A fond farewell

HAPPY TRAVELS, JIM.

On March 2nd my good friend Jim Bull passed peacefully to begin his next adventure.  He was ninety-five years old.

Jim was a real outdoorsman.  He loved to camp, boat, hunt, and above all else fish.  He could spin tales hours upon hours of the many adventures he had enjoyed, always humble, never boastful.  "Ya know that guy really knew how to hunt."  "Boy could that guy fish."  Although I suspect I most cases it was Jim who was the real expert in the party.  He and I enjoyed not enough fishing time and he patiently taught me to fly fish, he the better teacher than I the student.

Jim was what I hope to be in growing old: graceful.  I suspect that the more active a life one leads the more difficult it must be to accept the inevitable limits imposed by age.  But from Jim I heard nothing but an honest acceptance.  "You know John I really miss fly fishing but it's time to give it up." 

One day when we were fishing the shores of Green Lake Jim offered up this sage observation:  "Ya know, life is a lot like fishing.  The people on the shore are trying to cast their lures out to where the boats are and the people in the boats are trying to cast in to the shore and nobody really knows where the fish really are."

Jim died on my fifty-ninth birthday.  For the rest of my years that will make the day all the more meaningful for me.  In the meantime, before we have a chance to dip a line again together, dear Lord please make sure the lakes and streams of heaven are well stocked.

California Dreaming

Time to report the first milestone:  one state down.  Today we are in Phoenix, Arizona and California is now nothing but a sweet memory.

THAT'S SOME HILL.  Well the first two days treated us to a climb of 5,124 feet in 39 miles.  That's a climb that my poor legs were not prepared for and it didn't take long for me to find myself in my lowest gear huffing and puffing.  At the top of that hill is the pretty little town of Julian, a busy tourist town famous for, among other things, its pies.  Sorry no pictures.  I was so tired by the time I got there that I didn't have the energy to get my camera out.  Really.  On the way up we biked through lush mountain valleys.  The moment we began our decent we were in the desert.  The ride back down through the mountain switch-backs was one of the most spectacular that I have ever had.  Again, sorry no pictures, the road was too narrow and twisty to stop.

view on the ride up to Julian

          What's the last thing you want to see when making a climb?  A down hill, that's what.
          How's that?  Well, every foot down, is another foot to be re-climbed.  Give me
          straight up please. 

"Now on to the desert we did glide, flying low and flying wide."

THE LOW DESERT.    On the other side of Julian we were below sea level.  As far as the eye could see is brown, sand and scrub.  Brown that is except for the miracle of irrigation.  Then it's green, green, green to the horizon.  In Westmorland it was green to the horizon.  The day we rode through they were harvesting carrots, lots and lots of carrots, truckloads of carrots, iceberg lettuce and broccoli.  I'll have a new appreciation when I reach for a bunch in the grocery store after seeing the workers out in the field in the hot sun bent over harvesting for what was no doubt the day.  And yet they had the extra energy and spirit to wave and shout us a hello as we rode by.  I couldn't help but recognize how privileged I am. 

Beauty in its starkness

Sandy, Baby

 

 



Pickin' in the fields

What do you do in the desert for fun?  How about ride around in dune buggies (Imperial Sand Dunes Recreation Area), film movies (ever hear of a little flick called "Star Wars"?  Does the name Tatooine ring a bell?), and drop some bombs (U.S. Naval Reservation Aerial Gunnery Range).

Boom!

THE HIGH DESERT.  After climbing to about 2,000 feet the completion of the landscape changes dramatically.  Barren sand and scrub gives way to greener plants and cactus.  This is Ponderosa country and I expect to see Hoss and Little Joe appear around the corner at any moment.

