Transam Shazam

The Third Coast

2010-08-29T00:07:00.003-05:00

I am currently riding around Lake Michigan and blogging the trip on The Third Coast Tour.

Epilogue

2008-08-13T17:04:00.020-05:00

I reached Astoria over two weeks ago and I've been back in Chicago for a week and a half. But time is deceptive. It passes differently now that I've ended my journey. My seventy-five days on the Transamerica Trail may well have been a year; the past few weeks but a few days. This is one of the many things that I'm readjusting to now that I'm back home.

It's hard to sum up the ride without resorting to a string of tired superlatives. It was simply the best thing I've ever done. The adventure, the challenge, the people, the scenery, and a significant amount of good fortune combined to provide an experience that I will remember fondly for the rest of my life. I won't say that it was a once in a lifetime experience, as I would certainly consider pedaling across the country again on a different route.

After the details and colors of each state's beauty have faded from my mind, what will remain are memories of my time spent with people from across the country. Often my encounters with these strangers, almost all of whom I'll never see again, were short, but their conversation and hospitality defined my journey as much as the roads and terrain that I travelled.

A story from my last day provides a perfect illustration. On Sunday morning, the final day of my ride, I pushed my loaded bike through a few hundred feet of sand in Seaside, OR, so that I could dip my tires in the Pacific. Rolling my Surly through the loose sand proved to be one of the more difficult challenges of the trip. As I stood beside my bike taking in the ocean's breeze and reflecting on the past two and a half months, a middle-aged guy playing fetch with his dog walked up the beach toward me. "This looks symbolic," he said. "Where'd you come from?" When I told him the Atlantic, he broke into a huge grin and excitedly said, "That's what I was hoping you'd say!" He congratulated me, gave me a high five and said, "I don't even know you and I'm proud of you." I told him a bit about the trip, he graciously took a few pictures of me and then he headed off back toward town.

Several people who had finished the Transamerica before me had commented on how reaching the Pacific can be anti-climactic. There's no bannered finish line, no parade, and no fireworks. There's just another town going about it's daily business. Yet, my five-minute encounter with that stranger on the beach provided all the acknowledgment that I needed at the end of my 4,700 mile ride.

A few readers have requested a best/worst of list. Below is a hodgepodge of awards marking some of the trip's highlights and lowlights.

Trip Awards
Food

Best Mexican: Mexican Food Bus, Dillon, MT. The attention to detail given to the presentation of my $4 plate of tacos-to-go was truly impressive. An array of radishes and hot peppers accompanied the taco assortment made with surprisingly fresh vegetables.

Best pizza: Christian's Pizza, Charlottesville, VA.

Best BBQ: Sugarfoot & Peaches, Fort Scott, KS.

Best shake: Fresh raspberry shake at a fruit stand outside Tillamook, OR.

Best pie: Apple Pie at Delaney's on Broadway in Goreville, IL. Truly memorable pie and I ate a lot of pie.

Most consumed meal: Bacon cheeseburger.

Least amount of Heath in a Heath Bar Blizzard: DQ in Scott City, KS. The dearth of Heath in my Blizzard forced me to inform the workers that their DQ was the most miserly with their Blizzard fillings from Kansas to the eastern seaboard.

Best donut: Daylight Donuts, Scott City, KS. The town redeems itself.

Animals

State with the most roaming dogs miles from any visible residence: Kentucky. Was there any doubt?

State with my closest encounter with a dog: Virginia (reenactment pictured here).

Most common roadkill in the East: Turtles and snakes.

Most common roadkill in the West: Deer.

Animal only seen dead never alive: Armadillos.

Best animal sighting: Foxes on the Katy Trail.

Vehicles and roads

State with the most cars built before 1980 on the road: Montana.

State with worst road conditions: Kentucky.

State with the best shoulders: Wyoming.

State with best drivers: Virginia, Kansas, Wyoming.

State with worst drivers: Out of respect to my friends in Missouri I won't name the winner.

Scariest vehicles: Rented RVs the size of a Rolling Stones tour bus that are pulling an SUV and being driven by an elderly couple that probably should not even be driving a car much less a 50 foot-long vehicle. Runner-up: Empty school buses. The drivers are like teenagers whose parents are gone for the weekend -- all wild abandon.

Biggest pet peeve: Oncoming cars passing other oncoming cars by moving into my lane while I'm in it.

My dumbest move: Flipping off those oncoming drivers.

Miscellaneous

Best campsite: Cliffside site at a Jellystone Campground near Canon City, CO.

Sourest people: Employees of the HOB Cafe in Hartsel, CO. I knew I was in trouble when a customer was told she could smoke in the restaurant if she paid a dollar. It is illegal to smoke indoors so the owner charges customers for the privilege to pay off the fines.

Most photographed state: Wyoming (pictured here). Runners-up: Colorado, Oregon.

Least photographed state: Illinois (I only spent three nights in the state).

State with the most free overnight stays: Virginia.

Most expensive lodging: Jackson, WY.

The Tops

Favorite states: Montana (pictured outside Ennis in the panorama above), Colorado, Virginia, Idaho.

Favorite city: Missoula, MT.

Most enjoyably tacky town: West Yellowstone, MT.

Most peaceful ride: The Katy Trail, MO.

Best overall rides (in geographic order): Blue Ridge Parkway, VA; Loop to Mammoth Cave, KY; Canon City, CO to Hoosier Pass, CO; Grand Tetons National Park, WY; US 12 through Idaho; Three Capes Scenic Highway, OR.

Finally, I still plan on making a few additions to the blog. After I organize and winnow down my photos, I'll post them as a single album on Flicker and provide a link here. Also, for those looking for helpful logistical information on riding the Transamerica Trail I will link to more information about what equipment proved most useful and what businesses along the route were most cyclist-friendly.

Astoria

2008-07-27T14:04:00.000-05:00

I made it.

After relaxing for a few days, I'll post some final thoughts on the trip and what I hope will be helpful information for anyone planning their own ride on the Transamerica Trail.

For those of you who were waiting to make a donation to the Appalachia Habitat for Humanity until you were sure that I would actually make it to Astoria, now is the time to send in your check or donate online. I'll keep the link active for a few more days.

Thanks for sharing this journey with me. Your support helped me get through the tough days.

The Pacific

2008-07-26T23:00:00.000-05:00

I arrived at the Pacific yesterday afternoon. Although I hadn't reached my final destination, I was officially on the western shores of the country. I'm not certain but I may have heard angels singing.

After a six mile ride out of Monmouth yesterday morning, I stopped at the Eola Hills Winery. Eola Hills is an avid supporter of cycling, hosting bike tours of Oregon wine country every Sunday in August. These forty mile rides stop at four wineries for tastings, include a lunch stop and then end with a barbecue back at Eola Hills, where they offer unlimited food and wine. My next few rides will be more along those lines. I sampled a few red wines before starting my last stretch to the coast.

The highway heading west was extremely busy. I worried that my last few days were going to be full of unpleasant, stressful riding. Fortunately, as I approached the coast, my route moved onto less traveled roads. One stretch of road, Old Scenic Highway 101, was narrow, winding, and overgrown. Two cars passed me over the course of ten miles.

I hit the coast at Neskowin, OR. I pedaled off route so I could get my first look at the ocean and then followed the coast for twenty-five miles. The road rose and fell, providing great viewpoints at its peaks. Monolithic remnants of an earlier shoreline rise from the coastal waters.

I camped out at Cape Lookout, an Oregon State Park. Hikers and bikers pay a quarter of the price and have guaranteed spots at many Oregon parks. Four dollars secured me a spot within 100 feet of the ocean, where I was lulled to sleep by the sound of the waves.

For the first time on my trip there was a critical mass of campers in the hiker/biker section of a park. In fact, I have probably seen as many cyclists with touring gear in the past two days as I have during the previous seventy-two days. Most of these bikers are on short trips down the Oregon coast and wonder why I would cycle up the coast, against the wind.

I was up and out of the campground before anyone else was stirring. The skies were overcast and it soon began to drizzle. That early in the morning the roads were wonderfully quiet. Mist over the water made everything seem even more peaceful.

Continuing my free sample tour, I stopped in Tillamook at the Tillamook Cheese Factory welcome center. I watched workers process the sharp cheddar from an observation deck and then tried a variety of cheeses. The place was a madhouse, so I didn't stay long.

Outside the Tillamook center, I met Len, a fellow cyclist, who was heading down to San Diego. Len told me that he had been diagnosed with stage four lymphoma five years ago. He credited cycling with the fact that he was still around. Between chemo treatments he tries to take a long ride -- this was his fourth trip down the western coast. In September after he finishes this ride, he has another treatment scheduled. Despite his diagnosis, he looked healthy and strong and was tackling the tough hills along the Oregon coast.

Oregon has designated much of Highway 101 as an official bike route. The state has done a great job with signage, including a button-activated warning sign that cyclists are in the upcoming tunnel.

On the advice of a few cyclists I met back in Wyoming, I decided to stay in Seaside tonight, a town sixteen miles south of Astoria. I have heard that Astoria does not have easy access to the ocean, so I've enjoyed Seaside's two miles of beach.

The town suffers a bit from Niagara Falls syndrome, but on the upside that means multiple places to buy fudge. I had dinner at a sushi bar. When the sushi chef found out I was wrapping up my cross-country tour, sushi and beer were on the house.

Appalachia Habitat For Humanity

2008-07-25T23:30:00.001-05:00

Over the course of my cross-country ride, people have been incredibly hospitable and generous. It has been inspiring to see strangers repeatedly go out of their way to help me and fellow cyclists. To honor those who've been so generous, I've decided to try to fund raise during my ride across Oregon, the final leg of this trip. I've chosen an organization, the Appalachia Habitat for Humanity, that serves residents of one of the poorest areas that I traveled through on the Transamerica Trail. The Appalachia Habitat is the second oldest affiliate of Habitat for Humanity. While this branch doesn't have its own website, I have talked with several employees of the organization and they stressed how important every donation is to the work that they do. The organization completes sixteen to eighteen major projects a year.

So, if you have enjoyed this blog, or even if you haven't, and you're so inclined, please make a donation, how ever large or small. You can make a donation online by clicking the "Donate" button on the side of this blog and following the instructions. If you are more comfortable with the analog world than a digital one, you can also donate by sending a check to:

Appalachia Habitat for Humanity
P.O. Box 36
135 E Robbins Rd
Robbins, TN 37852

I would also like to take this opportunity to thank you for continuing to follow my travels and for your comments and emails.

Willamette Valley

2008-07-24T23:00:00.005-05:00

After sleeping on it, I decided to ask a few more people about McKenzie Pass before climbing up there yesterday. The last thing I wanted to happen was to reach the summit, only to find that I couldn't get through and had to go back and take the Santiam Pass. At a local bike store, an employee told me in no uncertain terms that I would not be able to get across the pass due to snow and bridge work. While cyclists are allowed to ride up the road, they have to turn around at some point and retrace their path. He spoke with enough authority to convince me that I would have to take the Santiam Pass.

I got a late start because I woke up to find my rear tire partially deflated. It seems the tire had a slow leak. (Did I mention my luck is running out?) I couldn't find a hole in the tube, so I fully inflated the tire and headed out of town. The road was busy, but manageable. On the way up I had clear views of Mount Washington.

Toward the top of the pass, the land was barren. Five years ago, a fire burned over 90,000 acres leaving dead, charred trees covering the mountain sides.

In the Cascades, I passed a series of lakes, waterfalls, and campgrounds.

As I descended, the road ran alongside the McKenzie River. On the westside of the mountains, the land was considerably lusher. Nurseries and orchards became common.

My options for lodging at the 80 mile mark did not pan out. I was in a stretch with no other campgrounds, motels, or cabins, so I had to push on thirty more miles. When I arrived at my destination, Coburg, OR, I was told that the one motel in town had burned to the ground. Fortunately, there were several motels five miles down the road. IHOP, which was next to my motel, never looked so inviting.

When I talk to people about my trip these days, they often tell me how close I am. And today I began the last of the twelve maps that outline my route. So it's starting to sink in that my ride is coming to an end.

The roads I pedaled today were more like those from the East than the roads I have traveled out West. They were quieter back-roads that usually only exist as unpaved, dirt roads in many of the western states. The fields and farm houses I passed reminded me of my rides through Virginia.

As I've moved into western Oregon the wind has picked up and this afternoon it significantly slowed my progress. I was also delayed by a stop in Corvallis, which has to be one of the most bicycle friendly towns in the U.S. I stopped at Corvallis Cyclery to get what I hope is my last new tire tube of the trip. One of the mechanics had just returned from an Adventure Cycling tour of Washington and had done the Northern Tier route a few year ago, so we exchanged notes. Having failed to make it to a winery that I wanted to try before closing time, I decided to cut a few miles from my day so I can hit it tomorrow. For those keeping score at home, I'm about 177 miles from Astoria.

Passing On

2008-07-22T23:00:00.000-05:00

Before reaching Oregon, I met several Oregonians during my ride. Clearly proud of their state, they always wanted to see my maps to check the route that I was going to take across Oregon. Several of them told me that the road through John Day and Dayville is beautiful. I wasn't disappointed. Compared with Colorado, Montana, Wyoming, and Idaho, eastern Oregon's landscape is more subtle. Nonetheless, it's beautiful to ride through.

The last few days have been defined by a series of passes. On Sunday, I rode over a trio of summits -- Sumpter, Tipton and Dixie. For each pass I climbed to 5000 to 5200 feet and then dropped between 1000 and 1200 feet before climbing to the next pass. Fortunately, in Baker City I was able to fully inflate my new tire tubes with a bike store's floor pump, making the climbs much easier.

At one point in the ride, the setting reminded me of northern Michigan -- a first on this trip. Pine trees lined both sides of the road and the sound of motor boats rose from a lake just beyond the trees.

After spending the night in John Day, I rode through the John Day valley yesterday. The valley is home to fossil beds that preserve its history as a tropical jungle where saber-tooth tiger and giant sloths once lived. While I wasn't able to see any of these remains, I did ride through Picture Gorge, named for the prehistoric pictographs on its face. The overcast skies muted the color of the Gorge's red rocks.

Of course, where there is a valley, there are also mountains. My day ended with climbs up two more passes. My destination was a U.S. Forest Service campground at the top of Ochoco Pass. As I neared the summit, the clouds darkened and I raced to beat the rain. I managed to set up my tent just before a short rainstorm.

This morning my day began with a gradual decline from 4700 feet. As I headed west toward the Cascades, the relatively quiet roads became busier. However, I still managed to see some wildlife.

The scenery became more dramatic when the snow-capped mountains of the Sisters range came into view.

While I was taking a picture of the mountains, a woman got out of her car and walked over to me. She invited me to camp out at her property. I just happened to be stopped right near her house where she and her husband have hosted cyclists for twenty-five years. Unfortunately, I had to push on, but the gesture boosted my spirits.

Tomorrow I have my last big climb. McKenzie Pass, the more scenic, less trafficked route is currently closed, allegedly due to snow and logging. This means that all cars are driving up the Santiam Pass, a route twenty miles longer than McKenzie. I wasn't looking forward to pedaling up to this busy summit. But tonight I heard conflicting reports about whether bicyclists can ride over the McKenzie Pass. Some say that it is open to cyclists, others say that loggers at the top may not take kindly to our presence. Given the prospect of a thirty-five mile car-free ride, I think I'll take the risk.

Oregon Trail

2008-07-19T23:29:00.002-05:00

I crossed into Oregon, my tenth and final state, yesterday. It was a great feeling.

On Thursday, I tried to wait out the Idaho heat, but when I got back on my bike at 5pm, it was still sizzling. As I climbed to 4200 feet, the land changed from dry and brown to a lush green meadow with forest in the distance. I rode until dark, using a dirt bike path for the last few miles into the Evergreen Campground, where I was the lone camper.

Ever since Kentucky, I had heard from several bikers that the upcoming stretch of Interstate 95 in Idaho was one of the worst stretches of road -- narrow, no shoulders and a stream of high-speed trucks. I opted to avoid this road by riding the Weiser River Trail. The few miles that I rode the night before should have been a good indication that this was not going to be like the Katy Trail, the other rails-to-trails path that I took across Missouri. The Weiser Trail was rough. The surface was uneven, quickly changing from loose rocks to potholed dirt to a harder-packed surface. Though I have fatter tires on my Surly than many touring riders, my bike could barely handle the bumpy ride. In the end, the thirty-five miles on the trail probably took me twice as long as they would have on the road. Nonetheless, the path was a welcome change of pace. I startled many deer and cattle as I pedaled along.

