twenty four

This is the beach under the route one bridge in Lucia, California,nice.

twenty three

LUCIA, CALIFORNIA COAST HIGHWAY101

 Under the bridge in the distance is a state campground. California has a bike and hike rate of two dollars, which makes it easy to find a camp. This one was so remote it only had solar powered.

twenty two

MY FIRST LOOK AT THE CALIFORNIA COAST

The California coast trip in '04 was breath taking. As an Ohio boy with almost twenty years as a desert rat, the ocean is a curiosity. I don't know much about it but at 54, I’m like a little kid around rolling surf. This is a spot close to Big Sur, California; the bright blue of the water was my favorite. There were whales traveling north. Wow!

twenty one

CAN YOU SEE?

Most of my journey was on and off of the coast. I cycled inland a few miles then back to views like this one on the Oregon coast. I look through my pictures and there are many like this one. I could not hear the waves, but the slow rhythmic ribbons of waves soothed the eye. People spend a fortune to live in a house with an ocean view, some surf, some fish, some sail, and some like me simply see. 

I think the word see is a better word, it means much more than looking. Things are always moving and changing, creatures hunt, swim, dive, and fly, tides rise and fall, clouds and winds flow together, and the sun has a special way to show the ocean's beauty. The first light of morning turns into the bright sparkle of midday and then transforms into the breathtaking colors of sunset. This time I took the time to wait and watch................wow.

twenty

AN UNEXPECTED ADVENTURE

This is a private landing strip in a rural part of the Chesapeake Bay  Peninsula. I had hitched a ride with a generous Gideon across the Bay Bridge Tunnel. He was traveling north to Salisbury to sell boat anchors. He was a bit concerned for my sanity because he had never seen my mode of travel.

I rode north to a campground that charged thirty five bucks, no electric hookup, water, or mint on my pillow for a patch of grass, It was very nice grass but I thought I could do better. 

The southern end of the peninsula is Virginia but it wasn't geared for tourists. No motels, parks or public beaches mostly private homes and farms. 

It was almost dark so I needed to find a place. I found a small corner lot with an abandoned farm house surrounded by an assortment of animals. There was also a metal building full of junk, surrounded by more junk. 

The bugs were beginning to bite so I began to search for any place that would be safe and out of the way. I found a place and only needed permission. 

There was nobody around so I was about to set up camp when a truck came out of the woods. It held four non English speaking Latin men who had been cutting fire wood. Through our limited words and hand language agreed that I could camp, maybe. 

They said something about the owner flying to Virginia. I thought he was not returning that night. We exchanged goodbyes as they left as I set up camp.

nineteen

UNEXPECTED ADVENTURE

I was asleep when the tent filled with bright light and the snarl of a rotary motor. I zipped open the tent in time to be blinded by the landing light from the landing airplane. Being grateful it missed me because I had chosen to camp on the edge of the field that had suddenly become a runway, I figured I had better introduce myself. 

The private plane taxied up to the metal building. It just fit perfectly between the junk. The man's wife greeted me calmly even though she couldn't see me in the dark. Then the man said, “Come here and get this”. I was quickly put to work carrying a box and luggage to his wife's car. He kissed her goodnight then turned to me and asked me what I needed. 

It was a strange greeting because there wasn't one. He focused on the details of my adventure as we toured his farm. I was introduced by name along with health details to each animal resident, as we fed goats, sheep, one beef cattle, and twenty one chickens, which we counted twice. 

He didn't mention the fencer was on as we climbed over it several times, but apologized each time I got shocked. We collected twenty eggs of which he gave me ten. Then we met the people living in the old farm house. I assumed they were not legal residents from things he said to them and about them, it was comical the way they were able to understand one another through his broken Spanish. 

He was a long ago transplanted cheese head from Wisconsin. I said I was amazed anyone lived in this old farm house, he just said, “Well they need someplace to live”. 

This guy was a real character who I was glad to have met. I asked about him in a nearby town, it seemed everyone had at sometime worked for him or had dealings with him.  All had a kind word about his character and kindness, I surely did. 

I still couldn't believe he landed a plane in that short field, and again I was glad I camped on the edge.

eighteen

LOOK AT ME!

I'm 55 and remember those days when I could stand on the high diving board and yell for everyone to watch me jump. As a kid that is normal. However, as an adult it looks a bit foolish. Think about it, do we ever outgrow that need for attention? 