Little Joe, where are you?

seems as if the folks out here have a sense of humor

so don't the folks in Hope, Arizona

What's the first week of riding been like?  Well, after the initial climb I'm thinking that perhaps a little conditioning before the ride might have been a good idea after all. I think I was a little too cavalier after my last ride.  My legs hurt, I mean hurt.  I have a little saddle soreness, but really not as much as I expected.  I'm dealing with a few minor issues, a bee sting and sunburn.  Dehydration is a major concern.  On one day's ride of 50 miles there was no place to replenish water.  I foolishly only filled two of my three bottles and ran dry in the almost 80 degree temperature.  Near the end of the ride the effects of dehydration were setting in, weakness and headache.  I haven't made that mistake again.  Still, it's amazing to see the body at work.  My hunger is full on.  All local horses have been warned to stay clear.  Already I can feel my mussels growing stronger (through the pain).  We have several 50 + mile days behind us and I suspect it won't be long before I am posting a milestone of my first century ride (100 miles that is).

With, perhaps, a tenth of the ride under my belt there is sure to be much more adventure to come.  Stay tuned.

Well, the road trip is over and it will soon be time to put shoe to pedal.

Just shy of 4,000 miles added to the odometer of the old Chevy Express.  We are in Vista, California visiting with our long-time and good, and good-time friends Jack and Chris Kilby and their daughter, Fiona.  How did we get here? Sit right back and you'll hear a tale, a tale . . . . .

We skipped out of town (the town of Hampden, Maine that is) on January 29th.  What better way to begin a trip than a two day visit with each of my brother Ed and sister-in law Linda and brother Paul and sister-in-law Gail, all in New Jersey?  By hitting the lotto for a couple mill, that's what!   But we didn't so I suppose the visits were the next best thing.  We made an early celebration of Ed's 70th birthday.  Ed is a little sensitive about this milestone, his 70th birthday, so I won't spend much time dwelling on the fact that he is 70, just the mention that we celebrated his 70th birthday.  Having exhausted their patience and having eaten most of their food it was then time to move on.

And move on we did-to Indianapolis, Indiana to pick up the camper we had purchased.  This little baby, a mere 14 feet in length but containing more amenities than our house will now be married to the van for the rest of the trip.



Here's our home-away-from-home at the Continental Divide

Then on to Bay, Missouri to visit our good friend Scott Ruffner. (Notice how many good friends we have?)  Okay, first of all, who names a town in Missouri "Bay"?  Not an ocean or other major body of water to be found.  They should have named it "Hay", maybe a misspelling?  Well, anyway, we visited Scott at the farm he owns there, previously owned by his grandparents.  Prior to our exhausting his patience and food Scott graciously toured us around Bay and neighboring Hermann where his mother lives.  This area was settled by Germans to whom we owe a debt of gratitude on two accounts: coming to our rescue during the Civil War and keeping us well plied with wine through the years.  But seriously,  look up Hermann, Missouri to learn a greatly under appreciated chapter/part of this country's history. 

Man, that's one big hole.  Ever hear of the Grand Canyon?   How does one manage to be an American, advanced in years, and not having visited the Grand Canyon?  Well, we seemed to have  up to this point.  Too bad, but glad to have corrected that now.  Can't describe it in words, can't depict it with photos so I won't try.  See it when you can.  Anyone want to hike rim-to-rim with me?  It's now on my bucket list.

The main reason that I wanted to visit Hoover Dam was so I could make "dam" jokes.  Imagine, they beat me to it.  But I got to tell you, it's one heck of an engineering feat and like the Grand Canyon well worth seeing.
 
But perhaps the crown jewel of our drive was a visit to the world's largest thermometer in Baker, California.  We tore out of town before either of us got a cold; wouldn't want to see the doctor coming with that baby!

So we're here in Vista visiting the Kilbys and having a great old time.  We caught up with the Thompsons (the Thompsons?  See earlier post.)  As kindly as they could, the Kilbys have told us that we have exhausted their patience and finished the last of their food so we're headed out tomorrow to begin our ride.

Oh, yeah, one other thing: I have now corrected a shortcoming of my prior blog.  I have completed the profile information on the sidebar.  You have to dig a little once you click on the bar but well worth it if you are desperate to know more about me.

THIS IS A BLOG-JACK!  You know, a hijack of a blog.  I was going to set up a new blog for my California to Florida trip, but I didn't.  Even thought up a really neat name: "Old Crank".  Get it?  These days it seems that my days contain more "gun-as" than "did-its",  oh well.