I do need to get to the coast soon though because my luck is beginning to run out. After getting only two flats between the coast of Virginia and central Idaho, on the Weiser Trail I had my second flat in two days.

After leaving the bike trail, I had thirty more miles to the Oregon border. I rode along the Brownlee Reservoir with the evening sun reflecting off its surface.

It's strange to see such a large body of water with essentially no shore. Campers and fishermen had already settled into the area for the weekend. I camped in Oxbow, OR, at a site run by Idaho Power, which operates the dams in the area.

This morning I was on the road by 6:30 am. My first order of business was getting something to eat as there were no stores or restaurants in Oxbow last night. I rolled up to a store three miles down the road happy to find that the door was wide open and the lights were on. One of the negative aspects of the trip that I haven't mentioned is that I am, at times, at the mercy of rude store or restaurant owners because they are the only option for miles around. If I want to eat I have to deal with them. Such was the case this morning.

When I walked into the store the woman barked, "We're not open." Funny way of showing it, I thought, after walking through the open entryway. "What do you want?" she asked. I told her I just wanted some food, thinking that was a reasonable request for a place that advertised "Groceries" on a billboard down the road and on a large sign in front of her store. "We don't have food," she told me tersely, "we're just a pitstop." Understanding a pitstop to be a place that would have something to eat, I played a game of "Who's on first?" with her trying to understand what that meant. Once it was established that she had absolutely nothing to eat in her store I resigned myself to just getting a drink, food would have to wait for another twenty miles, which as it was uphill meant about an hour and a half. As I walked to the cooler she reprimanded me for walking on her floors (you're kidding me right?) and not on scattered mats and holding the cooler door open too long as I retrieved a Gatorade. It was far too early in the morning for me to handle this woman. As much as I needed a few calories, food and a drink would have to wait until the next town.

Fortunately, run-ins like those are almost always quickly countered by more positive experiences. As I rolled into Halfway, OR, further down the road, I met a couple selling baked goods on the corner. We discussed my trip as I ate a delicious cinnamon roll and homemade cookies before heading to the local cafe where I had the rest of my breakfast.

In town I met an Australian couple headed East. Experienced bike tourists, they're taking a leisurely pace of about forty miles a day, which had them a little concerned about making their flight back in early November.

Today's ride was desolate and hot. It was certainly one of the hottest rides I've had thus far. The landscape is reminiscent of eastern Colorado, covered in desert-like brush. The dusty rock hills intensify the afternoon sun. A few mountains appeared on the horizon to the north with just a little snow left on their peaks. I rode alongside the famous Oregon Trail, whose wagon ruts can still be seen running across the land.

I arrived in Baker City by mid-day. This weekend is the town's Miners Jubilee, an annual celebration of its mining heritage. Vendors were set up in the park and Main Street shut down for a street dance, which seems to be a big summer event in many of the towns I have passed through.

Idaho

2008-07-17T14:33:00.010-05:00

Before this trip, Idaho was a state that I was barely aware of. You'd say "Idaho," I'd say "potato" and that's about where the word associations would end. But after my past few days in this state, I know I will be back. While I have yet to see a potato field, I have traveled through canyons, along rivers, and past golden hills. The terrain has far surpassed any expectations that I had.

As I left Missoula on Tuesday, it looked like bad weather was finally going to catch up with me. The Weather Channel was calling for rain in western Montana and in Idaho and the sky was thick with clouds. A light drizzle fell as I retraced thirteen miles out of Missoula. However, after I turned west toward the Idaho border, the clouds began to break up. Within the hour the sun was shining.

To get to the Idaho/Montana border, I had to climb to Lolo Pass at 5,235 feet. I had yet to see a bull moose on this trip and, unlike a grizzly, which I also have yet to see, I wanted to see a moose. I finally did at the top of the pass.

After reaching the pass the remainder of my day was spent descending through Lochsa Canyon. U.S. 12, the Northwest Passage Scenic Byway, meanders along the Lochsa River with mountains rising on each side.

This stretch of winding road stands out among many outstanding rides. National forest surrounds the canyon, so there were several NFS campgrounds to choose from. As the sun set behind the mountains I set up camp at Wilderness campground.

Yesterday I finished my ride through the canyon and once again began climbing. I hit a low of 1200 feet and rose to 4300 feet. Unfortunately, I have a lot more ascending and descending between here and the Pacific. Once again much of my riding was along rivers, which provide a beautiful setting for biking.

As I approached the steepest part of my climb on a busier U.S. highway, a guy on a motorcycle rode up next to me. He told me that he had biked the Transamerica thirty years ago and he wanted to warn me that at the top of the hill the road was covered in gravel and that I should take an alternate route. Sure enough, for the seven mile 7% grade descent, crews had covered the road in an inch of loose gravel. This seemed like a great way to kill bikers and motorcyclists. Fortunately, after a mile I was able to turn off onto Old 95, a stretch of switchbacks that took me down into White Bird, my destination for the night. Old 95 provided unimpeded views of the surrounding hills.

White Bird offered two options for dinner, I chose the one that my hotel clerk described as "classier," which I believe meant that I had less chance of getting caught in a bar fight. As I ate my burger at the empty bar, to my great surprise, my Uncle John walked in. My uncle had emailed me earlier in the week that he may try to fly out to Idaho to see me on the road, but I hadn't heard from him so I assumed he hadn't made it out. In fact, he flew into Missoula, went to Adventure Cycling and bought a map, and followed the route I have taken over the past two days, stopping occasionally to ask people if they had seen me pass by. Two rafting guides told him that they had seen me eating breakfast and put him on track toward White Bird. It was great to see him. We had a few $1.75 drafts at the bar and caught up, as some locals came and went.

This morning I rode out of White Bird with the plan to meet my uncle for breakfast either twenty or thirty miles down the road before he returned to Missoula. He drove the stretch of road stopping occasionally to take pictures. Fortunately, he was behind me when I had my third flat tire. A sharp metal pin worked its way through my rear tire. With my uncle's help, I replaced the tube quickly and was back on the road.

I had been warned that this section of Idaho heats up. A sheriff's deputy pulled over as I was taking a picture to recommend places where I could swim. Since my uncle and I ate and he headed back, I have been sitting out the afternoon heat in the Riggins Public Library/City Hall.

My last 100 miles in Idaho includes a stretch on a rails-to-trails bike path that will be a welcome break from the increasing truck traffic. Then, tomorrow, I cross the Oregon border.

Mad About Missoula

2008-07-14T17:40:00.000-05:00

Missoula ranks up there with Charlottesville, VA, and Columbia, MO, as one of the best towns I've traveled through. I had a nice and easy ride into town from Hamilton yesterday. Fifteen miles of bike path provided a reprieve from a busy, four-lane highway. Once in Missoula, bike lanes abounded and bikers were everywhere.

Missoula sits surrounded by mountains and has the Clark Fork River running through it. The historic downtown is lively and walkable. As the city houses the University of Montana, there's an abundance of young folks. Access to the outdoors couldn't be easier. Kayakers can drop in the river near the center of town and hiking and biking trails traverse the city.

A few downtown corners played host to groups of "gypsy" kids. When I lived in Tucson, during the winter months the downtown was home to a significant number of these wanderers, who were usually traveling with pets. Some were street performers, others were talentless. They disappeared from Tucson in the summer when it got too hot. I think I now know where some of them ended up.

It just so happens that the free weekly, the Missoula Independent, released its Best of Missoula issue a few days ago, so I've been working my way through the list today. So far I've been to the best coffeehouse, eaten the best meal under $7, had the best milkshake, taken one of the best day hikes, and sampled beers at the best brewery. Tonight, a trip to the best pizza place and a movie at the best theater, a restored movie house, are on the itinerary.

My hike took me up a surrounding hill, providing great views of the city. A herd of sheep was grazing on the trail, a quarter mile from the neighborhood below.

This morning also included a visit to the headquarters of the Adventure Cycling Association. The ACA is a non-profit organization that promotes bicycle tourism. The organization developed and mapped the Transamerica Trail and numerous other bike routes throughout the States.

One of the ACA's cartographers greeted me, took my picture to add to the wall of cyclists who have passed through this season, and offered me free drinks and ice cream. It was fun to see photos of the riders who preceded me, some of whom were familiar faces. The office was decorated with bikes that the founders rode on various trips, including this one that was used on a trip from Anchorage to the Tierra del Fuego.

I've also caught up on some reading today. One interesting article, relevant to this blog, that I read was on the relative risk of biking. The article is here. The conclusion -- safer than most people probably think, but not as safe as it could be.

Big Hole Valley

2008-07-12T23:15:00.001-05:00

Back in Virginia and Kentucky, good biking weather was often warm air, but overcast skies, so it wasn't too hot. Since I hit the Rockies in Colorado, I've had the reverse weather combination, brisk air but full sun to keep me warm. Yesterday the balance shifted and I had my first cold day of riding since early May. The sky was clear and the sun was blazing, but it wasn't enough to warm the cold wind blowing from the northwest.

I intended to arrive in Jackson, MT, on Thursday, but was slowed by the winds. After an even slower ride yesterday, Jackson became my destination last night. Several eastbound riders recommended that I stop at the Jackson Hot Springs Lodge, where for $10 I could camp and use the springs.

Jackson, which is in the Big Hole Valley, is the only town that I hit on my forty-nine mile ride from Dillon. The uphill ride took me over two passes and through quiet terrain. Occasionally, I passed herds of grazing cattle.

The Jackson Lodge has a bar, restaurant and a number of cabins. I overheard the bartender tell a couple sitting at the bar that the lodge employs half the town's residents. It's not much of an exaggeration. Thirty-eight people live in Jackson and the lodge has fifteen employees. After setting up camp, I soaked in the hot springs, which I had all to myself. The water was considerably cooler than the Saratoga springs, so I could comfortably swim around the large pool.

I spent the evening at the bar talking with the lodge's chef and two ranch hands, who worked nearby. The ranchers had spent the afternoon shooting beaver that were building dams in creeks and flooding grazing lands. Greg, the chef, told me that the valley only has fourteen non-frost days a year and yesterday wasn't one of them. A group of women arrived at the bar in puffy, winter coats -- a strange sight for July 11.

Despite a late start (even by my standards), I still managed to travel a good distance today, riding until 8:30pm. Western Montana has long summer days, as it doesn't get completely dark until after 10pm. After today's ride, Montana is quickly ascending on my list of favorite states on the route. I continued my ride through the Big Hole Valley -- "the Land of 10,000 Haystacks." A guy, standing next to his truck and holding a pair of binoculars, asked if I was ready for a cold beer as I rode by. On any other day I would have taken him up on his offer, but not today. I stopped to chat. I assumed he was out counting cattle as I have seen other ranchers doing, but he was on a bird-watching tour. An avid kayaker, he had four kayaks on the top of his truck.

I also stopped at the Big Hole National Battlefield, where in August 1877, the U.S. Army conducted a dawn raid on five bands of Nez Perce Indians, who refused to be forced onto a reservation. After losing about sixty tribe members, many woman and children, the Nez Perce warriors rallied and held off the army, allowing the tribe to escape. But by September of that year, after a few more battles in Idaho and Montana, the remaining Nez Perce surrendered. At the battlefield visitor center, a quote on the wall from one U.S. soldier struck me. While asserting that the Indians had to conform to the will of the white man, he said, "But power is not justice and force is not law."

After leaving the battlefield, I had to climb to Chief Joseph pass at 7240 feet. I then had an exhilarating descent into the Bitterroot Valley. One six-mile stretch of narrow, winding road was particularly stunning. The road ran alongside the east fork of the Bitterroot River and grass-covered hills rose to the east and west. I passed a group of big horned sheep many of which were calves. The evening light kept me from ending my ride earlier.

Glory Days

2008-07-10T22:00:00.006-05:00

Yesterday was a perfect day of riding. I continue to be graced with good weather and this corner of Montana is stunning. I rode through valleys, over mountains, beside lakes and rivers. The color palette was all blues, greens, and browns, with a little white on a few mountaintops. This area is a mecca of fly fishing and I passed many fishermen casting their lines in the middle of the Madison River. It's hard to imagine a more idyllic spot to fish.

I rode along the shore of Hebgen Lake and then Quake Lake, which was formed in 1959 when an earthquake triggered a landslide that blocked the Madison River. The drowned trees still poke out of the lake.

Perhaps it was the contrast with the more hectic Yellowstone, but it all seemed serene.

My two possible lunch stops were both closed, so I had to ride an extra thirty miles to Cameron, MT, before I could eat. It turned out in my favor because the KBear Cafe, provided the first noteworthy food in some time. Homemade chips and salsa, fresh baked goods, and quality burgers. My meal fueled me through the final leg of my ride, which included my toughest climb in recent weeks – 2000 feet in about eight miles. The climb provided great views of the Madison Valley below.

After reaching the pass, I coasted into Virginia City, a former mining town that has been well preserved. It was a good day for food, as I had a great dinner at Bandito's, an upscale Mexican fusion restaurant. I ate at the bar and talked with the owner, Scott, about mountain biking, travel, and life in Montana.

My ride today was cut short by strong afternoon winds. I passed several eastbound riders that were enjoying their tailwinds. I called it quits in Dillon, MT. As I walked around town looking for a restaurant or cafe, clouds of dust blew through the streets. I took advantage of my early finish by visiting the local theater to see "Hancock."

Yellowstone

2008-07-08T22:00:00.000-05:00

I couldn't bring myself to trade the warmth of my tent for the cold, damp air outside yesterday morning. I finally emerged at 8:30 am. I was staying in a section of the campground reserved for hikers and bikers. As I was packing up, I talked briefly with a motorcyclist from Illinois who was camping a few sites over. After telling him about my cross-country ride, he told me about a friend who bought a bike in Anchorage, threw away the seat and then road all the way to the Midwest standing up. When he got home he joined the Navy Seals and I imagine he's now busy crushing insurgents with his thighs. It seems everyone has a story about someone who has taken on a challenge that can honestly be described as crazy.

I entered Yellowstone park yesterday. Though my ride was short, the climbs, including another pass over the Continental Divide, tired me. The damage from the '88 fire still scars the landscape when riding in from the south entrance. Charred, lifeless trees remain with new growth rising around their trunks.

The roads are narrow and not in the best condition, evidence of inadequate funding the parks have received over the years. As I climbed toward the Continental Divide, a gorge opened up to my right providing gorgeous views and a few minutes of harrowing riding. I stopped to view the falls and lakes along the roadside.

Last night I had another campsite in a hiker/biker ghetto, this time at Grant Village. Since hikers and bikers only pay a fraction of the price, Xanterra, the contractor that runs the campgrounds and lodges, puts multiple hikers and bikers at group sites. I was sharing a site with a guy named Jeff, who was spending his summer vacation hitchhiking from Seattle to New Jersey. In the site across from me was a group on a week-long, supported bike tour led by Cycle America. And a few sites down were Ross and Justin, who were riding cross-country east to west on their own route. At breakfast this morning I met yet another rider, Allan, who is biking a modified Transam. He was a fountain of helpful information about my final states.

Today I continued my ride through Yellowstone. My route took me through the park's geyser basins, and past one of its star attractions, Old Faithful. I arrived about 45 minute before the next scheduled eruption, so I waited on a bench with throngs of others. A few restless tourists tried unsuccessfully to start the wave. After a few false starts, the geyser exploded.

I took a quick tour of the impressive timber lobby at Old Faithful Inn and then continued on, stopping at some of the mineral basins and hot pools found throughout the area.

Although the section of park that I traveled does not provide prime wildlife-watching, I did see bison, elk, and a nesting bald eagle.

I read an article last week about a teen who was tossed in the air by an aggravated bison. His family was warned several times that they should stand further back when taking the bison's picture, but they didn't listen. Eventually the bison decided the photo op was over. I thought of this article as I watched a couple of tourists step within a few feet a bison so that they could get nice and close for a picture. I lingered to see if it was the same testy bison.

