Transcontinentalitis, Days 26 - 30 (Boise City, OK to near Chama, NM)

Day 26: Boise City, OK to Clayton, NM (46.21 miles, 1972.4 total, 25.0 mph max)

We made it to Clayton, NM without stopping even for breakfast. But that's only because there was no place to stop.


We set our clocks back again. Because of that we arrived at a KOA in Clayton by 10 am. I went to the doctor and he said the hand is ok but it won't get any better until I stop cycling. But at least I know it's not going to do any damage permanently. 


We start some serious climbing this week and hope to be out of the worst of it by next weekend (today is Friday). Very low on funds; may need to start using plastic. I really did not want that.


Clayton is cool. We checked out the town and met some locals.


We're way ahead of schedule now and we'll be taking off more often, doing half days like today. We're both really enjoying this part of the country.


Day 27: Clayton, NM to Cimmaron, NM (112.1 miles, 2084.5 total, 42.0 mph max) 

What a day. One stop between Clayton and Springer. We're really seeing the mountains. They're very intimidating. I'm petrified about climbing tomorrow.

We are in Cimmaron, NM, at the foot of a mountain. Fifty-five miles to Taos tomorrow, then a day off for Chris's birthday. Taos looks like it'll be a fun place for a day off.

Today Chris broke 5 spokes at the same time and we were 5 miles from Springer. Quite discouraged, we sat and played out the options in Springer. Just then a Backroads van pulled into the gas station where we were. At least 40 bikes were on the roof, and they had plenty of spokes and the freewheel remover tool we needed. It was not a coincidence. This is our guardian angel for sure, and the driver gave us each a PowerBar, too. 


We were watching the mountains all day and now they're finally here, right in front of us.


Day 28: Cimmaron, NM to Taos, NM (57.0 miles, 2141.5 total, 33.0 mph max)

I woke up early - 7 am - and just sat and admired the mountains. They're really something else. This town - Cimmaron - is really great. Everybody is so mellow and laid back. They all call each other poncho and are friends with everybody else. They're wonderful to people passing through like us. 


It's scary to think that we'll be going over these mountains. It's going to be tough, but I can't wait to get to Taos. (This was the first time I began a journal entry before riding for the day)


The ride from Cimmaron to Taos was the best country I've seen in my life. I day-dreamed about moving out here after graduation all day long. We're now in Taos and our bikes are in the shop. We'll be able to go out to celebrate Chris's birthday tonight and then tomorrow we'll spend the day in Taos. 


Everything is made of adobe here. There are art galleries everywhere. I'd like to come back to ski here.


Today's scenery was the best yet. We saw snow-capped peaks, whitewater rapids, wildlife, and beautiful vegetation. Eagle Nest Lake was spectacular.


(the following notes were barely legible)

We went to the bar. I'm messed up and it's fun. Taos rocks. I'm coming here after college.

Day 29: Taos, NM to Tres Piedres, NM (45.4 miles, 2186.9 total, 28.0 mph max)  

We skipped out on a day off in Taos. We woke up late and didn't leave until 1 pm, though. We made it as far as Tres Piedres and heard about the Rainbow Gathering. It's like this hippie place. We decided to check it out.

We got a ride to the gathering with these hippies in a mid-70's Jeep Cherokee. No upholstery, no radio, no AC. Only a few door handles, and trash everywhere. The guys were really nice, though. 


We made it to camp - 20 miles up a dirt road - and now are at the gathering. A lot of drugs. There's a lady called "Mom" who cooks. She gave us dinner. A conglomeration of potato salad, tossed salad, and potato pancakes, and in one big mess. Camp food. Everybody ate it up, including myself.


I really feel like an outsider. All of these people are drifters. Nobody has a home. They just go from gathering to gathering. I'm anxious since we have to find a ride to the bottom of the mountain tomorrow. They're really different people. Dirty with long hair, beards, and dread locks. I hear there will be a drum circle tonight. I hope so.


I want to meet these people but I don't feel welcome. There are strange people everywhere, about 500 or so of them. It makes me miss home.


It's interesting to hear the stories that these people have experienced. They've been everywhere. I hope I have a home when I get to their ages. I'd say most are at least 25. I hope I have a family at their ages. I'll travel a lot, but I'll need a place where I feel safe. Right now that place is 2100 miles away.


The last couple of hours have been really strange. Chris fell asleep so I went to the frame work of a cabin they're building. There is a fire there. I was watching these people. Generally, they are older men in their mid-40s, they all smoke, and they don't seem to be very smart. I talked to two of them. One has a wife and kids in TN and he left them in December to com here. (It was late June or early July). The other told me about when his father's business was in trouble and he had to go work in a suit and tie. A man and his wife were fighting. She's crying now. He was really mean to her but I'm surrounded by all his peers. I wanted to do something when he was yelling at her. He said to her, "I'm gonna say it on more fuckin' time politely, Get out of my Goddamn face, please!" 


Then Chris woke up and we went to the other camp about 500 yards up the hill. There were about 150 people there in a circle, maybe more. Everybody was holding hands and they started humming. I hummed a little. Then they cheered and passed around a hat for a collection. It didn't look like they made much. They call each other 'brother' and 'sister.' 


I'm not scared anymore, as much as I was when I first arrived. This guy started praying and the man next to Chris shouted out loud, "Thank God!" as in, "Thank God for this food." Then about a dozen people started walking around the circle with buckets. They gave each person a scoop of whatever was in the bucket. It was some kind of slop, for as well as I could tell. 


These people have hitch-hiked thousands of miles to get here. They've come in school buses, VW buses, vans, Jeeps, on bikes, and motorcycles. Some walked. A school bus just rolled in with 25 or more people. I am amazed. It's some kind of cult I think.


When some one pulls up to the first camp, everybody yells, "Welcome home!" This place is weird. We're getting a ride back to Tres Piedres at 6 am in the same Jeep that drove us up. I can't wait.


We were walking back from that other camp and two guys were walking the other way. They asked us if we had anything to trade. I asked what he was looking for. "Hallucinogens or buds," he said.


We're back by the fire. This old Indian man who wears handcuffs just sits and bitches like crazy. He's really mean and then he laughs. He seems really tough. He wears a cowboy hat. A black one, and black jeans and suede cowboy boots with a flannel jacket. A few of these men seem like they're real (American) Indians. Good looking people, but these ones are bitter and tough.

The Indian man talks like some old chief. He's a slow talker and he has an accent. He was telling us how people fear what they don't understand. Actually, he had a pretty good point.

Day 30: Tres Pieres, NM to near Chama, NM (63.1 miles, 2249.0 total, 40.9 mph max) 

Not too bad a day. We got to the highest point on our trip (10,500 ft) and just cruised down. We had to wake up at 5:30 am to get out of that crazy place, though. Chris and I were arguing and I got pretty bummed; missing home. 


New Mexico is the only state I haven't been dying to get through. It's beautiful here. Chris made a snowman at the summit. 

The experiences we had in New Mexico were, I think, profound. After Chris's bike was essentially unrideable, a bike shop on wheels showed up with parts, tools, and expertise. I was able to see the mountains like I'd never seen before. And, I got to hang out with a thousand drifters in a remote spot in Kit Carson National Forest. It was honestly like I'd stepped onto a different planet, but as a kid in my 20s I needed to be exposed to places and people like I was in New Mexico. I think I made some long-term decisions on that mountain.

Camping with the Kids

We interrupt this series of boring bike-across-the-country journal transcriptions for a tale of potential child negligence, short-sightedness, and generally poor judgement . . .

Molly and I are from Pittsburgh. We're not Inuit, Scandinavian, or Siberian. We're not even Yoopers. While many Pittsburghers like to complain in their own sort of proud way that winters here are tough, they are mild in comparison. Winter here generally kicks in sometime around mid-December, then snow arrives in January, and by late March we're starting to thaw out. The temperatures rarely dip into in the single digits (Fahrenheit) and storms rarely drop more than a few inches of snow at a time.

So, taking the kids (ages 2.8 and 1.4) camping in late October isn't all that crazy an idea.

