one hundred sixteen

I use a Cane Creek Thud Buster seat post. This is an old idea which was state of the art equipment popular before full suspension bikes. I swear by this simple but heavy butt saver, it gives me an extra 30 miles per day. It keeps an equal distance between your feet and seat, which makes it hard to notice it is there. It never developes an anoying swivel like most spring models. You stay in the seat on rough roads, this is vital at the end of a long day. You don't use your legs as much for suspension.

one hundred fifteen

I found this Brooks seat in an older bike shop. It was so hard I could have used it to pound nails into an oak board. Brooks no longer makes this model so it is what I call a classic. This thing weighs a pound or more and will always wear brown on my shorts. I hated this thing for a long time but people would tell me how much I would love it once I broke it in, I hated them too. They were right, I love it and will transfer it to my next bikes. I don't oil it or baby it, I just put a saddle softener on the inside at least once a year or so.

one hundred fourteen

The first 1500 miles is a war between your seat and a hard leather seat.

one hundred thirteen

SURLY WHAT A COOL NAME

Surly is the brand of bike I ride. They are a small company selling unique frame sets, clothing, whole bicycles, bike racks, and bottle openers. On the surface they appear to be a bunch of guys who are selling stuff they stole the night before. Under the surface they are a well run company with an excellent product selection and professionalism. Their unique niche has allowed them to thrive in a very competitive business. 

Their marketing is genius because it portrays the same attitude as their bikes. They don't claim to be a hand built, professionally endorsed and you will pay dearly for it company. 

They create an idea that serves a niche market, then they find someone to build it to their high standards. They make bikes that are tough, unique, and priced reasonably. They know how to appeal to the "My bike is "Mad Max" bomb proof and I don't need a four thousand dollar bike to prove I'm hip to the spandex crowd". 

They sell frames made of steel with room for fatter tires. I bought a Cross Check whole bike for about seven hundred bucks, it's great for the streets and off road. I have beat this bike for years, commuting, jumping curbs, and 14000 miles of touring so far, it is a tough rig. Ask around bike shops and you will find many bike mechanics personally ride Surly but sell and work on the big brand names. 

In my travels the people who noticed my Surly had chain wallets, tattoos, some were drunk, but no spandex. I love their company, products and image. No this is not a paid endorsement (but I would take free stuff).

one hundred twelve

MY TWO WHEELED TRUCK

I guess I should start with the bike. I spent alot of time but not much money on my rig. There is that balance between looking homeless and being a target. 

First it must be strong and easy to repair so I chose a Surly Cross Check with road bike geometry because I prefer riding road. 

The frame is steel with enough room for fat tires. You must view it as a two wheeled truck. I only have about 700 bucks in the original whole bike.

one hundred eleven

EXPERIMENTING WITH MY ELECTRONICS

Nice try but too cluttered. I received a few comments asking about future trips, so far San Francisco to the Seattle area is next. I will have a month on the road, but I'm still planning, well as much as I plan. 

If anyone has some input on prevailing winds,points of interests,or even a safe place to camp, all feed back would be welcomed. I love the fall season so it will be soon. This picture is the place from which I view the world.

one hundred ten

MEMORIES OVER FLOW

October 12, 2006, I'm back home in one skinny, hairy, stiff and sore piece. I had no big problems, but I need to hole up for a while.

Visions of my trip roll through my memory. I want to tell someone everything I experienced. I'll post more in a few days. Rhonda, thanks for the note.

one hundred nine

MY MOTHER THE WORRIER

I just returned from the east coast and a week with my eighty one year old Mother. She wanted to see Washington DC and the ocean, so I rented a car, loaded her up and hit the road. 

Mom and Dad traveled a lot until he became ill with Altzheimers and died eight years ago. You know when you return home, no matter how old you are, you become a little kid and are reminded to eat, watch crossing the street and to get enough sleep. No matter how old you are moms will always be moms. 

That is why my Mom has no idea of my travels by bicycle. I wish she could see my blog and share my adventures, but she would never sleep and one night out of cell range would have the police in three states searching for me, that's just how she's wired. 