I'm glad I had the opportunity to bike through a portion of Yellowstone, but I'm not itching to do it again soon. It was exhausting dealing with the constant flow of traffic on the narrow roads. But it was nice to meet so many people interested in the trip and quick with an encouraging word.

I ended the day in a new state: Montana. I'm spending the night in a rustic but historic log hotel in West Yellowstone, MT. While Jackson was touristy and ritzy, West Yellowstone is touristy and kitschy. The adventure cycling group, whom I last saw in Illinois, is here. Before dinner, I ran into Caitlyn, their leader, and caught up on their trip.

Back On Track

2008-07-06T23:00:00.000-05:00

What a whirlwind the past week has been. I've spent four days in transit, five days in Puerto Rico with friends and family, several late nights celebrating my cousin's nuptials, and now I'm back in the Grand Tetons National Park at Colter Bay campground. I've gone from sunsets in San Juan back to sunsets in the Tetons. Thanks, Gongui and Rebecca, for your hospitality in San Juan. And congratulations, Kevin and Marita. You throw a great wedding!

I landed at the Jackson airport at 2pm today. As I walked onto the tarmac, a light rain was falling and it was in the 50's -- a bit of a shock after a week of 80's and 90's. By 3:30pm I had reclaimed my bike, repacked my panniers and was all geared up. Once again, the weather worked itself out. The rain had stopped, the clouds had lifted and it felt 20 degrees warmer.

Getting back on my bike was a lot like reuniting with a good friend that I haven't seen in quite some time. Before seeing each other again I wonder whether we'll be able to recapture the connection we once had. I worry that we may have changed too much and we'll no longer have anything in common, that our conversation will be nothing but awkward small talk. But then we meet and it's like no time has passed. Within minutes, we're laughing at the same jokes and finishing one another's sentences. That's how it felt pedaling my first few miles today. Now I realize I'm writing about steel and rubber, but after several thousands miles you develop a bond with your bike.

Today's ride was an easy reintroduction -- 45 miles through beautiful country. For much of the ride I was retracing my path out of Jackson through the Grand Tetons. After pitching my tent at the campground, I headed to the Chuckwagon restaurant at Colter Bay. As I finished dessert, I heard my name. It was Cam and Don, who I last saw in Kentucky. They noticed my bike parked outside and were looking around the restaurant to see if it was mine. We sat and talked, exchanging stories about our rides across Illinois, Missouri, Kansas, Colorado, and Wyoming.

Rain returned as I left the restaurant and I've been listening to the patter of raindrops on my tent throughout the night.

Wedding Break

2008-06-29T22:20:00.004-05:00

I've decided to take a break from my ride to attend my cousin Kevin's wedding in Puerto Rico. I'm flying standby so it's not certain that I'll make it. If I do, then I should be back on the Transamerica Trail in about one week. If I don't make it on a flight, then I'll be back sooner. So if you're a regular reader please check back in a few days. Regardless, I will be back to tackle my last three states. One additional benefit of taking this break from the Tetons and Yellowstone over the week of July 4th -- I'm greatly reducing the risk of being flattened by an RV driver distracted by the sight of moose, elk, or grizzlies.

The Grand Tetons

2008-06-28T16:17:00.012-05:00

My first view of the Grand Tetons was the most impressive sight of the trip thus far. These mountains are so striking because there are no foothills. They just rise straight up from the valley. A series of lakes at their base provide a beautiful foreground for the peaks.

Before the Grand Tetons came into view yesterday, I had to climb to Togwotee Pass.

The uphill ride was long but gentle. At 9600 feet, two workers were sholving snow on a side road to clear the way to a fishing lake that was still partially iced over.

At the pass, someone had posted a warning to bike thieves.

After reaching the pass, I had a nineteen mile descent. As I approached the Grand Tetons park entrance, I encountered my second stretch of construction that day. The flagger told me that I would have to be transported through the construction. Complaining that they were depriving me of two and a half miles of my cross-country ride got me nowhere. I'll still claim that I biked coast to coast.

Once in the park, I biked to Signal Mountain campground on Jackson Lake. A ranger directed me to one of the last two available sites. I spent the afternoon and evening down by the lake taking in the view and watching the sun set.

Today's thirty mile ride to Jackson, WY could not have been more enjoyable. The winds were light, the road ran downhill, and the views were amazing. I was slowed only by my many stops to take pictures.

The traffic into Jackson was heavy with a steady flow of RVs. Jackson is the quintessential resort town, full of stores clearly catering to the throngs of tourists. The Snake River Brewery and the people watching made it an enjoyable place to pass the afternoon.

The Valley Of Warm Winds

2008-06-26T20:11:00.008-05:00

When an eastbound and westbound biker cross paths on the Transamerica Trail, one usually always crosses the road to stop and discuss the trip, share information about the upcoming towns and sights, and talk about the highlights. There is usually a shared excitement about meeting someone else on this adventure. Occasionally though, I've encountered some unenthusiastic downers. Today, I met a group of rather sour folks. Of course, everyone is entitled to a bad day. But even bad days out here are pretty damn good. And they had nothing to be down about as they had 25 mile per hour tailwinds blowing them down the road. I figure these folks aren't long for the ride.

After my rest day, I was ready to tackle the ride to Dubois. On my day off, I fixed a slow leak in my front tire and bought a new rear tire, as the original was starting to shred. Russ called me last night advising me to start early because he faced strong winds on his ride into Dubois. The map should have been warning enough. I was going to be riding past mountains known as the "Winds" onto the Wind River Reservation through more badlands formed by the wind to Dubois in the "Valley of the Warm Winds." And in Dubois every other motel and store has "wind" in the name.

The scenery was a nice distraction from the fact that I was crawling.

Striated hills and buttes rose on both sides of the road and red hills created a stark contrast with the blue sky.

For the last fifteen miles of the ride, the road followed the winding Wind River. Vegetation by the roadside was prickly and in bloom.

In the middle of nowhere I passed a wooden sign for the "Trial Lawyers College." If the side road hadn't led uphill, I would have been tempted to investigate.

There was a contingent of westbound riders on the road today. Menno, Wayne, and Dianne arrived in Lander yesterday and were also headed to Dubois, as was Marc, whom I met in Chanute, and his biking partner Dennis. As we arrived one-by-one in Dubois, we gathered at the Cowboy Cafe for dinner.

Tomorrow morning starts with a thirty mile climb of 3000 feet and then a long descent into Grand Teton National Park. I'm determined to rise earlier than the wind tomorrow, if that's possible.

Rough Day In Badlands

2008-06-24T22:14:00.006-05:00

Yesterday I had my first, and hopefully my last, experience biking on an interstate highway. Given the lack of paved roads out here, Interstate 80 was the only available road heading toward Rawlins for thirteen miles. Fortunately, the shoulders were wide. As I navigated through one shredded tire after another, I contemplated how I would avoid the shrapnel if a passing truck blew one of its tires.

I exited the highway and rode through Sinclair, WY, a true company town. It shares its name with the Sinclair Oil Corporation and consists mainly of an oil refinery. A town hall, police station and former hotel, built in the 1920's in the Spanish Colonial style, make up the rest of Sinclair.

The hotel, which according to a plaque had once set the standard for luxury in the region, now appeared to be a church mission.

After a lunch break in Rawlins, I decided to push on to Muddy Gap, where there was supposedly a gas station and camping. I was barely out of town when the sky darkened and light rain began to fall. Somehow I managed to thread the needle and avoid the storm clouds to the east and west and ride under the brighter skies to the north. In the afternoon, I continued to see many pronghorns grazing.

When I arrived at Muddy Gap, there were no signs for a campground and the clerk at the store didn't know of any official campsites. She directed me to a residence down the road where she had seen people pitch their tents. I rolled up to the house and rang the bell. The woman who answered said I was welcome to camp on her property. It appeared to be a former RV park. There were still a few numbered posts, electrical outlets and outhouses on the property. The only caveat: "We have rattlers, so watch out." I did, but fortunately, I never saw one.

Today, my destination was Lander. The day started off well with light winds during a twenty-two mile stretch into Jeffrey City, where I had breakfast. After not seeing any eastbound cyclists for a week, I passed eight on my way to Jeffrey City, a group of three, a pair of women, and three guys doing solo trips.

Jeffrey City was a former uranium mining site, but now had the feel of a ghost town. The cafe in town served a heaping breakfast and a surprisingly good homemade cinnamon roll. But the glass of milk I ordered was terribly sour. After I asked the waitress to check the date on the bottle, she didn't share it with me but quickly whisked away my glass. As I was finishing my meal, a Wyoming health inspector came in to take a tour with the owner. I heard talk of improper temperatures for food storage. As it's over twelve hours since I ate there and my stomach hasn't revolted, I think I'm in the clear.

The ride through southern Wyoming takes me back to Kansas and eastern Colorado. Wyoming isn't as flat as Kansas but it often provides wide-open vistas and the desert-like vegetation is similar to Colorado. At one point I crossed over the Oregon Trail and Pony Express route.

Not to be outdone by Kansas, today Wyoming showed me what its wind could do. Thirty miles outside of Lander I was blown off the road for the first time. Luckily, I managed to stay on my bike and the ditch by the side of the road was not too deep or steep. As I continued on, storm clouds began to form to the northwest and the winds became more fierce. Some gusts practically held me in place. I stopped several times because I couldn't stay upright. It was almost humorous until I got my second flat tire of the trip. I hurriedly changed the tube as thunder rumbled and lightning flashed around me. Again I lucked out, because the storm was all bark and no bite. Only a few rain drops fell. After what may qualify as three of the toughest hours of the trip thus far, the route turned due north for the last nine miles to Lander, turning headwinds into sidewinds.

Surprisingly, I had a tough time finding a place to stay in Lander on a Tuesday night. I managed to get the last room at the eighth place I tried. From the looks of it, this will be a nice town to spend a rest day.

Roaming Wyoming

2008-06-22T23:00:00.001-05:00

Back in Chicago, as I thought about this ride, it seemed like a monumental undertaking. Many people considered it slightly, if not entirely, crazy. Of course, the ride seems far less "crazy" on the Trail because so many others are doing the same thing. There are also a number of people out here who are on adventures that fall on a completely different scale. One Brit, who I have heard much about but missed meeting when I was off-route in Missouri, has been riding a Penny Farthing around the world for over two years. He uses a riding crop for animal control. And yesterday, as I rested at Muddy Pass, I met a German woman on a motorcycle, who told me about her two-year bicycling adventure from Alaska to Mexico City and many places in between.

My trip over the past two days has taken me over the Continental Divide again and into Wyoming. Yesterday's climb to Muddy Pass was gentle, confirming the Rockies' reputation as less strenuous than the Appalachians. The scenery continued to impress. Colorado provided the most striking setting thus far in both its beauty and diversity. From the dry, hot, and brown plains to the snowy, cool, and green mountains.

But just so I provide a complete and honest picture -- Colorado wasn't perfect. It seems the state may be in need of civil engineers with experience in road building because many roads are plagued by long cracks every fifteen feet. This results in a very annoying bump every five seconds. And so my friends in Missouri don't think that I only pick on Missouri drivers, Colorado drivers rate as the second worst of the trip so far. I think drivers ed in this state skips the lesson on the brake, since few seem to understand its purpose.

I spent my last night in Colorado in the Walden town park. Menno, Wayne, and Diane were also camped out there. We had pizzas delivered to the park's gazebo for dinner. The town was blocking off Main Street and holding a dance from 8 pm to midnight, but I wasn't sure how my Chicago-style moves would go over, so I didn't attend.

This morning began with a twenty-two mile ride to the Wyoming border. At the border, some dissatisfied visitor had shot a bullet through the head of the cowboy on the Wyoming welcome sign. Looked like he also put a few bullets in the cowboy's horse.

The terrain today was rolling. One of the larger hills that had a fairly straight descent allowed me to reach 44 mph. Mountains still rise on the horizon, though most are smaller in scale than those in Colorado.

Rock croppings, like those pictured at the top of the post, dot the landscape. Wyoming is as notorious as Kansas for tough winds, but today the winds were light and for a short time were at my back. I passed several pronghorn antelope running by the side of he road.

I planned on a long day to Rawlins, WY, but the waitress at my lunch stop changed my mind. "Rawlins is the armpit of the West," she told me. She said that I should stop at Saratoga, the next town, eighteen miles down the road. The free, hot, sulphur springs in town convinced me.

Once again, Menno, Wayne, Dianne, and I ended up in the same town, so we decided to split a two-room suite at a local motel two blocks from the springs, where we all headed after unpacking. At 114 degrees, the water straddled the line between pain and pleasure.

Hoosier Pass

2008-06-20T16:21:00.013-05:00

Out of pure superstition, I've been hesitant to write too much about the streak of beautiful weather that I've had. I still have a long way to go and the weather could turn at any point. But over the past few weeks, I have enjoyed a significant run of gorgeous days. Yesterday and today were no exceptions. Two weeks ago cyclists were biking through the Rockies in a snow storm. I'm sure that has its charms, but I am glad to be riding in the warmth of the sun.

Yesterday began with unfinished business -- climbing the last twelve miles to Hoosier Pass. With a few breaks to catch my breath and take pictures of the stunning surroundings, the climb was not too taxing.

At the pass, I took a hike up a trail to get unimpeded views of the valley below and mountain ranges in the distance.

I was just above the tree line and had to cross over patches of melting snow. Later I heard that the rapid snow melt from these mountains was causing flooding back in Canon City.

The reward of climbing to the pass was the exhilarating ride down the other side. The eleven miles into Breckenridge went considerably faster than the previous twelve. With only fifteen more miles to ride for the day, all on a bike path, I stopped into the Breckenridge Brewery. I had lunch on a deck overlooking the empty slopes.

I met up with Menno and another couple, Wayne and Dianne, at a campground on the Dillon Reservoir.

I pitched my tent at their campsite and, after a bone-chilling dip in the reservoir, I ate dinner with them. Not long after the sun set, I was fast asleep.

The temperature this morning was in the high thirties or low forties, but it warmed up quickly as the sun rose. I continued to reap the rewards of the past few days of climbing, as my ride today was mostly downhill. Because there are fewer roads out West, they tend to be more heavily trafficked and allow higher speed limits, but for one twelve-mile stretch I was on a road reminiscent of those back in Virginia -- quiet and winding. It took me around the Green Mountain Reservoir and over its dam.

Not ready to tackle a sixty-mile stretch over another pass and without any services, I decided to stop in Kremmling, CO, where I met up with Menno, Wayne and Dianne again. We are all staying at the Eastin Hotel in their "hostel" rooms. The clerk told us that these rooms in the basement, which are simple, but clean, much like those found in a monastery, are where the linens go to die.

Mountain Majesty

2008-06-19T08:30:00.000-05:00

Yesterday provided a challenging ride in a beautiful setting. The morning weather could not have been better. Full sun kept me warm as I climbed into cooler air. Unlike riding in the Appalachians, in the Rockies I have a constant view of the mountains around me.

I left the campground before the camp store opened, counting on a breakfast stop 21 miles up the road in Guffey, CO. On the way, Bill, who was driving down the mountain, stopped to see if I was planning on resting in Guffey. He suggested I eat at Rita's Place. By the time I reached Guffey, I was in need of a break. After repeatedly hearing that climbing the Appalachians is worse than the Rockies, I had underestimated the Rockies.

Rita's Place was a great oasis -- fresh, homemade food, New York bagels, and premium coffee in a relaxing environment. It's interesting that some small towns get little gems like Rita's, while others are stuck with dumps serving mediocre food. I guess it's just luck.

A large group of motorcycle riders on an organized tour also streamed through the cafe. I lingered long after finishing my breakfast, not quite ready to return to the climb.

Riding through Currant Creek Pass, at 9400 feet, I had a panoramic view of the mountain range with snow-capped peaks across the horizon. The elevation began taking a toll. I was breathing deeper and resting more often. By the afternoon, the weather also made the ride more challenging. A headwind began blowing and clouds rolled in.

Twenty-five miles later, I was ready for another meal, so I stopped in the H.O.B. cafe and saloon in Hartsel. It was the antithesis of Rita's. Inside I learned that the acronym stands for "Heartless Old Bitch." The service lived up to the name. Later in the day, another cyclist told me that after he ate there, the waitress wouldn't fill his water bottles. He thought she was joking. She wasn't.