Molly and I have little exposure to media. We don't get network or cable television. We don't listen to local radio. So, we never received any kind of notification that the forecast had changed as we were packing up the car for an evening in Morgantown followed by a night in the tent at nearby Coopers Rock State Forest, WV. We did expect cold temperatures so I packed a large amount of blankets and even tossed a crib mattress in the car, but none of this would make us feel prepared when we turned off the highway to see a forest blanketed in snow. Even the tree limbs were sparkling.

But that wasn't until a bit later. I don't want to get ahead of myself.

Earlier in the afternoon, as we drove south from Pittsburgh, the weather looked to be generally clear. The skies were blue with few clouds. We planned to drive to Coopers Rock to set up the campsite before heading into Morgantown. It was cold, but not too cold, even for a family of Pittsburghers; maybe somewhere in the low 50s. Even when it began to rain, I wasn't phased. Our tent has stood up to the elements many times. We decided to go straight to Morgantown so that we could give the rain a chance to stop before setting up camp.

Several hours later, Molly and I were in the car looking at each other and reconsidering our plan. We were about to leave Morgantown to drive up to Coopers Rock. I was soaking wet from walking no more than 15 feet to the car and then strapping Otis into his carseat. Molly was similarly wet from the same routine with Indie. For some reason the kids were happy. It wasn't even 9 pm; we could be home before 10:30.

"Indie has been looking forward to this all week," Molly told me. "I left the wipes in the Black Bear," I replied to her, as if the conversation made any sense. We'd eaten dinner at the Black Bear Restaurant and at some point I took Otis into the Men's room to change his diaper. Since there was no changing table in the Men's room I had to change Otis on a bar stool (not sure why that was in the Men's room). Somehow I managed to do it, but in the ridiculous process of changing a baby on a bar stool I left the baby wipes on top of the paper towel dispenser. For a parent about to take his kid camping in the forest for the night, leaving the wipes on top of the paper towel dispenser had enormously burdensome consequences.

"We'll go to Rite Aid. There's one right down the road here." At that point I was exceptionally glad I remembered leaving the wipes on that paper towel dispenser.

We hit the road. "I didn't see the diaper bag. Did you?"

"I didn't have it. Did you?"

"You've got to be fucking kidding me."

"Watch your mouth!"

As important as the wipes may have been, the contents of the diaper bag were even more so. Beyond the obvious content (diapers), there were binkies, sippy cups, medicines for ailments ranging from coughs to diaper rash, both of our cell phones and wallets, and more. A man's wallet or woman's purse contain the effects of an individual; the diaper bag contains the effects of an entire family. Losing the diaper bag might have been worse than losing a kid.

"Okay, I'll pull over and take a look."

Five minutes later I was even more soaking wet than I'd been at the beginning of our 40-minute, 3 mile car ride, and had not located the diaper bag. We found it shortly afterward at the coffeeshop/artspace we had just left, and it was Molly's fault (zing!).

After finding or replacing each of our forgotten items and all of the driving back and forth through Morgantown, we really felt like we had our shit together. Then we started to climb Chestnut Ridge, the mountain on top of which Coopers Rock lives. Upon turning off the highway, the road went literally from wet pavement to slick ice. The trees went from colorful autumn to stark white.

"Is that snow?"

"Holy shit. You have got to be kidding me."

"Watch your mouth!"

"We can be home by 11 if we go right now. Our tent is not a four season tent."

After a short discussion, proper judgment was discarded and we established a plan that would make every father proud. Molly and the kids sat in the warm car while I quickly set up the tent and shuttled gear to it. I was sliding down a snow bank in my sneakers every time I returned from the car. I slipped a few times and tossed everything I was carrying like confetti. When it was ready, I returned to the car and heroically announced that the lair was ready. All were safe.

In the tent (a 3-person tent), the blankets that surrounded us made a fluffy floor eight inches thick. We lost Otis a few times in the fluff because he was camouflaged. He was wearing layers of three one-piece fleece jumpsuits. There was no room for a hat under the three hoods, but I'm certain he was plenty warm. Indie was in the sleeping bag I'd made for her just for this trip, and was comfortably wearing a hat and mittens as well as at least three layers.


Both kids fit together just right on the crib mattress and Molly and I climbed into our sleeping bags. There were blankets cushioning us underneath and warming us above. The snow piled on the tent outside at a rate that would be quick in February, and it was cozy for the time being.

Believe it or not, we had neighbors, and those neighbors had kids with them. We saw them as we drove in, at a site about 50 yards across a snowy field, and they came prepared. They drove RVs. As we heard them chatting around a roaring campfire, we knew they had the comfort of a warm bed awaiting them. They didn't have to worry about their kids freezing to death in October on a mountain in West Virginia. As they laughed and told stories, we tried to fall asleep and I wondered if they even saw us arrive.

Indie fell asleep first, though I will never forget the ten minutes before she did. With little locks of red hair creeping out of her winter cap, she was beaming with excitement about being in a tent in her new sleeping bag. She was clearly the family member with the most confidence in our survival. Toddlers can be so naive, can't they?

Then, Otis fell asleep, but only after Molly put him down to sleep on her chest. He wouldn't sleep on the mattress. Perhaps he was scared or uncomfortable, but he wouldn't calm down unless he was on top of his Mommy. Then, I passed out, and I was even hot as a I slept in the fluffy blankets.

Molly, of course, never fell asleep. How could she sleep with a kid on her chest?

At about 11 pm, Otis woke up and was complaining. He isn't old enough to talk yet, and so we spent the next 90 minutes trying to get him comfortable. The problem, I think, is that he was not able to move with all the layers. He would try to roll over, but couldn't do it. He was miserable, but we weren't willing to take off any of his layers. It wasn't warm in the tent, and a kid his age can't be put into a sleeping bag.

So, at 12:30 am we threw in the towel. I inverted and reversed the process I'd done only 3 hours before by putting the kids in the warm car and breaking camp. There were 3 inches of snow piled up on top of the tent.

On Sunday night, after unpacking and drying out gear and recovering from the botched attempt, I found that an old friend had posted some photos from his weekend on Facebook. The photos looked oddly familiar. As I investigated, I realized that they were taken at Coopers Rock State Forest. Our neighbors at the campsite were neighbors from back home, and they had plenty of extra beds in their RVs.

Git r dun.

Transcontinentalitis, Days 23 - 25 (Enid, OK to Boise City, OK)

Day 23: Enid, OK to Fort Supply, OK(103.3 miles, 1737.7 total, 32.9 mph max)

Ugh. Rough Day. Left Enid at 9:00. Clear skies and the weather channel said 90 - 100F.  A town called Orienta was 18 miles out and then Mooreland was at mile 76. There was essentially nothing in Orienta, not even a gas station, and then 60 miles of absolutely NOTHING.

It's beginning to look like the West. Plateaus, no trees, heat, clear skies. Those 76 miles were killer. We had lunch on the road at a picnic table and then ran out of water one mile from Mooreland. 


We made it to Fort Supply. There's a lake with a campground on it. It's very pretty here. A lot of hicks though. 


I broke two spokes today, but after replacing them the wheel is still perfect. I love a smooth ride.


Day 24: Fort Supply, OK to somewhere in OK (99.5 miles, 1837.2 total, 36.6 mph max)

We are in the middle of absolutely nowhere! How desolate. I feel like I'm on Mars or something. It's very frightening. 

Today, like yesterday, was very tough. We're certainly in the West now. No shade. Hot sun. No people. A gas station convenience store every 25 - 50 miles or so. And, I keep breaking spokes.

We're really moving along. The climbing starts on Friday (Day 26). We're going to do a half day so I can get my hand checked out (I was losing feeling in my left hand at the beginning of each day's riding). I think they'll amputate it. They might as well, because I can't feel it.

Dinner tonight was at "The Hitchin' Post." It might as well have been called "Eat Here or Starve." The only restaurant we saw all day. Kind of scary. The waitress was a bitch. (I don't recall this restaurant, or why I called the waitress a bitch).

Day 25: Somewhere in OK to Boise City, OK (89.0 miles, 1926.2 total, 27.9 mph max)

Another rough day. Steady incline. I think I pushed a little too hard. We made it here (Boise City) by 3 pm. I did not feel well after we stopped. Off to Clayton, NM tomorrow and then a half day off. I need to go to the hospital for my hand.