If I call her while on a local training ride she gets upset when I don't call when I get home. I love this great lady but out of sight out of mind is better but I wish she could enjoy her little boy's adventures as he plays. 

I will someday share all of this, but I still have a few more miles in these legs. We were on roads I had toured and saw the places I camped and ate, it was hard not to say something. I spent way more money then I planned, but the smile on her face was worth it.

one hundred eight

This picture has nothing to do with cycling, but those are my old boots. I wore them when I checked my traps before school. After I thought they were worn out my Father wore them for ten more years shoveling snow. I'm now 55 and things like these seem to draw my attention. Perhaps without bicycle touring I wouldn't have noticed, I've learned to look for those little things.

one hundred seven

ONLY IN OHIO

I visited my home town in the rust belt of Ohio. The industry has seen better days so the economy is bad. The houses are built to live in unlike the five thousand square foot investment barns of Phoenix. The homes are practical not stylish and many if you look closely there is a trailer inside.  

There were small stores where the cashier talks to everyone without the canned phrases like "have you found everything?" There are still farms with twenty cows and a Farm-all tractor built in the sixties. Sports team jerseys and the mullet hair style will still attract the ladies. 

Drivers know how to change a tire and jump a dead battery and so do the men. 

This is America at it's best, some may look down at this part of the country but wisdom doesn't always come from ivy league schools. I have learned a lot from farmers and shop workers. I'm always proud to be from this wonderful place. 

This is a picture from the internet, but I'm sure there is one on a house in eastern Ohio. Don't think it would be on the front door, we're not without class. We nail our deer racks and fish heads on the back of the garage.

one hundred six

FRESH EYES

I've lived in the southwest for almost twenty years and the vast open spaces still blow my mind. I travel back to the Ohio valley area where I grew up and see the place through new eyes. By new eyes I mean I see it fresh like I've never seen it before. 

If we live in a place long enough it can become invisible. Even the Grand Canyon would become that big hole in the ground over time. 

I talked to people who live places like this, they talked this way. I have found people bored with beaches. I know this is a normal process but does it have to happen? 

I knew a man named Westley Hanna, born in 1900 and lived his whole life within a five mile area. He looked out of the same window at the same pasture for endless years. He had a garden in the same spot, drove the same roads, watched the same sunrise and sunsets for even more years. He was able each new day to see something new in these places and that always amazed me. 

A trip through his garden was an adventure, I got an education about the life and the behavior of cows every time we looked out of that kitchen window. He looked at things in a wonderful way. 

I have met many who could see what was in front of them, one was my Dad. We waited for trains to pass almost daily in this small industrial town. We could just be angry because we had to wait or accept our fate and watch in wonder. I sometimes think my Dad would rather watch trains then drive. 

Dad drove steam trains during the war and had a romance with them ever since. I thought he was nuts, probably because he was my Dad but I know a lot about trains now. My point is seeing what is in front of us is a mind set. 

The Grand Canyon is a mind blowing sensory overload that everyone can see, but even it can become boring. I believe I have learned a little about how to see the mind blowing things in boring places. In other words a shuttle launch or a bird building a nest, both are a wonder but one is just easier to notice.

one hundred five

HONEST TOUR GUIDE

The Grand Canyon is a visual place. Visitors go there to see it. I thought that was the only experience. 

I have questioned this after seeing a tour bus filled with blind tourists. They piled out with eyes skyward, service dogs and white canes. Two  headed the wrong way and the tour guide turned them around. 

I was unable to bring myself to sneak a picture, not that they would notice, it just didn't seem right. 

There may be an energy or force I can't detect. I just don't think there is a white cane long enough to feel the width and depth of the canyon. 

One thing I do know, the tour company is reputable. They could have stopped at any quiet parking lot and lied.

one hundred four

BEAUTIFUL DISTRACTION

The sunset at the Grand Canyon is one of the highlights of the American National park system. I took this beautiful picture, along with everyone in the campground. Unfortunately some people were taking advantage of this distraction to steal things back at the campground.

It sounds crazy but in this beautiful wonder of the world there are a few scoundrels. To enter the park it costs $25 per car and $12 to camp. You would assume you were safe from thieves. I guess it makes sense because everyone goes to see the sunset and the camps are empty. 