It felt like I earned my miles today. By the end I was counting the miles to the finish line in Fairplay, CO. There are several other westbound cyclists in town. When I checked into the South Park Lodge, I learned that Menno, a cyclist from the Netherlands whom I met back in Pueblo, was also staying here. And at dinner, I met the Barringer family. Russ Barringer is cycling the Transamerica Trail, while his wife, Mandy, and four kids are traveling in a support van. Impressive.

Colorado Is Gorges (Apologies, Ithaca)

2008-06-17T20:16:00.014-05:00

I followed my low-key rest day in Pueblo with an action-packed day today. Several people told me not to expect too much from Pueblo. With a population over 100,000, Pueblo is one of the largest cities, if not the largest, on the Transamerica Trail. Like a lot of cities out West that means a considerable amount of sprawl with strip malls containing just about every restaurant, retail, and motel chain that I could name in five minutes and a few that I couldn't. But it also had a historic downtown, at least one good coffee shop with wifi, and a bike path along the Arkansas River, which provided views like this:

I spent the day riding around town and taking care of a few errands, including replacing my worn brake pads. After 2600 miles, I was concerned that those pads might not stop me from careening over a cliffside during a descent in the Rockies. Unfortunately, I failed miserably in my attempt to try Pueblo's Mexican food -- the recommended restaurants were closed, one for the day and the other permanently.

Rest days can be somewhat of a mixed blessing. I always look forward to the break, but it does make the next morning more difficult. It's akin to returning to work on Monday morning. But it usually only takes about fifteen minutes back on the bike before I pick up the old rhythm.

At the bike shop yesterday, the mechanic suggested that I ignore the Transamerica maps and take a different road to Canon City because the recommended route was circuitous and he had ridden one of the roads and it "spooked" him. I took his suggestion, shaving about 18 miles off my morning ride. The road, a four-lane, divided highway, was busier than the ideal but it had a wide shoulder. As I rode west the Rockies became more distinct and prairie dogs popped their heads out of holes by the roadside and squeaked.

I didn't plan to ride too many miles today because I wanted to spend a few hours at the Royal Gorge, which was only four miles off route. So when I saw a sign for the Holy Cross Abbey and Winery in Canon City, I decided it wouldn't hurt to sample a few wines. Not expecting good local wine before I hit Oregon, I was pleasantly surprised by the Abbey's selection.

Outside of Canon City, the climbing began anew. Although the plains seemed flat, their gradual grade put me at a higher elevation in Pueblo than at any point in the Appalachians. I started the day at about 4500 feet and ended it at 6200. Over the next few days I'll climb to the highest point on the Transamerica, Hoosiers Pass at 11,500 feet.

The four miles to Royal Gorge provided a tough climb as well, but it was worth it.

The gorge was an impressive natural sight and the man-made features lacked the tacky kitsch that often mars these attractions. An impressive suspension bridge spans the canyon. Despite the loose boards and regular gaps, cars are allowed to cross the bridge, but most people walk.

A cable car also takes visitors across the gorge and two railcars take them down to the Arkansas rapids running through the gorge.

Tonight I have a great view from my tent window.

But It's A Dry Heat

2008-06-15T16:00:00.000-05:00

Back in Kansas I met an eastbound cyclist on the road who was visibly concerned about the amount I was sweating. I assured him it was perfectly normal. Now that I've spent a few days riding in Colorado, I think he just got used to riding in this dry heat. Being from the humid Midwest, I find it unsettling to ride in 95 degree heat, as I did yesterday, and not sweat. But I guess that's why people are so crazy about this dry heat. Unfortunately, when the heat is dry, so is everything else -- your skin, throat, mouth, and lips.

Despite the heat, yesterday was a beautiful and clear day. Two low-hanging white clouds highlighted just how blue the sky was. As I crested a small hill I got my first look at the Rocky Mountains. Seeing the snow-capped Rockies on the horizon made me appreciate just how far I have traveled.

My destination for the day was Ordway, CO. In April, a deadly wildfire spread through the area leaving the charred trees pictured above. Just east of town, I passed a sprawling cattle stockyard. Workers drove between the pens checking on the animals. The scene reminded me of black and white photos I've seen of Chicago's stockyards in the era of "The Jungle."

When I arrived in Ordway, I headed over to the Ordway Hotel, which I had heard offered clean rooms at hostel rates. I walked into the hotel lobby and rang the bell at the desk. No one appeared from the back office so I took a seat in the air-conditioned lobby, welcoming the rest after my ride. I figured that the manager wouldn't be gone long because you don't just leave your hotel open and unattended. Two hours later I realized that in Ordway maybe you did leave your hotel open and unattended. My only other option for lodging was a rather depressing RV park with no showers or services, so I was really hoping someone would return to claim the hotel.

I had learned that in small towns like Ordway, often nothing is open after 8pm, so I left the lobby to get dinner at the local cafe. I placed my order just before the kitchen closed at 7:45 pm. When I returned to the hotel the lobby was still open but there wasn't a guest or a clerk anywhere. I contemplated sleeping on one of the lobby couches, but thought better of it. I pitched my tent in the gloomy RV park just before sunset. As dark settled in, the winds shifted, filling the town with the smell of the stockyards and turning the sky hazy with dust.

This morning I was up early and in Pueblo by noon. Between Ordway and Pueblo, I met three eastbound cyclists. Dennis, one of the bikers I met, was traveling with a support van that carried all his gear including a second bike for climbing the hills and mountains.

We exchanged information about some of the highlights of our respective trips. He talked up some of the craft breweries in the northwest and I told him not to expect much of that for the next 2200 miles, especially in Kentucky. As we talked, a voice came over the two-way radio strapped to his back. His support team was wondering about his ETA in Ordway.

One final thought. As a political junkie, I've used this trip as a form of rehab. Nonetheless, when I've stayed at motels on Saturday nights, I've always tried to catch "Meet the Press" the next morning. So I was sad to hear about the death of Tim Russert. Unexpected deaths of public figures like Russert always remind me of the simple truth that tomorrow is promised to no one. It's why experiences like this can't all wait until some future retirement.

Transitions

2008-06-14T09:30:00.000-05:00

The landscape changed dramatically over the course of my ride yesterday. As I moved west, farmlands disappeared, green vegetation changed to brown, the grasses turned dry and prickly, and the air lost all humidity. Lakes and rivers marked on my map were nothing but dry beds. By the time I reached Eads, Colorado, the land was all dust and patches of dry grass.

Before leaving Scott City, KS, I stopped in the local donut shop and had my first fresh donuts of the trip. Fueled by the raspberry-filled and blueberry cake donuts, I began my trek. Because one sixty-mile stretch ran through tiny towns with no services, I had no choice but to put in a long day.

In Western Kansas I rode through Greely County, named after Horace Greely, a champion of agrarianism in the mid-1800's and the Socialist editor of the New York Tribune.

Though he had no affiliation with the area, the local residents, named their county and two of their towns (Horace and Tribune) after Greely because of his support for the farmer. I've never read Thomas Frank's book "What's the Matter with Kansas?" but I wonder if he explains how you get from Greely to G.W.

By 11:00 am I had entered a new time zone and soon thereafter I entered a new state. I wasn't in Colorado more than two minutes when a tumbleweed blew across the street as if on cue. Forty-two miles later and I was in Eads.

The Irish of Rush Center

2008-06-12T18:48:00.001-05:00

I planned a short ride yesterday because I wanted to stay at a bed and breakfast for cyclists in Bazine, KS. I spent the day taking in the vast landscapes. It's easy to understand how tornadoes build up their force when you travel through these lands. I know Montana is officially big sky country, but there is a lot of sky down here too -- more because no mountains break on the horizon. A regular stream of cattle trucks passed me on the road, each one leaving a wake of stench.

I passed a British cyclist heading east. I have now met more Brits biking east on the trail than Americans. Strangely, the guy was being followed and attacked by a swarm of flies, so we didn't talk long.

Rush Center was my scheduled lunch stop. Entering the town I saw a sign announcing that it was home of the largest St. Patrick's parade. Curious about whether an influx of Irish immigrants started this tradition, I asked a clerk at the town gas station about the parade and whether there were many Irish in the area. “No, just a lot of drunks,” she said.

I arrived in Bazine to find that Tim and Perry had passed me earlier in the day. They were concerned about making it to Denver in time, so they biked over one hundred miles the day before. As they headed on to the next town, I biked over to Elaine's Cyclist B&B.

Elaine was shaking ripe mulberries out of a tree when I arrived. When I told Elaine that I grew up in Detroit and now live in Chicago, I added, “I'm a city boy.” I think she took it as an apology because she said, “That's OK, everyone has to be from somewhere.”

Elaine and her husband, Dan Johnson, have run this relaxed B&B for about five years. In addition to the B&B, they raise cattle, farm wheat, do contract work cutting alfalfa, and breed golden retrievers. As luck would have it one of their dogs had given birth to a litter of ten puppies seven weeks ago. Elaine said that once people see her puppies they sell themselves. They were irresistible. Rambunctious and playful, the puppies were constantly running, jumping, and falling down. When they tired from play fighting, they would burrow into one another and create a big puppy pile. It was great fun to watch. (I'm submitting that paragraph as my writing sample for K9 Magazine.)

Over dinner, Elaine and Dan told me about the oil prospecting in the area. Oil derricks have dotted the landscape throughout Kansas. It sounded like the mere anticipation of oil money had created tension in this town.

After Elaine's home cooked meal, I walked outside to watch the last of the sun's color fade from the sky. An old barbed wire fence held together by limestone posts (a substitution required due to the lack of trees) penned in the Johnsons' cattle. A calf ran so playfully among the steers that from afar I thought it was a dog. As usual this week, a storm was rolling in and hail drove me inside.

Today was a fast ride. With very light winds from the north and west, I was averaging the highest speeds of my ride thus far. My directions for the next 300 miles are simple -- head west on Highway 96. During the ride, I learned that even buildings in the middle of nowhere don't escape graffiti.

When I reached Scott City, I had a difficult decision to make: check into the town hostel where I could spend the afternoon relaxing by the pool and hot tub or continue on to take advantage of the beautiful day and easy miles. I opted for the pool and hot tub, and, in all honesty, I guess it wasn't that difficult of a decision.

Kansas Kindness

2008-06-11T11:00:00.003-05:00

Before I left on this trip I bought my tent online from a guy who had done some bike touring. When he shipped my tent, he included a note that simply said, "Try not to go crazy in the plains states." Most people warn about the Appalachians or the Rockies, but I'm starting to understand why he warned me about the plains.

Fortunately, there is much that is good about Kansas: the roads, the drivers, and the people. Kansans have been very friendly. Yesterday, I met June and Jim Gladden when I stopped in Nickerson for breakfast. These two retired schoolteachers were regulars in the diner. They were taking a break from sanding down cabinets in a house that they bought to flip. "Something to do in retirement," June explained. They asked me about my trip and told me that when they lived in town they lodged bikers regularly. They started in 1976, the first year of the trail. One night that summer they had 28 cyclists at their home because of a bad storm. Hosting cyclists, many of whom were foreigners, led them to start hosting international exchange students. They have hosted 48 students for a full school year.

As the Gladdens were leaving, they stopped to talk with an older woman who was walking home from the grocery store. They offered her a ride. As I said goodbye, the older woman rolled down her window to tell me proudly that her house (pictured above), which I would pass further down the road, was featured in the movie "Picnic" with Kim Novak and William Holden.

The remainder of my ride took me through the Quivira National Wildlife Refuge. Unfortunately, I didn't see any interesting animals. Panoramic views of cattle pastures changed to panoramic views of wheat fields.

I rolled into Larned in time to hit a laundromat, eat at a recently opened Mexican restaurant (I'm looking forward to the increasing availability of authentic Mexican food), and take my first swim of the trip in the motel pool.

Finally, I had my first full moon yesterday. Out the back window of a black SUV.

Lonely Roads and Stormy Nights

2008-06-09T22:00:00.005-05:00

It's a common paranoia among cyclists that the winds conspire against them. I'm certainly afflicted. With every turn I think that the wind has slightly shifted to ensure that I continue to face headwinds. I see it in others as well. I passed two eastbound cyclists from England yesterday who told me that they have faced headwinds ever since they entered Kansas. But then where are my tailwinds? I thought I was fighting the wind. In fairness, at times it does feel like the wind is blowing from every direction.

The fact is that the prevailing winds in Kansas come from the south and southwest, so I have faced side-winds and oblique headwinds. While not direct headwinds, these winds are difficult to manage as well. Tim, who I met a few days ago, told me that he was blown over by a side-wind -- on the ground, bike on top of him, blown over.

Riding against the wind can be demoralizing in ways that climbing hills is not. Hills provide a defined challenge, the reward of reaching the top, and often the joy of coasting down the other side. The wind provides none of that. It is elusive, here one day and gone the next. As you fight against the wind, you're left with the thought that others have done this same ride at much less cost. Of course, the wind is all a part of the ride, especially in Kansas. I'm working toward acceptance. I swear I will stop writing about the wind, as soon as it stops blowing.

When I pulled into Toronto, KS, yesterday to take a break from the wind and to get something to eat, I saw Tim and Perry's bikes in front of the only open business in town -- a store and cafe.

I joined them for lunch and we discussed our trips. They were both still recovering from the stomach flu, but they had to keep moving because they have plane tickets to fly out of Denver in mid-June. They are taking a one-week break from their trip in order to attend an engineering conference in Germany where they are both presenting papers. We were all headed to Eureka, KS for the night, so we rode the final twenty miles of the day together.

We arrived in Eureka none to soon. Just as we pulled up to the town park where we planned to camp, the sky turned a sinister color. The lifeguards at the park pool cleared the water and told the kids to call their rides. Fortunately, the park had two pavilions, so Tim and Perry set up their tent under one and I took the other. When the storm finally hit, it raged. I sat on a picnic table under the pavilion and watched. Lightning streaked across the sky on all sides. Thunderclaps followed the flashes of light by several seconds. One particularly loud crack of thunder startled me out of my seat. The rain oscillated between a torrential downpour and a steady, gentler rainfall. When I went to bed at 9 pm, it seemed that the storm was winding down. In fact, it stormed until 6:30 this morning.

When the thunderstorm finally passed, it took the wind with it. I quickly packed my gear and hit the road. I had to make the most of this opportunity. Today's ride consisted of quiet, lonely roads cutting through cattle pastures and the occasional corn field.

I breezed through Newton, KS -- a nice-looking town -- with my sights set on pitching my tent in Buhler, KS. After dinner at a local diner and a shower at Buhler Park's pool house, I was sitting in the park when an older man walked up to me and introduced himself. He was Jim McIver, a retired postal worker and avid biker. He stops by the park occasionally to talk with the cyclists passing through. Jim did not start biking until he was in his sixties and he does not bike anymore, but he managed to log a lot of miles in between. He liked to bike big miles by himself and often on interstate highways out West. He must be one of the few who likes to bike interstates. When Jim left, I retired to my tent and prayed that the wind would stay away another day.

One Month

2008-06-07T21:55:00.005-05:00

From my sleeping mat this morning, I could hear that the wind had not abated overnight. Tree limbs were creaking and a banner announcing Immanuel Lutheran's anniversary was flapping loudly. I had planned to cross Kansas quickly to get into the Colorado Rockies, but it seems that Mother Nature has a different plan.

Pastor John invited me over for a breakfast of fresh baked pumpkin biscuits and eggs. As we ate, he told me about one of his sons who is stationed in Iraq. After breakfast, two other Westbound cyclists, Tim and Perry, stopped by the church to fill their water bottles and take a rest. Both Tim and Perry recently received their Master degrees in Mechanical Engineering and are headed to San Francisco, where Tim is going to start a PhD program. Tim likes to stop at churches because they are the most likely places on the route where he can play piano.

Intending to use the Internet at a library about eight miles away, I left Tim and Perry with the hope of seeing them again. It didn't take long on the road to realize that it was going to be a difficult day of riding. In Kansas, services, motels, and camping are further apart, so on some days the only choice is to do either 30-40 miles or 70-80 miles. I decided this would be a 30-40 mile day.