So here's the scoop:  Just ignore the Washington to Maine pronouncement on the face page, been there, done that.  If you wish, where it says "Bespoken" on your computer screen you can cross it out and write "Old Crank".  This time out it's a bike ride from San Diego, California (or there abouts) to Saint Augustine, Florida.  And the modis-operndi is a little different too.  On my last ride I left Washington with a fully loaded touring bike, by myself (although it turns out I was far from being by myself) intent on pedaling my way home.  This time I bring baggage of a different sort.  Wait a minute, Bev's coming with me this time, that last statement may not play so well, oops.  Here's how it works:  Bev will ride ahead each day to our appointed end point pulling the camping trailer that we bought in Indiana, I will huff and puff along after her.  I will carry no baggage on the bike other than the bare essentials and arrive each night to a bed rather than setting up a tent.  Hardly seems like any effort now that I think of it.

Bev and I will be accompanied on our journey by our now good friends Joe and Rhonda Thompson.  I met Joe and Rhonda on my last ride and they had already figured out the camping thing.  Never claimed to be that smart you know.  They will do the same with their car and camper.

This will be a very different ride in that regard.  In others I wonder.  If you managed your way through my last blog (just the last post would do I suppose) you understand how impacted I was by the human element.  I have been deeply affected by the presidential election.  Spoken bluntly, I have not been able to get my mind around how anyone could have voted for Donald Trump and I am afraid of what his presidency portends.   I look forward to meeting people across the country and understanding their views to see what I can glean.  I go with as open a mind as I am able and await the result.

We are in Flagstaff, Arizona today.  We will begin back toward Florida some time in the middle of February.

Cheers and Blessings 

The Last Post?

WHY SO LONG?

Ok, so I've been home now for two months and haven't gotten around to doing my final blog post.  Why?  Well, to tell you the truth (why not?), it's taken me this long to get my brain wrapped around the trip.

For as long as I can reasonably remember, since my teenage years at least, I had dreamt of bicycling across the United States.  As my blog lays testament, I have now accomplished (fulfilled?) that dream.  If, before I set out, the bicycle fairies had visited me to offer: "Sit down and draft out your perfect trip, we'll make it happen" I would not have had sufficent imagination to have created beforehand as fantastic a trip as the one I experienced.

THE PEOPLE.

The title of Lance Armstrong's book, "It's Not About The Bike", is certainly apt for my ride.  It's a good thing that it took me until I was 56 years old to get around to it.  I strongly suspect that in the exubrance of youth I may have missed something: the human element.  Maybe, because of necessity, 56 year olds are required to address life at a slower pace than 18 year olds, I was able to truly appreciate the many gifts of the myriad of people I met along the way.  Just review the pages of this blog for example after example of the wonderful people I encountered.  These accounts only scratch the surface.  It strikes me how happenstantial most of these encounters were.  Had I started a day earlier, a day later, had I ridden a little slower, a little faster, turned right rather than left or left rather than right, stopped somewhere different to eat, rest or camp I would have met, largely, an entirely different set of people.  It boggles my mind, given all the wonderful people I did meet, how many I did not!  What did I learn?  People are by nature good sorts.

LIFE ON THE ROAD.

Who has the time to take a summer off to ride across the country?  Well, mostly school teachers and students, the recently graduated and as yet employed, gypsies and the retired.  I count myself amoung the last.

Having managed these 56 years, I have since childhood, be it school, work or other, awoken each morning with plans and obligations, some made or created by me, some made or created for me.  Plans and obligations that required that I consider beyond the present, what needed to be accomplished by the end of the day, week, month, year.  A vacation, usually for a week at the most, may have given me a short repose, but upon return to the "real world" my old plans and obligations were there to greet me.  (Sound familiar to you?)  Now I'm not suggesting that life could or even should be lived differently.

I found that retirement brought a new set of plans and obligations.  Those created by me, my long delayed "to do" list, and those created with some help from family and friends ("You're retired now, will you. . . , can you . . . , you should . . .").

When I took off on that bike all those plans and obligations melted away.  My planning horizon was typically no more than a day with the option of changing whatever plans I had made on a moment's notice.  For three months I had the luxury of living in the present.  Kind of got used to it.  And what a joy. 