Boise City looks like a Wild West town. We saw our first tumbleweed today and our first cactus last night. I miss home a lot and thought about it a lot today. There was really nothing to look at. Just the same old Oklahoma. 


I'm the furthest from home I've ever been. I can't wait to relax in Clayton tomorrow. 


I just spent a half hour wrestling with the shower knob. It fell off when I tried to turn it hotter and water started shooting from the place where it goes. I finally got the cap back, but the shower is stuck on. And, this morning, when we woke up and were packing, Chris opened his handlebar bag and three mice jumped out. It scared the hell out of him, and was hilarious!

When we entered the Northwestern panhandle of Oklahoma, we passed a road sign that said, "Welcome to No Man's Land." It was not at all far from the truth, as the roads continued as far as the eyes could see with nothing on either side. Very few vehicles passed us as we pushed into a prevailing headwind all day long, each day. It was lonely and humbling.

Unfortunately, I don't remember very vividly this stretch of the trip. Perhaps it's because there weren't many people or towns to make memories, or perhaps it's because my gaze was pointed down as I tucked into an aerodynamic position to cut into the wind. Whatever it was, the Rocky Mountain passes that lie ahead were on my mind. I was anxious and excited about the next phase of the trip.

Transcontinentalitis, Days 20 - 22 (Gore, OK to Enid, OK)and Photo Archive III

Day 20: Gore, OK to Keystone Lake, OK (115.7 miles, 1517.0 total, 36.1 mph max)

I never thought we'd even break 50 miles today. It was supposed to storm all day. It did, but we missed it all! Not a drop. Hopefully tomorrow will be the same story.


Today felt great. The hills were mild and we're getting into Indian territory. There are signs all over like, "Joe Byrd for Chief," or "Dan Whatever for Tribal Council." 


We went through Tulsa via interstate. Pretty scary, I must say. It was totally illegal, but cops just drove right past. We made it to Keystone Lake. We're doing better every day. We both wake up grumpy and bitter but by the time we're camping it's just hanging out, laughing. 


Day 21: Keystone Lake, OK to Perry, OK (76.4 miles, 1593.4 total, 39.3 mph max)

Arggh! Motel again. We did make it to Perry, OK, though. It was an interesting day. Pawnee, OK is a cool Indian town. We went to the Pawnee Bill Museum. He had a wild west show back in the day. We also got to go to a buffalo auction. 


No rain all day again, but 90% chance of severe T-storms tonight. So, the Dan-D Motel was only 20 bucks. Sleezy, but it has a roof. 


The hills are coming back. It was beautiful country today -- reminded me of "Dances with Wolves." 


I like Oklahoma. I wish we had better weather, tough. Five more days to New Mexico and the Mountain Time Zone. Then the hills will really hit us. 


We've conquered the Appalachians and the Plains. Just the Rockies and the desert left. Half way there! How exciting!


Our bikes are really doing well. Lucky, because there is no bike shop for a couple weeks. Las Vegas, we're guessing.

Day 22: Perry, OK to Enid, OK (41.0 miles, 1634.4 total, 30.6 mph max)

Well, today certainly took a lot of turns.Woke up to a torrential downpour and hung out in Perry until 2 pm. We did some Perry-seeing: Antique shops, pawn shop, Post Office. We were interviewed for the Perry Daily Journal and got a tour of the town by the County Courthouse Maintenance Man in his pickup. What class!


Well, it cleared up around 1 and we split by 2.


There was no rain on the road and we got to Enid by 5:15. A guy who worked at KFC offered to let us stay at his apartment. No thanks, weirdo! (I recall being creeped out by the guy, or else I'm sure we'd have taken him up on his offer.)


We heard tornadoes and thunderstorms in the forecast, so we're in the Trail Motel. $30 isn't bad but we're low in funds already. Fought with Chris today. We needed it.

I had forgotten about all the rain in Oklahoma until now. We spent half a day in a gazebo in Perry, OK escaping the rain. The weather was terrible, and not being from the Midwest, Chris and I were constantly unnerved about tornadoes. Even when it wasn't raining on us, we were able to see an enormous, intimidating sky all around us. Storm clouds a dozen miles away appeared to be chasing us.


The dynamics that Chris and I were enduring are well articulated here. We woke up groggy and sore from long hours riding. Seeping together in a small tent night after night was wearing on us. I recall not talking much in the morning, like a couple of teen-aged girls, until we got some food for breakfast. By then, we were both coming out of our shells. Then, what we were seeing throughout the day got us excited. By the evenings, the accumulation of the day's experiences gave us plenty to chat and laugh about around dinner and a campfire. This trip would be difficult for any two people, and from what I read in other accounts, it's surprising that we didn't split at some point and each ride alone. Our daily crescendos suited us well.

Soon we'd be in the Southwest, which would be the most profound portion of the trip (at least for me). Foreshadowing was coming at us in the form of contemporary Native American culture and the buffalo auction. This scratched the surface but we had no idea what would lie ahead.

We made it to Arkansas! We took photos like this at every state border, but for some reason I can't locate them all.

The article from the Perry, OK newspaper. I like to think of this as being analogous to "Washington Slept Here," but some may disagree.

This is not intended to be a photograph of what I looked like in 1995. Rather, check out that sky and the grin.

The scene in the hills -- somewhere in the western foothills of the Appalachains.

This could be anywhere in the middle of the country -- TN, AR, OK, or NM.

Transcontinentalitis, Days 18 - 19 (maybe Conway, AR to Gore, OK)

Day 18: maybe Conway, AR to west of Ozark, AR (103.4 miles, 1338.2 total, 38.9 mph max)

Whoa baby -- we're cookin'. 300 miles in 3 days. Arkansas in 3 days. We cruised through this state. Oklahoma border by lunch tomorrow.

I like the Ozarks a lot. I did not miss the climbing, though. It's very pretty here. A lot to look at.


The lady at Pizza Hut is from California. She came here and bought a mountain. That's right -- a mountain. She's going to build a house on top and retire. Sounds like a good idea to me. 

Day 19: Ozark, AR to Gore, OK (66.2 miles, 1401.3 total, 35.2 mph max)

The first day in Oklahoma wasn't too bad. We're in a motel again. Thunderstorm warnings all over the state. Looks like we may be in motels again later next week. We've made it to Gore, OK and we'll hopefully make it to Tulsa tomorrow

I like Oklahoma. The towns are neat and the people are nice. And helpful. At Gambino's Pizza the woman working there seemed concerned about us. We had no clue what we were going to do. (I think we were waiting there for a storm to pass). 

We spent two hours in Bicycle Word in Fort Smith. The mechanic was cool and made a sticker since they didn't have any (I just remembered what this was about - Chris and I were each collecting one sticker from each state that had the stat's name on it. In Fort Smith, we were about to cross into Oklahoma and neither of us had gotten a sticker that said Arkansas on it. The mechanic at Bicycle World wrote ARKANSAS on a Specialized bike sticker and gave one to each of us). 

I bought a new wheel. I forgot what a smooth ride was like. What a difference it makes when there's no flat spot in your wheel.

I want to pull a 2500. I'm really getting in shape. (I'm referring to at 2500 meter workout on a rowing simulator; at the time it was the standard by which every rower was compared). It felt like about 20 miles today.

I miss rowing and look forward to spring. I hope to stay in shape.

Anyway, I'm going to relax tonight. I've already watched four episodes of "Welcome Back, Kotter" and plan to veg out to as many as they can dish out on Nick.

Once again, I'm a bit embarrassed at how shallow my journal writing was. Where's the substance? Really, who did I think would give a rat's ass about Gambino's Pizza or Welcome Back, Kotter? Certainly I don't care about it 16 years later, nor do I expect anybody reading this to.

But, what resonates for me in reading these entries are that Chris and I were in the zone. The miles were passing regardless of the weather or roads. We were totally adjusted to what life on the road was: being flexible about whatever came our way, getting to know locals, and doing whatever was necessary to just keep moving. When somebody seemed concerned about us, as in this entry, we shrugged it off. We were accumulating experience at a feverish rate, and with each passing day we were more prepared. We were fine; just fine. I have never experienced this feeling in any other situation.

