Gary Buffington's Bike Ride Across America

Finish NTP at Route 100 Near Nashville, TN: MP 442

2009-04-10T17:51:00.000-07:00

We did 39 miles this final day to the finish.

The photo shows the Northern Terminus ending point at 422 miles.

We awoke for the final day with Dr. Weaver somewhat overconfident since we only had 39 miles to go of our 442 mile trip. This would be our shortest day of the trip and with Dick a great cyclist it seemed in the bag for him. I reminded him that I had done many 26 mile marathons and that 20 miles was the half way mark. He didn't understand the message, but soon would!

During the night we had a Tornado Watch and might have actually heard a Tornado as the distinct sound of a train nearby (no railroad in the area) was heard. My tent was flapping like a bird in the wind as lightning flashed only a second ahead of its sound! We are each using one of my Buffington Tent designs which takes less than two minutes to erect and weighs just over two pounds. It rained buckets but we remained dry and the tents withstood the pounding. There was no hail. We did have a backup in that we were camped at the fire ring area near the trailer home of the Belcher's at TraceHaven.net . The Belcher's had left open a shed for us to bailout to in case the weather was beyond the capabilities of the tent. We stayed with the tents which passed a severe test this night!

It was overcast as we left and the Belcher's told us of another impending storm including a Tornado Watch at about noon. Well, Dr. Weaver took off and I thought I may never see him again and as noon passed the sky looked ominous and I was looking for a shelter in the woods when I saw him waiting on a cement arch bridge overpass. We stopped and changed into warmer clothes and full rain gear as the rains started and climbed down under the bridge. Just a few minutes earlier a siren began to blow what we suspected was a Tornado Alert signal and blew for 30 minutes. We hunkered down under the bridge where the cement abutment had almost a room the size of a double bed. It looked like a perfect residence for two homeless guys like us and we settled in. The wind blew at least 50 mph, hail fell, rain came down in buckets, and a few trees fell. Fifty or seventy feet below us we could see pickup trucks driving too fast under the overpass and we suspected they were volunteer fireman racing to tornado rescue. We later learned we were correct in this assessment and that someone died in a Tornado just 7.6 miles from our hiding place. While hiding out under this bridge some 600 miles from Pensacola we heard another biker call and invited him into our shelter. It was Tony Stanfill from...Pensacola!

In about an hour the storm passed and the sun came out and the temperature came up fifteen degrees to about 60. It felt good and Dick's overconfidence returned!

We resumed our pedaling and soon were at the 436 mile mark just 6 miles from the finish and we felt it time to call our friends Harry and Jo Coltharp for our pickup at the end. After the call and arrangements to meet at the end in 45 minutes, we resumed the pedaling. In 50 yards I had a front tire flat--the first flat on the whole trip. It took half an hour to change to a new tube what with removing four pannier bags, the tire pump, the mirror, the GPS, the map holder, and the wheel. I replaced the tube and Dick blew it up with his CO2 injector. We reassembled the bike and resumed the trip. In fifty yards (yes, fifty yards) I had another flat--same tire. And now we had no new tube. But of course my mentor had a patch kit. Just as I pulled off up pulled Tony Stanfill in his pickup truck and he helped change this one. We put my packs in his truck so we didn't have to put all the stuff back on the bike and this time we were off pedaling within 20 minutes. BUT I had a metallic noise coming from somewhere in the drive train which I could not identify after stopping four times to investigate. Four or five day cyclists who knew we were finishing the whole parkway began to congratulate us all shouting how easy the next several miles would be and that there was a major downhill for two miles at the end. Well this got Dick's blood boiling and he took off to see just how fast his recumbent bike would go down the final hill. It turns out he did more than 40 mph. I was sure my bike was going to explode or implode and I would be sliding on my face as I couldn't find the source of the metallic groans coming from the bowels of my bike. Like a person about to lose continence of both urine and stool, I proceeded slowly never over 20 mph to the end. The bike held up and I later found the kickstand was loose and rubbing the spokes of the back wheel. There never was any chance of a sudden seize-up and sudden sliding wreck.

We ultimately arrived safely at the Northern Terminus of the Natchez Trace Parkway at about 4 PM to a thunderous greeting from both Tony Stanfill and Harry Coltharp, our total fan club.

At the end Harry and Tony met us and we went back to the Northern Terminus of the Nachez Trace Parkway for pictures. We then went with Harry to lunch at the Loveless Cafe and ate the required Biscuits and Gravy. Several days worth of calorie deficiency were made up in that place.

The final day was our most problematic and adventurous of the whole adventure. It was a wonderful ride and I am very thankful that Dick Weaver was my partner for the ride. He is a very knowledgeable and competent bike rider and has great patience with a neophyte and slow rider like like me. He was up and rearing to go each morning ready at least an hour ahead of me. Together we pedaled 442 official miles and about 20 or 30 off parkway miles.

It was very reassuring to know we had Jo and Harry Coltharp available for our pickup at the end. With Tornados all around we had piece of mind knowing a ride was available.

To Trace Haven Cabins and Camping at MP 403

2009-04-09T12:27:00.000-07:00

This was a 59 mile day.

To Cypress Creek at MP 344

2009-04-08T12:26:00.000-07:00

This was a 60 mile day.

It was 38 degrees and shown in the left photo was the only warm spot. The right photo shows a $2.00 sandwich with two slices of ham and three different cheeses bought at a store half mile off the NTP. The store sells beer, cigarettes, cheese, and lottery tickets.

To Donovan Slough at MP 283

2009-04-07T05:49:00.000-07:00

From MP 230 to 284 a total of 64 miles.

The photo shows Gary somewhat depleted and resting along the ride. Dick was very patient! The second photo shows Dick in the ride we got 16 miles north so we could ride back to our motel reservation in tupelo.

To Town of Houston, MS, MP 230

2009-04-06T05:48:00.000-07:00

Motel in Houston, MS. 50 mile day

To French Camp MP 180

2009-04-05T17:47:00.000-07:00

57 Miles today

The photo shows the French Camp Academy B & B log cabins.

NTP To Ratliff Ferry Mile Post 123

2009-04-04T17:22:00.000-07:00

Today we rode 69 miles to a private campground. The camping facility was flat and there was a shower room in fair shape. Near our site was a bath house that was the most filthy I have ever seen. The sink was half full of water and some of it was undoubtedly urine. The store was closed but they left us in only to say, "of course there is no food, the store is closed!" Then the restaurant manager said, "you only missed the restaurant by a minute." Where do these people learn interpersonal relationships? It is so much easier to say, "Sorry, we're closed."

Off Course on the Natchez Trace Parkway; Mile Post 0 to 54 miles

2009-04-03T17:11:00.000-07:00

My bike mentor Richard Weaver, MD, and I rode the Natchez Trace Parkway (NTP) officially 422 miles from Natchez, Mississippi, to near Nashville, Tennessee. The parkway is a national Park much like the Blueridge Parkway. There are no commercial vehicles allowed and no commercial hauling. The roadway is a smooth paved two lane road with no paved shoulders but near lawn quality shoulders and the most polite drivers I have ever seen. There are no stop signs and very limited access other than interstate style interchanges. The path has historic significance that is well documented on line. It is a marvelous bike riding area and much literature is available on line and several bike guide books are available.

We loaded our bikes in my Dodge 1500 Quad Cab Pickup truck and drove 334 miles from Pensacola, FL, to Natchez, MS to the home of Dr. Joel and Kathy Guyer. The Guyer's are old friends from my running days where Joel was actually competitive in our 50 mile races. Kathy also ran a few ultramarathons herself being an excellent athlete. They still go out at 4 AM each day before Kathy goes to work! Joel, like me is retired (Ph. D. school psychologist) and just loafs around all day. They were gracious hosts and Dick and I and Joel (the non-workers) stayed up too late drinking wine and telling old running war stories. Joel and Kathy are quite knowledgable about the Natchez Trace Parkway having cycled much of it so advice was flowing. Of all the wives in ultrarunning, Kathy and my wife Millie attended all the races with us. Many of the wives over the years refused to go back to race after race, but not these two. It's probably because Joel and I treat them so well! It was great of the Guyer's to put us up just five miles from the start and to store our truck for the week.

We drove the truck over to the start and Joel was to come pick it up later. However, as we geared up I found my helmet chin strap broken and had to go into town and buy a new helmet. This delayed us so much that Joel arrived for the truck before we departed. So we had an unruly crowd of spectators (Joel) to see us off and prove we actually pedaled. On day one we rode to Rocky Springs Campground seeing one deer and several turkeys (not us!) and Dick saw an Owl. The campsite was a free campground surrounded by large motorhomes and trailers mostly Canadian.

End of 2007 Ride; Day in Damascus; Breakfast with Pirate and Lone Wolf

2007-10-30T17:39:00.000-07:00

October 30, 2007: Day 11.

We awakened early to heavy frost. I slept the night in the Van in the parking lot of The Place the hostel owned by the Damascus Methodist Church. I didn’t bring my sleeping pad so I couldn’t sleep on the wooden bunk beds in the hostel. Actually the bunk beds are quite good, but a pad is needed. Cimarron the Trail Boss was psyched to sleep in a hostel, which brings back good memories of his days on the Appalachian Trail. He completed the whole trail over two years in 2003 and 2004 when he was 82 and 83 years old and loves reviewing the old memories. He mostly slept in hostels and shelters along the trail, and unlike Millie and me, shunned the tent as much as possible. We on the other hand shunned the shelters and hostels, preferring our own dirt and noise!

The hostel is unheated but he says he was very comfortable in his zero degree sleeping bag and enjoyed the night. Probably it was being away from my snoring that he really enjoyed as he had a room to himself as only Tumbler was in the hostel and a different room. I was very comfortable in the van but had to get out three times for urination. It was below freezing and when I stepped on the grass it crunched. The night was clear and the stars beautiful and the moon near full. The wind almost blew my hat off each time I stepped away from the van. I wore my long johns top and bottom and also slept in my zero degree down sleeping bag. I was real comfortable although my head and shoulders got a little sweaty once. I wore my fleece watch cap most of the night, and not having a pillow I used rolled up clothing in my sleeping bag stuff sack. It worked nicely, but all night I knew I wouldn’t go out riding until the temperature got near fifty.

Last week when we were in the heart of Kentucky hill country the Trail Boss got news that his Grandson will probably need heart valve surgery again in the next several months. This was very disturbing to him and also to me. The little guy is now thriving in Kindergarten and has grown greatly since his first surgery last year. When he was a baby the grandson lived in Cimarron’s home for several months and there is an understandable extra special attachment.

This morning we met Pirate and Lone Wolf for breakfast at Cowboy’s Gas Station and restaurant. But first we took all the towels from the dirty laundry at The Place to the Laundromat. The sign on the wall plainly says, wash your towels, but it’s obvious no one did. The laundry is conveniently located across the road from Cowboy’s so we ate and did laundry simultaneously.

At the restaurant we had a nice visit with our old Trail Cronies. Both said winter had reached the mountains and the nightly temperatures were to be below freezing the next week or so. They advised that the temperatures would not be up into the 40’s or 50’s until eleven Am or so. Then we reviewed the logistics of lodging for the next 100 miles and things don’t look good. The next 20 miles of pedaling out of Damascus is uphill along the Creeper trail so I’ll go slowly and then we’ll need to drive to a room.

So we called it quits for 2007. We made it 266.5 miles in 11 days on the trail (nine days cycling, one day of auto repairs, and this eleventh day of starting home), and had covered some of the toughest 266 miles of the entire Trans-America Bike Trail at an average of 30 miles per day. We had planned to be out 10-14 days. We will be left with a section here in the east from Damascus to Rock Fish Gap, near Afton, VA. Damascus is such a wonderful finishing area that perhaps we’ll do the rest of the section from east to west and end again at Damascus.

Thanks to all of you who followed along again on this trip. I hope you know it has been fun for me, in my own way, and the fact that someone might read about our adventure makes it more worthwhile.

I now have finished 1333.1 miles out of a total of 4267 miles in this cross-country bike ride. We did 6% of the entire trail this time. I am 31% finished in my bike ride across America.

Meeting our first long distance bike riders—Two surly girls; arriving at the Appalachian Trail

2007-10-29T16:22:00.000-07:00

October 29, 2007: Day 10.

From Near the top of Hayter’s Gap (elevation 3281) to Damascus, VA
Distance: 23.0 miles: Total Distance 266.5

Today we came to two major landmarks. First was I-81 a major north south route we have followed many times on our travels to our home state of Pennsylvania. Second was arrival in Damascus, VA, one of the more famous towns on the Appalachian Trail that we walked in the year 2000. Millie and I (as Sweet Pea and Bear Bag) walked to Damascus from Springer Mountain, Georgia, a distance of 450 miles in about 30 days. We then walked on to the northern end of the trail over the subsequent 6 months. You can read all about that hike at our Trail Journals Blog: http://www.trailjournals.com/ Once at Trail Journals search for Bear Bag and Sweet Pea the Trail Boss.

But to get started today we had to drive back to our stopping point on the upside of Hayter’s Gap in the Clinch Mountains. We had stopped last night at a particularly steep switchback a half mile or so from the peak, and I was concerned about the Trail Boss turning the van at that point. So I suggested he leave me off at the top of the mountain and I would ride the bike down to the switchback and then walk back up. But he wanted to take me to the start for the day. So I insisted we stop where there was room at the top of the mountain and prepare for my days ride.

The preparation included getting out of my breakfast clothes of blue jeans and fleece sweat shirt and into the following: riding shorts, orange over shorts, long sleeve under shirt, neon yellow t-shirt, nylon vest, safety vest and yellow windbreaker, thin balaclava, helmet, fleece bike riding gloves with leather palms, biking sock anklets, and riding shoes with cleat for clipping into the pedals. It was about 40 degrees and at the very peak of the gap the wind was at least 25 mph. Then I mounted the portable pump (which has never been used), the cycle computer, the rear trunk bag (with rain pants, toilet paper, extra tube, and snacks) the small handle bar bag (with cell phone, locking chain, and medical gloves), the MP-3 Player and external speaker, and two bottles of water. When we were prepared, we then drove the mile down the western side of Clinch Mountain to the starting point.

At the starting point there was barely enough room to turn the van so as to be pointing in the easterly direction. I wish I had gotten out, because the Trail Boss wasn’t able to stay off the road and we were maneuvering broadside in the middle of the road at the blind switchback for a considerable period. If a vehicle came in any direction I don’t think they could have avoided us. Especially if a laden coal truck came down the hill we would have been broadsided and pushed many yards down the road or off the hillside. But it didn’t happen and we finally got off the road and turned. I quickly grabbed the bike off the back bike rack and started my mile walk up the mountain. It took about an hour and I reached the top waving to the Trail Boss as I went by. He had wanted to move on off the mountain but I didn’t want to be far out of touch what with the colder weather and my lack of survival camping gear. I didn’t want a small accident, which prevented riding the bike to be able to cause my death from hypothermia. For instance a sprained ankle in a hiker without proper shelter could cause death from hypothermia if the hiker can’t make physical progress and keep warm.

So, as I left the top of Clinch Mountain and started down I came to a cottage sitting with a gorgeous view out over the mountains. I stopped and got the picture of beautiful mountains and valleys for at least 30 miles. As I got on the bike and was coming up to downhill speed my right shoestring caught in the chain! This is a certain crash if not managed properly with a lot of luck. I immediately stopped pedal rotation, braked and slowed and then had to carefully plan a stop so I would lean to the left (my free foot) and put down my foot. If I leaned right the caught shoestring would prevent using my right foot and I would fall over onto the right side possibly cracking my head and for sure bruising my right leg and shoulder. But I pulled it off beautifully when I stopped I fell left and just put my left foot down for support. However, all was not yet saved as I was on a 25-degree downhill slope on my left leg with my right leg stuck over the bike in the chain. I kept the brakes applied so the bike wouldn’t roll, hoped out to the left side to make room to lay the bike on the road, and was now standing left foot on road and right foot on chain rings of the bike. But at least I was balanced although leaning down hill. I reached down and got hold of the pedal, which I now needed to turn by hand to turn loose the offending string. Turning the pedal meant the wheel must turn so could not drag on the road surface. I got it done, and I didn’t fall or twist a knee. Amazing. If the shoestring had caught while I was in full speed down the hill I could have had a catastrophic fall. I was thankful I had asked the Trail Boss to remain behind me today. If I had been injured, there was little or no traffic, so no one would have found me for a considerable time.

I sat and double-checked that all laces were tucked in and then did the free five downhill miles in just about 15 minutes with speeds up to 35 mph. I made good progress to one of the forks of the Holston River and again to a branch of the Clinch River. These rivers are contributories of the Tennessee River, which flows south through parts of Kentucky, into Tennessee, into Alabama and then turns back north through Tennessee and off to the Ohio. So, here in Appalachia we are west of the Eastern Continental Divide.

Finally we got to Meadowview and I-81. We felt like we were home again as we’ve both traveled on I-81 significantly. Soon we crossed (under) I-81 and came to Route 11 the old North South Route through Virginia. There was a nice deli and family food store/gas station at the corner of Route 11 and Route 80/803. They advertised roasted chicken and it was excellent, although the Trail Boss did not partake.

As we sat and ate some snacks and had some fluid replacement, we noted two girls pedaling up Route 803, the road to Damascus. As is always the case with people on the road, we were anxious to hear their story and to learn meaningful trail information (Location of food, water, trail conditions, motels, trail angels, etc.) Well these girls made a half wave ignoring us and headed up Route 11 away from the trail. Then they stopped along the road just 50 yards away. In all my days I had never seen a hiker or biker totally ignore other hiker/bikers along the trail. So I walked over to see them. It was a mistake. They were a surly couple. The taller dark haired one had on some sort of revealing tank top and a short skirt. She kept bending over and exposing breasts smaller than mine. Under the skirt she had a pair of gray worn out long john bottoms with multiple holes showing parts of knees, thighs, and lower legs. She wore a dark colored flowered night gown over her top that extended down to about the mid thigh region. She had scruffy black hair on both her head and her armpits and a bad attitude to match. Her associate was blondish, short haired, and similarly dressed although not so low cut, and much more likable. She had a t-shirt and a white slip over top extending likewise to just above her knees. I think she had a pair of shorts and don’t recall long johns. I don’t know the functionality of nightgown and slip worn over t-shirt and tank top, but that’s the way it was. They did have helmets, but their clothes looked more like camouflage than distinctive bicycle safety wear.

I know my attitude wasn’t the greatest as I couldn’t understand why two travelers weren’t interested in talking to other obvious travelers. They were the first cyclists we saw in over two hundred miles and I suspect they hadn’t seen many either. There is camaraderie of the trail and so much meaningful information to be gained from conversing with those who just traveled your intended route.

So I walked on over to the two who had just ignored us. “Hey, Where are you going?” I asked. “We’re traveling from Rhode Island to Austin, Texas” said the blond with bushy dark underarm hair. “That’s some outfit you’re wearing,” said I. “And you look like some Halloween character in that orange and neon yellow,” said the tall mouthy one. I replied, “I’m just trying to avoid being hit by a car. Why did you avoid us over there? That’s a good deli, and I’d like to buy you lunch.” “We saw benches over here and we don’t eat meat,” said the surliest one. “I didn’t eat meat either for twenty years,” said I, while adding (the fatal mistake), “But you’ll grow out of it like I did.” “That’s condescending,” said the bitch. “You’re too sensitive,” said I, “let’s go get the lunch as they’ll have something you can eat.” “I’m really hungry and need to eat now,” said the ugly mean one. The nicer blond started with me toward the deli, when the jerk said, “NO, we’re not going.” The black bushy armpit blond said, “I’m sorry sir, thank you for the offer, but we must turn you down.” So I walked back to the Trail Boss and said, “I’m going to Damascus. See if you can give those non-meat eating kids something like bananas, peanut butter and bread, soda or whatever they want or buy them lunch in the deli. Give it another shot, but they sure don’t like me much.” The Trail Boss said, “What do I want to do that for?” And I said, “Just do it for me. They are the only people who didn’t talk to me on the whole trip.”

So I learned later the Trail Boss drove over and told them I was just trying to be a trail angel. They said, “What’s that?” And he explained that it’s a kind of unexpected surprise offer of help along the trial that appears out of nowhere and needs management for maximum benefit. He opened the side door to the van showing his stash of goods with an inventory matching a Super Wal-Mart. He said you can have anything you want and they reached for the Bailey’s Irish Cream, stating, “We can really party with that.” He then said, “You can have ALMOST anything you want.” Disappointedly they took some chive crackers, turned down the peanut butter, took my last supply of soda pop, and grabbed a few other things and were quickly gone up Route 11 (the wrong direction) with arm pit hair flying in the breeze. Yuck.

I pedaled on into Damascus some ten more miles and it was a nice trip mostly down hill. The HAPG’s (hairy arm pit girls) must have had a difficult ride up hill all the way. I chuckled as I visualized armpit hair flying by in a slip and a nightgown on two bikes.

In Damascus, Virginia, I rode right into town and stopped first at the Dairy Bar for a chocolate milkshake. I was sitting in the sun in a nice plastic chair (ala Wal-Mart) when the Trail Boss and Van went by. He was driving with both hands on the wheel at 10 and 2 o’clock and staring straight ahead so he never saw me sitting just ten paces off the road. He was headed for The Place, the hostel in town to take a nap.

I finished the milkshake and rode down to Mt. Rogers Outfitters (MRO). Dave the owner is well known on the AT for his service to hikers. On our AT hike our water filter was getting tough to pump so I thought it needed a new filter cartridge which costs about $39. So I went into Dave and said, “I think I need a new cartridge.” “I doubt it,” he said, “have you greased the o-ring?” So he popped the pump handle off, pulled out the shaft, put two drops of silicone lubricant on the o-ring, and it worked perfectly. Then he took out the cartridge and inspected it for filth and said, “You have the best looking cartridge on the trail, congratulations. And here take the rest of this silicone lubricant with you. There will be no charge.” We spent an extra day in Damascus so the next day Millie bought $200 dollars worth of new boots and new pack shoulder straps from Dave.

I walked into MRO and there stood Pirate. The same Pirate we talked about several days ago at the Gateway Motel in Elkhorn City, KY. Pirate is a full time hiker. He doesn’t live anywhere; he lives everywhere. He’s about 50 years old and is said to draw some type of check so he can’t actually starve. He is a member of the group that calls themselves the Blue Blazers or the Hobos and he spends the winter at Lake Okeechobee at the Hobo City. He goes to his sister’s house near our home in Pensacola most years for Christmas. He lists his address as the storage facility he rents near Pensacola. If you hike the Appalachian Trial, you’ll know Pirate. Like horse manure, he’s everywhere. He is a likeable fellow with lots of friends and even made friends with the HAPG’s last night. Pirate said they were nice kids and especially enjoyed some of his whiskey.

Pirate then took me to another store to pick up new riding gloves (fingerless) and to get a new mirror for the bike. The MRO concentrates on hiking although they rent bikes for trips on the Creeper Trail. The Creeper Trail is a converted “rails to trails” trail where an old railroad bed from Abingdon, VA, has been restored through Damascus to an area near Mt Rogers north of Damascus. There are now at least four outfitters (MRO included) in Damascus that haul riders and rental bikes fourteen-mile uphill and north and allow them to ride (mostly coast) back to Damascus on the Creeper Trail. The views of the mountains and streams are gorgeous and this is the height of the leaf season so we saw many full fifteen-passenger vans headed out towing fifteen bikes behind.
I learned from Pirate that Lone Wolf and Gypsy live in Damascus. I first met Lone Wolf in 2000 when he was crew for Mainiac who was attempting to walk the Appalachian Trail in record time. At the same time our friend David Horton “The Runner” was attempting a record of the AT. David had planned for several years to attempt to run the trail from Georgia to Maine in record time. At the time the fastest trip up the trail had been in about 63 days. David recruited Millie and me as his crew for the first four days and had alternating crews to meet him all along the trail. He was to run about 40 miles per day for 56 or so days and beat the record by a week. Well, on the night before his start he learned that Mainiac, a power walker with several previous walks of the AT had also planned a record attempt. And he learned Mainiac started one day ahead. He would walk about 16 hours per day and Lone Wolf, also an experienced previous AT end-to-ender would be the crew. David Horton is a national class long distance runner who has won many a 50 and 100-mile foot race and once ran across America in 60 days.

As soon as we heard this we thought it a joke. How could a walker ever think he could beat David Horton The Runner? So we expected David to pass Mainiac on the first day in Georgia. Well, David did pass Mainiac. He passed him in Vermont! Mainiac was a great walker and he stayed on the trail for often double the hours of Horton. Later they became great friends and Mainiac has competed successfully in running races proving his athletic excellence. You can look up some of this stuff at Horton’s websites: http://www.extremeultrarunning.com/dhhist.htm
http://www.montrail.com/AthleteDetails.aspx?id=134&sport=2

In any event, Lone Wolf and Gypsy hiked some of the Appalachian Trail with Millie and me in 2000. We met them in Stratford, Maine, and spent several days with them. They spent several years hiking, but are now settled into Damascus, the hiker’s town. Gypsy is working at Target and going to college. Lone Wolf is enjoying himself and helping out with “throwing bums out of The Place” and generally keeping the hikers in order.

Cimarron the Trail Boss was real psyched to be getting back to Damascus. We each remember that Damascus is an important landmark on the Appalachian Trail located about 1/5th the distance from start to finish. It is said that if one can hike to Damascus, 450 miles from the start of the AT in Georgia, one can make it all the way to the end at Katahdin in Maine. Cimarron didn’t much like “The Place” when he was here before because of the crowds, but he wanted to stay here now what with just one other hiker present. The hiker was called “Tumbler” and we never learned why. He was a young kid perhaps 25 years old and had commandeered a room on the second floor. When we arrived he was in the shower and steam was coming out the bathroom door. We went off to The Pizza-Plus at the shopping center just out of town and when we came back the steam was still coming out of the shower. It was now about 45 degrees outside and the wind was blowing. I didn’t have a pad for sleeping so the Trail Boss made the bed in the van for me. We went in for a shower and Tumbler said there was good hot water when he ended his shower, “but we might have to wait a while for a good supply.” I noted that The Place has an eighty-gallon hot water tank! I showered in very cool (not hot and not cold) water. This is what I would call a thrilling shower and one the Trail Boss would not like. I went out to bed at about 8:00 as it was getting too cold in the hostel for me. The Trail Boss spent time organizing his stuff. He is one of the world’s most persistent organizers. In the morning he told me the water got warmer after an hour or so. How could the Tumbler use 80 gallons of hot water for one shower?

In the morning the Trail Boss said the Tumbler started a southbound hike 12 miles north of Damascus two weeks ago and had been at the hostel for two days. The Tumbler said he got soaked by rains in his hike and had to come to town to dry up. Pirate said it hadn’t rained in a week. We’ll never know what the kid has been doing for the past 12 days. His story, like so many on the trail, doesn’t add up. It’s the wrong time of year, it’s the wrong place to start, he has 12 missing days in 14, he got rained on without rain, he has cotton clothing, and he is wearing work boots not hiking shoes. Perhaps he should have gone on with the HAPG’s.

It was another great day on the Trans-America Bike Route. Temperatures are expected to be below freezing again tonight and for several nights into the future

Some Great Walking Through Virginia, With a Little Biking Mixed In, and one Flat Tire.

2007-10-28T19:32:00.000-07:00

October 28, 2007: Day 9.

From Near Council, VA (elevation 1640) over Big A Mountain (elevation 3706) back down to 1640 at Rosedale and back to near the top of Hayter’s Gap (elevation 3281)
Distance: 22.5 miles; Total Distance 243.5 miles

I hoped to get 37 miles to Interstate 81 today.

The day was colder in the low 50’s. I wore the long sleeve under shirt, the Neon Yellow T-shirt, and the nylon vest with a reflective safety vest on top. On the down hills I added on the neon yellow polypropylene jacket.
Within a half mile of starting I was forced to walk up the western slope of Big A Mountain. I walked pushing the bike for 3.1 miles and almost two hours before reaching the top.

Recently I mentioned the variables in biking as being terrain, my age and weight, and physical conditioning. Well I forgot my biggest excuse! Seven years ago I had an arrhythmia and passed out while running on two occasions. I was found to have a heart defect that required using a Beta Blocker by the name of Toprol and in a fairly large dose of 100 mg per day. Among other things Toprol throttles the heart so that my maximum heart rate is about 110. For intense physical activity one needs a heart rate up in the 140 to 150 range to deliver enough oxygen to the working muscles. I managed to walk all of the Appalachian Trail (2168 miles in 7 months) within months of going on the Toprol in the year 2000. I had to take the uphills slowly when I couldn’t muster the heart rate. Now I notice when going up hill I need the faster heart rate and can’t deliver so I must walk. So I walk. What I do have is plenty of perseverance and a good deal of love of the process and the adventures found on a daily basis. I hope it shows in my story.

The down side of Big A Mountain was nicely switched and I got up to 39 mph. Half way down I saw the van sitting beside the road but couldn’t even take my hands off the bars to wave. Later the Trail Boss said if I would have known you were going by like that I would have taken a picture. He said, “You were a blur of yellow in that jacket.” Even though I knocked off about five quick miles coming down, it never makes up for the slowness of the walk getting to the top.

