop in before riding a 40 miles stretch with nothing along it. Tomorrow I'm going to ride a 60 miles stretch of limited civilization. Just wait for Wyoming...

Breakfast in Newton, KS. I ran into Steve on the left at the town park where we camped for the night. He's goes on a several week tour every year. When he retires in a couple of years he's going to be a "vagabond on bike for 3 or 4 years". Remember Flo? I met him just outside of Washington DC and hadn't seen him again since then! He shaved off all of his hair in Virginia because of the heat.

I'm fairly certain I would run into Dr. Evil or James Bond there. Hutchinson, KS

The Zion Lutheran Church has been permitting cyclists to sleep in their basement since before I was born. There are a couple of beds, a kitchen, a shower, an industrial coffee maker, digital TVs with DVDs and more. Yeah, I took a couple of days off here to relax. Hutchinson, KS

Very much alive and well and having the time of my life!

Got to see the fireworks in Hutchinson. One important difference in Kansas than in Pennsylvania with respect to fireworks: they are legal. This means that each homeowner goes out and buys huge fireworks and puts on a show that rivals most small towns in PA. Now multiply that by 100. And add the town's fireworks. 360 degrees of pure mayhem. It was actually pretty exciting (and disorienting) biking around at night.

I am not exaggerating when I say that I have been dreaming of insulated water bottles for the past 300 miles. At long last, Harley's hooked me up. This may further prolong my complete desiccation.

Toto, I have a feeling we're not in Missouri any more

2012-06-29T16:07:00.001-07:00

Speaking of Toto, this song has been playing in my head for several days-

Today, I rode out of Missouri and into the great state of Kansas. Right now I am in Pittsburgh, KS while Tailwind Cyclists takes a look at my bottom bracket and does some other maintenance on the bike. The bottom bracket started making a knocking sound a couple of days ago so I thought it best to get it checked out before heading on further. Considering that I have put about 7,000 miles on the bike so far, it's money well spent. That brings up another thing: crossing into Kansas brings me to the 2k mark for this trip. I guess I am roughly 2/5ths the way to the Seattle area? I dunno. I just take it a day or two at a time. Any more than that and you can get overwhelmed.

Missouri lacks the wickedly long and steep climbs of eastern Kentucky, but it makes up for it with lots and lots of shorter hills. Lots. While I could at least settle into a solid rhythm in western Kentucky, Illinois and Missouri offered no such respite. One minute you're cranking uphill in your smallest gear and the next you're flying down in your largest. Over and over. I also realized that 5 miles west of Eminence, MO is where eastbound cyclists on the TransAmerica get the first taste of "eastern" hills. I ran into a couple travelling east and they mentioned that there was a climb they had just come up that was steeper than anything they had encountered in the past 3,000 miles (that includes the Rockies). This meant that a) they were in for more steep climbing and b) I was in for apparently a lot less.

The other thing about Missouri is that it has been hot. That's an understatement. IT HAS BEEN HOT. Yeah, that's better. It's been getting over 100 degrees for the past couple of days. It's going to get hotter I think. Yesterday I drank two gallons of water. At least. A bottle of ice water is warm soup within about 10 minutes. When you ride over tarred roads, the hot tar cracks and pops like a bowl of Rice Krispies. You know the little heat wave images they like to use in the movies? Yeah, those are real. Everyone that you encounter thinks you're a complete idiot. I started listening to a small FM radio to supplement the extremely straight and flat roads that I am travelling. Every ten minutes the announcers remind us that there is an EXTREME HEAT ADVISORY!

All in all, the heat hasn't been that bad actually (knock on wood). Other than my water tasting like hot tea, I've been getting along alright. The one thing that is bumming me out a little bit are the headwinds that I have already been encountering as the land flattens out. But you'll have that. Just turn up the volume on the country music, devoid your mind of negativity and keep the pedals spinning for a few more hours. It's just another day in paradise!

Perfect. Ellington, MO

The uniformed see a pile of old napkins. The cognoscenti sees toilet paper. Always keeps some handy when you're travelling. You can also save the billion napkins that they force on you when you get takeout food and use them at home. Environmentally friendly and thrifty.

I wasn't sure if I was supposed to be watching for wild horses or horses with riders. Either way, I kept a lookout.