I was not a victim because I am usually in survival mode. I trust people but I avoid tempting them. The campers across from me had their truck broken into and others also lost things from their tents and campers.

The park rangers came and filled out reports for insurance. The Ranger said it had been a problem for sometime. They are obviously better outdoors men then cops. I think it would save them a lot of paper work if they sent a park ranger earlier to watch the campsite as the sunsets....Duh! 

one hundred three

STRANGE PETS

This is an ostrich owned by a family who had a beautiful home. The bike path I occasionally ride runs behind it along the canal. 

The backyard had a pool, hot tub, picnic area with a fire pit, swings, trampoline, boat, camper and assorted toys. 

There was also a fenced in area that held a lama, goat, sheep, chickens and an ostrich. 

one hundred three

A PRIVATE LEARNING EXPERIENCE

I saw an unusual sight while riding a bike path in Phoenix. I stopped to take a few pictures of the critters in a back yard. 

This is what an ostrich looks like just before it strikes, ouch! No one was there to laugh until now.

one hundred two

ZION NATIONAL PARK

I am not a super nomad. The distances I have traveled amaze me more then anyone. Early in my life I took a few years off for some hard drinking and smoking but many of us have a past that takes a physical toll. 

At 19 I had a bad accident and crushed my leg and hip. The motivation came from a comment from my father in law that I was a cripple. That comment helped motivate me to stay physically fit to prove him wrong. I guess inspiration comes from unexpected places.

Touring is now my motivation. I have simply worked to stay fit enough to tour, because that's what I love. 

This is Zion National park and yes, I did ride up from down there. Not bad for a cripple.

one hundred one

SITTING STILL IS EXHAUSTING

The Grand Canyon is a breath taking sight no matter how many times I see it. I ran the length of the south rim from the public camp at the east entrance to the very public tourist area 35 miles to the west. 

The scenic pull offs show new vistas that at first look exactly like the last. If I take the time to sit quietly and look, many new details are revealed. 

The hardest thing I do on tour is sit still and quietly look. It takes weeks on tour before I finally relax and settle down. My goal is to be where I am and see what is in front of me. That sounds easy but for me it's very difficult. 

Once I do get there I see things, places and people in a wonderful way that is hard to explain.

one hundred

THE ESSENCE OF TOURING

Alone, hundreds of miles from home and everyone I meet is a total stranger. I can't call a friend or relative to pick me up or help if I were sick or injured. I must rely on myself for everything. 

I have food, clothing and shelter to survive the elements. The most important thing is the ability to stay safe. I'm pretty street savvy from some foolhardy years of hanging out in bad bars. I have learned to read people fairly well but I don't blindly trust everyone. 

I believe in the good nature of most people but believe there are few truly bad people so "Be cordial with everyone but always have a plan to kill them." is my mindset.

No matter how skilled I am I can't make these trips without some help from total strangers. I believe you get back what you give out for the most part. I have learned to present myself in a non threatening way by watching my words and body language. 

I explain what I am looking for, which is simply a safe place to camp, and allow them to offer what they feel comfortable giving. I have met strangers in the dark at the end of their driveway and an hour later I'm in their kitchen eating a home cooked meal, had a shower and clean clothes. 

 I don't refuse what they may offer but I make sure to show my gratitude. I always tell them how shocked I am that people can be so nice. 

If I do ask for anything, I accept the answer no with a thank you. I must admit, I'm not sure if I would be so kind to a total stranger. 

I am courteous and polite with everyone, but remain a bit of a mystery. I know I can rely on people in an emergency because of their kindness in general. 

I am very comfortable in the middle of nowhere now, if I wasn't I'd just stay home.

ninety nine

THE SIDE OF THE ROAD IS A PRIVATE BUT VERY PUBLIC PLACE

I am alone but all I do is visible to everyone. I once wondered what my observers thought but now I don't. I imagined they mocked or perhaps marveled at my strange mode of travel. 

In time they become simply things. I am only aware of their strange behavior. I must avoid colliding with them so listen for their speed, watch their wheels and hope for the occasional use of turn signals. 