East of Big A Mountain not only is the social sophistication higher but the terrain changes abruptly. Suddenly there are no “hollers” and suddenly we understand the definition of a “holler.” On the East of Big A Mountain we suddenly saw farms with fields of multiple acres. We saw cattle herds and fence lines. We had not seen a field larger than an acre for two hundred miles. In Kentucky one could almost stick their arm out a second floor window and touch the hillside! Suddenly we could see a mile or so across a valley and cattle grazing on the slopes. We saw rolled hay bails in storage buildings. On the west of Big A Mountain the valleys are narrow and the hills immediately rise sharply so there is not enough land for a field, a view, cattle, or a fence. The only views over there are from the very peaks of the hills.

In Honaker I stopped in a Dollar General Store and bought some M & M Peanuts. When I walked in there was a customer with a cart of goods but no clerk. I said to the customer who was near the cash register, “Where’s the clerk?” He said, “I don’t know.” So I started back an isle and saw her coming forward and asked about the M & M’s. She took me over and we got two bags and when we got to the front the customer was gone and so was the cart. She ran out to the parking lot and he was driving off. She said there is a lot of stealing in this store and area because of a major drug problem. We have heard of a “major drug problem” in essentially every town we have seen along this trip.

Near Rosedale, VA, population 945, we stopped at a store and had a cup of coffee (no cappuccino). We met an elder gent riding a motor scooter. He bought fifty cents worth of gas and admired my bike. He made a point of telling me that Hayter’s Gap, coming up later today, was much steeper and tougher than Big A and more narrow and dangerous. He and the girl agreed that I could never make it to Interstate 81 today. Then one of the loafers at the place said he went on a trip once up to Connecticut. He said he saw nothing of interest other than “those idiots posting a sign noting an elevation of 900 feet!” He said if you got in your car and drove north 30 miles to the I-77 junction and back three times, you would see more than he did on his trip to Connecticut!

Once we got up and over Big A we made an average of 15 mph nearly to Hayter’s Gap. I felt if I could get over this second big mountain by 5 or 5:30 PM I could possibly get nearly to I-81 and 37 miles for the day. About 2 miles short of the beginning of the climb to Hayter’s Gap I had a flat tire. The road was particularly narrow and curvy with small rises so visibility was not good. I was able to cruise over the small rises but needed to be cautious for traffic often on my side (actually there was only about 1.5 lanes of width to this road). I could see the top of a car approaching at a rise and curve so I stepped off the road into the weeds. The car stopped and a nice lady and her teenage son asked my destination for the day. I think they were about to ask me to stay at their place when they found I had my own crewman. They pulled out and left and I pushed out onto the road and had a flat rear tire! I think I must have gotten a thorn in the weeds, although I never proved it. I called Cimarron on the cell phone for the first time I even had it on (it worked) and he drove back to assist. He couldn’t pull off the road so I quickly loaded the bike and we drove back a mile to a cattle farm siding where we could pull off. There was an abandoned pickup truck with a nice rear deck where we worked on the tire. What we do is replace the tube with a new one. Tubes are so cheap no one repairs them any more.

So the flat caused us to lose a critical half hour of time I needed to walk through Hayter’s Gap. But I gave it a try. The first switch back is a true 180-degree. I pushed and walked about 2 miles hoping to reach the top and get the “free” four or five mile down into today’s mileage. But, all to no avail. I went up and up and had never ending switches until it was fairly dark. I had rigged up the small LED Bike Headlight I carry but never use. I hung it off the back, as It’s the people closing from the rear who will kill me. When walking these steep slopes I walk facing the traffic so I can see them in the eye.

Soon the Trail Boss showed up first saying, “Man that first switch back was so steep I could hardly make it.” Then he said, “I’ve called the motel. It’s 15 miles of country road to I-81 and seven miles down I-81. You’ll probably want to eat, so better load up now.” So I did.

We had another great day out here fighting to do more mileage, but happy with the mileage we do! I hope each of you have a friend like Cimarron.

Four Experiences in Haysi, VA

2007-10-27T19:39:00.000-07:00

October 27, 2007: Day 8.

From Elkhorn City, KY to Near Council, VA
Distance: 32.6; Time: 4:15; Max Speed 38.2 mph; Average Speed 7.6 mph; Total Distance 221 miles

We awakened at the Gateway to the Breaks Interstate Park Motel and headed back west on route 80 five miles to Elkhorn City to pick up our ride at yesterday’s stopping point. First we had breakfast at the restaurant where the waitress said no to my grits order adding, “We don’t eat them up here, they are down south!” It was in the mid 50’s at the start (cool for cycling) so I put on my trusty Duofold Polyester Long Sleeve under shirt I bought in Gatlinburg on the Appalachian Trail more than seven years ago. It’s a marvelous shirt that keeps me warm and wicks sweat to its outer frizzy fibers where it evaporates faster than any shirt I own. I wore this shirt about half the days when we walked the Appalachian Trail in the year 2000 (worn about 100 days). It also doesn’t stink as much as it should when worn during exercise. Over the black under shirt I wore a short sleeve neon yellow t-shirt. Each day I wear a pair of biking shorts with a built in synthetic chamois that pads the perineum (bottom). Over these bike shorts for modesty and visibility I wear a pair of neon orange shorts. My helmet is white. So from top to bottom I am white, neon yellow, and neon orange. What a site going down the road but good visibility. This was comfortable in today’s temperature varying from 55 to 65 degrees. On the walks up the three major climbs of the day I sweated profusely so when I started down I put on my neon yellow synthetic polypropylene cycling jacket to block wind and hold heat.

I also wear a pair of biking shoes with a metal cleat on the bottom that snaps into the pedals. With these I can pedal by pushing down and by pulling up so the power stroke can be a full circle instead of just a mashing down. This is much more efficient and less tiring. However, when stopping one must always remember to unclick the feet or I’ll fall over when I stop with my foot still stuck in the pedal. This has not happened this trip but happened often last year until I got used to the process.

On the way out of Elkhorn City, KY, route 80 goes along the Russell Fork River, which is a very popular class five white water river. I met a couple from the New River area of West Virginia who own a rafting company and were here to camp along the river and photograph the rapids. The New River is noted as very beautiful and these folks said this river is even more beautiful. They advised me of viewpoints along the road for my viewing pleasure where I was able to see down six hundred feet from the road to the water. At one stop the view was great all the way to the water, and just fifteen feet away was a freezer and washing machine and a dozen or so tires thrown over the cliff! What’s wrong with these people? Also a crew of workers from a power company was sitting at the overlook having lunch when I pulled up. They must have seen the movie Deliverance. As I walked over to the Gazebo to read the history one of them said, “Don’t miss anything honey.” I read for a few minutes, but I could hear them chuckling. Then as I got on the bike one said, “Goodbye, sweetheart.”

Today we had to walk on three different mountains for a total of about 5 miles of walking I would guess out of today’s 32.6 miles. I think my general cycling is fairly good but my hill climbing technique is non-existent. Cimarron has worked on trails at the Phil Mont Boy Scout camp where the standard steepest trail is 9% grade. He says many of our grades on this trip have been more than 9% grade so my estimate last week of 6% was way off. The good cyclists will often stand to pedal on the steepest slopes. Because the bike then wobbles from side to side and the legs are more powerful standing a higher gear is used to limit the pedal revolutions per minute. However, the breathing rate rises considerably. When my respiratory rate gets too high, I have to stop and walk. I seem to be able to walk and push the bike up any slope, but my speed is just a little over two miles per hour. It’s amazing to me that I have run 39 standard marathons and over 100 races of fifty miles in length each between 4 hours and 15 hours. So why can’t I go more than 50 miles on the bike? The variables are many and include: age, weight, training, desire, and terrain.

At Haysi (long i) I had four great experiences. As I came into town I saw my first original Trans-America bike ride road sign. Recall that in 1976 for the Bicentennial an organization named Bikecentenial organized a very successful cross-country group bike ride and this is the route they plotted. (That organization changed its name to Adventure Cycling and sells the maps I use.) The entire route was marked with permanent signs using “76” as the main logo. There are very few of these signs left across the country and I have read they are mostly in this area of Virginia. I’m glad I got to see them, and I got a picture.

The second experience was being stopped by a Virginia State Policeman who was conducting a random traffic stop to check licenses. He stood in the middle of the narrow road in Haysi and had two flares burning. I pulled up in the eastbound lane behind three cars. He also had a half dozen stopped in the other direction. There was such a traffic jam I thought he’d just wave us through but he checked every license until I got there and he waived me through. I said, “No, I want my license checked and I want a picture of you checking it!” He said, “I have a customer (his word), here with an expired license and I need to give her a ticket before she drives off.” So I said, “Can I take a picture of that?” And, can you believe it, he said, “Sure, go ahead!” I waited about ten minutes in hopes that I could get a picture of the Trail Boss and the cop, but the TB never showed up.

The third experience was a tobacco shop with the sign that said, “Tobacco Outlet, Tanning,” and “Tobacco Tavern” and on a small hand written sign in the window it said, “Now available Piercing Rings for tongue, nose, lip, ear, legbet, umbilicus, and nipple.” (What’s a legbet?) Wow, what a place here in Haysi, Virginia, population 186! We didn’t try any of it, but I made the Trail Boss mad when I told him I had told them he was on his way!

But the best of all was the last Haysi experience. As I made my way out of town along the Priest Fork River and near the Haysi High School I saw a woman wading in the river some fifty feet below the road. She was using a commercial size hoe and hoeing the muddy bottom along the other side of the river, which was about 100 feet wide at that point. She appeared elderly and had a bandage on her right face. She was wearing what looked like neoprene diving suit tights and a pair of rubber boots up to her knees. She had a dark shirt or jacket and a floppy sun hat. So I stopped and watched thinking she was scooping some type of critter from the water like crawdads in Louisiana. But she never picked anything up and so finally I rang my little bike bell until she looked up. I yelled, “What are you doing?” And she said, “You may think, like the others around here, that I am a little crazy.” And I said, “Hey, I’m a doctor, I’ve talked to lots of crazy people and I like most of them, and believe some of them” And she said (I swear she did, you can’t make this stuff up), “I’m moving the river!”

I shouted down, “Why?” And she shouted back, “Because the government won’t move it for me. They say it will cost too much in dollars and in ecological damage.” Now, this woman may be a little ‘touched’ as she put it, but she isn’t stupid. I then said, “But why do you want it moved and how long have you been working on the project?” She said, “My house flooded in 1976 and I’ve been working on it ever since.” So I said, “It sounds to me like the project is working perfectly if it hasn’t flooded since you began the work.” And she said, “I know. I think I’m a civil engineer and should be working for the Army Corps of Engineers.” I couldn’t agree more. As I was about to pull out I shouted, “What’s your name?” “Vivian Owens, and I’m 78 years old,” she said. As I sped off I shouted down to her: “Goodbye Vivian Owens of the Army Corps of Engineers.” And she said, “Have a safe trip and God be with you.”

As I rode my mind flashed back to Pikeville where the government moved the river several miles for a cost of $80 million. If they can move the river in Pikeville, I figure it’s okay for Vivian Owens to move the river in Haysi. Just one hundred yards up stream from where she worked was her beautifully kept cottage just ten feet above the water level. She had beautiful mums on her porch and a nice porch swing. The yard was well kept and the house clean and fresh. Behind the house I could see four 50-yard long lines of stone piled in the river so as to funnel the water toward the other bank and away from her property. Vivian Owens is diligently at work on her project.

Haysi is my newest favorite town and Vivian Owens my newest best friend.

After Haysi we pedaled about 17 more uneventful miles to near Council where we stopped for the day. These 17 miles were more than half of the day’s mileage, but only took about one fourth of the day’s time. If I could get some easier terrain, I could do much better mileage. I did stop at about three stores and got some cappuccino, but the Trail Boss found some cappuccino powder in a Dollar General (The new Wal-Mart of the smallest towns it seems as they all have this brand new store). So now I have TBC (Trail Boss Cappuccino).

In each of the stores they like to tell me, “You haven’t seen anything yet. Wait until you get to Big A Mountain. (The Mountain is called Big A because some view to some person at some time looked like the letter A.) Well at the end of the day on driving east on our route to find a motel we had to drive over Big A Mountain. We finally found a motel Lebanon, VA, some 40 miles from our stopping point. All the advisers are correct; the “Big A Mountain” is a big deal. It rises from 1600 to 2600 feet over 5 miles of intense switchbacks. (This data was calculated by use of Garmin GPS mapping program on topo USA Maps on my laptop computer at the hotel.) I’ll walk that devil tomorrow pushing the bike but it will take me a couple of hours and kills the day’s total mileage again. But please don’t let the cycling community know, I like the walking. Wish me luck.

In Birchleaf, just 2 miles east of Haysi and west of Big A Mountain, I pulled into a fairly modern country store/gas station that had no coffee and the clerk wasn’t too nice about it saying gruffly, “We only make it in the morning.” As I walked out a beautiful tall young woman drove up in a new Honda Sports car for gas. She looked like a professional woman in a one-piece dress near the knees and with high heel shoes. Her hair was well managed and she wore appropriate makeup. We knew something was amiss, as we had not seen such a sophisticated sight in a week. And she didn’t have a cigarette hanging from her lips. We learned later that Big A Mountain seems to divide the more sophisticated Virginia from the Kentucky like far western Virginia hill country.

What a great trip. What a diverse country.

101 Miles in one day, but not by us!

2007-10-26T19:49:00.000-07:00

October 26, 2007: Day 7

Today’s Mileage 36.0; Average speed 9.2 mph; Total Trip Distance: 183.5; 3.5 miles from Virginia.

Cimarron is happy tonight as he says, “We’ve been in this state long enough. I want some good roads!”

We left Pikeville after another good breakfast at the Huddle House. During breakfast Cimarron picked up a brochure entitled “The Pikeville Cut-Through Project.” What a project! Pikeville like many a town was built in a poor location. It’s on the Levisa Fork of the Big Sandy River. The Levisa makes a horseshoe bend around Peach Orchard Mountain and Pikeville is along the river in the flood plain. So, low and behold, the town periodically floods. Who would have guessed it? At the heel of the horseshoe the river was only ¾ of a mile from itself but the mountain intervened. So in 1973 they moved the mountain! Because unsightly rail traffic, a flood prone river, and too many cars on the four-lane Route 460 were coming through town, moving the mountain allowed the river, the highway and the railroad to bypass the town. The project was rather magnanimous in that 18 million cubic yards of earth were moved from the mountain cut-through for the new RRRR (River, Road, and Railroad Route) and the entire abandoned riverbed was filled to create 400 acres of usable land, which was suitably named after Mayor Hambley who came up with the idea. The New York Times called it the “eighth wonder of the world.” The brochure concludes as follows: “The Cut-Through Project has freed Pikeville from the floods, dust and other restrictions that plague so many other Eastern Kentucky counties. The net result is a very livable town…” The cost was just $80 Million. Isn’t that lovely.

Finding our stopping point of yesterday was no easy task on the 37-mile drive from the hotel in Pikeville to the town of Bypro. We got five miles too far down Route 122 and only when we saw a beautiful high school football stadium we had never seen before did we know we were lost. We finally pulled up in Bypro opposite the dilapidated shack of a hardware store. My mirror bracket was cracked and the mirror would not hold adjustment so I went over to the hardware where the owner gave me a two inch piece of duck tape and some silicone spray lubricant for the bike chain which showed some rust after all the grit, grime, rain, and Phillip Newsome’s high pressure spray cleaning. There are nothing but nice people in Kentucky. The fellow said, “You ridin’ that cross country bike route?” When I said yes, he said, “good luck up old Abner Mountain down there in a few miles. I don’t even like to go over that in my truck and most of the coal trucks can’t make it up and over. It’ll be a two or three mile walk if you make it!” It just sounded like the rest of Kentucky to us, and off I went towards Abner Mountain on Route 122.

The mountain was all it was advertised with more than two miles of walking and bike pushing. There were no shoulders and many sharp steep switchbacks. Again all the drivers were courteous. They could not drive more than 20 mph in either direction. The downhill was for over two miles and I was able to go up to 20 mph and keep ahead of the cars that couldn’t go any faster than me. The bike probably would have run out to 40 or 50 mph if the curves weren’t so sharp. I sweated heavily on my push up to the top so I put on my rain jacket for wind blockage on the decent. At the first country food store downhill I met Heather (who pronounced it Hather) who is 31 years old and has a twelve-year-old son. She is divorced from her car salesman husband and indicted all salesmen saying, “He like all salesman was a womanizer, and treated me badly when I got fat, and telling me I was too fat to find anyone else. So I found a 51 year old who treats me right, and not just for the sex!” All you have to do is walk in and they tell you all this stuff. They didn’t have any cappuccino and not even any coffee! So I had a bag of M & M Peanuts and was on my way bidding Hather goodbye and wishing her luck with her new beau.

At the bottom of the hill the Trail Boss was sitting next to a gas station and I shouted, “Do they have any coffee?” And he shouted back, “No.” So I kept on going for another couple miles where I stopped at a country store and was told to go another mile for coffee. I found a very nice store with a Hunt’s Pizza Franchise and got two slices of Pizza and a cup of cappuccino. They said the Hunt’s franchise is cheap and the quality way beyond anything they could produce. They sell 200 Pizza’s per week. The Trail Boss went by and missed a turn and me, and I didn’t see him again for an hour or more. While I sat sweating out front on the ground eating my pizza a school math teacher in her pajamas walked up to order 6 pizzas for her fifth grade class. She said to the total stranger sitting there (me), “Excuse me for being in my pajamas but it is “pajama day” at Virgie elementary school, and I came to get the pizza.” I said, “I prefer women in night gowns, but pajamas will do.” I think she was happy the biker wasn’t offended and wished me a safe trip and goodbye when she left. Is this a great country, or what!

Then down the road a mile or so on Route 1469 the Virgie Middle School kids were picking up roadside trash. There were about 50 kids all over the side of the road and off into the grass and weeds wearing latex gloves and placing garbage bags of trash all along the road. There were no warning signs, no flagmen, and no police escorts. About half the kids had orange vests and the rest did not. They all waved and shouted at me. There appeared to be just one supervising adult for about each twenty kids. As I took a picture one of the kids waved and the supervising person herded her back with the rest of the kids as though she thought I might kidnap the kid on the bike. When I said, “You need a few signs, flagmen, and a police escort.” She said, “We’re okay, we have a bus driver.” They do this activity once a year. It must be in conjunction with pajama day at the elementary school.

I soon had to walk over Buckingham Mountain another couple of very steep up hill miles. The Trail Boss came by at a very inopportune time on a major steep switchback and shouted something about how great the van was running but these mountains might be killing his transmission. My transmission wasn’t doing so hot either, and I don’t mean the bike.

Soon we were out on to Route 23, an expressway for about 4 miles. Cimarron was sitting at the turnoff to Route 611 to Lookout. He had bought instant Cappuccino and had made me a hot cup. What a Trail Boss he is. His dedication and friendship to me are immeasurable. We are having a good time and he is beginning to get back into the Trail Boss mentality. There was a car parked with a flea market sale going on. I checked it out, but I didn’t see anything I needed. Cimarron didn’t even look but pointed out they smoked more cigarettes per hour than they could possibly pay for out of sales!

As I sat sipping the Cappuccino I saw another bike rider coming up Route 23 at least three times as fast as I did. I waved for him to come over and never moved off my seat. It was not a Trans- Am rider but Steven Childers an 18-year-old freshman at Union University in Middlesboro, KY, where he is on a full scholarship for bike racing. He says the tuition is $21,000 a year and he has a full ride! (No pun intended!) Recently he came in second in the nationals of college bike road racing even against Stanford, Florida State and some other big schools. The kid is a star. He lives just half a mile up the road from where we saw him and had just completed a 101-mile circuit ride in less than half a day! I had been out longer than he and was just now pushing 22 miles. The kid did say they had us on the very tough cross-mountain routes and he could route us a faster although longer way. Steven said he was a good off road motorcycle racer in junior high school and saw Lance Armstrong win the Tour de France two years ago and said, “Maybe I can ride a bike and get to go to college on a scholarship.” So he took up cycling two years ago and is now runner up national champion!

Soon we were going up another walking climb on route 611. I walked another couple of miles pushing to the nearly 2000-foot elevation top. Then we went down the worst road of the whole trip route 611 through Lookout. My friend Cindy Miller (Mrs. Gorp of hiking fame) rode across country on her bike last year and then rode back. She was with her friend Stumpknocker. Once they rode 70 miles in Colorado and the hotel was non-existent so they rode 49 more miles to the next place—all in one day! Well, Mrs. Gorp wanted us to look for the house she saw last year sitting in the middle of the road in Lookout after having slid off the mountainside in torrential rains. Well Cindy, the house has been moved, but the slide evidence is still present although smoothed off and replanted. I think you can buy the property cheap if you want it! This road was only one lane wide and had a stream close to the right edge that eroded under the pavement so in some spots the pavement had caved in. There were many shacks and trailers. We wondered how the trailers were ever brought up the mountain to these spots.

I came off Lookout Mountain and Route 611’s terrible road and turned onto Route 197 towards Elkhorn City, the last town in Kentucky. The Elkhorn River flows to Elkhorn city through a deep valley between the nearly 2000-foot hills. I left Cimarron the Trail Boss on top of the mountain calling motels and told him to meet me along the road to Elkhorn City as it was getting near dark. He said to just stop at Ashcamp, 7 miles short of Elkhorn City, but I said, “No, I’ll stop when I see the whites of your eyes.” Well when I hit Route 197 it was a well-paved and smooth road and for the first time on this trip ran level or slightly downhill all the way. So I pedaled in the second front Cog and sometimes the highest rear gear and had the speedometer up to 23 mph as I cruised the entire 7 miles to Elkhorn city in about 20 minutes. This was the fastest 7 miles of my life.

Well, my hand typed spreadsheet directions for the Trail Boss neglected to tell him which way to turn on Route 157 and he went the wrong way. When he figured it out and came north he couldn’t believe he didn’t see me in a few miles so he went south again. Finally he figured the route was north and came into town just at dark to find me standing in front of the only restaurant. He was quite frustrated and said, “don’t go so damn fast at quitting time!”

After toweling off and putting on a dry fleece sweatshirt and loading up the frisky stallion, we went into the restaurant and had a fine dinner. I had a hot roast beef sandwich, green beans and mashed potatoes and a big piece of cream pie and three 20-ounce cups of diet coke. There were two sheriff deputies seated at the restaurant and I talked to them about the recent two-dozen drug arrests in this Pike County yesterday. They took part in the raids and said most of the problem is prescription drug abuse and mostly oxyconton (a highly addictive narcotic found in brands like Tylox, Lortab, and Vicodan). The cops said most of the drugs come from massive prescriptions that doctors in other states write for a fee of $200. The drug dealers travel to get the prescriptions and then sell each pill for about $100! Since I am a doctor, and stayed at a Holiday Inn last night, I don’t know how (or why) any doctor would write such a prescription, or get away with it, and how any pharmacist would fill it. All the doctors I know have so much meaningful and legitimate work serving good patients that they would never get into this business and the low life people involved. Then one of the officers sat down with us and pointed out the father of the police undercover officer who has infiltrated the local drug business! One learns a lot when riding a bike!

At the hotel we learned our Hiking Friend Pirate has stayed here and is a friend of the owners. The owner has a CB handle nickname of “Sweet Pea” and when Pirate heard that he said, “I have a hiking friend named Sweet Pea.” That hiking friend of Pirate’s is my wife Millie. We hiked the entire Appalachian Trail in the year 2000 and met Pirate many times along the way.

Tomorrow we cross into Virginia after 3.5 more miles. The Trail Boss is excited about getting near the Appalachian Trail and the famed AT town of Damascus, Virginia, some 80 mile away. If we could get the same road as Route 157 we’d be in Damascus tomorrow. We’re psyched.

Van Fixed; Rain Stopped; Flat Tire; Magnificent Day

2007-10-25T20:26:00.000-07:00

October 25, 2007: Day 6

Today’s Mileage 28.9; Average speed 9.7 mph; Max Speed 32.1; Pedal Time 2:57; Time on course 4:00. Total Trip Distance: 149.1 Miles (30 miles per day average)

Phillip Newsome fixed the van and it runs like new says the Trail Boss. It was a $273 repair and worth every cent to see the grin on his face as he went up the first hill without the need to manually shift and without the shimmy. While we waited for the arrival of the new plug wires, I asked Phillip where we could drive to a car wash to wash the bike which was covered with road grime and coal dust from the rain. Phillip, full of excellent customer service, pulled out a steam cleaner and pressure washed it off and oiled the chain! Soon the wires arrived and since Cimarron had already loosened and moved the radiator so Phillip wouldn’t screw it up, the wires went on quickly. Poor Cimarron paced up and down in front of the garage like he must have done anticipating the births of his eight children as Phillip and his staff worked. Cimarron later confided that the Van had never been taken to a garage before! So I was quite happy for him that it all went well.

We were out of Hazard, KY, for the last time headed to Carrie, KY, where we last quit pedaling. We unloaded the bike at 2:23 PM and the rear tire was flat. I hadn’t changed a tire since last year and changing the rear is more difficult than a front. The weather was predicted to be cloudy and rainy all day but the weatherman was wrong. It was beautiful, again, with a blue sky and a few white puffy clouds. The sun was shinning brightly and we both sweated as he helped with the tire change. The new tube was installed in 20 minutes, probably a new record for a rear tire for me. I put on latex medical gloves and they were covered with grit and grime. We pumped her up to 105 psi and I was pedaling before 3 PM.

We pedaled about 4 miles into Hindman, population 787, and home of a US senator. I have forgotten his name but the locals haven’t. They named the school after him and have very impressive government buildings and the place looks prosperous. We primarily followed streams in this section and the course was easy and pleasant. We went through Mallie, population near zero, and then to Pippa Passes, which had a store and a dozen houses. The stream through this valley flowed toward me so I was going uphill; however, I coasted most of the way—how do you figure that?

At the Pippa Passes store there were three women working: Oma, Laretta, and Sarah. Oma has twin girls who are basketball stars in the Pippa Passes School. Laretta is a young graduate nurse who hasn’t been able to pass the registered nurse exam so she is working as a store clerk. This area appears considerably less economically deprived than what we have been seeing. Oma said an ignorant biker came through and thought everyone in the whole state was illiterate and that “we all lived on dirt floors.” Laretta and Sarah said they were fearful of the folks over in Buckhorn where I had the very steep hill walks two days ago. “We played their girls in basketball once and they were rugged and some chewed tobacco!” So I asked Laretta if she had ever dated her cousin, and she said, “No, he’s in jail!” These girls were bright with a good sense of humor. I asked about motels 20 miles up the road and Oma said, “You’ll find nothing for fifty miles, but I have a remodeled bedroom in the barn. My nephew is staying there but he can come into the house and you can stay there tonight. It has nice beds and a shower. Here’s my phone number, call me up to 11 PM as I’ll still have the store open and you can come back.” I love meeting these wonderful people along the road while I drink my cappuccino. Up the road but still in Pippa Passes is a college (I’ll add the name later it slips my mind now). The founder came to the mountains to educate the children and established the college, which carries her name. The campus is about 100 yards wide and half a mile long in a steep valley along a small stream and the bike ride goes right through the center. The mountains rise sharply from behind the buildings for about 500 feet. Several of the builds are historic landmarks and constructed of stone. Many are modern design like the fine arts and library buildings. The founder’s log cabin (perhaps 10 x 15 feet) sits near the stream in the center of the campus apparently in its original location. There are 500 students and a strong religious connection.

Not long after Pippa Passes we came to an active strip coal mine and tipple area. The strip mine had defaced the entire mountainside and the seam of coal was visible. The seam of coal was bout three or four feet high with peculiar holes into the seam. Some of the holes were two-foot diameter round and some were rectangular about eight feet across and the full height of the seam of coal. At a restaurant later we learned from a miner (who spent twenty-five years working underground) that the rectangular areas were evidence of prior deep shaft mining years ago and were the rooms of coal that had been removed. The round holes were drilled during the current operation to extract coal from deep under the top of the mountain without having to move the whole mountain. These “auger holes” extend up to half a mile under the mountain. As I turned a corner the coal trucks were coming out of the strip job heading for the tipple. The road was pretty dirty. Suddenly out of a side road in the woods came a nearly new Elgin Street Sweeper. The bearded operator, looking a lot like Santa, swept the narrow county road as this bike rider stood on the side of the road taking pictures between the sweeper and the coal trucks. By the way, each coal truck holds 100 tons of coal, and a gravel truck is only allowed to carry 80 tons. The state is partial to the coal operators, or 100 tons of coal crushes a road the same as 80 tons of gravel. Go figure.