Laurel and Jameson saw my bike parked outside of a diner and came in to join me for lunch. They are headed east on the TransAmerica. Jameson was really, really bummed because the diner stopped serving breakfast 10 minutes prior and he had his heart set on pancakes. Eminence, MO

Did I miss a turn somewhere? I actually ended up in Houston, MO (the birthplace of Sam Houston of Texas fame) that night. Yukon, MO

No, I didn't wander into an abstract art gallery. These are the sweat /salt patterns on my bike shorts. Eww. .. gross.

Finally up on the Ozark plateau. Only a few more hills to encounter before the Plains.

The rolling roads can look cool, but sometimes they just get frustrating. These were okay.

Ozark high country. I kept expecting Clint Eastwood to appear over the horizon to offer me a cigarillo.

I am now persona non grata in Marshfield, MO. Their county fairgrounds were pretty nice accommodations though.

The words "Breakfast served all day" have to be the best in the English language. Marshfield, MO

I easily could have eaten double this. I still got pie. And ice cream.

I may need to double check my arithmetic but... yep, no water. I did not see a single cloud in Missouri. I am in no way exaggerating that fact. None.

I was fairly sure that this was the last climb of any significance left in Missouri. It was. Flat roads to the Rockies!

I biked about 85 miles in 104 degree heat to Golden City, MO. Golden City is one of the absolute nicest towns in the US that I have come across. At the suggestion of a pedestrian, I went into Cooky's Cafe. It was packed. I mean every seat at every table packed. I kept walking to the back corner until I found a 6 top with only an older couple sitting there. I asked if I could join them and they readily agreed. Charlie and Lila of Carthage, MO had actually seen me toiling out on the highway and were pleased to get to talk to me about my trip. At the end, they not only bought my entire dinner, but also gave me $20. Apparently I looked worse than I thought. The strawberry rhubarb pie was to die for. The next day I ran into an Aussie headed toward Golden City and I told him he had to go to Cooky's for pie. It didn't take much convincing.

My first self portrait of the trip as I entered Kansas. You can decide how successful it was. It also looks like I need to eat more pie. Those trees/shrubs in the background are probably the last for about 500 miles.

Yes. Rest.

2012-06-24T15:33:00.000-07:00

When all that you need to do is sit on a bicycle and pedal 50-100 miles each day, it is easy to forget what day of the week or month it is. A couple of days ago I actually checked the date and realized that I had been riding nearly three weeks straight since I left Washington D.C. During my planning and riding, I knew that at some point I would want to take a rest day here and there, but when? It's hard to plan because you don't want to spend a day off in the middle of nowhere nor do you want to pay multiple nights for a motel or something to make it luxurious. When I arrived in Farmington, MO though, I knew that I had found my spot.

In Booneville, KY a cyclist named Patrick had mentioned that he spent a night at "Al's Place" and that it was pretty sweet. I hadn't remembered what town it was in, but when I saw it listed as an option for Farmington, I had to check it out. Al's Place is a bicyclist hostel run by the community of Farmington in the town's old historic jail. You call the local police and they provide the code to the keypad on the front door and voila you are in. It was stepping into sweet bliss. The place is air conditioned and there are ceiling fans (it's getting into the 100s these days). There're couches and a TV, kitchenette, multiple bunks with linens, showers and laundry facilities. I met Greg, the guy who maintains the hostel, and he encouraged me to stay multiple nights in order to get a rest day in. Overall, the place looks like a really nice apartment. And all at a low, low cost of a $20 donation per night.

First I slept in until the late hour of 7:30 am. When you're waking up at 5:30 or 6 everyday, this accordingly feels like bliss. Then I sat around and drank coffee and read magazines. My bike needed a little TLC so I took off my chain, cleaned it, and lubed some parts. When it got to lunch time, I rode around aimlessly until I located a Mexican restaurant to satiate me. Afterwards, I went to the movie theatre to see Rock of Ages which will henceforth be known to me as the greatest movie ever. All you need to know is that it is a musical and all of the music is 80's hairband hits. Recipe for awesome. Upon returning to the hostel, I found that I fortunately had some company to liven up the place tonight. Pete and Ian from the U.K. are riding east to finish up a ride that they have been on since last September and eventually (and possibly unwillingly) find some jobs. Now I am looking forward to taking another shower, washing my stanky shorts, eating far too much food and talking with them about the riding.

In riding 120 hilly miles through Illinois, this is the only such sign that I saw. Still, it is more notice than I got in the several other hilly states I've ridden through.

This was the last thing that I want to see along my route. I tried going on anyway. It turns out the road was indeed closed and where the construction crews were digging big holes in the road, no car could pass. But a bike can easily be wheeled around them...

There are quite a few statues of Popeye around Chester, IL. I don't know what else to note about the town.