My destination was Chanute, a town of about 9,500. On the way, signs indicated that the road ahead was closed. There was even a specific sign barring cyclists.

I started to detour down a dirt road when a guy in a garbage truck pulled beside me and told me that I should ignore the signs and continue down the main route. I took his advice. After fighting the wind for thirty miles, I benefited from a nice tailwind for the last six miles of my ride. Since the library that I stopped at earlier in the day was only open from 5pm to 7pm Monday through Thursday, I headed to the Chanute Public Library hoping for slightly more liberal hours.

When I pulled in front of the library a man walked right up to me and introduced himself. He was Marc DeLuca, a retired police officer from Charlotte, NC, who is also on the Transamerica. When I told Marc my name, he immediately said, "The lawyer from Chicago." He had been a few days behind me for several weeks and had seen my posts in various log books along the way. Marc was taking his first rest day in over twenty-five days. We discussed the last few days of our rides and some of the cyclists that we had met along the way. Marc routinely starts riding early in the morning, but I look forward to seeing him further down the road.

This afternoon I heard that a wind advisory had been issued for the area. An advisory means “that sustained winds of 30 to 39 mph and/or gusts of 45 to 57 mph are forecast. Winds this strong can make driving difficult.” If the winds can make driving difficult, what hope is there on a bike?

Chanute has a movie theater right downtown, so I went to see "Don't Mess With the Zohan." As I watched two dozen jokes involving hummus, I wondered whether you could even buy hummus in Chanute. On my walk home, I passed a health club that should only exist in the Simpsons' Springfield:

Southern Winds

2008-06-06T22:00:00.001-05:00

I have fought strong southwestern winds the past two days, but I am finally in Kansas and back on the Transamerica. I let myself sleep in yesterday after my long ride the day before. I then messed about on the Internet in the Safari Motel's breakfast room, which seemed to serve as the town social hall. Of all the people staying at the motel I think I was the only one who was actually from out of town. Everyone else seemed to be old friends and longtime neighbors.

Before leaving Clinton, I took a quick tour of the downtown. It was the first town I had seen that had a European-style town square with retail shops on all four sides. I stopped into the Dollar General (ubiquitous in these parts) for sunscreen and other essentials. On my way out, a middle-aged guy on a bike started telling me that the Klan in these parts equate bikes with wearing earrings. I didn't quite follow all that he had to say, but his general message was that I had better watch out for the Klan. I thanked him for his encouraging words.

From Clinton, I intended to head directly South for the entire day in order to rejoin the Transam. However, after a few hours pedaling into 25-30 mph winds I changed my plans. The wind crippled my progress, reducing my speed to 8 mph on roads where I should have been doing twice that. I reduced my mileage expectations and found roads headed West as well as South. The wind was a harbinger of the severe thunderstorms that were headed for Western Missouri that evening. Aware of the weather forecast I got a room at the Apache Motel in Rich Hill, MO. I was on a roll with the themed motels.

This morning I used a state map and my GPS to create a revised route back to the Transamerica Trail. The roads were very quiet, however several were in a bad state of disrepair, making for a bumpy ride. In Kansas, where every other road appears to be unpaved, my route took me down several dirt roads. On one stretch of dirt road, several owls soared above me and perched in the trees lining the road. Unfortunately, the road that I took into Kansas was so minor it didn't even have a sign welcoming me to the state. I'll have to stage my photo op on my way out.

As I approached Fort Scott, Kansas, I stumbled upon what must be one of its best restaurants, Sugarfoot & Peaches.

If it seems like all the noteworthy food that I've eaten lately has been barbecue, that's because it has. I went for another combo plate -- spicy sausage and ribs with gumbo and potato salad on the side. The ribs were the thickest I've ever eaten. A local stopped by my table to ask about my ride. He is going to ride the RAGBRAI next month, an annual ride across Iowa that draws over ten thousand people.

Fort Scott was setting up for its annual festival this weekend. Several people informed me that the Clydesdales were coming. I checked the events line-up, but nothing was compelling enough to keep me in town. The fort in the center of town, now a national historic site, was, at one time, the last frontier for European settlers -- to the West was Indian lands. The gold rush of 1848 changed that, making Fort Scott and others to its North and South obsolete.

As I continue to move West, I know that I'm entering a new region of the country because I recently tried to order a sweet tea and the restaurant didn't serve it. As a Northerner, sweet tea was not a staple of my diet before this ride. However, over the course of the past month, I've become addicted. I guess I'll have to get use to once again sugaring my own tea. Also, I'm not seeing as many of these signs:

“No guns allowed” signs are common in Kentucky and Missouri, posted on the entrances of everything from a grocery store to a bowling alley, but most do not have the artistic flair of the sign pictured.

For the last six miles of my ride today I was back on the Transamerica. I arranged to stay the night at Immanuel Lutheran Church. Pastor John and his wife Darla, a music teacher, live next door to the church.

John was working in his garden when I arrived. He showed me around and gave me free reign in the church kitchen. He also picked a bowl full of lettuce, onions, radishes, and herbs so that I could make a salad. It was one of the few times in the past month that I've had a leafy green vegetable that wasn't between two buns.

Long Day

2008-06-05T09:02:00.006-05:00

I had my longest day so far yesterday. The goal was to finish the Katy Trail, riding from Columbia to Clinton. Gabe rode with me to the MKT trail before heading back home for his last day of work in the Columbia public schools before summer break. I headed on to the Katy. It soon became evident that the storm the night before had been more severe near the trail than in Columbia. I had to slide my bike under and carry it over several downed trees that blocked the trail.

The weather was perfect. It was mostly sunny, but the tree-covered route kept me in the shade for much of the ride. Unfortunately, swarms of gnats also liked to gather in the shade. I repeatedly rode through swarms and ended up with dozens of bugs stuck to my arms, legs, and face.

Along the route there were several historical markers highlighting Lewis and Clark's expedition. They had passed through these same locations exactly 204 years ago, as they traveled up this section of the Missouri River in late May and early June, 1804. The curvature of the trees over the trail and a few artifacts, like this light signal, reveal the trail's former life as a railroad track.

I added about forty-five minutes to my ride trying to figure out what happened to the trail near Booneville. My printed maps indicated that the trail continued over the Missouri River. I could see the train bridge going over the river but I couldn't figure out how to get there. In fact, contrary to the maps that I had, bikers have to take surface roads and a road bridge over the river to Booneville, where they can then rejoin the trail.

I stopped for a late lunch at Eddie's Drive-In in Sedalia.

I noticed too late that Eddie's serves the Guberburger, a steakburger with peanut butter, tomato, and mayo. I had already finished my double bacon cheeseburger, fries, and shake, and I wasn't up for a Guber before biking forty more miles.

The trail was very quiet especially after crossing the Missouri. The landscape changed as the trail moved into Missouri prairie. When the trail left the woods and opened into flat prairie, strong headwinds and cross winds slowed my progress. This may have provided a preview of Kansas. For the last thirty miles, it was just me, the birds, and the wind. After 115 miles, I was ready to get off my bike. Fortunately, in Clinton, the Safari Motel had a room for me.

I'm looking forward to heading back to the Transamerica. By the time I get back there I expect that I'll start to pass a steady stream of Eastbound riders.

Columbian Connection

2008-06-03T22:00:00.003-05:00

I greatly increased my wildlife sightings yesterday on the Katy Trail. I crossed paths with two fox, a muskrat, turkey vultures pecking at a dead turtle, an assortment of birds that I'm unqualified to identify (where's Chris Astfalk when I need him), and a few deer prancing down the center of the trail.

On the way to Columbia from Hermann, I stopped for lunch in perhaps the most unique spot yet, Jefferson City's small-craft airport. Jeremy, one of the friend's I was headed to see in Columbia, works at the Missouri Supreme Court in Jefferson City and suggested that we meet for lunch at Nick's Cafe in the airport. As he said, the airport doesn't have commercial flights, but it does have fried chicken. The airport was conveniently located just a mile off the Katy. We had a satisfying, family-style meal of fried chicken, country ham, green beans, mashed potatoes, cole slaw, bread, and ice cream for dessert. Though it was all you can eat, I tried to exercise some restraint.

After lunch, I had about 38 more miles to Columbia. Before lunch a steady rain had begun to fall. As I rode away from Jefferson City the rain stopped but the trail was more difficult to ride because of the muck. My speed slowed a bit as my tires cut through the silt, but I was still moving faster than usual because of the flat terrain.

Although Columbia is about 8 miles off the Katy trail, I rode into town on another bike trial, the MKT, which connects with the Katy. I pulled up to the house of my friends, Gabe and Rachel at about 6pm.

They were gathered with their two kids, Sadie and Noah, (pictured above) and Jeremy and Amanda and their daughter Helen in the backyard. It felt great to arrive among old friends after 1500 miles on the road. After a wonderful meal, Gabe, Jeremy, and I headed out to Booche's, a Columbia institution, for a few beers and late-night hamburgers.

Today, I laid-over in Columbia. With help from Noah, I thoroughly cleaned my bike which was caked with grit from the trail. Rachel also helped me track down a masseuse who has worked with runners and cyclists. I was able to get an appointment and she worked some kinks out of my shoulders.

The rest of the day was devoted to eating at local Columbia joints and hanging out with Gabe, Rachel, Amanda and Jeremy. After living a somewhat solitary existence with a singular focus for the past four weeks, it has been fun to drop in on the hectic lives of a family of four.

The Katy Trail

2008-06-01T23:00:00.000-05:00

What a difference a day makes. I was up and out of the campground by 7 am this morning. I was only about twenty miles from the Katy Trail, and I figured early-morning church goers were the least likely drivers to mow me down. The county roads that took me into Washington, MO, were quiet. Before crossing the Missouri River over to the trailhead, I stopped for breakfast at a family restaurant, which was surprisingly busy at the early hour.

After yesterday's ride, a few days on the Katy is a welcome reprieve. The trail is a state park stretching from St. Charles, MO to Clinton, MO. I picked it up in Dutzow at mile marker 74 and plan to ride it to the end, mile marker 264, before heading South back to the Transamerica. The trail is hard-packed, well-maintained and thoroughly marked. It is also flat -- wonderfully flat. On the twenty-five miles of trail that I rode today, instead of avoiding cars, I had to avoid snakes, turtles, and lizards. Beautiful iridescent blue birds flew along the trailside.

When I stopped into a general store off the trail for one of my daily Gatorades, the clerk asked me about my ride. When I commented on my experience with the drivers, she theorized that since there is the Katy Trail, many drivers may think that all bikers belong on the trail, not the road. Perhaps.

I ended my ride in Hermann, MO. After spending the night in the historic French town, St. Genevieve, I'm now in a historic German town, where the shop names all end in "Haus." It's old downtown streets sport interesting architecture and every other house appears to be a bed and breakfast. Several wineries surround the town.

The only disappointment was the Hermann Riverfront Park.

I think the sign omitted the "ing Lot."

Miserable In Missouri

2008-06-01T09:00:00.001-05:00

The title is hyperbole, but I'm a sucker for alliteration. That said, yesterday was one of the tougher days of the ride thus far. I must have woken up physically and mentally fatigued because not long into my ride I felt weary.

It was my first day off the Transamerica Trail. I was blazing my own path North to catch the Katy Trail, a 225-mile bike path that runs East to West across Missouri. I was also planning to visit friends who live in Columbia, not far off the Katy.

The first road that I picked to head North was Highway 61. The State of Missouri has designated this road the Mississippi River Trail, an official bike route. I have no idea why, as it is a terrible road for biking. There is no shoulder and in most places there isn't even an edge to the road because it has crumbled away. (The road in the picture above had a great shoulder -- that is a road on the Transam.) The road also carries a considerable flow of traffic.

This brings me to the drivers. While it is dangerous to make sweeping generalizations, I'm going to live dangerously -- Missouri drivers are the worst drivers around cyclists that I've yet to encounter. Up until this point in my trip, the vast majority of drivers have give me considerable room when passing. Here, that is the exception rather than the rule. It's almost as if they want to prove how good of drivers they are by coming as close as possible without hitting me. It's ironic because there are far more signs in this state than any other state I've been in encouraging drivers to "Share the Road" with bikes.

After about thirty miles I pulled into a roadside store for lunch. My right shoulder, which has caused me some discomfort from the start of the trip, was bothering me and I was ready to get off the road. As I ate my turkey sandwich outside the shop, the two women working there came out to find out where I was going. They seemed genuinely excited by this "crazy" idea. They were telling all their customers about it and introducing me to people as they stopped in. Before I left they brought me out two large bottles of water and a few protein bars. It was just what I needed to boost my spirits.

I managed to find some better roads, but within an hour of leaving the store I had my first flat of the trip. Despite having no recent experience changing a flat, I managed to get the tube patched, the metal thorn out of my tire, the wheel reassembled, and the bike re-packed in good time. Unfortunately, my pump can't get quite enough pressure into the tire so I had to complete my ride on a slightly deflated back tire, making the hills especially difficult to climb.

The day ended with a thunder and lightning storm bringing premature darkness. Fortunately, I was close to the Robertsville State Park. My luck wasn't all bad, as there was an open tent site. After setting up my tent in a light rain, the storm passed and the sky brightened for the half hour until sunset.

Rolling Through Illinois

2008-05-31T10:00:00.001-05:00

[Note: I've been wifi-less for a few days, so I've backdated this post.]

After ferrying across the Ohio to enter Illinois, yesterday I rode over the Mississippi to leave the state. It was a short trip through Illinois, basically two days of riding extended by one rest day in Carbondale. Though Illinois is a relatively flat state, the Transamerica manages to find the one band of hilly terrain that stretches across Illinois' southern tip.

I had prepared myself for a potentially unpleasant ride through Illinois based on the reports of other cross-country riders. Most people who have completed the Transamerica will offer you their opinion on the state whose residents are most likely to throw a bag of trash out of their car window at you. Illinois is mentioned often. (Missouri runs a close second.) Fortunately, I had no such experience.

I spent Thursday in Carbondale, home of Southern Illinois University. With the students gone for summer, the town was quiet. It offered the first selection of ethnic food in hundreds of miles. Thursday morning was spent at the Bike Surgeon, one of the three bike shops in Carbondale all within one block of each other. Chris, co-owner of the shop, tuned my bike and fixed a number of minor issues. (For any readers who found this blog because you are thinking of riding the Transamerica, I highly recommend the Bike Surgeon. While I'm on the subject, based on my experience and those of others I have spoken with, I also strongly suggest that you avoid Blue Wheel in Charlottesville, VA. They have been repeatedly unhelpful and unfriendly to Transam riders.) The afternoon was devoted to a double feature at the first movie theater I've passed since Charlottesville: Forgetting Sarah Marshall and Iron Man.

I left Carbondale late in the morning yesterday, so that I could stop at 17th Street Bar & Grill in Murphysboro for lunch. It was only a twelve mile ride, but I still managed to work up an appetite. Cyclists, who had done the Transamerica in prior years, emailed me to make sure that I didn't miss this award-winning barbecue. The combo platter of baby back ribs and pulled pork did not disappoint.

The hush puppies, thankfully, were also delicious because I was regretting ordering another fried food and not taking advantage of the rare opportunity to eat a vegetable.

As I approached the Mississippi, I had some of the flattest stretches of land since my first days of riding. Unfortunately, I also had my first notable headwinds. The last ten miles of road were dominated by commercial traffic. I felt like I was being run out of the state by coal trucks.

The bridge over the Mississippi was in Chester, IL, the hometown of the creator of Popeye. The city celebrates this fact with a museum/giftshop, murals, and statues of the cartoon characters scattered throughout town.

It is also home to a large prison that once housed John Wayne Gacy. After two shakes at Sweet Pea's, the town ice cream shop, I headed to Sainte Genevieve, MO, a historic French town that used to sit on the banks of the Mississippi, but now rests to its West. I had dinner at a local bar where the town lawyer and the waitresses exchanged the type of banter that I thought only existed in screenplays. I spent the night at a well-worn downtown hotel, the only affordable option among the luxury B&Bs.