Near Dema I went into a restaurant advertising pizza but the wait was fifteen minutes so I ordered two hot dogs and a warm Sierra Mist. The clerk asked what I wanted on the dogs and I said, “What do you have?” She said, “Do you want Chili, mustard, ketchup, cheese, onions, or Cole slaw.” I said, “Yes.” And they were great. Then Jim the AC man and Georgia Hall, the cook, gave Cimarron motel advice advising going 37 miles to Pikesville, KY. They said there was a big climb over the mountain between Knott and Floyd counties and then another twice as bad five miles up the road between Floyd and Pike Counties. I decided I’d walk the first one today and coast down the other side and then walk the next one tomorrow. So to end the day I pushed the bike up the 600 foot mountain for about two miles where I met the Trail Boss sitting at the top on the county line next to a “Do not Dump” sign and under a seventy foot high wall cut through the very top of the gap. The wind was howling and he was looking for long pants on my arrival. I put on a nylon vest and took off down the other side barely under control as the switchbacks had speed limit signs as low as 15 mph. A car or bike could easily spin out on this descent. I was glad the road was dry. When I reached Bevinsville, KY, a fat girl and a guy were sitting on a 4-wheeler on a bridge talking to a middle aged man at the intersection of the county road with State Road 122. I said, as I always do as I pulled up to the stop sign with a big grin after the severe downhill, “Hello.” And they looked me straight in the eye from less than ten feet, and said not one word in reply. And I said again, perhaps somewhat sarcastically, “Hello.” And they did not respond. So I guess they are mute, since I have not met an ass hole yet on this trip. Then since the Trail Boss was nowhere in sight at our quitting time of 6:30 I continued on down the road. In about a mile an almost new gold colored pickup truck sped by too closely and the driver honked the horn loudly and shouted out the window, “Get off the road.” This was the first obnoxious driver and the first unresponsive pedestrians in 150 miles of Kentucky. Bevinsville should be embarrassed. If any reader knows anyone in Bevinsville, inform them.

As advised we drove to Pikesville, KY, for a room. The trip was over 30 miles and took nearly an hour as the roads were steep and switched. However, dinner at Long John Silver’s was great. The TV in the motel worked beautifully. The Trail Boss had expressed his doubts and wanted to see the Red Sox in the World Series.

We ended our day near Bypro, KY, at the end of map number 131 in the TransAmerica Bicycle Trail Section 11, Berea KY, to Christiansburg, VA, Adventure Cycling Association Bicycle Touring Map. On this current 2007 bike trip we have covered 147.5 official trail miles (and a few unofficial miles while lost but pedaling) or 28% of our 527-mile trip. We are 39.5 miles from leaving Kentucky and entering Virginia and 119 miles form crossing the Appalachian Trail in Damascus, Virginia. Both Cimarron and I have walked the entire Appalachian Trail from end-to-end more than 2168 miles from Georgia to Maine and Damascus is one of our favorite trail towns.

Fixing the VW EuroVan

2007-10-24T19:17:00.000-07:00

October 24, 2007: Day 5

Mileage: None

It rained all night as we slept well in the EuroVan in the parking lot of the Hazard Motel in Hazard, KY. He was real proud of that and I sure appreciated the roof over our heads. When we awakened this morning it was raining heavily. And he is beginning to worry about his VW van not running well.

After our trip last year he parked the van for nine months. When we decided to come back out on the road he took her out for a spin and thought it not running well. He added about a half a dozen different fuel additives, but to no avail. He got 16 miles per gallon on his trip up to Rhode Island this month and usually gets 18 so he knows it’s not running right. In Rhode Island he went to a VW garage but they wanted to keep it overnight. So he left. Now on these murderous hills it bogs down, shakes and he needs to manually shift the automatic transmission. I’ve offered to drive and take the pressure off for all this “bad traffic” but he doesn’t trust my driving especially not knowing how to shift the transmission. I tried to tell him I’m shifting through 27 gears on the bike. I haven’t driven the van yet!

He wanted to have the van checked but didn’t want anything other than a VW dealer. So I said give me ten minutes and I’ll be back. I ran into a smiling pleasant lady named Nancy who works housekeeping in the motel as I headed over to he office for a free cup of coffee and information and a shower. I told Nancy I needed a shower in a dirty room before she cleaned it and she took me to room 237 saying they already checked out. She was all apologetic that she didn’t have one cleaned yet! We circled the building clockwise since a counterclockwise route would take us by the motel owner’s apartment. Apparently this was an unauthorized activity. The room didn’t look bad, but there was a full ashtray of ashes sitting on the table. Nancy said, “I forgot to get you a towel.” And she ran out and came back with two clean towels. So I said, “Look, Nancy, you’re giving me a shower, can you do my laundry?” And she said, “Come down to the laundry room when you’re done where my manager has an office and she does laundry.” So Geraldine did my laundry and Nancy arranged a shower and the manager passed out free coffee. So we immediately signed up for a room for tonight.

I called the Ford Garage and the Service Manager said Phillip Newsome used to be a technician at Ford and opened his own shop downtown. Phillip was reported to be trained, pleasant, honest, and hardworking. I called Phillip and he said bring it down. When I got back to the Van having been gone 15 minutes the Trail Boss had all systems ready to roll and said, “You’re late.” And I was five minutes late, but had showered, had coffee, called the garage, and arranged for the laundry—not bad. He agreed to allow someone else to do the laundry and I ran the stuff over to Geraldine and we were off to Huddle House for the second time in two days. He also agreed to take the VW to a non-VW authorized garage.

We had already been past Phillip Newsome’s garage twice in the two days we have been in Hazard. He is an ASE certified mechanic and a wonderfully nice man. He was supervising three other workers who were pulling brakes and bringing parts for his inspection and direction. He and the Trail Boss opened the hood of the van and both dove in. This van has a peculiar radiator that swings on a pivot to give space for access to the plugs and wires and most everything else. The Trail Boss has told me in the past that no one knows how to do the radiator without destroying the headlight wires, so he and Phillip worked together and I have the pictures to prove it. I worked on this journal on my laptop in Phillip’s office. Soon he came in and said there were bad plug wires and he could see them arching. He ordered new wires at NAPA and they will be in town at 10 AM on Thursday. In the meantime he cut off the most offensive wire and repaired it and the van no longer shimmies and shakes and Cimarron the Trail Boss is all smiles as it sure does run better. And I thought it was only the hills. Phillip said, “No charge today, pay tomorrow.”

Lots of Chit Chat and Some Riding in the Rain

2007-10-23T16:15:00.000-07:00

October 23, 2007: Day 4

Statistics: Mileage Today 28.5; Max Speed 36.9; Average Speed 8.6; Riding Time: 3:16; Total Mileage 117:

We stayed at the Hazard Motel that used to be a Holiday Inn and is showing wear and tear. It was the only room in town. The Super 8, the brand new Holiday Inn Express, and the Hampton Inn were all full (on a Tuesday night). Hazard is a busy place even though my bike maps say the population is less than 5000. The Hal Rogers four lane Expressway runs East and West through town and state highway 15 is a four-lane north and south. Hal Rogers the state senator, known for pork barrel legislation, has named the highway after himself. Senator Rogers felt the previous name did not appropriately fit Kentucky Heritage—it was previously called the Daniel Boone Expressway! We have learned here that Daniel Boone like Senator Rogers was also a self-promoter who not only explored this western territory by way of the Cumberland Pass from Virginia, but also organized a land company, ran off the Indians, and was Kentucky’s first realtor.

Hazard only has one flat strip of land along the Kentucky River. Otherwise it is very steep 1600-foot hills and very deep valleys called “Hollers.” The roads will run up a Holler and Wal-Mart will sit half way up a hill almost hidden from view. Signs along the holler road will say “Partin Furniture” and there will be a very steep (10-20 degree slope) sled riding type hill road climbing up to the store up in the woods almost out of view. There are major “cuts” in the hillsides with stores, house trailer sales lots, or K-Marts high up above the cliffs. It’s hard to tell if these cuts were at one time strip coalmines or are an effort to produce a flat spot for construction. So the town is chopped up with the Kentucky River, numerous Hollers, and numerous hills, all disrupting the landscape. Especially confusing to us was going up very steeply from one of the four lanes, winding around the top of the hill and coming down onto the other four-lane road. I never say anything like it even in Pennsylvania coal country.

The town of Hazard has nothing to do with the “Dukes of Hazzard” television show. In fact the TV show is about a town in Georgia. Although small in population, Hazard is the largest city for at least 50 miles in any direction. It appears everyone comes to Hazard for goods and services. There is a large regional medical center where the nurses are currently on strike manning a picket line with tents on the street. “Agency” nurses have been transported in to run the hospital. The hospital pays the agency $90 per hour and the agency pays their nurses $45 per hour. There are at least 100 agency nurses working so it costs the hospital ($90 x 100 x 24 =) $216,000 per day. The paper is full of articles about groups supporting the nurses against the hospital including an ad by the nurses stating they are striking for better hours, less required overtime, and a higher ratio of nurses to patients. “We are not striking for higher income,” says the nurse’s ad. The entire town seems to be backing the nurses and even one of the “scabs” (agency nurses crossing the picket line) said the staffing levels were abominable.

We awakened to rain. It rained more than any day this summer. Certainly they needed it. Nancy, the maid at the Hazard Motel said, “It’s so dry in them woods the deer are stepping out on the highway to commit suicide.”

Our first stop was the Huddle House breakfast restaurant. Cimarron the Trail Boss loves the place. If he gets his morning eggs his disposition is greatly improved. Every time I mention oatmeal he shrivels up his nose and says, “I need real breakfast.”

Immediately after breakfast we took the Hal Rogers Expressway out of town 15 miles in the wrong direction while looking for Route 15. He sighed and breathed deeply all the way. Having spent years as an ER doctor trying to manage chaos I see these minor problems as new adventures while he sees them as earth shattering and nearly life ending events! He talks incessantly about the horrible traffic and I must admit I never saw a town of 5000 that was so active. But he’s comparing it to Atlanta. There are no secrets when he is upset! We turned around and finally got back on Route 15 headed for Chavies.

On arrival at Chavies we pulled into the gas station at about 10 AM and it “came a downpour,” as they say around here. We jumped out of the van and under the carport that serves as a loafing spot for some of the local men. There are four picnic tables under the cover and as we scurried underneath a car door opened and Hill Billy Philosopher Sam moved on in with us followed closely by Walter Archer and Frank. There was no way we were going out into this level of rain so we settled in with the boys for some morning loafing and chit chat (Chit chat is what Cimarron called it; our new Kentucky friends called it Bull Shit!).

We talked for more than an hour as the rain poured around us. Frank sat in a porch swing with a major chaw of tobacco in his left cheek mostly spitting efficiently but now and then dribbling, Sam nuzzled into the table across from me, and Walter Archer sat warily at a table behind Sam. Sam said he was retired “mostly from mining, with some soldiering, and some womanizing mixed in.” The others seemed to agree with the womanizing part. Walter Archer nodded and Frank flat out said Sam just can’t stay away from “that stuff.” Cimarron mostly paced, obviously displeased that we weren’t making any bike progress, and not concerned that I was getting another culture lesson for the day. At one point Sam said, “Cimarron looks like he’s looking for the whip.”

Finally Sam drew Cimarron into the conversation. Cimarron told him he had eight children. Sam said there was a guy over the holler named Winchell and then stuttered over the last name. Walter Archer said, “It’s Winchell Collins, Sam.” “Yea, that’s right, Winchell Collins. Well, he had seven kids, and there weren’t none of them too smart, and he always told us all if that women got pregnant again he’d hang hisself. Well he come home a one day and the woman said, ‘I’s pregnant.’ And true to his word he went right out to the barn and climbed up and he slung a rope up, ah, up, ah…” And Cimarron, now fully involved, said, “Over a beam?” And Sam said, “Yea, that’s a right, a beam. How’d you know? And then he proceeded to put the noose around his neck and was tightening it good when the woman showed up.” She said, “wait a minute Collins, you’re hanging an innocent man!” Everyone laughed uproariously as they had pulled off their joke once more for strangers. They were a well-oiled comedy machine and we lucky to fall into their trap.

I told the boys about the fifteen dog attacks over in the other county and none here in their county. Sam said, “Those bastards over there are Republicans! We’re Democrats over here.” I almost had to tape Cimarron’s mouth shut.

We had some discussion about education and Sam said the folks who settled these parts were educated in Virginia and could read and right. However, on settling here there never was any flat land and many of the homesteads up various hollers (for water) had only a small vegetable garden or tobacco crop. So our stereotype of the hills being full of moonshiners was in fact true. Any stranger coming through was suspected of being a “revenuer” and distrusted and the families lived isolated lives. Although the grandparents were usually literate the subsequent generations were not. But, as Sam put it, “They were illiterate, but not ignorant.” However, he also said there was plenty of inbreeding and Professor Adams of Salem College has published extensively about the level of congenital defects in children in this area from inbreeding. Sam, and others, feel Professor Adams has exploited these people.

Suddenly a young woman (30-40) came in out of the rain and straight for Sam’s table. “I can’t shut the car down, or it won’t crank,” she said. “Well don’t turn it off, let it run. I tol’ you it was the alternator, let him put it on,” said Sam. “Just let everyone jump you,” said Frank, as Walter chuckled and Sam laughed, and she ignored the obvious sexual connotation. When she left she thanked them, and they all said in a matter of fact way that she was the local prostitute. They were obvious friends and she seemed pleased with their advice and walked off in the rain.

Sam said Walter Archer was a brilliant man. He had studied psychology for two years in college. He had served time in prison twice for two different murders he never committed. Sam said, “Every time they had an unsolved murder around here they arrested Walter.” Walter studied the law and was a personal friend with a law professor from Lexington with whom he spent a lot of time in his younger days “when not in prison.” He learned “principles of studying the law” from the professor and then “learned the law” from the prison libraries. He defended himself each time and earned his own prison release. I had seen a political sign along the road asking for votes for “county jailer.” I asked Sam about the position and he said, “Walter runs for that office every time. The last time he got 41 votes.” Later as I prepared to finally go bike riding, Walter wanted to shake my hand and give me his full name. I told him Sam had said he was a brilliant man. And Walter said, “I studied psychology for two years, spent more than two years in the military, and more than two years in jail. That’s the only way to be fully brilliant.” Cimarron and I are not there, yet!

So near noon the downpour had stopped and there was a light drizzle so I started out on the bike leaving Cimarron alone with our new friends the Kentucky philosophers. Later I learned he just couldn’t stay out of a political conversation, so Cimarron the Conservative Republican from Florida discussed politics with these Liberal Democrats from Kentucky. However, he was saved when it turned out one of them was also a Republican. He said it went well as he “drove away and wasn’t run out of town on a rail.”

So I rode very well for the first ten miles back toward Hazard. It began to rain steady after five miles or so but the riding was good and the drivers remained courteous. There still was no place for me to ride other than on the road and no shoulder. I have learned to watch my rear view mirror and wave my left arm as I see a vehicle behind me. They immediately move over the centerline and give me a wide berth. I saw more coal trucks, probably a hundred, as they bring coal to a major tipple (railroad loading site) in Hazard. The trucks are much longer than the coal trucks I’m familiar with in PA. The road was flat and I made a pace of nearly 15 mph for this section, but soon I turned onto Route 15 towards hazard and immediately came to three walking hills. When I get down to 1st gear (of twenty seven) and the bike is only moving at 3 mph, it’s hard to stay upright, so I need to walk.

Near Hazard the trail goes on Route 80, which is a limited access four-lane expressway with a wide shoulder. However, the shoulder is full of gravel, loose coal, and rumble strips so I still try to stay on the outer part of the road. The drivers were more aggressive and slightly obnoxious on this road. It’s interesting that on the country road where there is little opportunity to hurry, no one is in a hurry. Out here on the expressway, nothing seems fast enough. I had to walk a few hills on 80 also, but I sure could speed down hill with a couple of mid 30 mph areas. Once it rained so hard and the speed was so high it felt like BB’s hitting my face.

This trip takes management. There is bike riding management, crew management, map management, managing the cars that pass, and significant logistics. My 85-year-old Trail Boss and I don’t often think alike although we both are dedicated to the adventure. When I’m on the bike and it’s raining cats and dogs and coal trucks are throwing their dust all over me, sometimes I fantasize about the next cup of cappuccino. I just can’t help myself. So, I’m coming down a hill on the expressway at 35 mph in the rain and there is a nice food store/gas station along the road on the other side but still on the slope of the hill. My Trail Boss is running out of the store waving in the rain, but there is no way I can stop for half a mile without sliding. I didn’t even feel good to raise my hand and wave so I rang the little ringer bell on the bike and went on by. Four miles and an hour later (there was a half mile hill to walk) I exited the Expressway onto a nice country road. I stopped under a bridge to take off one of my insulating shirts from beneath the rain jacket) and along came Cimarron. It would be at least another hour to the next (supposed) store. The first thing out of Cimarron’s mouth was, “They had great chicken back there and wonderful pizza, and all cheap at the end of the day shift. They also had cappuccino. Why didn’t you stop?” I said, “That sounds great, what did you bring me?” And he said, “Nothing. I brought nothing. I didn’t know what you wanted, I’m not a mind reader!” So I pulled out from under the bridge and headed on hoping the next store actually existed.

It did. Four miles later I came to a small gas station and country store. They sold pizza and cappuccino. It was great. The seventeen-year-old senior behind the counter is engaged. Her boy friend is interested in art and she showed me some of his Halloween vampire pencil drawings. He is very talented. Her parents own the store and while I was there she sold perhaps $50 worth of cigarettes and $100 of other stuff and filled a few tanks with gas. She had to ask the other clerk who looked just as young (but was 40!) about how to ring things up. I asked what she and the boy had for future plans and she said she hoped the parents were going to give her the store. However, Benny a bystander (who apparently stands by a lot) said, “She’s in love. He’s a good boy. But her parents aren’t giving her the store, and that boy needs to study art. He has a gift.” I suggested that perhaps her parents would give them an apartment at the university and she could study business and he study his art. She said, “I don’t think so.”

I was sipping my 24 ounce cappuccino as fast as I could and getting chilled from being soaking wet and standing around. The cappuccino was too hot. So I said, “Could I have some water to cool it off?” And the future owner turned to her mentor and whispered, “Is the water safe?” And the mentor said, “In the sink it is.” Then, not knowing I heard, she said, “Sir, come with me this water here’s perfectly good.”

Although I had seen Cimarron under the bridge and indicated I would not pass any further stores, he did. I lingered here for 30 minutes. Now in pouring rain with my crew ahead perhaps too far and dark approaching, I started out again. One complaint I have is apparently Kentuckians do not turn on their headlights in rain and now it was hard to see cars sneaking up behind. And I already learned these folks would not blow their horns at me. Now I wished I were home with the Cantonment rednecks who try to blow me off the road with their horns.

I had made a mistake under the bridge and told Cimarron I would meet him at Hindman, but I meant Carrie, some 4 miles closer. I was riding well but it was raining and getting too overcast near dark. I rounded the curve and there was all of Carrie, a town of ten houses. And sitting in the middle of downtown Carrie was the Trail Boss parked 50 yards past a really small store that was not out of business and was open. If he didn’t tell me it was there, I would have never known. There was no obvious advertising.

He was prepared for the arrival of the bike but not me. He thought we should put it inside on the seat, but it was way too dirty. While I loaded the bike on the back rack, he walked 50 yards to the store in the driving rain. I needed warm clothes and my other rain jacket so I dug for them and then walked to the store.

There was all kind of confusion on what to do for the night. We were about 15 minutes from last night’s hotel down the expressway but he didn’t want to go back in the wrong direction. I knew we’d be in a warm room and shower in less than thirty minutes in that direction. Our maps claimed a B & B in Hindman, but it did not exist according to a state trooper we consulted. We had heard of a college dorm at Pippa Passes 20 miles up the route where cyclists could stay, but the policeman who called his friend the security chief over there said, “not at this time of year.” The man at the Carrie store said there was a motel on Route 80 just five miles away but it was overrun with drug problems and the policeman said, “Don’t go up there or you’ll need me later in the evening.” The 15-minute ride down the expressway back to Hazard began to sound good to Cimarron. So when we got to Hazard there were no rooms available in the whole town! So we camped in the parking lot of the Hazard Motel, and it rained all night with me in the bed and Cimarron upstairs in the bunk of the VW Van. He was so proud that his Van saved us, and so was I.

Dog Gone and a Hill Billy Philosopher

2007-10-22T19:55:00.000-07:00

Riding Stats: Distance 29.5; Average Speed 7.4; 10:10 AM to 5:45 PM; Wheels in motion time: 3:57; top speed 37 mph; goof off time 3:35.

Weather: 53 degrees at the start and overcast. Later reached a high of 66 degrees. Very light rain started intermittently at noon. Steady light rain at 4 PM to the end. This was my first time on this Trans-Am trip that I rode in the rain including all of last year’s mileage. At home I have ridden in rain several times in the past and have walked in the rain hundreds of times, actually never missing a daily walk or run over twenty years for rain alone. I do not, however, go out in lightning. I like rain and when we lived in Seattle for a year I often took my three-year-old granddaughter out for an eight-mile stroller ride around the city in the rain. When asked about the rain by her grandmothers she was taught to say, “What rain?”

Dogs: Today there were NO dog attacks. I saw probably 100 dogs, but only a dozen or so were not chained. Several barked, but none ever left the yard. Later at a store a local said, “The dogs in Perry County are under control.” He was incredulous that they were such a problem over in Estill County.

The Course: I was very disappointed with today’s total mileage. I had hoped for a fifty-mile day with the earlier start. We started off 2 miles out of Booneville having licked the first big hill out of town the evening before by walking the bike a mile or so up 500 or so of elevation gain. It was overcast and a cool 53 degrees so I put on a jacket. When it’s below 60 degrees, it’s downright cold on the bike. I used to feel like a wimp about being cold at 60 degrees until I read a book by David Phinney a professional bike rider and former Olympian who lives in Colorado. He wrote that when the temperature is below 60 he wears long legged tights and long sleeve shirts and a jacket and warm cycling gloves. I felt better to hear that.

The road from Booneville to Buckhorn and then to Chavies was one of unbelievable climbs and switchbacked turns at about a 6% grade. There were no bike lanes and thank goodness little traffic as the road is narrow. The drivers remained cooperative. I walked at least 3 or 4 miles pushing the bike and this cost me, as the walk pace was less than 2 miles per hour. The initial hour I made a nice 12 miles riding and thought I might do 50 miles today; however, the ride quickly turned into a walk.

And then the rain started. They need rain around here, so I was happy to see it, and it was just a steady light drizzle. However, there is a significant danger in down hill riding in the rain. The left brake stops the front wheel and the right stops the rear. When the road surface is wet, there is little friction between wheel and road. The brakes work by pads squeezing against the rims. So it’s possible to squeeze the brakes and stop the wheel (since there is less friction between wheel and wet road) and send the bike into an uncontrollable skid. This is especially dangerous if the front wheel skids. With my excess weight, I generate excess down hill speed. So I was concerned about this all day as the downhills are as severe as the ups. Once I got going faster than I wanted and a sharp switchback was ahead. I thought I might skid out on the turn if I let her run out, or might stop the wheel and skid if I applied too much brake. This was a very unpleasant situation, but I got her under control and survived.

Today’s views included a large cut through a 400-foot mountain where the Middle Fork of the Kentucky River is dammed for the Buckhorn Lake. Later I saw the “Regular Baptist Church” with two entry doors, a hitching post, and adjoining male and female outhouses. I saw shacks with dual satellite dishes. And at the Buckhorn Post Office we saw a disabled elderly man (older than me and Cimarron) drive up in an old Junker maroon colored Jaguar. Near Chavies I saw a huge mountain at least 600 feet high of fresh dirt that was tailings from a strip mine. I never saw anything near this huge in my Pennsylvania coal country.

My ordeal from Booneville to Buckhorn was tough. I walked and pedaled on the worst hills I’ve ever seen. Along the way I saw Cimarron once and advised that I hoped for a cup of coffee at Buckhorn. When I arrived there was an old dilapidated strip center with a Post Office on the right and a store on the left. As I pulled in it started to rain harder and I was cold. I said to Cimarron, “What’s at the store?” And he said, “Nothing, I walked through and they have nothing more than I’ve got here in the van.” And I said, “What about coffee?” He said, I didn’t see any and the guy at the post office says they sometimes put on a pot. I didn’t ask at the store!” I said, “I’ll ask at the store.” And he said, “I’m not going in again!”

So I walked into the store and the clerk was very pleasant. He saw I was a cyclist and pulled out a Trans-Am journal book for my signature and gave me information about a change in the course in Pippa Passes and the name of a place to stay free in Radford, Virginia, some 100 miles up the road. He then said I looked like I could use a cup of coffee and pointed me to the fresh pot near the door. I looked around in there where Cimarron saw nothing. They had an inventory that could rival a Wal-Mart, although they probably couldn’t find some of it. One customer said I could buy a pair of boots twenty years old. Cimarron and I certainly have a different view of these places. He had a pistol hanging beside the cash register in easy view. I said, “Do you ever need to shoot anybody?” And he said, “Oh, it’s just for show; it’s a B-B gun!” Later Cimarron said, “You should never have asked him about that gun. I thought next you were going to ask if he married his cousin!” I might have had I thought of it!

After two more long walks up the hills out of Buckhorn toward Chavies, it rained even harder. Then I had the exciting two-mile downhill on wet pavement into Chavies. At one downhill switchback there was a sign showing a ninety-degree turn with a 15 mph speed limit. That’s a switchback like my Dad used to say, “You can look out the window and see your own ass as you go around!” It was about 4 o’clock and school buses were running. I saw about a dozen. The school buses, unlike the cars, cannot yield the road to my bike. I’m glad I have good mirrors and can see what’s coming. I saw no coal trucks and only a few log trucks. All the drivers were polite and again there were no shouts or horn blowing.

Finally I got to Chavies still thinking I’d do another 15 miles. Again as I entered this town Cimarron was sitting along the road at the first sign of civilization. I could see a gas station down the road. I said, “What do they have at the station?” And he said, “There’s no station here, you told me yesterday when you reviewed the maps.” So I rode the bike on down and went in to a wonderful store where I had a great piece of pizza and a cup of coffee. I met a man named Sam who immediately asked me about my Trans-Am ride. He said, “Did you start in Astoria, Oregon, or Yorktown, Virginia?” He knew the Atlantic and the Pacific terminal towns of the trail! Then he proceeded to congratulate me for my successful trip from Booneville to Chavies saying it was one of the toughest sections of the entire trail. I lamented that I had to walk the three big hills and thought the youngsters all pedaled it; and he said, “I’ve lived here for twenty years and seen them all walk those hills.” He then told us of the trail for the next hundred miles and where to get a room and the price in Hazard, KY, some ten miles down the trail.

I commented that I had not seen many spoils of strip mining and he said, “If you were in an airplane you’d see plenty. We ruined this land, just not near your road.” Then he added, “You know, we don’t often notice the damages we create when we are receiving a pay check!”

Then Sam said, “Gary, you’ve ridden enough for today. It’s getting late; it’s raining; the road to Hazard is easy, but the traffic is heavy now. Load that bike up and get a room.”

So we did.

In Hazard, population 4000, we found an Applebee’s and had a nice dinner. The food was good. The local hospital nurses are on strike and had tents all over the front yard of the hospital. I never saw that in my medical career. The Hazard Herald (Newspaper) has the following headlines on the front page today:
· Shepard not guilty in shooting case
· Murder suspect makes court appearance
· Attempted murder case goes to grand jury

How good is this.

Dog Day

2007-10-21T18:22:00.000-07:00

October 21, 2007: Day 2.

Riding Stats: Distance today 35.5 miles. I do not have the other statistics as the cycling computer went crazy when placed near the battery of the MP-3 Player once saying I was averaging 78 miles an hour, when I wasn’t! I had forgotten the computer runs wireless from the wheel sensor to the computer on the handlebar and I guess the MP-3 player interfered. But why I didn’t have this problem yesterday, I don’t know. But when I moved the MP-3 away, the computer seemed to function normally.

After a great nights sleep in the motel and watching Cimarron’s favorites, the Red Sox, win we slept soundly. When I awakened this morning he was still in bed. He always gets up for the day at 4 or 5 AM. So I went back to sleep only to awaken at 9:15 AM! As my mother used to say, we must have been tired! We ate the “Big Breakfast” at MacDonald’s and then drove back to the route.

Today’s Route: It turns out in our mistake yesterday we missed the Murphy’s Ford cutoff four miles back! I can’t believe about 20% of yesterdays mileage was off route so we did just 22 official miles. So we lost that mileage and started where we should have turned off onto a very poor country lane for about 3 miles. This was a shortcut down a stream valley over Murphy’s Ford (now a small bridge) from one county road to another. There was a paved driveway at a sharp left turn and I learned later that Cimarron was confused here for about 30 minutes. On hiking and biking trails sometimes you just have to decide which “looks” like the right way and take it. Johnny Carson used to say, “When you come to the fork in the road, take it!” And that’s often what we do on these adventures. Of course, after the mistake yesterday, he was sensitive to any mistake so he drove in both directions to look for me. However, he went the wrong way first onto someone’s private property. Because of flat terrain I made 10 miles in the first hour so it took him almost two hours to find me.

The first ten miles were not indicative of the terrain today. At ten miles we came to a significant hill and I had to walk about a mile for the first time. Then two miles later I walked another mile of steepness. Later I walked two half-mile sections. Thank goodness no one builds a home on the steep sections as I could never out walk or out run the dogs pushing uphill! But, when you walk uphill, you know you’ll soon be going down and I had a great two mile 35 mph downhill to follow. Cimarron said he couldn’t hold back the van and wondered how I held back the stallion (our name for the bike). So, we were only able to do 35.5 miles today, with about 3 miles of it pushing the bike up hills.