However, like I wrote before, it's not like we were in Alaska.

Transcontinentalitis, Days 15 - 17 (Jackson, TN to maybe Conway, AR)

Day 15: Jackson, TN to east of Memphis, TN (80.1 miles, 1028.5 total, 30.7 mph max)

The first 10 miles was stuff in Jackson. We found the bike shop and got it together. Flat land today -- a lot of swamps and murky creeks. I'm ready for Arkansas.

We're near Memphis, about 20 miles to the east.  We decided we will take 64 all the way to Enid, OK. Then we'll get back with the book, maybe. I like our route better. The cities are more fun than the country and we're certainly getting our dose of that. The roads are better and flatter. We see a million towns either way.

We saw a lot of southern hicks today. It reminded me of old pictures. They had their straw hats and were dirty, sitting on their porches. 

I've taken the lead for each of the last 5 days or so. It's better because Chris stays right behind me. When he leads I get behind. I don't mind leading as long as the wind is not blowing. But at least I don't have to look at Chris's ass all day long. 

Crossing the (Mississippi) river will be exciting tomorrow. I'll get a picture. We're gonna run out of money.


Day 16: East of Memphis, TN to Morton, AR (95.7 miles, 1124.2 total, 30.2 mph max)


Wow! What a day. We left TN early and Arkansas is like I imagined. Plain. Flat. I thought we'd never find a place to stay. We stopped at a country store in Morton, AR and they're letting us stay in the Flea Market Store in the back (really, a garage that's always set up as a garage sale). Bathrooms and everything.

I was nervous as hell riding into dusk not knowing where we'd sleep tonight. Arkansas is completely different than anything we've seen. Huge farms. Big irrigation systems. Crop dusters. We had dinner in a town called Wynne. It's a small place, but big compared to the other Arkansas towns.

I never rode so many miles flat before. It's not easy. You just never stop pedaling.
Chris wasn't as nervous as I was and got frustrated when I stopped to ask if we could stay here. He doesn't like to ask people things. I think he treats everybody like they're an employer giving an interview. All you have to do is ask. There's no procedure; no delivery. 

For the first time since leaving, I feel like I'm far away from home. The terrain is completely different and foreign to me. But, we're in the plains states now and making good progress. I hope we make it to CA quickly. I hate cycling sometimes. It's hard and very hot outside. The fun starts when I step off the bike. That makes it worth it, though.

Conway, AR tomorrow. Camp there. It's like 95 miles. Hope for the best.

 Day 17:  Morton, AR to an unknown town in Arkansas -- maybe Conway (110.6 miles, 1234.8 total, 28.0 mph max

My God! What a day!

It rained for at least 40 of the miles today, including the last 20. Again, I was scared to death riding up until 7 pm not knowing where we would sleep. And this time it was raining. We stopped at a motel, swallowed our pride, and rented a room.

Rest and relaxation. We actually watched a movie -- some Stephen Segal flick, who knows. But it had a good message about saving the environment.

I don't feel like a wimp because we got a motel room. We maxed out with our distance, but it took a lot of grief. What a day.

It's funny -- once again my memory of this trip is totally different than what I'm reading in my journal. In two cross country trips I've passed through many large cities like DC, Nashville, Memphis, Las Vegas, Portland, Omaha, and a bunch I don't care to recall right now, but my fondest memories are of the towns and spaces in between. When asked about my trips I usually like to exclaim that traveling by bike is the best way to see the country. The pace is just right and America is rooted in the towns. Cities are cosmopolitan, international; it's the small towns where American culture is most pronounced.

My journal doesn't stay where we were after day 17, but on day 16 I said we were going to ride to Conway, so I'm presuming based on the mileage that's roughly where we ended up. I really have little memory of Arkansas other that what I wrote in the journal for day 16 -- Huge farms. Big irrigation systems. Crop dusters.

Friction between Chris and I surfaced again, and this time I immaturely wrote about it in my journal rather than nipping it in the bud before it got out of hand (sorry, Chris!). I wish I'd had his confidence at the time. Seriously, it may have felt like we were in the middle of nowhere but it's not like we were going to starve. This is Arkansas, not Alaska.

And, once again, I've succeeded in crossing an entire state (and TN is long) while bitching about how wonderful the next state is going to be, just to do the same as soon as I crossed the border. As if crossing a state line is going to make much of a difference.

Saving the environment? Who does that? Is that like saving the world?

Transcontinentalitis, Day 14 (Waverly, TN to Jackson, TN) and Photo Archive II

Day 14: Waverly, TN to Jackson, TN (67.4 miles, 948.4 total, 29.4 mph max)

It's 6 am and I just woke up. It thunderstormed from 1 to 4 last night. It was worse than the 2 previous storms. There are puddles in the tent. My sleeping bag is soaked. I sat here for the duration of the storm. It was so bad that I packed all of the stuff in an emergency bag. I really thought there was a tornado. I was imagining getting out of here by the skin of our teeth and having to go home. I hate Tennessee.

The river rose at least 15 feet overnight. That's no exaggeration. The entire campground moved inland around midnight. We're surrounded by campers now, while we were all alone when we went to bed. What a night. I hope I never have another like it.

The day was hot again. We stopped in Jackson and are camping next to a silver bus behind GG's restaurant. I want a shower so bad. Memphis tomorrow. I hope it stays nice tonight.

I remember that night like it was yesterday. The ground under the tent became so saturated that it was as if we were sleeping on a water bed. This one, however, had plenty of leaks and we were drenched. It was not dark because the bright flicker of lightning was constant through the night. Chris and I were concerned of two things: the river rising up around us, and high winds lifting our tent off the ground. Neither of these seemed implausible and as much as I wanted to look out of the tent to see what was going on I couldn't because I was worried about how much weather would come in with the flap open.

The funny thing about a trip like this, from my own experiences as well as accounts from others, is that they often suffer from an acute case of "greener grass" syndrome. In Virginia, we couldn't wait to be in Tennessee. Now that we were in Tennessee, we hated it and were certain Arkansas would be great. I did another cross-country trip in 1999 (no journal, but I intend to try to piece it together after I'm done with this project) and the team suffered from it then as well. On backpacking trips, road trips, and even river trips, what's around the bend seems to always hold promise. I suppose it's the nature of adventure travel. The destination is not the objective, it's the journey. Continuing to keep moving is the best motivated by the curiosity over what lies ahead.


Here are some more photos:

Chris sticking his head out of our home for two months.

The roadside, the day after the Tennessee River rose over 10 feet overnight.

Chris writes in his journal. It's still missing.

Transcontinentalitis, Days 11 - 13 (Cookeville, TN to west of Waverly, TN)

Day 11: Cookeville, TN to Nashville (76.0 miles, 790.6 total, 35.9 mph max)


I saw a hawk sitting on a fence on the right side of the road. The land dropped very steeply below the fence. When I came up to him, he hopped up, took two flaps and soared into the valley. It was graceful and really impressed me.

Yesterday we were riding by some meadows and we saw three horses running and playing. The wind was blowing. It was beautiful; straight out of Little House on the Prairie. 
We made it to Nashville, country music city, USA. A big tourist trap; fun, though. We're taking tomorrow off.We deserve it.

Some beers tonight, bike shop tomorrow, country music shows, etc. I hope to catch up on some writing tomorrow.



Day 12: Day off in Nashville, TN


I can't believe it, but I had a blast today listening to country music. I think I might even like it. We saw the Opryland Hotel; I know where to go for the perfect date. The conservatory was wonderful. When I get home I want to go to Phipp's (the local conservatory in Pittsburgh) and check it out. 

I'm glad we took off and I feel rested. We ought to get far tomorrow.

We met a man named Lowell. Single guy, quit his job and went camping at Nashville. We went to see Vince Cordell and his Dancing Waters (I have no idea what this is, nor do I have any recollection of it. In fact, I'm not sure I'm spelling it correctly because my handwriting is difficult to read) with Lowell. He drove. So, we even got to ride in Lowell's pickup. My stay in the south is complete.