When Animals Attack

2008-05-28T14:00:00.002-05:00

As I mentioned earlier, Kentucky is lousy with dogs. Despite its reputation for almost certain canine attack, I managed to make it through the state without any serious incidents and never sprayed a dog. The most memorable chase took place on my last day in the state when a pair of smart dogs working in tandem charged out of their yard at me. One dog came at a diagonal in an effort to head me off further down the road, while the other one went straight for my back tire. All this while the owner stood silently by her mailbox. It made me want to spray her, not the dogs. After a swerve and a high speed chase, the dogs eventually gave up and headed home.

While I didn't live through any attacks, they do occur. Pete, a rider in the Adventure Cycling group, had a dog sink its teeth into one of his rear panniers and rip it. A guy riding from the West told me that he had a real scare a few days earlier. A dog with teeth bared was tearing at him. He thought that the dog had probably broken its chain given the ferocity with which it was charging him. Just as the dog entered the opposite side of the road and this cyclist thought he was going to be mauled, a speeding SUV rolled the dog.

The best story of an animal attack doesn't involve a dog, but a pig. Caitlyn, the leader of the Adventure Cycling group, stopped to take a picture of a pig that was in the middle of the road when it started "charging" her and ramming her bike. It then proceeded to chew on her bike bags. I'll post a few photos of the pig attack, if I can get my hands on them in Carbondale.

Pirate Tales

2008-05-27T23:00:00.001-05:00

Following the suggestion of my friend Greg I pulled into Marion, KY today to have lunch at Marion Bar-B-Q. I asked the first person I saw on the street how far the restaurant was from town. "Oh, that's pretty far," he told me. "But there's another barbecue restaurant, S & J, just about a mile out of town and it has really good food." One mile sounded better than an undetermined "far away," so I headed over to S & J. The waiter recommended the pulled pork. As I ate my meal, the man I met on the street walked in with his wife. Turns out they owned the joint. All conflicts aside, the recommendation was solid -- the barbecue was tasty.

A dozen miles from Marion, I caught a car ferry that took me across the Ohio River and into Illinois.

As I waited to board the ferry, the sky was darkening behind me and thunder was approaching. By the time the ferry dopped me off in Cave In Rock, IL, the downpour had begun. I ducked under the awning of an abandonned restaurant. A guy, taking cover on the other side of the street, crossed over. He had just moved back to town after living in Florida for years. He and his wife bought a building with retail downstairs and an apartment upstairs in the faltering downtown. He hoped to open a camping supplies store capitalizing on the state park and the regular motorcycle rallies held in the area.

Though I didn't get a chance to explore the town, the guy gave me a little history lesson while waiting for the rain to subside. Apparently, the cave in the town's name was a pirates' cove. Pirate gangs would stop flatboats coming down the Ohio and offer to help the crew negotiate the rapids. Once aboard, the pirates would dispatch of the crew and then sail the boats down to New Orleans to sell the cargo. In the early 1800s, the law attempted to tame the area by decapitating some of the pirates and putting their heads on spikes in front of the town courthouse. Supposedly, another gang hijacked wagons travelling West on a popular, nearby trail. "It's a wonder the West ever got settled," the man told me.

The setting for my last ten miles of the day was like a rain forest. The narrow road curved through thick woods. Rain dripped from the trees, steam rose from the ground, and a green-tinted light colored the air. With rain predicted throughout the night I booked a room at the Rose Hotel, located on the banks of the Ohio. Opened in 1812, the Rose is the oldest, operating hotel in Illinois. Elizabethtown is also home to a number of buildings picturesque in their disrepair.

Bye Bye Bluegrass

2008-05-27T19:45:00.003-05:00

This past weekend ushered in my first really hot days. Blazing sun and humidity add a whole new element to the ride. But, yesterday, my last full day in Kentucky was more about the rain than the heat. I rode for several hours through heavy rain, opting to get soaked rather than donning rain gear. Before lunch the skies were a smudge of pale gray in all directions and I thought I would be riding through the rain all day. Yet, by mid-afternoon I eventually rode out of the storm and into drier pastures.

At lunchtime I pulled into a gas station in Whitesville, KY (one of the few places open on the holiday) and found Cam and Don eating lunch at a booth. I had passed them last week, but they got ahead of me again when I went down to Mammoth Cave. It's always a nice surprise to see familiar faces on the Trail. I hope to catch up with folks from the Adventure Cycling group in the next day or two as well.

I ended my ride in Sebree, KY, where the First Baptist Church is well-known for its hospitality to cyclists. The pastor, Bob, and his wife Violet live next door to the church. After showing me the facilities for bikers, complete with a shower, mattresses, television, and a ping pong table, Bob invited me back to his house for dinner. Violet fixed me a heaping plate of food from a BBQ that they had earlier in the day - hamburgers, ribs, beans, potato salad, and cake and ice cream for dessert.

The last few days of biking through Kentucky have taken me past many fields of bluegrass, most of which have already been cut down. Pay lakes dot the countryside and often have a number of fishermen. While many cyclists don't find Kentucky to be the most pleasant state to bike through, I've enjoyed my time here and have been treated well by many. My only complaint is that on the few occasions when I really desired a beer after a long ride I always ended up in a dry town or county. When I mentioned this to a clerk at a motel where I was staying, she said, "Well, maybe you should take that as a sign." I will. A sign that Kentucky needs to change it's liquor laws.

Mammoth Cave

2008-05-26T19:13:00.005-05:00

I apologize for the lag in posting. I haven't had access to a wireless signal for the past few days. Over the next two days, I'll try to catch the blog up to my actual whereabouts.

On Saturday, I had a fast and easy ride into Mammoth Cave National Park. Since I had camp set up, had showered, and had done laundry by 2pm, my afternoon was free. So, I went for a bike ride.

My ride took me down a road that dead-ended in the Green River. A free ferry shuttled three cars at a time across the 100-foot-wide river. After catching the ferry to the other side of the river, I biked to a set of trail ends in the park's extensive trail network and hiked a loop. During my two-hour hike, I realized that hiking allows the mind to wander much more than biking. While walking through the woods its easy to fall deep into your thoughts and move down the trail essentially on autopilot. There's no threat of a speeding delivery van broadsiding you on a hiking trail. While biking, you can never fall too deep into thought because you need to remain more alert of traffic, turns, and other obstacles. This all reminded me of a story that a cyclist told me a few days earlier. Before he began his ride, he asked his younger brother, who also had biked the Transamerica, about what music to take along. His brother replied, "Bro, you don't bike cross-country to listen to your ipod, you bike cross-country to listen to yourself." Hilarious. And true.

Sunday morning I went on a three-hour tour of Mammoth Cave. There is a host of different tours of varying lengths and themes. Since it was a holiday weekend, my selection was limited. My tour was by lantern light. The idea of the tour was to recapture the way that visitors experienced the cave from 1816 (when tours began at the cave) until the 1950s when electric lights were first installed. It seemed appropriate to see the cave in flickering lights and shadows. Unfortunately, I don't have any good pictures of the cave because I was on a tour where the only light was lantern light.

During my ride back to the main Transamerica route, one stretch of road had more horse-drawn buggies than cars. It was mid-afternoon and several Amish families presumably were headed home after Sunday services. My destination for the night was the Double L, a gas station and store owned by Arnold and Lucy Lucas, who let cyclists camp out behind the store. After pitching my tent, Arnold and Lucy returned from visiting relatives, opened the store, and fed me. Always a good end to a long day.

Bourbon Road

2008-05-24T08:43:00.007-05:00

As I rode out of Bardstown, KY, yesterday morning a sweet and distinct smell hit my nose. The smell of Bourbon. Unknowingly, I was leaving the "Bourbon Capital of the World." I was only about a mile into my ride but a sign for tours and tastings at Heaven Hill distillery beckoned. I pulled over and signed up for a tour. As it turns out Heaven Hill's distillery burned to the ground over three days in 1996 and ever since production has taken place in Louisville. The company now uses the Bardstown location for bottling and storage. After learning about the history and process of Bourbon production, we toured one of the warehouses.

Allegedly, the discovery that aging corn whiskey in charred casks improved its taste and color was a happy accident that occurred when a distiller was too cheap to replace casks that had burned in a warehouse fire. The process for handling, aging, and storing bourbon is surprisingly old-fashioned and labor intensive. The tour ended with a tasting of 13 and 18 year-old whiskeys.

With a belly full of bourbon, I started my ride in earnest after 1 pm. I was headed for Mammoth Cave, a detour to the South of the Transam. On the way, I passed Abe Lincoln's birthplace. I was hoping to get a look at the humble, log cabin that we all heard about in grade school history class. I pulled into this national historic site at 4:45 pm to find that it closes at 4:45 pm -- truly a government closing time. I rode around the site in a quick loop unsure what I was looking at. I saw several log cabins but I'm not sure any of them can claim to have been Abe's first home. The remainder of my ride took me through Kentucky's rolling hills and farmlands.

Covered in Cicadas

2008-05-23T09:00:00.000-05:00

After an uneventful rest day in Berea on Wednesday (except for the fact that I bowled a 160 against Chad, Mike, and Caitlyn from the Adventure Cycling group), I biked my first century ride (100 miles) of the trip yesterday. It wasn't my intention to bike so far, as I didn't get a very early start, but the weather was so pleasant and the terrain, while not exactly flat, was much more gentle than what I have faced the past few weeks.

Those hundred miles included a few extra miles that I added when I missed a turn. I would have pedaled several more unnecessary miles if it wasn't for a kind woman in a red pickup, who sped past me and then pulled over. As I rode by, she asked if I was supposed to be on a certain road. I checked my map and told her I was. She said that many bikers miss the turn and it was about two miles back. She told me that she tries to catch cyclists before they get much further because there is a big downhill ahead that would be painful to climb back up. I thanked her profusely. I wasn't in the mood for another big climb, especially one that wasn't even on my route.

After stating in my last post that I haven't really had many noteworthy dining experiences, at lunchtime yesterday I biked past the sign below, which naturally caught my eye.

As I rolled into the parking lot to take a picture of the sign a woman wearing an Obama T-shirt came out of the house next door. I told her my last name was Dunn and she said "Mine too. Maybe we're kin." So I had to stop and eat. I had a pulled pork sandwich that overflowed with meat, spicy baked beans, and potato salad. All delicious. It fueled me through the second half of my ride.

I pulled into the My Old Kentucky Home State Park in Bardstown, KY at about 7:30pm. There were two other cyclists there that I talked with for a bit around a campfire. Then, I retired to my tent to find a nightmare scenario. After getting inside my tent, I heard the distinct sound of clawing and scratching -- not the noise of a large animal but the noise of many small "animals." I turned on my flashlight to find that cicadas were all over the mesh and rain cover of my tent. There was over a hundred of them. I looked outside the tent and saw that they were covering the ground and heard them falling from the trees. It was a little freaky. I confirmed that there were none inside the tent. But as I stared up at the mesh ceiling I could see them crawling around and the sound of their tentacles made my skin crawl. Images of the electronic bug coming out of Spock's ear in Star Trek 2 kept running through my mind. Fortunately, I was exhausted from my ride. As I wondered whether I would be able to sleep during this horror show, I fell asleep. I woke up this morning to find the shells of all of those cicadas covering my tent, my bike wheels and inside my sandals.

KFC and Other Delicacies

2008-05-21T16:00:00.000-05:00

There's been a request for more discussion of road food, especially the regional delicacies. Judging from the request, there may be a slightly romanticized view of the culinary options available on this route. Let me dispel some of these notions.

The other night I stayed at a bed and breakfast a few miles outside a small Kentucky town. Linda, the owner, offered to drive me back into town to get something to eat after I had cleaned up. When I asked her where she would recommend that I eat, she winced and said, "There are two restaurants in town, but let me put it this way, you won't be asking for any recipes." That more or less summarizes my dining experience thus far. Nonetheless, due to an insatiable appetite, everything I eat these days tastes good. But, of course, that doesn't mean it is good.

Most of the towns I pass through are not even big enough to have a proper restaurant, diner, or cafe. Many have a gas station that also has a flat grill and a deep fryer to make hamburgers and fried frozen foods. Options are often limited. For example the other morning, when the local gas station/food mart was out of breakfast sandwiches, my breakfast consisted of a corn dog and chocolate milk (and to prove my point, it tasted great). My diet is guided by two main tenants: eat calories and carbs during the day and eat protein in the evening. I have eaten more Poptarts and Snickers bars in the past two weeks than I had probably eaten in the previous ten years.

This is not to say that there haven't been some standouts. A lunch in Eastern Virginia was memorable more for the locale than the food. I ate in an original soda fountain in a basic, operating pharmacy. None of the women behind the counter were under seventy and my double bacon cheeseburger set me back about $2.50. In Charlottesville, I had some great pizza at Christian's. The toppings on a large selection of pizzas by the slice were creative and fresh.

The aforementioned slaw dogs served on napkins at Skeeter's in Wytheville were tasty and the historic setting added to the experience.

It's often easier to find homeade desserts than main courses and I rarely pass up a dessert. A pecan tort from a cafe in Lookout, VA and a plain cheesecake from the restaurant in Booneville that Linda didn't think too highly of were both memorable.

I keep my eyes peeled for authentic local cooking, but as of now the noteworthy restaurants make up a short list. Perhaps, my options will improve as I move West.

Election Day

2008-05-20T15:36:00.008-05:00

So today's the primary election in Kentucky. I can't say that there's much buzz about it in the places I've traveled the last few days. I've seen a few Hillary Clinton signs along the roadside in rural areas, but the majority of signs are for candidates in state and local elections. I hadn't seen an Obama sign until I rode into Berea this afternoon. However, I did see a sign posted with a variety of other candidates' posters that read "Elect Jesus For Savior."

Last night on CNN there was a story about Clay County, Kentucky, which sits just to the South of Owsley County, where I was staying the night. The report was gauging the political climate in this forgotten corner of Kentucky. It's the poorest county in Kentucky and one of the poorest places in the country. The per capita income is $9,600 per year. Essentially, the conclusion seemed to be that there was little interest because there is little belief that elections have any real impact on the residents' lives.

Based on my rides on the backroads of Kentucky, the counties I'm riding through are little different from Clay County. A majority of the housing on these roads is permanently-placed trailers. Trash heaps in yards are a common sight as are shuttered businesses like the one pictured below.

Every house seems to have three dogs and every third house doesn't lock any of them up. Though I've yet to be seriously bothered by dogs, it is common to ride down a road in the middle of nowhere and see two or three dogs traipsing down the side of the road. Maybe they're scavenging for food.

As for the rides, yesterday I was on the least pleasant roads of the trip thus far--four lane divided highways with a steady stream of coal trucks and high speed traffic. The coal trucks left a cloud of dust in their wake that eventually coated my teeth. There was a fairly wide shoulder, unfortunately it was rumble stripped and covered in rocks, coal, and assorted other debris perfect for popping a tire. The ride ended on a high note though. I stayed just outside Boonesville in an old church and schoolhouse that had been converted into a B&B. Cam and Don, recent retirees from Seattle who are also biking the Transam, were also at the inn.

Everything that was wrong about yesterday's ride was right about today's. Linda, the owner of the B&B, provided directions on a shortcut to Berea. The first half of the ride was full of wonderful rolling hills, a light and easy ride spent waving to farmers on their tractors and a few passing drivers. (Not that all Kentucky drivers like bikers. I've been honked at from the opposite lane many times in Kentucky, while this never happened in Virginia. I'm not sure if it's an F.U.-get-off-the-road-in-your-spandex-shorts honk or a hey-that's-cool-a-guy-on-a-bike honk. I'll choose to believe it's the latter, but my gut tells me it's the former.) The second half wasn't as enjoyable but still legions better than yesterday. And it included a ride down the aptly named Bighill, a two mile descent with a 6% grade.

I'm now in Berea, a small town known for its Appalachian arts and crafts. On Saturday I tweaked my left knee a bit and have been favoring it the past few days, especially on the climbs. I'm hoping a rest day tomorrow will allow for a full recovery and it will give me an opportunity to explore the town.

Kentucky Crossing

2008-05-19T09:00:00.000-05:00

It felt good to cross into Kentucky yesterday, making Virginia my first completed state. However, soon after entering the state I was reminded that I may be out of Virginia but I'm not completely out of the mountains. I slogged through a hard rain for about an hour but the dreariness and sogginess of the ride was a distant memory by the time I arrived in Hindman, my destination for the night.