For an hour or two we anticipated arrival in the town of Vincent In hopes of getting a cup of Cappuccino. The population of Vincent is said to be 144 and there was to be a store there. Cimarron came by and shouted out the window, “I’ll see you at the store and buy you a cup of Cappuccino. It’s only two miles.” I was somewhat rejuvenated and pedaled hard for the store. On arrival he was sitting in the van next to a closed ice cream stand with a sign, “Open 6 AM to 9 PM, Monday to Friday, and sometimes Sunday,” but apparently not this Sunday. I drank a diet cola and ate a pack of crackers and headed out the 6.5 miles for Booneville, KY, population 4000, looking for the Cappuccino.

Dogs: Today was the biggest “dog day” of my life. I was attacked 15 times (actual count) today. I define a dog attack if it meets ALL of the following criteria: the dog is unrestrained, growls and barks and acts aggressive, leaves the property and infringes onto the road surface, and pursues the bike or me closing to within 5 feet. That’s an attack! I will repeat, I was attacked 15 times today and only one was one of those dreaded Australian Dogs. On the first attack as I accelerated to about 15 mph I reached back for my Pepper Spray Water Pistol and it got stuck on a bungee on my rear rack bag. Under stress, I pulled it lose and broke off the storage tank and dumped three ounces of pepper sauce all over me, the bike, and my rack bag! The toothy dog, which was reaching for my right heel from about two feet away, abandoned the attack.

Twice later I had to fire my spray. The first occasion I was passing an idyllic home on a lake when I noted a women sitting in the grass by the shore. Suddenly her mutt charged out of the yard meeting all the criteria of an attack. In her Hillbilly accent she said, “Oh, Fido, come, come.” Well, he didn’t come. He chased me fifty yards down the road as I pedaled as fast as I could all the while nipping at my right heel from as close as six inches. Well, I sprayed bright orange pepper spray all over his face until he looked like Bozo the Clown. And Fido went home! I looked over my shoulder for an hour expecting Hillbilly husband in a pickup truck with a rifle, but he never showed. I even planned my speech. I figured he’d say, “You spray my dog, boy?” And I would say, “I don’t know, sir, did your dog attack me on the public road?”

On the second spraying episode two mutts charged out of the yard and one got within two feet as he sprinted beside me for fifty yards. I shouted, “Go home, mutt.” And with building confidence I swayed the bike over toward him and he swerved off the road. He must have been sprayed before, as he was wary in his attack. But he made the mistake of coming back at me a second time so I sprayed him orange faced and he also went on home losing interest in the attack.

For you mutt lovers, let me emphasize that my spray shoots all of five feet. If I hit a mutt at that distance he was too close.

My good crewman, Cimarron the Trail Boss, stopped at a Family Dollar store and bought me two new squirt guns (for 13 cents each at an end of year sale). Now we are looking for a holster to put on the handlebars. I want to shoot them from a little further distance. Fifteen attacks in one day are way too many. Recall my blog entry of last summer when I met two girls traveling eastbound on the Trans-Am as I was going west. They told me they skipped several hundred miles of Kentucky, as the dogs were far too aggressive. And they rode the whole country from the Pacific to the Atlantic and Kentucky’s dogs were the worst. I believe it.

The people of Kentucky: The folks have been marvelous. They have all been friendly and respectful and helpful. But today I finally met the stereotype in Booneville when I bought my Cappuccino from a female clerk in the gas station. It cost 1.23 and two Reese Cups cost 1.20 for a total of 2.43. I handed her 5.00 and she gave me 2.02 change. I said, “Don’t I get 2.57, and she said, “I don’t know, here’s 55 cents. My register is broke or something.”

Everyone seems to smoke cigarettes. We have seen falling down tobacco barns and very little tobacco growing or hanging to dry. It looks like over all business is not good, but local business seems to be booming. There are discount tobacco stores in every village. All the cars going by have smokers aboard. Customers are even smoking in restaurants and at the gas pumps. As I sat sipping my Cappuccino in front of the gas station in Booneville I saw three drivers throw lighted butts out amongst the pumps.

We asked a nice woman in Booneville (population 4000) about a motel. She said, “there are none in this county but up in Beattyville 15 miles north there is a motel I’d recommend.” She was about the only person who wasn’t smoking and wore a Myrtle Beach T-shirt. And she wore it rather nicely, I must say (Oh, that’s wrong, I shouldn’t have said that!). And then Cimarron, the 85 year old said, “If she didn’t look like that you wouldn’t have asked her.” When we arrived in Beattyville the motel clerk/owner arrived at the smoke filled lobby desk with a long fag hanging from his lips saying, “Need a room boys?” And in unison we said, “Do you have any nonsmoking rooms?” He said (and I swear this is true), “We have one, and no one wanted it, so you are in luck.” I asked if my bike might be safe on the back of the van and he said, “There’s a black dog roving around here and he keeps the place safe.” I said, “Dogs don’t like me, am I safe?” He said, “The son-of-a-bitch won’t bite you, he’ll just scare the hell out of you.” Then he said, “By the way boys, I gave you the old people’s discount.”

We are in for the night to see the Steelers and Red Sox. Maybe we’ll camp sometime in the future, but don’t bet on it!

What a great country

Biking again, and lost in Kentucky on day 1.

2007-10-20T19:26:00.000-07:00

October 20, 2007:Day 1.
Riding Stats: Distance 26.7; Average Speed 12.2; 3:07 PM to 6:30 PM; Wheels in motion time: 2:11; top speed 38 mph; goof off time 1:12
I awakened at 4 Am to help get the missionaries off to Pensacola. There was frost on the dorm roof about an hour after the bus left. Cimarron never got up so I also went back to sleep until 8 AM. We bought him a fleece hat for 50 cents at the Opportunity Shop and fired up the van for the 20-mile ride to I-75. The ride is over Pine Mountain up about 500 feet of elevation gain and over several switchbacks. It was a challenge for Cimarron and the VW Euro Van that he is concerned is not running smoothly. I thought the van did great, although I see why he said the school buses were pushing him on the way into the Settlement on Friday. He drove very slowly and cautiously. I offered to drive, but he said he didn’t want to die that way! I guess this was some subtle opinion on my driving! We made it to I-75 at Williamsburg and had a big ole Huddle House breakfast. We were up to Berea to intersect the Trans-Am bike route in about an hour and then wasted about 2 hours trying to buy Halt, a type of pepper spray for Kentucky dogs. We never did find any so I made my own with Louisiana Pepper Sauce and a squirt gun. But we needed four stores to find the squirt gun. Then we had to filter the hot sauce through a sock so it wouldn’t clog up the squirt gun! One of the clerks said Mace is illegal, but if I went over to the gun shop I could just get a legal 357 magnum and blow the dogs away. I should have just brought my own.
At preciously 3:09 I started pedaling down Route 25 in downtown Berea. However, I was supposed to be on route 21 out of town. Cimarron honked and pointed me off in the right direction toward the city of Big Hill, population ten, five miles east of Berea! After going about 100 yards, I saw a Berea College girl on a bike and flagged her down. She said she often rides to Big Hill and back, but the road is narrow and there are no shoulders or bike lanes. With that encouragement, I was off as Cimarron headed for a Laundromat to do my weeks worth of work laundry.
The road to Big Hill was indeed narrow and hilly, and about 100 cars went by. There was no bike lane and the road newly paved so nice and smooth, but the shoulders had not been filled so if I ran off the pavement I would fall six inches to the grass shoulder and probably hit the guardrail. But none of that happened and the drivers were very polite. No one flashed the bird, swore, or threw anything. There was not even any horn blowing. These folks seemed accustomed to bike riders. I got plenty of quick practice in gear shifting using all 27 gears at least once in the five miles. I was proud to never have to walk the bike, but I did get down to the lowest gear and top speed was 3 miles per hour on a couple of the climbs. But none were greater than half a mile and all were quickly followed by half mile down hills where I got up to about 27 MPH several times and 30 once.
The dogs, as advertised, were plentiful. I was bluff charged at least ten times by many breeds and twice more for real by those little Australian Sheep Dogs. I hate those little bastards. Each time they charged out from behind shelter of lawn shrubs and attacked suddenly. I had no time to grab my new Louisiana Pepper Sauce squirt gun, or either of my two “Pepper Sprays on a key chain.” Each time I pedaled hard, shouted loudly, and outran the little sons-of-bitches (I guess they were!) by the skin of my teeth (or, in this case, heels). This was my all-time highest number of dog attacks in one day of cycling, but only the Australians were serious. Tomorrow I’ll be more prepared to give them a good spraying of Pepper Sauce.
There was only one time I could have been killed today. I watched my rear view mirror carefully and noticed a large coal truck slowly following me. I wandered why he didn't go past. But he patiently followed for at least half a mile until I pulled off into a Baptist Church drive. He went by and had a flatbed trailer behind with two wide rolled hay bails that stuck out at least three feet on each side. Those bails would have hit me and surely knocked me off the bike (in the least)! I need to be observant of vehicles and their trailers, although that is not easy in a small rear view mirror!
At Big Hill there was a nice gas station with Cappuccino so I of course stopped for a cup. Five miles, and I stopped for refreshments. It was then that I heard Kentucky was playing Florida in college football in half an hour so I tried to tune in my new MP-3 player/FM Radio to the stations recommended. I couldn’t get it off of playing music and couldn’t get it off of “Radio-Mute” so a hillbilly girl (about 45 years old) came over and said, “Let me fix it for you boy.” She punched a few buttons and the screen lit up and the channel came in. She said in thick Kentucky accent, “I’d betta progrum a few more ‘pre-sets’ because you’re sure to lose contact with them stations about every five miles.” Then she said, “who you rooting for anyway?” And I lied, “Kentucky, miss.” Later Cimarron said, “Who’s the dumb one here?”
The day was perfect with no wind, 70-80 degrees, low humidity, and nicely placed gentle hills. I’m sure I climbed several thousand feet, but never more than two hundred at a time. Along the 10-mile country road I saw 5 churches (all Baptist) and three tobacco farms. Three of the churches had a similar hand drawn sign posted near the road announcing, “Baby Shower at 6 PM.” Were there three babies expected, or were the churches having a combined shower? One farm had tobacco hanging in an actual tobacco barn (lots of ventilation and hanging tobacco visible through all the openings.) Two of the farms had the tobacco hanging off some sort of trellis in the field and partially covered with black plastic with about half of the tobacco hanging below the plastic, I guess for air exposure. At the 22-mile mark we missed a turn onto Murphy’s Ford. We thought it was a town, but it was a road. We did stop there at the intersection, but three dogs came running out and I shot off down a big hill (on the wrong road it turns out) and got up to 38 mph and knocked off three good miles when I came to 6:30 PM our quitting time. I felt real good that we did 26.7 miles on day one in about 3 hours with a long break messing with the radio. Then Cimarron arrives looking all short of breath what with pushing on the van brakes down the big hill. He shouted out, “That was your best 3 miles all day. You are making great progress. But you're on the wrong road!” If he weren’t 85 years old, I’d say he’s a smart ass.
As we loaded the bike on the back of the van, a nice lady came up the road pushing a baby in a carriage. “You riding the Trans-Am Trail,” she asked? Proudly while puffing out my chest I answered, “Yes I am.” “You’re mighty old, fat, slow, and on the wrong road,” she said. Then she smiled and said, “Just kidding! There’s a Wendy’s and a cheap motel just four miles down the road.” So we went for both places and now are watching Cimarron’s Red Sox blow away the Indians!
This has been a glorious day.

Finishing a Week of Missionary Work

2007-10-19T19:25:00.001-07:00

October 19, 2007

Today Millie and I finished a week of Missionary Work at the Henderson Settlement in Frakes, Ky. This camp is owned by the Methodist Church and has been serving the Appalachian community since 1925. Parson Frakes came to the hills to serve and preach and eventually set up this camp for year round missionary work through volunteer work projects. The camp houses volunteers in a beautiful modern dormitory building with a large dorm of 80 beds for men and 80 more for women. The fulltime staff organizes work projects that are paid for and accomplished by the volunteer groups. We attended with combined groups from the Cokesbury Methodist Church and the St. Luke Methodist Church both of Pensacola, Florida. The Cokesbury group has been making a yearly trip for eight years each lead by Owen and Janet Sharp. Our group finished the drywall and flooring project on a mountain family home, changed out the “fall surface” in the toddlers playground at the Frakes Day Care Center by removing 5 yards of mulch (recently found to be a risk of spontaneous combustion!) and replacing with 10 tons (yes, 20,000 pounds) of pea size gravel. It’s surprise to me that pea gravel is an approved fall surface in Kentucky. We also applied vinyl siding to the Buffalo Church some 15 miles from Frakes and across the border into Tennessee meeting five church members from the Parton family who allowed us to ring the bell on the 75 year old 25 member church. We also met several Hatfields. Millie led a group who wall papered several rooms in one of the private dormitories with some preparing and folding clothes in the Opportunity (Thrift) Store. Others made doilies and dolls for the log cabin craft shop. Our group ranged in age from 23 to 92, and all did productive work for the Henderson Settlement. It was a great week for Millie and me and we were happy to meet 29 wonderful Methodists. Check out the work of the settlement and send them some money if you can, or better yet, join a work group even if you are not a Methodist. It’s a wonderful place doing marvelous work and making a lot of Appalachian folks happy. www.hendersonsettlement.com/
Millie and the other missionaries left at 5 Am on the Cokesbury bus driven by associate pastor Stewart. Cimarron arrived as scheduled at 4 PM and he and I will head out for the bike ride.

Mapping the Trans-America Bike Route

2007-10-12T18:38:00.000-07:00

Many have asked how we follow our route. We follow 150 bicycle maps published by Adventure Cycling. The original Trans-Am bike route was set up for a large ride of thousands of riders going cross-country in 1976 to celebrate the bicentennial. The route became known as the “Trans-Am Route.” A bike touring association grew out of that ride called Adventure Cycling headquartered in Missoula, MT. If you want to purchase the maps, you join the association. Check them out at the following URL: http://www.adventurecycling.org/

The maps are sold in sets for each of dozens of routes set up throughout the world. Each map covers about 30 miles of the 4200 mile Trans-Am route so we have 150 maps each measuring 4” x 7” in size that fit nicely in a waterproof holder on the handlebars. The maps each show the route like a typical map (although north is not up) and each have two written descriptions of the route, one from East to West and one from West to East. (Why is north not up in these maps? Because the route although generally east and west often goes north and south, but they want to get thirty miles on each map. So the orientation of the particular 30 miles is left to right, not north to south. The map then fits into the map holder attached to the handlebars. Got that?) I have taken the descriptive data from the maps and written it out in spreadsheet format for Cimarron the Trail Boss to follow as I carry the actual map on the bike. We learned last year that the Trail Boss needs notes as he follows a highway map. The bike map is not good for car travel as it highlights the route boldly making backcountry roads look like major highways and making following the map difficult especially for car travel.

A New Beginning for 2007

2007-10-11T13:22:00.000-07:00

Well, fall has arrived and Cimarron the Trail Boss and I have been walking 4 or 5 miles per day at 6 AM. For the past six months our friend Art Harrison has joined us. Art is a Farrier having lost his machinist job when the Westinghouse Nuclear Power generator parts production plant closed a dozen years ago here in Pensacola. Art is an old running buddy and once did my Punxsutawney, PA, Groundhog Fall 50 Run. That was a race Millie and I directed that was in the top ten in numbers of runners for a 50-mile trail runs in the United States. Millie and I were race directors and put on the race for ten years. I completed the 50 miles all ten years. The year Art ran (it was his only 50 mile run) he went out too fast and I caught him sitting in a chair at the 47-mile mark looking exhausted. I took on fluids and food and encouraged him to come with me for the final three miles. Another friend, Joe Gramigna, was several more miles behind. I’ll never forget the sitting Art saying, “No thanks, I’m waiting on my friend Joe!” And so some hour and a half after my finish, Art and Joe came in to complete the course.

Another time Art and I were in Triathlon training and I was out running at midnight doing a 20 miler at our university. I was chugging up a hill with my head down and in my usual overweight condition plowing along facing traffic, as runners should do. Suddenly a bike flies by brushing my shoulder going at least 35 mph down the hill with the traffic as any good biker should do. It was Art and he shouted out, “Gary, is that you?” We could have been killed out training at midnight. He came back and we sat on the curb and relived the harrowing experience. That was in our youth when we were about 35 years old. Now at age 62 we’re still trying to reset the clock of old age.

These morning walks create a lot of BS and dreaming until Cimarron, the 85 year old hiker, finally said, "Hey, it's time to get back out on the roads on the bike. I’ve got the VW van in shape and I need to leave home for a little adventure!" He is still dreaming of completing the Appalachian Trail (all 2170 some miles of it) in one year and thereby becoming the oldest to have done that. He did hike the entire Appalachian Trail over two years when he was 82 and 83 years old. But that isn't good enough for him; he wants the old age record. Currently Earl Shaffer, at age 80 is the oldest one-year hiker. Cimarron wants that record so bad that he had back surgery for a pinched nerve this summer so he could quit having leg pain. The doctor told him he could walk a mile in a week if he was up to it. He said, "I already walk 5 miles per day. So the non-walking doctor said, "Do whatever you think is okay." So on postoperative day 4 he did a mile to church and on day 5 resumed his 5 miles per day. He has recovered, but still has some of the pain in the leg, mainly because the real problem is in his hip, not his back. Oh, well, I’m only a retired doctor and haven’t even stayed in a Holiday Inn in a long time.

Millie and I have volunteered to go on a church mission with the St. Luke United Methodist Church for the week of October 13-20. The mission is to Henderson Settlement (www.hendersonsettlement.com/) in Frakes, KY, in the extreme south east of Kentucky north of Knoxville, TN. On the 20th the Trail Boss will meet me there and Millie will come home with the church group. The TB and I will drive 70 miles north and begin on the Trans-Am Bike trail eastbound at Berea, KY. We will need to do 527 miles to join up where we left off last fall at the Blue Ridge Parkway in Virginia near I-64.

Cimarron the Trail Boss left Pensacola with the trusty VW EuroVan a week ago and drove to Providence, RI, where he attended his high school class reunion and a reunion of the University of Rhode Island Cross Country Team of 1948. Cimarron was a star on that team, as the second seeded runner behind Bob Black who the TB said could never be beaten. Having already served in WW II, Cimarron was the oldest member of the team as he returned to college from military duty where he was an aviator. Of interest is that on Pearl Harbor day Cimarron was enrolled in college and when the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor, all 28 members of his fraternity went to the draft board and enlisted immediately. Would kids do that today?

Cimarron and Art are concerned that I should actually ride the bike a little before I go on the 527-mile ride so now Art has a trail name—The Trainer. While Cimarron went off north to his reunions he assigned The Trainer to ride bikes with me each day. So we went out on our 5-mile woods trail called Billy Goat Hill on mountain bikes. It took us the same time on the bike as it takes us to walk it! We’ve done that three times, learning to put the seat lower for better balance. Once the bottom bracket (holds the pedals) caught on a root and the bike stopped suddenly and I went over the handlebars. This was on trail cut through forest. I landed in a nice soft roll on leaves and missed all the trees. The Trainer said it was a beautiful fall especially for a 62 year old.

Then last Friday we went over to Milton, Florida, to the Blackwater Heritage Trail. This is a rails to trails conversion in which the state of Florida spent about $5 Million paving the old railroad right of way. We did 16 miles on the trail and then 9 miles of roads to Bagdad, Florida, a small town in the Florida panhandle. (Bagdad is the hometown of Bubba Watson the longest hitter on the PGA golf tour and a real “good ole’ boy.”) In Bagdad there is a small factory that makes frozen dumplings’ and frozen biscuits. We looked in the window and the manager came out and explained all the procedures to us as I asked every question in the book. Finally The Trainer said, “We’ll never get home until dark if you don’t stop with the questions.”

Now for the last several days we have done a 3.375-mile loop around our neighborhood. On day one we did 3 loops, day two 4 loops and today 4 loops. Tomorrow we will do 4 loops again and then I will play golf. It sounds like enough training to me! While we have been at this extra bike training I have shot 78 and 80 on the golf course so I think the training is helping.

Definitely Finished for 2006 at the Blue Ridge Parkway

2006-11-02T12:18:00.000-08:00

Miles Today 2.5; This Section 224.5 (9 days); Trans-Am Miles 1066.6 (32 days)

We returned to the starting point by 8:30 AM. It had rained all night but was now stopped. The wind was out of the West at 15 but I was to start on the Leeward side of the Blue Ridge and climb to the top about 1000 feet of elevation gain. The TB was fearful of driving the truck up the steepness and I wasn’t too confident myself. We got unloaded and I pedaled about 50 yards and then got off to push, as it was too steep. I pushed about a mile and then was able to pedal a quarter mile. The switchbacks were so sharp as my Dad used to say, “you could look out the window and kiss your own ass as you went around!”

We passed through the city of Afton, VA, population about 10, and soon out onto Highway 50 the old road over the mountain before I-64. Route 10 is a four lane and more gently switched. I pushed about a half mile and pedaled a half-mile to the Rock Fish Gap, elevation 1850’ sign. The wind was howling at the gap and I was glad to get into the visitor center and have a cup of Coffee. The attendants were very informative and showed me a stature of Robert E. Lee. We discussed the Appalachian Trail that comes through the gap and that Millie and I walked in 2000. The Afton Hotel on top of the mountain is still a dump they say. It was a dump in 2000 also when we stayed there, but a pleasant stop on a rainy trail day. Apparently one man owns everything on the top of the mountain and would rather see it deteriorate than sell it.

It was so cold and windy that I had no interest in riding any down the Blue Ridge Parkway. Rock Fish Gap was my destination on this section and I wanted time to go to Monticello and the Lake Ann Nuclear Power site on the way to my daughter’s in Fredericksburg, VA. Cimarron had already called his wife and promised he’d be 1000 miles home faster than physically possible so now we had time constraints.

We drove the truck some 12 miles down the parkway and picked up a hiker who had been injured and was walking the road out to the Gap. We had no room in the front so the TB gave him a blanket and he road in the bed of the pickup almost freezing but glad to save 10 miles of walking that day. He knew a lot of our hiker friends and so we had much pleasant conversation at the visitor center.

So, the Trans-Am riding for 2006 is finished. My good buddy Cimarron the Trail Boss did a fabulous job in taking care of me for 1066.5 miles across America. We have covered Oregon, Washington, Idaho, and half of Montana and Virginia. It’s been much fun and adventure and will be continued next spring, summer, and fall. We’ve completed 28% of the Trans-Am ride.

Learning to Shift on the way to the Blue Ridge Parkway

2006-11-01T20:04:00.000-08:00

Miles Today 32; This Section 222 (8 days); Trans-Am Miles 1064.1 (31 days)

We had a very relaxing night at the motel last night. On the way back from the Halloween celebration we stopped for dinner at the all you can eat buffet. We both over ate and it was good. There were a lot of fat people in there who consumed even more than us. In the room I worked on the Blog for three hours and the TB slept after he picked up the laundry. He had to come back for the laundry ticket, saying as he laughed loudly “no tickee no laundry.” However, I was so relaxed into the Blog writing that I stayed up until half an hour past midnight. So getting up this morning was not easy and the TB had already been down to complain about the breakfast, bought a USA Today, got me a French Vanilla Cappuccino, and was sitting in the bathroom reading about his stocks so the light wouldn’t bother me! What a Trail Boss I have. So I got up and read the paper for an hour. He decided it was time for a nap and said, “I’ll get up when I see some action towards the door.” It reminds me of the times when I was in marathon training and would get “stale.” I’d get dressed to run and wander around the house for an hour and finally Millie would say, “Look, you’re not going, so put your clothes on!” And she was usually right, and this was one of those days. But finally I got going and we drove over to the starting point on the eastern side of Charlottesville.

Immediately the route goes into town up a very steep hill, and I had to push the Stallion on up. About half way up a crew was putting a new copper roof and gutters on a home. I have read recently about the great increase in copper prices even to the point where thieves are risking electrocution to steal copper wire. So I asked the contractor, who turned out to also be the homeowner, about the expense of the roof. It was a 2000 square foot roof and was going to cost $15,000 to replace with the “Philadelphia Gutters.” We went into great detail that the roof would last 80 years and in the long run (when we are all dead) will cost less than a shingle roof. It was the most beautiful roof I ever saw.

Charlottesville is a beautiful city and quite hilly I found out presently! The University of Virginia Grounds are intertwined with the city on the western side of town. As one leaves the city streets to the grounds streets the only indication is a large “V” painted on the street. I soon passed the old medical school complex, which is now a pediatric clinic and found a coffee shop across the street in the middle of the campus. As I sat and had a decaf coffee and a nice muffin I spoke with the clerk Harper Helen. Harper says he has a great job meeting interesting people and serving coffee to cute college girls all day. As he says, “someone has to do it.” As I talked with Harper there were several living proofs come in and order a $5 Espresso. My decaf was $1.25. Harper has a master’s degree in Russian Studies and says he wished these college kids knew about the Russian and German failures of social governments and says he’s sick of hearing them complain about Wal-Mart! His wife is a pediatrician and works across the street so she takes breaks and eats lunch at the coffee shop. He pointed out that when I had an Internship interview at the University of Virginia I probably was at the old medical school building, but I don’t remember.

As I pedaled on through “The Grounds” it was a busy place. There were thousands of kids all hustling back and forth carrying books, riding bikes, and all talking on cell phones. To whom are they speaking? And what do they need to be talking about? And is there value in the cost of the phone service? Also, all the students cross streets just like the citizens of Seattle. It’s their right to cross at a “walk signal” and they don’t even look for the traffic, which they “know” will stop if the sign says so. Oh, what faith they have. And how slowly the traffic moves all jammed up waiting for the strolling pedestrians. I wanted to run down a few of them just for sport!

In another block I went by the Rotunda. I asked three people what was in the Rotunda. They all said, “It’s the round building.” Not one knew what it houses today, but all responded that Thomas Jefferson designed it. They know their history, but not their present!

As I left the campus I saw “The Charlottesville Business Machine Company” advertising Typewriters in the window. Some of these college kids don’t even know what a typewriter is. And if you had one, what would you do with it. I’m 61 years old and can hardly remember the function of a typewriter! The kids do not take typing any longer—they take keyboarding!

Within a mile we exited State Route 250 onto County Road 677 and were immediately out in the boondocks again. The road was a narrow country lane about 1.5 lanes wide with no markers, little traffic, rolling hills, frequent new half million dollar homes and beautiful fall foliage. This was a great opportunity to learn gear shifting on the bike. I would go down a quarter mile hill in 18^th gear (of 27) and up the next quarter mile in 1^st gear (of 27) perhaps 20 times a mile. As I got further from Charlottesville the hills got longer and I did some significant huffing and puffing to keep the Stallion going. In 1^st gear I pedal at 75 rotations per minute and the bike goes 4 mph. At 3 mph the bike falls over as in the old Laugh-In comedy routine. It’s a lot of fun!

Just a mile short of White Hall (population 15) I met Liz and Heidi “The Bikergrrls” as they call themselves as they pedal across country eastward. They are 22 and 24 years old. They started in Portland, Oregon, in July and are now 205 miles from the finish in Yorktown, VA. They have a Blog at www.bikergrrls.blogspot.com (yes, it’s grrls). Both are recent college graduates. Heidi has a boyfriend jealous at home waiting for her and Liz is looking for a boyfriend and hasn’t found him on the bike ride! Liz said she saw some potential in pictures along the way but the guys were all too far ahead to catch! Heidi comes from a cycling family and her parents own a bike shop in Kansas. They sure carried a lot of stuff with 4 panniers and a giant (3 foot diameter) bag on top of the back fender. The only thing I can imagine in that bag would be a 3 or 4-inch foam pad rolled up! The girls have broken one spoke and only had about 5 flats. They have had no other major bike mechanical problems. There most exciting night was one they spent sleeping in a bathroom in the Teton’s, but they saw no bear. They took my picture as the last Trans-Am biker they are likely to see and said it will be on the Blog; however, they point out they haven’t updated their blog since Berea, Kentucky some 500 miles back!

At White Hall is the Wyant Country Store with owner Larry Wyant behind the counter. Larry’s family has had the store for over 100 years and the present building was built in 1919 after a fire destroyed the place. The big sellers are cigarettes, coffee, beer, and delicious soup. I had Creamy Cheese Potato Soup and it was great served with a huge pack of saltine crackers and washed down with a $1.69 bottle of grapefruit juice. Larry had groceries and other sundries and some antique goods for sale. I saw a Parkleigh sled hanging from a nail for sale for $29.99. That’s like an American Flyer with metal runners and wooden platform and stearable from the front runners. I bought it for $25. Larry laughed heartily as it was 72 degrees outside and I bought a sled in White Hall, VA, population 25. The TB (driving the pickup truck) wandered how we’d transport it! And Larry said we could drag it behind the bike. Then a woman customer came in and wandered if I was “transitioning from bike to sled.” I thought she was Larry’s wife, but they had never met. All got a real charge out of the sled purchase.

Now that I had ‘wasted” all this time, it was almost certain I would not make it up the big climb to the Blue Ridge Parkway today. I had gone 19 miles in over four hours, and had the toughest 15 miles of my biking career to go with the last three miles a probable walk to Rock Fish Gap.