At the Nashville KOA: Dave something, I don't know. A great show with our new friend. We're becoming friends but I'll never see him again in my life. Weird. (I don't actually remember Lowell at all, but for some reason I think he was living at the KOA Campground in Nashville)
 
Day 13: Nashville to west of Waverly, TN (90.5 miles, 881.0 total, 36.4 mph max)


Whew -- what a day. At least it ended good. Sort of. This is how it went: Woke up and took off about 8. By the time we were through Nashville -- and Nashville is very cool -- I got a foreign object puncture. BOOM! Psssssss. . . There was an inch gap in the sidewall. So, athletic tape and crossed fingers should do the trick. Right! That gets us to Dickson, TN.

Some kid pushing buggies at the Dickson Wal-Mart said to go to the bike shop that turned out to be out of business last year. So, we hope it will make it to the next shop - Jackson: 120 miles. 

Just then, I noticed Chris's bike is making noise. We check it out and the tire has a slight bubble and is rubbing on the brake shaft washer. It's already worn a hole through! More athletic tape and get rid of the the washer. Double crossed fingers.

Too more random flats (obvious why).

We made it to Waverly. No bike shop.

I tried a 27-inch Wal-mart tire, but it didn't work and we returned it. (Our bikes, and all road bikes purchased at bike shops come in metric sizes; the parts Wal-mart carries won't work for most parts). Allright. Let's pray like crazy and hope to make it to Jackson, which is now 100 miles away. Dinner at KFC Buffet. Good deal. Now we're looking for a place to camp.

Everything's going bad today. Then, out of the blue, we're at a shopping center parking lot patching our tubes and a strange woman gives us each an ice cold pop (soda). Ok, things may be a little better. Off to find camp. 

I say pull over now, Chris says keep going . . and going . . and going. Now we're about to cross the Tennessee River and, Campground! Right on the banks. Everything's ok until morning. But we need to make it to Jackson and tomorrow is Sunday. Monday is Memorial Day. 

Things could get sticky again. I'll hope for the best.

This is more like the experience I remember. I don't feel the need to supplement this much because it flows in the way the trip felt: cultural experiences, personal connections, and natural beauty meshed with the intensity and spontaneity of traveling by bicycle.

Then again, "Dinner at KFC buffet. Good deal," isn't the most exciting way to articulate the experience I was having . . . who writes this stuff??

Transcontinentalitis, Days 8 - 10 (Bristol, VA/TN to Cookeville, TN)

Day 8: Bristol, V/TN to Moorseburg, TN (69.8 miles, 533.4 total, 34.9 mph max, 15.8 mph avg)

Very hot today. We're finally in Tennessee. Two broken spokes on Chris's bike. We'll be in Knoxville tomorrow and will go to a bike shop to get our rear wheels straightened out.

I'm not sure if I'm enjoying myself or not.

We met a man called Mr. Fuzz. He is a DJ for a Rogersville radio station. Very nice to talk to and was interested in our trip.

I think I'm homesick and it's the worst while riding. Then, when we stop or when we're camping, I'm fine. I wish I could call a friend.

We're at the Cherokee Lake Campground and there's an article on the wall of the office about a man who did the same trip, except west - east and stayed here. We're just beginning. He was almost done. I'm glad we're ending in California.


Day 9: Moorseburg, TN to Rockwood, TN (104.5 miles, 637.9 total, 33.6 mph max)

We maxed out for distance today, tra la la. Went through Knoxville. Nice place, except for the Greenlea Bike Shop. (I don't remember why I didn't care for the shop).

We got to Knoxville very quickly and then it was like this (a drawing of a steep ascent). Hills and more hills.

We finally got to the Caney Creek Campground in Rockwood. Hillbillies with porches 2x the size of their campers, a lot of them year-round tenants.

It went up to 90 today, a real scorcher. My knee is a lot better, surprisingly, but that doesn't mean I'm comfortable.

Chris and I got into it in the middle of downtown Knoxville today, but I think we're both a lot better for it. Funny how things work that way.

Tomorrow - the Cumberland Plateau. I keep hearing about it from locals. 

Day 10: Rockwood, TN to Cookeville, TN (76.7 miles, 714.6 total, 36.8 mph max)

Today we went up and down the Cumberland Plateau. Going down was fun, but I wrecked today. Chris jammed on his brakes because of a dog and I smashed right into him. We were going around 20 - 25 mph so I hit the gravel shoulder hard but it resulted in a only a few cuts and scrapes.

We ate dinner at the Pizza Hut in Cookeville and the waitress seemed to like us. Free salad bar and other food. I was working on a yard to camp in but figured I'd be pushing it.

Tomorrow we'll make it to Nashville, but it'll take about 90 miles. We can do it. 
I eat as much as possible now, and even though I get very full, within an hour I'm hungry again. I can't eat enough. I figure with the way we're going we'll run out of money somewhere in NM or NV. I hope we have some sympathetic parents.

Yesterday we went off the course of the book. We'll rejoin it in Memphis. It looks like we made the right choice because it's about 100 miles shorter and we're seeing beautiful places.

The Cumberland Plateau was great. We're meeting some kind of a variety of people out here -- hillbillies and cityfolk. The accents are becoming easier to understand as we get west and as we close in on the bigger cities. I want to take photographs of things, but decide not to. I'm not sure why.

I'm not sure why people are amazed with our trip, but nobody has really been willing to help us other than the man in the Knoxville Visitor's Center and the waitress tonight. I'm not sure the lady at the pool even wants to. I hope that changes.

We got to change our clocks today.

By week two we'd gotten into the zone. Virginia was behind us and the miles were flying past much easier because of our conditioning as well as the diminishing gradient. However, countering the relative comfort, the heat kicked in. Because of this the word Tennessee still sounds dreadfully hot to me, even more so than Florida or Mexico or Swaziland. (Is Swaziland even hot?)

I don't even remember crashing, so apparently it wasn't all that bad. When I was in front of Chris we'd stay together; he was faster than me and would get away if in front. But when I was in the back I had to draft in order to keep up. That means I was following very closely, increasing the risk factor.

Fortunately I don't recall being homesick while on the trip, but apparently I was. I had a girlfriend, who was probably not worth missing at the time, but more so I was head over heels with the job I typically had each summer at a summer camp. Now that I look back on it, I was on a life-changing journey, and I should have realized it at the time. Ironically, the maturity that I needed to fully appreciate the trip was one of the greatest rewards that I'd ultimately gain because of it. They say that hindsight is 20/20.

I also have since forgotten about the stress in knowing that Chris would be running out of money at some point. We'd both contributed equal shares into a bank account and were using a debit card as we traveled. I don't remember how much, but I believe it was around $1000 each. So, we were both anticipating hitting up parents for loans. Two things contributed to the expense: the amount of food we were eating and using campgrounds instead of poaching. Unfortunately poaching isn't easy when you're restricted to paved roads.

"We got to change our clocks today?" Seriously? Who gives a shit? Who's writing this crap?

Transcontinentalitis, Photos Archive I

Some shots from the Southeastern US.

The trip was initially delayed because when we started mounting the racks to Chris's bike we noticed a crack in the frame. In one of the most loyal moves in a 25+ year friendship, my friend Jeremy drove a new frame from Kraynick's world famous bike shop in Pittsburgh all the way to DC. If I remember correctly, it only set us back 50 bucks (one of the reasons it's world famous). We quickly swapped frames and it only delayed our start by a couple of days.

Didn't everybody have purple Umbros in 1995? Well, only mine were bleached.

At the VA/TN border, in Bristol. Week one completed.

This is a great shot of what the ride was like. We spent nearly the entire trip on two-lane country roads, and stocked up at places like this general store. For the most part, our only exposure to locals was at places like this, which provides a very interesting perspective.

Chris's bike is shown fully loaded down in the foreground, mine is in the shadow under the porch. I have no idea where this was taken, but my guess is somewhere in VA or TN. On the entire trip, we had only one issue with somebody going through our stuff, and it was in California. I don't believe they stole anything.

One of the more interesting campsites.

