two hundred eleven

A DISTANT STORM HEADING MY WAY

On a small bicycle weighing ninety pounds with less then one horse power you are at the mercy of every whim of mother nature. At times I felt like a row boat in the middle of the ocean. 

The obsession of most touring cyclists is to know the weather in advance. I have had many campsite conversations of hope or dread of upcoming headwinds, tail winds, floods, fires, avalanches, hurricanes, tornados, earthquakes, meteor showers, plagues or rain, most of the time they are wrong. 

I however choose to live in ignorant bliss because I can't change it plus I like surprises. If it rains, I have rain gear, if there is a headwind it just takes longer and if it is too bad I hole up in my tent, pavilion, coffee shop, baseball dugout or a cheap motel. 

Through Kansas and Nebraska, tornado warnings were excepted so I camped in low protected spots. I love extremes and this trip was filled with sub freezing snow covered high altitude climbs, ninety degrees with high humidity, long hot dry desert stretches, flood and fire detours and the occasional afternoon thunderstorms. 

Touring is a true adventure and weather is a big part of that adventure.

two hundred ten

STARTING A NEW ADVENTURE ACROSS THE CONTINENT

Leaving San Francisco on the ferry north to Vallejo. Everything felt wrong and awkward just because that's the way tours start. The look from this end was much different then the look back from the other end. Only 4044 miles to go, piece of cake.

Two hundred nine

THIS IS THE SECOND THOUGHTS STAGE

This is the second day, everything is wrong, nothing feels quite right and I'm wondering if my body will make it. I have felt this way each trip so I know it will pass soon.

I'm on a very nice bike through the center of Sacramento California. In Davis I had a long talk with a local cyclist about touring. He had many many questions. This convinced me to take more time to talk. I believe he was a visitor to my blog for most of my trip.

two hundred eight

COMMANDO CAMPING

The bike path through Sacramento was a great place to camp, after I got through the center of town there were less sketchy people living in the bushes. 

The deer and wild turkeys were so tame they grazed within ten feet of my tent. The morning was the first of many rainy days. I found a quiet restaurant to hang out until the rain stopped.

two hundred seven

NOT JUST THE LAST BUT THE ONLY STOP

Nevada was a state that needed some planning and strategy to survive. This was the only stop between two small desert towns. I had ridden almost forty challenging miles to this point. The food was good and the people were friendly. 

They were familiar with cycling tourists because there was no where else to stop. It was another forty miles to the next town, this was a long long way from Starbucks, McDonald's or Walmart. 

That trailer is the motel. There were eight rooms $45 per room. We were in Nevada perhaps they were used for more then sleeping. I camped just before the next town.

two hundred six

FIRST ENCOUNTER WITH GENEROUS STRANGERS

This is Junior, a dog who became my best friend while camping north of San Francisco. This was a truck farm and chicken farm owned by a very hospitable couple. After I set up my tent they invited me in for a wonderful meal with candles and linen napkins. This was a great start to my trip. Junior spent much of the night sleeping by my tent.

THIS IS JUNIOR

two hundred five

NEVADA STATE HIGHWAY 50 KNOWN AS THE LONELIEST HIGHWAY

This was it for 400 plus miles through Nevada. The traffic was very light, about one car or truck every half hour to as much as an hour and a half. Once or twice it was even longer. Talk about feeling isolated. 

The treeless landscape allowed a strong wind to blow with an eerie silence. My ears lost that background tone we all have from the noise of the daily rat race. After a few days of quiet I begin to truly hear. I could hear trucks and cars from five or more miles away. 

They would first give a hint they were real as small moving speck on the horizon, then they grew large enough to be real. Soon I could determine if it was a car or truck. As the noise grew clearer then louder, then in a brief moment it became larger and louder then life. 

Only a few feet away multiple tons of speeding mass rushed by me at seventy miles per hour or more, the deafening noise and the blast of air was mixed with a momentary look into another set of human eyes. 

In a moment the brief encounter goes quiet and fades into the distance. I return to the sounds of my breathing, the ticking of my clip in peddle  and my thoughts.

two hundred four

A BIG TYPE OF BEAUTY

Nevada has a big type if beauty. If you look at what is directly around you, it seems dry, gray, and lifeless. However, at a distance or looking at the bigger picture it is breathtaking. US route fifty known as “the loneliest road" is a full week of surreal silence and beauty. The snow level was 6000 feet in elevation; I knew I would soon be there.

two hundred three

THE SHOE TREE

This strange tree had no explanation or name it was simply standing alone on a long stretch in Nevada. Several people had stopped to take pictures but they were also puzzled. There was every type of shoe imaginable is hanging there. This includes a bra and a pair if panties nailed to the tree trunk. I have a feeling this is what rural Nevada calls tradition.