I watch them like a poker player, searching for subtle tells. They must be respected but not feared. I work around them and don't care for their courtesy, I just want to have a hint as to what the hell they're doing. 

I have very thick skin compared to when I am their equal. I get the twinges of road rage when in my car but fully expect and smile at stupid when on my bike. I took this picture after leaving the bushes to escape their prying eyes.

ninety eight

THE PLACE I RELAX

The side of a highway is a place I find serenity. The rocks, broken glass, nails, wire, pot holes, and constant traffic keep me focused. Mind blowing views appear around almost every turn, the mountains, the valleys, the rivers, streams, and beaches. 

I love small diners, truck stops, coffee shops, and mom and pop eateries. Hot sun, cold winds, soft rain, and long flat stretches of endless highway. The uncertain end to almost every day, with amazing surprises. 

I long for another "visit"for I can't in reality live there, I can only "visit".

ninety seven

THE BIG CITY

The Navajo Nation was a wide open place with few places to buy anything but jewelry. I don't understand why there wasn't a small store selling cold drinks and ice cream. 

Another surprise was the that the towns on my map turned out to be a few houses. There were no rest stops or gas stations for miles and miles. I started the day with a full three gallons of water which was what I thought would be plenty. 

Sunset was only a few hours away and the town I had planned to replenish my water supply was only a horse corral and an abandoned trailer. I could not count on any water for the next twenty miles so I had to find a private house or flag down a car. 

A few miles later I found this cluster of houses. This was the largest housing development I had seen for days. There were about fifteen small houses. There were no grassy lawns but each had a nice new pick up truck out front. 

I had no idea who lived in these modest houses, but the trucks didn't seem to fit. I knocked on a few doors until a nice young woman came out of a house across the street and asked if she could help. 

She was a tall woman dressed in business clothing. I asked if I could fill my water bottles and she said yes. 

I stood at the door of this twelve hundred square foot house and was amazed at the interior. There was a wide screen TV, Mac computer, a large library, and leather furniture. They had oil paintings on the wall with proper lighting and an esspresso machine in the kitchen. I talked a few minutes and commented about their beautiful home. 

She explained that limited water prevented having a lawn or swimming pool so the spent their money on the inside and nice trucks. 

I thanked her for her kindness and headed down the road.

I did notice that people didn't seem to be surprised I was riding a bike. A Native American friend explained to me that how I got there didn't matter because I was there. I guess that makes sense.

ninety six

RIDING DOWNHILL INTO A HEADWIND

Cycling is mostly climbing if you measure it in time. It takes forever to climb a thousand feet at four or five miles per hour, the decent takes only minutes at thirty miles per hour. The down part is the most fun but it is short lived. 

I once looked at climbing as torture, but spending the day in the beautiful outdoors in this mind set is silly. With the right gears climbing is easy but it just takes time so I try to enjoy it. However, if I climb for a couple of hours I want the payoff of a long down hill coast. 

This was a day of headwind, what I call the invisible mountain. I live and train in the Phoenix area where there are very few steep hills.

The valley usually has an afternoon wind so I used it for my mountain training. This steep down hill section of highway can usually produce speeds of forty miles per hour and faster which is faster then I like to ride a loaded bike. 

I usually worry about heating my brakes but this day I couldn't coast faster then fifteen miles per hour. The headwinds were so strong I had to peddle down hill. After looking forward to some miles of coasting this was very disappointing.

Earlier I faces a tail wind on the climb. This is not helpful because you ride in still air which is hotter. 

Gravity takes you down the other side so the tail wind isn't a factor. A small head wind is cooling, but a strong one is a real pain. This day the climbs were brutal and the down hills were like flat ground. 

However every day on a bicycle is a good day. This is a phrase I say out loud when the riding conditions are not favorable, it has worked so far.

ninety five

HORSE THIEVES SUCK

I have lived in the wild west long enough to understand why they hanged horse thieves. 

I have a mode of transportation that is not unlike a cowboys horse. He relied on it for transportation, companionship, and his very life. I don't kiss my bike, but it does have a name. I use it for transportation and rely on it for my very life. 