We secretly spend time and money to satisfy that need, the right haircut, car, house, career, and so on. I ride this goofy looking bike and yes I love the attention. All we do as adults is act cool about it and try to deny it feels great. The fact that people are curious about what I'm doing with all of that equipment strapped to my bike makes it easy to satisfy that need. 

Does that make me a self-centered phony, or am I just admitting I like people to notice me? If I'm in front of a grocery store someone will ask about what I'm doing. After a moment of feeling special I use their interest to find out about them. First they think I'm superman, and then I try to get them to understand there is a superman or superwoman inside of them too. 

We both get our need for attention stroked, which makes it a great and hopefully memorable conversation. It’s much better than yelling and throwing the bird at each other in traffic. 

If I had a cool car, and it was cooler than yours, you may think I was a jerk. Because I ride a touring bicycle, I’m not in competition with anyone. The people I meet can let down their guard and be complimentary and curious as I turn the tables and stroke their egos. 

Admittedly as we touring cyclists meet on the road we sometimes have an ego problem. Measuring is a human trait I’m attempting to cure in myself. We are few and far between but when we do cross paths I try to just be curious and let them sit in the seat of honor.

seventeen

ONLY IN AMERICA

America is a unique place, unlike any place on the planet. This picture was taken on a Sunday afternoon in New England. I love cars from the over the top era of big bold American style. 

This was an example; wings, length, red paint job, a ton of chrome and a decadent attitude. 

It passed me ten miles earlier where I missed getting a picture. I caught up because it broke down in this small town. The driver had a cowboy hat, Elvis sunglasses, snakeskin belt, steel toed boots, and the ugliest pit bull in the back seat I have ever seen. He had a spiked collar and a scar where an eye once was. The funniest thing was his doll head chew toy. 

The crew attempting to help had lost boys spray painted on the side of their beater Plymouth. No shirts, new tattoo outlines, and at least a pound of piercing hardware each. 

It was garage band meets Elvis and Hooch in front of ACE Hardware, only in the USA.

sixteen

WHAT A LONG STRANGE TRIP 

Solo bicycle touring....Blue skies with soft wind swept clouds and an occasional silent heavy jet filled with fellow travelers unaware of our common goal, wide open landscape void of vegetation no higher than my knees. 

Mountains fixed on the horizon that never seem to move, but soon miraculously appear behind me. I focus on the annoying sound of a ticking chain link, the creek of my panniers and the thump of the tar filled cracks in the road. With the taste of morning coffee in my mouth, my knees find their groove once more. 

I begin the morning search for a new way to embrace my leather seat to avoid my sensitive parts. Yesterday’s sweat, weeks of beard, and I wear my less dirty than the other one shirt. I smile as I realize why that guy moved two stools away in the restaurant. 

An oncoming van, horn blowing, lights flashing, and a total stranger pumping his fist in enthusiastic support. The long looks of men my age trying to gather every drop of information. I know because I took many of those long looks. 

There is a paradox to solo touring; being so far from home and alone, but finding a home with total strangers and at times feeling like a rock star. I look at the map on my wall; red lines show the path of my past adventures. 

Every day I am totally amazed, no human can ride a bicycle that far......but I did.

fifteen

SELF-CONTAINED

My loaded touring vehicle I’ve named Walter is self-contained.  I carry everything on two wheels, rain or shine, uphill or downhill, with only my one human power. 

The weight limit is about 100 pounds. This includes bike, camping gear, clothing, tools, electronics, food and water. 

Being "self-contained" takes a lot of planning because if anything happens you need everything. For example, you have a flat tire; you need a pump, tubes, tools, patch kit, and possibly a tire. 

The layered approach to housing, bedding and clothing to cover the range of weather changes. You always need something dry, and food to stay warm at night. A tent keeps you dry in the rain, warm at night, and bug free. 

Food is very basic; I carry only enough for no more than two days and a day or so of emergency dried food. I can find food along the way to replenish this but I don’t go below a minimum. 