I pedaled my best, but the hills were more steep and longer and the going was slow. Finally after passing multiple peach orchards and two vineyards and winery’s I couldn’t pedal any longer and was reduced to a walk just before dusk. On the peak about 1000 feet up I could see the Afton Inn, a dumpy motel Millie and stayed in on our Appalachian Trail thru-hike 6 years ago. The TB came by and I sent him ahead to check out the steepness, but when I walked around the next switchback the road ahead was steeper and I retired for the day. When the TB came back down he looked like he had seen a ghost saying the road was so steep he thought he would never get to turn around and come back. We’ll do it tomorrow and I doubt I’ll pedal much.

I figured we’d quit tomorrow and head for home after we reach the Blue Ridge Parkway, but Cimarron the Trail Boss wants to go down the BRP for a ways, so that’s the plan. It’s only about 2.5 more miles up to the BRP and then we will have done 224 miles on this trip across Virginia. I’m a much better cyclist than I was out west, and the bike is functioning perfectly. I read about a bike being comfortable, and thought it impossible. But I must say that I am comfortable riding this bike. My neck does not hurt, my butt feels fine, my arms are relaxed, and my legs are strong. I like this bike touring!

Halloween in Charlottesville, VA

2006-10-31T20:31:00.000-08:00

Miles Today 40; This Section 190 (7 days); Trans-Am Miles 1032.1 (30 days)

We passed the thousand-mile mark today. We have now pedaled a little less than 1/3 of the way across the nation. I’m very pleased.

We drove back to the I-64 crossing and started pedaling at 8:05 AM. The temperature was 45 degrees and the sky blue. I wore the long johns, the long john top, the windbreaker, and the winter cycling gloves. Alton had warned that there were hills now all the way to the Blue Ridge. For the first 5 miles or so it was relatively flat with a little rolling of 50-foot hills. I like that. Soon, however, the hills got a little steeper and I needed my lowest 3 gears (of 27) and some serious hard pedaling. But I liked that too, as it was nice to pedal some hills and have functioning gears. I worked up quite a sweat and changed from the winter gloves to the summer and from the windbreaker to the nylon vest. We got to Kent’s Store the post office for the Martin’s some 5 miles from their home. There was a post office and three houses, and no store at all! I expected more.

It was all beautiful backcountry roads and little traffic and fun riding. At 30 miles or so I came to an historic marker indicating Ash Lawn the plantation of President Monroe just 3 miles or so outside of Charlottesville. His next-door neighbor was Thomas Jefferson at Monticello some 1 mile further along the trail. We’re going to visit these places on the way home next week also. It’s of interest that Monroe first owned the property of the University of Virginia and he and Jefferson were founding fathers of the university.

Soon after passing Ash Lawn and before Monticello I turned onto State Route 53 from County Route 795. Suddenly we had traffic. SR 53 switchbacks up over the mountain to the Monticello entry road. At places the road is just two lanes wide with no berm, no shoulder, and a tight guardrail. That is, there is no room for a biker, a bike, or a person; and the cars are zooming along. The grade was so steep I couldn’t pedal, and the lower my gears the less straight line the steering. So I walked facing the traffic. As they came around the turns I’d look directly into the center of the grill! I got to the top safely and was standing by the side road to Monticello when a young woman in a sport car and wearing a witch’s black cone hat shouted out the window, “This road is not safe for bikes. Go up on the parkway.” She was certainly right as to the safety issue, but I didn’t know of any parkway around here. So when the traffic seemed to slack, I started down the other side of the mountain away from Monticello toward Charlottesville. I got up to 32 MPH on the winding road and one car came up behind me after about half a mile and I “took the lane” as my expert Dr. Dick Weaver taught me so he could not pass. These Virginia drivers are the most patient I have seen so far and he (she) staid back as we cruised down at 30 mph another half mile to some famous tavern formerly frequented by Jefferson and Monroe and I pulled off to allow my benefactor to pass. It was then just another half mile of safe road to the I-64 crossing and my awaiting TB. We loaded up and proceeded to the “coupon motel” he had found.

At the motel we found a real Oriental Laundry (was it Chinese?) next door and for $9.50 they washed and folded our laundry while we showered and got off to the U of VA kids Halloween at the commons ground. Like all major Universities the traffic near the Rotunda was significant (the TB said horrible!); but, like always, I found a parking space only a block away. It bothered the TB since the sign said, “permit only parking 7-5” and it was 4 o’clock. So we parked.

We entered the commons grounds (they don’t say campus here, it’s grounds) and there were hundreds of kids walking along the sidewalk as the students handed out candy from the doors of their rooms. It was a wonderful sight. If these kids aren’t all liberal, our country is in good hands.

The buildings around the commons grounds are dorm rooms. I would say the grounds are 100 feet wide and 300 feet long with rectangular buildings all around. The buildings are only about 20 feet deep and the length of the field along the sides. There’s a room every twenty feet. We peeked in the front door and could see the back door opposite just 15-20 feet away. Some of the rooms were 3 beds, a desk, a laptop computer, a TV, and nothing else we could see. The TB said if they open both doors at once everything blows out. The Martin’s said these kids are all seniors of distinction who earned these choice and prestigious rooms. The TB said when he went to college in 1941 if they offered him such a room he would have turned it down! There was also a juggler, better than me. It looks like a wonderful tradition.

Staying With Friends at Kent’s Store, VA

2006-10-30T20:33:00.000-08:00

Miles Today 42.5; This Section 150 (6 days); Trans-Am Miles 992.1 (29 days)

We awoke at 6 AM with frost on the truck and the bike thermometer reading 34 degrees. The TB had been awake and needed in the Truck so I pushed the unlock button and handed him the keys. He went over and only the driver’s door was unlocked so he put the keys in the ignition and flipped the lock button and closed the doors. However, he had locked the doors not unlocked and we were now locked out of the truck with the keys in the ignition.

We looked over the situation and found that there was no way of getting in. The doors and trim bend in such a way that a coat hanger was not even going to work although we did waken a neighbor and bum a phone book (to call a locksmith) and a coat hanger. I quickly saw that the coat hanger was going to fail me, even though I have experience of opening at least a half dozen car doors by that method. There was no cell reception. So I flagged down a car on the road and the driver’s son was a locksmith; can you believe that? Our phones wouldn’t work, but the dad contacted the son and within the hour the Eastern Locksmith was here and the door open and we $89 poorer. It was great service.

By now the TB needed breakfast so we had cereal with powdered milk (he hates powdered milk). I heated some water so he had warm powdered milk and said it was better than cold. Finally at 11 AM I started pedaling with the goal of 40 some miles to the I-64 crossing near the home of Alton and Jamie Martin. Alton is a noted local marathon and ultramarathon runner and has been buying my sports drink Conquest for many years. Alton had heard about our bike trek and had invited us for the night.

Nancy Vaughn and Anne Reed docents from Scotchtown soon showed up for work and we learned some of the history of the area and Patrick Henry from these wonderfully dedicated women. Patrick Henry’s father was a graduate of Edinborough University and schooled young Patrick. The plantation is called Scotchtown because the original owner had planned to bring in Scottish workers and establish a Scottish community. However, this plan never materialized and the Henry family later purchased the property. About a dozen years ago a private corporation dedicated to preserving historical property took over the management of Scotchtown.

On the way today we passed the Verbeeck Country Store. This store is mentioned on the back of our Adventure Cycling Maps as a good stop in the country and a place that allows camping outback. We had planned to be here for the night; however, the Adventure Cycling Map printed the wrong phone number to the store and when there was no answer we feared it was not open. What a mistake that was. The proprietors John and Susan Verbeeck are originally from Long Island. She was an interior decorator and he a FedEx driver on Long Island. They have seven natural born children. Susan birthed them all and looks about 24 years old herself. John looks about 35. We only met the baby with her but the oldest is 16. Susan is full of enthusiasm and in particular is very excited about all the cyclists she meets. She showed us pictures of herself on a bike in Iran at age 13. She pulled out a logbook she maintains for us cyclists to sign. But most importantly she is overwhelmingly excited about receiving postcards from the cyclists, and essentially begged us to send her a postcard! We had a quart of chocolate milk and a delicious turkey sub sandwich. This was one time I was not the one to continue all the talking; Susan took care of that until John said, “Susan, you’ve got to let them go.” They were both delightful and we hope they can make a go of this business.

About 6 or 8 miles down the road we came to Lake Anna. This lake was built to cool the Lake Anna Nuclear Power Plant. There are signs for a side road to the Nuclear Power Learning Center and plant that features a movie and exhibits explaining nuclear power. The TB was nowhere to be found at that time so I couldn’t go off route. We will see the nuclear energy exhibit when we drive back to Fredericksburg next week.

Ten miles later I arrived at I-64 just at dark. The TB passed me once and tried to get me to end for the day as it was approaching dusk. However, it was light enough for me to do the final 3 miles to I-64 our day’s destination. He was waiting at a pull off and we loaded up and arrived at the Martin home at 5:40 with them expected home at 6 PM.

At exactly 6 PM Jamie Martin pulled in from her round trip commute 70 miles to Richmond where she is a hospital law attorney (one of the really good guys). Five minutes behind Alton Martin pulled in from his 80-mile commute from Charlottesville where he is lawyer for the University of Virginia. Alton had 3-year-old Thaddeus and 6-month-old Eleanor in the back seat. The children attend nursery school in Charlottesville and commute with Alton each day.

Alton and Jamie are both athletes and they order my sports drink Conquest frequently. Alton ran the Marine Corps Marathon 2 days ago with a very respectable time—better than my personal best after 39 marathons!

They have a beautiful house half way between their jobs with her commuting east and him to the west for a total of 170 miles per day! Then as Alton helped with the children more in one night than I did in a lifetime, Jamie made a magnificent meal of salad, sweet potato-peanut butter soup, a chicken dish, and multiple vegetables. They told us we would stay in the basement! It was another home on a lower level!

Thaddeus was very proud to tell us about his scarecrow on the porch and his lobster hat costume he would be wearing for Halloween. Alton explained that the University of Virginia has a commons area of grounds surrounded by historical one story housing where students must earn occupancy. Each year the students host the children of the area with candy and the Martin’s would be there. We knew we’d never see them in the crowd, but I decided then we were going to see this spectacle and to make a memorable Halloween for the TB and me. We just had the little problem of a 40-mile bike ride over increasingly mountainous terrain to get there.

Encircling Richmond and Sleeping With Patrick Henry

2006-10-29T20:36:00.000-08:00

Miles Today 38.5; This Section 107.5 (5 days); Trans-Am Miles 949.6 (28 days)

We drove back to Grapevine Road, our quitting spot in the rain 2 days ago. We got going about 11 AM. It was a beautiful day. Three days ago on Route 5 we were south and east of Richmond, two days ago we were east of Richmond going due north, and now we are curving west on the north side of Richmond. We’ve done a better job of encircling Richmond than Stonewall Jackson did in the civil war! We are now going past the Richmond Battlefields and more of the Seven Days War that included Malvern Hill near the Willis Methodist Church. I read on one historic marker that General Hill said years after the war, “We thought it proper in those days to directly attack artillery positions and earthen entrenchments filled with troops. We were lavish with spilling of blood.”

We entered Ashland, VA, and rode up Central Avenue along 2 miles of railroad track that runs right through town. The stores are open for a mile on both sides of the tracks, and 50 trains per day come through. That’s about 2 trains per hour; however, we were lucky to see three trains during our 20 minutes ride through town. As I sat at the red light (the only one in town) a young mother named Kathryn (same name and spelling as my mother) carried her two-year-old son over to see my bicycle. They had driven 30 miles up from Richmond to the “Train Town” for Nathaniel to see the trains on Sunday afternoon. Apparently many little boys come to Ashland to see trains; I was pretty excited myself. But the TB said, “How the Hell can they stand all those trains!”

We left town and had about a half dozen quick turns onto county roads with 4-inch number signs and some with no numbers, just names. Our maps show numbers not names. For some reason the TB lingered behind, and I knew we were in trouble. I exited into the country and the road got down to about 10 feet wide and winding up and down into stream bottoms. There was a car rally going on and every 10 minutes a BMW Mini Cooper would come by with a man driving and a girl in the passenger seat with all types of electronic equipment and a clipboard. The road was very curvy and the cell phone wouldn’t work. After about 10 miles I knew that one of us was lost. I had some areas with a cell signal and called but got no answer. I could only hope he’d move to an area with a signal. Once the phone rang and I make a quick stop and answer only to hear the incessant “Can you hear me, can you hear me?” Finally I came to an area with a decent signal so I sat still and soon he called. Somehow he got back on route about 8 miles ahead at Scotchtown, the plantation of Patrick Henry, the first Governor of Virginia. Scotchtown is now an historical park and has a docent on duty everyday. The TB got permission of us to camp on the grounds so he stayed put and I pedaled on over.

About 4 miles from Scotchtown at an intersection in the boondocks, I heard a loud speaker ahead. I could see down the road ahead (not my route) a sign that said “Ashland Berry Farm.” I could see folks with pumpkins so I thought maybe they’d sell food. I pedaled on over and came to a large pumpkin festival at the Berry Farm. Folks were buying pumpkins, and flowers and taking hayrides. I parked the bike near the entrance and asked the ticket lady to watch the bike and “break anybody’s arm who touched it.” She said she would, and I had no doubts. I went in and bought a great hotdog ($2), a 16 oz. Spiced cider ($1), and 3 homemade cake donuts ($1). They said they’d be open later for a “spook night” so I decided to bring the TB back for dinner and rode on to Patrick Henry’s Place. As I rode I passed a house were the historic sign said General Jackson and his staff stopped in for water and when the woman of the house found out who she served she saved the water pitcher forever unused again.

I got to Scotchtown and met up with the TB just half an hour before sunset. We hurriedly set up our two tents and headed back by truck for his dinner at the Berry Farm. When we arrived at the Ashland Berry Farm it was dark and the place looked closed. I saw the lady bike guard. She said, “You came back.” When I suggested my partner was hungry she opened the food booth and he got a hotdog and spiced cider for free. There were about 50 workers milling about and we soon learned that “spook night” was a VERY big deal around here. One of the male workers was telling the others about his time in the penitentiary. One of the female workers walked off to the side and holding one nostril blew an ounce of snot into the bushes. Our benefactor said at least a thousand people would be here soon and pay $30 a head for the 3 “scares” awaiting them. There were two barns set up as haunted houses and then there was a hay ride half a mile to a trail in the woods where 28 different scare scenes were set up with monsters of every type, hangings, chain saw massacres, and run away vehicles headed at the hay riders!

When the TB had finished his hotdog we got up to leave and couldn’t get off the property. It was worse than Disney World with the parking lot full of at least 500 cars, several buses, and more than a thousand people in line. There were 5 police cars on duty and the traffic director said people came from Charlottesville (60 miles), Norfolk 90 miles, Richmond, and even Washington, DC (100 miles). This was going to be a $50,000 night at the old pumpkin patch. Unbelievable, and this went on for every weekend for a month before Halloween and for the 4 days in a row preceding Halloween.

Rainey Day in Fredericksburg, VA,

2006-10-28T20:38:00.000-07:00

Miles Today 0.0; This Section 69.0 (4 days); Trans-Am Miles 911.1 (27 days)

We arrived at Jody’s and were greeted magnificently by the grandchildren ages 7, 4, and 5 weeks. Jordan had a tooth hanging by a thread, but just like her cousin, Gary, III, wouldn’t allow me to pull it; but we had great fun teasing about it. I don’t recall seeing a tooth hang so loose and even spin in its socket but not fall out!

We went to a big sale in the rain at Gander Outdoors and bought a bunch of clothing stuff we didn’t need. We had a great meal of pizza. We slept well while it poured rain all night. In the morning we went to see Daniel, age 4, at hockey practice on the ice. They learned a snowplow stop, took dives onto the ice and practiced getting up quickly, and then skated up to and jumped over hockey sticks on the ice. It was fun to watch, and the kids liked it. There were several very expert teen skaters doing figures and spins—all girls. Jordan takes figure lessons on Wednesdays so we didn’t get to see her skate this time; however, they were selling skating skirts so we grandparents bought her one for Christmas. Millie says she has to wait until Christmas to wear it, but I cut Jordan a deal. She can wear it every Wednesday and then put it back into the Christmas box. Jordan liked the deal, and Grandma just shrugged!

We got Cimarron the Trail Boss’s car parked safely in the driveway, and in the morning Jody’s family and Grandma Millie left for California while the TB and I stayed one more night.

For some reason Jody’s family could not go to California without Grandma’s help. So Millie flew from Pensacola to Richmond and stayed three days. Then they all flew from Baltimore to Monterrey for 6 days then back to Baltimore. Then Grandma Millie will stay a few more days to baby-sit for the Marine Ball that will take place in Washington on the weekend. Dan being a Marine Officer, they will stay at his Alma Mater the Naval Academy officer housing after the big shindig. Then three days later Grandma will fly back to Pensacola. Boy, what we do for our children/grandchildren! I said to Millie, “so this babysitting job is going to cost me $1000,” and she replied, “No, I think more!”

Rain Drives Us Off the Road

2006-10-27T16:59:00.000-07:00

Miles Today 10.0; This Section 69.0 (3 days); Trans-Am Miles 911.1 (26 days)

We awakened refreshed from our first time on the sleeping pads in more than a month. It rained a little at 9 PM so we were glad to be indoors. We ate some cereal and got going rather late after packing up all the gear. I made a mile to the gas station and had a cup of coffee. I should not have wasted the time, as we knew rain was coming and I needed the mileage. A fellow at the station said it was raining in Richmond some 20 miles west and I was soon going to be wet. I knew the TB would not be far behind, so I took off up route 156 to see how far I could get. The road was nice and rolling. The rolling road seems easier than a perfectly flat road and the gears are shifting perfectly now even the lowest ones. This is making the climbs much easier and would have helped a lot out west in Montana and Idaho.

I began to get closer to the bedroom communities around Richmond. The route comes into the southeast of Richmond and then goes nearly straight north to pass north of the city headed west making about a 2/3 circle somewhat along I-295 the Richmond Beltway. But most of the route is still quite countrified. Finally near the junction of I-295 and I-64 at Grapevine Road the rain came in earnest and the TB loaded me into the pickup after just 10 miles for the day.

We were now just 53 miles from daughter Jody’s house and tomorrow would be rain all day so we decided to take our zero day at her place. We drove some 20 miles down to Ft. Lee and picked up the TB’s car and took it up to Jody’s for storage.

A Night at the Willis Methodist Church, Glendale, VA

2006-10-26T16:45:00.000-07:00

Mileage Today 37.0; This Section 59.0 (2 days); Total Trans-Am Mileage 901.1 (25 days)

We wakened at 6:30 and had the motel coffee, toast, cereal, and bagel breakfast. The TB would have preferred eggs. We were riding the bike at 8:04 AM. It was an early start for us. The thermometer read 38 degrees. After a half mile I changed to my Seal Skin Gloves that perhaps are a little more wind blocking than the Performance Biking gloves. I was comfortable. Within a mile a work crew was building a new bike lane along the road that will go about 80 miles or so all the way to Richmond. At one stream crossing the road dips down some 30 feet into a stream crossing and a new million-dollar bike bridge goes straight across. This state is serious about this bike path!

Route 5 is a beautiful two-lane road with no shoulder, but also little or no traffic. It is somewhat of a bedroom area, but most of the traffic was headed east as I went west. The road is within a mile of the James River for 30 or 40 miles and has dozens of historic plantations along the way. One is the home of President Tyler who built a 300-foot addition onto the house after his presidency. Many of these are open for touring during the summer, but not now.

During the day we stopped and loaded up and drove some 50 miles to the Richmond Airport and met Millie as she flew in to visit Jody. We were able to see Jody and the new baby (now 5 weeks old) Andrew. He is cute and has grown a couple of pounds since we saw him at birth. We went to lunch with the family and then drove back and finished about 15 miles to the church. There were ups and downs, but I think I pedaled my best 15 miles of the whole trip on this section. There was a good climb up Malvern Hill to the church just one mile beyond. I pedaled through The Malvern Hill Battlefield of the Civil War where Union General McClellan was on the run south towards the James River and Confederate General Lee was in pursuit on June 1, 1862. On the Malvern Hill Battlefield they met in hand-to-hand combat. The TB informs me that General McClellan was later relieved of duties as he was “always in retreat.” The confederates used the Willis Methodist Church as a field hospital after the battle.

I pulled into the church at dusk having gone 37 miles for the day along with a three-hour break to the airport. Willis road is a narrow two lane for about 10 miles. The church community includes two or three houses and a visitor center for the Malvern Hill Battlefield. At the visitor center is a confederate cemetery where hundreds of casualties from the battle are interred.

As I pulled into the church a young woman, Ashley Royster, came out of the house next door with the church key. Ashley rents the house and greets the bikers. She said for the first half of summer she had cyclists every night stay at the church and she did BBQ for most of them. For the past month the traffic has slacked and she is seeing about one per week now. The church is 59 miles from the Atlantic so she is often the first or last night for many of the cyclists, but not us! We are here in two days! She has seen bicycles built for two, and one built for three. Last week she saw a tricycle. I don’t know how the tricycle would fit on these narrow roads. She has seen cyclists from England, Japan, Netherlands, and Germany. The church and phone number is mentioned on the back of our Trans-Am maps. The church has carpeted floors for sleeping inside or allows tenting in the yard. The cyclists have preferred inside for heat (now) or air conditioning (earlier in the summer). There was soda pop in the refrigerator, some packs of noodle soup, bathrooms, but no showers. But Ashley invited us to shower at her house. Then I learned she is not even a member of the church, she just lives the closest.

Rain is forecast for the next day. We’ll see what the morning brings. We set up our sleeping pads and bags and went to sleep with the TB in the fellowship room and me in the nursery room.

We Begin Again at the Other End: Yorktown, VA

2006-10-25T15:13:00.000-07:00

Mileage Today 22.0; This Section 22.0 ( 1 day): Total Trans-Am Mileage 864.1 (24 days)

The TB called me at home in Florida after he came back from a trip to the Azores to visit relatives--flying space available as a retired military benefit. He was in New Jersey and anxious to resume the bike ride as we had discussed on our Pensacola morning walks since giving up the ride last month. Millie was going to Virginia to baby-sit while our daughter Jody made a trip back to California for a week. Actually Grandma went along to California to watch the three kids.

Well, since I would be alone and bored in Florida, I jumped in the truck and drove 1000 miles over two days to Richmond, VA and met the Trail Boss at a motel along Route 95. We took his car to Fort Lee near Petersburg, VA, and dropped it off for storage, and drove to the Atlantic Ocean at Yorktown, VA, the Eastern Terminus of the Trans-America Bike Ride. Our crew vehicle this time will be my 2003 Dodge Ram Quad Cab Pickup. We have less stuff, no spare bike, and a usable bike rack on the back.

It was about 39 degrees and the wind from the West gusting to 15 mph made for a cold and blustery start. It was noon. So we went into a restaurant on the York River overlooking the boats and ate a bowl of Chili just ahead of a busload of tourists from West Virginia. We then proceeded several blocks to the Memorial Statue that commemorates Cornwallis' surrender to George Washington. The Memorial is the official start or finish of the Trans-AM route on this end of the country. I wore a balaclava under the helmet, a mid-weight polyester undershirt, a nylon wind breaker, thin polyester long johns under bike shorts, covered with my trusty hunter orange nylon shorts. I also wore my safety orange vest and a pair of polyester winter biking gloves. It was colder than any other day so far, but I felt comfortable.

I had thought I might have to do this trip alone so I bought new panniers (four bags that fit on the sides of each wheel to hold camping gear, food and clothing). Last week my good friend Art Harrison, a machinist and farrior (shoes horses), helped me install the racks to hold the bags. So for practice I decided to carry two of the packs one on each side of the rear wheel. I had all my clothing and some snacks along with tools and spare tube. The bike road beautifully with the extra stuff and it gave me a feeling of confidence to have full North Pole gear (as I call it) available should I need it or breakdown and have to wait along the road.

The initial several miles along the York River gave beautiful views of the water front and a few Navy Ships as the route follows the Colonial Parkway some twelve miles from Yorktown to Williamsburg. The parkway is a limited access road maintained as a park by the department of interior. It’s three lanes wide with no paint markings, no commercial vehicles, and mostly through wilderness—very nice. At Williamsburg there is a tunnel forbidden to bikes so we exited onto Route 5 through the old downtown (after directions from the locals as the map was impossible) and past the William and Mary College campus. The town was bustling and the main street was roped off to allow for pedestrian traffic. I liked this part and after many turns and two wrong turns, as I was leaving town there was the Trail Boss parked along the road. I had thought he’d be lost, but he never missed a turn. Soon as we got to the edge of town along Route 5 at about 22 miles darkness halted us. The TB had found a Ramada Inn at a coupon rate and we drove 10 miles there, eating a fine sandwich at the New York Deli across the street.

The plan for tomorrow is to go the Willis Road Methodist Church, which houses cyclists. We have spoken to the pastor Rev. Hugh Harris and he advised we are welcome to sleep inside on the carpeted floor. It sounds great to us. The church is just 40 more miles down the road.

Final Message for 2006

2006-09-12T20:49:00.000-07:00

Today was the first day to not ride the bike. We went to Yellowstone to see Old Faithful one more time. Old Faithful is not a quitter and can be relied on to do her job regularly.

We also went to a captive grizzly exhibit. In order to hunt Black Bears in Montana one must pass a test to differentiate grizzlies from black bears as the grizzlies are protected. Here's the system: either bear can be black or brown, grizzlies have ears on top of their heads like teddy bears, grizzlies have a hump between neck and back, and grizzlies have concave faces from nose to eyes (that's why they can hold beach balls in circuses!). Black bears have ears on the sides of their heads, flat faces, always brown fur around their noses, and mostly no hump unless gigantic. Grizzlies are 15% carnivorous, that is they eat about 15% meat and the rest vegetable material. Black bears are mostly vegetarian. Hikers often carry pepper spray and loud bells in grizzly territory. The Grizzly feces is the one that smells of pepper and has bells in it!

I'm already thinking of perhaps trying to finish the bike trip on a section basis. That is, over a several year period. The Trail Boss is going to try to be the oldest one year finisher of the 2168 mile Appalachain Trail next year if his arthritic hip holds up. If it doesn't he says he's driving the Van to Alaska, one of only three states he has not visited (Michigan and Wisconsin). He'll be 85 then!

Captive Grizzlies

2006-09-12T17:52:00.000-07:00

Old Faithful, More Reliable Than Me

2006-09-12T17:50:00.000-07:00

TB on the Big Sky Condo Patio & 11400' Lone Peak

2006-09-12T17:42:00.000-07:00

The Final Day for 2006

2006-09-11T20:18:00.000-07:00

9/11/2006: Day 23, 68.1 miles; Total 842.1 Miles

Well we did our record day on the last day. I am getting into shape now and have actually lost about 16 pounds.

At 7:38 AM I was at the Continental Drive starting point in Butte MT, and pedaled about 1.4 miles up the Continental Divide and then had to come to a walk. It is too bad that the low three gears on this bike have rarely worked on the whole trip in spite of 5 or 6 skilled mechanics adjusting them. It appears that I should have insisted on having both shifters changed at the bike shop in Washington on the first week of the trip. The changed left shifter for the front chain rings has worked superbly since it was changed with no missed or slipped shifts. However, the rear canister misses the shifts to the lowest three cogs and when I pedal against sudden “no” resistance I almost fall off the bike. The word from several mechanics is the shifters that were put on the bike to give me a more up right ride are not compatible with the derailleur system in that their cable pulling distance is not what the derailleur expects. This is one of those serious deficiencies that I should have better understood long before now.

In any event, I would not have been able to pedal this hill with any bike, so I walked 3 miles up to the 6800-foot elevation top in just over an hour. Once at the top I put on my windbreaker for the 6% grade 10-mile downhill and went down at over 22 mph. When the Stallion got up to 30, I was anxious so I reined him in and controlled the descent at 20-25 mph. We covered significant ground on that one.

The elevation of Bozeman is about 1500 feet less than Butte so I knew it would be a net downhill; however, I didn’t know there was another 5000-foot bump along the way. So again I walked for about an hour and 3 miles up this one. But again, each of the ups has a reward of a down, and the walks seemed to rejuvenate me. Soon the TB showed up and couldn’t believe I was 25 miles down the road. I was pretty pleased myself. I went into an Exxon and got Cappuccino and a Subway Deli Sandwich with turkey, lettuce, tomato, and hot mustard. It was delicious. About that time the TB came along and I had a couple of cold drinks, tried to adjust the gears myself, and started out again.

In about 20 miles we came to Three Forks, the beginning of the Missouri River that becomes the Mississippi. Of course, Lewis and Clark had been there ahead of me, again. But more importantly, at this location is the home of “Wheat Montana” a wheat farmer who has opened a very well know bread bakery and delicatessen. The service is great and the sandwiches are superb. There is a sign to pick one of 8 kinds of bread, then one of 4 types of meat, then one of 6 kinds of cheese and then one of 13 condiments (pick all you want). Mine turned out to be Sourdough, Turkey, Cheddar, lettuce, tomato, sprouts, cucumbers, pickles, and hot mustard: to go. We would eat these in celebration at the Big Sky condo as I now was going for the home stretch and the whole 70 miles in one day!

