seventy one

INVISIBLE IN PLAIN SIGHT

Not every place I traveled was quiet and safe; I traveled through some large cities with some rough neighborhoods. I live in the Phoenix area and ride through some crazy places. 

The beauty of a bike is that it goes slow enough to see, but fast enough to not really be there. Riding silently through the roughest neighborhoods is a skill. 

I have learned to be invisible, in front of everyone. This sounds crazy but with body language and the short time it takes to pass through an area. The worst that happens is an occasional look of, “what the heck is that nut doing on that bicycle”. Then by the time they noticed, I’m gone. 

When I make eye contact I nod and smile. I still think the vast majority of people are friendly and kind, some places just have a higher percentage of jerks. There is always the chance of just being "it". If you want to avoid this possibility altogether, stay in bed.

seventy

FLASH FROM THE PAST

This was called Young’s Inn, we stayed here several weeks while on vacation in the seventies. We drove our Fiat 124 Sports Coupe, another great way to see New England. 

It was strange to find this place so many years later. There also was seafood carryout in the place to the right. I ate ten pounds of fried clams from there, and drank a lot of Canadian beer. 

We were young and in love, those were special days. To be 3000 miles from home on a bike and now looking back through time was a strange feeling.

sixty nine

$12 CABINS

These are the small cottages In Hampton Beach, New Hampshire, we stayed in in 1975 and 1976 for $12. They were like miniature houses with kitchens and everything, I think they were built in the twenties. They were closed but will be reopened under new management soon. What would they cost today?

sixty eight

A FAMILIAR BOARD WALK

This was Ocean City Maryland, a place I have visited many times thirty years ago. The thing I noticed about beaches was that they all have their own unique personality. I saw so many beaches in 2004, San Francisco to San Diego and Florida to Maine. 

Some beaches are beach front private homes and stony shorelines that are great for finding sea shells at low tide. The long white sand beaches with white surf and surfers. Just a warning, never ever use those portable toilets. Still others are strangely empty, perhaps the 50 degree water was a factor. 

I watched young Canadians surf in Maine, with light wet suits, no boots, gloves or hoods. But these are the same people who play ice hockey, perhaps my desert rat wimp factor is showing. 

There are flat hard packed sand beaches suitable for truck and car traffic. Some are places to take your family. Some you you get drunk, get a tattoo and get lucky. 

I enjoyed them all, as I slowly drifted through.

sixty seven

TOBACCO COUNTRY?

On a bike you don't need or want super highways, the two lane country roads are perfect. This is a quiet road through Connecticut and to my surprise it was tobacco country. 

I was not expecting tobacco this far north. I learned later that most of these leaves were used in cigar making for the outside wrapping. We have a preconceived notion of what places are like until we actually visit. 

This mode of travel allows you to see and feel everything. Name a state I have traveled through and I remember the terrain, bugs, accents, food, climate, smells and the people. 

I have driven across country several times. I ate the same foods in the same service plazas, passed through cities and gaged the size by the number of exits. The only people I did meet were at gas stops fueling up like me. 

Coast to coast the freeways looks the same. However, the pace on a bike and the need to camp and eat puts me in touch with people and places in a very special way.

sixty six

THE GREAT FLOOD OF NEW JERSY 

This is the high water from the twelve inch local rainfall two days before. It was the aftermath of a late summer hurricane. The water looks like it may be touching, but it was a few feet below the bridge. It was however many feet over flood stage which was an all-time record. 

The bridge was open when I got on. I was taking my time seeing the sights until the bridge let out a deep vibrating groaning creek. 

The bridge was now closed as I reached the other side. I was the last one off of the bridge. I’m glad I made it across, it would have been a long detour.

sixty five

THE GREAT BICYCLE CRASH

This is a steel bridge in New Hampshire, near Portsmouth. The surface was made of squares cast iron plates. Each plate had small uneven steel pegs that made it difficult to cross even in a car. 

The thin tires on a bicycle made it even more dangerous in dry conditions. It was raining that day which made it impossible. 

As I started across the bridge I was slow and steady, but after two swerves it kicked over and I caught my hand under the handlebar and the full weight of me and the bike. I still have a slight bend in the handlebar. 

My hand really hurt and my knuckle was ripped open. I banged my knee but that was a “walk it off” wound. I didn't think I had hit my head, but my helmet told a different story. The helmet and my head  were not broken, but I had hit enough to make a proper mark, in the helmet. 