Transcontinentalitis, Days 5 - 7 (Catawba, VA to Bristol, VA)

Day 5: Catawba, VA to Max Meadows, VA (87.5 miles, 398.3 total, 37.5 mph max)

Without a doubt the most challenging day in years. I thought I was going to fall over at times. The hills were unbearable and I felt sick all day.We stopped a few times and I was asleep within a few minutes. We made it to the Groves' (my brother-in-law's relatives) eventually. Thank God for the Groves. I never thought I'd be so happy to see total strangers. We're taking tomorrow off; it's necessary. 
I can't wait to get out of VA. I hate mountains.

Day 6: Day off in Max Meadows, VA

Stayed at the Groves; very nice people and interesting conversation. Mr. Grove has a great accent and is fun to listen to.

Bike maintenance today; we ought to be okay for a while. 
I needed to rest. I slept twelve hours last night and took a two-and-a-half hour nap around 1 o'clock. 
Great homemade food. I enjoyed myself and the Groves made us able to continue. If not for them, I think we would have burned out.


Day 7: Max Meadows, VA to Bristol, VA (75.3 miles, 463.6 total, 36.4 mph max)


Today was really no sweat. We're finally out of Virginia! 
We're about ten miles from the Tennessee border, a half mile North of Bristol, VA at the Sugar Hollow Campground. Shower. Dinner at Prime Sirloin. Buffet extraordinaire.
One week is over. It doesn't seem like that long, perhaps because the hills were tame today. Then again, I drafted most of the day. 
I broke and repaired my second spoke, and we came across about a dozen dogs. Fortunately, they're still afraid of me. Unfortunately, my rear wheel is very untrue and so I have a bumpy ride. 
I feel much better after leaving the Groves. 
Everybody here loves race car driving. There are pictures everywhere and t-shirts galore. 

Reading this now, I can't believe what a lousy journal I kept. Seriously, I know that this trip was more than a matter of looking around while miserably pushing through the hills.

However, I am certain that crossing the state of VA represents some of the toughest bicycling I've done in my entire life. It literally brought me to my knees and I can remember on day 5 passing out at least once in the grass along the roadside. The promise of shelter and some home cooked food was enough motivation to get up and continue each time, and Chris was critical in getting me to my feet. When we got to the Groves' I was running a fever and after eating I passed out before the sun went down. I didn't stir until the next morning.

We took that day off in Max Meadows, VA. It would one of the few full days off we took on the entire trip.

More to come.

Transcontinentalitis, Days 2 - 4 (West of Chancelorsville, VA to Catawba, VA)

Day 2: West of Chancelorsville, VA to Waysnesboro, VA (103.5 miles, 40.8 mph max)

At breakfast at some general store, I asked the guy if he had a hose we could use. He replied, "Do you wish to hang yourself with it?" Southern humor, I guess. 

We're at the Colonial Michie Tavern. Chris and I had a beer. Some guy told us to "be careful of Mizoura." I think he meant Missouri, but we didn't say anything.

Good lord the hills. The two miles to Rockfish Gap took an hour. Steep! We had already gone 96 so it wasn't a picnic. 

We didn't realize that the route we're following took a side trip to Monticello, so we went all the way into Charolettesville for no reason. Tonight we get showers at a KOA campground -- Classy.

I hope we don't do so many miles tomorrow.

Lesson of the day: If you need to adjust your panniers, don't do it while you're riding. I have a swollen hand and four chewed up knuckles that recommend stopping.

Day 3: Waysnesboro, VA to Natural Bridge, VA (71.1 miles, 39.2 mph max)

Today let us know what we are in for. UpDownUpDown. We missed the campground and went 3 miles too far like this (drawing of a steep descent). So we had to go back like this (drawing of a steep ascent).

My knees hurt bad. We're at the Natural Bridge KOA campground. We only planned on 45 miles but ended up doing 71. We may take off tomorrow; we're 104 miles ahead of our planned course.

Lexington, VA is really neat.

I picked up a turtle and helped it across the road. After what happened on Monday I had to (note: I have no idea what this is referring to). I think I'm going to run out of money.

Quote of the day, from the cashier at a Willco gas station in Waynesboro, VA: "Either you done squashed some hard bugs, or you been throwin' your helmet around." Camping on this trip is fun; climbing hills while at wits end is not.

Day 4: Natural Bridge, VA to Catawba, VA (51.7 miles, 38.7 mph max) 

Wow. The hills suck. We stopped in Fincastle for lunch while there were thunderstorms. High winds and hard rain; branches blown off trees. 

Tonight we're in Catawba, VA at a place called "Home." All you can eat. The Appalachain Trail crosses here and we're hanging out with some hikers for the night. Good conversation and a good change from just the two of us. 

I'm on the porch of "Home" and feel like I'm in Vermont. The food just keeps coming at "Home." I think Chris and I ate more than a typical family of four. This place is incredible. They even let us camp out on their lawn

The hikers we met were called Gypsy Bones, Dances with Snakes, and Chico. Each hiker gets a nickname; it's traditional. 

Funny, I like the part when we're not riding the best. It's more fun. It is, however, worth the riding it takes to get there.

Met more hikers; more conversation. They've been out for weeks. I feel like an amateur. I'll get the hang of it.

"Home" is the best part yet.

Reading this now it sounds like I was having a miserable time. I wasn't. I was having the time of my life. Fortunately, that's how I remember it now. I recall beautiful countryside that slowly increased in gradient from rolling to low gear grinders. I don't remember knee pain or exhaustion, though I remember the scent of overexertion (kind of ammonia-esque). I remember the people who welcomed us when they saw us pedaling ridiculously loaded bikes.

Riding through Virgina would prove to be the toughest part of the trip for two reasons. First, we had just started the trip and so we were not used to the mileage on the heavy bikes. In addition, we found that the hills are steeper in the Appalachians than they are in the Rockies. Rather than long ascents, the hills are shorter, steeper and come more frequently. It was unexpected, but perhaps it shouldn't have been; by the time roads were being built in the Rockies engineers were designing them better and explosives were blasting them through. The long gradual hills of the Rockies awaited us as we pushed through the steep ups and downs of the Appalachians. Rt. 250 into Waynesboro was memorably challenging.

I can vividly remember the place I called "Home" in my journal. It's the Homeplace Restaurant in Catawba, VA, a popular stopping point for Appalachain Trail (AT) thru-hikers. They serve course after course of comfort food for one price, and Chris and I had cycled our metabolisms into high gear. I'm sure that the restaurant took a loss on us that night. It was on the lawn of the Homeplace where I met my first AT hikers and have since become fascinated with the vibrant trail culture, perhaps enhanced by cool trail nicknames. What I thought was funny was that they were impressed by our trip though it would take them longer to cross Virginia that it would take us to cross the entire country.

Our routine was becoming solidified. In the morning, after breaking camp and loading bikes, Chris and I would ride to a general or convenience store. Sometimes it was the first store, other times we'd put in a few miles first. We'd tear through at least one box of cereal and a quart of milk and wolf down any additional calories we were craving. Making sure we were stocked up on lunch food we'd then push through to midday. We'd stop literally anywhere for lunch (a town park, a cemetery, a curb, the shoulder of the road, ) and eat 3 or 4 peanut butter and granola sandwiches each. Then, we'd ride into the afternoon and stop wherever we decided would be a good place to camp. If we could find a cheap one-price all-you-can-eat establishment, that was dinner. Pizza Huts became reliable back up plans for their salad bars.

Camping was often done in a proper campground, but at other times it was just in a wooded roadside area, or in the yard or parking lot of somebody's home or business. The latter campsites were the most interesting. Off the top of my head right now I'm remembering camping next to a silver school bus in some storage lot in Tennessee, in somebody's garage in Arkansas that was used for a flea market, in a dusty and desolate sun-baked field on a Reservation in Arizona, and of course on the manicured lawn of the "Home" in Catawba. I'm sure I'll come across more as I continue into the journal.

Based on the max speeds in these segments, it's clear that we were in the mountains. Descending a mountain pass at 40 mph on a 85 pound bike is a rush. Turning and stopping become slow-motion actions that are best left undone. Now that I'm 15 years older I'm sure I'd be on the brakes the entire time.

Git r dun.

