My Bicycle Life

Big Ride 2011 - End of the Ride Report

2011-08-19T08:48:00.000-07:00

Hi, All,

My apologies for the delay in posting this report, and also for the desperate pleas for money from Valencia, Spain, if you were among those who received those bogus emails. On or about August 3, my gmail account was hacked into, leading to the theft of my email contacts. I honestly don't know what I did to precipitate it besides clicking on an email that by its title seemed legitimate. Once I'd opened it, I immediately deleted it; I didn't type in my password or any other information. And the repercussions were significant: I lost access to my gmail account for more than a week, making me also unable to blog or post photos since I rely on Google for both of those services. And while my gmail account has now been restored, I've lost all historical emails, both written and received, and my contact lists were all corrupted, requiring me to manually fix email addresses. Life goes on, but it is an example of how reliant we've become on Internet communication.

As for the Big Ride, it ended well. All riders who began it in Seattle on June 20th reached Washington, D.C., safely and in buoyant spirits on August 6. Altogether we traveled more than 3300 miles: the mileage on the cue sheets totaled 3350, and my total, given the extra miles sightseeing, running errands, and making occasional wrong turns, was 3,482. Gabe's total was undoubtedly about the same. He was forced to SAG at least once after a crash in Indiana, but he more than made up for it with his greater tendency to miss turns, forcing him to ride many "bonus miles" to get back on course.

Overall, Gabe's performance on the Big Ride was laudatory. Completing the journey was a major achievement; it would be for anyone of any age, but it was especially impressive for a sixteen year old. Over the course of it, he grew physically stronger, and his attitude and behavior also significantly improved. At first he'd struggled with the ride's regimentation, the summer heat requiring that we often wake before dawn, break down our tents, pack up, load our gear onto the support truck, eat breakfast, and set off by 6:30 a.m. (The earliest start was in Sheridan, Wyoming, when loading time was 5:00 a.m., so alarms were set for 4:30.) The pace was also grueling at times. We rode an average of 83 miles a day, requiring most of us to pedal for more than six hours, and on the longest days we rode more than eight hours. But by the end of the ride, Gabe was rising without complaint, packing on time, riding hard throughout the day, and becoming one of regulars who arrived first the finish. Meanwhile the long hours in the saddle seemed to have an effect also, making him more reflective. He enjoyed the companionship of other riders and often asked their advice about school and life generally; he was thinking a lot about his future. These changes were noticeable to everyone; the whole group was proud of him; and I can't help but think that the discipline of the ride and the confidence it should instill in Gabe for having finished it will serve him well in college and beyond.

Here's a recap of the ride from Indiana to the finish, including my daily stats:

Monday, July 25 - day 36 - Valparaiso to Kendallville, IN. 111 miles, 8:20 in the saddle, 13.2 avg.

A long day ... Because of computer problems I'd stayed up nearly all night blogging in Valparaiso, and after sleeping no more than two hours, I was worried at first that I'd be too exhausted to ride and would have to SAG that day (i.e., accept a ride from the support staff). Surprisingly, though, I had energy all day. I rode slow - didn't push it - and the flatness of route helped, as did the conditions: the cool, cloudy morning and then spectacular afternoon - blue sky, high in the high-80s, and really nice Amish farmland especially between Wakurusa and Waterford Mills, with lots of buggies, farm animals, barns, women and children on bikes, etc. Thus despite whatever tiredness I felt, there was nothing I would have rather been doing that day than riding; and I was fully engaged trying to photograph it all.

Scenes from the Amish area in Indiana ...

Monday is wash day ...

As it turned out, Gabe was the one who had to SAG a portion of the ride today. He crashed shortly after the first rest stop, knocking his wheel out of true and cutting open his right palm once again. The wound at first bled profusely, and it was, I believe, the third time this summer that he'd fallen and landed on the same hand. Yet he still refused to wear biking gloves, insisting that gloves felt uncomfortable. What could I say? I resisted the urge to nag him. A few hours later, he was back on the road; his wheel had been straightened and his palm wrapped in gauze. I reached Kendallville around 4:00 p.m. and went to bed early.

Tuesday, July 26 - day 37 - Kendallville, IN, to Napoleon, OH - 77 miles (including ride to motel), 14.2 avg., 5:23 in saddle, 28 max., 17,094 (+10) odo., 2648 cum. BR miles.

A great, easy day on low-traffic country roads with perfect summer weather. I'd slept well and was up at 5:20 for 6:00 a.m. breakfast. The terrain included some big rollers early, then flattened and we went through town of Butler, IN, before crossing into Ohio. The road surfaces were smoother than in Indiana, so very nice riding with some help from the wind. I rode into the Napoleon county fairgrounds around 12:30 p.m. and had the rest of the day to relax, still recovering from my virtual all-nighter in Valparaiso.

Perfect summer weather in western Ohio ...

Wednesday, July 27 - day 38 - Napoleon to Sandusky - 94 miles, 7:06 in saddle, 13.1 avg.

Another nice summer day, riding through flat farmland - endless fields of corn and soybeans. Gabe and I rode together for much of the morning; he was upset, lamenting the fact that his grandfather, suffering from dementia, was unaware of what he (Gabe) was doing this summer. His grandfather had been kind to him, and Gabe wanted to make him proud. I did my best to speak philosophically, urging Gabe to internalize his grandfather's love and to live a life that he himself can be proud of.

We all took a long morning break in Bowling Green at a coffee shop which doubled as a bookstore (used and new) on the quaint main street, and there was also a bike shop, where I purchased new Gatorskin tires, having logged nearly 6,000 miles on a pair of knobby Armadillos. Later Gabe got a flat - his fourth in two days - and I did my best to help, patching a tube for him. Later, though, the same tire flattened once again and it took our mechanic, Rich James-Jura, to find the hidden cause - a tiny piece sliver of glass wedged in the lining.

At camp I needed to do laundry and put on my new tires, so I chose to skip a trip to Cedar Point Amusement Park. Gabe went, but a bit reluctantly, saying that roller coasters tended to nauseate him. I didn't hear what rides he chose to go on, just that, after waiting on the long line with a bunch of other Big Riders to brave the biggest and scariest - the Mantis - he bailed.

Thursday, July 28 - day 39 - Sandusky to Cleveland (approx. 60 miles).

Friday was to be a day off in the small town of Burton, Ohio, where we'd be camping at the county fairgrounds - the only off-day not spent in a college dormitory; so instead of riding 90+ miles through Cleveland to reach Burton, Gabe and I decided on a more pleasant, upscale option - riding the sixty miles to downtown Cleveland, spending the night the night there, and then riding on to Burton in the morning. It was raining as we set off, and the afternoon turned hot and humid. Gabe and I stayed in a huge room in the Holiday Inn, did a little sightseeing, relaxed in the air conditioning, and went out to a nice dinner in the Warehouse District.

Gabe's and my room in the Holiday Inn in Cleveland

Friday, July 29 - day 30 - Cleveland to Burton (approx. 35 miles). Two-day totals - 98 miles, 7:25 in saddle, 13.1 avg.

An easy ride overall. It had rained in the morning but had stopped by the time we'd finished a leisurely breakfast. The temperature was cool - low to mid 70s - and the ride was nice through the area around Case Western Reserve University and past the gaudy, over-sized Cleveland Heights mansions. The hard part was riding east of Shaker Heights, on hilly, narrow roads - SR 91 and then SR 87, but a tailwind helped us on the final climbs. We reached the fairgrounds by 12:30 p.m. and had the rest of the day off. I spent it mostly reading George Elliot's Adam Bede, but I also saw a preview of an antique engine show that was opening the next day.

Amish men setting up saw (below) powered by antique engine (at left)

Pig pen near Burton fairgrounds

Saturday, July 30 - day 41 - Burton to New Waterford, OH. 62 miles, 4:51 in saddle, 13.2 avg.

Morning fog became a common occurrence ...

... adding to the mystique of the Amish horse carriages.

An easy day - hilly at first but then mostly flat as we traveled southeast, nearing Pennsylvania. We delayed our start because of the heavy morning fog, then as we set off enjoyed a big downhill to Middlefield Township, the largest Amish community in the world. We passed many horse-drawn buggies and enjoyed the nice rural riding until rest stop 1, then took a busier road - SR 45 - through Warren, OH, the hometown of Dave Grohl, the Nirvana drummer and leader of the Foo Fighters. While there were some signs of affluence in Warren - an attractive old downtown area dominated by the Trumbull County Courthouse, circa 1895 - there were even more dilapidated buildings and junk-filled front yards marking our entrance into the Rust Belt. South of Warren we passed a large steel mill belching smoke, steam, and fire, and the traffic kept up all the way to Columbiana as we passed over Interstate 80 and skirted Youngstown, Ohio. The final miles were calmer, more rural, and we stayed at a nice, quiet, wooded, private campground.

David Grohl Alley - Warren, OH

Steel mill near Warren, OH

Sunday, July 31 - day 42 - New Waterford, OH, to Washington, PA. 64 miles, 5:00 in saddle, 12.8 avg.

Morning fog in East Palestine, OH

Old-style advertising for an old-time product ...

Beautiful summer day, cool in a.m., once again with morning fog. The ride was hilly all day, beginning with some long climbs between East Palestine and Calcutta, OH. As we crossed into Pennsylvania, we had a view of nuclear reactors spewing steam in the distance. A half-hour later we passed by the reactors as we crossed over the Ohio River at Midland, PA, the first of many very depressed-looking Pennsylvania towns (according to the 2000 census, the median household income is $23,000) with ramshackle houses lined up against the road.

Nuclear reactors on the Ohio River at Midland, PA

A separate set of reactors, just upriver from those at Midland

After Midland the big hills resumed as we drew closer to the mountains of Western Pennsylvania. Past noon the day grew hotter and the hills became fatiguing, making everyone a little nervous about the hard days ahead: we'd all been warned that riding through the Appalachians is more difficult than both the Cascades and the Rockies.

Monday, August 1 - day 43 - Washington to Confluence, PA. - 94 miles. 7:19 in saddle, 12.8 avg., and we passed the 3,000-mile mark in cumulative Big Ride miles.

Mingo Creek east of Washington, PA

A good day. I was on breakfast duty, so had to set my alarm for 5:00 a.m., when it was still dark. There was heavy traffic for the first 14 miles as we passed through Washington, PA, on hilly, narrow roads, but then the route became very scenic as we took Brownlee Road into Mingo Creek County Park, which was quiet and deeply shaded. Beyond the park we rode through more Rust Belt towns first New Eagle and then Monongahela, where we crossed the Monongahela River. At this point we were deep into the mountains, and on the other side of the river there were steep climbs for the next six miles to reach West Newton and Youghiogheny River Trail, a 71-mile rail-trail that follows the Youghiogheny River and is now part of the larger Great Allegheny Passage, a system of trails that stretches from Pittsburgh to Washington, D.C. We rode the trail for 52 miles, from West Newton to Confluence. It's unpaved but has a smooth crushed limestone surface, and while it was uphill nearly all the way, the gradient never exceeded two or three percent. I reached the campground across the river from the town of Confluence at 3:15, set up my tent quickly because of the threat of rain, jumped in the river for a quick, freezing dip, and then rode into town to do my laundry before dinner.

Coal barge on the Monongahela River, passing by Monongahela, PA

Auto graveyard near West Newton, PA

Riding on the Youghiogheny River trail ...

... for 52 easy miles (a nice respite from the mountains)

Tuesday, August 2 - day 44 - Confluence to Bedford, PA - 86 miles (with added miles due to wrong turn; should have been 76 ...). 7:18 in saddle, 11.8 avg.

A good, hard, challenging day. The morning was cool and very foggy. Rather than spending it back on the Youghiogheny River Trail, I opted with a handful of others for the alternative route up and over Mt. Davis, the highest point in Pennsylvania. (Gabe took the trail route.) The hardest part was the first half-mile on Mt. Davis Road, where the gradient was 14 percent. After that the climbing was easier, and the road was quiet as I passed attractive farms, barns and fields half-hidden in the fog. The fog thickened on the final ascent to reach the summit of Mt. Davis (elev. 3213), and loose gravel made that last climb especially difficult: to avoid the thick gravel I rode mostly on the center line, listening for cars (luckily there were none), the visibility reduced to just a few yards. After a steep descent, the fog lifted and I passed some attractive Amish farms, haystacks arranged in sheaves, before and after the town of Summit Mills on the road east to Meyersdale.

Amish farm near Summit Mills, PA

Haystacks, the traditional way ...

A friendly Amish cow ...

Due to a wrong turn after lunch as I was riding out of Berlin, I wound up riding an extra ten miles before getting back on route in the town of Shanksville, near the United Flight 93 crash site on September 11, 2001. I had visited the temporary memorial at the crash site five years ago and was critical then of its haphazard nature: there was no formal tribute to the heroism of those passengers, just a series of written notes and small stone markers created by private groups and individuals. Where was the Congressional will to make a more permanent memorial, I had wondered? On this visit, however, I had a much more favorable impression: a more permanent memorial is in fact being built, with phase 1 slated for completion in time for next month's tenth anniversary. The overall plans for the memorial struck me as extremely moving, so thoughtful in design that it will be almost unbearably poignant, keeping alive the full horror of that day. I don't have any photos to show of it – just the one I took of the privately funded Flight 93 Memorial Chapel, which exists some miles away – but I recommend you look up the design on the Internet: http://www.blogger.com/img/blank.gif

Off-route, west of Shanksville, PA

Privately funded Flight 93 Memorial chapel, near Shanksville, PA

After Shanksville, more serious climbing followed, as we rode east on the Lincoln Highway (U.S. 30) up and over Bald Knob Summit, elevation 2906 ft., crossing the Allegheny mountain range. Then after the long, winding descent – a ten-percent grade for more than six miles – there was more climbing to reach the day's end at Bedford. We stayed at Friendship Village, a private campground equipped with both a pool and mini-golf course. Gabe and I played, and I kept him in his place, beating him soundly.

Wednesday, August 3 - day 45 - Bedford to Gettysburg - 105 miles, 12.0 avg., 8:45 in saddle.

Pennsylvania farm near Gapsville, PA

A very long, hard day – the longest day in the saddle of the whole trip – referred to on the Big Ride as the "Final Exam." It had rained overnight, and the rain's intensity picked up in morning, just as I woke. I packed up in a drizzle, and for most of the morning the rain remained light, with harder rain coming in only short spurts, keeping the temperature cool throughout the day. The first half of the ride featured a lot of very steep climbing, requiring me to use my lowest gearing. I've always enjoyed the work of climbing on a bicycle, so I settled into a slow, steady pace, enjoying the cool dampness amid the rural surroundings – quiet roads, deep forest, and sections of attractive farms.

Then halfway through the morning, I ran into Gabe; he was riding the other way, thinking he'd missed a turn (he hadn't). From there we rode together for the rest of the day. I was impressed with his strength and endurance: he easily kept pace with me. And while initially he was complaining (sighing and groaning on uphills, saying he just wanted day to be over), his attitude improved when we rode through a particularly beautiful section of deep woods from the town of Burnt Cabins to Cowans Gap State Park. After lunch the ride was decidedly less scenic; after one big descent we were finally out of the mountains and in rolling terrain for the fifty remaining miles, riding mostly on U.S. 30 and amid thick traffic in Chambersburg. But we sped along together and we were one of the first riders to finish, reaching Gettysburg at 4:00 p.m.

Thursday and Friday, August 4 & 5 - days 46 & 47 - Off-day in Gettysburg and then Gettysburg to Poolesville, MD - 69 miles, 4:55 in saddle, 13.8 avg.

For me the off-day was pretty disastrous, as I tried to deal with my gmail account problem all day long, with little progress, meaning I had no access to email and couldn't work on my blog. I finished reading Adam Bede and then in the afternoon rode through the Gettysburg National Military Park, stopping at the Visitor's Center to visit the museum and see the Cyclorama (a 360-degree diorama of the battle, the 1884 painting enhanced with lights, sound, and authentic artifacts such as cannons in the foreground). In the evening I saw the documentary "Buck" at the beautifully restored Majestic Theater ("the grandest small-town theater in America") and found it compelling, full of good precepts for living life with compassion.

North Carolina Memorial in Gettysburg National Military Park

Detail from Cyclorama at Gettysburg Visitor Center (the cannon is real)

The ride to Poolesville was uneventful – some sections of busy roads, especially as we passed through the city of Frederick, Maryland, mixed with some nicer, rural sections – deep woods, cornfields, horse farms, and upscale homes. Gabe and I rode together from the lunch stop on, and once again we were among the first riders to reach the finish. I spent the afternoon at the Poolesville town pool, taking dips and working on my end-of-the ride tan. Then dinner was a celebration for all the Big Riders at a local restaurant.

Gabe easing his way to the finish ...

Saturday, August 6 - Big Ride finale, Poolesville to D.C. 38 miles, 3:03 in saddle, 12.2 avg.

A pretty, hilly ride early - large horse farms especially. Then River Road (along the Potomac) became urban, crossing the Beltway, and led to Capitol Crescent Trail into downtown. The trail was congested with runners, walkers, and other cyclists, but it was easy riding, downhill all the way. Reaching downtown D.C., I rode straight to the State Plaza Hotel, where Gabe's parents were staying. I showered and changed, then walked down Pennsylvania Avenue, past the White House, for a lunch at the Old Post Office Pavilion and final goodbyes, although if I'd had my choice, we would have just turned around and biked back to Seattle.

End of the ride (some of us wished it wasn't ...)

Final thoughts about the Big Ride:

(1) I have to thank Gabe. If it weren't for him, I wouldn't have participated, and it was great to ride the Big Ride again.

(2) Thanks also once again to all of Gabe's and my sponsors, with special thanks to Steve and Alice Lewent for all their assistance, financial and otherwise.

(3) The weather made the ride great. Even though I was repeating the same route as five years before, the differences in weather made it all seem new. And the weather was excellent, notwithstanding all the rain: it was much, much cooler than in '06, with daily high temperatures in the 70s and mid-80s, only reaching low-90s two or three times. (In '06 the daily highs consistently reached the 90s, and there were many days – nearly a dozen – that reached triple digits.) It made the riding far more pleasant and the landscapes rich with green.

(4) Thanks to ALA Ride Director Bridgett Herzog for all of the upgrades compared to '06 – major improvements in food and accommodations. I especially appreciated the variety created by the number of hot, catered breakfasts we received (in '06 we had simply had cereal every day) and the daily lunch table set up by the support staff (i.e., Ride leader Charlton DuRant), whereas in '06 we made our pb&j's at breakfast and rode with them until we got hungry. Also, while most of the accommodations (campgrounds, high schools, college dorms) were the same, whenever there was a change, it was for the better. In particular, the added dorm stays in Valparaiso, Indiana (instead of what had been one of the worst campgrounds in '06), and for two nights in Gettysburg were major upgrades, creating more equity among the riders (in '06, those who could afford it bailed out in both places, opting for motels).

(5) Thanks especially to the support staff – Charlton, Lynn, and Rich. They worked their butts off and did an amazing job every day keeping us happy, well-fed, and safe.

Top Ten Things I Miss Now That the Big Ride Is Over:

10) Second and third (guiltless) helpings at meal time.
9) Daily peanut butter and jelly (more accurately, thanks to Lynn - almond butter with raspberry jam on fresh whole wheat bread).
8) Waking up with the sole purpose and responsibility of riding my bicycle for six to eight hours.
7) Spending most of the day outdoors, rain or shine.
6) As I travel through my days, not having Lynn there at check points asking me how I'm feeling and whether I need anything to help me along.
5) Moments of extreme joy – riding along on the open road, body energized, mind quiet, soaking in the surroundings …
4) The camaraderie among fellow Big Riders, with particular nods to Kathleen, E.A., Kat, Jim, Sarah, and Kasey & Brandon: thanks for all the good times and laughter.
3) Kathleen's smile (see below). If only I could bottle it.
2) After nights and nights of tenting, the luxury of a motel.
1) Let's face it, just about everything.