Now after three months, for me, it was time to get off the bike.  Life back in the "real world" took some getting used to.  All those plans and obligations were patiently awaiting my arrival.  At first, I must admit that it was a bit overwelming.  But these last two months (since I have been home) have given me to realize that I am blessed, as well, by the things that "tie me down".

I feel grateful beyond words that I had the opportunity to take this trip, and mindful of those who are not so fortunate as I.  My parting thought:  Next time you find yourself engrossed in the latest negative story that the news machine has managed to dig up, turn off the radio/television and take a moment to appreciate that you live amoung a world full of wonderful people, because you do.

Mission Accomplished?

. . . In the words of our venerable former president. And as George stood on the deck of that ship making his pronouncement, little did he understand that the mission had just begun.  And so, I suspect, it is with me.  The physical journey has come to its end. The understanding has barely begun.  The people I have met, the places I have seen, the experiences I have had will forever touch my life.

(This post will have noticeably fewer photos. Why? Bev took my camera in Burlington. The Thompsons gave me a copy of their photos but I can't open them. So, this post will have noticeably fewer photos. Sorry.)

THE ROAD TO BURLINGTON

The trip from Ticonderoga up to Burlington took me first along the west shore of Lake Champlain in New York and then across the bridge in Crown Point and up the east shore in Vermont. A treat of smooth, quiet back roads with picturesque views of farms and the lake. It nice to see so many small farms apparently thriving. Contrast this with the get big or get out nature of farming seen in the mid-west. Nice to know that there is still a place for both.

The new bridge across Lake Champlain from New York to Vermont.


I stopped at a small store on the way for "second breakfast". Why is there always country music playing in these stores? Must be some kind of federal law. Here I met Maurice, out for a ride on his lightweight carbon road bike. We made fast friends and resolved to do a two person pace line for the balance of 21 miles into Burlington, he on his 16 pound bike and me on my 70 pounder.Must have looked an odd sight but with the thought of seeing Bev I was hot on his back wheel and he on mine on the downhills.

  Maurice paces me into Burlington. Does it look like I wore him out?

Bev and I had a wonderful visit, like a couple of newlyweds. It was hard to say goodbye but made easier with the knowledge that I'd soon be home.

Joe and Rhonda Thompson caught up with us the second night, had a chance to meet Bev and poke around town with us. (What is it with these people that keep following me around?  I reluctantly agreed to let them carry my bags for the rest of the trip and to let Rhonda resume cooking for me and supplying me cold beers at the end of the day's ride. I didn't know what else to do.)

Bob gets a spruce-up in the hotel in Burlington in preparation of the final leg of the ride.

OVER THE MOUNTAIN AND THROUGH THE WOODS.

The road from Burlington brought me over the Kancamagus Highway through the White Mountains in New Hampshire and into the woods of western Maine. Often have a driven the Kancamagus; it was a thrill to bike it. The climb to the peak at 2890 was very manageable, the views spectacular, the the last big coast of the trip into Conway, fun.

Here I am at the peak of the Kancamagus with some friends. (What, the sign says Katahdin?  How'd that happen? What do you mean I'm not in this picture? Ok, Ok, remember I didn't have my camera?  This was the best I could do on short notice. Sorry.)

The woods of Maine proved more challenging than I had expected with constant rollers ("hills" for you non-bike types) with a day's ride adding up to some significant climbs. It was nice to arrive on the coast and the territory I could call home.

NOT DONE YET.

On August 15th Joe and I rolled down Perry Road and into the driveway. Paul had stretched a ribbon across the road labeled "Finish". (Odd, because I'm largely English and Irish.) I luxuriated in the company of my friends, family and familiar surroundings. Bev and I celebrated our 33rd anniversary on the 16th. Rhonda, Joe, Bev and I headed for New Harbor for some lobster. Brother Ed arrived from New Jersey with brother Paul in tow, a wonderful surprise. Friend's visited. I spent time with my mom, siblings from New Jersey and siblings from Maine. Karen and Alan arrived on their continued cross country trip to visit and later we had a delightful meal at mutual friends (and discovered we had more mutual friends). And yet, and yet, there was still some unfinished business. . . .