I stopped to take a picture in the small town of Hellier and an older man in an Opryland hat came out of his house to talk to me. He reminisced about seeing Lance Armstrong ride near Blacksburg, Virginia before his multiple Tour de France victories. I also crossed-paths with the first rider coming from the West coast. On his forty-fifth day, he was set to finish the ride in less than sixty days. He told me a few times how tired he was and that he was ready for it to be over.

There seem to be fewer options for lodging in Kentucky. Last night, I camped outside the Knott County Historical Society. The Adventure Cycling group was here as well.

The Society runs a B&B but it is closed right now for renovations. Nonetheless, they still provide a place to stay for bikers. David Smith, the caretaker, is an incredible host: he had a glass of ice water for me when I pulled up, did laundry, and arranged for food to be delivered. Several kittens provided the entertainment.

And after several days without cellphone service or internet access, it's nice to get a signal. I have another challenging day ahead before the terrain flattens out a bit.

The Breaks

2008-05-18T10:44:00.006-05:00

Several days ago when I was coming down from the Blue Ridge Parkway, I had a fun but harrowing descent into the town of Vesuvius. The steep road was narrow and winding forcing me to ride hard on the brakes. I stopped twice to let my brakes cool so they wouldn't fall apart. Yesterday I had to do that same sort of ride in reverse and it was much less fun. But I'm getting ahead of myself.

Friday was a light day, I biked twenty-eight miles into Damascus. I had a one-hour climb through Mt. Rogers and a several mile coast into town. I was in Damascus by 12:30 pm and spent the rest of the day walking around town and exploring the Trail Days festival.

Trail Days is basically a big party for the hikers on the AT and those who wish they were. There are also vendors hawking the latest and lightest gear and seminars on various hiking-related topics. Unlike the Transamerica Trail, groups that monitor the AT seem to have a pretty solid count of how many start the AT and how many actually finish. Only about 120 to 140 hikers make it all the way to Maine each year, which is about 10% of the number who start it. Despite the small number, I ended up talking with a suspiciously high number of folks who had hiked the whole thing at some time in the past. I hung out most of the day with Alex, a PhD student at the University of Florida, who had just arrived in town and was planning to hike the AT for about two weeks. That night we went to a new documentary on the Continental Divide Trail. What a challenge that is – hiking over 3000 miles in six months over some tough terrain. Back at the tent city where we stayed, there was a large bonfire where some drunkards came dangerously close to self-immolation.

After an easy day on Friday, I had my toughest ride so far on Saturday. I rode from Damascus on the VA/TN border to Breaks Interstate Park on the VA/KY border. I had a number of tough climbs including the climb out of Hayters Gap, mentioned above. The last fifteen miles of the ride provided an unwelcome series of shorter but steep climbs.

The reward for making it through the day was that I caught up to a number of other riders. A group of seven riders on an Adventure Cycling tour were camped at the park, as was another solo rider, Jon. They told me that there was at least one other couple staying in the area as well. Unfortunately, as I arrived late yesterday and want to push on today, I'm not going to be able to enjoy Breaks but it's a beautiful park with large rock formations rising from the Russell Fork. Supposedly, the river provides challenging white water rafting.

The Works

2008-05-16T07:11:00.007-05:00

I did a full day of riding yesterday -- Radford to Troutdale, almost 80 miles on some challenging terrain. I stopped in Wytheville for lunch and had a few of Skeeter's world famous hot dogs with the works (mustard, onion, chili, cheese, and slaw). Man, were they good. This helped me replenish some of the 6000 calories that my heart rate monitor said that I burned. (Could that possibly be right? I'm suspect.)

As I rolled through Rural Retreat about 23 miles before Troutdale, I thought I would call it a day. It was 5pm, I was getting tired and a light rain was falling. But there were no motels or hotels in town. My map indicated there was a hostel in Troutdale but I couldn't get a cellphone signal in the mountains, so I couldn't confirm. I decided to push on and I'm glad I did. My ride ended with a six and a half mile climb up toward Troutdale and then, mercifully, a one and a half mile coast into town. I immediately pulled into the town diner, had dinner, and then made my way up a hill to the unattended hostel. There I met my first AT hikers, trail names, Brahma Bull and Sweet Potato.

Brahma Bull and Sweet Potato, two Virginia natives, are hiking the entire AT and are fifty-four days in. Over cups of hot chocolate, we exchanged stories about our trips and the people we had met. You can read about their adventures here. When I mentioned that I planned to spend tomorrow in Damascus, they told me that this weekend Damascus is home to the largest thru hiking festival in the country. Twenty thousand people are expected to descend on this town of 981 residents. Supposedly, I'll be able to pitch my tent in a tent city that will form on the outskirts of town. We'll see if I make it out of there on Saturday.

P.S. Thanks for all the emails and comments. I'm sorry I haven't been able to respond to all of them, but I'm reading them all and I appreciate them.

Milestone (No, I'm not in Kentucky yet)

2008-05-15T14:30:00.000-05:00

Before I left for Virginia, I had lunch in New York with my friend Pete who biked cross-country seven years ago. He advised that I not look at a map of the entire United States too often because then the ride seems really daunting -- better to focus on local maps to chart progress. This was good advice and it's why riders need to break down the trek into a series of smaller goals such as miles biked per day and state lines crossed. Another milestone is completing one of the twelve maps that chart the Transamerica Trail. Yesterday as I rode through Christiansburg, VA I finished the first of those twelve maps. Only eleven more to go.

The past few days have provided a steady stream of hills. Unfortunately, other than a fun, open stretch of roller coaster hills on Tuesday that had steep descents allowing me to coast almost to the crest of the next hill, most of the downhills do not provide much momentum for the next uphill climb. The weather has been overcast but warmer and until about an hour ago, the rain has held off. It's been ideal weather for biking.

Yesterday, I met my first biker traveling West to East. Mark Reed started in western Virginia and is riding to Yorktown to complete a cross-country ride, the majority of which he rode last summer. He plans to write a book about his experiences. Mark tells me that there are several groups of riders one to two days ahead of me. We'll see if I catch up to any of them.

The highlight of my day yesterday was staying with the Lee family. Thad and Sarah Lee left a note at the bike house in Afton offering a free place to stay for cyclists who stop in Radford, VA. I called Dr. Lee as I approached Radford and he told me that I was welcome to stay at his home. Dr. Lee biked the Transamerica ten years ago with his two sons but was only offered one homestay during his travels. As a result of that experience, the Lees now offer a place to camp or a bedroom to 50-60 bikers a season. I found the casualness with which they welcomed me, a complete stranger, into their home remarkable. When I mentioned this to Sarah, she told me that she sees this as a type of ministry to show people, foreigners and nationals alike, the good in this country. Not to get too sentimental (or trite), but I found my time with the Lees to be a potent antidote to all the cautionary tales that make us so wary of one another.

Sightseeing

2008-05-14T13:39:00.005-05:00

Yesterday was more about sightseeing than riding. (Unfortunately, I did not see the attraction advertised above.) I spent the morning in Lexington, touring Jackson cemetery, Lee chapel, and the campus of Washington and Lee. After walking around Lexington, I returned to the motel to get my gear. As I loaded my bike, the motel maintenance man gestured at it and said, “It's the only way to travel these days.” (Gas stations serve as a common rest stop for me, so I hear a lot of anxiety over gas prices.) He asked about my trip and provided some directions. He reminded me of a younger Hal Holbrook. There was something reassuring about him sending me on my way.

I didn't get out of Lexington until after 1pm. Then twenty miles into my ride I stopped to talk to a woman who was at her mailbox. She convinced me that I should make a short detour and see the Natural Bridge. It didn't seem right to bypass what is billed (albeit in its own brochure) as one of the Seven Natural Wonders of the World. June had also recommended it but protested that “they should make a charge for a natural site.” Charge they do ($12), and they even went so far as to erect wooden fences on both sides of the road that runs over it, so no one sneaks a free peek.

The bridge, which is 215 feet high and spans 90 feet, was carved by Cedar Creek. Allegedly, George Washington carved his initials in it. After taking in the bridge I biked about thirty more miles to Troutville. I had another hour of sunlight, but the town park guaranteed a free place to camp. I pitched my tent as kids played on the swings and couples walked laps on the park track.

The Blue Ridge Parkway

2008-05-12T20:04:00.006-05:00

Today's ride was tough but rewarding. After binging on carbs, left-over Spaghetti O's and oatmeal (I decided against mixing them together), I rode away from the bike house. The mountaintops were cloud covered when I set out.

After about a mile, I was on the Blue Ridge Parkway. It was a cold, damp day. The temperature hovered just above 40 degrees and a cold wind was blowing from the North. Overcast skies threatened rain but never delivered (fortunately, as I was already chilled). Traffic was light on the Parkway and the vistas were spectacular, making the climbs easier.

I reached 3300 feet at one point in the ride. After several hours of climbing at 5-7 mph and then descending only to climb again, I exited the Parkway and rode into Vesuvius. A 14-mile stretch of mostly flat road was a welcome change, as was pedaling at 17-19 mph. I decided to spend the night in Lexington. June recommended that I take a look around as it is steeped in history. Both Jackson and Lee lived here. I passed the Virginia Military Institute and Washington and Lee University on my way through town. I'm holed up at a Red Carpet Inn tonight as it looks like foul weather and cold temps are in store once again tonight. I haven't needed my sunglasses for the past four days. I'm ready for a little sun.

June Curry aka The Cookie Lady

2008-05-12T19:48:00.004-05:00

I spent yesterday with June Curry, affectionately known as “The Cookie Lady.” It was appropriate that I was there on Mother's Day since she has been like a mother to thousands of Transamerica riders who have passed in front of her house. The story goes that in 1976 when the Transamerica Trail was inaugurated in honor of the bicentennial, two riders knocked on June's door to ask for some water. Ever since, June has provided water, food, lodging and conversation to over eleven thousand cyclists.

After cycling about twenty miles out of Charlottesville I called the number that Adventure Cycling listed for June. She was about eight miles away in the small town of Afton, Virginia. I had heard that June had been in poor health recently so I thought that someone else may have been handling cyclists' requests. To my surprise June answered. Though she doesn't hear very well on the phone, she could tell I was a biker, so she gave me directions to her house, told me that the “bike house” was available for me to sleep in, and that she had recently stocked the kitchen. It was still early in the day and I would have only logged 28 miles by the time I reached Afton, but I decided that I would spend the rest of the day soaking up history there.

After a tough climb into Afton I arrived at June's house. June is 87 years old, and has had a host of health issues but you wouldn't really know it by looking at her. As she explained it, she was raised to always be doing something, so even with health issues she can't sit still. I talked with June for about two hours. She told me about her stroke and how after she had recovered her doctor told her that she could return home on the condition that she hired in-house care. As she couldn't afford it, she was forced to remain in the hospital. Word got out about June's situation among touring cyclists and soon the checks started to arrive. Not long after, June had enough money to hire help and was discharged. As June said, it was all from her extended family of bikers.

One of June's projects to keep busy was creating a model of Afton as it was in the 1920's. She had built buildings and a train bridge from old boxes and tar paper. Each piece in the display was true to the town as it once was. While at one time there was commerce in town, three stores, and a post office, all of that was gone now. The house where June was born was now known as "the bike house" and used solely as lodging for cyclists. June lives in the next brick house down the road. She told me that records show taxes were paid on the house as early as 1875. Between the bike house and June's house is a cinder block building that used to serve as June's father's auto shop.

After talking with June, I settled into the bike house, which offers its own history lesson. The four main rooms of the house are packed with memorabilia from the last thirty years of the Trail. Cyclists who have stayed at the house have adopted the tradition of leaving a memento -- shirts, cards, equipments, and art line the walls.

Thirty years of photo albums, newspaper clippings, and postcards also fill the rooms. I spent a few hours reading over the notes from bikers from all around the world and flipped through the photo albums. Thanks to the efforts of a few cyclists, the photo albums of all the cyclists who have stopped by June's house are now available online.

Reasons to Love Virginia

2008-05-10T23:00:00.002-05:00

I thought I better focus on some good things about this state because I know I'll be cursing it over the next few days. Truth be told Virginia has treated me well so far. Some of it's best attributes after four days:

1) Route Markers. I have not really needed my route maps so far because Virginia has done such a thorough job of marking this portion of the Transamerica Trail, known as Route 76. All the roads on the trail are marked with both road signs and Route 76 signs. Though I made one wrong turn yesterday, adding six miles and several hills to my route, these signs have otherwise kept me on course. (Note the dozens of bikes in the yard in the background of the picture above. I was a little concerned about what happened to all those riders.)

2) Log Books. At each place that I've stayed (save the Omni in Charlottesville), folks keep log books for Transam riders to sign. Even in small stores on the route I've been asked to sign their books. It's cool to see how many people have stopped in so far this year and where they have traveled from. It also provides a nice connection to the locals.

3) The Drivers. I'm only four days in and it only takes a few bad drivers to change one's perception, but so far Virginia drivers have been almost universally courteous. They give a wide berth as they pass and they wait patiently when they don't have the sight lines to pass.

4) The Scenery. Much of the route has been on narrow country roads running through lush green farmlands and an occasional wooded area.

C'Ville

2008-05-10T14:45:00.003-05:00

I arrived in Charlottesville yesterday in the late afternoon. I knew I would like this town right away. It's an Ann Arbor nestled at the base of the Appalachians. The tourist office directed me to the only hotel in the downtown area. It's located right off a pedestrian mall lined with restaurants, outdoor cafes, and shops. This city has to have more bookstores per capita than any other. Not knowing when I would get to another town this comfortable I decided to take a lay-over day. Last night, I watched a local indie band give a free concert at an outdoor amphitheater before catching my first movie of the trip. Though in most towns I'll be limited to the summer blockbusters, the theater right outside my hotel was showing Mamet's latest movie, Redbelt -- definitely not a summer blockbuster. Unlike many of Mamet's movies, which involve intricate plot twists, Redbelt is a rather simple story of a man of code and honor fighting against a corrupt world. I agree with A.O. Scott, it's a good B-movie.

This morning I hit the city farmers market. I bought a pint of fresh strawberries (my first good fruit of the trip) and a fresh, piping-hot donut. After I tried a sample of goat cheese at John Cole's stand, pictured above, he started telling me about recent state legislation that disallows him from selling his non-pasteurized products. So now he gives away his cheese for free, though donations are accepted. As he said, score one for agribusiness. Unfortunately, by the time I got there all he had left were samples. I took care of a few errands, including shipping home 9 lbs of gear and buying dog spray. (I had my first dog chases yesterday, but none of the dogs turned out to be vicious). The only downside of staying in Charlottesville is that the mountains loom around the city. They're like a school-yard taunt that's going unanswered. I'll deal with those bullies tomorrow.

Nature Always Wins

2008-05-09T16:16:00.001-05:00

Carnies and Funnel Clouds

2008-05-09T06:56:00.006-05:00

I had my first real taste of riding in the rain yesterday and it wasn't that bad. After light rain in the morning, a heavier, steady rain fell in the afternoon. Fortunately it was still in the 60's so it wasn't unpleasant. Eventually the clouds lightened and long before I hit my destination I was dry. The roads and landscape made the ride really enjoyable. For the majority of the ride I was on secondary county roads, pedaling past horse farms and open fields. The second half of the ride had some decent downhills and climbs providing me a small indication of what's in store.

I made it to the Mineral fire station at about 5:45pm expecting to see Mark and Dillon, but they were nowhere to be found. I figured they continued on further down the road. A volunteer fireman showed me in and let me set up in the weight room. They offer cyclists full access to the shower, kitchen, and laundry room. It was the first night of the fire station's town fair and a beauty pageant was being held in the engine house. About an hour after my arrival, Mark and Dillon rolled in. After Mark got a flat on the first day, Dillon broke a spoke on the second. Fortunately they did it right outside the house of an avid cyclist, who drove them forty miles to two different bike shops so Dillon could buy a new wheel.

The day ended with more bad weather. A tornado alert was issued for the area, the fair grounds were cleared and the firehouse became the town shelter. Fortunately, the tornado warning was a false alarm. This morning I'm hanging out in the firehouse kitchen listening to emergency calls come in over the radio ("pediatric head trauma from pogo stick accident"). More rain is expected this morning but today will be an easier day as I only plan to ride to Charlottesville.