-Charlie

Big Rider Kathleen Kroll and the smile that never quit

Gabe and I in D.C., moments before I headed off for a Big Ride '06 fifth reunion in Michigan ...

Greetings from Valparaiso, IN

2011-07-24T17:16:00.001-07:00

Hi, All,
Week 5 of the Big Ride was the most challenging yet. Until we reached New Ulm, Minnesota, we'd been having a relatively easy time of it weather-wise, with cool temperatures, minimal rain, and difficult but not spirit-breaking South Dakota winds. Beginning in Minnesota, though, our luck began to change. As most of you are undoubtedly aware, a severe heat wave swept across the Midwest and is now on the East Coast. We managed to miss the worst of it, as for us the temperatures never reached triple-digits, but beginning in New Ulm because of exceedingly high humidity the heat index made the weather oppressive. Slower riders especially suffered as the heat index climbed all afternoon; and sleeping outside became nearly impossible, as nights were airless and temperatures barely dipped below 80. After four days we reached Madison, Wisconsin, where we had an enjoyable day off, and the weather finally broke, becoming noticeably cooler and less humid. In the three days since then, though, we've been plagued by rain and have been riding through downpours, getting soaked to the skin. The good news is that group morale has remained high. The four weeks of riding leading up to this week strenghtened us all physically and mentally. People came up with creative solutions for dealing with the heat, finding ways to sleep in air conditioning. And now with all the rain, we've found the wet conditions preferable to the heat we'd experienced, so we're soggy but content. [The photo above, by the way, is of a roadside attraction we passed today - before the rain - on old Route 66: the Gemini Giant standing beside the Launching Pad Restaurant in Wilmington, IL.]

Exhausting as the trip has been, though, I have less time for blogging, so the best I can do is to offer a quick rundown of the past week. Here's the day-by-day account:

Sunday, July 17 (day 28) - New Ulm to Owatonna, MN. A short day - 74 miles - but with adverse winds and high heat and humidity. The temperature was 78 as we began riding at 6:30 a.m. and quickly rose through the 80s into the mid-90s. It was misty at first - a humid haze - and the riding was mostly flat and not very scenic, with much of the day spent on U.S. Highway 14. We'd been on U.S. 14 since Midland, South Dakota (i.e., for most of the past six days), but as we proceeded east, the road kept getting bigger and more trafficked; and at times on this day the road widened to a four-lane divided highway with lane-wide shoulders, thus about as dull as riding on an interstate. We passed through one big urban area - North Mankato and Mankato, MN, lying on either side of the Minnesota River, with a combined population of more than 50,000. In Owatonna we were camping at the county fairgrounds, directly across from an indoor skating center, availing us of an air conditioned lobby. The building was closing at 10:00 p.m., but the supervisor felt so bad for us that he offered his house, less than a mile away, as a place for us to sleep. About a half-dozen riders took him up on it; and our two seventeen-year-old riders, Geena and Caitlin, came up with their own solution by sleeping in the dining area of the 24-hour grocery store (a Hy-Vee) a block away. I chose to sleep in my tent without my rainfly and was rewarded with a stiff breeze that kicked up around midnight, cooling things down a lot. It was also nice and quiet.

Farmland along U.S. Hwy. 14 in Minnesota

Monday, July 18 (day 29) - 89 miles from Owatonna to Winona, MN. More of the same: high heat and humidity, too much time spent on U.S. 14, and we passed through Rochester, MN, population 106,000, home of the Mayo Clinic and St. Mary's Hospital. The riding was fast, however; the wind was southerly as we rode east, wasn't strong enough to slow us, and at times became a tailwind by angling out of the southwest. The ride also ended well with a big descent into the Mississippi River Valley and then a swin in Lake Goodview, a few miles short of Winona. The overnight stay was in a dorm on the campus of Winona State University; the rooms weren't air conditioned, though, so virtually all of us opted for the couches and floor space in the big downstairs recreation room.

Tuesday, July 19 (day 30) - Winona, MN, to Viroqua, WS - a shorter day, mileage-wise - only 77 miles - but longer than average because of the hilly terrain. We started by riding south on U.S. Highway 61 (made famous by Minnesota-native Bob Dylan's Hightway 61 Revisited album) along the Mississippi in dense morning fog, then climbed out of the valley onto the western ridge for a rest stop in Dakota, MN, and a visit with the Meyers family, who are big, long-time Big Ride supporters. We then crossed the Mississippi at LaCrosse, Wisconsin, and after riding south for about an hour, we cut southwest through some beautiful, very hilly farmland - mostly dairy farms, and many owned by the Amish, especialy in the township of Harmony, Wisconsin. The high heat increased the difficulty of the climbing, and riders staggered into the county fairgrounds looking especially worn out. Most opted to sleep at a nearby church, while again I opted to sleep outside and camp. There was a colorful sunset, and it didn't rain overnight despite some lightning in the distance; instead once again a cooling breeze arrived at midnight and lasted until morning, and I slept very well.

Morning fog south of Winona, MN

Farmland on ridge above Mississippi River valley (near Dakota, MN)

Mississippi River @ LaCrosse, WS

Amish farm (note buggy)

Arty shot, eh?

Amish farmland

Wednesday, July 20 (day 31) - Viroqua to Madison, WS - 104 miles. Another hard, hot, humid day mostly on U.S. 14 after a nuice morning spent on more scenic backroads southeast from Viroqua to Richland Center, including more Amish farms, .especially in and around the township of Liberty, WS. There was also a good photo op of barnyard animals - goats, chickens, turkeys and pot-bellied pigs - at Peck's Farm Market, a roadside attraction near Spring Green, WS. The ride into Madison was difficult - hot, hilly, heavily trafficked, and further complicated by a road closure, forcing all of us to improvise our way around it. The result was, arguably, the toughest day of the trip, but we were rewarded with a day off in Madison, with a noticeably cooler and less humid afternoon.

Photo op courtesy of Peck's Farm Martket (U.S. Hwy 14)

Wisconsin River

Farmland just west of Madison, WS

Thursday, July 21 (day 32) - I spent much of the off-day running an important errand, replacing prescription sunglasses that I'd lost in Viroqua. That evening, though, I had an amazing experience attending a Gillian Welch concert at the Capitol Theater. I don't have the time to detail how exquisite it was, but she and Dave Rawlins, her musical partner, were so good that, between his virtuoso guitar playing and her powerful, haunting voice, it seemed otherworldly, nearly beyond belief - just the two of them on stage - no accompaniment, no roadies, no warmup act, no announcer - playing alternative folk based on the rhythms and sentiments of old-time mountain music as if they were in a living room or a front porch. It was one of the finest musical performances 've ever seen. Meanwhile, Gabe got his ears pierced, so his day was equally momentous.

Friday, July 22 (day 33) - Madison, WS, to Garden Prairie, IL, 95 miles. We woke up to pouring rain, and it didn't quit for many hours, easing briefly as we rode through the town of Evansville, WS, and then resumiung until we neared the Illinois border. Once free of the heavy traffic around Madison, we rode through more Wisconsin farmland on some very rural roads, including some covered with loose gravel, slowing our progress. We crossed into Illinois via the depressed twin cities of Beloit, WS, and South Beloit, IL, but then the day brightened and we even saw some blue sky while the temperature soared twenty degrees in roughly an hour, from the low-70s to the low-90s. The high humidity again made sleeping difficult, and there was no available indoor option this night. Then overnight a major storm rolled in featuring wind gusts, flashing lightning and sky-cracking thunder. One gust broke the tension pole of my tent and I was forced to sleep the rest of the night beneath a semi-collapsed ceiling. Meanwhile it started pouring, and the rain continued all night.

Riding south of Evansville, WS, during a break in the rain ...

Ah, sunflowers!

Big Riders (from front to back) Kim, Kate M., Daria, and Stan

The Illinois border at Beloit, WS

Nearing Garden Prairie, IL (nore rare blue sky)

Big Riders Kim and Brian

Saturday, July 23 (day 34) - Garden Prairie to Coal City, IL. We woke to heavy rain, and it kept up much of the day, forcing us first to scramble while packing our tents, then to eat a cold breakfast under an overhang, and then to ride through it, soaking us within minutes. The rain kept up for the first 75 niles of what was meant to be a 106-mile ride. A bridge outtage forced us into a long detour, however, and the total mileage became 112. The riding was fast despite the rain because the terrain was flat and the wind light; when the rain finally stopped, though, and the sky brightened, a southerly wind slowed us, making the final miles extra difficult as we rode through the city of Morris and crossed the Illinois River to reach a private campground outside the town of Coal City. I arrived a little before 4:00 p.m., swam in the lake, and then took two showers - one before dinner and one before bed - as once again the temperature had jumped up into the 90s after the rain. The sun had set and I was sweating without moving a muscle.

Illinois River @ Morris, IL

Sunday, July 24 - Coal City to Valparaiso, IN - 85 miles. This day was the polar opposite of the past two. For the third night in a row, there'd been an overnight storm prefaced by wind gusts, booming thunder and lightning. This time, though, the storm had been brief, and by morning my tent was practically dry. We ate breakfast and rode the first 20 miles before the sky darkened in front of us as we headed east and lightning flashed both north and south our roadway. Once the rain started, it fell in buckets, and the wind gusts and lightning made riding untenable. Luckily as it began I was within a mile of a McDonalds situated at the intersection of Interstate 57. I pulled in there, soaking wet, to ride out the worst of the storm over a cup of coffee. Before long nearly all of the Big Riders filed in behind me, and then Charlton, our ride director, ordered us to stay as a major storm cell was passing right over us. In all the storm caused about a 45-minute delay; then we were back on the road riding through rain for the third straight day, saying good riddance to Illinois as we crossed into Indiana. The rain stopped when I was about 20 miles from Valparaiso, and our dorm stay tonight at Valparaiso University has allowed us to get our clothes washed and dried.

Waiting out the storm in McDonald's (from left to right): Kim, Jessica, Kate B., Stan, Daria ...

Bernie, Noel, James ...

Kenny, E.A., Kat, Sarah, and Gabe.

A quick word about Gabe is that he's thriving - growing stronger and stronger, physically and mentally. He, like the group as a whole, is proving his mettle.

That's all I have time for. I need sleep!

-Charlie

Greetings from New Ulm, Minnesota

2011-07-16T08:41:00.000-07:00

Hi, All,

Six more days on the road have taken us 500 miles, from Rapid City, South Dakota,on the edge of the Black Hills, to New Ulm, Minnesota, rich in German heritage. The days were challenging due to the long miles and high winds, which finally turned against us forty miles west of Pierre, SD (pronounced "Peer"), the state capital, and then remained strong and contrary all the way to Minnesota. We also had to contend with rain for the first time since Avon, Montana, when a cloudy day turned to showers in DeSmet, SD. The rain stopped in the evening and held off overnight, but then just as we were packing up our campsites the next morning, a drenching downpour began, and the day remained rainy through the first half of the day. Overall, though, our good luck with the weather has held: the days have been generally cool and cloudy, making riding comfortable; so while the wind slowed our pace, at least we weren't being scalded under a hot sun as we crossed the high plains. The warmest temperature we faced was in the low-90s through the Badlands, which given the low humidity felt perfectly comfortable, especially given the tailwind that sped us along that day.

Riding through the Badlands is one of the highlights of the Big Ride. The scenery is stunning, and while the day was partially cloudy, there was enough blue sky to liven the colors of all the striated rock. The landscape is desolate but beautiful, and we were able to take our time while riding through it thanks to the day's ideal conditions. We were facing a 102-mile ride from Rapid City to Kadoka, but we set off in cool morning air, the temperature in the low-60s, and as the sun rose, so did a strong westerly wind. Several riders called it the easiest century ride they'd ever experienced. Setting off at 6:30 a.m., I managed to ride the 75 miles to the entrance to national park by noon, and then, with less than 30 remaining, spent several hours lingering at several viewpoints, visiting a sod house from pioneer days, taking pictures of prairie dogs at a roadside stop (where the prairie dogs are as tame as New York City squirrels), and stopping also at the Minuteman Missile National Historic Site, commemorating South Dakota's contribution in the Cold War against the Soviets. Tours were available of both an underground missile silo as well as an underground launch control center, but it would have taken several hours and an extra ten extra miles of riding.

Riding into the Badlands

Nearing the park entrance ...

View from Cedar Pass

Prairie dog photo op

Sunset - Kadoka, SD

The landscape east of Rapid City, besides the outcrops in the Badlands, was mostly uncultivated plains, and through much of it that first day, while the land at times was rolling, sections of it were pancake flat. The next day, between Kadoka and Pierre, was much hillier, and nearly as long - 97 miles. The morning was beautiful, the temperature again in the low-60s; the wind was light for the first 40 miles; and the plains were far greener than they'd been in '06 because of this year's late spring and unusually high rainfall. The riding became difficult, however, as the day wore on. Everyone felt fatigued by the second straight day of nearly 100 miles, and climbing the hills became laborious especially once the wind picked up. It was a desolate stretch: 60 miles with no services - not even a gas station - between Midland (pop. 145) and Pierre (pop. 57,501), and over the last 40 miles we rode straight into a headwind. The temperature never rose above the mid-80s; it was cloudy, and the air was thick with humidity. We arrived in Pierre exhausted, and much later than we were used to; we'd also lost an hour by crossing into Central Time. The city of Pierre was besieged; the Missouri River had risen over its banks, causing the shoreline - including the riverside park where we were meant to camp - to be under several feet of water. A wall of sandbags lined the downtown streets, and we ended our day by riding to higher ground and staying at the high school a few blocks from the capitol building.

Gabe riding east of Kadoka

Flooding in Pierre, SD

The next two days were mercifully shorter: 77 miles from Pierre to Miller, SD, and another 77 from Miller to DeSmet, a childhood home of Laura Ingalls Wilder. Both were also cloudy and cool, the temperature staying in the 70s while to our immediate south, in Nebraska, it was 30 degrees hotter. The landscape also once again flattened; we rode past vast wheat fields and stretches of grassland for grazing cattle, with grain elevators and water towers visible for miles. The problem was the strong winds, blowing consistently out of the southeast and strengthening in the afternoons, impeding our progress. (Whereas from Rapid City to Kadoka I'd averaged 15 mph, on the days east of Kadoka, my average dipped to 12 mph.)

Flooding west of Huron, SD

In DeSmet I spent the afternoon in the town library hiding out from the rain and learning about Laura Ingalls Wilder: I read an on-line biography, the first chapter of "Little House on the Prairie," and also the first pages of "The First Four Years," a posthumously published book about her time in DeSmet. (On a more high-brow note, I also have been reading George Eliot's "Adam Bede," but that afternoon I was feeling decidedly sleepy.) Then the next morning came the first heavy rain: I had packed up my tent and nearly had everything safely stowed in my duffle bag when I went to the restroom to put on contact lenses. While staring into the mirror, I heard a sudden crack of thunder, and seconds later the deluge began. We had risen particularly early that morning - 4:30, while it was still dark - before a 5:30 breakfast in a downtown general store (Ward's) provided by the DeSmet Chamber of Commerce. By 6:00 a.m. it was still raining and just getting light when we rode off in the gloom. The rain stopped after 40 miles, by the time we reached Brookings; and the wind again stiffened as the day wore on. We passed a lot of dairy farms, and as we crossed into Minnesota, there were wind farms in an area called Buffalo Ridge. Five years ago the wind turbines were located only on the Minnesota side of the border. It was good to see that South Dakota has caught on. Unfortunately the winds recently became too severe: a tornado struck the area on July 1, and as we rode through the area, we saw evidence of the damage: a flattened barn, a caved-in silo roof, broken telephone poles, downed power lines, and several of the wind turbines had been stripped on their propellers. The damage was even more severe in the town of Tyler, Minnesota, where we stayed: many trees had fallen, tops snapped off at mid-trunk; fiberglas structures such as carports completely mangled, and many houses and buildings torn open.

Tornado damage in Tyler, MN

Our final day of this stretch, from Tyler to New Ulm, was longer - 87 miles - and yet slightly easier. It was overcast all day, and very, very humid: between the rising heat and humidity, the coming days will be uncomfortable. But the wind, while still strong, became less of an obstacle and even helped us at times, becoming southwesterly. We started early and made good time, riding thrugh the town of Walnut Grove, MN, yet another town that Laura Ingalls Wilder made famous. (We've been riding almost exclusively on U.S. 14 since Pierre, SD, by the way, and it's been designated the Laura Ingalls Wilder Historic Highway.) Towns were small and mostly farming communities; surrounding areas featured lots of red barns and cornfields. We breezed along until the final dozen miles, east of the town of Sleepy Eye, when a brief rain caused the wind to shift into a stiff headwind.

Corn field east of Sleepy Eye, MN

Luckily our visit to New Ulm this weekend coincides with one of their major festivals celebrating the town's Germanic heritage, dating back to 1854. We are staying in a dorm on the campus of Martin Luther College (preparing men and women for careers in Lutheran religious service), right across from the 102-foot Hermann Heights Monument (erected in the 1890s, and similar to one in Germany, depicting Hermann the Cherusci, whose army liberated Germany from Roman rule in 9 A.D. and whom Martin Luther made an emblem of German nationalism.) The town is hosting its annual Bavarian Blast at the county fairgrounds, and a group of about a dozen of us went to partake in it last night, listening and dancing to the largely polka music, soaking up the cultural elements, especially the people in traditional clothing and the costumed Narren (a word in German meaning "group of fools") who led the dancing and increased the revelry under the main tent, while under the second, less raucous tent there were less fearsome-looking gnomes. And for me the real highlight was Gabe's behavior at the festival: Gabe decided to come along, although at first he was wary since the beer was off-limits. He asked me, "Do you think there'll be anyone my age?" The answer proved to be yes: there were many young people. Most were children, but there were also some very pretty teenage girls, three of whom were honorary princesses of the festival. Gabe found the atmosphere energizing: he danced a lot; he sang, joining the polka band leader in a rousing version of "That's Amore"; and he also chatted up and danced with one of the princesses, named Morgan, who agreed to a date with him for this afternoon.

Big Riders heading for the Bavarian Blast

The Jolly Huntsmen (polka band)

Dancing with Gertie the Goose

Some of the Narren ("group of fools")

The Narren of New Ulm

Overall Gabe had a great week: he's been riding better, behaving better, and enjoying himself more. He's also becoming noticeably stronger. On the road we've been riding together more; at other times he's been passing me; and several days this week he beat me to the finish. He also handled the wind and the rain without complaint, enjoying the challenges and his ability to meet them. The improvement I've seen in him over the past two weeks - his physical and mental transformation - has been remarkable, and for me it's one of the major story lines of this ride.

Meanwhile on a personal note, 1,860 miles into this latest bike trip, I've now reached the 50,000-mile mark for total miles in my bicycle travels. The New Ulm Bavarian Blast was a great way to celebrate.

Gabe in dance contest with Big Rider Kat Narvaez

Gabe with his new friend, festival princess Morgan

Gabe, Morgan, and one of the Narren

Gabe joining in on "That's Amore"

Greetings from Rapid City, SD

2011-07-09T09:14:00.000-07:00

Hi, All,

We're enjoying our latest off-day after a five-day, 450-mile ride from Billings, Montana. The weather has continued to be excellent, with temperatures consistently cooler than when I rode this same ride in '06. The winds have also been generally favorable, and when they have turned against us, they haven't been strong enough to seriously deter our progress. Wind will be the biggest factor on the next leg of our journey, as we cross South Dakota, but so far so good. And meanwhile the forecast is calling for daily highs in the high-80s, a world of difference from the last time I was in Rapid City, when the temperature hit 116, and the next day the group rode 100 miles through the Badlands with the temperature reaching 111 degrees.