The bridge over the Mississippi River taking me to Missouri. Fortunately, no coal or sand trucks caught me in the middle of the narrow bridge. Just at the narrow offramp. Twice.

At Al's Place you can find real mattresses! With real linens! Farmington, MO

The digital TV and faux leather couches make plenty of people feel at home. They make me feel like I'm in someone's much nicer home.

Racing jerseys and memorabilia decorate the walls

Coffee. It's a beautiful thing.

Did I mention that they have a complete separate and locked bike room with a workstand? The Surly receives some attention.

My friend Jeff Carlson tipped me off about the ease of cleaning your chain with a 2 liter soda bottle , some dish detergent/degreaser, and hot water. This is a great method when you're travelling. Just don't use boiling water cause you can start to melt the bottle as I did. Then just cap the bottle and shake the heck out of it.

State College, PA has finally been represented on their map.

Sorting out the maps and such that I'm done with and will send home at some point. Every ounce counts. You can carry more cat food then.

I bid farewell to ol' Kentucky

2012-06-21T18:49:00.000-07:00

To anyone who doesn't know what my title is in reference to (beyond the fact that I am no longer in Kentucky), here you go-

I think that at last update, I was in eastern Kentucky still getting chased by dogs and coal trucks. Yep, I think I had another day or two of that, but it eventually passed. I'd say the change in landscape really took place after say, Booneville, KY. I also had an exceptional evening in Berea, KY which set the new stage. Mike Zehr had told me earlier that his cousin Ginny and her husband, John, lived in Berea and might be willing to host me for an evening. Once in their area, I contacted Ginny and John and they were absolutely delighted to have me over! When I first arrived, Ginny admitted that she "wasn't too sure what cyclists want or need" and then began ply me with several cups of ice cold lemonade. And then show me to a shower and washer/dryer. And then John and Ginny made a delicious dinner. And then we sat around a campfire and ate s'mores. And she showed me to a guest room with a real bed! Ginny and John- trust me, you two know EXACTLY what a travelling cyclist loves! We also had the opportunity to discuss coon dogs which John breeds and look over the remainder of my route as they know some folks in Kansas and Idaho. I couldn't have asked for a nicer evening or for two nicer people to spend it with. And keep in mind, that I was a complete stranger to them before I rolled up!

(Mike- John and Ginny live less than 1/2 mile from the TransAmerica route. They made me promise that you and I would spend the night again when we ride the route next year.)

Once I departed Berea, the land started flattening out. Not pancake flat yet, but compared to the steep thousand foot climbs with narrow twisty roads that I had just done it felt like Kansas already. I was able to start riding for long stretches in my drops and in the big ring. (The "drops" are the lower part of bullhorn type handlebars that let you get lower and more aerodynamic. The "big ring" is the biggest gear in front which is next to impossible to use when going uphill but on long flat sections you can use it to go fairly fast.) I couldn't help but think that my friend Jeef would love this riding right now because I think it's his favorite. Just tuck into a ball and pedal at 12-15 mph for an hour or so. The only downside to it getting flatter is that the wind picks up and so far it has been blowing against me. Again, I found myself wishing that someone such as Jeef was riding with me. With multiple people, you can take turns pedaling in front while others draft behind you, just like geese fly in formation and switch out in front over time. Accordingly, I put in three days in a row that registered 92 miles, 103 miles and 82 miles. Now that I am in Illinois, it seems to have gotten a little hillier. Once I get into Missouri (I think by tomorrow actually) it will get steeper again through the Ozarks.

If you look closely, you can see my welcoming party already out on the road ahead. Hindman, KY

C'mon, really? All you had to do was switch them. Dwarf, KY

Patrick, a Brit heading East, outside Mel's Diner where we had breakfast and discussed America. His site can be found here. Booneville, KY

Ginny and John Veeder, my two new friends and bicycle host extraordinaires! Berea, KY

Lunch break: time set aside for the transmis(s)ion of food to my mouth

This Kodak moment was made possible by Lucien B. Smith, the inventor of barbed wire.

Sorry Ieva. Still no more sheep sightings. Maybe these burros/donkeys will temporarily appease you?

On a hot day when I was riding 90 miles, I started having a conversation with an imaginary cyclist about where we should eat tonight. We both agreed that we should go to "the Mexican restaurant". Alas, I knew that there would be no Mexican places to be found in central Kentucky. Then, in Hogdenville, the birthplace of Abraham Lincoln, I struck paydirt.