The TB wanted to check out the Lewis and Clark Headwaters Campground as I finished the final 12 miles to Bozeman. I told him not to be late as I was finally on my mission and going to sprint on over there and I was “out of there.”

The final 12 miles went quickly. As I rode I viewed smoke far to the East from The Big Tiber forest fire far east of Bozeman sending smoke thousands of feet into the atmosphere. Soon I pulled into exit 268 at Belgrade, the first Bozeman Exit and the one we use to get to the Big Sky Condo. I had ridden my bike from the Pacific Ocean at Astoria, Oregon, over 800 miles to Bozeman, Montana. I’m not disappointed in my effort.

Multiple circumstances necessitated the end of the trip. It’s not an easy task, although I’m rounding into shape and better able to pedal longer and more efficiently. I don’t like the cold mornings and the need for clothing changes during the day. It’s difficult to take in all the views; but just like hiking watching the trail is very important. To visit with all the wonderful people takes too much time out of the day; but to not visit takes much away from the trip. It’s also not an easy task on my Trail Boss who has done an exemplary job of hanging with me, trying to meet my many needs, studying maps, and predicting the unpredictable.

For both of us, enough is enough—for this year.

The Finish at Belgrade (Boazman) Yellowstone Exit

2006-09-11T17:44:00.000-07:00

A Football Day Mostly in Bed

2006-09-10T20:25:00.000-07:00

9/10/2006: Day 22, 8.4 miles; Total 774.0 Miles

Today on the first Sunday of NFL football we decided to watch all the games and lay in bed all day. But first I rode 8.4 miles from the west of Butte to the last exit east before the continental divide climb from about 5000 feet up to around 7000 feet. And we found the TB a church, which was just down the road from the stopping point on Continental Drive. So I took off on the bike from the Motel 6 at about 8 AM. Out front I found a woman who was riding her motorcycle to Cody, Wyoming, so I spent 15 minutes talking to her. Of interest they never have a flat tire and rarely any kind of breakdown. She feels comfortable at 65 mph! She doesn’t want to ride in the rain either, and it’s easy to cover 300 miles per day—that’s a week for me. This is a far cry from the bike ride. So now I was late, as I wanted to be picked up before the TB went to 9:30 Mass so I could go off to breakfast. He had his eggs while I was riding.

I-90 was torn up for repairs into Butte and it was the most dangerous 8 miles of the whole trip. I thought on Sunday Morning there would be little traffic and no trucks. I was wrong. The four lane was down to two for bridge repair and one bridge on a downhill when my speed was maximum (27 mph) had no shoulder. So I’m looking in the mirrors trying to judge the trucks coming on and the bridge approaching when I notice rumble strips between the shoulder and the road! The rumble strips can through me off the bike, the truck can flatten me, a fall over the bridge railing is about 30 feet, and there is no smooth section left for me to exit the disappearing shoulder to get back on the road. So the only out was an emergency stop which I executed with about 10 feet to spare before hitting the bridge! Then the trucker who I was avoiding laid on the horn and came as close as he could to put a further scare into me. This was the first time in the entire trip that a trucker tried to deliberately intimidate me; and it worked. I got back on the road and up to 30 mph hoping the jerk was getting off at the exit 1 mile ahead so I could sick the TB on him. He was lucky he didn’t.

As I rode I noticed several of hundreds of wide mouth bottles (mostly Gatorade bottles) that I have seen along the entire trip. They are half full of yellow looking fluid that I found out in Washington is urine. The signs at the road side rest had a picture and showed gallon milk bottles and Gatorade bottles and said, (in three languages) “this is not a urinal,” and asked the truckers not to discard this litter along the road. In my mind any jerk that would do such a thing could most likely have used a regular bottle and would not need the wide mouth!

I was about 15 minutes ahead of church and two miles from my exit when the church attendee went by. I knew I was in trouble for talking to the biker babe too long, so I pedaled hard and got to the exit to see the TB sitting waiting for me. He had not taken the time to find the church. The Stallion and I hopped in and he took off down what I was sure was the wrong road, but within half a mile we found the church with 5 minutes to spare. This was his first church service in three weeks. I went off to a breakfast of French toast at Denny’s.

Back at the room I did not get out of the bed much for the rest of the day and watched three football games, but must admit I don’t know who played or won except for the Manning Bowl. I thought it good that Peyton won the game and Eli won the statistics. It can sit well with them forever.

We decided we would ride over to Bozeman, another 70 miles, either in one record day or two days. That way we could go to our Condo at Big Sky, some 40 miles south of Bozeman for R & R, and then call it quits.

Circa 1800's Bailing Equipment

2006-09-10T18:16:00.000-07:00

Vomiting and a Flat Tire On the Way to Butte

2006-09-09T19:54:00.000-07:00

9/9/2006: Day 21, 42.7 miles; Total 765.6 Miles

We slept until 7 AM and then had the big breakfast at the truck stop. The TB had 3 eggs, toast, hash browns, pancakes, and red-eye gravy on biscuits. He did not eat the red-eye gravy biscuits. But he would have done a truck driver proud. I had the French toast, and it was good. We drank some coffee and as promised were off in a more relaxed manor for the 48 mile drive west on I-90 to my stopping point of yesterday.

It was 72 degrees, which feels like about 50 on the bike, and slightly overcast. The wind was with me! The elevation was about 4500 feet and on the hill just out of Butte will be about 5500 feet so will be climbing steadily all day. The Stallion rode beautifully and the tail wind was wonderful and I made about 12-15 miles per hour at times. There was an exceptional amount of glass on the road and some I could not avoid by swerving. I stopped at least half a dozen times to clear the tires with careful inspection and rubbing.

And at the three-mile mark I had a flat tire! This time there were three staples and a piece of glass in the tire; I think it was the glass that got me as it was clear through the tire and into the tube. I pulled off on an entrance ramp and got all my tools ready for a record speed attempt at tire changing. I turned the Stallion upside down, and realized I was going to get greasy so I put in a call to the TB to bring me a paper towel. I told him to go off the exit ramp and back on down the entrance ramp he would find me near the Interstate. Soon I had the tire off and turned it inside out to inspect. There was a piece of glass sticking out of the interior of the tire and a hole in the tube at that point. Then I ran my finger around and found not one but three staples sticking through the tire to the inside surface although I didn’t find a tube hole related to the staples. How do the secretaries get these staples out to the Interstate?

As I found the staples up pulled the Montana State Police. The officer gave me the lights and asked if I was okay. I told him we should arrest all the secretaries and showed him the staples. He couldn’t believe it either! He was another nice guy who wished me well and then looked up the entrance ramp and saw the TB and the Van sitting in the middle of the road. “What’s that,” he said. And I told him about my crewman the TB who was probably afraid to come down while I was under arrest. The trooper said, “He needs to get out of the middle of the road.” About that time the phone rang, and the trooper said, “He’s calling!” So I answered while looking the TB straight in the face from less than a hundred yards, and he said: “Where are you?” I said, “down here by the trooper.” And the TB said, “Step out where I can see you plainly.” I thought, just who is the cop here? The trooper who apparently could hear all of both sides of the conversation said, “I‘ll leave so he‘ll come down, but be sure he is all the way off the road.” The trooper left and I told the TB NOT to come down, as I knew he’d have to have a wheel off the pavement to get all the way off the road and wouldn’t do it. Then as I proceeded back to my work, suddenly the TB was yelling over the fence from the frontage road and had a new tube, my new pump, a gallon of water, a quart of liquid soap, a full roll of paper towels, and a caffeine free diet cream soda for me. Just like Millie, he had it all; although she would have jumped the fence! By this time I had put the BAD tube back on the bike and was beginning to inflate it when I recognized the error of my ways. So I began to make the change to the new tube, when I saw the TB vomit on the other side of the fence. So I ran over to attend to him through the barbed wire. He claimed to be okay, says he’s tired, needs his walks, and is swearing off of the heavy breakfasts in the future—but not eggs! Needless to say, this was not the record setting flat repair!

He had apparently vomited after he left me off and was having a lot of indigestion and burping and now vomited a second time. He has been having indigestion and heart burn for two weeks but didn’t want to take the Prilosec I suggested. Now he took it.

We decided right then this trip is over. I’m avoiding the mountain passes; we are having personality clashes, and I don’t want to lose his friendship; his stomach is upset; I can’t go more than 50 miles per day, and at this pace it would take five months; and we can’t stay on the Interstate forever. We are going to go back to the motel again tonight to see the Ohio State/Texas football game and he is going now and I’ll pedal the 20 or so miles in by myself. I can call him if needed. He needs to rest his stomach. Then we will pedal 80 more miles on over to Bozeman, MT, near Big Sky where I go on an annual ski trip as a guest of my buddy Dr. Jay Crittenden. Last year Millie and I bought a 1/6^th share of the Condo and this happens to be our two-week time in the late summer. We will drive to the Condo for R & R for a couple of days and so the TB can see the place. Several days ago he said he has been dreaming of two things: 1) Going someplace and sitting by a fire with a blizzard outside and relaxing with a book. He hasn’t seen a blizzard since his youth in Rhode Island. 2) Going to the Blackwater State Forest, near Pensacola, with his Van and just sitting by the water and relaxing. It doesn’t take a psychiatrist to see that neither of these dreams involves chasing a buddy on his bike across the country with the van. Millie and I will make the first dream come true by giving him a week at the condo in December.

After all of this I started pedaling again, and he stayed at that exit for a rest. I did great for about 15 miles with the nice tail wind, and then all of a sudden the wind turned 180 degrees into my face and I could barely move over 8 mph again. I also noted that I had gained 500 feet in elevation and was steadily going uphill again. I plugged along in lower gears for about 8 miles and then the unheard of, IT RAINED! About a hundred drops hit me and I noticed some overcast. I pulled in under a bridge to wait it out, but it was already over. This was the first rain of the entire trip and if you paused, you missed it. I rested 5 minutes (or 15) under the bridge and started again to a new wind again at my back. I had about 700 feet of climb but steep and quick, and then I was able to do a mile at 21 mph downhill! Before you knew it, I had 42 miles under my belt and pulled into the Motel 6, where the TB already had the light on for me.

Tomorrow we will have a short day so we can watch the first day of professional football. Then we will get on into Bozeman, probably on Tuesday and then go to our Big Sky condo. We’ll then drive home by way of Yellowstone (42 miles from the condo), the Grand Teton National Park, and a few other sites the TB wants to show me.

When we finish in Bozeman, we will have done over 800 miles. That is more the 20% of the cross-country trip. We will have pedaled through Oregon, part of Washington, across Idaho, and several hundred miles of Montana. I’m sorry I couldn’t do better for my friends and readers; but we did the best we could for two grumpy old men.

Making Hay in Montana

2006-09-09T17:48:00.000-07:00

It's The Altitude

2006-09-08T06:49:00.000-07:00

9/8/2006: Day 20, 30.5 miles; Total 722.9 Miles

During the night the sprinkler system made two rounds of the park! At about 8 PM I was sitting with Art and Alvena at their picnic table hearing all of their tales of old age romance when the TB gave out a blood-curdling shout from his bed in the top of the van. There must have been a cougar or bear attack. I sprinted over to find the sprinklers were spraying the driver’s side of the van, and he was proclaiming, “that water is going to ruin my refrigerator! Put something over the sprinkler while I move the van.” Nothing is more precious than to see an 84-year-old man climbing down from a second level bunk in his underwear, while trying to pull on his pants so Alvena doesn’t see him, all the time throwing his hands in the air and mumbling under his breath something about the park supervisor being less than human, and the refrigerator being in great peril! Of course, the front seat was full of his stuff, so he was delayed as I tried to get him to let me just move it in spite of the stuff, but he would hear nothing of it. Finally the van was moved and the water was no longer hitting near the refrigerator exhaust. I didn’t have the heart to waken him some two hours later when the passenger side sprinklers began to spray our spare bike and my clothes hanging off the back. I noticed this spray when it shot through the window and wet my feet that were sticking out of the newly arrived, and too hot, zero degree sleeping bag. So I closed the window and went back to sleep. Later he went out to urinate and said, “That sprinkler must have sprayed on this side!” I said, “Did it,” and went back to sleep.

We drove the 10 miles back to the West where I had stopped yesterday and got riding at 8:30 AM. It was 36 degrees when we got up so I had full North Pole clothing on for the ride. I had on two long john shirts, a vest, winter gloves, and new long johns over the cycling shorts. I also had the usual reflective vest and orange soccer style shorts. Within a few miles the wind was again in my face and it was another tough day headed east on I-90 towards Butte some 100 miles away. I could still hear an intermittent squeak in the bottom bracket (the bearings for the pedals). I had inflated the tires to 110 PSI with the new pump in order to make it roll more efficiently, but headway was again very difficult. At times the wind almost brought me to a stop. All this was very disappointing to me, as I am just not making the mileage that I thought I should. My book says up to 140/day. One couple that wrote the guidebook says 70 miles by lunch. My head is down concentrating on the road hazards and the traffic behind in the mirrors. I am not seeing the scenery. I’ve not looked up enough to see any Big Horn Sheep, Antelopes, or deer and I know a lot have seen me. In a word, I’m getting discouraged. Even the dreaded “Q” word, quit, has been in my brain and might have passed my lips once.

Finally, at 20 miles we agreed I’d go to the 30 mile Exit Number 174. I struggled against the wind and finally made it to the exit and went down to the first gas station variety store and got an ice cream sandwich and a cup of Cappuccino. The TB was nowhere in sight. The heavily bearded attendant said, “An old hippy in a VW was here but he went down the side road.” I slept with my head down for half an hour, and after being here for more than an hour I called him on the cell phone. He was back up on the Interstate proceeding further east! After three calls and many exclamations of, “can you hear me”, he pulled in and picked me up coming in from the west! Apparently he thought I might go by this exit so he sat on the on ramp as I exited the off ramp and we missed each other. Such is the life of the long distance bike rider and crew.

I wanted to go to Butte; some 48 miles further east to have the bike checked one more time for the potential bearing problem. I am having a very hard time keeping the Stallion moving. I suspect I am the power problem, but if there is a drag in the bearings I want to know it.

We went to a bike shop in downtown Butte as directed by a fellow at Wal-Mart. The shop had a bunch of kids working and the boss said he couldn’t work on it and had no mechanic on Saturday so he sent me over to “Bad Beaver, Bikes, Skis, and Tours” a new shop in the old historic section of Butte. It was the old historic part of the city and had many beautiful buildings and some slums. The owners Ed and Susan Renfro have had bike shops for years and have toured Bulgaria on bike. They were very receptive, pleasant, and imminently technically skillful in working on all the gear. Susan must be a long distance cycling psychologist as she encouraged me and honestly thought my mileage totals were good not bad. She reminded me that we are cycling at 5000 feet of altitude and I’m from sea level. She said 40-50 mile days around here are good. She then reviewed my route and gave suggestions. All the while, Ed was working on the Stallion. He checked out all four sets of bearings (two wheels and the bottom bracket and the rear gear cluster). He found several areas that could have squeaked but nothing worn out or broken. He adjusted the shifters again, and showed me a non-liquid lubricant that he says is the best and makes little mess. Somehow my shoe cleats came up and he checked the shoes and the pedals to see why I can’t get into or out of my cleats efficiently. He showed me how the cleats are recessed in the shoe for walking and the edges of the shoe are interfering with the mechanism. So he trimmed a little of the shoe and adjusted the pedal clasp mechanism and it all worked much better. He also checked the rough front wheel weld and reassured me once more. These are wonderful people who charged me $10 for labor and 9.95 for the high tech lubricant. I tried to pay more, but that was it. I should have been charged $50 for the psychological support!

As we left the store Madeline stopped us to ask what was our adventure. She is a beautiful 49-year-old mother of six kids and a nurse who had formerly had her bike fixed at the same shop. She rode the famous “Ride Across Iowa” on three occasions and had interest in the bike on the back of our Van. She home schools the kids except for the oldest a 17 year old who wanted to go to her senior year at school this year. The kid has great standard test scores and thinks school is a little slow but apparently likes the social aspects (which was one of my questions.) The child is an Irish Dancer and the local group has instruction form a school out of Chicago and does River Dance type stuff beautifully. When she said she had six children, I asked what held her back and pointed out the TB who has eight kids. She said they had wanted eight themselves. She also thought 40-50 per day was excellent mileage and even commented that my insignificant weight loss meant I was gaining muscle. Then she informed me of the probable answer: Butte is a mile high city, and we are pedaling above 5000 feet all the way from Missoula! Athletic performance is significantly affected at altitude. There’s the excuse I need; I can finally quit whining and get on with it. Where do all these people come from when we need them! She, however, refused to take us home stating she only had one bathroom! Wow, six kids, and one bathroom!

The altitude problem reminds me of a story my friend Tom Weiner told me about UNLV basketball coach Jerry Tarkanion. Tom was on the board of UNLV. Someone asked Tark if playing a game at the altitude of Denver would affect his team’s performance. Tark said, “No, the game is indoors!” Well, I’m outdoors Tark, and I think it’s bothering me.

I drove around town looking for a motel in our 40-50-price range, and received a lot of back seat driving advice (mainly about the brakes and “I need this car to last many more years”), and a lot of advice that I’d never find a cheap room in town. After returning to downtown Butte we checked the Comfort ($85), Days Inn ($78), Red Inn ($86), I was forced to admit he was right. We went back to the Historic section and saw two slummy looking places and didn’t even stop. So I started west on I-90 and we saw a sign for the “Rocker Inn” at the next exit for $39. It is a very nice place and for $54 a nice price, “since we saw the sign.” Her first quotation was for $64! It’s a very nice place but no internet.

We are going to try to relax more, and I am trying to keep at it, and lower my expectations. We need to just “let it happen” instead of the David Horton approach of “push, push, push.” I can’t do it that way. I think I can quit worrying about the bike and I don’t know why all the mileages I’ve heard of are bothering me. Perhaps it’s because I’m at it alone and don’t have dozens of other cyclists around with whom to commiserate like we always had in the Appalachian Trail Thru-hike days. And of course, I don’t have my Millie here who was the driving force behind the AT success. I am so grateful to have the TB or I wouldn’t be here at all; but even though I was with him for a month in Maine on his AT thru-hike, I am learning more now that his idiosyncrasies and mine are not the best blend! But who on earth would put up with spending their whole day catering to a slow bike rider. He does, and I bless him for it.

We are going to get a good late start tomorrow. That’s my best plan.

Old Lovers

2006-09-07T06:52:00.000-07:00

9/7/2006: Day 19, 49.3 miles; Total 692.4 Miles

We were up and out by 8:30, best we could do after a cup of coffee and a muffin at the hotel office. As I left Lolo, I heard the TB shouting from the roadside. I pulled over and he was getting an oil change! Now I was proud of him. No one has ever changed the oil in any of his vehicles because of all the damage they can do. And here he was for the first time loosening up. Then I saw him carry out his own five-quart Pennzoil can. I took the picture and rode on. I Rode 12 miles from Lolo to Missoula and had another muffin and cup of coffee. I checked our room and he was reading the paper. I congratulated him on getting the oil change, and he said: “I shouldn’t have done it. They used my oil and charged me the full price of $19.” So I made the mistake of asking why not use their branded oil and take his back, and he said (Honest to goodness he did): “They use bulk oil and who knows what brand.” After about 4 miles through town I was up on I-90 and did very well for 32 miles. I then hit the heaviest head winds of the trip. Even the truckers were complaining at the rest stop.

I-90 east toward Butte is very flat along Crooked Creek, which flows westward—too bad for L & C who didn’t find this stream for floating to the Pacific. It would have saved all the perils of the Bitterroots.

The Squeak was now persistent. At the rest stop I got some 3 in 1 oil from a Canadian and we applied it to the sealed bearings of the bottom bracket. He wouldn’t sell it to me. I was out early and had good mileage the earliest of the whole trip but the mid morning easterly wind was killing my progress. We made it to 43 miles and ate lunch and took a half hour nap. When I awakened I thought the wind had stopped. So I did 3 more miles in so vicious of a head wind that I could do a maximum speed of 8 mph on a downhill. I was wasting energy. So I called TB and he picked me up at the rest stop 2 more miles down the road. I had done a good 49 miles for the day but was so spent that when I parked the bike beside the van and headed for a bench to sit I tripped over the curb and fell hard into the grass just off the sidewalk. The TB was sitting in the van back seat reading the paper and missed it, but a lady truck driver jumped out and ran over to check on me. I hit the left shoulder pretty hard, but I guess these old fat bones are tough, as I was not injured.

WE drove to the next exit at Drummond—“state football champs and second in track.” The town was so small that they must be busing kids in to have any type of team. The town looked like an old western with one street and false fronts, and at least a half dozen signs saying: “Say No to Meth. ” At the town park for $10 there is “dry camping.” Although the sprinklers were on all evening and half the night, all camper water spigots were off. Restroom was clean on the floor and had a clean sink and washed my bike clothes. The urinal and commode were as bad as I have seen. I flushed the commode for all those ahead of me, but the urinal wouldn’t flush. Finally, the TB (a very bold move for him) found the ladies room in better shape. I was embarrassed that I had not figured that out.

The best part of the day was meeting Alvena and Art who camped near us. They are lover’s their 70’s and knew each other in high school. They each married others and lived in Kalispell where he was her (and everybody else’s) jeweler. Both spouses died in 2000. In 2003 they got together when he asked her out on a date to drive one of his 15 antique cars and 5 motorcycles. She made an immediate hit since she could drive stick shift! I said, “Your husband is an interesting man.” And she replied, “He’s not my husband; we’re shacking up!” Then she said, “He’s two years younger than me and I’m glad because I want a man with energy!” She said about one of his car, “It’s a 1928 Chevy. You don’t get in. You put it on! It’s a teal blue color.” On one of their early dates they went on an antique car tour in a 1929 touring Car. She sat real close to him and the others following were watching what they were doing. (What were they doing?) So she crawled back over the seat and pulled down the rear curtain! He then pulled out his pocket watch that he had bought off of E-bay. He described it as an erotic watch made in Germany showing a couple in a car in an uncompromising position. As he said, “It’s a great watch for a jeweler and antique car owner and septuagenarian lover.” I should have taken a picture. Art, send me a picture of that watch! They were on their way to an antique car show in Dillon, MT.

A Day in Missoula, Montana

2006-09-06T06:56:00.000-07:00

9/6/2006: Day 18, 0 miles; Total 643.1Miles

Our day in Missoula was full of doing nothing much. I washed the clothes twice. We ate the free muffin and coffee breakfast although I found that the TB snuck off to Denny’s for more eggs. He watched a lot of TV to check on his stocks but the only ones he ever talks about are Dell and GE. He made a trip to Wal-Mart and bought two twelve packs of soda pop and some more turkey and cheese and bread. He needed some oil and had refused to buy it for several days since it cost $4 a quart, so he bought a 5-quart jug of Pennzoil at Wal-Mart and was looking for a pan and a funnel which he says they didn’t have at Wal-Mart. He doesn’t want anyone to change the oil as “they often strip the plug.”

I used the car and went off to a bike shop and bought a new helmet mirror and a mechanics type hand pump (one you hold down with your foot and it has a longer supply line and a built in gauge). I then got a haircut.

While I was at the bike shop the chief mechanic, a guy about my age with considerable experience seemed also to have reservations about the Adventure Cycling Organization. He said in a telling tone, “They directed you which way to Yellowstone?” He gave me a few route tips and I immediately decided to go down I-90 toward Butte and then cut down to Yellowstone. This would eliminate four major mountain passes, two over 7000 feet and a lot of secondary road with narrow shoulders, along with the narrow shouldered switchbacks that I would have to walk over the passes. It seemed the better part of valor for me.

Rolling Into Montana

2006-09-05T18:41:00.000-07:00

9/5/2006: Day 17, 27.1 miles; Total 643.1Miles

Today we awakened in Mountain Time Zone at Lee Creek Campground, just 5 miles inside Montana, still on US Route 12 just 6 miles down from Lolo Pass. When we awakened it was 36 degrees. I wanted to get on down early so we could have half the day today and all of tomorrow off. I think it will be good for both of us. I dressed in my blue winter cycling gloves, a black balaclava under the helmet, black polyester Duofold under shirt, a second light blue Capilene long sleeve shirt with zipper neck, orange and yellow safety vest, black bike shorts with chamois pad, green polyester long johns, orange over shorts, synthetic socks with stars and stripes, and a lightweight blue windbreaker zipped to my increasing beard. It was a warm and colorful sight on my fat frame.

It was 27 miles and a 1000-foot elevation loss to the town of Lolo, a major intersection of bike routes, where I turn south on Route 93 towards West Yellowstone, MT. On the way down I saw two deer and saw signs for moose crossings. Although the loss of elevation was significant, the wind resistance and the rolling friction of tire on road make pedaling still necessary. I was disappointed in that. I have surly learned that I can’t coast across America. But I did do the 27 miles in less than 2 hours. As I rode I heard an intermittent squeak from the chain system.

The TB met me at the intersection of Routes 12 and 93and we took the van to the city of Missoula, MT, some 10 miles north. We had a mail drop of my “Zero Degree Rated Sleeping Bag,” which I almost needed last night. However, after we picked up the bag, the Missoula temperature went to 80! Before we got to the post office we went to breakfast. The TB has gone 2 days without eggs and pulled into the first Denny’s he saw and ordered the truck driver special of 3 eggs, toast, bacon, 3 pancakes, and hash brown potatoes. I had a strawberry waffle. And he’s the one who weighs 140 pounds!

We went to the bike shop where mechanic Abe took the Stallion out for a spin and declared that everything was functioning well. He inspected the derailleur system, the brakes, and heard no squeaks. I had him check out the front wheel again as the weld in construction is not smooth. He like others does not think it is a wheel failure risk. I was also looking for fenders, as I’m sure it will rain sometime, although it hasn’t yet! Abe agreed with Scott from the Lewiston, ID, bike shop: fenders won’t fit on this bike! The forks are too narrow. However, for $10 he had a “water deflector” that fits under the down tube—isn’t a fender a “water deflector;” and showed me how my trunk baggage bag on the back will deflect the rear wheel water. So I’m satisfied that I’ve solved this fender problem and the squeak is a non-problem. By the way if it really rains, I’ll be sitting it out in the van.

Once we got to town the TB wanted to leave immediately. I wanted a room in town for two nights with a full day off. He said he wanted to be out of town. I just spent 600 miles of pedaling to get to town and he wants out! He said he was nervous about the driving, so I said, “let me drive if you’re nervous.” “I’m not nervous,” he said and he continued to drive, saying, “Since you can see and know where we are going, just let me know where to go!” What a TB I have.

Headquarters, Missoula, MT

2006-09-05T12:22:00.000-07:00

Entering Montana: Top of Lolo Pass

2006-09-04T22:27:00.000-07:00

First PersonTo Walk Lolo Pass Since Lewis & Clark

2006-09-04T21:09:00.000-07:00

9/4/2006: Day 16, 38.5 miles; Total 616.0 Miles

We slept in a little this morning as we had tough times yesterday. We drove back to near the rowdies but stayed up the road a bit; thereby missing about 0.2 of the route but I didn’t want anything to do with the guys we saw last night. The TB wanted to call my State Trooper friend, and I just wanted to be out of there.

We were at about 2500 feet of altitude and were headed for the peak of Lolo Pass at 5200 feet. I figured if Lewis and Clark could make it bushwhacking in the woods, I could do it on the road; and that pushing a bike would be easier than leading a horse.

At one point I saw a cement mixer looking device out in the river suspended between two pontoons. The river was about 30 paces wide and 3 feet deep. The device was spinning slowly and the river upstream was diverted to flow toward the mouth of the device. I don’t know what it was, and would like feedback from my readers. I wonder if it was some type of automatic gold panning operation. As I observed the machine, I saw an eagles nest high in a streamside tree—but no eagle.

Just after the machine, I saw a cyclist coming and wave him down. It was Harold Pederson a “psychologist who got tired of it and so became a contractor.” He says he “drives nails now.” Harold has been on 27 long distance bike rides and this one is 700 miles from Butte, MT, to Astoria, OR. He has done 7 bike rides in foreign countries. He goes about 100 miles per day. He is a very likeable guy, but the 100-mile stuff makes me hate him. He gave me some good tips, and we gave him lunch. I didn’t have any tips for him other than to tell him about the Hot Spring. And then he said, “You went to the wrong one, there’s another one where clothing is optional!”

I made good progress up towards Lolo Pass to about the 3800-foot elevation level; then I was reduced to a walk pushing the bike as we went. I then walked the final 3 or 4 miles over Lolo Pass at 5200 feet, thereby becoming the first person to walk Lolo Pass since Lewis and Clark, I think. Later the TB said, “That hill back there wasn’t bad, I didn’t have to shift the VW into third, it did it itself.”

At the top we switched to Mountain Time and moved into Montana. The TB was kind enough to get pictures of me at both signs, although he complained because there was a dead deer nearby and it smelled a bit. He couldn’t understand how a car could hit a deer, until I explained, “you don’t hit them, they hit you.”

While riding (and hiking) we think of the neatest stuff. For instance, the earth is a globe of 360 degrees. There are 24 hours in a day. So each time zone is 360/24 or 15 degrees of longitude. We have covered one time zone or 15 degrees of the earth or 1/24th of the earth’s surface. It sounds so easy.