My rear pannier was hanging ugly and my chain was off. There was a good Samaritan who offered to help, but I was in pain and stupid angry. I didn't swear at first but I was short with him so he moved on. 

I walked over the bridge and looked back to see the sign that said, “DO NOT RIDE BICYCLES ON THE BRIDGE". I knew there was one on the other side, but I wouldn't have read it anyway. 

The Good Samaritan returned and I took it to a new level of bullheaded stupid and turned him down again. There I was broken bike, breading hand, crushed hand and it started to rain harder.

It started raining even harder as I cleared the next hill. It was eerie when I heard a car crash back at the bridge. I had no idea where I was headed, but I had examined my cut and knew the tendon was intact. I still needed an x-ray and stitches but mostly I was mad at myself. 

Even though this was an epic fail, this was simply the price of having fun.

sixty four

BOB'S BICYCLE SHOP AND URGENT CARE

This is Bob's Bicycle Shop in Portsmouth, New Hampshire. I never spent a dime in this place but I wish I had. The day I walked in with a broken bike, smashed and bleeding hand after a three mile walk in the rain was a bad day. 

Bob took one look at me and told his mechanic to drop everything and drive me to the hospital. He also told me he would take care of my bike. 

A few hours later after x-rays and some stitches I returned. He had called around and got me a rate on a nearby hotel and let me work on my bike like I was a local bike shop rat. 

I was preoccupied with questions about finishing the tour and the pain and I really didn't thank them properly. I holed up until noon the next day which was when the rain let up and continued on. 

If you are ever in the area, stop and give Bob your business, he and his crew are great people.

sixty three

SQUIRRELS ARE CUTE BUT A LITTLE STUPID

This sounds a little sick, but on the edges of the nation’s highways there are a large amount road kill. As I came upon each victim I made a mental note of the animal type. 

I saw cats, dogs, chickens, a horse, several deer both whitetail and mule, a bobcat, red fox, rabbits, a cow, armadillo, possums, raccoons, snakes and assorted birds. 

The one thing I noticed was how stupid squirrels can be. I saw over 100 squirrels on the east coast trip alone. 

The strangest one was a large bag of popcorn smashed in the middle of the road with two dead squirrels nearby. I deducted the popcorn was discarded from a passing car then discovered by one of the squirrels.  He then called for his squirrel friend. I know this because squirrels travel in pairs, remember Chip and Dale. 

They were probably having a conversation inside of the bag. Excited about their discovered popcorn stash for next winter. 

Perhaps they noticed the oncoming sound of the pickup truck but it was too late SPLAT! 

Two more dead squirrels on the score board. The long stretches of lonely highway do things to a man's mind...

sixty two

 

DRY DOCK

I was extra tired and hungry as I reached the bridge at the end of the outer banks of Virginia. I stopped at a campground where they wanted $25 for a place in the lawn by the store plus the bathroom would be closed at five o'clock so I said no thanks. 

I had to find a place for the night somewhere because after the bay bridge there was a military camp with no stopping permitted signs for the next ten miles. Commando camping was out because I could end up in jail. 

I asked for ideas at a nearby marina and met Andy. Andy was a local handy man who lived in the marina. He said they didn't have camping, but he didn't like the guy who owned the campground. He checked with the owner then asked me for ten bucks. 

I figured it was for the owner, but I think Andy used it for beer. He told me where to find food which was back about five miles. The payoff was the best shower on the planet. 

It was a fairly new plywood building with warped floors and bugs. I didn't see them, choosing not to look but I know they were there. 

The shower had no exhaust fan so it soon turned into a steam sauna. The water was extra hot and pressure from the two headed shower was powerful.  One was for massage and the other was pins and needles. I hadn't taken a shower that long since I was in junior high. 

I cooked a freeze dried dinner then sat on Andy's porch.  I drank coffee while Andy drank the beer I think I paid for. We talked about the food from the bay, clams, crabs, and oysters. I think he was related to that guy in Forest Gump.

Andy told me about a boat that was in storage, where I could sleep. It had a cabin with a bed, and a lot of Andy's brand if beer cans. 

It was going to rain so I would be high and dry during the rainy night.