Transcontinentalitis, Day 1 (DC to Chancelorsville, VA)

In the fall of 1994 I was a Junior in college and came up with a grand plan. After dwelling on the plan for a few days, I attempted to self-advocate some freedom: I told my father that I intended to take the spring semester off so that I could ride my bicycle across the US. Rather than telling me I was nuts, he was supportive of the plan but persuaded me to do it the following summer instead. For the next six months, I spent every free moment planning and dreaming of the great ride I would be taking. This obsessive condition is known among those who have done similar trips as Transcontinentalitis.

After finishing the spring semester, on May 15, 1995 I climbed onto my road bike at the foot of the Washington Monument in Washington, DC. My friend Chris was the only one willing (crazy enough) to join me for the journey, and as we spun away from the National Mall I felt an anxious freedom that I would never forget. Chris and I would spend the next six weeks in a constant state of experience. As we took in the cultural, geographical, and physical experiences of extended travel by country road on a bicycle, we grew closer. So close, in fact, that we fought like brothers at least once. At the end we had gained far more than we had ever imagined.

This is the tale of my first journey across the US. I was happy to find the journal I took on the trip this morning buried among old photos in a plastic bin in the basement. Every few days I will transcribe a day or two of my entries from 1995 here and then reflect on the experience.

Day 1: Washington, DC to west of Chancelorsville, VA (84.5 miles, 35 mph max)

Whoa! We're on our way. I'm here at Chancelorsville, VA, about 50 yards in from Rt. 3. Today went well; we're getting started. We are still experimenting with our bikes and will hopefully find comfort soon. 

I can't believe Chris -- he's exhausted and had a rough ride today. I feel good but am worried about getting in trouble for camping here. Road kill is nasty up close. Today -- turtle, birds, squirrels, and something unrecognizable. I think dog; Chris thinks pig. 

I'm very sticky and would like a shower. 

13 of the 85 miles today consisted of a loop when I realized I dropped my sleeping bag. We had to ride 6.5 miles back on the trail before we found it. 

It's morning now and cold as hell.

Of course the first day will always remain a vivid memory. We rode the Mt. Vernon Trail from downtown DC through Alexandria, and then took Rt. 1 south through the suburbs. I remember it being miserable; lights, traffic, not much of a shoulder. Chris and I both had a rough day (contrary to my claim to have felt "good."), which is not surprising due to the fact that neither of us had previously ridden more than 50 miles in a day, We had to get outside the expansive suburbs so that we could find a roadside camping spot we'd feel comfortable with (after all, it's generally illegal to camp in the woods on the side of the road anywhere).

I was surprised that I weathered better than Chis on the first day; he was in better shape than I was and much more tolerant of discomfort or pain (I knew this because we were on the rowing team together and he could row circles around me).

Our bikes had front and rear panniers (aka, saddle bags) and handlebar bags, and they were all stuffed full. Tent poles were strapped to my bike frame and the tent and sleeping bags secured to our rear racks. The routine of securing all of our gear to our bikes was important, and losing my sleeping bag would have been a major mistake. Then, once my bike was loaded, it was very cumbersome and riding in traffic and braking or turning while descending proved to be difficult tasks. In addition to the difficult riding, we were on bikes ill-equipped for the weight. For the next six weeks dozens of spokes would break on each of our bikes.

Photos forthcoming.


Git r dun.

A moment of childlessness

All in about 27 hours.

I've come to the conclusion that, in contrast to the difficult and regimented lifestyle of a household with two toddlers, time away from the kids is blissful no matter what. As long as it's not more than a day and a half. And as long as we can call a few times to see how they're doing. To be entirely truthful, after about 30 minutes we start to miss the kids. No matter, we trudge on and can enjoy nearly any activity in any conditions, as long as we're confident we'll return safely.

We've got it covered

When we leave the kids to get out, we should probably relax. But we don't, and it seems that instead we try to pack in as much as possible. Thus, over a period of 36 hours this past weekend, Molly and I embarked on four short adventures in celebration of our 3rd wedding anniversary. It went like this: (1) Grumman the Cassleman River from Rockwood, Pa to Markleton, PA, (2) hike for a few hours on an out-and-back round trip on the Laurel Highlands Trail from Ohiopyle, PA, (3) bushwhack through the woods from Trap Run Road for half a day into the Upper Yough, and (4) hike all over the Bear Run Nature Preserve in an attempt to take a short 1/2 mile stroll to a vista that we'd seen marked on the worst trail map I've ever used. Between the second and third we bunked at our favorite Inn in the area, the place we stayed in June 2008 on the eve of our engagement.

Perhaps the best part of any adventure that includes an aluminum canoe is the opportunity to use the word Grumman as a verb. (We Grummanned the shit out the Casselman.)

Again? Really?

The triumphs of each segment were countered with travesties. The water level on the Casselman was perfect and the skies cleared up for us, but the sign at the put-in warned us of combined sewage overflow (an issue that seems to plague me wherever I go). We aced all the whitewater, some of which had us gripped, then we spilled and both swam after smacking a small boulder when our guard was down in the riffles. I watched my paddle float away after the spill but gave my best war whoop when we found it downstream, swirling in a big eddy at the take out. And that was just segment (1).

By the end of our adventure, we had added about 200 miles to the odometer, a dozen or more miles to our boots, and we'd Grummanned 7.5 miles of scenic river. We ate lunch in a downpour while standing under a canoe. I ate too much organic homemade food. We hitched a shuttle ride in an old, beat up van. Then, as the weekend drew to a close, I watched the mountains in my rear view and zoned out driving. Reflecting on the paddling, the hiking, and bushwhacking, we realized that it was the chance to actually talk to each other, uninterrupted by child care duties, that made the weekend what it was.

Custom! Matching! Cute!

Really, we spent the weekend talking. We talked about life and work, about the future and the past. We talked about old friends missed. We talked about Differential Equations (no kidding). We decided that there's no better way to get chest deep into a conversation than by getting chest deep into the weeds on a forgotten logging road meandering through the forest.

As we got closer to home, we talked about how much we missed the kids, and how we can't wait for them to be able to join us on adventures, and then we chatted about what our next adventure would be.

Git r dun.

The MooShoo Canoe Crew

Deep in the remote woods of Maryland's Green Ridge State Forest, a campfire conversation got out of hand last weekend. It went something like this.

   "Jeremy's turning 37. That's prime. And, I'm prime, too."

   "Really? Does that happen often? Will you ever both be prime at the same time again?"

Sunset on the Po

   "Well, there are an infinite number of twin primes, or prime numbers that are two apart. But we're eight years apart; I don't know how many primes are eight apart."

   "Let's see. The primes are 2, 3, 5, 7, 11, 13, 17, 19, 23, 29, 37. So, Beth is the 11th prime and Jeremy is the 13th."

   "OH MY GOD 11 and 13 are twin primes!"

Miles from civilization on a finger-shaped landmass created by a sharp bend in the Potomac River, our group, affectionately dubbed the MooShoo Canoe Crew (hereafter, the Crew), chatted over a crackling fire. The conversations weren't always as riveting as the one above, but this one took place early on Friday evening; we were just getting warmed up.

A Happy Moment

The Crew graciously agreed to spend both nights of their canoe camping trip at the midpoint of their river route, which added a layer of logistics but in the end was a good thing for everybody. Also because of this, Molly and I were able to camp for two nights with the Crew, and our first attempt of 2011 at camping with Indie (2.5 years old) and Otis (turned 1 last Wednesday) was a successful one. Looking back on it, we agree that the highs outnumbered the lows, and so it averaged out to a good trip.

I never could have imagined the amount of stuff that a couple of minimalists would pack to drive 3 hours from home to stay two nights in a tent. We were in charge of exactly one-half of one meal for the group of 12 adults, 2 kids, and 2 dogs, so we didn't have to pack a lot of food. Still, we somehow looked like the caterers and outfitters all in one vehicle. Two pak n play portable cribs, sleeping mats, a handful of blankets, a tent large enough to hold those pak n plays and Molly and me, a cooler, bikes, a kid trailer, a portable DVD player, a stroller, a baby chair, a weekend's worth of clothes and diaper changing gear,  snacks and dry food, camp chairs, and a 7 gallon jug of Wilkinsburg-Penn Joint's finest somehow fit inside, on top, and behind the car (on my redneck trailer-hitch cargo rack, uh-huh). The Griswald's would have been proud. I even was able to see out the back window, though most of the time I had the rear view mirror tilted to I could see the kids in the back seat.