The TB had picked out a campsite some 6 miles down the mountain from Lolo Pass. It was a rapid descent at about 25 mph, a far cry from the slow walk pushing the bike up the other side. I stopped twice to feel the rims and they were warm but not hot from excessive braking. On the way down I saw three live deer. They are ugly faced compared to Pennsylvania deer.

The Lee Creek US Forest Service campsite had a nice level spot, no electric, no shower, and a metal bear box for storage of all food and anything that smells. Last week some other campers heard a bear try to open one of the bear proof trash containers. It is nice to be able to start right from the site and that will be the case here.

The Unknown Machine

2006-09-04T12:24:00.000-07:00

Bitterroot Adventures: Fire, Hot Spring, Rowdies

2006-09-03T20:31:00.000-07:00

9/3/2006: Day 15, 45.1 miles; Total 577.5 Miles

Today it’s up the Lochsa River a designated a National Wild and Scenic River. We are in the middle of the Bitterroot Mountains that were described by Lewis and Clark as the most horrible of mountains. The L & C party ran out of food and water on several occasions. There were Indian Trails through the region for over 10,000 years as the Native Americans traveled back and forth through the region with the season, including going over Lolo Pass from Idaho into what is now Montana. There are historical signs along the way and I managed to read most of them. L & C came west in 1805 and returned east in 1806. The Nez Perce gave them plenty of help and in turn they were given “peace medals” from President Jefferson. The Nez Perce were said to have taken these medals very seriously, but within 70 years they were driven from their lands. The TB doesn’t read all this stuff and thinks I should just pedal more. Once he said, “I was studying the Atlas and these Indians sure have a lot of reservation land.” I said, “They used to own all of it!” And he responded, “Just think what lives we’d live if they still owned it.” I guess he has a point!

As I pedaled along I finally saw a fisherman in this the most beautiful looking trout fly-fishing water I have ever seen. His name is Alan and he’s a student in Fisheries Science at Idaho State University in Moscow, Idaho. Alan and his girlfriend had camped in the area and each was on the river fishing. She was a good quarter mile upstream and behind some trees so I never was able to talk with her; however, Alan was 20 yards from the road standing on a rock in a foot of water beautifully laying his line into some soft rapids. I stopped to join him vicariously, and verbally, from the road. He was using a nymph. As the line floated easily a cutthroat trout hit and gave a good fight but was landed with finesse, handled carefully never out of the water and easily released from the barb-less hook. Alan and I were both elated with the catch. It was a fair fish, measuring about 13 inches. On the next cast we threw out into the same pool and I could see a bigger fish hit. We played it carefully, cautiously, and it pulled out a good 25 yards of line until we thought it might get away. But alas we turned him and he was landed just as carefully and released unharmed. This one was over 15 inches. Our country and our wildlife are in good hands. Thank you Alan.

As I pedaled there were perhaps a hundred vehicles an hour with about 10 percent being motor homes on this holiday weekend. The motor home drivers (I’m profiling here.) are prone to not want to wander over the center line and Rout 12 is a 2 lane road with a white line on my side that some times gives me as little as 6 inches of shoulder. One camper truck came fairly close and immediately behind was an Idaho State Trooper who flashed his light and pulled him over. I figured it was for crowding me. I tried to listen as the trooper threw his hands in the air when the driver first got out of the camper, but I heard no conversation and proceeded onward.

After another mile or five (who knows) I saw a sign, “Smoke Ahead.” Soon I could see a forest fire on the slope to the left of the road. I stopped for a picture and a US Forest Service green pickup truck pulled off on the other side with “US Gov” license plates. Out stepped Frank Bruno from Red Rock Fire (www.redrockfire.com) with a radio, a satellite phone, and a cell phone. Frank was dressed in wool green pants and a yellow heavy long sleeve shirt on this day of 85 degrees. From the Red Rock web site is the following mission statement:

“Red Rock Fire's "mission" is to provide "state of the art" wildland fire suppression and management services on an "on-call" basis. These services are intended to augment the services provided by existing public and private agencies in the face of natural disasters.”

And Frank delivered.

I pulled over to give Frank a hand listening to his radios. I introduced myself and he said, “Doc, if you want to see the action, the helicopter will be here in 4 minutes.” True to his word he directed them in with the radio, and then called headquarters on the Satellite Phone. It didn’t seem appropriate to ask for a Pizza delivery, so I controlled myself. The pilot looked the fire over and Frank gave the order for “water suppression of the fire nearest the road.” He then explained to me that the fire was over 160 acres in size and had been burning for 13 days. It was caused by “dry lightning.” A week ago Frank had two men up on the mountain but it was too steep and dangerous for them. The slope was about 45 degrees. The only way to actually put out the fire was a combination of men and helicopter drops. If the fire was not so close to the road he would let it naturally burn as it produces good habitat for deer and elk and is “nature’s way.” However, because of public safety and steepness of the slope he wanted to keep the fire from getting closer to the road. The fire was at least 500 feet higher on the slope than the road and Frank pointed out that when all the trees burned they would fall to the road and create major rock slides that would be dangerous and very difficult to repair. Therefore, he was going to suppress this side of the fire.

The pilot told Frank he knew of a pool a mile or so down the Lochsa River and would pick up 200 gallons of water at a time from the bucket suspended on a 50-foot cable. Frank described it as, “like dipping water out of a bath tub with a cup.” Soon the helicopter was back and went directly over our heads spewing water as it went towards the fire. Soon we suffered a small shower as the spewed water came across the road. The pilot maneuvered expertly to the side of the fire towards the road and dropped his 200 gallons and went off for another load. Frank described it as a direct hit as we could see a change in the smoke color and the emergence of steam.

I watched as we dropped about 5 loads of water all direct hits, and suddenly a state trooper pulled up giving someone in a pickup truck a ticket. As soon as the newly ticketed pickup was gone, I approached the officer asking if he gave the ticket I had seen earlier. He had. That fellow had earned his ticket by weaving across the road in front of the officer and not for coming too close to me. I told the trooper (who asked that his name not be used since he doesn’t like the internet) he had a wonderful state, and he agreed. His distant grandparents came to Idaho on the Oregon Trail by wagon train more than 150 years ago and the family has written journals from that trip. I’d love to see those!

Back in Lewiston, ID, we heard about a Hot Spring that is poorly marked and not on our TransAm Bike Maps. It close to the 142-mile marker on the road and the TB, true to his name, found it. We had set the Hot Spring as our goal for the day and by the time I got there I was totally depleted just like in the old ultramarathon days. I had gone over 45 miles, all uphill, with an elevation gain of 1200 feet and the temperature above 85 most all of the day. The TB wasn’t quite ready for my exhaustion, but he was sitting in one of our chairs and gave it to me immediately. I asked for something to eat and he brought out a pint of macaroni salad, 4 slices of bread, a can of mandarin oranges, a dish of potato chips, and a couple of colas. Within an hour I felt better.

The TB said he wasn’t going to the hot spring and by the time I recovered I didn’t much want to go by myself. There had been two family groups and several couples come down from the Hot Spring and all said it was marvelous and about 104-108 degrees. Several of the females in wet t-shirts looked like it really would have been marvelous to be there with them! But I could not be deterred so I got a clean change of clothes and wore all my day cycling clothes and started up the ravine knowing full well this was bear and cougar country. The trail was abominable and because of all the tourists had offshoots running every direction. It was said to be half a mile. At about half way I came upon a lone camper sitting by a big campfire on the edge of the stream. We had seen signs that campfires were outlawed. Soon I saw about 20 feet up to my left two pipes coming out of the rocks. There was no steam. I climbed the rocks and there was the Hot Spring. It is about ten feet in diameter and 3 feet deep. It looks like it is a natural depression in the rocks that has a cemented lip on the low side to hold in the water. There is a wooden bench 3 inches above the water on the up-hill side and surprising to me, no mud. I laid out my clean clothes on the granite, sat on the bench, and dangled my feet. I have a hot tub at home that I don’t get into and it’s only 10 feet from my bedroom. Now I walked half a mile in bear and cougar country to this unknown tub. But it was worth it. If the water at home is above 103 degrees, it’s almost impossible to get in, so I would say this natural hot spring temperature was about 102. It was, in a word, perfect. I stripped and washed clothes and myself. Then I look down and there comes the TB. He couldn’t hold back and I was glad he made it.

After about half an hour of the tub we made our way back to the car arriving before nightfall. On the way we got off the trail twice, but it was obvious and no risk of being lost.

The TB had set up the camper and had it leveled and I had all my wet clothes draped from the bikes for drying and we went to bed at about 8 PM. Well, that was way too early for this place. Cars kept coming and going, horns blaring, with couples heading out for the hot spring well after dark. The TB was particularly intrigued by two girls holding hands as they headed for their tent just 50 yards from the cars. Then came the coups de grace when the TB was asleep (thank goodness) a car came into the parking lot way too fast and skidded in the gravel. It then made a quick reverse turn and backed in almost scrapping the glass off our headlights almost pinning us in our spot. It turns out they belonged to the tent just beside the van. They had a boom box in the car and let it all boom out! One of them walked around behind our van and the bikes and behind the car next to us. He fired up a generator twice as load as the boom box. He then turned on enough light for a night Super Bowl. About that time the TB who goes to church daily when at home awoke and wanted to know in somewhat salty language what the heck was going on. And then in rather loud voice he said from behind his tent curtains, “What are those jerks doing.” One of the guys took a huff from some type of pipe, and both were half the age and twice the size of the two of us. I encouraged the TB to not say anything, although he clearly wanted a piece of them. I thought that we could be in serious personal danger. So we moved his top bunk stuff, closed the top lid, put the Stallion on the bed (ala That Stallone Gangster Movie), removed the leveling blocks, and squeezed out of our space and departed. The Tb was hopping mad, but it was okay now as we were gone. About 7 miles up the road we found the Jerry Johnson Camp Site and pulled in to a nice spot and had a good nights sleep.

The Trail Boss Enjoys the Hot Spring

2006-09-03T04:11:00.000-07:00

Frank and I Drop the Water

2006-09-03T03:09:00.000-07:00

Frank Bruno, Forest Fire Expert

2006-09-03T02:06:00.000-07:00

Alan and I Catch a Cutthroat

2006-09-03T01:04:00.000-07:00

Dave Statler Plays Me a Nez Perce Safe Passage Song

2006-09-02T22:19:00.000-07:00

Labor Day Parade in Kamiah, ID

2006-09-02T21:16:00.000-07:00

A Parade in Kamiah, ID, and a Bear in Lowell, ID

2006-09-02T18:47:00.000-07:00

9/2/2006: Day 14, 46.1 miles; Total 532.4 Miles

Today at about 22 miles we made it to Kooskia and the original Trans-Am route still on Route 12. At Kooskia the Clearwater River begins where the North Fork and the Middle Fork of the Clearwater join. We follow the Middle Fork north and east to Lowell, ID, where the Selway River and the Lochsa join to make the middle fork. The flow is less, the canyons just as steep and beautiful but now treed, and the route begins to get steeper as we make our way to Lolo Pass at 8000 feet into Montana in another 100 miles.

Along the way to Lowell, population 23, we had some great adventures. First of all, at Kamiah, population 1700, it was the annual Labor Day Weekend Free BBQ and Parade. We didn’t know it when we entered town so we stopped at the first good size gas station (They are all Texaco’s) and had a Cappuccino and large muffin for 99 cents. We both sat out front in the sun and nearly roasted at 90 degrees. This is funny since the whole 20-mile ride in I was cold and had on extra sleeves and the windbreaker vest. I quickly peeled down to my long sleeve dress white shirt and my reflective safety vest. As we sat I could hear the public address announcing a parade and the free BBQ. I asked the TB to check it out and give a $5 donation for a BBQ chicken dinner for me and started out of town; however, as I went down the street I say this massive crowd lined up for the parade and three kinds of police—state, town, and Nez Perce tribal. It turns out Kamiah is on the Nez Perce Reservation. They had a wonderful parade started off with a local gal singing the national anthem. As so often happens in some many towns when the local star performs, she forgot the words; however, it didn’t bother me or any of the thousand people present and we cheered wildly for her performance. Then they gave an award to the parade announcer for doing the organizing and announcing for so many years. He said, “I have a military retirement, and just got my social security, so if I don’t die I’ll be doing it a long time!” We cheered loudly again and I jumped on the stallion and raced back to the gas station to get the TB to come to the parade. He said he was not interested, but I learned later he thought I had said I was going to be “in” the parade so he went and stood in the sun and saw the whole thing. In actuality, I could have easily been in it and should have been.

I made it about 1 mile out of town Eagles Nest Gifts and Souvenirs. I had been thinking of getting Millie some genuine Nez Perce item. Dave Statler was sitting out front rolling his own cigarettes from Native American Indian Tobacco (from Kentucky!). Dave is a retired fisheries biologist and told me all about the Salmon and the Steelhead that go all the way (m ore than 500 miles) out to the ocean after being born (spawned) in the local waters of small side streams. Some of the Steelhead are “4 Ocean” fish in that they stay four years in the ocean before coming back to the exact spot to spawn their young. Now there are at least half a dozen dams in the way and they still make it back. He says less than 10% make it back. So the state has hatcheries and they come back to the hatchery! He then sold me a necklace for Millie made by his wife, better than the Nez Perce he says. But it looks Indian. He was very proud to show me the flutes he sells. His is 3 feet long, played more like a clarinet, with multiple note finger holes. He played an Indian “Have a Safe Passage” tune for me and I got a picture to prove it.

Later the TB met me at Kooksiakia some 7 more miles down the road. He had seen an accident where a motorcycle and its trailer were in the ditch and ambulances were present. It must have happened just behind me.

At our destination for the day there were no motel rooms and no campsites. But the restaurant/motel owner let us camp in the yard. Some motorcyclists saw a bear across the river and walked right by me as I typed journal to see it. After it swam the river they told me. Now on 2168 miles of Appalachian Trail and 535 miles of Trans America bike ride I have not seen a bear. The TB walked 100 yards to the store and saw it again.

Speaking of the store, Candy the manager let me wash my clothes in the big sink inside the store and I hosed off myself outside using stream water from the hose. The stream hose water smelled better than the city restaurant water. Candy has several grandchildren and a husband who loves to hunt. It is now bear, deer, and elk archery season and her store seemed the center of the activity. They hunters were baiting for bear all with secrete ingredients, but I managed to decipher some of them: grease, donuts, honey, and Cappuccino!

We are now 78 miles from Lolo Pass and our crossing to Montano and Mountain Time zone. We will have gone across one whole time zone! We are at 1400 feet elevation now and Lolo Pass is at 5235. I have some real work ahead of me, and the road gets very narrow with no shoulders. I will be real anxious going down the other side.

Up the Clearwater River, ID, on Our Anniversary

2006-09-01T08:17:00.000-07:00

9/1/2006: Day 13, 51.2 miles; Total 486.3 Miles

Today is Millie and my 43rd wedding anniversary. I've been able to speak with her by phone inspite of the deep canyons and to let her know what she's been missing. She's off today to take our friend Virginia to look at new furniture--her anniversary present. Later tonight she goes out to dinner with our friend Karen while her husband practices for the World Poker Tour. I'm glad she has all her friends and tennis groups, but she should be out here pedaling like she was with me when we hiked the Appalachian Trail. If she were here I'd be in Montana by now. She's been a great wife for 43 years and I hope for another 43.

I was up at 6:30, had one donut and cup of coffee at the motel office after waking the night crew, and was out the door pedaling before the TB could get all the stuff out of the van and make me a “proper” breakfast. He wasn’t happy about it either, acting very grandmotherly! It was 56 degrees, but I didn’t feel cold this morning and felt ready for a good day. The first few miles were through Lewiston, Idaho, and then immediately into the Nez Perce Reservation and past their casino on US Route 12 that will take us clear across Idaho. The casino had gas for 15 cents a gallon less than in town, so I phoned the TB and informed him. He is just like my wife in that he would drive a hundred miles to save a nickel on gas, so he was very pleased.

We followed the Clearwater River the whole day. The Clearwater joins the Snake in Lewiston. Some 45 miles up the Clearwater is the spot where Lewis and Clark came off the plains and first found water flowing westward. They had to go 16 more miles down the river to what is now Orofino to find trees large enough to make five canoes for the trip down the Clearwater, Snake, and then Columbia to the Pacific. My trail, Historic Route 12 follows the riverbank upstream closely and is very flat with few small climbs here and there; however, the TB assures me we are going downhill all the way as we proceed up river! He’s not on the bike! In actuality my altimeter said we gained about 1000 feet in elevation throughout the day. I stopped and read several historic markers all giving details of Lewis and Clark’s trek. At one point, Lenore, there was an 1898 Tram to bring grain down to the railroad at the river’s edge from the plains that are 1600 feet up from the deep gorge. It is very difficult to believe there is flat land up there but everyone I ask assures me it’s so and now and then I can see houses and the edges of the wheat fields up there.

I fell again today, again because of the cleats in the shoes that attach to the pedals. I had stopped for half an hour and adjusted the cleats on the shoes and the pedal spring mechanism that holds the cleat tight. I had it all loose enough that I was much better able to get both in and out of the cleats. When I later slowed for a BOBB (butt off bike break) I easily got my feet loose and as I came to a stop my left foot easily got reengaged, the bike stopped and I fell onto my left side. This time I got a considerable amount of abrasions on the outside of the left lower leg. I used my synthetic towel and some of my sports drink Conquest and washed it good, thereby bloodying the towel some but getting the leg good and clean. I have no idea why all falls have been to the left and the mirror on the handle bar end on the left has survived. Such is the life of the long distance bike rider.

Tonight we are in a Bureau of Land Management (BLM) Campground. As he picked me up some 12 miles down the road past here the TB was delighted to tell me about our campsite. “We’ve got a delightful and wonderful sight tonight,” he said. “It’s on Federal Land and so I got it for half price, only $9.00.” He has every possible discount from retired military to Golden Age Passport; and he loves to use them. Everything fit his three major criteria; price, electric, and level. “However,” he said, “there are no showers, no hot water, gravel tent sites, no shade, and the 300 foot Dworshak Dam looming half a mile up stream.” Sounded perfect to me.

I went to the toilet, which had a sink and washed my biking clothes and myself at the sink. I cleaned my bloodied towel, and scrubbed my abrasions hard. Scrubbing hard is the solution. Then I pitched my tent in the scrub grass instead of the gravel. During dinner the host came over and told us we were to use the gravel for the tent. I apologized, told him the price of the tent, and said I’d move it (I actually wouldn’t have risked putting holes in the floor in the gravel; I’d have gotten into the van). He said just leave it for tonight, and I did.

Tomorrow we go over the 500-mile mark and at the 22-mile mark at Kooskia, ID; we join the original trans America route. Recall that we took the Lewis and Clark route from Astoria up the Columbia gorge because the Trans-AM route was closed because of forest fire at Sisters, OR.

Into Idaho, Slowly

2006-08-31T20:32:00.000-07:00

8/31/2006: Day 12, 9.9 miles; Total 435.1 Miles

We awakened early and I just couldn’t get going out of the campground. At 4 AM I needed out of the tent for a bathroom break. It was about 48 degrees out. I could see the big dipper sitting on top of Blue Mountain as if balanced there. It was a beautiful night view. When I got back into my 20-degree sleeping bag in my shorts and t-shirt, I was cold. So I put on full fleece sweatshirt and drawers and slept soundly for the next two hours nice and cozy. However, when time to get up I was chilled and didn’t relish riding and cold. Finally at 8:30 I took off for town as it had warmed to 58 degrees. However, riding in the shade I still had to pull over and put on my nylon windbreaker vest. I then felt good and pedaled the 6 or so miles to Clarkston, Washington, the last town in the state. I stopped at the Walla Walla Community College office for directions to a bike shop and was directed out of state to Lewiston, Idaho, some two miles down the road and over the Snake River. The TB joined me at the College and I started down the street but couldn’t get by the McDonalds so we went in for the big breakfast. Then I pedaled over the Snake into Idaho and to the Spoke and Wheel Bike Shop. We met Scott who was very gracious and checked my front wheel that has a prominent weld joint from manufacturing. He assured me it is okay and safe. He then began to install my fenders I have carried from Pensacola and which have been a huge pain to the TB and me. They just don’t fit in anyplace among our stuff in the van, and as it turned out they didn’t fit on the bike either! What a bummer. Jim from Boulder had recommended fenders, as does my bike book; however, my bike shop advised against them. It now appears that my bike has too narrow of a fork to allow any fender to fit. It’s the same reason I could not use any wider tires and had to settle for 700 x 28c instead of 30c or 32c. (That’s the mm width.) I bought a small bag to use on the handle bar to hold the cell phone and the pepper spray in place of the large handle bar bag that seems to cause unstable steering. I hope to turn the Stallion into a gelding! I also bought a sunshade for around my ears and neck under my helmet at the Army and Navy Store next to the bike shop. Scott said my flats were caused by a local plant with three noames: Goat's Head, Puncture Vine, of Tack Weed.

The TB sat in the Van somewhat bored with my lingering. When I came out I finally admitted I couldn’t go today and we went for a motel room at just past noon. Several good things did happen: We bought an attachment for filling the propane tank on the van. It has been a problem for TB for years as the fill valve is angled and the van had to be jacked up to hook up, now it doesn’t. He’s happy about that. I got a new battery for my altimeter watch that will come in handy to judge the mountaintops for the next month. Many will be a walk up and it will be nice to know I’m approaching the true summit. We washed our clothes, and we made two trips to the DQ. Perhaps tomorrow will be a better biking day in Idaho.

Into Idaho

2006-08-31T19:59:00.000-07:00

The Lewis and Clark Trail

2006-08-30T20:05:00.000-07:00

Out of the Fire into the Wind and Hills

2006-08-30T19:52:00.000-07:00

8/30/2006: Day 11, 62.9 miles; Total 425.2 Miles

We got the early start this AM. It was the coolest day of the trip so far. It was 56 degrees at the start and not expected to get much above 70 all day. It was also very windy all day. The TB slept in the Van with an electric cord through Sam Patel’s Room 14 screen door. He swears he didn’t make the hole in the screen it was just handy! He had an egg sandwich for me as I came out the door and we drove the 4 miles back to the Lewis and Clark Campground where I had stopped yesterday. He dropped me off and went back to the motel and I pedaled in to greet him in about half an hour. On my way into town several dozen fire fighter groups coming in to help with what is called the Dayton Complex Fire passed me. It has now burned over 125 square miles just south of Dayton, but we neither saw nor smelled it in the motel or town. At the gas station beside the motel a lady was selling Dayton Complex Fire t-shirts and all the fire fighters (and me) were buying. Too bad she didn’t have the state (Washington) on the shirts as most of the fire fighters (and me) are from out of state. But we all still bought!

We are starting to get into 2000 foot mountains but the climbs aren’t bad; I can pedal more than half of them and I don’t at all mind walking a few miles up, and rather enjoy it. I noticed at the 51.5-mile mark we would be at our highest summit to date (2750 feet) and then there would be a 10-mile down hill to the Snake River and the Chief Timothy Park Campground. The way I figured was that I could get 10 free miles if I just do 51.5, so that was the plan.

There was supposed to be a town named Delaney at 20 miles; it did not exist. At 28.5 was the city of Dodge, 3 houses! There then was a 1500-foot climb over about twenty miles to the town of Pomeroy, population 1517. At Dodge a Washington DOT worker cleaning the roadside restroom told us about the campground and that the downhill was significant and could be dangerous for bikes and trucks! He assured me there was a run-a-way truck ramp near the bottom if I needed it!

Pomeroy is a very historic town and the TB said each storefront had a right-up giving the history of the establishment or the houses. Many went back to the early 1800’s and one had been the doctor’s office. One started off as the bank but went out in the 1939 crash but is a bank again today.

As I was leaving Pomeroy I saw my first westbound long distance bicyclist, Jim from Boulder, Colorado. Jim didn’t want to give me his last name so I asked him if he had anything to do with the Ramsey case and he said he did not. He was poor and her family was rich so he never met them. He wasn’t up on the news so I told him the DA dropped the case.

Jim from Boulder is quite the cyclist. He has ridden from San Diego across country to St Augustine, Florida and back to Boulder! He was on the gulf coast not long after Katrina, but can’t remember if he went through Pensacola, my hometown. Jim pointed out that he wouldn’t carry a handle bar bag as it makes the bike handle too “squirrelly.” That’s just the problem I’m having with the Stallion, so I vowed to try it without the bag. Jim carries all his gear and when he saw the TB he said, I have a van just like that, but it’s at home; I think he thought I was lucky. He carries two panniers on his front wheels (low riders he called them, almost dragging the ground) and two on the real wheels with a big bedroll on top of the rear wheel. He uses two fenders and said they don’t slow him down and keep his feet a lot warmer in rain. He camps some but also uses quite a few motel rooms “if they are cheap enough.” I told him of the lack of fire evidence in Dayton, and he said he was in thick smoke in Clarkston and Lewiston and in Idaho for several miles before entering Washington. He also told me the hill I was hoping to get the free mileage was a humdinger. He had to walk and pedal slowly and fight wind to get up it and his average for the day was less than 8 MPH, very low for him. Then I made the mistake of asking how many miles he averages per day. Three days ago he did 113 miles in one day; I shouldn’t have asked. However, he did say he averaged about 11-14 miles per hour and that’s about my average also; so the solution is, I need to stay out on the road longer, but that will take some more time. So finally I bid Jim from Boulder good-bye and was on my way out of Pomeroy to tackle those hills and the 2750-foot Sweeney Gulch Peak. I probably walked a mile of it but had an intense trailing wind and was able to go down to my “granny low gear” and pedal part way to the top. Near the top a nice house had a sign out front wishing Debra a happy 17^th birthday. All I saw was the dog!

When I peaked out you could see flat plains all in wheat for 30 or 40 miles. There was a sign that Lewis and Clark came this way on their return trip back to St. Louis. Further back down the hill I stopped and read an historic marker that showed the actual rut marks on the hillside where L & C traveled. The ruts were not made by their several dozen men but were an Indian Trail that existed as a shortcut to the Snake River for thousands of years. The local Nez Perch Indians had given L & C travel directions and advised this return route that saved them several days. It amazed me to see that I traveled US Route 12 through the valley and each time I topped out the mountaintops are perfectly flat plains. The road follows the deep valleys and gulches of the streambeds. Once I peaked out, my 10-mile down hill was before me and my first opportunity to do a 60 plus mile day, or kill myself. I took off the handle bar bag as advised by Jim from Boulder. I checked the tires, the brakes, the pedal cleats, and put on my wind jacket. I was nervous.

I started down. The Stallion loved it. In no time we were at 41 mph. I pulled in the reins and squeezed on the brakes and at about the one mile down mark brought him to a halt. I must admit, he was much more in control as far as steering goes, but the speed was too much for me. We started again and hit 30 in an instant, I applied both front and rear brakes and tried to hold him at 25 or less. Then the TB passed me and pulled in half a mile ahead. I wasn’t so sure I could get the Stallion stopped but I did. The front and rear rims were so hot I couldn’t touch them and the TB confirmed by shouting “ouch, that’s hot.” I had read that the rims could get so hot as to blow a tire, so we gave them some time for cooling. Soon I was on my way again and kept her under control with intermittent bakes and one more complete stop at the run-a-way truck ramp. Also I tried to sit upright and to have my jacket open for braking, but it didn’t help much. After about 5 miles the steepest part was behind us and I coasted five more miles at an acceptable 20-25 mph. Soon I saw the Snake River ahead and our campground with the most beautiful view I have ever seen. The canyons are spectacular and rise 5000 feet from the river and Blue Mountain is just behind my tent.

As I write here in the dark at a picnic table I hear Coyotes howling not far away.

We are less than 10 miles from Idaho. We have done more than 10% of the whole trip. Some might say it’s a piece of cake!

Mileage on the Day Off

2006-08-29T19:56:00.000-07:00

8/29/2006: Day 10, 27.8 miles; Total 362.3 Miles

Well, I tried to take a day off, but I couldn’t do it. The TB was up at 5 and came into the room for the bathroom and I never knew it. He insists on sleeping in the Van and running electric out the window from the room, by carefully (his word) prying back the screen to make his extension cord fit. He says his 25 foot cord was always 5 feet short so he got a 30 foot cord and it’s still 5 feet short! He had already been to the “shabby” breakfast, but I asked him to join me for a cup of coffee. They had nice sweet rolls and my favorite bagels and cream cheese and a special bagel toaster that I for one know how to use. I liked it. He thought we should have had eggs. He brought me the Yellow Pages and I found that the Bike Barn was only 4 blocks away; however, at 8:05 AM they did not answer so the TB drove me to the western edge of town and I rode the British Nanny (The Raleigh spare bike) 3.85 miles across town to our Super 8 Motel. He was out looking for Wal-Mart so I put up the Nanny and rode the Stallion some ¾ mile to the Bike Barn.