Morning came and the rain stopped. I was mostly packed so after coffee and a bathroom I headed down the road. Any was a good man.

sixty one

PERFECTER DAY

This was a soothing stretch of road on the coast of North Carolina. I can't recall how long this bridge was but rides like this make a perfect day even more perfect.

sixty

THE NON-TOURIST TOURIST ON TOUR

A ferry ride on the Outer Banks was a welcomed rest. They didn't charge me for some reason, I guess I didn't take up much room. 

I talked with some local people who for some reason didn't view me as a tourist. In fact they talked about how they didn't like "the tourists”. 

I can't figure that one, maybe I ran out of semi clean shirts. A motel is in the cards, it looks like heavy rain.

fifty nine

NAKED CLERGYMEN

This is the smallest diner in New Jersey, says the owner. I stopped by chance and found the place empty but open. The owner was a friendly old man who Billy Crystal may have used for his old Jewish guy character. 

He pointed to the wall which displayed the proud history of this quaint eatery. His daughter was the cook and she filled the work space completely. I ordered their house special a grilled cheeseburger and fries which hit the spot. 

I then asked if they had a restroom. They directed me to the YMCA two doors down. The local clergymen from all of the local churches were having their weekly basket ball game. 

They had finished and were showering while engaged in a theological debate. The bathroom was in ear shot. That was the weirdest locker room conversation I have ever heard. 

Naked clergymen in an intense theological discussion. Touring is like a box of chocolates you never know what you're going to get.

fifty eight

NICE PEOPLE

 I asked the people working in the garden if they allowed people to sleep by the trail that ran by Rails To Trails through Pennsylvania. I no sooner said that when they offered their yard. 

They told me where to get water, about a really nice portable bathroom by a tool and die shop nearby, an electrical outlet I could use and that I could eat anything I wanted from their garden. 

They said goodnight and went into their house for the night. I picked some perfect tomatoes, bell peppers, two ears of over ripe sweet corn, and some tiny red skinned potatoes. 

I had some canned chicken, so I boiled it with the corn, potatoes and peppers. It wasn't bad the tomatoes were great as I ate them like apples. 

Just another act of kindness from total strangers.

fifty seven

RAILS TO TRAILS

The Rails to Trails system is a bike and walking path built on the old railroad lines through the eastern states. They aren't all hooked together so using them to travel state to state is difficult. I found a piece of one from Maryland to Pa. It was about fifty miles long and a welcomed change from traffic filled streets.

fifty six

DON'T JUDGE PEOPLE BY THEIR COVER

This was a Presbyterian church in South Carolina. There were people outside so I asked if I could camp in their picnic area behind the church. It was separate from the building so I thought they wouldn't mind. 

The Pastor agreed and then offered the use of the church shower which was very welcomed. He said to remember, “We are Presbyterians”, which must have been an inside joke. 

They were having a mid-week Bible study and Boy Scout meeting. Afterward an older couple walked out to where I was cooking my evening meal. They were probably in their eighties and both had walking canes. 

They asked the usual questions then began to tell me a powerful story. In their twenties they got married and took a bicycle journey from Seattle to San Diego, then across the country to Florida and up the coast to New England. 

These were real pioneers who did this in the early fifties. There were no bicycle routes or bike maps, equipment was primitive by today's standard and no one was doing organized tours. It took them two years because they had to get jobs along the way for money. 

I went from the wild eyed pioneer nomad to the pampered light weight with credit cards, a cell phone and high tech gear. While we talked I saw the twinkle in their eyes as they revisited the memories if their youth. 

They were so humble about what they had done and perhaps they had not thought about it much until I appeared. We feel we have discovered something brave and new and then we discover people like these. 

Gary Fisher had not yet imagined doing light shows for the Dead and building off road bicycles, the ride across America was twenty years away, and most bikes had one gear and weighed a ton. 

I kick myself for not getting their address, but the short time we talked was eye opening.

fifty five

THE HOT SWELTERING SOUTH

Leaving Georgia in late August. It was hot and humid but beautiful. The water table is about three inches deep. The moss covered the trees. miles and miles of roadside swamp and clouds so low you can touch them. 

The large roach type bugs moved in waves as they feel the vibration of my bike. I stopped to study then and they stared back. This was the perfect place to grow bugs, big bugs. 

The people living here must love bugs.

fifty four

FIRST ENCOUNTER

The hot afternoons in Georgia were brutal. I was shooting for a public campground twenty five miles ahead but I needed water. I saw some people in front of this church so I stopped. They were waiting for the Pastor with the keys to open the building. 