I have heard horror stories of people losing their rigs to thieves. I can't imagine this even though I am prepared. As I drive my rental car to a city to begin a trip, I reassemble my bike, turn in the keys, then think about what I'm about to do. I maybe hundreds or thousands of miles from home and a chill goes up my spine as I think this thought; The only way I'll get home is on this bicycle. 

The long stretches of nothing and no one are at first daunting. After a few trips I grew more comfortable striking out with only a bike. I will be honest, it is very exhausting and uncomfortable to ride these distances. My 54 year old knees are my biggest worry, crashes, thieves, illness, and breakdowns are always possible. 

All I can do is minimize the odds. My bike is strong, reliable, proven, and user friendly. It is very rewarding each time I realize I have survived my odyssey. As I travel on this metal and rubber contraption, I hope people understand and respect how importance it is to my survival.

ninety four

FIVE NIGHTS IN A TENT

Five nights in a tent while touring are like this; the first couple of nights are fine, the third and fourth are tolerable and the fifth is enough. 

I'm filthy, my clothes are dirty, my bones ache, and I need something cold to drink. I want a bath and a bed, and all day I had planned to find a cheap motel. The end of my day brought me to a tourist area where all of the motels are too expensive or full. 

Reluctantly I search for another place to camp. The service station restroom bath this morning was just not enough, my clothes stink, I fact I have trouble standing my own smells. This night is going to suck.

I was once turned away from a place in LA. The girl at the desk looked me over and said "sorry, no vacancy", however I knew they were half empty. Their phone number was on the glass door, so I called and said I was a Lawyer from Ohio and wanted a room and a shuttle ride from LAX. 

She cheerfully said there were plenty of rooms and where to find the shuttle. As we talked she noticed me in the window. She eventually realized my lips matched the voice on her phone. 

As her face turned red I closed my phone and smiled. Then rode away into the sunset looking for a place for the night even though it would be miserable. 

I made it a point to find a place early the next day. Sometimes I make it a short day so I can wash my clothes, soak in the tub, find a store and eat raisin brand cereal with cold milk and wash it down with a half gallon of ice cream. 

I repack my bike before bed so I can get an early start. I feel like an old tom cat home from a two week adventure. I'm in a safe place so I can relax. I must admit clean clothes, long showers and those clean sheets are a true luxury. 

Some places have a continental breakfast so I load up with sticky buns and fruit. Clean clothes, charged phone and batteries, clean and rested body, an hour on the internet to check in and pay some bills, I'm ready for 400 miles, and five more nights in my tent.

ninety three

THE HIGH DESERT 

Utah near St George. This is the end of the spring thaw so this creek is usually very low or dry. Water and jobs are limited so the population in this part of the country low. This was mid afternoon and hot, it is still the high desert and dry.

ninety two

GETTING INTO THE MOOD

Now and then I need a roof over my head, a bath, a bed, electric outlets, and a TV. I budget myself to thirty bucks per day or less, that includes motel rooms. This makes me ride by some tempting motels at the end of long days. 

I must be creative and find cheap if not free places to camp. I search for safe places to camp like backyards, church pavilions, pastures, baseball dugouts, cemeteries and even police station impound lots. Once I slept in a portable toilet during a rain storm for most of a night. If I find a little mom and pop place without a view by a grocery store, I'm in heaven. 

I get cleaned up, catch up on the news, charge my phone batteries and clean my clothes. Sometimes the motel has a laundry and if you ask nicely they may allow you to use the motel washing machine and dryer. I have one load of laundry so stopping along the way works too.

I once found an empty laundry and thought I could wash all of my clothes. In only my bathing suit and extreme farmer tan, I put the last shirt in the washer. Five minutes later there were four mini vans and fifty kids asking their moms about the half naked man, somethings never fail.

ninety one

THE MIDDLE OF NOWHERE

I had never felt so far from home and all I had was my bicycle and my legs are the only power to get me home. 

I realize my body is like an engine that runs on fuel. My normal bad eating habits don't work on the road, I must eat breakfast lunch and dinner. I find that suddenly my tank tells me it's empty and I must eat, NOW! 