Day One

2008-05-08T09:39:00.009-05:00

My first day on the Transamerica was ideal: beautiful weather, interesting scenery, fairly mild terrain, and no major mishaps. I started the day with the ceremonial rituals of cross-country bikers. I dipped my front tire in the York River and then took a picture in front of the official starting point, the Yorktown Monument. The first leg of my ride I retraced the same route that I biked into Yorktown. I tooled around Williamsburg, dodging large groups of school kids and senior citizens and then headed on to Jamestown. I decided to make a detour and visit the ruins of Jamestown. (J. Searcy, you should be proud.) A five-mile one lane loop on Jamestown Island made for a great traffic-less ride under a canopy of green. From Jamestown I had about another forty miles to my destination -- Willis United Methodist Church, another congregation that offers cyclists a free place to stay. Much of the way was lined with plantations and estates. Only a few miles from the waterfront, I was now in lush farmland. The last ten miles of my ride took me through Richmond national battlefields.

After 72 miles I arrived at the church. As I stood in the parking lot wondering who to contact to make arrangements for my stay, Juanita, a woman who lives next door came out to greet me and open up the church. I had a kitchen, bathroom, and garden-hose shower at my disposal. After unpacking and making a quick trip into town to go to the store, I was joined at the church by Mark and Dillon, two bikers from Knoxville. A soon-to-be-grad and a recent grad, Mark and Dillon had also left Yorktown on Wednesday. They are planning to complete the ride in two months and they are packed for it. They both only have rear panniers and they've kept them light. I need to take a page out of their book. We talked gear and backgrounds and made dinner in the church kitchen.

This morning we woke up to gray skies and by the time we started riding at 7:30am, it was raining lightly. I decided to try out my rain gear. Not a drop of rain water touched my clothes, but I was still soaked because the gear doesn't provide much ventilation. I rode with Mark and Dillon for about 22 miles into Mechanicsville before parting ways so I could stop off at the library. If I'm ambitious, I may catch up with them again this evening as we'd all like to stay at the same volunteer fire station.

Arrival in Virginia

2008-05-06T23:00:00.007-05:00

I arrived in Williamsburg, Virginia this morning after an uneventful train ride from Penn station. The Amtrak worker in Williamsburg agreed to watch my two large suitcases, so I decided to take a look around before heading to pick up my bike. For my Detroit readers historic Williamsburg is an all-colonial Greenfield Village. If you buy a pass you can take tours of all the buildings and enter the shops to watch artisans practice colonial-era trades. I opted for a cursory history lesson, relying on the sparse informational plaques to explain which 18th century brick building I was looking at. I didn't have too much time because I needed to get to Bike Beat (the shop where my bike was), pack my panniers and ride to Yorktown. During my cab ride to the bike shop I told the driver my plans. She told me I was crazy if I thought I was going to ride a bike with the two large suitcases I had put in the trunk. I explained that the bike bags were in the suitcases and my gear would go in those bags, but it didn't seem to impact her assessment of my sanity.

By the time I got to Bike Beat, the mechanics had reassembled my Surly. The workers were gracious as I spent the next hour affixing my panniers and loading them up. Amazingly (unfortunately?) everything fit. Not so amazingly now my bike weighs a ton. I wobbled around as I did my first few laps on the loaded Surly behind the store. The mechanic at Bike Beat gave me directions to Yorktown and I headed out with a mound of camping gear strapped to my back rack. I couldn't have asked for a more ideal practice ride – thirty miles some of which was on a bike path and the lesser-traveled Colonial Parkway in beautiful weather. I won't be setting record speeds, but my bike still moves at a decent clip despite the weight.

After arriving in Yorktown I watched some folks fish off a town pier.

They wanted to pose for some fake action shots, though their cooler full of fish (including a large stingray and an eel) indicated that they had had a successful evening.

I'm staying the night at a house that the Grace Episcopal Church in Yorktown makes available to bikers. It's a beautiful setting overlooking the York River and it seems appropriate to start this trip relying on the kindness of strangers.

Mazel Tov

2008-05-05T09:40:00.008-05:00

I've been in New York City since Thursday for a friend's wedding. It has been great to spend time with a large contingent of high school and college friends before setting out on my trip. The wedding, which took place last night, was the first orthodox Jewish ceremony that I've attended. I don't think that I've been to a more joyful celebration. The event began with hors d'oeuvres and drinks out in the courtyard of the synagogue. Eventually, the men joined the groom in the synagogue's library, where songs were sung and whiskey was passed before the rabbi led a few religious rituals, including the signing of the engagement contract. Everyone in the room then processed out, singing, dancing and clapping as the groom went to join his bride.

During the ceremony in the temple, the rabbi talked about two different ways of counting -- one in which the focus is only on the final number and whether the end goal is attained, and another, in which there is a goal but each individual item in the count is cherished individually. He urged us all to count the days of our lives in the latter manner, to examine and appreciate each day and not simply to focus on the far-off horizon. I will try to keep these words in mind over the next few months. After the ceremony, there was much more group dancing, klezmer music and general celebration throughout dinner.

Today, I'm repacking, shedding some items that I brought for my weekend in New York, and running some final errands. I catch a 3am train to Williamsburg, Va. tonight/tomorrow morning, and if all goes according to plan I will be in Yorktown tomorrow night with my bike fully loaded ready for my Wednesday departure.

Un Brevet Brutal

2008-04-27T10:48:00.007-05:00

Yesterday I rode my first brevet and it was brutal. Brevets, which started in France, are long-distance endurance rides. A former co-worker, who has completed several of these rides, told me about yesterday's event a few weeks ago and I thought that it would be good training before I set out for Yorktown. I expected the ride to be tough because at 127 miles it was more than I had ever ridden in one day. I also recently bought a new leather seat that is not yet completely broken in. However, it wasn't the distance or the seat that made this ride so painful; it was the wind -- the soul crushing wind.

Due to a bent fender I got a late start, so it was good practice for riding alone. Before I even left the starting point -- a Super 8 parking lot in Delavan, Wisconsin-- a pair of Ohioans had thrown in the towel. "We do these rides for fun and that isn't fun," they told me. I considered myself warned. I fought headwinds and crosswinds for the first 65 miles. At times it felt like if I was going any slower I'd have been standing still. I stopped counting the number of times that I thought I was going to be blown over. My upper body struggled to keep myself upright as I leaned heavily into wind gusts. As I pedalled along at 9 mph, I cursed mother nature and reaffirmed my committment to eliminate all unnecessary weight for my Transamerica ride. Fortunately, the brevet route was out and back, so while I fought the wind to the halfway point, I benefited from a tailwind for much of the way back. Though the ride took over eleven hours to complete, it was reassuring to finish.

This morning, I checked a weather station in the Delavan area for yesterday's wind readings. It reported sustained winds between 25-29 mph and wind gusts between 40-45 mph, with some readings up to 49 mph. If I ever face winds that strong on the Transam I'll take it as an invitation to pull into the first campground or motel I pass and I'll never choose to ride 127 miles in one day. But it's nice to know that if I had to, I could handle those conditions. Now if I could just find a way to avoid riding uphill.

West Town Bikes

2008-04-24T02:13:00.007-05:00

In preparing for this trip, I have been amazed by the number of resources that there are for cyclists planning a self-supported tour. From the websites and blogs of cyclists who have already toured to established non-profit organizations devoted to bike touring, there is a wealth of information available. Connecting with some of the folks running these organizations and websites has been inspiring.

I met some of these inspirational people on Wednesday night. While searching for a bike maintenance class that I could take before I leave, I learned of West Town Bikes, a Chicago non-profit organization that promotes biking through educational workshops for both underprivileged kids and the community at large. Volunteers teach classes ranging from bike basics to building a bike from scratch. Last night was the basics -- how to repair flats, tune brakes and maintain the chain. Both the students and the bikes in attendance were diverse. The students were young, middle aged, and older; experienced bikers and biking newbies. Our bikes included a thirty year old Schwin, a state of the art racing bike, and a fair number of Treks.

The class took place in a well-outfitted workshop, stocked through donations, grants, and second-hand sales. Mike, our instructor, had an easy-going manner that still managed to convey his enthusaism for biking. Anyone who owns twelve bikes must be enthusiastic about biking. The photo above is next to the workshop's only entrance off an alley near the intersection of North and Western. You know you're close when you see the free air. If you live in Chicago and you're interested in learning more about your bike, I highly recommend checking out this great organization.

Reading List

2008-04-23T23:00:00.003-05:00

Most of my time over the next few months will be devoted to pedaling, but I will also have a considerable amount of non-cycling time. Since I am doing this ride solo, I'm going to need a few good books to pass my waking hours. Over the last few years, I have accumulated a considerable stack of unread books -- the result of an overly optimistic view of my free time. Unfortunately, I can't pack these books for my trip because they exceed reasonable weight and size limits. Obviously, I can't take any hardcovers but even modern paperbacks are often too large. I need old-school paperbacks. Though I'm not a big fan of their yellowing pages and crowded text, their compactness is a definite plus.

My plan is to carry two books with me at all times in the hopes that I'll always be in the mood to read at least one of them. When I finish a book on the road I'll leave it somewhere or donate it and then try to pick up another book in the small towns I'm passing through. I'd like to read some books apropos for my ride -- interesting travel memoirs or american history -- but after a long day of cycling I'm sure I'll be more interested in reading something a little lighter. For starters, I've always wanted to read Undaunted Courage about Lewis and Clark's expedition and I recently picked up Saul Bellow's Herzog at a used book sale. If you have any recommendations of good paperbacks, post a comment or send me an email.

The Gear

2008-04-20T20:16:00.005-05:00

One of the first questions people ask about the trip is what you take on a three-month bike ride. Deciding on my gear, researching the lightest and most reliable products, and gathering them all together has occupied much of my time these past few weeks. I have finalized my equipment list but the reality is that it will be a work in progress throughout my trip. Equipment that seems essential now may not seem so necessary after I carry it around for a few days. Based on the travelogues of other Transam riders, it's a near-universal experience to send gear home after a few days to lighten the load. It's especially common to stop at the post office before heading into the mountains. My current gear list is provided below. It will take a little time on the road to determine what should have stayed home and what was overlooked.

Bike
Long Haul Trucker w/ front and rear racks, pedals, fenders, kickstand, front and rear lights, Ortlieb front and rear panniers and handlebar bag
Bike computer
3 water bottles
Extra spokes
Tubes (3x)
Extra tire
Tool kit
Bike pump
Bike rain cover

Camping
One-person Crestone tent
Down sleeping bag
Prolite sleeping mat
Pack towel
Trekker chair
Stove
Cooking Pot

Clothing
Bike shorts (3x)
Bike pants
Shorts
Pants that convert to shorts
Bike jersey (3x)
Wool zip-up
Tshirt
Smart wool socks (4x)
Rain coat
Rain pants
Helmet
Helmet cover
Bike shoes
Sandals
Bike gloves
Wool hat
Swimsuit
Sunglasses

Electronics
Etrex Vista HCx GPS
Cell Phone
Iriver MP3 player
Asus EEE computer
Canon Rebel XT Camera
Various chargers and USB cords

Miscellaneous
Transamerica Trail Maps
State Maps
Lock
Camelback water container
First aid kit
Dog spray
Headlamp
Bungie cords
Lighter
Swiss Army knife
Notebook and pens/pencils
Paperbacks
Tripod
Toiletries
Sunscreen
Bug spray

Training

2008-04-16T13:20:00.000-05:00

View Larger Map
During the course of my research for this ride, I read somewhere that for a trip this length you can train on the ride itself. I have now repeated that to enough people that I'm starting to believe it. Since I have no deadline for completion, I have the luxury of starting at a slower pace and increasing my mileage as I progress. I also can take rest days as needed, though I'll want to keep a sense of momentum.

While my best training will begin on the day I leave Yorktown, I am going on longer rides this month in preparation for my departure. Living close to the Chicago lakefront bike path allows me to make the convenient thirty-five mile loop, shown above. I'm not getting the full experience of dodging traffic, but the busy path can pose it's own obstacles created by the combination of runners, rollerbladers, speeding cyclists, strollers, and unattended children. There's usually at least one fatality a year on the path -- usually a biker without a helmet. I'm hopeful that the winds I face on the Transam won't be any worse than the April wind gusting off Lake Michigan, but I imagine the wind in Kansas will rival the wind I've battled here. In addition to my rides on the lakefront, I plan to take a three-day trip to Wisconsin next week. This will serve as a trial run with a fully loaded bike. I'll know sometime in early May whether this preparation was sufficient.

The Bike

2008-04-13T19:22:00.000-05:00

I rode my new bike home from Turin Bicycle on Friday evening. After hours of Internet research and many discussions with bike shop staff I purchased a Surly Long Haul Trucker – a touring bike built to carry heavy weight on long-distance rides. Riding the Surly was a whole new experience. Since my teens, I have always ridden mountain bikes, despite the fact that I rarely made it to off-road trails. I have especially fond memories of a basic Trek 820 that I took on my junior year study abroad and rode around France and Spain. I owned that bike for many years until industrious Chicago thieves cut down the street sign that I locked it to and rode off with it. (Many years later half of that sign post still stands bolted to the concrete sidewalk.) On the few century rides that I have done over the years I was one of the only riders cycling the hundred miles on a fat-tired mountain bike. The other riders would give me a look that said “I can’t believe you’re riding hundred miles on that” as they breezed by me on their road bikes. But I was comfortable with the feel and fit of my mountain bike.

So it was with a little apprehension that I started riding home on my new touring bike. Jake, who sold me my bike, made all the proper adjustments and taught me how to use clipless pedals (another new experience) before I started my ride home. For those who don’t bike, with clipless pedals a cyclist attaches to the bike by clipping cleats on the bottom of his shoes into the pedals. The rider then detaches from the bike by turning their heel inward or outward. This too takes some getting used to.

I’m told that even riders who have used clipless pedals for years have the occasional embarrassing fall at a red light when they fail to unclip a foot before their bike comes to a stop. I was at my second stop sign about a minute and a half into my ride when I had my first clipless-pedal induced moment of panic. I had disengaged my right foot with the intention of leaning to the right and supporting myself with that leg. Unfortunately, as I slowed my bike started leaning to the left. It felt like slow motion, as I thought about how it was going to feel to hit the pavement along with my new bike. Miraculously, I managed to rip my left foot from the pedal just in time to save myself from falling over. I vigilantly unclipped my left foot the rest of the ride home.

This bike will be my inseparable companion for the next three months. And I’m expecting a lot from it – a comfortable and reliable ride across the country. After one five mile ride (admittedly, not much to go on), I’m optimistic that I made a good choice. Though I’m sure I’ll be tweaking the bike over the next few weeks before I leave, I’m excited to start my trip on this Surly.

The Idea

2008-04-09T22:00:00.000-05:00

Map courtesy of Andy Strang at http://www.transamericatrailcycle.com/

Long before I ever passed driver’s ed, I sat down one day with an atlas and planned a summer tour of the United States. At the time my plan involved a VW bus with a pop-up top (yes, it was my hippie phase) in which I could sleep comfortably on the cheap. I mapped out a route that included America's great cities and rural landscapes, its natural beauty and historical sites. In some neglected box of childhood mementos, I probably still have the list of stops on that dream tour.

Now, two decades later, I’m hoping to make that trip across the United States but I’ve traded the VW bus for a bicycle. After two and half years at a Chicago law firm I've decided to move into government work. Rather than settle right in to my next job, I’m taking this opportunity to make my cross-country tour a reality. My plan is to start biking the Transamerica Trail on May 7, 2008. This bike route, created over thirty years ago in honor of the country’s bicentennial, runs from Yorktown, Virginia to Astoria, Oregon -- 4,247 miles across ten states. The Transam runs through small town America, which will be a welcome change after spending the last nine years in Chicago. I’ll be riding solo, carrying all of my supplies on my bike, and staying at both campgrounds and motels along the way. The trip is open-ended but I imagine it will take about three months.

This blog will document my travels. An interactive map that can be viewed in Google Maps or Google Earth will chart my progress and link to photos from the Trail. Postings will highlight noteworthy sites, events, and pictures. I will try to post regularly, though I’ll be at the mercy of wireless signals. Over the next few weeks, before I begin my ride, I’ll post a few entries on my preparations.