SEEMS AS IF YOU CAN GET THERE FROM HERE.

Most cross country bikers end their ride in Bar Harbor. Bar Harbor? That's practically on the west coast! No, the end of my ride lay two days and 115 miles east from home in Lubec, Maine. On August 21st, Joe, Paul, and Ed accompanied me on this last epic portion of the journey (we allowed Rhonda to "sag" us as a special favor to her). A cadre of friends and family awaited at ocean-side to help us celebrate. What a fitting way to bring my trip to an end.

(There was a camera in attendance for the last day.  Thanks to Bill Lagerstrom for most of these shots as well as the front wheel picture in the main part of the blog.)

Pace line down Route One

Says "Easternmost".

Is this guy excited or upset?  Looks like some seaweed on that wheel.

Cheers!

Thanks, Bev.

What can I say?  It speaks for itself.

RE-ENTRY.

So it's back to the demands, comforts, and pleasures of everyday life.

To all who have graced this journey, you will forever be a part of the fabric of my life. For those of you whom I have contact information: I look forward to reaching out to each of you individually.  Please be patient with me.

I'm not ready to make any observations, pronouncements about the trip.  Give me time and look for a post at a later time.

Peace

New York New York

Today I'm in Burlington, Vermont anxiously awaiting Bev's arrival.

The Odometer says 3860

It's always nice to be in the States after traveling abroad.

Hey, what's that guy to the right doing, timing me?  If I knew this was a race I wouldn't have stopped for that second cup of coffee.

 

 

What, they named the whole state after one tall building?

 

YOUNGSTOWN.

Despite my best put on pitiful appearance, I couldn't wrangle an invitation to stay with the folks I met in Lewiston after crossing the Lewiston Queenstown bridge.  Instead, I got directions to the campground in Youngstown.  Good thing!

Before I could get off my bike I was adopted by Karen and Jean-Michel Patten.  Here's what happens when you get adopted by someone from Ontario:  You get fed supper, supplied with wine and fine cigars and great conversation peppered with laughter to the wee hours of the morning, fed breakfast, and driven into Buffalo to pick up your brother who is coming in by train to ride with you.  I'm looking forward to my adoptive family joining me in Maine next year.

In Youngstown I met Greg who is biking, no, wait, cycling from Portland, Oregon to Portland, Maine.

In Youngstown I met Peter and Deborah Mulcahy from Anchorage, Alaska (Is there another Anchorage?) who are riding Washington to Maine and whom I already knew by "road lore".

In Youngstown The Gang of Ten caught up with me and we had a chance to spend some time and laughs. 

In Youngstown I got a day off and a chance to call home and have a long leisurely phone conversation with Bev.

Youngstown, good thing.

BROTHER ED.

Did I mention that my brother Ed joined me for the ride across New York?  Well, he did.

Through rain, through hills, through cold, through lonely times, through boredom, the thought of joining my brother kept me peddling on.  And, despite the fact that I explained to him that for the first month I had a sore bum, and all through New York I had a pain in the, well, let's say "donkey", the experience was one of the highlights of my life.  It was wonderful to have an opportunity to share this experience with my big brother.  Despite not being a cyclist, Ed pedaled a loaded touring bike over 400 miles which included conquering the Adirondacks as well as enduring a thunder storm or two and at least one day of riding all day in a downpour.  I respect people who are not afraid to say "Yes" to life.  Once again my big brother gave me a reason to look up to him.

The balance of this post describes our experience.

 

 

Ed burning up the road.  Looks like a biker to me!

 

Hey Ed, time for a new pair of shoes, do you think?

THE ERIE CANAL.

The former tow path along the Erie Canal has been converted to a bike trail.  We rode 90 miles of it.  Despite being largely unpaved, the trail is flat and smooth and allows some easy biking away from the noise and distraction of traffic.  Miles of single gear, side by side conversations.  The trail goes through big cities like Rochester and a handful of smaller, delightful towns. 