There is a gas station at some unnamed crossroads whose policy is to give all cyclists a free freezie pop. This is the best policy I have ever heard of.

So you're telling me that I can stay in your air conditioned fire department, alone and unsupervised and use a shower, laundry, mattress and kitchen? Yes, that's what they told me. Utica, KY

I was trying to capture all of the different horizontal layers that I was looking at while sitting on the side of the road. I wish my brother Greg, a photographer, was along to take some photos sometimes where I just don't think I got what I was looking at.

These roads were make for truckin' and that's just what they'll do. One of these days I'm gonna go Long Haul Truckin' over you.

Alex, another eastbound Brit, who gave me some extra water when I miscalculated how much I would need. Now I try to carry about one liter per ten miles of riding. Sounds like too much? Go ride a 100lb bicycle in 95+ degree heat for a while. His site can be found here.

Just crossing the Ohio River by ferry to Cave In Rock, IL.

I bet Jesus could still oust Mitt Romney for the nomination if he threw his hat in the ring. Provided he's Republican. I'm really not sure.

Dessert connoisseurs will recognize this as "a piece of cherry a la mode". At Delaney's, all cyclists get free dessert. Another exceptional policy. Goreville, IL

When worlds collide

2012-06-17T16:32:00.000-07:00

As I rounded the corner on my bicycle, the only thing that I could see was the dog. A heavy set black Labrador standing poised for action with a slight bend in it's back. The hairs stood up on the back of the dog's neck and a slight growl was audible. "No!" I stated loudly as I ratcheted my gears in order to begin a speedy takeoff with the hopes of outrunning the beast. It was at that moment I noticed the man sitting in a chair underneath the tree, chuckling to himself while saying something to calm the dog. Sheepishly, I stopped my bike and said hello to him.

"She don't quite like bicycles." he said. "She don't like cars much neither." The dog continued to utter a low growl towards me and I checked to make sure that I was on pavement and not actually in the dog's yard. The man commented on how hot of a day that it was and asked if I wanted a pop or some Gatorade. I politely decline since the dog was still making me a bit uneasy and what I really wanted was to get away from it. But then as the man and I began to converse, she calmed down and trotted up to the stoop of the house to lay down in the shade, content that I was not a threat.

Old Case knife found on the side of a Kentucky road

Only when the man got up and shuffled over to me with the assistance of a cane did I realize that he was quite old. As he got closer, I saw a man who had weathered many years and much hard labor. He extended his hand in greeting and his strong grip belied his years and reflected the farming culture surrounding us. His arm was blotted and discolored from hours out in the sun. Likewise his right ear seemed to suffer from additional sun induced decay. But his eyes were piercing and his voice still strong and authoritative. I introduced myself and he countered with "M'name's Riley B_. M'name's Riley B_." repeating himself not out of confusion but to ensure that I remembered it.

He commented on how dry it had been which prompted me to ask if he was a farmer and the surrounding land his fields. "Yep. This is all my property. Bought it when I got married 63 years ago. Been farming it for 63 years. Slowing down now. It's about time that I turn it over to my sons." His three sons and other extended family members all live on adjacent properties. This was reinforced by the driver of every car smiling and waving to him with genuine care and familiarity as they passed. Despite the passing cars, Riley had some business to attend to. "Doc gave me a water pill to take so's I got to make some water. 'Scuse me." With that he half turned and urinated on the side of the road. When the majority of the neighbors are your immediate family, I realized that it indeed didn't matter.

As I described my life and my previous jobs and the trip I was undertaking, Riley looked longingly at my bike. "I don't know what a vacation is. I ain't never taken one. Just worked every day for 63 years." He said this without a trace of bitterness or accusation in his voice. "I wish that I could hop on a bicycle and follow along with ya. I ain't never been out West." He proceeded to name the handful of surrounding states that he had visited while of course driving a truck for farm work. "I can't drive much no more. Can't see the road signs 'til they're next to me. My two docs don't want me to drive no more. But I can't bike with ya neither cause of my health." He proceeded to list several ailments including bypass surgery and multiple hernias that he had endured.

He offered again with the pop or Gatorade so I took him up on it. Riley walked off and returned with a Diet Coke, realizing a bit of the humor in handing such a skinny man something diet. He described some of the remaining hills in Jackson County, Kentucky and reminded me to keep an eye on my belongings. There were also wishes of good luck and safety. "Now if you come back through here, y'all stop by and see me again" he said. I assured him that I would. Riley returned to his chair and watched me ride off with a smile on his face.