At the Bike Barn I met the owner Greg Knowles, his daughter Kaylee and his top mechanic Reggie. I told them of my Cross Country Ride and presented them the Stallion with my problems. Number one I wanted the new shifter cable checked as it shifts fine but the handle indicator is not near the gear 1, 2, or 3 indicator any more. Reggie shifted her (him) and put all gears through their paces and said, “If it isn’t broke, don’t fix it.” So we didn’t, and I felt better. Next they added some Teflon Lubricant to the chain then wiped it off nicely so it didn’t get “messy.” Then when I asked them to analyze yesterday’s flat tube Greg showed how it had a “top flat.” That is, the pinhole was not on the road surface of the tube and perhaps was caused by a bad spoke or some other problem with the wheel. So he took the wheel off the bike and removed tire and tube and inspected it all finding no obvious mechanical problem and no burrs on the wheel. I then bought 5 tubes and he said that’s all I owed for. I told him we needed a labor charge, and asked if Reggie worked for free. Reggie shouted out, “I work for beer. This was a very professional establishment, and they were all wonderful people. Greg asked me to talk with Kaylee who is a sophomore in college up in Seattle. She said she “guesses” she did okay last year in school, and doesn’t know what she wants to do with the rest of her life or if she wants to be a doctor. I told her I don’t either! By now the TB had shown up and was pacing the parking lot, anxious to do something else so we left the Bike Barn. I was very happy with the visit and my 5 tubes for about a dollar less each than any other store!

As we headed back for the room he was worried about check out time sneaking up on us. It was 10 AM and check out was at noon. I wanted to drive out of town on US 12 ten or so miles and check on the Dayton Forest Fire that is burning out of control over 100 square miles right in our route. We drove about ten miles and consulted some folks who said the road was open. So we hurried back and started riding.

Three miles out of town I had a front flat tire! The same tire that had the “top flat” on the way into Walla Walla has a flat on the way out. This time I found two potential problems. There was a thorn and a piece of glass stuck in the tire. I believe the glass was the culprit. This tub was fixed in about 20 minutes and I was on my way. While I was changing it a truck pulled in carrying the beautiful alfalfa hay that grows around here and the deriver got out with half the seatbelt in his hand. He said the belt came lose, so he stopped to fix it. There are signs all along reading, “$97 Fine for Not Wearing Your Seatbelt.”

I pulled in at Dixie; a small town with a small Mom and Pop type store and the beautiful girl behind the counter was the owner. She and her husband are entrepreneur’s who live in Walla Walla. They have rental apartments in town. Some muscular young guy in t-shirt, shorts, and 12 inch work boots monopolized all of Angie’s time in the store and I don’t think it was her husband. Outside a local pulled up in his pickup truck and proceeded to tell me all about the fires. They were out of control, increased in size 30% over night, were also burning wheat fields along with forest, firefighters have been here for several weeks and have filled the ball field with tents at Waitsburg, US Route 12 was open all the way and the size of fire was over 125 square miles now—a nice report.

About that time the TB arrived with a pint of Potato Salad and some cold drinks from Wal-Mart. He still has trouble with the flavored soda, no caffeine, and diet purchase. Now he said, “You have to do the purchase yourself.” So I went back in the Dixie store and Angie sold me a diet 7-UP.

I finally got going and the TB stayed behind for an hour or so. About 2 miles out of Dixie while I was walking up a hill I could hear an approaching siren. The road was curvy so I leaned the bike against the guardrail and climbed on the other side as a police car came around the curve probably at 100 mph with the tires leaning. He didn’t slide, but it looked like he could. Soon a second one came by as I jumped over the rail once more. When I got to the top of the hill I had about 5 miles or so of downhill to Waitsburg and was cruising along at 25mph or so when I came upon an accident scene with all the flashing lights. I was a little anxious as the hill was steep, traffic heavy and I needed a quarter to half mile to stop so how much would a semi-truck need. But we all got stopped and a Jeep had hit a truck head on and the Paramedics were just leaving with the victim. No one needed an old retired ER doctor, so I got some more fire information from the flagman and was on my way coasting another 3 or 4 miles into Waitsburg.

I stopped at the first gas station and met Jim Davison, the clerk, who is a retired schoolteacher of business and driver’s education. He taught all the kids in town and most of their parents how to drive and said they were all good drivers, “because they are motivated to get their license. They only turn to bad drivers after the class is over.” I suppose he’s right; I never thought of it that way. Jim is a delightful guy who brought the chair in from out in the sun and plopped me down in front of the air conditioner where I sat drinking a cold Root Beer for 30 or more minutes until my TB showed up. Jim said there was a nice campground, The Lewis and Clark Campground, just 4 more miles down the road. I rode down there but it was a dust bowl and had no electric for the Van so I loaded up and we drove 4 more miles into Dayton and found a motel for $41.00, no tax, owned by Sam Pate. The town was said to be overrun with firefighters and smoke but we saw neither as the wind had changed; but I don’t know how the wind blew the firefighters away. All the stores have signs thanking the men from all states for their efforts against the fire.

We are now around 80 miles from leaving Washington and entering Idaho at the Snake River. Lewis and Clark traveled that route to the Pacific. On the Washington side is the town of Clarkston and on the Idaho side the town of Lewiston. Isn’t that cute. We won’t make it that far tomorrow.

Our First State Line

2006-08-28T20:40:00.000-07:00

Out of Oregon into Washington and Real Heat

2006-08-28T20:38:00.000-07:00

8/28/2006: Day 9, 52.8 miles; Total 334.5 Miles

Following the TB’s advice, I got up at 6:15 AM and was out the door by 7:15 from Umatilla with a goal of 53 miles to Walla Walla, Washington. This was the “beat the heat” strategy. In order to save money, avoid my snoring, and be closer to his beloved VW Camper, the TB slept in the van last night just outside my window. The parking lot looked flat to me but he put it up on blocks to make it perfect for the refrigerator function. He also ran a cord through the window to plug in his electric and then brought in all our supplies to make me a perfect breakfast. I opened the shades at 6:30, but he never came in. I ate my preferred breakfast of a bowl of cereal and a breakfast bar and felt good to go, when we met on my way out the door. He was upset that he drove off yesterday and left most of his plastic leveling devices at the last stop. Now his warm clothes are in Shreveport, my Pittsburgh Pirate Hat is in Amarillo, and his levelers are in Cascade Locks!

I rode for the final 24 miles along the Columbia River and then cut East away from the river on U. S. Route 12 toward Walla Walla. At the 18-mile mark I left eastern Oregon and entered eastern Washington about 140 miles from Idaho. The terrain changed once more as we came into more irrigated farmland and began wheat, alfalfa hay, beans, and grape/wine country. The route also began to rise so that I had climbed 1000 feet on reaching Walla Walla. After the first 20 miles it was tough, probably related to the heat and the gentle uphill climb. I struggled. The temperature reached 115 degrees on my cycle computer. I know it reads a little high, but this was plenty more heat then yesterday. When the TB came along we hid under a tree (the only tree in miles) near a closed truck weigh station. At the town of Touchet, some 17.5 miles from destination, we went into an air-conditioned gas station/restaurant for about 45 minutes. I changed from my Florescent Yellow long sleep t-shirt to a long sleeve white permanent press dress shirt. The dress shirt was very much cooler. Over top I wear a florescent vest.

At Touchet, I had serious doubt that I would make it to Walla Walla but the A/C and a pint of Grapefruit Juice and an ice cream sandwich seemed to revive me so we agreed to try five more miles to Lowden. In Lowden, a town of perhaps 20 houses, there is a large grain supply store on the south side of the road so the TB pulled in for the shade, blocking their main work door. I pulled in between the building and the van and sat on the entrance floor when a farmer opened the door to bring out a fork truckload of seed. This was Ed Chvatal, Jr., owner of 3500 acres of farmland in wheat, peas, alfalfa, beans, and cattle. Ed is a graduate of Washington State University in agricultural business. He’s a young guy but been a farmer for 30 years. He says the wheat has the largest profit margin this year as the competition further south had a bad year. Usually the Alfalfa is the highest profit margin. Ed is headed out to Atlanta tomorrow to follow his Cougars to their game against that other well-known agriculture school, Auburn. We discussed the former Cougars coach who was hired by Alabama, but got into trouble with women and alcohol and got fired before he started. Ed confirmed that their had been some talk of the coach being involved with coeds at WSU. Ed will also play a little golf in Atlanta, but says he’s a “hacker.” I learned how the circle irrigation equipment turns without breaking. Each set of wheels has a separate electric motor, but the motor only turns when a sensor in the angle between units gets beyond a certain angle. I always wanted to know that! I even stopped outside Umatilla this morning to watch to see if the units actually were moving; I had even thought perhaps they went out and pulled them with a tractor! Go Cougars!

After talking with Ed I had a rejuvenation of energy. The conversation did me good. I jumped on the bike and took off the final blazing 12.5 miles. Ed had told me that no matter how hot it felt, it wasn’t as hot as Florida!

With five miles to go into town I passed a tree! Yes, it was a live tree on the south side of the road and actually making shade. It was in front of a house with two white German shepherd dogs. The dogs were behind a fence, and between fence and road and under the shade was Grass. Yes, it was live grass, the first I’d seen since perhaps Pensacola! I had gone 30 yards past, but recognized the error of my way and turned back. I lay down in the grass, and next I know the homeowner handing me a very cold bottle of water awakens me. Soon the TB came by and we agreed I’d go for the town and he’d have another A/C room ready.

I started once more in the heat above 100 degrees and pedaled the last 6 miles to town. As I looked up I could see half a mile away the van at the Holiday Inn Express; and the front tire went flat! So I walked the Stallion on over to the Holiday Inn to find no vacancy. We loaded the Stallion drove to a hotel across town. There are no rooms in town because the Fair just opened and there are very large forest fires just a dozen miles east of town. The air has looked somewhat hazy, but I didn’t know it was forest fire smoke and exactly on our route.

So I have decided I will take a day off tomorrow as this is the last bike shop for several hundred miles and the Stallion needs his gear wires adjusted and perhaps some oil and grease. And, I hate to use the word, but I’m a little weary. I may ride from the West of town over here to the east of town to get that part finished.

It was warm yesterday, but hot today!

2006-08-28T19:43:00.000-07:00

Is Eastern Oregon a Desert?

2006-08-27T19:37:00.000-07:00

8/27/2006: Day 8, 45.0 miles; Total 281.7 Miles

At Cimarron the Trail Boss’s insistence I got up early and out the door by 8:15 AM—not early enough it turns out. He made me a fried egg sandwich and I was gone with two bottles of Conquest in the bike holsters. It was 58 degrees at 9 AM. Out onto I-84 and up the road I went walking at first, as there was a hill for about half a mile. I began to pedal at about the ¾ mile mark. It was an interesting change of terrain as I am out of the Gorge and into rolling suede looking brown hills with no sign of it ever having rained. In fact I saw on the morning news rainfall for the month so far in this area (27 days) has been 0.01 inches. That sounds more like sweat! The early traffic count was about 500 cars per hour, but it is Sunday morning. However, I suspect some of the difference is the distance from Portland. The road goes onto Boise and Salt Lake City; however, we saw little traffic when we drove it Westward last week. I think they built the road to get the Wagons off the Oregon Trail.

At 20 miles there was a roadside rest with free coffee--donations only. I pulled in and had half a dozen cookies (white and chocolate) and three cups of coffee and then realized I had no money. This is not a rare event for me but usually Millie is here with the cash. As I begged off and made my apologies, in pulled the Trail Boss to bail me out with a donation. I then loaded up with some cash, as I can’t see a 61 year old traveling the country penniless! It was about 10:15 and the temperature was up to 86. I soon pulled out and again there was a change in terrain to flat with the beginnings of irrigated farms here and there for which eastern Oregon and Washington are famous. On the other side of the river there were hills as high as 1000 feet and irrigated green farms inside the suede that may have been Washington Apples. On my side at lower elevation was beautiful Bermuda hay and probably sugar cane. It smelled nice.

At Exit 168, 168 miles from Portland, I exited I-84 onto Oregon 730 toward Umatilla. A truck driver at the rest stop had advised I stay off of 730 as “it has narrow shoulders especially at turns.” He could not have been more inaccurate. The road had no hills, the shoulder was as wide as the interstate, much smoother, much less debris, and the traffic count was 100 cars per hour—almost like no vehicles at all! The farm fields were beautiful with the irrigation going full blast and at 11 AM the temperature was at 95 degrees. I stopped at a small town gas station and had some hamburger and noodles in red sauce and a quart of 1 percent Chocolate milk worth 760 calories for $3.16. I rested sitting on the curb near my bike in the shade for 10 minutes and may have dozed off a minute. When I pulled out the temperature was 104 degrees and I took the accompanying picture of my cycle computer to prove it. About a half mile down the road the TB came along and wanted me to stop for lunch. Since I already had lunch, I stopped for a cold soda and was on my way for the last 8 miles to Umatilla. The maps had indicated it would be a 50-mile day, but it turned out to be just exactly 45.0 to the motel he picked; and that was enough for me. With this heat, we just can’t stop at 2 PM and not have air conditioning; and I can’t go much longer. Today I drank somewhat less than yesterday, but I think I was hydrated; however, today after stopping I had some minor muscle cramps in hands and feet indicating some dehydration or electrolyte imbalance. I wore a bandana under my helmet and over my ears as the ears got sunburned yesterday. The bandana might have kept some of the sweat (what there is of it in this dry land) out of my eyes, but probably didn’t allow my head to cool so well through the helmet ventilation system.

Our good friend Candy Lady, of Appalachian Trail Fame, suggests there is some information that naming of the bicycles is a good luck charm. So I have named the bikes. The Bianchi Strada is made in Italy and is now the Italian Stallion, or Stallion for short. It is an appropriate name for this bike's characteristics. It is sleek, responsive, sometimes has a mind of its own and over responsive, quick to speed, light and a comfortable ride. The Raleigh spare bike is made in England and will be called the English Nanny, or Nanny for short. It is small, soft, comfortable, stable, a little over weight, reliable, somewhat slow, and takes extra energy to get up to speed. The Stallion and the Nanny will keep me on the road.

Tomorrow we go out of Eastern Oregon at the 18-mile mark and into the southeastern part of Washington as we head to Idaho on Route 12 through Walla Walla, WA, at the 52-mile mark. Walla Walla is tomorrow’s goal; however, Route 12 includes hills and the same heat so we will see how that goes. The weather forecast is for the same heat tomorrow but 10-20 degrees cooler for the following three days. That should be helpful.

A Little Hot Today

2006-08-27T19:29:00.000-07:00

A Flat, A Wreck, Tar Stains, and Heat Exhaustion

2006-08-26T20:07:00.000-07:00

8/26/2006: Day 7, 39.7 miles; Total 236.7 Miles

We left The Dalles too late at about 9 AM after clearing out the Motel 6 room of just about everything we had in the VAN. I had two bowls of oatmeal and a bowl of cold cereal. Then the TB wanted eggs; but they had frozen in the refrigerator he turned up to the highest setting to assure nothing spoiled. Nothing did, but the eggs were cracked! He threw his hands up in the air, and said now we have to throw a whole dozen away. But we decided we could hard-boil the whole dozen like Earl Shaffer used to do on the Appalachian Trail. I then had two slices of toast and two hard-boiled eggs. So I surely had adequate caloric intake, but I do hate hard-boiled eggs. I hope he can eat the other 10.

He had to drive me, as my stopping point yesterday was 10 miles north of town. That’s one reason I left so late to assure we had some motel time and he didn’t want to double back. He was not happy that I left so late, but I do have trouble getting going in the mornings and I know I can’t pedal all day anyway.

Not far into the ride I saw the dead buck shown in the photo in the bush along the road. About 10 miles later I had a front flat tire. It took me 32 minutes (not bad for me) to change the flat. I sat on the edge of the guardrail and inflated the tube as I had been taught 4 days previous at the bike shop. Inspection of the inside of the tire revealed that a simple home staple (again) had sent both prongs through the tire and into the tube. Now, just how could that happen twice? About 15 miles later I spotted TB half mile ahead waiting at an exit. Just then something moved beside me over the guardrail and I saw 5 Big Horn Sheep, also pictured. I then stopped with TB and had a cold drink, as it seemed to be getting hot and my cycle computer read 102 degrees and in the Gorge there was no shade. As I got off the bike my butt stuck to the seat and we found I had tar over the back of my shorts, apparently from the guardrail. So we used olive oil (now I know why we carry it) to clean the seat and changed to different shorts. I sat for about 10 minutes, as I just didn’t have the energy today. I drank a quart of my sports drink Conquest and a 12 oz Grape Drink.

I pulled out onto the interstate and started again and did well for about a mile when I wondered if I had closed the trunk bag that rides behind me. So I reached back to feel it, pulled to the right off the pavement into soft gravel, and flew over the handlebars onto the blacktop on the I-84 shoulder with the bike spewing out from under me. I was probably only going 5 miles per hour by the time the front tire sunk in, but it was another miraculous event that an old guy like me wasn’t injured. A car from I-84 saw it all and pulled over, but I waved them away. Somehow I blocked the fall with my hands and arms and only lightly scrapped my knees, but no blood.

All of this consumed more energy but I continued on to the 39.7-mile mark at exit 137 where we planned to meet. At the exit notification sign 1 mile from the exit I stopped for 5 minutes for shade behind the sign as there is no shade otherwise. I had planned to go 10 more miles to the next exit, but when I saw there would be a walking uphill we stopped for the day. I had mentioned earlier that chocolate milk sounded great and the TB had bought a quart for me. What a crew boss. I fell into the van and guzzled down the whole quart in no time. He already had us a room and the motel owner said it was 110 degrees! I never knew that eastern Oregon was like a desert, but I know it now. I drank 4 quarts of Conquest, four 12 oz drinks, and a quart of milk today. The book, “Bicycling the TransAm,” says the following about the local area: “If your image…is all green, this day will change your mind as you peddle through the suede-colored, dry…fields.”

Tomorrow I must start early as the hardware clerk said it would be about 60 in the morning, and 100 by noon.

Big Horn Sheep at 20 Yards

2006-08-26T17:06:00.000-07:00

A Staple in the Rear This Time

2006-08-26T17:04:00.000-07:00

Remants of The Oregon Trail

2006-08-26T17:03:00.000-07:00

John Day Dam and Salmon Ladder

2006-08-26T17:01:00.000-07:00

Hit by a bike?

2006-08-26T16:59:00.002-07:00

Forty-eight Salmon Fishing Boats

2006-08-26T16:57:00.000-07:00

Columbia River Near The Dalles

2006-08-25T21:00:00.000-07:00

Our First Half-Century Ride

2006-08-25T19:14:00.000-07:00

8/25/2006: Day 6, 52.4 miles; Total 195.4 Miles

We slept well in the motel last night. The TB got up and went for a three-mile walk through the streets of Cascade Locks, and feels real good about it. I slept until 8 AM and started riding at about 9:15 after he made me two bowls of oatmeal and a cup of Cappuccino. He hung around the room until 11 AM and it was good for relaxation. Of course he tidied up the van and is proud of the new muffler.

I pulled out of town by riding back up onto Exit 44 and Interstate 84. We had reviewed all the maps and decided to go for the 97-mile exit or 53 miles. This would include passing Hood River, the wind surfing capital of the world (yes, on fresh water not salt), and “The Dalles” a yuppie town with the Dalles Dam, which was built for navigation and hydroelectric purposes. The dams on the Columbia were built with fish ladders so the returning salmon could swim up over the dams and continue up river. Fresh salmon is for sale all along the route.

I made an average of 12.0 mph today, and had no mechanical problems. The TB came along and met me at Hood River some 20 miles into the ride and we decided to go at least to The Dalles, about 44 miles for the day and perhaps onto exit 97 for over 50 miles. As I ate my sandwich at this stop a tractor-trailer pulled in so I asked the driver about services at Exit 97. He said he drives this route every day, but had no idea! In order to keep the TB off the roads we decided to get a room in The Dalles at the mile 87 marker so I could see the Steelers play the Eagles on Friday night football. So he went on to get the room and I continued to ride toward the 97-mile marker. What a relief it is to have the bike functioning well and to know I can get him by cell phone so he can get off the road and away from the stress and strain and boredom of much of the day. As I road through The Dalles he was hanging over the I-84 fence from the access road in front of the Motel-6, shouting we had a room! He was “pumped,” and I was too to know he would get some rest and I could continue on for a later pick up.

As I rode down a hill I saw an Oregon State Trooper spotting radar, so I pulled in to check my speed. He was embarrassed that he had not shot me (radar I hope) and we talked for 10 minutes thus saving several people from tickets! He said he gives 20 or 30 tickets a day “depending on how fast they go.” I would have never guessed! He was a nice guy, like all the cops I ever met, and was wearing a bulletproof vest. I hope he doesn’t need it. About 15 miles down the road I was taking a BOBB (butt off bike break) sitting on the guardrail and he came by as I waved and he gave me a short blast of the siren! I love this stuff!

During the morning I had 1300 vehicles per hour passing me, half in my east bound lane and half west bound. In the afternoon there were 1500 per hour. I did a 6-minute sample count so I suspect this is pretty accurate. In spite of the traffic count, I suspect the interstate is safer than the secondary roads will be as the I-84 mostly (not always!) has a 10-foot smooth paved shoulder.

I continued on to the 97-mile exit and thus completed 52.4 miles for the day. We have now completed roughly 200 miles out of 4000 or 5% or 1/20^th of the trip. It sounds so easy. It is so much different from hiking the Appalachian Trail. For one thing I am not nearly so filthy at the end of the day, although we have had a shower every day so far. Also, I have essentially no aches and pains and absolutely no blisters. I am taking one aspirin per day and Aleve 200mg twice a day. I usually take Aleve 400 mg twice a day when hiking or in the old ultramarathon days, but am feeling good on half a dose currently. We’ll get back to camping after tonight. We needed the room last night, and I had to see the Steelers tonight.

Cimarron the Trail Boss just came in from a shopping trip out to the Fred Meyer Store. Earlier he had actually found a Wal-Mart at Hood River and was disappointed that they didn’t have “anything.” He never did find any diet soda. “They didn’t have any in the whole store,” he said. I said, “Did you ask anyone?” He said, “I didn’t need to ask, they didn’t have any!” He also could not find any long underwear or stocking cap. Fred Meyer has managed to keep most of the Wal-Mart’s out of the North West so tonight during the Steelers game he went over to Fred Meyer in The Dalles. He claims it was worse than the Wal-Mart, but he did find the long johns but no cap. The long johns are too small, but he won’t take them back. He now just opened a Coors Light Beer his first beer of his 85^th year. He didn’t have any beer at all in his 84^th year.

We have 71 more miles of I-84 and then will cut north into Washington and pick up route 12 which will take us all the way to Missoula, MT, and the headquarters of the Adventure Cycling Organization. The flat interstate riding will be over for the whole trip. Tomorrow we will shoot for another 50 miler along the interstate.

By the way, I see that Tiger Woods won the PGA Championship last week and is leading the tournament this week. Although none of the current pros can whip Tiger; I'd like to give notice that Tiger's days are limited, as my grandson Gary, III, turns 14 in a month. He has the best swing coach in his Dad, Gary, Jr., a driven manager in his mother Ronda, and a new sports psychologist, Dr. Robert Winter to supplement grandpa's work. He weighs 88 pounds and hits his drives 250. He was student of the year for his grade in middle school last year so he's smarter than Tiger also. Mark my words.

The Columbia River Gorge Just East of Portland

2006-08-24T21:13:00.000-07:00

Multnomah Falls, OR

2006-08-24T20:57:00.000-07:00

VW Maintenance

2006-08-24T20:54:00.000-07:00

Installing a Muffler and Leaving Portland

2006-08-24T17:42:00.000-07:00

8/24/2006: Day 5, 34.4 miles; Total 143.0 Miles

We awakened on the TB Cimarron’s birthday in Belcher’s yard where we both slept in the VW for the first time. We slept in until 6:30 and Cimarron reminded me of the hole in the muffler he found during the cattle drive. It needs fixed before we leave Portland, the largest city on the whole trip. Having his van repaired is almost as tough as having his child operated on, so I felt I’d better go with him. He had seen a VW dealer yesterday so we headed over there. I parked the Van while he went into service and asked if they had a muffler so they sent him to the parts department. I came in and said we needed a muffler on the Van quickly as we were riding a bike to Washington, DC. The service manager said, “If it were mine, I’d go 55 blocks down the street to Portland Muffler, the best in town where I took my own car.” So we did, and 2 hours and $90 later we had a new muffler. We then had the giant birthday breakfast and drove to 181^st and Burnside to start the ride again at 1:30 pm.

I rode 6.9 miles along the light rail line on Burnside and a few side streets to the I-84 entrance ramp where we reconnoitered and decided to go for Hood River some 50 miles away. I-84 was a great ride. With me at 16 mph and the traffic at 65 mph, it was really not bad. There is a 10-foot shoulder nice and smooth and the traffic stayed over nicely. There was a trailing wind out of the west and so my pace was good with about a 14 mph average. The route is only slightly uphill and no major climbs as the road follows the Columbia River Gorge for over 200 miles. We saw the Bonneville Hydroelectric Dam and multiple locks and the Bridge of the Gods that crosses over into Washington and is the route of the Pacific Crest Trail that I hope to hike someday before I get old. I stopped at Multnomah Falls that is the most magnificent in Oregon and falls several hundred feet from the cliffs into the gorge right beside the interstate. I didn’t have my camera so asked a nice tourist family to take my picture with their cell phone. I hope to post the picture.

At exit 40 bikers are required to leave the interstate because of a narrow tunnel unsafe for bikers. The bike trail is on old highway 30 built in the 1920’s as a single lane dirt road carved out of the side of the gorge. It was beautiful and views of Bonneville Dam were spectacular; however, the road climbed the side of the gorge and I had to walk the bike up some mile or so and lost much time in my average pace. At one point there are about 60 steps coming down the gorge back to the road and a groove to push the wheels in. It worked pretty well as I used the hand brakes and let the bike roll in the groove as I walked the steps. But this side trail cost me time and energy and I could see I would never make it to Hood River. I had called the TB and he couldn’t find a motel in Hood River because of some type of weekend celebration so he was waiting at the Viento State Park Campground. I was very upset about this, as I had sent him off to find a motel room and to relax away the afternoon while I pedaled. But he never got the rest he needed. As I entered the little town of Cascade Locks some 8 miles short of the destination, I passed the Cascade Motel and got us a room. By the time he got here I was showered and had washed out my biking clothes. He micowaved leftovers from last night’s birthday bash and I went to the local drive in and picked up an excellent hamburger and fries and vanilla shake. I just went back on red meat 3 months ago and the burger was great.

So, although today’s mileage was again not up to standard, I have more excuses and extenuating circumstances (the muffler) and will do better tomorrow. However, the latest problem for tomorrow is the Steelers are on Friday night football and I’d sure love to see it. Being on Pacific time the game will start at 5 PM!

No Breakdowns Today

2006-08-23T21:25:00.000-07:00

8/23/2006: Day 4, 42.6 miles; Total 108.6 Miles

We start our day at Columbia City, OR, population 1157. I am now back on the Bianchi with a new front shifter and a new heavy-duty rear tube. The TB’s jobs for the day include doing the laundry and mailing home a large box of excess stuff. I start off and he follows closely for a couple of miles and all is a joy with no breakdowns. So he did his jobs and I pedaled through Portland for a total of 42.6 miles or 1% of the total trip in one day. This isn’t enough but it’s a lot more than we’ve been doing.

Today’s highlights include the lady at the Post Office asking the TB to bring the box into be measured so he left and went to Fed Ex instead. He got the package off and found a laundry that had machines that required him to hold the door to keep running. Then he met me along the route and I was glad to see him after about 20 miles. I ate some Little Debbie’s, Lance crackers, he made me a cup of Cappuccino and I went back to the saddle. It was nice to have a BOBB (a butt off bike break) and sit on the floor of the VAN. We planned to meet on the East of Portland and he would go to the Portland Post Office and pick up our mail of more maps for the Columbia Gorge. However, he couldn’t find the post office and got lost going north on I-5 toward Seattle and gave up the effort.

I wandered around downtown Portland myself unable to follow my maps to get across the Willamette River for about half an hour. Finally I carried the bike up 3 flights to the Burnside Bridge to luckily find it had been closed a week but was open now and across I went. I went the wrong way on the first street and had to circle back climbing a slight hill to a stop sign. I forgot to get my feet out of the cleats that fasten me to the pedals and as the bike came to a stop I fell over onto my left elbow, but suffering no injury. A homeless guy on the side of the road shouted out to see if I was okay. The city is beautiful, the riverfront loaded with sleeping homeless, and many yuppies with orange or blue hair coming out of coffee shops.

The biking was not strenuous, the machine performed beautifully, the zooming cars were not too close, and I cruised some 30 miles into town at an average of 14 miles per hour and through town some 12 more miles taking in some neighborhoods and the MAX (Metropolitan Area Express) a light rail system.

Tonight we are at the home of Dawn and Paul Galli in Portland. She is Belcher of Appalachian Trail fame from our thru-hike of the AT in 2000. Belcher was famous for hiking in a skirt. I can recall seeing her on top of Mt. Washington with her skirt flying in the wind and the temperature at 28 degrees. She did wear long johns. We met her husband Paul who hiked the Pacific Crest Trail with her and their roommate Heidi who is also a PCT Thru-Hiker and works at REI. Paul is a surveyor and Belcher a pre-school teacher.

We reviewed the maps and will head up the Columbia River Gorge after we finish about 6 more miles of Portland. It’s only about 320 more miles to finish Oregon, our first state.

Downtown Portland, OR

2006-08-23T21:02:00.000-07:00