In regard to Gabe, he's doing much better. There's been a marked improvement this week in his attitude toward the ride and toward CharLlton, our ride director. I was particularly impressed with his accomplishment on the day that we rode between Sheridan and Gillette, Wyoming. It was a hilly ride and 112 miles, the longest day mileage-wise of the whole trip. The group woke at first light - 4:30 a.m. Tents had to be broken town, all gear stowed in the truck, and breakfast eaten in order to leave at 5:30. Gabe managed this, rising and readying himself without complaint; and he made it to Gillette eleven hours later ahead of many other riders and with a smile on his face. He's seemingly enjoying the ride more, radiates pride in his accomplishments, and speaks confidently of the challenges ahead. As with all of us, Gabe is dealing with various aches and discomforts, but he's coping well and has been earnest and forthright in asking Charlton and fellow riders for advice.

The past five days have been really enjoyable. The miles we've covered have been extreme because we're traveling through remote areas: between Sheridan and Gillette, for instance, in the course of 112 miles, we passed through only one town - Clearmont, Wyoming, population 115. But at the same time, we've been soaking in the Western scenery and having fun in the towns where we've stayed, getting a sense of the local culture and some strong doses of Americana. In Billings, Montana, Gabe and I attended a minor league baseball game - the Billings Mustangs versus the Missoula Osprey. Gabe bought a Mustangs cap and also was doused on the hot afternoon by the water-gun wielding Mustangs mascot. The game was shortened when a violent storm blew in, ending the game in the eighth inning due to the strong wind gusts, rain, and lightning. Gabe and I ducked into a Perkins restaurant across the street from the stadium, and by the time we'd finished dinner, the storm had passed and the sun was shining.

The Billings Mustang ...

... squirting Gabe

The next day, July 4, we had a very short easy ride - 55 miles from Billings to Hardin, MT, on the border of the Crow Indian Reservation. A tailwind sped us along, and all the riders were in by noon. Then many of us spent the afternoon at the Fourth of July rodeo at the Big Horn County Fairgrounds. It was the first rodeo I'd ever attended, and I found it fascinating to wander around, people- and animal watching, and seeing the action up close, especially the men's bronco riding and women's barrel riding competitions. Two aspects of the rodeo particularly heartened me. I loved the sense of community and especially the comfortable coexistence between the local whites and Native Americans. Everyone enjoyed the Indian relay race; locals had specifically told us not to miss it, saying it was the most exciting event of the day. All of the participants of the three-lap race were Native Americans. There were five teams in color-coded clothing, and each team had one rider who raced his horse bareback around the outside track and then twice, after each lap, had to switch horses, jumping off one horse and onto another.

Indian relay race

Bronco riding

Pole bending competition (like slalom racing, but with horses)

Pre-teen steer riding

The other wonderful aspect of the rodeo was how family-friendly and inclusive it was. Everyone was able to participate, from the littlest children: there was one race for toddlers under a year and a half. Older children, in various age groups, participated in three-legged races, races while balancing eggs on spoons, etc. Pre-teen boys risked injury riding steers (rather than bulls); pre-teen girls competed in goat-roping (instead of calf-roping), and there was a "sweethearts race" in which women rode straight for 100 years or so, then had to turn 180-degrees whiile their male partner jumped on and held on to her as they raced back to the finish. It was all a lot of fun to watch, and a really rich, colorful scene. Afterward I stayed up, while other riders had turned in, to watch the sunset (we really go to sleep early!) and then the fireworks several miles away but visible across the wheat fields.

One of the youngest riders

Mother and contestant from the toddler race ...

Sunset in Hardin, MT

Tuesday, July 5, we rode 85 miles from Hardin, MT, to Sheridan, WY. The first miles took us through the Crow Indian Reservation and past the Little Bighorn Battlefield (site of Custer's last stand) which I had visited in 2006, then following the Little Bighorn River, with views of the Bighorn Mountains in the distance. Having skipped the batlefield side-trip, I arrived at the Sheridan KOA by 1:00 p.m. and spent the afternoon soaking in the pool and conserving my energy for the long ride to Gillette. All of this section of Montana and Wyoming was predominantly grassland with rolling hills - cattle country (also lots of deer, antelope, and mosquiotes). It was much greener and wetter than it had been in '06 thanks to the late spring and abundant rain. Nearing Gillette, though, the predominant industry is coal production. We passed a large coal mine on the way into town - a large hole on the ground torn open by huge bulldozers and the ore removed in huge Tonka-like trucks. Then the next night in Newcastle, WY, the town was also dominated by energy: there was a large oil refinery, and wee lost sleep because we were camped near the railroad tracks, where long freight trains consisting entirely of coal cars passed by, horns blaring, all night long, at times in intervals of only a few minutes. The ride to Newcastle was also 85 miles and much flatter than the hilly ride from Sheridan to Gillette. En route I saw more antelope and a prairie dog town, but overall I rode fast, finishing just after noon, before the day grew too hot and the strong sidewinds started gusting.

Quiet roads between Billings and Hardin ...

Between Hardin and Sheridan ...

Outside of Sheridan WY ...

And between Sheridan and Gillette.

My fast ride to Newcastle also gave me some extra energy for yesterday's ride, which in terms of scenery was the most spectacular and, because I opted to ride some extra miles, was also the hardest. We began the day climbing across the state line to South Dakota and into the Black Hills National Forest. The road then grew steeper, more winding and narrow as we began traversing the Black Hills. The colors were dazzling - bright green grassland, dark-trunked firs, and the large, bulbous rock formations beneath a cloudless blue sky. Our lunch stop was in the town of Custer, which is gaudily commercialized, including a Flintstones-themed amusement park and campground and many, many curio shops; but then we rode through Custer State Park, which was comparatively pristine. Some riders saw bighorn sheep, and Rich, our mechanic, saw a bison; I wasn't quite as lucky, but there again were lots of deer and antelope. It was such a perfect day for riding that I asked permission from Charlton to go off-route to see more of the Black Hills.

Black Hills

Antelope

The area is so beautiful that I didn't want to merely repeat the route I'd traveled in '06; so instead of exiting the park, heading east, I cut north on Iron Mountain Road and headed for Mt. Rushmore. A fellow rider, Bernie Lapera of Carbondale, PA, had the same idea; we met up along the way and rode the rest of the day together. It was a strenuous trip, with miles and miles of climbing - a scenic byway, off-limits to commercial traffic as well as trailers and RVs because of the road's narrowness and the low clearance of its three tunnels - holes blasted through the granite. Along the way we could see Mt. Rushmore in the distance, our first view coming when we were ten miles away. We reached the summit of Iron Mountain by climbing a long series of switchbacks, then descended before having to climb the two-mile, ten-percent grade to reach the monument. The scenery and the beauty of the day made, as Bernie said, "every pedal stroke worth it.". Bernie declared it the greatest day he'd ever spent on a bicycle, despite the tough final 24 miles on a four-lane highway to reach Rapid City, and I concurred that it was a wonderful ride. In all I rode 103 miles, adding 22 to the main route. It was a big challenge that left me exhausted by the end, but I have today to rest up and recover before the 100-mile ride through the Badlands tomorrow.

Iron Mountain Road

Mt. Rushmore from a distance

Bernie Lapera and four presidents

Greetings from Billings, MT

2011-07-03T10:53:00.000-07:00

Hi, All,

The 2011 Big Ride Across America continues to roll along. We're enjoying a day off in Billings after a tiring four-day trek covering 350 miles from Missoula. From the ride's start, then, we've covered 940 miles over the first two weeks, leaving five weeks and 2360 miles to go. Overall the conditions have been nearly ideal, although there have been a few hitches over the past few days - an afternoon rainstorm with strong wind gusts and some hail, some rough patches of road, and on our final afternoon a mix of unpleasant elements: a headwind; heat; a flat, barren landscape; sporadic, fast-moving traffic (speed limit 70); and an uninterrupted rumble strip trapping us in the shoulder, which was debris-filled and had a chip and seal surface. Really, though, there has been little to complain about. Temperatures have been cool, we've had mostly tailwinds thus far, and our support staff has been taking excellent care of us. The ride has been so much easier than when I did it five years ago, when daily temps were 10-20 degrees hotter and we didn't have half the amenities the Lung Association has been providing, that I feel twinges of guilt reporting the details to my fellow veterans of the Big Ride of '06.

I've also been amazed, given the far better conditions this year, that we in 2006 had as much fun as we did. Each day, feeling depleted as I ride to the finish, I wonder how I withstood it back in '06, when the same afternoon storm between Ovando and Avon lasted longer, was even more intense, and I wasn't dressed as well; or when the temperature on the ride into Billings was in the high-90s instead of the mid-80s. Am I finding the ride just as hard simply because I'm five years older? And what's going to happen over the next week and a half, between here and Pierre, South Dakota, when the ride gets even harder? In '06, on the 100-mile day through the Badlands, between Rapid City and Kadoka, the temperature reached 111 degrees. If it happens again, I worry that enduring it will be harder because we won't be as acclimated to the heat ...

Another humbling aspect of repeating the journey has been confronting my faulty memory, especially over the past day and a half, as I've traveled back over landscape that I only experienced in 2006. (Until midday on Friday, when we reached White Sulphur Springs, I'd ridden most of the route multiple times over my many summer journeys.) What I remembered about the ride between White Sulphur Springs and Harlowton, for instance, was the huge tailwind we benefitted from and a vision of windmills along a flat stretch of high plains. This time we again had the tailwind, and the windmills were still there, but they were merely a snapshot along a stretch of fifty miles; the route was actually very hilly and included several stiff climbs, none of which I remotely remembered. Likewise the route yesterday between Lavina and Billings I recalled as being dead flat and paralleling railroad tracks. That stretch was about fifteen miles out of fifty, and the other 35 miles were nearly all uphill! The fact that I have no memory of all that hard work makes me think that either (a) I'm a naturally positive person who focuses on the good or (b) five years ago I was in much better shape.

I'll interrupt my fretting to summarize the latest leg of the journey. Wednesday, June 29 - Missoula to Avon, MT, 99 miles. Like every morning thus far, we began riding at about 7:00 a.m. with the temperature about 50, i.e., nice and cool, with lots of clouds and strips of fog amid the mountains. We traveled east on Rt. 200, upstream along the Blackfeet River, and then cut south on Rt. 141 toward Avon. The forecast called for an afternoon storm, so I was better prepared than I had been when the same thing happened in '06: clouds rolled in from over the Continental Divide and within minutes the storm hit - wind, hard rain, and light, slightly stinging hail. It started when I was 18 miles from Avon, stopped at milepost 11, started again at milepost 8, and ended for good at milepost 5, when the sky then turned bright blue, bathing me in sunshine, and the temperature climbed back into the low 70s. By the time I reached the Avon Cafe, I was nearly dry and enjoyed a cup of coffee with a warm slice of caramel apple walnut pie. (Gabe, who was behind me, rode through the same storm, and he enjoyed the challenge of it; it was exciting, he reported, and as conditions worsened, he yelled at it, "Is this all you got?" "Bring it on!" etc. That used to be my attitude also, long ago ...)

Traveling east from Missoula - cloudy morning ...

... with fog

The Garnet Range

The Swan Range

Beyond is the southern edge of the Bob Marshall Wilderness

Sunset in Avon

Thursday, June 30 - a much easier day from Avon to Townsend, MT, only 62 miles. In the morning we rode over the Continental Divide at MacDonald Pass (elevation 6320) and then descended 2200 feet over 12 miles to reach Helena. From there it was only another 35 or so over relatively flat terrain - high plains - to Townsend. A tailwind sped us along, and Gabe and I were both done for the day by 12:30 p.m.

View from MacDonald Pass, east toward Helena

Outdated billboard in Helena (the state capitol)

Between Helena and Townsend

Friday, July 1 - Townsend to Harlowton, MT, 99 miles. This had been my favorite day in '06, and was equally satisfying this time, with bright sun and significantly cooler temperatures. We rode east through the Big Belt Mountains, ascending in a shaded canyon, fast-moving Deep Creek rushing beside us, and then rising above the tree line into high plains. After 40 miles, at the lunch stop in White Sulphur Springs, I took a 20-minute break to soak in the hot springs. (Gabe, who again rode behind me, skipped it; his loss.) Then the 60-mile ride to Harlowton, while very hilly most of the way, was eased by the huge tailwind, just as it was in '06. My speed on flat stretches ranged between 18-22 mph, and since the road was so quiet - cars few and far apart - the loudest sound was the whishing of the tall grass.

Cresting the pass in the Big Belt Mountains (U.S. 12 east of Townsend)

View of the Big Belts from White Sulphur Springs

Saturday, July 2 - Harlowton to Billings, 92 miles. The first half of the day, between Harlowton and Lavina, was exceptionally pretty, following the valley along the Musselshell River. We sped along, again benefiting from a tailwind, and saw lots of sheep herds, rim rock, and evidence of flooding from when earlier this year the river rose above its banks. The last fifty miles, south of Lavina were less scenic and harder, as we climbed onto higher plains, the day grew hotter, and the wind shifted against us for the first time in days. I got my first flat tire, spent 20 minutes fixing it, and by the time I reached Billings was ready for a rest. This afternoon Gabe and I have tickets to a AAA-league baseball game: the Billings Mustangs against the Missoula Osprey.

Rim rock (Musselshell River valley) between Harlowton and Ryegate

Evidence of flooding (between Ryegate and Lavina)

I remembered this flat stretch between Lavina and Billings ...

... and the freight trains alongside it.

Okay, so back to my fretting. As a postscript I ought to report my concerns about Gabe, who has run afoul with our ride leader, Charlton DuRant, and has been on the verge of being sent home. This issues are mainly ones of safety: Gabe has broken several rules, beginning with being caught riding with earphones, listening to his iPod. In orientation, Charlton emphatically prohibited such use, saying that impaired hearing can lead to accidents. Gabe has also been guilty several times of riding too far out in the road, as opposed to staying close to the road's edge or within the shoulder. And finally he's been slow to rise and pack in the morning. The truck that carries the group's equipment is an important support vehicle during the day (it carries provisions for our lunch stop, for instance), so it must be fully loaded in the morning before the riders eat breakfast. One of the biggest challenges of the Big Ride is conforming to the extreme discipline such an arduous trip requires, and Gabe is going to have to make the adjustments. He's done a great job over the past two days: he's riding better and improving his attitude, treating Charlton (who is terrific) with more respect. I really hope Gabe can keep it up and make it all the way to Washington, DC. It will be tragic if he doesn't, especially since he's proved he has the physical ability and toughness to make it. The biggest challenges that remain for him are mental.

Gabe enjoying himself (Note: properly, in the shoulder ...)

Riding straight as an arrow ...

... with Kenny Maruyama (of Chicago, IL) behind him.

Greetings from Missoula, Montana

2011-06-28T12:01:00.000-07:00

Hi, All,

This is day 9 of the 2011 Big Ride Across America, and we're enjoying a day off in Missoula, Montana, having ridden nearly 600 miles thus far. We've only ridden for three days since our first day off in Spokane, WA, but the last two were long ones, and the day off is beneficial; a lot of us are suffering from various maladies due to overuse and long hours in the saddle. Gabe's hamstrings are tight - he needs to hydrate better before, during and after riding and to play less basketball when he should be resting in camp - and I've developed tendinitis in my left ankle that by last night had me hobbling back from dinner. I was still limping this morning, but rest and ibuprofen are working wonders.

From Spokane we had a relatively easy day, riding northeast with a tailwind to Sandpoint, Idaho. Weather conditions have continued to be excellent, with morning temperatures in the low-50s rising into the mid-70s. The scenery steadily improved throughout the day, as we rode into timber land - evergreen forests - and many signs along U.S. 2 promoting the logging industry.

After 45 miles, we reached Newport, WA, on the Idaho border, where during our lunch break we watched a local parade celebrating the yearly rodeo in town. It was kitschy to say the least, and a very mixed bag of participants, from local residents on horseback (including a decidedly overweight rodeo queen) to others in an array of old cars, a fire engine, a logging truck hauling a full load of what were 100-year-old trees, floats promoting local businesses, and another with a giant beaver as a mascot (a cute, child-friendly fellow tree-feller). A scary-looking Ronald McDonald was also on hand to promote fat-laden Happy Meals.

Spectators gathering on Main Street before the parade began ...

The Rodeo Queen

Local dignitaries ...

... wowing the crowd

Ronald with bagpipes

The oldest participants ...

Why the hula skirt?

Entering Idaho, we crossed over the Pend Orielle River and then along the west shore of Lake Pend Orielle to reach Sandpoint, where we camped outside the Sandpoint West Athletic Club. Then the next two days featured some of the beautiful scenery of the trip. From Sandpoint we cut southeast on Route 200, around the north end of Lake Pend Orielle (with a surface area of 148 square miles and the fifth deepest in the United States) with a view of the snow-capped Selkirk Mountains in the background, and then along the Clark Fork River, crossing from Idaho into Montana and riding 87 total miles to the town of Thompson Falls.

Osprey

Wetlands near Lake Pend Oreille

Approaching the Montana border

Freight line in the Clark Fork River valley

Mule deer

Then yesterday we rode our first "century" (100+ mile) ride of the trip, 104 miles to reach Missoula, amid contrary winds that slowed our pace considerably. The route began by continuing along the Clark Fork, then followed the Flathead River to the town of Ravalli. (All of the rivers, by the way, have been exceptionally high, and there's more snow on the peaks than I've seen in past summers.) We then cut north on U.S. 93 through the Flathead Indian Reservation, climbing past the Mission Range for four and a half miles in a headwind before the fast descent outside of Missoula. Traffic was fast and heavy on U.S. 93, but at least the road had been widened since '06; there was a shoulder which made the stretch if not pleasant, at least safer.

Clark Fork River (south of Thompson Falls)

Flathead River

Mission Mountains

Overall, then, the ride continues to go well. Great weather, great scenery, and good group camaraderie. This well-timed day off is allowing us all to recharge before the next leg - a four-day ride over the Continental Divide to reach Billings, MT, where the days will grow hotter.

-Charlie

Big Ride Across America 2011 begins ...

2011-06-24T14:51:00.001-07:00

Another year, another ride ... this time a reprise of 2006. It's the Big Ride Across America, a supported group ride of 26 people raising money for the American Lung Association. The ride began on Monday morning in Seattle and we'll be traveling for 48 days across 12 states, 3300 miles to reach Washington, DC. I opted to repeat this ride in order to take along Gabe Lewent, one of my juniors in school this year who expressed an interest in bicycle travel. Gabe is sixteen, and the Lung Association granted him permission to participate because I agreed to act as his guardian. We've now completed the first four days of the trip, riding approximately 320 miles from Seattle to Spokane, WA, and both Gabe and are are doing well. Day 1 was a good test of Gabe's mettle - 84 miles up and over the Cascades, climbing from sea level to 3000 feet. It was further than he'd ever gone in one day, and he made it with energy to spare and clearly enjoyed himself. We benefited from near-perfect weather conditions; it was cloudy and cool all day, the temperature never rising above the 60s.

We began at 7:30 a.m. from the Seattle Pacific University campus after an opening ceremony that included a short speech from my pal Eric Knudson, who rode the Big Ride with me in 2006 and spoke about the greatness of the experience we were embarking on. Following Eric were Renee Klein, the regional president and CEO of the American Lung Association, and Seattle's mayor, Mike McGinn, celebrating the group's achievement of having raised (so far) more than $175,000.

Big Eric speaking from the heart

Mayor McGinn and Renee Klein

We then rode out of the city via the Burke-Gilman bicycle trail, and started climbing in earnest after about 40 miles. Our lunch stop was in the town of Snoqualmie (setting of the TV show "Twin Peaks") just beyond Snoqualmie Falls.