I filled my water bottles then a man invited me to their service. I said I was headed for a campground for the night then he said, "camp here". Free was a great price I seldom refuse. 

At around 11:00 PM they left for the night. I spent a hot night on their front porch. These were wonderful people.

fifty three

WELCOMING STRANGERS

The guy in the middle is me, you can tell by the shirt. The church was very kind to this stranger far from home. 

fifty two

SWEET POTATO PIE

Sometime through the evening I said something about sweet potato pie. In the morning a man stopped just before I got on the road and gave me a warm homemade sweet potato pie made from scratch. Who ever it was had spent hours doing this act of kindness. I ate the whole thing for breakfast. Just think I only stopped for water.

fifty one

IF I WAS IN A CAR I WOULD HAVE MISSED THIS

This was a small town in southern Utah, I had just started my day and the weather was perfect. This was only the second day of my trip back to Phoenix. I had been sick the weeks before I started so I was not in top shape for the next day’s climb. 

This wasn’t my first tour so I knew not to focus on the miles and miss something interesting. I saw this fellow chillin’ by the road so I thought I needed a rest too. 

I learned about the town and the local politics. This nice man was the former Post Master who had actually built the US Post Office over fifty years earlier as a young man. They had never paid him so he took it home after he retired. It was small enough to drag home with a tractor. He now uses it as a potting shed for his wife. 

He had watched the world change from this small town for about sixty years. I was just another character in the endless parade past his home. We had a lot more in common then I first thought. 

As we talked, I realized we were alike in many ways. He observed the world from his spot in this small town, I watch it from the seat of my bicycle.

fifty

OPEN SPACES

The long stretches of the Navajo Nation were in a way soothing. The traffic was light but fast moving. The narrow roads combined with 75 MPH trucks sounds dangerous, but it was much safer than most highways I have traveled. 

I was very visible because of the W I D E open spaces. I was again shocked that people would come up to me in rest stops or restaurants to tell me they had seen me hours or sometimes days before. This happened on all of my trips. I see thousands of cars and trucks; however they see only one nut on a bicycle.

forty nine

LONG DAY

My one day and night hot one hundred fifty four mile ride home. I camped in Chino Valley just north of Prescott, Arizona. My plan was to reach Wickenburg and camp in a public campground. 

I found some really great coffee and a giant cinnamon roll in a quirky coffee shop in Prescott. It was a lazy morning because I was planning a short day. About nine thirty or ten AM I headed out of town. 

What I thought was the last climb turned out to be four or five climbs but it was still green with pine trees. 

The afternoon head winds kicked up along with the temperature. This picture was after the last brutal hot climb with a stiff headwind, I really wanted to quit. I then dropped from 4000 ft to 2000 ft in just a few miles where the air was hot but thicker. 

The desert was over 100 degrees but I don't mind heat. The headwind was still tough until I changed directions toward Wickenburg about thirty miles later. The wind shifted again and began to help, so I thought I would use it as an advantage. 

I hit Wickenburg and bought a gallon of water for the night to free camp in the desert outside of Phoenix. I stopped once and asked a guy about camping in the area. He said that I would probably get shot so I moved on. I rode on to the end of the sunlight. My small battery powered lights are to be seen, not to see. 

I don't mind riding in the city where there are street lights but this far out it was becoming dangerous. 

I found a store and planned to cat nap until first light. I was wired so I rested a little then continued on a few miles until I reached a small strip plaza with lights and then another. 

I was still over fifty miles from home. My GPS said it would be three AM before I would get home. Phoenix in the dark is quiet. The occasional interruption were characters in cars, on bikes, and in the shadows. 

There are friendly women or men dressed like women were yelling something at me while I ride through the dark streets. I just smiled and kept riding. 

The police chased drunks and met in clusters of flashing lights. All of the stores open at these hours had the usual colorful nuts hanging out. I knew this because I was one of them. 

Empty dark streets are my favorite, but tonight no one had any idea of my long odyssey. I reached home at 2:45 AM in silence, carried my eighty pound bike up the stairs to the second floor, opened my hot apartment and sat my weary bones in my favorite chair. 

I showered, drank a gallon of cold water and ate a bag of pretzels. After winding down I crawled into my own bed. 