I can't always cook or find a restaurant so I use powdered meal replacements. You must think in terms of all day and stay away from cheap energy like caffeine and sugar. 

Hydration is vital and can effect the next several days if not done right. Water is not enough so I use a product called Gu2O a hydration mix to avoid cramping. I mix two liters per day, mix it extra thick and take drinks with a water chaser. I swear by this stuff and use it on long hot weather rides in 100+ temps in Phoenix. 

Potassium is the key to day after day rides. I take a supplement to maintain energy levels and avoid muscle cramps. It is a long physical ordeal, but after a few weeks your body gets a rhythm. Soon the effects of this day after day marathon conditions your body and you become lean and mean. At 54, I am in the best shape of my life.

ninety

A VERY LONG DAY

I was racing the sun trying to make it to Blythe on the California, Arizona border before dark. I lost but the roads were empty so I finished the last ten miles in the dark. 

When you drive, Blythe is a place everyone stops because it's about half way between LA and Phoenix. I have been there many times before so in a way it felt a little like home. This time it was different because instead of an air-conditioned car I had traveled on a bicycle through the most remote stretches of California and actually enjoyed every inch.  

As I traveled through El Centro, California the Blue Angels were training. They practice a couple of months each year at the Air Force base. 

I knew nothing about it until one of the mavericks made a low level run across the road that felt like only yards above my head. The seat I was using was taking it's toll on my butt and the rumple stripped roads were an added pain, but my first long trip was much more then I expected.

eighty nine

CALIFORNIA COAST

Into the unknown, the coast north of San Francisco. I know very little about the Pacific northwest and don't have any ideas beyond Starbucks coffee shops and the home of grunge bands. The coast must be beautiful because everyone goes on about it. I know there are many climbs, rain, and other bikers. I've toured mostly in areas where I see no other touring cyclists, the few I have met are lone rangers like myself. 

There will be groups to share camp sites, meals, and conversation, but I'll probably pack up early and escape the next morning. It's obvious by now that I like people, but love my privacy more. I slightly know one person in Seattle in case of any serious problems and I might stop and say hello.

 I'm working on car rental deals, getting things squared away at work, mapping out a route, setting mileage goals, prepaying bills, and dreaming. I always get anxious and really worry about getting hurt or worse, in a way that is a good thing. 

My knees will have pinches and catches, my bike will feel broken, and everything will look impossible. I know from before the second day on the road, this will all soon fade away.

eighty eight

MY FIRST LONG STRETCH OF NOTHING .....I WAS HOOKED.

The Yuha desert in California, was a welcomed experience. My years of bicycle riding were proceeded by years of running, both were an endless series of circles.

You start and run or ride in one direction, then turn in another, then another, but eventually you return to where you began. The size of running circles became boring, then soon bike riding circles also lost their charm. My site name reflects my desire for larger circles. I have longed to continue on over the next hill and around the next corner. 

This combined with the influence of an old TV program "Bronson", and it's famous quote "where ever I end up I guess". When I was young and dumb I tried to live this out by hitch hiking around the eastern states,worrying my parents to death. Now that I'm older and dumb, I ride a bicycle all around the country, but still worry my parents. 

A day of riding in one direction until dark, then continuing the next day, then the next week, then into the next state, then the next, is not boring in my mind. The long endless stretches are very satisfying after all of the years of small circles.

eighty seven

EVER BEACH LOOKS FAMILIAR

One of the wide white sand beaches of California. I enjoyed the weekdays because the traffic was light and the beaches were empty. My need to keep a more detailed journal is obvious, I can't remember the name of this particular beach. I welcome comments from readers especially if you are familiar with any of the places I picture. My hope is that this site encourages conversation, anonymous is good.

eighty six

THE BEACH LIFESTYLE

This is an East coast beach, once again I'm not sure where. My visits to Ocean City Maryland when I was in Grade school and High school planted this love for the ocean in my heart. I think most people love the feel of the beach, that's probably why it is expensive and crowded. 