Snoqualmie Falls

First lunch stop

After cresting Snoqualmie Pass, we camped in a state park near the tiny town of Easton, WA. Then day 2 was spectacular - another cool day, but sunny on the eastern side of the Cascades. The ride between Cle Elum and Ellensberg was particularly beautiful, much of it paralleling the Yakima River.

View of Cascades near Cle Elum, WA

Riding along the Yakima River

After Ellensberg, the terrain changed drastically, becoming far drier, like much of Eastern Washington. At the crest of a high ridge, before descending into the Columbia River Gorge, we passed a large wind and solar power facility. We'd had tailwinds throughout the morning, but up there the strong crosswinds made the final miles of day 2 just a little bit harder. We camped in Vantage, WA, just above the Columbia River, where Gabe and I took a brisk, refreshing dip.

Wind farm near Columbia River Gorge

Columbia River @ Vantage, WA (I-90 bridge)

Day 3 was the toughest for both of us. Overnight after day 2, Gabe woke up and vomited. His sickness was mostly self-induced: feeling exuberant after our swim, he spent several hours shooting hoops on an unshaded basketball court in the 90-degree heat and undoubtedly dehydrated. He also learned that he has to eat better. Both his lunch in Ellensberg - Burger King - and his dinner in Vantage - chicken fried steak, smothered in white gravy, with french fries and ketchup - isn't ideal biking food. Nevertheless, he made it through a very challenging day, riding 82 miles in 90-degree heat, with 2500 feet of total climbing, first out of the gorge to the town of George, Washington, then past well-irrigated fields to the town of Ephrata. The final fifty miles were through a very dry, shadeless, sagebrushy landscape with lots of short climbs and mostly contrary winds. Gabe felt fatigued all day, but he persevered and made it all the way. We camped in at the high school in the small town of Odessa.

Interstate 90 @ George, Washington

Peppermint field between George and Ephrata

Dinosaur sculpture between Ephrata and Odessa

Landscape ten miles west of Odessa

Sunset in Odessa, end of day 3

Then overnight it once again turned cool, the temperature dropping into the 50s, and day 4 was a spectacular day of riding, with lots of sunshine, cool air (high around 70 degrees) and strong helping winds blowing us along a mostly rolling, green landscape of vast wheat fields, 77 miles through the towns of Harington, Davenport, and Reardan to reach Spokane. I was out in front most of the day and was done by 1:00 p.m., and Gabe wasn't far behind. We're now relaxing on a day off in a luxurious two-year-old dormitory on the campus of Gonzaga University.

Between Odessa and Harrington

Harrington, WA

Coughlin Hall, Gonzaga University

Overall, then, everything's terrific. Gabe has proven he's got the physical strength to meet this challenge, and I'm happy to have him as an excuse to repeat a great experience. Riding over terrain that you've visited before has its charm. It's comforting to sense what lies ahead, and I'm enjoying taking photos that I neglected to take last time. I feel at ease covering familiar ground, and very alert while I'm riding, noticing nuances in the towns and the landscape that escaped me when everything was new. We're also both enjoying getting to know our fellow riders. There's already good chemistry among the group, and we still have six and a half weeks to continue building friendships.

End of Summer 2010

2010-08-18T10:03:00.000-07:00

Greetings from NYC (after ending my ride in Seattle),

While I didn't maintain a blog during my journey this past summer, I think my photos tell much of the story, so please check them out, and I'd appreciate any feedback.

In all I rode 3,400 miles, beginning with a four-day solo warmup from Ft. Collins to Leadville, CO, then joining 2,000 other folks on the week-long Bicycle Tour of Colorado (BTC) beginning and ending in Gunnison and traveling south into New Mexico, crossing and re-crossing the Continental Divide. From there my friends Carol, Steve, and Larry drove me southeast, dropping me off in the Oklahoma Panhandle, and I rode northwest through Kansas, Nebraska, Wyoming (across the Big Horns and through Yellowstone), Montana, Idaho, Oregon, and Washington - a 37-day solo ride. Along the way I soaked up a lot of history, beginning with a visit to the No Man's Land Historical Museum located on the campus of Oklahoma Panhandle State University (OPSU) in Hopewell, OK ...

... where I learned about the origin of the panhandle as a "Neutral Strip" of territory for 40 years, until 1890; and there was also an exhibition detailing the region's experience in the 1930s as the epicenter of the Dust Bowl.

For more photos that I took while visiting the museum, visit this address:
http://picasaweb.google.com/cjshuttleworth/DustBowlEtc#

Also early in my travels, I stopped in Dodge City, Kansas, known as the "Buffalo Capital of the World" until the buffalo were gone and then the "Wickedest Little City in America" when it was the endpoint of the Western Trail driving Longhorn cattle north from Texas and Wyatt Earp and Bat Masterson served as local lawmen. (There's not much to recommend Dodge City now; there's a statue of Wyatt Earp one block from Gunsmoke Street, and a liquor store named after him with a convenient drive-up window ...)

Dodge City was also on the Santa Fe Trail; west of town was an historic site where wagon wheel ruts are still visible. And as I traveled north and west, I followed other historic routes, especially the Oregon Trail from Nebraska to Wyoming and again while crossing Oregon; the Bozeman Trail in Wyoming and Montana; and the Lewis and Clark route in Montana, Idaho, and Oregon.

While traveling alone, I was happy to ride all day, from 7:00 a.m. or so until 4:00 p.m. or later, so while not breaking any speed records, I averaged 90+ miles per day except for the week in Idaho when I rode along with a group of foreign cyclists who were following Adventure Cycling's Transamerica route west. Meanwhile the weather was consistently pleasant: I love the dry air of the West, and while the Eastern Seaboard sweltered, I enjoyed temperatures that were cooler than I was used to. Since 2006 triple-digit days have been frequent; this year a lot of mornings were downright cold, especially in Colorado - in Creede (elevation 8500 ft.) it dropped below freezing and I woke to find ice in my tent from condensation. And rarely did afternoon temperatures rise above the 80s. The one exception was in Hell's Canyon, but that's why it has its name ...

What made the ride difficult this year was the wind - stronger than usual and, as I wast traveling west, nearly always against me. Again, there were exceptions. In Kansas the wind was southerly so I rode north as much as possible. The day I left Dodge City, when I was forced to ride west, the southerly crosswind was so strong that it took nearly three hours to travel 24 miles from Dighton to Ness City; but from there, turning northward, the tailwind blew me up to Oakley - 45 miles in two and a half hours, listening to the grass hiss as I sailed across the prairie.

It was a 143-mile day, averaging 15.1 mph. Compare that to the day I rode from Cody, Wyoming to Yellowstone in an all-day headwind that was the most relentless I ever faced, averaging 7.3 mph and spending near nine hours in the saddle to cover 64 miles. I was proud of myself that day for keeping my composure; besides the wind it was lovely day, comfortably warm and sunny, and so while I rode I just tooled along, making what progress I could and reminding myself "If bicycle travel were easy, everyone would be out here; this is part of the experience." People sympathized, and commiserated. One couple with a pair of bikes strapped to their car stopped to offer their condolences, knowing what I was going through. And when I stopped in a small grocery store - the only one for 50 miles - a guy buying gas paid the cashier for my soda.

Here's the weird part: while taking photos that day, at one point I looked skyward waiting for a cumulus cloud to pass by the sun, and its puffy whiteness against the rich blue of the sky was so dramatic that I snapped a picture. It was the only time I've ever done that - aimed my camera lens directly upward; and looking at the photo now, were I religious, I could Biblically interpret the diabolical winds I faced. Do you see what I see?

One other evil element I encountered this year was the aggressive and vitriolic anti-Obama sentiment, the public display of which seemingly supplanting the attacks on abortion rights that littered the landscape throughout the Heartland before we had a black president. Here's one sign I edited out of the slideshow:

I encountered such signs from Colorado to Idaho, as well as bumper stickers and even a license plate on an over-sized pickup declaring "Obama" an acronym for "One Big-Ass Mistake America." The shift in focus led me to see to a link between the issues. At its core, it seems to me now, the Middle American right-to-life movement is motivated by a deep-seated, perhaps unconscious racism, wanting to salvage every incipient white as a bulwark against the rising tide of people of color. Here's a Kansas sign circa 2009 not in evidence this year and seemingly outmoded when there are bigger fish to fry:

I'll let the rest of my photographs speak for themselves.

-Charlie

Greetings from West 66th Street, NYC

2008-10-01T09:04:00.000-07:00

View from my window ...

End of the ride - and I'm already missing the West Coast ...

Hi, All,

My 65-day journey is over and I'm back in Manhattan suffering the usual withdrawal symptoms, surrounded once again by steel, glass, and concrete, with the far-off echoes of jackhammers in the distance. I'll be spending the year trying to churn out a novel about two middle-aged characters' search for meaning and purpose in life, following the age-old advice to write what you know. But before I immerse myself, here's a last blog entry for 2008, covering the final days of the Big Ride Pacific Coast, which ended in San Francisco, and wrapping up my journey as a whole.

Thursday, 9/25 (day 13) - 91 miles from Ft. Bragg to Stillwater Cove Regional Campground (near Ft. Ross, CA). A long, hard day that to me, coming after a day off and being so close to the end, felt a bit grueling. It began early, as I arranged a wakeup call at my motel for 6:00 a.m. in order to ride to the campground at first light and help with breakfast cleanup, this being my day for K.P. duty. It was a chilly 46 degrees; the morning sky was clear, but south of Ft. Bragg, as we approached Mendocino, a fog rolled in, cutting our views of the coastline for much of the morning. Except for one short but very steep climb, the riding was easy, the terrain was less hilly than it had been on previous days (and would be again), so I rolled along comfortably, just feeling a bit blah and trying to recall the lyrics to Traffic's "(Sometimes I Feel So) Uninspired." The fog did allow for a few interesting photos, adding a somber, gray backdrop (see below), but overall I was glad when the fog finally lifted near Anchor Bay, after 60 miles or so of riding.

A bit Dali-esque, eh?

I call this one "You Can't Go Home Again"

The afternoon then featured bright sunshine and a northerly tailwind helped push us along, but traffic also picked up once we reached Gualala and entered Sonoma County. We were now within 100 miles of San Francisco, and the area was more upscale, featuring some very attractive houses poised on coastal cliffs with long wooden stairways descending to otherwise inaccessible coves.

I rode hard over these final miles, grinding it out, and reaching the campground at 4:30 p.m. Nevertheless by the time I'd pitched my tent and showered, it was time to help prepare dinner, and my group was still washing pots by flashlight after darkness fell. The shorter days and long distances we've been traveling just don't allow for a lot of down time.

Friday, 9/26 (day 14) - 68 miles from Ft. Ross to Samuel Tayor State Park (near Olema, CA). After a good night's sleep, interrupted only once by terrorizing racoons (more on that later), I had a lot more energy and enthusiasm this day. It helped that the mileage was significantly shorter and that we rode beneath clear blue skies nearly all day. There were many beautiful coastal views, often framed by pink-tinted pampas grass growing along the roadside amid the steep, treeless cliffs. I particularly liked the sandy beach near Jenner, CA, a popular surfing spot at the mouth of the Russian River. The route was much hillier, but I enjoyed the tougher challenge and rode throughout the day near the front of the pack of riders. After 25 miles I took a short break in Bodega Bay, the setting of Alfred Hitchcock's The Birds. Then, while I almost always have ridden alone on the ride, preferring to go at my own pace, stopping for photos, etc., I rode close to two other riders, Shannon Krig (aka "Yurt") of Seattle and Ken Lieb ("Hurricane") of Golden, Colorado, long enough to take some action shots with the bare hills of north Marin County in the background as Route 1 left the coast.

Entering Marin County

South of the town of Tomales the terrain became more varied as the road ran through thick eucalyptus groves and paralleled Tomales Bay.

Eucalyptus trees south of Tomales on Route 1

Fog was visible across the bay, clinging to the western ridge of hills, but on our more inland route we remained in bright sunshine, and temperature climbed to the high-70s for the first time since western Washington. The big disappointment was the end of the day wasn't more relaxing. I reached the campground at 2:30 p.m. and was looking forward to several hours of down time, but the truck was missing and therefore everyone's gear. As a result I sat around, less relaxed without a shower and without my book to read or journal to update. The situation lasted for 2-1/2 hours, as it wasn't until 5:00 p.m. that the mystery of the missing truck was solved. It turned out that everyone - all the riders as well as David Van Doorne, the ride director - had followed the cue sheet to the wrong camping spot. The only person who was in the spot where we were supposed to be camping, a mile or so away, was Linda McKoryk, the staffer in charge of cooking and driving the truck. In the end, the "right" camping spot proved to be preferable, except for the fact that it was overrun by racoons. As a light sleeper, the racket of racoons bothered me throughout the trip, beginning on our second night, in Cape Disappointment State Park, WA, when I caught a racoon with its paws in my sports bag, just outside my tent, digging for my cache of Powerbars. The next night, in Nehalem, OR, they woke me at 4:00 a.m., having gotten at a stash of trail mix in the seat pack of a nearby bicycle. Riding in Spetember, I enjoyed the complete absense of mosquitoes throughout the trip, but the racoons more than compensated, maintaining the nuisance factor. On this last night of camping, they raised a racket that lasted until the wee hours, even later and louder than our own end-of-the ride celebrating.

One of the nonhuman rowdies ...

Clockwise from top left: Wild Bill, Dad(!), Chile, Auntie Kim, and Crazy Cousin Alan.

Final morning meeting, no worse for wear.

Saturday, 9/27 (day 15) - 32 miles from Samuel Tayor State Park to downtown San Francisco. The final miles were uneventful - a slow slog over bad pavement on Sir Francis Drake Boulevard, which led us over a forested ridge and delivered us into suburbia - the towns of Fairfax, San Anselmo, Larkspur, etc., to Sausalito and the Golden Gate Bridge. The route was trafficked and overrun with weekend bicyclists, who whizzed passed me with obnoxious regularity, making me question what exactly I'd gained after nearly 4,000 miles of cycling. Certainly not speed.

Seriously, though, it has been a wonderful journey. I really enjoyed the company of my fellow Big Riders over these past two weeks, even if, still in the mindset of the 30-day solo journey that preceded it, I kept to myself alot - riding alone and doing my own thing in the evenings - going for jogs, ocean dips, and views of the sunset before curling up in my tent with The Brothers Karamazov (hence, I think, came my nickname, "The Professor"). At times on the Big Ride I was reminded of the quote from Lord Byron's Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, which I taught excerpts of to my juniors last spring: "I stood/ Among them but not of them; in a shroud/ Of thoughts which were not their thoughts ..." But at other times I had a lot of fun laughing along, commiserating, celebrating, and sharing thoughts with all of them as we rode on our bicycles on a challenging route, testing our mettle and relishing the experience, pedaling amid such spectacular scenery. Life is simple on a bike trip: you get up in the morning and know that there's nothing else to do that day but ride, eat, try to stay uninjured and to pitch in when needed for the good of fellow travelers. For me it was a time of serious reflection while at the same time a celebration. As Frank Zappa once said (Fillmore East, June 1971), "It's great to be alive."

2008 Pacific Coast Big Riders

End of the road ...

Final statistics:

Total days away from New York: 65

Biking days/non-biking days: 57/8

Miles biked: 3800

Flats: 0

Maintenance and repairs: Nothing a rubber strap, duct tape, or chain lube couldn't fix.

Books read: 6
the second half of The Confessions (Jean Jacques Rousseau), E=MC(2) (David Bodanis), Six Impossible Things Before Breakfast (Lewis Wolpert), A New Earth (Eckhart Tolle), Slowness (Milan Kundera) Wonderful Tonight (Patty Boyd), and the first half of The Brothers Karamazov (Fyodor Dostoyevsky).

Animals sighted:
Black bear (cub) - 1
Elk - several herds
Deer - dozens, especially near Mazama, Washington
Coyote - 1
Racoons (too many! terrorizing coastal campgrounds from Washington to California)
Rattlesnake - 1
Otters - a pair
Sea otters
Elephant seals
Harbor seals
Sea lions
Dolphins
Pelicans
Cormorants
Bald eagles - 2
Osprey
Roadrunner - 1
Hawks
Vultures
Egrets
Blue herons
Turkeys
Quail
Pileated woodpecker - 1
and domestic animals: horses, cattle, sheep, goats, chickens, ostriches and llamas.

Greetings from Ft. Bragg, CA

2008-09-24T11:49:00.000-07:00

We're enjoying a much-needed day off in Ft. Bragg today before three final days of riding to reach Golden Gate Park in San Francisco on Saturday. The ride has been challenging due to our long mileage days and the hilly coastal route, but we've had great luck with the weather and the scenery has been fantastic, as we've been zig-zagging from wonderful views of the Pacific coast and inland sections through farmland and dense forests, with the groves of redwoods being the highlight. Our 30-mile ride on the Avenue of the Giants in Humboldt Redwoods State Park was one of my all-time greatest experiences on a bicycle. Here's a recap of the four days:

Saturday, 9/20 (day 8) - 90 miles from Bandon to Brookings (Harris Beach State Park). This was my hardest day. I felt low on energy and lethargic throughout, worn down, I think, because of the extra effort I'd made both in Florence and Bandon to get to the town libraries and work on this blog. Blogging is better left for off-days; the daily demands of the ride are simply too great. We've been rising at daybreak - 6:30 a.m. - and have to pack up our tents, eat breakfast, prepare lunches, etc.; and when everything is put away there is then a group meeting, so we usually don't hit the road until 8:15. Riding 90 miles keeps most riders on the road until 5:00 p.m.; I've been riding hard and getting in earlier, but still, with sunset at 7:00 p.m., there's precious little time to set up camp and have dinner. Friday was also my day on cooking detail, meaning I had to help prepare and clean up after meals, thus getting up before dawn and washing dishes at dusk.

That said, it was yet another scenic day. We began with a ride along the coast within the town of Bandon. It was a foggy morning, creating gray, moody views of the sea stacks offshore. The route then moved inland through several small towns until we reached Port Orford, and then inland again around Humbug Mountain before a lovely flat stretch right along the ocean shore. At Gold Beach, Oregon, we crossed over the Rogue River. It's been a special pleasure to cross such wide rivers where they flow into the sea- the Umpqua in Reedsport yesterday, the Rogue today, and the Klamath tomorrow in Klamath, California - after having encountered them all more than a month ago in my solo journey hundreds of miles east. The day stayed cool throughout; the sky was overcast, with just peaks of blue between the clouds, and the temperature never rose above the low 60s. From Gold Beach, then, we had a very hilly final 27 miles to reach our campground near Brookings. I went to bed early, hoping to recharge.

Coast of Bandon, Oregon (morning of day 8)

The coastal fog near Port Orford, OR (day 8)

The sun setting on the coast near Brookings, OR (end of day 8)

Sunday, 9/21 (day 9) - 92 miles from Brookings to Patrick's Point State Park, near Trinidad, California. This was the first of three spectacular days. Most importantly, my energy returned and I've been feeling great physically and mentally. I began the day riding along with the fast group of riders, who regularly ride together, the first eight miles to the California state line. Then, after some picture taking, while they were lingering there, I rode on ahead, preferring to ride alone: I concentrate better on what's around me. The route took us inland through some farmland - the major crop was lillies, but there were also some cow pastures - until we reached Crescent City, where again we had some lovely views of the coast. By then the morning fog had burned off and we rode in brighht sunshine fore the rest of the day, the afternoon temperature reaching the mid-70s. After Crescent City we faced the toughest climb of the trip - 1200 feet up a steep grade - but the road itself was enjoyable, taking us through our first section of redwoods. There was another pretty redwoods section during the climb after Klamath, just past the "Trees of Mystery" tourist trap, featuring a huge talking statue of Paul Bunyan and his bull. After the redwoods we rode through a valley where a large elk herd resides, and then, as was the case the day before, the final 20 miles were very hilly, adding to the challenge. In camp I tried to make use of the sunshine by hand washing some biking clothes, but they never did dry. Then I ran off for a quick dip in the ocean before dinner and afterward caught the tail end of the sunset.