In Holly, our first night's ride, we camped at a spot beside the canal.  Free camping.  Free use of the bathrooms.  Free use of the showers.  Greg camped with us, we lost track of him after that.

The Trail was a great way to get started. It was a unique experience, but after 90 miles we were ready to head back to the road.

 

Camped along the Erie.

I still don't get what's so spooky about it.

 

 

Boat on the Canal.

We waived, they waved.

RIDING IN THE RAIN.

We're riding in the rain. . . What a glorious feeling, we're soaked to the skin...So, Ed got a little taste of wet weather cycling.  Night one we got treated to a thunderstorm and a down-pour.  Day two we got treated to an all day steady rain.  Breakfast was cooked under the shelter of a gazebo. Tents and gear were packed up wet.  The coffee and "second breakfast" (we would have made a Hobbit proud) at the Café in Brockport tasted all the better for the adversity.  Errol, a fellow diner, sharing the shelter from the storm, offered to drive us, and our gear to our next destination.  "No", said we, we must soldier on.  And soldier on we did to Fairpoint and a hotel room to dry our stuff and ourselves.

Unfortunately, this was not the end of the rain.  We certainly had our share of "tears from heaven" in New York (as well as some thunder, lightning and hail).

LAKE ONTARIO.

(Hey, wasn't that the name of that place in Canada?)  Our trip north from the Canal brought us to the southern shore of Lake Ontario.  Our first stop for ice cream (for the day, that is) on the Lake was at a shop selling Gifford's ice cream.  For those of you not in the know, Gifford's is made in Maine.

Sodus Point was a great place to camp, right on the shore of the Lake, with a site for $10.00.  We had a great supper in town at Captain Jacks, out on the pier. 

We eventually made our way to Port Ontario to camp on the east side of the Lake before we headed inland.  Time to go for a swim and complete my dip in each of the Great Lakes.  "What, the beach is closed?  I can't go in?  What if someone breaks the rules?"  Well, someone did.  All I'm sayin'.  (Oh, by the way Jack, thanks for giving this one away in your comment to my last post.  Last time I tell you a secret.)

 

Sodus Point

 



Lunch at Captain Jacks

 

 

There'd be a better view of the lake if these two clowns weren't in the way!

 

THE ADIRONDACKS.

I had forgotten what that little gear in the front was for.  Heck, I had forgotten that it was there, I hadn't used it in over a month.  Yes, there were some climbs in the Adirondacks.  Not as big as the climbs in the Cascades or the Rockies, but climbs never-the-less.  Memorable is the mile and one half climb out of Blue Mountain Lake of over 400 feet.  This area is peppered with tourist towns and washed up towns, not much else.  Cell phone reception was the poorest of the trip and camping and resupplying was difficult.  Our last day, into Ticonderoga, treated us to one last long hill.  Here we arrived early, ate breakfast, made a trip to the library, hung around on the porch of the café (Yes Alan, they have cinnamon buns in Ticonderoga) and enjoyed the falls in town.  Early afternoon Linda, Ed's wife, arrived to take him home.  Before they left we had lunch in the park and, of course, an ice cream.  (As we sat at the ice cream shop, Bill and Barb biked by.-How's that for alliteration?)

   

Linda (or is that Bat Woman?) comes to take my riding partner.

Those are the Ticonderoga falls in the background

Hello Blog Readers,

This is John's brother Ed.  After an 11 day trip with John I wanted to express my gratitude for one of the best adventures I have ever had.  When John asked me to join him on his trip I jumped at the chance in spite of the fact that I was out of shape, had no equipment and no idea what a 400 mile bicycle ride involved.  No problem.  John coached me on training for the ride and delivered his spare touring bike to my house in New Jersey so I could train on it.  He also brought all the camping equipment I would need.   He took me shopping for the proper biking attire and other supplies.  Once on the road he taught me all the ins and outs of tour biking.  It was a wonderful trip, full of new experiences, Interesting people and places, great conversations with strangers and each other, laughs and companionship.
So thank you John for one of the greatest times of my life!  I can't wait for the next one.
Ed
P.S. It doesn't get any better than this!