It got my attention but I'm sure everyone who passes wonders when and how this strange ritual had begun. I'll make a guess, a large amount of alcohol was involved.

two hundred two

FEELING SMALL, A VERY GOOD THING

The open roads of Nevada were a distant memory until I scanned through my pictures. The days were spent in silent solitude and surreal beauty. If you ever want to feel small, cycle these endless landscapes. After less then a week in my own bed the road is again calling me.

two hundred one

MEMORIES

You cannot know what stirs in me as I see this picture. It fills up my senses like nothing else. The pictures, sounds, silence, and smells of the road. I hope one day you can feel it.

two hundred

THE MORNING MYSTERY

My daily journey took me sometimes 100 miles from where I had slept the previous night. Each morning as open my eyes the inside of my tent is familiar. Everything beyond that was a new mystery. 

My mind would search for my location through my pre caffeine brain fog. Pictures flashed through my mind of previous mornings but I knew what was outside of my tent would all be new. I zip open the rain fly to reveal the surprise. 

The roar of morning traffic, the sounds of rushing water, the songs of wild birds, or the crowing of chickens would greet me. I didn't know what direction I was looking especially if it was over cast. The discovery that there was no dew, heavy dew or rain. This morning mystery was something I grew to enjoy. 

I soon will be back in my own bed with my own bath room which will be nice, but the nomad in me will be a driving force for life.

one hundred ninety nine

The North West Coast, its like New England with amazing sunsets but no chowder!

one hundred ninety eight

BICYCLE CULTURE IS BICYCLE CULTURE

It was a clear warm Saturday in East Cleveland, and there he was , a man named Daryl. He was the creator of this over the top two wheel ride plus several others he had in his bike stable. I love bicycles as did Daryl. I am proud to feature this man of style.

one hundred ninety seven

HOLY POLISH BOY AND A SODA

An East Cleveland Baptist Church was selling lunches as a Saturday fund raiser. I learned about Polish boy sandwiches. It's a Polish link that looked a lot like a hot dog in a bun, covered with Cole slaw and ketchup soaked French fries. The deal came with a Shasta soft drink or juice box. It was a new experience taste for me.

The people there were interested in my journey. They asked tons of questions and put me on their Sunday prayer list. I had one of the more meaningful conversations with a man about my age or older. After the usual basic questions, he asked me if I had found that people were good? From the look in his eyes I felt he was wondering if this country still had a soul and had good people. 

I assured him based on my experience there were still generous and kind people. I felt he feared the country was lost and it was too late. 

We discussed if a black man could do what I was doing and how he would be treated. We figured a man can always find what he is seeking. If you look for kind hearted people you will probably find them. If you search for hate, bigotry, and racism, you will probably find plenty. 

We shook hands and I rode away. I think we gave each other many things to think about. These were good people I think they saw the same in me.

one hundred ninety six

THE FINISH LINE

I made the coast of New Hampshire 4044 miles from San Francisco according to my GPS. This includes all of the miles Walter zig zagged around the back roads taking side trips. 

As I arrived I told the motel owner I had ridden from San Francisco, she didn't seem impressed. There was no fanfare just a warm bed and shower. I was more alone that night then any I can remember. 

It rained for the last three days and the next day will have severe storms forecast. I rode up the coast to Bob's Bike shop and met Bob and crew. It was nicer then the last visit, no stitches or x-rays. 

I rented a car and drove to the Akron Canton airport. I slept in the car that night then turned it in when the rental place opened then I rode 30 miles to my Mothers. 

She was cool about my traveling without telling her (for now). I am so tired I'll be like a returning Tom cat for a few days now that I'm in a safe place. I don't have to watch my back or sleep with one eye open. I'll post pictures soon. 

Dave and Will the young English men reached New York safely.

one hundred ninety five

THE REDNECK CHEERS

I reached Vermont this morning just before a storm. I slept under a pavilion next to the Dogtown Saloon in New York, it was a "Redneck" Cheers. They had bar food alcohol and the neighborhood locals. 

I asked if I could camp under the pavilion to avoid the threatening rain.  A few of the local women showed interest in my comfort but I don't think it had anything to do with the rain. I think it was more due to the after work beer break.

The place was wild until 3 am. They were very loud, crazy and drunk. I was tired enough to sleep in spite of the motorcycle burnouts and group sing along. 

The day after day ride is hard to recover from, but I'm so close I won't stop.