Arriving in California (day 9): nicknames, from left to right: Fist, Flask, Spoke, Bristol, Nipple, Buckets, and Post.

Farmland south of the Oregon border (day 9)

Climbing through the forest south of Crescent City (day 9)

Paul Bunyan and his Ox at the Trees of Mystery tourist trap on U.S. 101 near Klamath, CA (day 9)

A self-contained cyclist riding through the redwoods (day 9)

Elk herd near Orick, CA (day 9)

Monday, 9/22 (day 10) - 81 miles from Trinidad to Burlington Campground in Humboldt Redwoods State Park (north of Phillipsville, CA). A fantastic afternoon riding on the Avenue of the Giants through redwood forest for the final 15 miles of the day, amid bright sunhshine, the temperature in the 70s, and the cooling breezes in the deep forest canopy. Getting there required 65 miles of semi-urban and freeway riding, as we passed through bigger towns today - McKinleyville, Arcata, and Eureka - and rode in the wide, smooth shoulder of U.S. 101, a four-lane, divided highway, for 28 miles. The freeway riding was eased by a stiff tailwind that helped speed us along, and in the end getting to the redwoods was well worth the effort. Once on the Avenue of the Giants, I rode slowly through the deep shade, marvelling at the redwoods' size as well as the lovely green ferny and mossy undergrowth, and the lovely quiet created by the high canopy. I stopped often to take pictures and then made a side-trip to walk the Founders Grove Nature Trail. Our campground was in the redwoods, making the day even shorter, as night fell early and there was little moon or starlight.

Along the Avenue of the Giants (day 10)

Founders Grove trail in Humboldt Redwoods State Park (day 10)

A fallen redwood along the Founders Grove trail (day 10)

Tuesday, 9/23 (day 11) - 94 miles from the redwoods to Ft. Bragg. A hard but, for me, truly spectacular day of riding - first through more redwoods (the southernmost section of the Avenue of the Giants) and then through the mountains to return to the coast. Again there was a section of freeway - U.S. 101 - but reaching Leggett after 45 miles, we left it for good and rode on state highway 1, beginning the climb over the coastal range. The road was narrow and winding and logging trucks barreled down from the summit, but otherwise traffic was extremely light, and we climbed again through deep, shaded forest. The descent was enjoyable - not a single car came up from behind me, as I sped around the long series of tight, banked turns. There was then a second climb that delivered us to the ocean, and then a very hilly ride along the steep coastal cliffs for the final 20 miles to MacKerricher Beach campground. It was a pleasant place, but, given our upcoming off day, nearly everyone opted to spend the night in motels (I'm in the Best Western, where the majority are staying). The length and hilliness of the route made this day the most difficult for nearly everyone, many of whom didn't reach camp until 5:30 or so, but it was also the most scenic, and I relished the challenge, feeling good throughout the day end enjoying the warm weather. It was only 46 degrees when we left camp in the morning, but being inland and further south now, thanks to the sunshine, the temperature rose 35 degrees, peaking at 81 near the summit of the coastal range at 1:00 p.m.; and from there, thanks to the ocean breezes, the temperature dropped back into the low 70s - truly perfect bicycling weather.

So with three more days to go, I'm feeling decidedly mixed emotions. I'm with a great group of people, and I'm looking forward to what I hope will be some more great riding, but after being away for 62 days now, I'm also relishing the thought of getting home.

Confusion Hill - another roadside attraction along U.S. 101 north of Leggett (day 11)

State Highway 1, nearing Ft. Bragg (day 11)

Sunset at Ft. Bragg (end of day 11)

Greetings from Bandon, Oregon

2008-09-18T15:46:00.000-07:00

The Big Ride Pacific Coast is well under way. We've just finished our seventh day - six days of riding and a well-timed day off in Lincoln City, Oregon, and are about halfway between Seattle and San Francisco. Thus far the ride has been outstanding, with fantastic scenery and very good weather overall. The days are cool, but there's been virtually no rain: four days have featured bright skies and lots of sunshine, the temperatures rising from the fifties into the high sixties or low seventies; two others were overcast, and we missed the worst weather on our day off, when there were a few sprinkles amid cold, gloomy skies and a stiff southerly wind that we would have had to fight against. Meanwhile, after 30 days of riding solo while carrying my equipment, I'm having an easy time of it; the ride is well-supported, and I'm enjoying the camaraderie as well as the scenery.

Including me there are 26 Big Riders. The majority are from Washington State and Northern California, but there are also a bunch of East Coasters (three others are from New York and two are from Massachusetts), there are two Canadians, and there are two cosmopolitan Seattlites, a woman from England and a man from Chile. Other states represented include Massachusetts, Wisconsin, Colorado, and Texas. Everyone's is getting along and riding well, and our days are full as we're averaging 80 miles a day - a tough task with the shorter days of late summer: it's not light until nearly 7:00 a.m., and most riders are still on the road until nearly 5:00 p.m. each day, leaving only a few hours of daylight to set up camp, shower, and eat dinner. We've also rotating breakfast and dinner duties - helping to prepare and clean up after meals; so on those days when it's your turn, you're especially busy. We're supported by four staff people who have all been terrific: friendly and easy-going, making the trip all the more pleasurable. I've been particularly impressed with the ride director, David VanDoorne; I know the mechanic, Alan Fitton, from the 2006 Big Ride Across America; and we have a cook along with us, Linda McKoryk, who buys local produce each day and is making very healthy dinners.

Here's a quick summary of our route and each day's highlights:

Day 1 - Saturday, 9/13 - 81 miles from Seattle to Montesano, WA. After a ferry across the Puget Cound amid thick morning fog and some very steep roads grades for the first four miles, escaping Bremerton, the day improved significantly, becoming sunny and warm. I struggled with dehydration due to the layoff in Seattle (drinking too much caffeine and not enough water), but by the end of the day I felt like myself again. The route took us south over rolling terrain along the eastern edge of the Olympic Peninsula; we passed through the town of Shelton and then angled west to Montesano, staying in Lake Sylvia State Park. The park was the day's highlight. I took a swim, and the lake was scenic, surrounded by thick forest that reflected off the still water, creating a lovely, tranquil atmosphere.

Lake Sylvia, where we camped and I swam, at the end of day 1

Tent city in Lake Sylvia State Park

Day 2 - Sunday, 9/14 - 80 miles to Cape Disappointment State Park, near Ilwaco, WA. A similar day - morning fog quickly burning off, then sunny and warm; rolling terrain riding south to Raymond, WA, where we crossed the Willapa River and then cut west to the coast, riding along Willapa Bay to Ilwaco. The temperature was at least 10 degrees colder at the campground, but once again the day's end was the highlight, as the campground was located right on the ocean. A fierce northerly wind was blowing, but I managed to get in a 35-minute run on the beach and then wade into the water for a quick plunge, body surfing one wave before scampering out. Later that evening, the sunset was one of the most dramatic I've ever seen, followed shortly thereafter by the full moonrise.

Riding in the morning mist early on day 2

The northerly wind blowing the sand down the beach at Cape Disappointment (day 2)

The ocean at Cape Disappointment

The lighthouse at Cape Disappointment.

Sunset at Cape Disappointment.

Day 3 - Monday, 9/15 - A shorter day: 64 miles to Manzanita, Oregon, where we stayed in Nehalem State Park. The biggest challenge was crossing the four-mile-long bridge across the Columbia River to Astoria. Later there were some tough climbs along the coast, but the scenery was fantastic, beginning with Haystack Rock at Cannon Beach, and then continuing down the coast to Manzanita. We stayed at Nehalem State Park, another campground right on the beach. Again I managed a 35-minute run and a dip in the ocean: the wind was much lighter and the water slightly warmer. And again there was a lovely sunset, although I only arrived back at the beach just as the sun was disappearing.

Mouth of the Columbia River, Ilwaco, WA, morning of day 3

Riding over the Astoria Bridge, across the Columbia River into Oregon (day 3)

Still riding over the Astoria Bridge ... (day 3)

Haystack Rock, Cannon Beach, Oregon (day 3)

View of Nehalem Bay beach, our destination at the end of day 3

The ocean at Nehalem Bay

Sunset at Nehalem Bay (day 3)

Day 4 - Tuesday, 9/16 - 81 miles from Manzanita to Lincoln City. The day began with thick coastal fog which lightened twice during the day: after we crossed the Nehalem River, the sun came out briefly between Mohler and Tillamook and again while I was climbing over Cape Lookout, but otherwise it was a gray day, the temperature stuck in the fifties. At Tillamook we stopped in on the Tillamook Creamery, where I took the self-guided tour and sampled the cheese: three kinds of cheddar and pepper jack (my favorite). To me the Cape Lookout climb was the highlight of the day, as I rode through the dense, ferny, old-growth forest, streaks of yellow sunlight streaming through the trees. Then after I crossed the summit and the fog reappeared, I rode past the dunes at Sandlake, eerily shrouded in mist, the sand having been blown up onto the cape over eons by the strong coastal winds. In Pacific City I rendezvoused with my friend Carrie Stilwell, who, lured by the great coastal weather, took the bus down from Portland, and we rode together for the final 25 miles to Lincoln City. She planned to ride with me for a couple of days, but since the weather turned, plans subsequently changed. The campground in Lincoln City was conveniently located - walking distance from the downtown area, with lots of shops and restaurants. But given the bad weather and the fact that, due to a plumbing problem, the campground had no running water, most Big Riders opted to stay in motels.

The bridge over the Nehalem River (morning of day 4)

The Nehalem River

Climbing through the temperate rainforest at Cape Lookout (day 4)

The dunes at Sandlake, OR (day 4)

Day 5 - Wednesday, 9/17 - Off-day in Lincoln City, resting up and hiding from the cold. Carrie and I had planned to do a loop ride, but settled for exploring the town, and walking on the beach, and dinner at an excellent Thai restaurant. She headed back to Portland the next morning.

Day 6 - Thursday, 9/18 - 83 miles from Lincoln City to Honeyman State Park, a few miles beyond Florence, Oregon. The sky was gray most of the day, with a few peeks of sun, but the wind was light, the temperature moderate, and the day was the most scenic thus far. Much of our ride through Oregon has been on U.S. 101, where there's a fair amount of traffic, although significantly lighter than when I biked this section in August of 2004. But the route also takes us on some quiet side roads, and getting away from the cars and RVs adds to the scenery. Highlights for me were Seal Rock, with its long line of sea stacks and the chasms south of Yachats, including Devil's Churn, where the ocean waves crash through the rocks, creating at times a thunderous roar. Near Heceta Head we saw and heard dozens of sea lions barking at each other while basking on the rocks below us. And there were some challenging climbs, especially up Cape Perpetua, which then offered lovely views of the miles of jagged coastline.

The beach at Newport, OR (early day 6)

South of Newport (day 6)

Seal Rock, south of Newport, OR (day 6)

Riding on a quiet side road south of Newport (day 6)

The rugged coast just south of Yachats, OR (day 6)

Sea lions on the rocks near Heceta Head (day 6)

Day 7 - Friday, 9/19 - 80 miles from Honeyman State Park to Bandon, Oregon. The weather again turned favorable and we enjoyed a nice, sunny day. The most scenic section was the latter part of the day. In Charleston I watched seals patroling the harbor for fish in the south end of Coos Bay (hte bridge over South Slough), and then there was a challengingly hilly inland stretch on Seven Devils Road leading to Bandon. Most disappointing was the amount of clear-cut forest we saw - the most since Washington - especially between Florence and Gardiner. A facade of trees lined the road - U.S. 101, but through the veil you could see vast, empty patches.

Clear-cut forest along U.S. 101, south of Florence, OR (day 7)

South Slough, near Coos Bay - Charleston, OR (day 7)

So that's it for now. We have four more days of riding until our next off day in Ft. Bragg, California, on September 24th.

Greetings from Seattle, WA

2008-09-08T08:58:00.000-07:00

Part Two of this nine-week Western journey is complete. I've arrived in Seattle, finishing a 30-day solo ride from San Francisco that covered 2240 miles, averaging 80 miles a day for the 28 days I rode. And I ended it with a flourish: after taking a ferry into downtown Seattle from Bainbridge Island, I rode straight to Safeco Field, home of the Seattle Mariners, and saw the Mariners play my beloved New York Yankees from a seat right behind home plate!

A lovely afternoon at Safeco Field

View from the good seats, Mike Mussina on the mound.

More on that story later. Meanwhile I now have five days to rest up before the final leg (part 3): the American Lung Association's Big Ride Pacific Coast, which will leave from Seattle this Saturday, September 13th and deliver me back in San Francisco on the 27th. The good news is that it's a supported ride, so I can take the packs off my bicycle and ride a little easier. And certainly I'm in shape for the ride, after my six-week, 2800-mile warmup. But still it won't be easy: the 80-mile-a-day pace is brisk, the coastal route is extremely hilly, and the shorter days will put pressure on riders to get moving despite the chilly mornings and potentially chilly days. As a teacher, most of my biking over the years has been limited to summers - i.e., hot-weather riding - so these early-autumn temperatures are a relatively new experience. When the sun is shining, the cooler days can be glorious, but amid clouds and rain, the cold can seep into your bones, as I discovered this week when riding over the northern Cascades, descending from 5,000 feet in a light drizzle, the temperature 50 degrees and the headwinds creating a fierce wind chill.

Here's a summary of the ride since my last post, as I rode on Route 20 east to west across Washington and then south on a coastal route to reach Bainbridge Island:

Wednesday, 9/3 (day 26, after and off-day in Colville): 86 miles toward Tonasket, WA. After the day off, I felt raring to go, ready for a hard day of climbing: a 4500-foot ascent to the top of Sherman Pass, elevation 5575 ft., and then after decending to the town of Republic, another ascent of 2000 feet over Wauconda Pass. Unfortunately as I set off I could tell I was dehydrated, having drunk too much coffee and soda and not enough water while blogging the day before. I took it easy, thus, and drank a lot as I rode through Kettle Falls and descended to the Columbia River (Lake Roosevelt), having last been beside it nine days before, in The Dalles, and then began the long, 25-mile climb. The morning was cool but sunny, and the slow ascent was enjoyable. I saw a pileated woodpecker with its bright red head, and an hour later a coyote and I shared a moment: I heard it moving from the road's edge, but then it stopped, turned around, and we stared at each other. I also enjoyed stopping at a heritage site: an old CCC camp nicknamed "Little America" that highlighted all the good work the CCC did during the Depression,as well as what the program did for the young men who participated. The roadside exhibit included a copy of a letter home from one of the participants who raved about the the three square meals a day and "all the pie you can eat."

In all the ascent of Sherman Pass took me about four hours. The descent was cold, I wore my jacket, and then after regrouping in Republic, I set off around 2:00 p.m., climbing again. Wauconda Pass was considerably easier. I made it to the top by around 4:00 p.m. and had only to ride to Tonasket, nearly all downhill, to complete a really challenging 100-mile day. That's when I had a breakdown, the story of which I tell in detail below (see kindess story #6). But in the end it merely shortened by day to a more reasonable 86 miles, and all's well that ends well: I spent a comfortable evening in a Tonasket motel.

Thursday, 9/4 (day 27) - 87 miles from Tonasket to Mazama. My toughest day mentally ofthe whole trip. The day started well as I rode south on Route 20/U.S. 97, a flat stretch in the Okanonda River valley, helped by a big tailwind, for 28 miles. But then the route turned west again, creating a crosswind, and I started a 3000-foot climb to Loup Loup Pass. The grade was significantly steeper than the climb up Sherman Pass had been; and maybe I was worn out from the day before, but this one really hurt, and I found myself unnerved by a lot of small annoyances: the road was narrow and winding, so cars were buzzing by too closely and the roars of motorcycles were especially grating; clouds kept blocking the sun, making me alternately cold and hot, and the afternoon too dark for sunglasses and then too bright to be without them. Etc. And then after the steep descent, I spent the rest of the afternoon fighting a really fierce headwind all the way to Mazama.

Descending Loup Loup Pass, with the Northern Cascades in the background

By the end I felt worn out, but I recuperated that evening over an upscale dinner with my biking pal Big Eric (see kindness story #7 below).

Friday, 9/5 (day 28) - 95 miles from Mazama to Concrete. Feeling revitalized, I had a big day climbing over the North Cascades to the Skagit River Valley. The headwinds were still there but they bothered me less, and they let up as I drew closer to Washington Pass. The climb was another really long one - 18 miles - and the coldest: for the descent I put on nearly all the clothes I had.

Climbing toward Washington Pass

View from near the top of Washington Pass

After a short, steep descent, there was one more climb to Rainy Pass - my fifth summit in three days, and then lots and lots of downhill, as I was descending from 5477 feet toward sea level.

Rainy Pass - the final summit

The headwinds remained tough - gusty and frigid - until Newhalem but then relented late into the afternoon. I wanted to ride as far as I could and kept at it until nearly 6:00 p.m., reaching the town of Concrete, where I camped alongside the Skagit River and ate a good dinner. The highlight was right outside the town of Marblemount, where I came upon a black bear cub that was right beside the road and was ten yards from it as it dashed into a thicket. It was the closest I've ever been to a bear, and I was struck by its shiny black coat and handsome pale brown muzzle.

Saturday, 9/6 (day 29) - 86 miles from Concrete to Port Townsend. Another long day as I rushed toward Seattle, and a less scenic day, amid a lot of heavy traffic. The volume picked up as I neared Sedro-Wooley and then from I-5 to Fidalgo Island, nearing Anacortes. From there I turned south and benefited from the strong northerly wind as I crossed onto Whidbey Island and then along a pretty stretch on the coast, with views of the San Juan Islands. By 3:30 p.m. I'd ridden nearly 80 miles to reach the Keystone-Port Townsend ferry, a 30-minute ride onto the Olympic Peninsula. It was the weekend of Port Townsend's Wooden Boats celebration, so I was lucky to secure a campsite at Fort Worden State Park: the park was full, but I was granted their one "emergency" hiker-biker walk-in site, nestled in deep woods, and then rode back to town for dinner.

Sunday, 9/7 (day 30) - 55 miles from Port Townsend to Seattle. After a late start, not waking till after 7:00 a.m., I rode 50 miles by 12:30 p.m. to reach the Bainbridge Island ferry. The route had its share of scenery, particularly on Route 19 south of Irondale, where the road followed the edge of a deeply wooded ridge, offering views of the narrow green valley just to the west and the silhouettes of the jagged Olympic Range in the distance. Mostly, though, my thoughts were on the Yankeess, and the real excitement was the ferry ride with its views of downtown Seattle and then the absolute thrill of attending the game.

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That said, the real story of this past week was the extraordinary kindness and generosity I received from the people I encountered. It made me reflect on the whole trip: people have been kind everywhere; over these last days the blessings have been just more frequent and pronounced. Thinking about it all is also extremely humbling. I realize how fortunate I am to receive such treatment. This past year at the Dwight School, I had the pleasure of teaching juniors one of my favorite novels, Hermann Hesse's Narcissus and Goldmund. In it, Goldmund chooses the life of a wanderer, wanting to fully experience life, and as he sets off he is treated kindly because he is young, has cultivated manners, and his physical attractiveness makes him seem pleasant and nonthreatening. Implicitly, however, there is the caveat in the story that with over time - as he ages and the life he lives hardens him - strangers will not receive him with the same open arms. Of the fellow touring cyclists that I ran across this year, two-thirds were male, one-third were from Europe or Canada, and ages ranged from 20 to 65. But all of them were white, and I wondered especially after the night I spoke to the police in Reardon, Washington, and obtained permission to pitch my tent in the town park, would they have been as accommodating if I had been black, or Hispanic, or scragglier in appearance?

