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.

seventy seven

FEELING THE TRILL

Early biking adventures were in the shadow of big brother. I still ride but my big brother laughs.

seventy six

TIME TO HEAD BACK HOME

I moved from Ohio over twenty years ago, I miss the fall and weather but not the winter snow. This is Cadillac mountain in Bar Harbor Maine. The fall colors of New England were bright and the nights were frosty cold. I had traveled from the Florida humid south to the freezing north of Maine. 

A couple of days before the end I met a young guy from Seattle who had traveled the northern route from Seattle, it was nice to have some company. 

We camped in a small park in a little fishing town then hit the coffee shops for the last day to our common goal, Bar Harbor. I chose to travel south to north just because of the fall colors, it worked well. My hope is that Seattle will offer the same beauty.

seventy five

LET THE GAMES BEGIN

I am about to load my bike into a U-Haul truck and drive to San Diego. The truck was cheap because they need to get trucks back to California so more people can move to Arizona. 

This was my first big trip so I was stoked. I had been talking about touring and building up my bike for a very long time. I had talked a lot of trash, people were getting tired of hearing it. The time had come to walk the talk. This is a picture of a picture so the quality is poor, but I think you can still tell I'm really happy.

I can still see the smile on my camera man's face, a mix of joy and worry.

seventy four

• 

ALL CLEAN AND UNTESTED

The dream, the plan, the bike, the gear, the maps, the training, the money, the time, I love it when a plan comes together. Savoring the beach before I ride east over the mountains.

seventy three

FINALLY

This is San Diego after a morning ride up the Silver Strand form Otay on the border. I had slept in a bad neighborhood in the back of the truck. Dropping the keys off was a thrill. I knew I could do this, but didn't know what to expect. I was about to find out that's for sure. After the first twenty miles I knew this was a dream come true.

seventy two

ONE OF MY FAVORITE PICTURES

I handed my camera to a very nice woman who took this great picture. The history of this place still gives me goose bumps. Most of the tourists were not speaking English, which caused me to wonder if Americans still visited this place. 

If you don’t think we are at war go to Washington DC. When I was a kid we could drive in front of the White House, take tours of the White House and the Capitol Building, I actually see President Nixon. Now there are as many police as tourists and I think much of the tourists are undercover police. 

The White House is being surrounded by walls, and the Capitol is a series of check points and searches. My odd looking bike probably made people nervous so I kept my distance. I spent an hour people watching in a Starbucks on K-street. A homeless guy and I shared some freeze dried meals by the Vietnam Memorial. Marine One landed behind the White House, and the Secret Service escorted someone through the busy street in black SUV's. 

The trip from Maryland brought me though the worst parts of the district. This ten square miles is run by Congress, and just think they also try to run the country.

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.