Cell phone, maps, extra batteries, first aid, hidden credit cards, combined with a cautious approach to everything, will keep me safe, well as much as possible.

fourteen

DRY RUN

The old bike sits waiting for another adventure; I haven't had it out for some time. My new bike is for exercise, but even though it's fun it’s still a bit boring. I have started dreaming and planning my next adventure. My first thoughts were the western express from San Francisco to Pueblo Colorado, to Virginia. This would cut directly through the middle of the country and take a minimum of eight weeks. The other thought was Alaska, but bugs can be an issue. Like many things in life time and money are the only things needed. The dreaming and planning are almost as much fun as going.

thirteen

THERE WILL NEVER BE CARS LIKE THIS AGAIN

Yeah, Americans we are cowboys and we have guns, but best of all we have made the coolest cars that will ever be built. I haven't posted for a while, I have been enjoying my new bike. Sunny and seventy degrees, I love Arizona this time of year.

twelve

MY NEW CARBON FIBER TOY

My new toy bike is on display with the Superstition Mountains in the background. A sunny Thanksgiving Day century (100 miles) ride in Arizona has been my holiday tradition for several years. After fighting the hungry crowds of the grocery store a little alone time is in order.

eleven

THANKSGIVING DAY TRADITION

The call of the road is strong as the Thanksgiving Day business builds. It is like the first time we visited Arizona in the middle of winter. We left Cleveland during a subzero snow storm and arrived in Phoenix at a balmy 80 degrees. 

As we returned home there was a constant realization that there was a place on the planet without snow. We knew that fact but experiencing it drove us nuts as we bundled up, shoveled snow or deiced a windshield. 

In the same way the thought of open road touring will drive me crazy because I know it is out there.

I was racing the sun in the California desert heading for a motel night in Blythe in the Arizona border. I lost and rode the last fifteen in total darkness. The roads had no side strips and no center line. There were no street lights, moon, and only a few cars. The lights on my bike were designed to be seen not to see. 

Interstate 10 runs through Blythe, it is a mid point between Phoenix and LA. Most people stop for food, fuel, and a night off of the road. This was the big country I enjoy the most. Blythe will never seem the same to me.

ten

MEDITATION

I long for quiet still lakes with jumping fish. I long for "gully washing" rain storms with booming lightening while I cuddle in my little tent. I long for star filled skies, rainbows, puffy clouds, and waves of migrating birds.

nine

AMAZED WITH THE THE ORDINARY

The broken down pieces of history I find everywhere demand my questions. I have become a detective, and question the locals about the things around them. They soon tell begin telling me things they may not realize they know. Hopefully they again see the things that have been all around them. It’s only natural that over time the important things around us seem to faded away and become invisible.

eight

NOTHING COMPARES TO THE ARIZONA DESERT

Arizona is always a wondrous mystery to me because I grew up in rural Ohio. It is a harsh unforgiving environment for the foolhardy. After twenty years of exploring I never tire of the beauty and endless views. The strange survival focused plant life intrigues me. Soon I'll sooth my touring and desert needs with a weekend journey to the White Mountains.  

seven

EVERYTHING IN ITS PLACE

In my travels I have been in many bicycle shops, but this one was the most crowded. There were so many bikes in this tiny place. They turned the handle bars sideways to fit them closer together. 

There were rows in front of rows, and no way to get to them without moving dozens of other bikes. I had never seen such an expertly organized tangle. I think you would need to make an appointment to look at a back row bike. I think they needed more room, but over time it would probably look the same.

six

EVERYTHING IN ITS PLACE

Some bike shops are friendly to touring cyclists, but most aren't impressed. I have found most bike shop employees are not excited about bikes after all it's their job. I can't imagine having a thrilling conversation about meat with one of my customers. I like to eat, but 39 years in the meat industry takes a toll on that passion. 

The owners of this shop were from Romania. Their focus was on making money, not friends, I respect that. I must say I have never seen so much merchandise jammed into one place.

five

THERE IS A TIRE PUMP IN THERE SOMEWHERE

Once a week I find a bike shop to borrow a floor pump to properly juice up my tires. I don't have many flat tires because I have touring tires, thick tubes, and Teflon inserts. This adds weight but “Walter” is not a racing bike, it’s a truck. 

I maintain one hundred PSI in the rear tire because of the extra weight and about ninety in the front. Tires lose a few pounds of pressure over time. I have a small pump for flats on the road. However it is easier to use a larger floor pump for higher pressures. 

The bike gets sluggish with mushy tires, every little bit helps when you are logging thousands of miles.