I remember clearly a man who sat in the sun all day renting beach chairs and umbrellas. He had the classic sun bleached hair, that was actually bleached by the sun. Tattoos were not common in those days  and he had the first sleeve I had ever seen. 

I remember he was always talking to women in bathing suits, which in my youth was very impressive. He was there year after year and seemed really happy in his work. I saw many of these men and women working in bike rental and surf shops on both coasts. 

Over looking the beach were expensive mansions and high rise resorts with the view side at least one hundred dollars more then the other side. 

People save their money, take their vacation, and pay big money to spend a couple of weeks trying to pass as a native. Then they return to their lives, save more time and money, to return in a year for another two weeks to act like a native. 

The guy at Ocean City was there year after year. He probably lived in a trailer behind a fish cannery, but he spent his days on that expensive beach and he was a native. He probably had no family, investments or retirement plan. I make no judgment on which is better, I'm just passing on the observation.

eighty five

STRANGE TRAVELERS (OTHER)

This is a fellow cyclist who was traveling from Tucson, Az to Sacramento, California. The picture doesn't show him clearly. He had an old mountain bike probably from K-Mart two owners ago. The trailer was tied on with rope, had mismatched wheels, and a tie dye cover. He had water bottles, sleep mat, and extra shoes tied to the sides. 

This guy was not a sport cyclist but in my mind he was as much a cyclist as anyone. He had a smile and a upbeat attitude about the hills he had climbed and was about to climb. I asked if he was moving there but he said he was just sight seeing. I suspect he also had a pound of weed packed away and by the looks of it he would run short before he reached Sacramento. 

If it has two wheels you are part of the culture in my opinion. Roadies are snobs coast to coast with few exceptions. I make a point of greeting every cyclist I meet along the way no matter how ill-equipped  or stoned.

eighty four

ON THE EDGE OF A DREAM

The ocean is a mystery to this lifelong land lover. My fondest memories are of vacations down the east coast with my family. We did take week long vacations to Lake Erie to fish for catfish and stay in a small cottage, and I do mean small. 

I played around fresh water creeks, rivers, ponds, and lakes, but they didn't move around like the ocean. The worst things were mosquitoes, snakes and leeches. The ocean however is filled with weird pointy and stingy stuff. I know the movie Jaws was only a movie, so sharks don't worry me. 

To the lifeguards I was the dumb Ohio kid who could get caught in a rip tide or have my face pounded into the sand while attempting to body surfing. Sand is always in your butt crack, and the water burns your eyes. On my bike I am now only a listener and watcher. I sit on the edge of this powerful force, strain my eyes to see over the horizon, ponder the movement of the tides, and listen to the endless hypnotic roar. 

I had seen the Pacific Ocean in movies and televised surfing competitions, I knew the names of the beaches years before I saw them. It had been twenty five years since I traveled the east coast; I was ready to see it again and perhaps for the first time. 

Traveling by bike takes you down every board walk, through residential areas, and sometimes on hard beaches. If I had another lifetime I would invest it in the sea, but for now I ride its edges and dream.

eighty three

THE DOOR STOP LANE

This is a windy California beach where the surfers use some type of kite. There is a full line of cars lining the highway. The only bike lane runs between the cars and heavy traffic. You ride so close to the park cars the possibility of a door swinging open is constant. That's why I call it the door stop lane. 

You need to constantly be aware of escape options.  Focusing on any hint of activity in the cars through the rear windows mile after mile does not offer a chance to relax and take in the view.

 One rather large lady opened the door to her SUV, stepped out, then her little dog on a leash jumped out another five feet. She didn't noticed me and never missed a word of her cell phone conversation. Luckily I had planned for things like this, so I swerved into and opening in traffic. I smiled at her and continued on disaster avoided.

I travel alone so the need for safety is vital, if I want to take a long look at the scenery I stop.

eighty two

SEAL BEACH

As a midwestern boy, I spent many a day of my youth skinny dipping in local secluded ponds and lakes. I had heard of the many nude beaches of California. They are most likely better in our minds then in reality. We may dream of beaches full of hot women but in reality it is probably seventy five percent men, mostly interested in one another. 