One-handed campsite cooking

Camping with kids is hard and arguably not worth it. To pull it off, we had to have lots of options for activities. At any given time we needed to be able to choose from one of several viable, simple options. We went on a bike ride (1/2 hour of it spent crying) and swam in the Potomac at the boat ramp (no crying). We jogged on a nearby trail (separately, alone). We looked for turtles. We collected sticks. We collected rocks. We cooked and we ate.We followed an owl. We changed a ton of diapers. We spent every moment in a state of prevention. We prevented falls, drowning, sunburn, exposure, and choking. Then, we prevented kids from getting hit by a truck, eye pokes, and dehydration. We prevented milk from spoiling and tried to prevent the kids from being spoiled.

The MooShoo Men

At the end of the day, our friends arrived after spending six hours slowly floating down the Potomac. They complained that they were exhausted. We laughed with jealousy. Then, our exhausted friends volunteered to hang out with our kids while Molly and I swam at dusk. The sky mellowed to a pale pink, the still water reflected it and the forest around it, and Molly uttered more than one time, "This is Heaven."

The next morning, in a valiant attempt to keep our average in the positive zone, we ate, packed and hit the road.

Git r dun

* Note: For one thing, 31 was neglected in our list of primes. But also, I found out later that Beth is 29, not 31. Either way, the conversation doesn't change much (does it?)

via Ferrata

Gripping

I know the 1-inch diameter rung of stainless steel I grip is bolted 6 inches deep, and that combined with the safety cable the system in place could hold more than 20 times my body weight, but I'm still paralyzed with fear. In fact, I'm shaking from it, even though I've been here at least 3 times before, gripping the same rung bolted to the same rock, hooked into the same cable. Looking around, I can see that nothing has changed about this place since the last time I was here. So, why in the world am I so scared that I must consciously focus on slowing my breathing in order to just go on?

 (breeeeeeathe in). . . (breeeeeeath out) . . .

After taking some time to get my wits about me, I force myself to marvel at what's around me. I'm lashed to a rock fin 20 feet wide and hundreds of vertical feet into the West Virginia sky. It's breathtaking (indeed; it's taken mine). Just then, a small bird floats along, takes a little rest on a narrow rock ledge, toddles around a bit, and then swoops away. "Little bastard," I think, because that bird has wings and can just hop off this rock and soar away. No fear whatsoever; the little sonofabitch has no idea what I'm going through!

Molly and Me

It's because we don't have wings that the via Ferrata, a non-climbing way to experience rock climbing, (and the sport of rock climbing itself) exists in the first place, and has attracted me, Molly, and four of our friends on a whirlwind mountain tour.

The idea started in our living room after a group dinner we hosted (steak, if I remember correctly). Molly and I were talking about the "old times," which were oddly only a few years ago, before kids came along, and all the adventures we used to take. Boating, backpacking, camping, and skiing took us to beautiful places on a weekly basis. It was then that we came up with the idea: let's see what we can squeeze into 36 hours while the kiddos do a slumber party with their grandparents. We'd rise to the challenge and the kids won't even have the time to miss us!

Months later, we sat at the the Front Porch restaurant in Seneca Rocks, WV, relaxing with the satisfaction of pulling it off. All we had left was the drive home. Our climbing guide for the day, Beau (dacious), pointed out climbing routes on the famous crag, stealing some of our pizza while we gazed across the North Fork valley.

The Front Porch is this way

It wasn't all relaxation. Nelson Rock's via Ferrata scared two members of our party into temporarily calling it quits. In both cases, however, a Hulk Hogan-esque resurgence from near submission to a successful climb of the entire course followed their breakdowns. The 4-hour trip through the course dished out emotional anguish equally as exhausting as the physical demand. The sun beat down on us, quickly draining us as we scampered up the rock, one rung at a time. We emerged at the top dehydrated, famished, sunburned, and grinning.

Our reward for the climb: a West Virginia Bath in the creek at the base of Nelson Rocks. In roughly 36 hours we packed it all into a 350 mile round trip.

• Dinner: Riverside Hotel in Friendsville, MD
• Camping: Seneca Shadows in Seneca Rocks, WV (with gruel!)
• Climbing: Nelson Rocks' via Ferrata in Circleville, WV
• Swimming: North Fork of the South Branch of the Potomac in Seneca Rocks, WV
• Dinner: Front Porch Restaurant in Seneca Rocks, WV

Git r dun!

North Fork Mountain Trail (part II)

The Guide that inspired

I wasn't the only one to consider that the North Fork Mountain Trail in Grant and Pendleton Counties, WV would make for a truly epic mountain bike ride. For one thing, it's been touted as an "epic" trail by the International Mountain Biking Association. Perhaps because of the popularity of the list of IMBA epics, the NFMT has become famous among mountain bike clubs, many of which take annual trips to ride the NFMT, often driving across several states to get there. I'd been aware of the trail for nearly a decade, and finally got to ride it this past Monday.

I first stumbled upon a description for the NFMT in 2003 in the Monongahela National Forest Hiking Guide while sitting fireside at the Cheat Mountain Club. Four years later I found a good weekend to hike the trail and spent two days with a group of backpackers walking along the North Fork Mountain ridge as the fall colors blew us away. I wrote about that trip in an archive here. While hiking the NFMT that October, our group encountered several groups of mountain bikers, who were all traveling the trail South to North. That's when I decided that I'd have to try the trail on my mountain bike as an epic someday.

The 2007 group ponders yet another vista

The trail is generally considered a hiking path, but there are no regulations in place prohibiting bikes on the NFMT. That scenario was in jeopardy last year when the mountain area where it lies was included in a federal bill for designation as wilderness, presumably to prevent the possibility of the ridge becoming a wind farm. The trail instantly gained increase notoriety among mountain bikers because restrictions on wilderness areas also prohibit mountain bikes. Even though a few groups formed to lobby against the bill, I figured that I might not have much time left.

When I got the chance to ride the NFMT this past Monday, I joined a few old friends and a few new ones (climbing guides at nearby Nelson Rocks Outdoor Center who were on their day off) for a go at the fabled path. It was epic indeed.

Laurels in bloom

For most of its 23 mile length, the NFMT is a high-elevation ridge ride. The length may seem short but because of the difficulty of the terrain, it's a full day excursion. In addition, the trail's linear route requires a 90 minute shuttle. Once the trail climbs for a few miles out of Judy Gap, a repeating pattern emerges. Rocky ascents into the sky are followed by a ride along a narrow knoll with steep cliffs and hillsides providing distant views to both the east and west. Then, gnarly descents into the mountain's saddles start the cycle over. Twice in this cycle, the trail loses substantial elevation and that spells two big climbs, and the rocks really never let up.

Being at the top of a mountain, the rocks on the NFMT fractured relatively recently and so they haven't eroded much. Rather, they are naturally more jagged than the round rocks found below. Those

One of many off-camber sections

jagged rocks make for difficult and technical slow going sections. The effort is easily trumped by the senses, though. Blossoming mountain laurels create dense tunnels of white and purple, and ripe blueberries interrupt the ride by attracting the taste buds. The views come one after another. Then, just when the difficult riding has seeped in and manifested itself as dizzying fatigue, the trail drops out of the sky. The final 3+ miles are exclusively downhill, and aside from a short technical section at the top, those miles are tight, fast, and a total freaking blast down to the northern trailhead at Smokehole Road.

As with any long ride, the ups and downs of the ride on Monday were paralleled naturally by lowlights and highlights. The tight, twisty road leading up to the trailhead caused at least one member of the team to lose his breakfast before we even began. Mechanical issues were ongoing

Blueberries!

as one drivetrain failed to cooperate and a crankarm refused to stay in place. The slippery, jagged rocks sent more than half of us over handlebars at least once each and caused two flats. Walking up the steep and technical ascents was the norm, especially late in the day. Despite all of this, the collective grin of the group was very wide throughout the 7 hour long excursion (yes, it took that long, and I wouldn't expect much less from other groups). And, it was well worth the 7+ hours spent driving as well.

Mountain Bikers: Ride the North Fork.

Climbing into the sky

Git r dun.