Why I rode so far is still a mystery, but I knew at 54,"I still got it".

forty eight

STRANGE CRITTERS

This cute little guy or girl was crossing an Arizona desert road, this is an average sized tarantula spider in the wild. If you aren't familiar with the local critters this gentle giant may frighten you. My point is that every area has its unique dangers. 

There are bears in the Carolinas, ticks with limes disease in the east, West Nile Virus mosquitoes most everywhere, poisonous snakes and poisonous spiders. 

As I traveled through the country and camped on the ground this always worried me. I chose to error on the side of caution and sleep in my tent. There are big creatures that could eat through my little tent but the little things were safely outside. 

A little research, common sense, and questioning the locals usually covers things enough to sleep comfortably. I also don't search for bugs, snakes, or rodents, live and let live is my philosophy. 

I fear is being swarmed by bees, I had some bad experiences in my youth. However that was after I threw an apple through their hive.

forty seven

SAN FRANCISCO PARKS

This is a peaceful park in San Francisco near China town. I arrived early Sunday morning after turning in my rental car at the SFO airport. It would be midday before my motel room would be available so I toured the city. 

It the place was coming alive as homeless people emerging from their hiding places. In the empty streets of China town the vender trucks were making deliveries. I saw the great chicken escape. It was like an old Keystone cops movie. Three cursing Asian men returned with multiple chickens in each hand. 

I had coffee and exchanged greetings with a guy who had a really cool track bike. He was possibly my first contact with a well off schizophrenic. Out of nowhere he began shouting at everyone. He became an outraged militant gay man who wanted to kill all of the straight people who opposed gay marriage. 

I smiled, finished my coffee and road away. This park was filled with people doing their morning workouts, however there is an added element. It seems they work up their mucus, and leave it in the park. I don't know if it is a worldwide custom, but in this China Town Park, they make it an art form. 

There was a sweet little Asian lady, I could imagine soon would be selling ginseng or yang root in a local store. She was doing the traditional what I think is called "chi" workout. Then she hacked up a lung from the very depths of her soul and spit it into her hanky. 

Another  man woofer up a few chunks, a lady shot snot out of her nostrils, first the right then the left. They soon left for their lives, free of their nasty fluids. I imagined they never display this in other settings and I think it is great idea. 

I see too many sneaky nose pickers. If we all got it out in the morning the world would be a beautiful snot free place.

forty six

BREAK DOWNS ARE PART JUST OF THE DEAL

The red arrow is where I came from only hours and hours before. I am now climbing to Jacob Lake, Utah about 8000 ft. This was about an hour and a half from a break down. I was searching for a gear I didn't have. My chain jumped the gear cassette and wedged against the spokes. It was a 45 minute repair job, which requires removal of all panniers, rear wheel, and a chain link. I was tired hot and now black with chain grease, that's touring and that's perfect.

forty five

CAMPING WITH A CHAINSAW CARVER

This is a free campsite in Utah, free because I could not find someone to get permission. I don't usually "sneak" camp; however this was a beautiful exception. 

I met a guy in town who was living in a van. After asking me if I had any pot told me about this place. He was a professional chain saw carver. You have probably seen the bears or Sasquatch carved from a log displayed in front of a diner in the west. I was a bit leery until I found out his chainsaw was in pawn. 

There was a stream a few feet away. I did enjoy the place and price, but slept with an ear and an eye. open. There were other campers up stream with some impressive horses. For some reason I felt safe with this stranger, but sometimes all you have to go with is your gut.

We talked for a few hours, one of those conversations you get the feeling was meant to happen. He opened up about a tragedy in his life that produced a lot of guilt. A guilt he was trying to escape in his van. 

I listened and then pointed out traveling in his van for six years may not have worked because everywhere he traveled, there he was. It is hard to run away from yourself, I know because I have tried. I hope he has found some peace.

forty four

This was a morning visitor. He had a problem with my intrusion into his space.

forty three

STANDING ON THE EDGE

This is the beginning of the Navajo Nation. I was at first intimidated by the thought of riding to the distant mountains. Bicycle riding is different, time and distance perception changes. Anyone who rides a bike will understand, but won't be able to explain it either.

For some reason it doesn't feel as far as it looks. I bought some earrings from a Navajo tribe member set up in this vista pull off. I told him I would wave when I got to the saddle, I did I wonder if he saw me.

.