I somehow ran across the next best thing, seal beach. Hundreds of sea lions return each year to breed on the beaches. You can't get close because they close the beach to protect the seals. This things are huge so I doubt I could hurt them. 

I asked two German ladies who were watching the action, if this was a nude beach? They laughed, maybe to be polite.

eighty one

MILES AND MILES OF BEAUTY

The coast of California has endless highways with breathtaking views. It would be easy to focus on the discomforts of touring but the view keeps getting better and better.

The seat can become torture if it isn't the right fit. A lack of fitness can turn the day into an uncomfortable marathon. A poorly fitted bike can create injuries, ending the tour all together. Planning and training are vital to a successful an enjoyable trip. 

l have seen people having a miserable experiences in beautiful places like this because of the lack of preparation.

eighty

74 MILES OF CURVES

If you have ever owned an english roadster or motorcycle you will understand this sign. The thought of 74 miles of twisted highway when you are on a tight schedule is a nightmare. Most of our lives we feel the pressure of a tight schedule. Road construction, heavy traffic, slow drivers, bad weather and late for work, but that's life. The journey I chose has no real schedule. I have no place to be or time clock to punch. 

The physical part takes time and money. It also takes risk, not just physical risk, but escaping the "I should, I can't, I need to"world. Another way to say it is escaping your comfort zone, living out of the box, and many other cornball sayings. 

The mental part takes longer for me. Touring is more then riding a bike, it's a mind set. I'm seperated from everything but the road in front of me. Eat, sleep, bike is about all that happens. Wake up, figure out where I am, pack my gear, find coffee, a bathroom, food, ride until I get hungry, ride until late afternoon then find a safe place to camp, and repeat the next morning. 

The kaos of the road takes all of my focus. I don't view it as an escape from reality more of a journey into reality. Fully living life is important, touring is a place to learn that, but it is not a place to live.

The spiritual part is a byproduct that simply happens. Touring changes me, I think differently, I feel stronger, I see the world in a different way, and my priority list get's rearranged. Actions change attitude, touring is a life changing action.

seventy nine

FELLOW NOMADS

I was a day out of San Diego heading over the mountains. This was my first encounter with a fellow nomad. This guy was so anxious to talk as soon as he saw me from the top of the hill he crossed to my side of the highway. 

He had a big smile on his face as if we were long lost friends then he began to talk and talk and talk. It was apparent he had been on the road much longer then me. 

As the miles and years have passed I have experienced a few solitary weeks of my own. If I do talk to strangers I spend most of the time answering the same questions about my choice of transportation. I talk with people I have never met and will probably never meet again. 

Talking with a person with a common experience and common understanding is like meeting a long lost friend or relative. Solo touring is a process that is hard to explain. It requires long months and many miles before you begin to understand it. 

Since this first encounter with a seasoned fellow nomad I have traveled many of my own solitary miles.  I have that foolish greeting grin and then I talk and talk and talk.

seventy eight

BICYCLE TOURING IS LIKE A BOX OF CHOCOLATES

The characters I meet along the way are almost always more then they first appear. This guy looked like he could live under a bridge but soon took my picture with a very nice digital camera, down loaded it to his laptop computer, and gave me elevation information from his GPS. He also had a cell phone and said he had a web site. 

We talked about half an hour as the traffic rushed by. We were fellow nomads so I think he felt free to tell me many things he would not reveal to strangers. I soon began to feel the same. We were traveling in opposite directions so we would soon be miles apart.

 

I was obviously new to this and must have looked like I needed the advice. He gave me some valuable information that over the years has helped me avoid trouble. He had been traveling for three years and he looks like he did  for a reason. He said he stays in places for longer periods so risk of trouble increases. He said looking like he did gave him the ability to "blend". I think he does stay under a bridge from time to time. 

He suggested I try not to look like a tourist with expensive gear. I took that advice and it works. I only camp one night at any spot so before the size me up or find me I'm gone.

He said at times the police give him trouble because of his look, but producing a drivers license quickly changes their attitude. Like many I have met along the way, there is an untold story. This guy had secrets I am sure but it is his business. I have learned to take some things people say on the road with a grain of salt.