That said, here's a short recap of people's kindnesses during my solo trip - a Top Ten of sorts, in chronological order:

1. When I ran out of energy climbing out of Chico, California, in withering heat, the local fire station crew chief allowed me to stay the night. I was granted access to a shower and bathroom; the chief offered me dinner; and I left after having coffee with him in the morning.

2. While I rode in an all-day downpour from Breitenbush Hot Springs in Oregon, my biking shoes reached a new level of decrepitude. Reaching a gas station, I asked the attendant if he had duct tape. He went into the mini-mart, took a fresh roll from the shelf, tore open the cellophane wrapper, and handed it to me, telling me, "Keep it."

3. As aforementioned, in Reardon, Washington, when darkness was falling and there was no motel or camping option in town, the police allowed me to stay the night in the small town park.

4. In Colville, Washington, I went to a small coffee shop to work on my last blog entry. I ordered an espresso, sat in front of the one computer, and for several hours, engrossed in writing, I didn't move. Besides me and the young woman working there, the place was empty, and I guess she was impressed with my diligence and concentration, because at one point without a word, while I was still hard at work, she presented me with a fresh fruit smoothie, gratis.

5. In Republic, Washington, after riding up and over Sherman Pass, I was sitting outside a restaurant/convenience store eating a Powerbar. A woman entering the store asked me how I was doing, and feeling genuinely euphoric, I smiled and said, "Great." A few minutes later, as she came out, she handed me a king-sized Snickers bar, saying, "You earned it."

6. Later the same day, descending Wauconda Pass, I had a breakdown. I thought at first that I back tire had blown out, but what had actually happned is that the struts of my back rack - two thin, metal strips that attach the rack to the frame - had suddenly snapped, apparently due to wear and tear (I bought the bike in 2003), and as a result the whole rack had flipped backward and was dragging behind me - panniers and backpack still affixed. I got off my bike and was staring at it on the roadside, assessing what had happened and what I should do next. Still reaching the conclusion that there was no way to ride, I only half-heartedly waved as a red pickup drove by; the driver waved back, and then I waved after him. A minute or two later, the red pickup reappeared: deciding that I was asking for help, he'd doubled-back to assist me. The driver's name was Lee Hale. He drove me to Tonasket, 15 miles away, where he lives and which was also my destination (I'd already ridden 86 miles). There's no bike shop in Tonasket, but he came up with his own solution. Driving to his house, he went into his garage and brought out a hard rubber strap - shorter and less flexible than a bungee cord. By affixing it to the rack and hooking it around the stem of my saddle, he'd concocted a solution that has lasted to Seattle. Thus in all I was stranded for less than five minutes, and Lee repaired my bike for me, asking only in recompense that I read some Christian pamphlets. Lee is recently married - I met his lovely wife - and he credits finding Christ and being saved for his happiness.

7. "Big" Eric Knudson of Seattle, with whom I rode on the Big Ride Across America in 2006 and, most recently, on this year's Tour de Rubenstein, met me in Mazama, Washington, and drove me to his new vacation home, putting me up for the night. Which reminds me to also mention Steve "Big Rube" Rubenstein and his wife Carolyn in San Francisco and Carrie and Cynthia Stilwell in Corbett, Oregon, for also putting me up and being so generous. They're treasured friends.

8. The next morning, as I was beginning the long climb over the northern Cascades, a couple from Vancouver driving in a camper pulled over and asked me if I wanted a lift over the mountains. I declined politely, and then asked, Did I look like I was struggling." "Oh, no," the man said. "We just thought we'd offer." "Thanks," I said. "It's very nice of you. But I'll make it, and it's what I'm here for."

9. About that Mariners-Yankees game. I rode to the ballpark, straight from the ferry dock, on my fully-loaded bicycle, and as I neared the ticket window, a scalper asked if I needed a ticket. I rode past him saying that I couldn't buy from him; I had to talk to the powers that be about securing my bicycle. At the window I was assured that there was a place to stow it. The next question was what type of ticket to buy. It was already the third inning, and I had a choice between a good seat for $68 and a seat in the rafters for $25. Before I could decide, the same scalper walked up to me and handed me a ticket. "Here," he said. "Best seat in the house." As a New Yorker, I have to admit I was skeptical, but I thanked him, gave him $15, and went inside. As it turned out, he wasn't lying, and as I sat down I thought, "Wow, I must be doing something right." The seat was in the tenth row directly behind the plate, and it was a rare treat to be so near to the action - within ten yards of Derek Jeter, etc., as the players stood on the on-deck circle. I've been away from New York for 45 days, and it felt like being with old friends again, closer to home, even if they did go nearly hitless in my presence.

Jason Giambi after grounding out.

A-Rod strikes out. Later he walked and was picked off firsat base.

10. Finally, I should mention the gift I received when arrived here in Seattle and staying with the Clifford clan - my former wife, Susan, with whom I always stay, and her family - her mother Margit, father Tim, brother Ted and Ted's partner, Cass Turner. Cass is an accomplished quilter; and several years ago over dinner I mentioned off-handedly an wonderful quilt I'd seen made of all the t-shirts that a couple I knew had accumulated from bike rides they'd participated in over the years. "Send me your shirts and I'll make you one," Cass said; and with some help also from Margit, it was recently finished. The quilt consists of all of the shirts I accumulated over a six-year period, from of my first group ride (BRAG, the Bike Ride Across Georgia) in 1997 up to Bike Florida in 2002. It's a keepsake that I'll value always, both for the memories of that era and for the labor and artistry that went into making it.

The Quilt

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All in all, my solo ride was a wonderful adventure. I'm proud of the accomplishment, grateful for all the help and encouragement I received, and particularly pleased with the feeling of joy and the composure that I maintained throughout the journey, notwithstanding the one low day to Mazama. Overall I've learned to take things as they come, accepting road and weather conditions as all part of the experience. Even while bicycling amid an all-day downpour, I had the resilence to carry on, my spirits never plummeting, causing me to curse my luck, or the elements, or the gods, or my own bull-headedness for choosing to be out there. When things got tough I simply accepted them. There was no timetable, so I plugged away and made what progress I could, riding as far as I was able and carrying on the next day, and I arrived in Seattle just when I hoped I would.

Some tallies relating to the journey thus far:

Total days away from New York: 44
Biking days/non-biking days: 37/7
Miles biked: 2768
Flats: 0
Maintenance and repairs: Nothing a rubber strap, duct tape, or chain lube couldn't fix.
Animals sighted:
Black bear (cub) - 1
Elk - a whole herd
Deer - dozens, especially near Mazama, Washington
Coyote - 1
Rattlesnake - 1
Otters - a pair
Sea otters
Elephant seals
Harbor seals
Sea lions
Pelicans
Cormorants
Bald eagles - 2
Roadrunner - 1
Hawks
Vultures
Egrets
Blue herons
Turkeys
Quail
Pileated woodpecker - 1
and domestic animals: horses, cattle, sheep, goats, chickens and llamas.

Greetings from Colville, WA

2008-09-02T12:01:00.000-07:00

Hi, All,

After a hard three-day ride north through eastern Washington, I'm taking a day off here in Colville, which was a favorite overnight stop on my ride just last year, when I rode east across Washington on Route 20, the North Cascades Highway. Now that I'm here again, I'll be retracing my route, heading west this time. It's the nicest way east-west across Washington by bicycle. Also by far the most mountainous. But I'm hoping that up here the winds will be more variable and not as strong and relentlessly westerly as they generally in the flatlands further south.

The northward route I took to get here from Oregon brought me through a harsh, mostly treeless landscape that surprised me in being as remote as it was. From Pendleton, Oregon, with a strong southerly tailwind aiding me, I zipped across the border to Walla Walla and made the mistake of not stopping at an ATM. I was down to $12, and as it turned out, for the next 110 miles or so, the few towns I rode through were all ATM-less: not a bank to be had, and in some cases not even a store. But in today's cashless society, a credit card got me by, and by the time I reached Ritzville about 26 hours later, I still had $6 or $7 in cash.

Anyway, here's a more complete recap:

Saturday, 8/30 - day 22 of my solo ride, which began in San Francisco: 96 miles from Pendleton, Oregon to Lyons Ferry Marina, near Starbuck, WA. As I said, I benefited throughout the morning from a tailwind over the flat terrain under cloudy, chilling skies, and I reached Walla Walla - 42 miles - by 11:00 a.m. Looking ahead, then, and asking in a Starbuck's about the road north to Starbuck, WA, I set my sights on reaching the Lyons Ferry Marina. Outside of Walla Walla, as the sky brightened and the day grew warmer and cloudless, I passed by the big state penitentiary ...

State penitentiary, Walla Walla

... and then the road emptied. I rode all afternoon in a nearly carless, treeless landscape, riding past a few farms and ranches but mostly deserted and very hilly grassland. The sense of emptiness became more extreme north of the town of Prescott, when I left the state highways (Rt. 125 to 124) to take a backroad that was a more direct route. And as the afternoon wore on, the easy passage I'd experienced for most of the day began to shift - the winds becoming westerly and gusty, slowing me a lot, the day growing hotter, and the road tilting relentlessly uphill. Because of the early coolness I hadn't been drinking much, and I began feeling dehydrated. I stopped along the road in the shade of cliff, drinking most of a water bottle and eating a Powerbar, noticing the total quiet - no sounds of birds or insects, and from my sheltered spot, not even wind - amid a brown landscape of raw earth and burned grasses.

Between Prescott and Starbuck, WA

Thankfully soon afterward the road tilted downward; I found myself suddenly speeding downhill, and the descent last for nearly ten miles, delivering me to Starbuck. From there it was only seven miles to reach the marina, but even that was a struggle - uphill and a strong headwind now all the way as the road angled westward. A highlight, though, was that as I rode beside the Snake River, I saw two otters swimming pareallel to me. I made it by 4:30 p.m., which was a good thing, since the cafe closed at 5:00. I ordered two hoagies, charged them, and saved them for later - after I'd pitched my tent and swam in the broad Snake River near the confluence of two other rivers, the Palouse and the Tucannon (actually it's a reservoir, Lake Herbert G. West, upstream from the Lower Monumental Dam). It was a rowdy night at the marina; a d.j. had been hired and music blasted until 11:00 p.m., but even the hard core partiers had stopped yakking by midnight.

Lyons Ferry Marina (on the Snake River)

(Despite the hard partying atmosphere, I enjoyed my night at the marina, amid the local boating and fishing, beer-drinking crowd. People generally everywhere I've ridden have been respectful of me and curious about my travels. I've been conscious, though, of the religiousness and political conservatism of the area. Signs are all for McCain and the GOP candidate for governor, Dino Rossi, whose slogan is "Don't let Seattle steal this election." Yesderday I passed the God Fearing Bros. Auto Dealership. ("We finance") And here in Colville, on thew mountain above the town, next to the white "C" denoting local school spirit, there's a large white cross illuminated at night by floodlights. What disappointed me most - back to talking about the marina folk - was that when I told the cafe waitress about the otters I'd seen, she made a face and said "They're a nuisance. They eat all the fish, and even get into people's boats," and that when they're reported, they're trapped and relocated.)

Sunday, 8/31 - day 23: 110 miles from Lyons Ferry to Reardon, WA. A long, hard day through even rougher terrain in order to avoid an overnight stay in an aesthethic location - Sprague, WA - and also to get myself within shooting distance of Colville. The best aspect of this was my ability to do it - the reserve tank of energy that I have after five weeks on the road: I'm in really terrific shape.

The day was hard from the outset. The first 20 miles were filled with steep climbs, the terrain still treeless and now resembling the badlands of the western Dakotas and much of Wyoming. The wind was also much tougher this day: a very strong westerly crosswind that was slowing me as I angled northwest. I sped up at times when the road turned northeast, though, and I kept at it, making steady progress all day. Traffic remained light, towns few and far between: there was one store in Washtucna, 22 miles into my day, then nothing at all in Ralston - no store, no people.

Near Ralston, WA

Finally after 50 miles I reached civilization: the town of Ritzville alongside Interstate 90, with two motels - a Best Western and a La Quinta - and a Perkins Restaurant. It was too early to call it quits for the day, though - only 1:00 p.m. - so I rode on, taking backroads that paralleled the interstate toward the town of Sprague. The land was flatter along this stretch - nearly all of it was wheat fields, and dust devils were whirling across the vast fallow sections.

Dust devil (between Ritzville and Sprague)

And maybe I should have been tipped off by some of the impoverishment in the town of Ritzville proper, as opposed to the outskirts servicing I-90 (a motel in town advertised rooms for $19 with "TV Bed Pillows"), but becasue of Sprague's proximity to the interstate, I rode along fantasizing about the Holiday Inn Express, maybe even a Motel 6, and the restaurants - at least a Denny's - that I hoped I'd find. I was really looking forward to it. The sky had grown cloudy, the crosswind even harsher, and it had begun to sprinkle as I neared the town. Instead the town was extremely dreary. No upscale services at all. Just two ramshackle-looking motels (one of which, the Purple Sage, I was warned against staying in; "The owner's crazy," a policeman said) and one burger-and-fries joint. So after mulling it over and being told that there was a good restaurant and motel in Reardon - 31 miles further - I decided to ride on. It was 4:00 p.m. when I started and 7:00 as I arrived, slowed by the crosswind and the nearly relentless upward tilt to the land: every time I reached the rise in front of me, I'd see, instead of a slope dopwnward, another rise in the distance; in all that day I gained about 1,800 feet of elevation. Then more bad news: there was no motel. But being nearly out of daylight, I made do in Reardon, and I was happy with my decision not to spend the night in Sprague. Reardon was a much nicer, more affluent-looking town, consisting of farmers and only 20 miles or so west of Spokane. There was an upscale steakhouse, the Branding Iron; I just needed a place to stay. So I spoke to the local police, explaining my predicament, and was permitted to pitch my tent in the town park for the night. I had only the men's room sink in the Branding Iron with which to wash, but I ate a good, well-rounded meal and read my book there afterward until bedtime. [A note for all my fellow 2006 Big Riders: Reardon was the one town in my travels this summer that we traveled through on our route across the country, on day 4 between Odessa and Spokane. It's 12 miles east of Davenport, which I think was our midday check-in point. I didn't recognize it until I arrived, but maybe that was part of the better karma I felt there.]

Monday, 9/1 - day 24: 78 miles from Reardon to Colville. A shorter day but difficult because of the winds, which grew progressive stronger and became a full-fledged headwind over the final 27 miles as I rode north. What was most memorable was the shockingly sudden change in terrain. Shortly after leaving Reardon, I stopped to take a picture of a mature wheat field. Further south the wheat had already been cut, but the crop around Reardon was still being harvested.

Wheat field near Reardon, WA

A half-hour later I was back in evergreen forest, descending through a canyon, mountains on either side of me.

Back in greener pastures - Valley, WA

For the rest of the day I was surrounded by mountains, the road carefully paralleling them and slipping through gaps, so there weren't any big climbs; that starts tomorrow; and I relished being back in greener, more scenic country. The road was quiet until I reached the north end of Route 231, which I'd followed since leaving Sprague, and turned onto the much larger, more traveled U.S. 395. The road was safe enough, with a lane-wide shoulder, but traffic was heavy and that's where the wind really became fierce, as the land opened up into broad mountain valleys. I reached Colville by 3:00 p.m. and rode directly to the fairgrounds where I'd stayed last year - a nice grassy area where it costs $5.00 per tent to camp. It's also on Adventure Cycling's Northern Tier Bicycle Route, so for the first time since my solo trip began, I spent the evening talking to some fellow travelers.

Sunset over Colville

That's it for now. From here there'll be tough mountains all the way to Seattle, beginning with a 4,000+ foot climb over Sherman Pass (elevation 5,575) tomorrow. I'll be in Seattle on or about September 8th and then set off the Big Ride Pacific Coast from Seattle to San Francisco on behalf of the Lung Association on Spetember 13th.

-Charlie

Greetings from Pendleton, Oregon

2008-08-29T14:49:00.000-07:00

I arrived in Pendleton around noon today, capping off a truly fantastic week of bicycling, first in and around the Columbia River Gorge area with my friend Carrie and then, back on my own, I took a five-day journey looping through the John Day River area in north central Oregon. The riding conditions were outstanding if you, like me, enjoy climbing and can put up with some tough, gusty winds. And the weather finally cooperated: the weather story of my solo journey has been a little like "Goldilocks and the Three Bears": first for days it was too hot, then it was cloudy and rainy, climaxing with an all-day downpour, and now for the past week the weather has been just right - cool mornings and bright, sunny days, the temperature peaking in the 80's. And the John Day area is maybe the best kept secret in the country. In all of my travels I have never been an area so scenic with so little traffic. I've virtually had the roads to myself. As an example, over the course of three days, I rode down six major descents - that is, a downhill of at least several miles where I reached speeds over 30 mph. The longest was an 8 miler with a six percent grade that took me 18 or so minutes to descend. And yet, never once in all six did a car pass me from behind, or even show up in my helmet mirror.

Here's a recap since my last post:

Day 13 - Thursday, 8/21 - an off-day in Corbett, OR, with no riding at all. I took my bike to a bike shop for repairs, dried out all my gear after the soaking it all took the day before, worked on my blog at the public library in Gresham, etc.

Day 14 - Friday, 8/22 - a semi-off-day: more work on the blog and then an afternoon 30-mile ride in the Columbia Gorge from Corbett to Multnomah Falls and back via the Historic Columbia River Highway (U.S. 30), the first planned scenic roadway in the U.S., build between 1913 and 1922. The views of the gorge were wonderful, and the road deeply shaded as we descended from the top to nearly the bottom. The return trip was tough, though: uphill against a a stiff westerly headwind.

Along the Historic Columbia River Highway

The Columbia River Gorge

Multnomah Falls

Day 15 - Saturday, 8/23 - Carrie and I drove east to the town of Hood River, a major recreation spot within the gorge, world famous for windsurfing, parasailing, etc. - because of the strong, near-constant wind. We rode for two days here, on this first day taking another 30-miler inland from Hood River, following the "Fruit Loop," a suggested tour of the Hood River Valley's local orchards and fruit stands. We were a week too early for the beginning of apple and pear season, but we could see all the ripe fruit on the trees, and we passed by a llama farm, where the llamas were in good form, every season being llama season!

Llamas!

All in all, it was a lovely ride; the roads were quiet, and as wee rode south to Parkdale, we had great views of Mt. Hood towering over the valley.

Mt. Hood, with young fruit trees in foreground (apple and pear trees with ripe fruit were elsewhere)

Day 16 - Sunday, 8/24 - A longer, 80-mile loop ride on the Washington side of the gorge from Lyle to Goldendale. The highlight was the first 20 miles as we followed the Klickitat River upstream through a canyon, the road shaded both by pines and the tall cliffs. Then after a steep three-mile climb that brought us out of the canyon, we rode through high, treeless prairie, with views of Mt. Adams to the north, enjoying a stiff tailwind all the way east to Goldendale. The bad news was that we then had to turn around, and the 25-mile return against the wind was a hard slog, riding through the prairie with not another soul around except one small rattlesnake and, once we reached the treeline, a rafter of turkeys.

Day 17 - Monday, 8/25: 67 miles from Hood River to Maupin, OR. Carrie got me started, riding the first ten miles or so with me east from Hood River, back on the Historic Columbia River Highway (the first miles of which was a section where cars are prohibited); and after saying goodbye at an overlook, I was back on my own, sailing along with the usual westerly tailwind eastward to The Dalles. From there I headed south on Route 197, and a hard ride it was, first climbing out of the gorge and then riding through very lumpy prairie land, where nothing was flat, either climbing or descending amid gusting, ferocious wind. At times the wind was aiding me, but most of the the time it was was westerly, billowing over the Cascades, which were visible as a blue wall off to my right, and the crosswind was so strong that I had to work hard to keep my bike from swerving into the road.

Mt. Hood from the high plains south of The Dalles

The day ended really well, however, as I descended to the town of Maupin, which has a lovely town park on the Deschutes River. I arrived late - 6:00 p.m. - but had time to soak in the Deschutes before dinner; and that night was the first of several where I spent time gazing at the stars, as all the past week the night sky has been moonless.

Day 18 - Tuesday, 8/26: 81 miles from Maupin to Fossil. A rugged day of biking in an extremely remote region, as for the entire 80 miles there wasn't a single open store: the store in Antelope, OR (pop. 37) was closed, and the only other dot on the map I passed through - Clarno - wasn't a town at all. The day began with an arduous 11-mile climb that took me two hours up and away from the Deschutes and back into high prairie, as I continued south on Rt. 197. The wind was already a factor - again mostly a slowing crosswind - and after a little bit of rolling, I was climbing again. In all it took three hours to cover the first 20 miles to Criterion Summit, elevation 3360. At the top, though, there was a real treat: an overlook featured a "mountain identifier," pointing out the names of all the Cascade peaks visible in the distance; and from that spot you can see them all for at least 150 miles, from Broken Top, south of the Three Sisters, to Mt. Adams in Washington. An hour later I was riding on one of the most beautiful roads I've ever encountered, east on Rt. 218 toward Antelope, OR - beautifully paved and completely empty of traffic, winding through a canyon of picturesque mountains, the colorful outcrops surrounded by grasses and pines. I was entering the John Day River area, noted for the tremendous fossil record embedded in its eroded cliffs. It's a rough landscape, however. As my route had been ever since The Dalles, none of it was flat; and after a relatively mild climb and descent to reach Antelope - where luckily I found a water pump across from the closed store - I faced a steep six-mile climb and then an eight-mile descent to Clarno, where I crossed the John Day River for the first time, and then a tortuous 14-mile climb before a final six-mile descent into Fossil. By then it was nearly 6:00p.m.; I'd averaged a mere 8 mph all day. I camped in the town RV park next to the fairgounds, again saw a sky full of stars, and heard coyotes howling in the distance.

Day 19 - Wednesday, 8/27: 100 miles from Fossil to Mt. Vernon. It was payback for all the harsh wind and the climbing: a day of relatively flat riding, aided by a strong tailwind. After an initial six-mile climb out of town amid a cold, gray sky, I had a chilling 14-mile descent to Service Creek, a small outpost alongside the John Day River. From there the sky cleared, becoming blue and cloudless, and the route followed the river upstream. It was wonderfully scenic, rich in color - the blue water framed by bright green banks, with the eroded cliffs creating a dramatic, ever-changing background.

The John Day River between Service Creek and Spray, Oregon

I simply sailed along, taking it all in, riding east on Rt. 19 through the towns of Spray and Kimberly (the latter consisting of a single general store and post office, but surrounded by fruit orchards), then south, stopping at the John Day Fossil Beds National Monument headquarters, and then east again to Mt. Vernon, the wind following me all the way. From Dayville to Mt. Vernon the road is less scenic and the river disappears from view within a broader valley, but it was a fast, flat ride, and Mt. Vernon was worth reaching: the biker-hiker campsite at Clyde Holliday State Park is a thick patch of grass (good for sleeping) and only $4.00. And once again that night I was treated to a black sky filled with stars and serenaded by coyotes - this time much nearer by.

Day 20 Thursday, 8/28: 83 miles (including 9 miles of shuttling between town and campground) from Mt. Vernon to Ukiah. A harder day featuring four summits to traverse, but overall another wonderful day: warm and sunny, on quiet, well-paved road, traveling north on U.S. 395. None of the climbs were particularly tough, but the cumulative effect wore me down by the end. The longest was the first - a 16-miler from Mt. Vernon to Beech Creek Summit, elevation 4708, that took me two hours. Then after a short decent through Fox - another town without a store - there was a steep, three-mile climb to Long Creek Mountain Summit, taking me above 5,000 feet for the first time since Crater Lake. I took a break at the one store in Long Creek and another in Dale, and then once again there was a lovely stretch of riding along the John Day River - this time its north fork - before reaching Ukiah.

North Fork of the John Day River

In Ukiah I hoped to find a motel in order to watch Obama's convention speech. No luck. There were two "motels" and one hotel in Ukiah, none of them offering a room with a television. The one place I was told that I might watch it was at The Thicket, the only place that served dinner, but it really was just a bar that also happened to serve food. I ate amid the locals and a group of motorcyclists from Idaho. The jukebox was blaring a lot of country-rock songs, and I didn't dare ask to turn on the convention. After dinner I retreated to the state campground outside of town. No coyotes this time, but it the morning I heard the plaintive cry of an elk, which sounds like a cross between a cat's meow and a trumpet.

Day 21 - Friday, 8/29 (today): 53 miles from Ukiah to Pendleton. Needing a rest, I made it a short one today, and it was exceedingly easy, as after an initial 11-mile climb to Battle Mountain Summit (elevation 4270), I left the trees behind and started descending 3,000 through prairie to reach Pendleton (elevation 1,200), passing through one town - Pilot Rock - along the way. The most amazing part of the day - beside the elk calls (I heard another on Battle Mountain) - was the rapid shift in temperature: it was 38 degrees when I woke up at 6:30 a.m., 77 degrees by 10:00 in Pilot Rock, and 83 degrees by 11:30, when I arrived in Pendleton. From here I'll be continuing north into Washington State, passing through Walla Walla, and then start angling west (against the wind, I'm afraid) to reach Seattle in approximately 10 days.

Greetings from Corbett, Oregon

2008-08-21T12:46:00.000-07:00

After 12 days of solo riding I've reached Corbett, Oregon, which is along the Columbia River Gorge, east of Portland, for a few definitely needed days off.

A summary of the ride through Oregon:

Day 7 (Friday, August 15 ...) - 77 miles from Weed, California via U.S. 97 to reach Klamath Falls, Oregon. I'd intended to head northwest from Weed through Yreka toward Happy Camp, but there was a big fire in that direction so I cut northeast instead. U.S. 97 is really a bigger highway than I like to be on - not as scenic or intimate as less traveled byways, but it had a big shoulder, making for safe riding, and it was the best way to continue north. Again it was hot, reaching 98 degrees, but I got an early start and the toughest part - climbing over the Cascades - was in the earliest, coolest part of the day. On the other side of the mountains, I rode through the very flat Butte Valley, where the sagebrush and grasses were replaced by agriculture, mostly strawberries. Another short climb out of the valley brought me into Oregon, and from there it was a final 20 hot miles to reach Klamath Falls, where I hit the Wal-Mart for supplies (Powerbars cost 98 cents there and up to $2.79 in small markets elsewhere) and then holed up in a Motel 6.

Day 8 (Saturday) - 89 miles. A great, beautiful, challenging day, riding to Crater Lake and then down to Diamond Lake (elevation about 5,000 feet), where I camped. This was the last really hot day, making the climb up to Crater Lake - 3,000 feet higher than Klamath Falls, to over 7,000 feet at the rim - fatiguing. The temperature at the rim was in the high 80s, which was nearly a record, I was told. But the climb was through beautiful forest, featuring gigantic ponderosa pines, and the view of the lake made it all worth it. I got some great photos just before the clouds rolled in, a lightning storm visible in the distance.

Crater Lake

Luckily the storm stayed south of Diamond Lake. There were lightning flashes and thunder rumbles in the distance, but only a few sprinkles overnight.

Sunset over Diamond Lake

Day 9 (Sunday) - My biggest mileage day thus far: 96 miles from Diamond Lake to Oakridge. The Cascade Mountains are so rugged that only a few paved roads traverse them, so to continue north and avoid the Willamette Valley, where temperatures were still hitting triple digits, I had to backtrack east, climbing to nearly 6,000 feet. From there I rode north on U.S. 97 Then after a short climb over the Willamette Pass, I had a long, speedy descent to Oakridge - dropping 3,000 feet in elevation over the final 27 miles. The day was overcast and fairly humid, but the cloud cover kept the temperature at least a bit more comfortable. I was expecting to have to stay in a motel - there are no campgrounds in Oakridge - but luckily the town park had hosted a big group of bicyclists that weekend, an event called Mountain Bike Oregon, and a few of the bikers had gained permission to camp there one more night, so I (fellow biker) was allowed to pitch my tent also. The park was right alongside the Willamette River, and so I slept well amid the white noise of the rushing water.

Day 10 (Monday) - 74 miles from Oakridge to Delta Campground near Rainbow, Oregon. A truly wonderful day of riding on the Aufderheide Highway (forest service road 19), a scenic byway through the western Cascades that was nearly deserted: perhaps a dozen cars passed me all day. The road was converted from an old railroad line, so the long uphill grade was relatively easy, following a branch of the Willamette River upstream, and the deep forest scenery all along the way was spectacular. It was another overcast day - again it had sprinkled overnight - and finally cool, the temperature staying in the 60s, and the muted light served to enhance the experience as I slowly climbed through the damp, dark old-growth forest, moss growing from tree trunks and hanging from branches.

In the deep forest of the Aufderheide Highway

There were groves of Douglas firs hundreds of feet tall, and when I reached the top - Box Canyon Summit, elevation 3.728 ft.), an old sign explained that the forest was protected on behalf of the spotted owl. This, then, was ground zero for the environmental movement; and it made me realize that the issue of the spotted owl (perhaps the most famous case of the Endangered Species Act pitting environmentalists against logging interests) is really just a buzz word for preserving old-growth forests. If these rare owls prefer to nest in ancient, pitted trees, surely so do a whole array of other creatures. It's an entirely different ecosystem. Being in an old-growth forest in the Pacific Northwest is a special experience that has a whole different look, smell, and feel than being amid younger (smaller, hardier) trees.

Old-growth forest along the Aufderheide Highway

North of the summit, the road paralleled a branch of the McKensie River and then rose above the Cougar Reservoir, created by the Cougar Dam. After the climb I was taking a break, overlooking the reservoir, when a bald eagle flew right by, nearly eye-level to me, displaying tremendous command presence - seemingly owning its environment - as it speedily cruised along parallel to the water. It was the first time in all my travels that I'd ever seen a bald eagle, and I found it thrilling, sorry only that I didn't have my camera ready.

The Cougar Reservoir, where moments later a bald eagle flew by ...

I camped that night along the rushing McKensie after a truly memorable 68-mile ride, and then added six more riding to Rainbow for dinner, after which I slept well.

Day 11 (Tuesday) - 78 miles. Another cloudy and cool day in the western Cascades, not nearly as memorable as the day before because I was on more traveled roads: first Route 126, following the McKensie upstream, and then after climbing for 25 miles or so, much of it relatively easy, with just a few steep sections, following the Santiam River downstream, northwest to Detroit. The forecast was for rain overnight, so I was looking for a good place to hole up indoors. My solution, having been suggested by a bicyclist I met in Oakridge, was to spend the night at Breitenbush Hot Springs, a private retreat - very hippie/new agish - ten miles beyond Detroit. Reservations were required, so I called ahead to secure a place: $63 including three meals - the food all organic and vegetarian, served buffet style in a communal dining room. I arrived at 4:00 p.m. as the first raindrops started falling, and it sprinkled throughout the late afternoon and evening. Meanwhile my visit was tremendously restorative. I spent the two hours before dinner sampling the natural hot springs, first trying the "sacred pools" on one end of the grounds. Signs said clothing was optional, but nearly everyone was naked, and people of all ages and body shapes were enjoying the mineral waters in pools several feet deep lined with smooth rocks. The nicest of these was at the far end of the short walk; it overlooked the Breitenbush River, and it was designated a "silent pool," so no talking was allowed. I stripped down and stepped in, enjoying the cosmicity of the atmosphere, when all of a sudden I saw another bald eagle flying right above the river like the one the day before. No one else was noticing - all of my fellow bathers were lost in silent contemplation - so I had to resist my urge to shatter the silence, calling out "Bald Eagle!" or to stand up and start waving and pointing frantically, for fear of becoming an utter pariah. Instead, then, I just watched it soar past in silence, amid the rushing of the river and the misty sprinkle of raindrops.

Really, Breitenbush was a lovely experience. There were cold showers by the sacred pools, so I spent an hour or so bouncing back and forth between the hot baths and some cold soaks, finding the contrast invigorating. Similarly, at another end of the grounds, I tried the "spiral tubs," a circle of round, tiled pools of increasing temperature, the hottest of which was followed by a cold one. Again, liking the extremes, I switched between these two before heading up to dinner. The food was great and I slept well that night. My accommodation was a large tent mounted on a wood platform and with a tarp tied above it - cheaper than the dorm rooms and cabins that were also available. It rained steadily all night, and I was glad to be dry.

Day 12 - 85 miles from Breitenbush to Corbett in nearly constant, pouring rain. "You chose this," I kept telling myself. I knew the forecast was for heavy rain all day, I hadn't taken a day off since leaving San Francisco, and here I was at a lovely hippie enclave, warm, comfortable, and surrounded by friendly naked people. Why not spend another day here and wait out the weather? That's what I told myself I'd do overnight, but after another morning soak in the sacred pools before breakfast, I guess I felt I'd had the whole Breitenbush experience, and at times the rain was lightening from a steady downpour to a misty sprinkle. Also, I planned to take a few days off once I reached Corbett, so why not suck it up and press on. "No matter how miserable this day is," I told myself, "at the end of it you'll be inside, and you'll have time to recover." So after breakfast and then another hour of waffling, my thoughts ping-ponging between "C'mon, let's get go!" to "Why? Are you nuts?" I headed out. And in response the skies erupted. The first ten miles were a steep climb, so at least I kept warm, but the rain was relentless and I was thoroughly soaked. Under normal circumstances it would have been another lovely day of cycling. Like the ride two days before between Oakridge and Rainbow, I was on a virtually traffic-free forest service road through dense forest, misty clouds clinging to the surrounding peaks. But instead the day was a tough endurance test, as I rode nearly nonstop to stave of the chill. The rain stopped and the sky lightened once or twice for several minutes, but then once again the boom was lowered, drenching me anew, and it seemed to rain especially hard whenever I faced a steep downhill. The good news was the my mood held throughout the day as I kept telling myself the challenge of it was self-inflicted.

So that's it. After 12 days I'm in northernmost Oregon, taking a few days off from self-contained riding to rest up for the next leg, heading for Seattle.

Greetings from Weed, CA

2008-08-14T15:25:00.000-07:00

Six days into my solo journey to Seattle, and it's hot hot hot! 103 degrees right now in Weed, elevation 3466 feet. A brief synopsis of the ride so far:

Day 1 - San Francisco (actually Pittsburg, CA, after taking the BART train out of town) to Sacramento: 74 miles, including a tour of downtown. A very flat ride beginning with a wonderful tailwind to Antioch, then a ride over the Antioch Bridge despite signs posted that bicycles were prohibited. There was no alternative, and a good shoulder on the bridge; nobody stopped me, and poeple I talked to afterward (including Steve Rubenstein, who suggested it) were surprised by the signs. It was a great way to go. After reaching the town of Rio Vista, I had a wonderful ride north within the Sacramento River delta. For a long stretch the road ran atop a levee, offering great views of the surrounding farmland.

Sacramento Valley farm, viewed from the levee road

Day 2 - Sacramento to Colusa: 69 miles through the Sacramento Valley with a few peaks of the river along the way. Again a flat ride with headwinds through incredibly fertile fields growing a tremendous variety of vegetables, fruits, nuts and grains. I was able to identify, in no particular order, tomatoes, wanuts, plums, watermelons, cucumbers, sunflowers, safflower, rice, corn, and alfalfa. The day grew very hot, though, approaching 100 degrees, and I was told the next several days would be even hotter in the valley. I camped at the state part in Colusa, swam in the Sacramento River, and went to the local 7:00 p.m. showing of Hancock, enjoying the air conditioning and finding thwe movie entertaining.

Squash field

Sunflowers

Plum tomatoes that didn't reach market

Day 3 - Colusa to Forest Ranch: 67 miles. The first 45 miles was more of the same - riding in the Sacramento Valley north as far as Chico. All the same fruits and vegetables plus a nearly ripe field of squash and some lovely almond groves, the trees planted in perfect rows.

Walnut grove

There were even more rice fields today, attracting lots of herons and adding humidity to the air; I could feel the moisture on my skin as I rode past them.

Rice field (with heron in distance)

Reaching Chico, though I had a problem. It was noon and already 100 degrees, and I had to start climbing into the mountains with no clear destination: the campgrounds seemed too far. Chico was the first town with triple-digit elevation, and the first town, Forest Ranch, which had only a general store, was 15 miles away, and 2,000 feet in elevation. The climb there was brutal; the road had no shade, and by the time I reached there, I was thoroughly exhausted. I bought food for dinner and the next day's breakfast, but with no choice but to press on, after a long break I kept going. In the end I only made it six more miles, climbing another 1,000 feet. Reaching a fire station, I begged for mercy, and after checking up the chain of command, the firefighters obliged, allowing me to shower and pitch a tent on the premises.

Day 4 - Forest Ranch to Childs Meadow - 44 miles. An easier day, although with more tough climbing, rising from 3,000 to nearly 5,000 feet with no services en route (all campgrounds closed due to fires in the area and the one store I expected to be open also closed) and the temperature topping out in the high-80s. I'd camped at Childs Meadow four years ago. It's a lovely spot, and I couldn't go farther. There are very few services in this area of mountains, and to continue I would have had to ride another 35 miles through Lassen Park, which for me was impossible (see day 5).

Day 5 - Childs Meadow to McArthur Burney State Park - 82 miles. Riding through Lassen Volcanic National Park meant a climb of 3,500 feet from Childs Meadow, as the road summit was at 8,500. It was a beautiful climb, though, with views of Mt. Lassen that are much more impressive riding south to north (I'd gone the other way in '04). From there I descended to 3,000 feet, so it was downhill nearly all the rest of the day, but once again I was in tough heat, the temperature about 100.

Climbing Mt. Lassen

Atop Mt. Lassen - just me and my bicycle

Day 6 - Hot and hilly through deep pine forest (as it has been all the way since Forest Ranch) and with views of Mt. Shasta looming ahead. The good news is I'm heading north. Hopefully Oregon will be cooler!

Greetings from San Diego, CA

2008-08-07T08:23:00.000-07:00

The Tour de Rubenstein has reached the end of its road after our two-day ride from Los Angeles to San Diego and a drive into Mexico yesterday, through Tijuana to reach Rosarito, 20 miles south, for a few hours of sightseeing and relaxing on the beach. Here's a recap of the essentials:

Day 9 - Monday, August 4: Los Angeles to San Clemente, 97 miles.
Day 10 - Tuesday, August 5: San Clemente to Coronado, 77 miles.My 10-day totals: Miles biked: 562. Miles missed (driving support van): 90. Flat tires: 0. Runs along the beach: 2 (L.A,, Coronado) Swims in the ocean: 7 (Santa Cruz, Cambria (coldest), Ventura, Malibu, Coronado (twice), Rosarito). Best wildlife sightings: sea otters, sea lions, harbor seals, elephant seals, dolphins, pelicans (lots), ostriches (at Ostrich Land in Buellton), a roadrunner.

Day 9 was a long, hard day, first weaving through Los Angeles streets from the Hotel Rubenstein (Steve's mother, Florence's house, where we took a day off on Sunday) to Marina del Rey. From there we rode the long bike path along the ocean to Hermosa Beach, where we took a break, and on to Redondo Beach, then traveled on quiet roads with nice wide bike lanes, following the coast through expensive neighborhoods in Palos Verdes Estates and Rolling Hills.

Bike path at Hermosa Beach

Palos Verdes Estates

Actually we mistakenly stayed along the coast too long, heading toward a dead end on the San Pedro peninsula, but we all enjoyed the long switchback climb that resulted: the grade was easy and it was our toughest climb since leaving Big Sur. A winding downhill led us into Lomita, and we then rode through the ugliest stretch of the whole trip - 5+ miles on Anaheim Street through a seedy area of auto junkyards, fast-food joints, and bodegas, the Port of Los Angeles off to our right, to reach the city of Long Beach, the downtown area of which was much more upscale, featuring an array of chain stores and restuarants near the waterfront: Borders bookstore, P.F. Changs, etc. By then it was after 1:00 p.m. and we'd ridden more than 50 miles to escape L.A. County.

Port of Los Angeles, approaching Long Beach

It was also hot in Long Beach: this was our sunniest day of the trip, with little of the coastal fog that we'd been encountering, and we realized we still had a long way to go. But a strong, cool coastal breeze kept us from overheating as the rest of the day took us through a series of attractive beach towns - Seal Beach, Sunset Beach, Huntington Beach, Newport Beach, Laguna Beach, Dana Point and San Clemente. Offshore oil rigs were visible from the north end of Huntington Beach, but the water looked clean and the white sandy beach inviting. Overall I liked the look of Huntington Beach the best, as further south the beaches were more crowded.

Huntington Beach, CA

The ride also became draining as it was very stop-and-go - lots of traffic lights through each town - the route became hilly, and we had to stay alert for opening car doors as we rode between lines of parked cars and the heavy flow of traffic. By the time we reached the Hampton Inn at San Clemente, it was nearly 6:30 p.m., 11 hours or so after we'd left Los Angeles. But overall it was a fine day. Southern California is certainly more crowded, but the beaches are beautiful, the ocean inviting, and the air warm and breezy, so there are plenty of compensations. Some of the streches had traffic that was surprisingly light, and nearly all of the route had either bike paths separating us for the road or wide, well-marked bike lanes. Bicyclists' safety and enjoyment is very much kept in mind.

Day 10 - our last day of riding - was similar. We had a quiet morning, riding in cloudy weather through the Camp Pendleton military base. The northern end of the base was limited solely to bicyclists, and it was there that I saw a roadrunner, which dashed off before I could aim my camera. South of the checkpoint we shared the road with a few military vehicles, and along the way there were heartfelt handmade signs welcoming officers back from duty overseas. When we finally emerged from the base and rode through Oceanside on Route 101, our ride from then on resembled much of the day before, as we passed through a long strip of beach towns, dealing with streets lights and moderate traffic, and having periodic views of the surfers and sunbathers along scenic stretches of sandy ocean beaches. I particularly liked Carlsbad, the first town south of Oceanside, but Leucadia, Encinitas, Cardiff, and Solana Beach were all similarly attractive. The traffic was heaviest in Del Mar, home of a major thoroughbred race track, and after a hot climb through the Torrey Pines State Reserve, the sun finally emerging from the clouds, we wound our way along elegant coastal streets through La Jolla, in the poshest residential section I'd seen since Malibu. David Frankel was also particularly struck by La Jolla, saying that for his wife's sake (he's not a beach person) he'd like to retire there.

La Jolla, CA

House in La Jolla

We emerged from the residential section onto a busy main street, but then escaped the traffic by turning onto another beachfront bike path that took us to Mission Beach, a bustling spot just a few miles from downtown San Diego. Another bike path took us into the downtown harbor area, where we caught the hourly ferry to Coronado. Our final destination was the home of Susan and Randy Bookout in a gated community across the street from Silver Strand State Beach. Susan is the older sister of Big Rube rider Alice Nelson, and she was exceedingly gracious in hosting our whole group of seven riders, and then six of the seven for a second night. I rode ahead to the house, champing at the bit to get in the ocean after riding past so many beautiful beaches, and while was body surfing, some dolphins passed by, swimming southward about twenty yards beyond the breakers. It was a wonderful end to a great ten-day bike ride.

San Diego harbor

San Diego Bay

Yesterday we celebrated with our drive to Rosarito, where the surf was rougher and the water colder and beautifully clear. Before swimming, though, we walked from the Rosarito Beach Hotel to a local arts and crafts mercado featuring nearly 100 stalls of merchandise, where big-hearted Carol Tremble spent at least an hour buying gifts for her loved ones, refusing to bargain with the merchants, insisting on paying them the price they first quoted. A typical purchase went like this:

Carol: How much?
Merchant: For thees? $30.
Carol: Okay then. I'll take it.
Merchant: How about $25?
Carol: No, you said thirty. Stick to your guns! That's what I'm I'm paying you.
The merchant is shocked.
David Frankel (aside, sotto voce): Carol, he said twenty-five.
Carol (aside to David, loudly): But he said thirty first, so that's that! (Quieter by one decibel): He needs the money.

The arts and crafts mercado in Rosarito

One of the stalls at the mercado

Carol buying a hat for Eric

Later she bought one of the stack of 20 or so hats that another merchant was wearing, soliciting sales on the beach. All the merchants seemed Mexicans of Indian descent. I was struck by the hardness and expressiveness of their faces; and heading back to Coronado, we were all amazed at the cottage industry at Tijuana border, where merchants offer an array of food products and gifts to the captive audience of vehicles waiting to pass through U.S. Customs.

Salesmen working the line for U.S. Customs in Tijuana

The wait was an hour long but very entertaining, and Carol and David acted extremely conspicuously when they hopped out of the van and danced the polka while Steve played Carol's favorite song, "Ya Sure, Ya Betcha" from a CD she bought two years ago in Minnesota.

The Tour de Rubenstein 2008 Rolls On Toward Mexico ...

2008-08-03T13:07:00.000-07:00

Carol posing next to our decorated van

Riding in the Los Alamos Valley between Orcutt and Lompoc, CA

I took these profile photos in Cayucos, CA.

David Frankel from Washington, D.C.

Carol Tremble from Vermont

Steve Rubenstein from San Francisco

Maria Nardella from Washington State

Eric Knudson from Seattle

Alice Nelson from Rumson, NJ

Lenny and Louis from San Francisco

Me among the artichokes near Castroville, CA

Carol and me on the Big Dipper in Santa Cruz

After this trip I'm getting new shoes!

Greetings from Los Angeles, CA

2008-08-03T08:59:00.000-07:00

The ride from San Francisco to Los Angeles took seven days in all. Today - Sunday - we're enjoying a day off and then we'll ride two more days to reach San Diego and the Mexico border.

In brief:

Day 4 - Cambria to Pismo Beach, 52 miles.
Day 5 - Pismo Beach to Lompoc, plus side trip into wine country, 57 miles.
Day 6 - Lompoc to Carpenteria, 75 miles.
Day 7 - Carpenteria to Los Angeles, 90 miles (I biked only the first 29).

Day 4 was the easiest but for me the least interesting. The day began auspiciously: it was the first morning of sunshine, the coastal fog having dispersed before we started riding. But an hour later, while riding on a quiet stretch of Route 1 through rolling hills between Cambria and Cayucos, the fog rolled in once again - first appearing over the high ridge to the wwest separating the road from the ocean, then blowing across the road in wisps, and soon enshrouding the whole area, the temperature dropping about 15 degrees. In Cayucos we warmed ourselves with coffee and pastries, and we stopped again for more coffee in Morro Bay, where Morro Rock, an offshore landmark sitting in Morro Bay Harbor, called "the Gibraltar of the Pacific," was invisible in the fog.

From Morro Bay, our route took us inland and the sun broke out as we neared San Luis Obispo, where we said goodbye to Steve's friends Louis and Lenny. We spent a long time in town, home of Cal Poly (California Polytechnical State University), first having lunch (the town is renowned for its barbeque) and then walking through the downtown area. Steve Rubenstein, our ride director, has a love of quirky Americana, so on this day Tour de Rubenstein included a stop at Bubblegum Alley, which I could have skipped: it's a narrow alley the walls of which are coated in thousands upon thousands of used wads of gum - multicolored but revolting. More interesting to me was our stop at the Madonna Inn, a "resort" hotel-restaurant outside of town that is a monument of kitsch, with its Swiss chalet-style exterior and 109 rooms, all individually named with different motifs. Created by eccentric owner Alex Madonna, it is arguably most famous for the urinals in the two men's rooms below the main floor - one featuring a wagon wheel that pours water into the trough and the other a stone waterfall. But I was more taken by the dining room with its pink floral motif. Finally riding again, we were on a frontage road along the freeway for the ten miles that led us to Pisno Beach, where once again the coastal fog clouded over the sunshine. In all we rode 52 unremarkable miles. The most interesting and most scenic part of the day for me was our after-dinner tour of Pismo Beach itself, where we strolled on the pier and watched the surfers - and some seals - while the sun made a brief appearance just as it set.

Sunset - Pismo Beach

Days 5 & 6 featured much better riding.

On Day 5 - Thursday - we rode from Pismo Beach to Lompoc, a modest town (pop. 40,000) on the western edge of the Santa Ynez Valley. Our route took us more inland and again we escaped the coastal fog, climbing a bit past the town of Oceano and then descending into a broad, flat valley filled with agricultural fields. Again we saw workers picking ripe strawberries, the smell of which was richly sweet; and other fields were growing broccoli, lettuce, and celery. In Guadalupe we stopped for coffee, and at a roadside stand near Orcutt, selling only the local strawberries, we gobbled up a pint of them; they were the best I've ever tasted.

Roadside strawberry stand in Los Alamos Valley

We then had one major climb for the day: aided by a tailwind, we tackled Harris Grade Road, which switched back up a mountain range and then dropped us into Lompoc. It was only 1:30 p.m. and we'd ridden less than 50 miles; our rooms at the Holiday Inn weren't ready yet, and the weather was spectacular, sunny and breezy. I wanted to keep riding, and so Carol, Alice, and I decided to bike another ten miles, one-way to the Sanford winery, where Steve agreed to pick us up in the van. The ride was terrific - due east on Santa Rosa Road, which had virtually no traffic and took us into the Santa Rosa Hills wine-making region noted for its chardonnays and pinot noirs. Vineyards sprawled up the hills, and in the valley were also fields of ripe artichokes and shady walnut groves.

Walnut grove on Santa Rosa Road

Sanford Winery - Santa Rosa Road

I enjoyed that ride so much that for day 6 I decided to take an alternate road inland to Santa Barbara insteaad of staying along the coast. Steve agreed to go with me, so we set off together, riding again on Santa Rosa Road, this time all the way to Buellton, the town which was the home base for Miles and Jack, the two characters in the movie Sideways during their wine-tasting vacation. In Buellton we passed by the motel Miles and Jack stayed at and one of the restuarants they frequented, as well as Pea Soup Andersen's, another kitschy stop on the Tour de Rubenstein, featuring all-you-can-eat split pea soup for $8.95; and then we stopped again for coffee and Danish pastry a few miles later in the tourist-trap town of Solvang. The architecture of the entire town resembles a European village, but it seems to be falling on hard times: a gift shop in the shape of a windmill was for lease. And there was also a store called "As Seen on TV" specializing in TV commercial and infomercial products: in addition to "The Clapper" there was also "The Deluxe Clapper," and my favorite was "Tater Mitts," quick-peeling potato gloves for $18.95.

The problem after Solvang was the traffic volume on the road. There was a wide shoulder at first, but a few miles after we turned onto Route 154 toward Santa Barbara, the shoulder virtually diappeared, becoming only a foot wide in parts, and traffic zoomed past us in a steady, buzing stream, the speed limit posted at 65 miles per hour. Meanwhile we were climbing into the Santa Ynez Mountains, rising from 500 feet in Solvang to 2225 feet at San Marcos Pass. What saved us was an orange sign announcing "Bike Detour": there was construction near the top of the pass, so we were directed onto an alternate route that Steve and I otherwise wouldn't have known about. It turned out to be fantastic - Stagecoach Road, the route of the Wells Fargo stagecoach from 1860-1900.

View from near top of San Marcos Pass

The road was shady and untrafficked, winding us up the mountainside and leading us to the Cold Spring Tavern, an old way station established in 1865 that is still in operation, its wooden structure intact, serving upscale meals to adventurous Santa Barbarans. It served as a nice break for us; the climb over the pass was hot, and the descent into Santa Barbara was speedy and treacherous, as we were back on the main road, which turned into a freeway. We then wound our way through some attractive neighborhoods in the foothills, working our way downtown to the waterfront, where we rejoined the coastal route the others had taken. Steve and I missed the parade the others saw kicking off Santa Barbara's yearly Old Spanish Days Fiesta, featuring a lot of mariachi music. But we did stop at the Santa Barbara Polo and Racquet Club, the third-oldest polo facility in the United States, where we watched a few minutes of a polo match in action, before riding the final miles to Carpinteria.

On Day 7, I rode only to Ventura, needing to take a turn driving the van, which I hadn't done since day 1, leaving San Francisco. The morning ride was lovely despite sections on or fronting the freeway. The weather was comfortably cool, foggy all day but warmer than it had been farther north, and the route became enjoyable once we reached Ventura, on the bike path along the ocean and then palm-lined streets leading to San Buenadventura Beach. While driving I stopped twice to jump in the ocean and body surf.

Quiet street in Ventura, CA

Stopping for a swim on Route 1 north of Malibu

I would have rather been riding, but it was a nice change. The route ran on Route, the Pacific Highway, and was flat until Malibu, where the traffic grew heavy. Cars were parked along the beaches, adding an additional hazard, as in addition to the traffic, riders had to watch out for car doors swinging open. We all rendezvoused at the Third Avenue Promenade in Santa Monica. Steve then led the riders on a circuitous route to his mother, Florence's house in Beverlywood while I got additional exercise by going for an hour-long run from the Santa Monica pier south to Venice pier and back. I've never been to Los Angeles - before this trip I'd never been south of San Francisco in California - so the run was also a really interesting sight-seeing experience, touring the funky-hip neighborhood along the ocean front, far nicer and posher than Coney Island.

More Pix from Days 2 & 3

2008-07-30T07:00:00.000-07:00

Coastline north of Big Sur.

More Big Sur coastline ...

Redwoods in Big Sur (campground day 2).

Riding in morning fog just south of Big Sur.

Coasline south of Big Sur (the fog slowly clearing).

More Pix from Days 2 & 3

2008-07-30T06:43:00.000-07:00

Carol, Steve, and Alice on the Big Dipper rollercoaster (circa 1924) on the Santa Cruz boardwalk.

Migrant workers picking strawberries between Aptos and Moss Landing (the greater Salinas Valley area).

Roadside market sign near Castroville (artichoke capital of the world).

Lettuce field near Castroville.

Greetings from Cambria, CA

2008-07-29T21:39:00.000-07:00

Days 2 & 3 were truly spectacular days, with frequent changes in terrain and weather conditions. The days are all beginning with thick coastal fog, which burns off by the afternoon.

We began day 2 riding through the outskirts of Santa Cruz, a congested area that lasted for the first hour or so, and then suddenly we were on country roads traveling through vast, fragrant fields of ripe strawberries, where migrant workers were busy picking the crop. Between these fields and Castroville, the artichoke capital of the world, I saw a group of sea otters in the Moss Landing inlet. Then, after passing a large Dole cannery near Marina, we traveled on bike paths through Monterey to reach Carmel - again heavily congested areas full of people, cars, and upscale shops. This middle part of the day was a bit of an endurance test for me, but the day ended spectacularly once we escaped Carmel and headed toward Big Sur, as the fog finally lifted and the day grew warm and sunny. The hilly coastline was challenging, but the scenery was worth it, and we spent the night tenting in a forest of redwoods alongside the Big Sur river. It was a hard day - 80 miles, with a lot of climbing toward the end - but very, very memorable.

Day 3 was a much hiller 74 miles, but it felt easier thanks to the simpler directions - Route 1 south all the way - the incredible coastal scenery, great views of wildlife, and a powerful tailwind that pushed us along for the final 20 miles. We began by climbing in extremely thick fog, and at the top, with near-zero visibility, hearing the echoing barks of sea lions in a cove far beneath us. The fog eased in an hour or so, providing shrouded views of the cliffs and the ocean, and it kept improving all day, with the sun again coming out for good in the late afternoon. All the climbing was challenging but enjoyable in the cool temperature (60s all day), and then the real treat was the end, as the land flattened and the road, running right along the shoreline, offered views of seals, sea lions, and especially elephant seals basking in the afternoon sunshine. Tonight we're in Cambria, a few miles south of San Simeon and the castle built by William Randolph Hearst, which I could see in the distance but didn't bother visiting, more interested in nature's ostentatiousness than that of a robber baron.

Greetings from Santa Cruz, CA

2008-07-27T15:52:00.000-07:00

Day One of the Big Rube is in the books.

Our ride from San Francisco to the Mexico border is called the Big Rube in honor of the ride's director and host, Steve Rubenstein, a reporter for the San Francisco Chronicle. The group consists of seven people, all of whom rode together on the 2006 Big Ride Across America, and all of whom were sleeping at Steve's house last night. Team Rubenstein consists of Steve, Eric Knudson, Dave Frankel, Carol Tremble, Alice Nelson, Maria Nardella, and yours truly, along with two other friends of Steve's, Louis and Lenny, who are with us for the first three days. Eric was the mastermind behind the Big Rube jerseys we're all wearing. Steve was presented with the jersey before dinner last night and then woke to find the rest of us all wearing them.

[Photos: Steve checks out his jersey (right) and Team Rubenstein (below) prepares to depart.]

Team Rubenstein on day 1 south of Half Moon Bay.

The ride today from Steve's house to the Hampton Inn in Santa Cruz seemed intimidating on paper - 75 miles - but I had an easy time of it, being the first volunteer to drive the Steve's van, which we have as our support and gear (SAG) vehicle. I drove behind the group on the mostly downhill ride beyond the city limits, warm and dry while the others rode in a dense, cool, wet fog. By the time I started riding, around 10:00 a.m. in Half Moon Bay, having missed the first 25 miles, including the day's toughest (steepest, shoulderless, pitted, and slick) climb and descent, just south of Pacifica, the fog was dissipating; and the road had a good surface and shoulder the rest of the way. By noon it was mostly cloudless blue sky, and a stiff tailwind sped us along. Thus I rode 50 dry, wind-aided miles, and given that I didn't train much, I'm not sorry for what I missed.

The day stayed cool throughout, and coastal scenery was wonderful. Wildlife sightings included sea lions, elephant seals, crowds of pelicants and cormorants, and a gang of turkey vultures. All told, then, a great day of riding, and I feel over my usual first day jitters.

The California coast near Davenport after the morning fog dispersed.

Summer 2008 Itinerary

2008-07-22T11:19:00.000-07:00

I'll fly from New York to San Francisco on Friday, July 25.

Part 1: The first leg of my trip is a 10-day supported ride down the California Coast from San Francisco to the Mexico border with a group of eight or so people, most of whom are friends from the Big Ride Across America in 2006. The trip has been designed and organized by Steve Rubenstein, a columnist for the San Francisco Chronicle, and will include overnight stops in Santa Cruz, Big Sur, Cambria, Pismo Beach, Lompoc, Carpenteria, Los Angeles, San Clemente, and Coronado, ending August 5.

Part 2: After a lift back to San Francisco, I'll ride for 4+ weeks solo, self-contained through Northern California, Oregon, Washington, and perhaps British Columbia before arriving in Seattle approximately September 8. The route will be very flexible, as I have more time than I need to reach Seattle, but I'll avoid the coast (see part 3) and focus on riding in the Cascades and the high desert east of the mountains.

Part 3: After a few days off in Seattle, I'll be participating in the American Lung Association's Big Ride Pacific Coast, which runs for 2 weeks, September 13-27, from Seattle to San Francisco. The ride is supported and will include up to 40 participants, each of whom will have raised at least $2500 for the charity.

I'll fly home from San Francisco on Sunday, September 28.