Life on the Road

Another rider

2012-02-10T08:56:00.000-08:00

Janessa is on a bicycle tour promoting national security with a sweet blue Surley!

http://makeusstrong.com/cycleforsecurity/blog

OBX Rambling

2011-05-05T14:06:00.000-07:00

Sunset at Nags Head

I haven't been keeping up with this as much as I had hoped to. None of my travels this year have been as inspiring as our bike trip that ended in April.

Many times I have been on the verge of posting a write-up on some little piddly 150 mile bike trek, excursion or family trip, and then erased my post because I thought, "no one cares! this isn't good enough to post". Well, a year has gone by, and I haven't had anything to post I thought was up to snuff. (No such excuse for Adam - he's been all over the world since then, he's just been slack about posting here)

So I decided to say, "forget it! If you don't like what I post, then don't check the site". Easy enough. I'm sure I'll put something interesting up here eventually.

Over a year ago, Adam and I took a short, two-day, 150 mile trek around Dare County as a shakedown ride for our cross-country trip. Last weekend, I had the opportunity to head out that way again, and while I was not able to do any overnight touring, I was able to spend a large portion of my time ranging all over the Dare County Outer and Inner Banks.

I used to live in Dare County, in a small house situated right on the water in Manns Harbor, just across the Croatan Sound from Manteo and Roanoke Island. Here's a picture of my old house I took from a piper cub when I rode along with my roommate for a flying lesson :

I used to line in the small one

His instructor was our next door neighbor - his house is the one with the pool. Here is a view from my house. Choosing the appropriate image here was a challenge, so many to choose from.

Sunrise Over Croatan Sound

I include this to give you an idea of how much I miss living there. I was part of a research project funded for 2 years, and when the project was over, my job disappeared. I moved back to Raleigh, knowing that I had about zero chance of ever living somewhere as cool again. I peaked at 25 years old. OK, here's another picture taken from my old house:

view from my old house - Umstead Memorial Bridge on horizon

I could spend several posts just going over what I love and miss about Dare County. I'll spare you. Last weekend, I got to do two of my favorite things; relive those days as an OBX resident, and spend massive amounts of time on my bike.

This weekend was nominally a weekend with my father; one of his old friends hosts a party for her rather large social circle at The Tar Heel Motel in Nags Head. I did my familial duty and spent quality time with my father, but I was able to get in around 150 miles in three days, all over Dare County.

I owe much of my riding this week to my support crew. Here he is:

Not his best picture ever, but it's hard to get him to sit still for the camera.

Each day I would head out, Dad would track me down several hours later, and we'd spend some time exploring the area by car and he'd drive me back. The fact that he was willing to do this more than doubled the amount of road I could cover. Not only did it save me the back part of an out-and-back trip (not many loops on the OBX), but I could plan to get the wind at my back for most of my miles.

We headed out Friday morning, and took a detour through Greenville. Dad is a BBQ aficionado, and has long told of B's BBQ in Greenville, the BEST BBQ EVER (emphasis Dad's). The one time I'd been there before, they were closed. The building is a small shack. No internet site posting their hours - there is not even a phone line to the place! They are open from 10-ish, to whenever they run out of BBQ.

I won't go into too much detail here - but the BBQ was excellent. Savory and tender, with a little sweetness to the sauce. There's a great writeup here, from my favorite BBQ blog:

http://bbqjew.com/2011/04/18/bbq-jews-view-bs-barbecue/

Continuing on towards the northern Outer Banks, we stopped on Columbia, NC at their lavish rest stop. If you've been through Columbia, or are familiar at all with Tyrell County, this rest area, and much of the town's infrastructure, is a bit surprising.Tyrell County is one of the poorest counties in our state. Columbia has a huge unemployment problem, and when I drive through during business hours, there's always a distressing number of able-bodied adults hanging out on street corners and on porches. There's also lots of teenagers hanging out, and they distress me no matter how many of them there are or what time it is. Shouldn't they be inside playing video games?

In spite of the poor shape of the area's economy, Columbia has some really nice infrastructure. The bridge into town, the rest area, and the greenways and boardwalks are very attractive and are in excellent condition.

How does all the expensive infrastructure end up in Columbia? There are two reasons from what I can reason out. There are plenty of rich folk that have purchased water-side homes in the area, and have parked their yachts in the water. Their taxes undoubtedly help the area out.

Tyrell County is also one of the biggest speed traps in the state. My father has been busted so many times in Tyrell County that he drives 5 mph below the speed limit every time he comes through. The last time he got pulled, there was a sheriff's deputy standing on the side of the road waving people over. He gave out 5 tickets at once and Dad still swears, 10 years later, that he wasn't speeding.

I got dropped off at the elegant rest stop, and headed east on 64. I stopped not far down the road, and was immediately the victim of a gang assault. Gang of deer-flies, that is. I dumped my bag on the side of the road, dug through my gear, and lathered myself in Deep Woods Off. I'm not a huge fan of putting such powerful chemicals on my skin, but neither am I a fan of getting carried off by malevolent creatures. I felt like Dorothy with the flying monkeys.

NC Hwy 64 was pushed through into Dare County sometime in the 50's, according to my old landlord, Harry Mann. Manns Harbor (located just across the Croatan Sound from Manteo) used to be accessible only by boat, and when it did get a highway connection, it was to Roanoke Island and Manteo to the east, not to Tyrell County in the west. When 64 finally did cut through to Dare County, it was a much different road than it is now. The old road had narrow shoulders, and often no canal along the side. Here's Hwy 64 between Columbia and Manns Harbor as it is now:

Notice the large canals. The canals were dug to provide fill to raise the level of the road slightly above the swampy forest-marsh that passes for dry land in this area. Old Hwy 64 often didn't have this advantage of added elevation, there were places where no canal was dug, and the road was just paved onto the forest floor. When the road was updated, much of the old road was paved over. In a few spots however, the new road took a different path, and the old road was left abandoned. For the most part, these spots can't be accessed by car, but anyone with a bike and a healthy disrespect for gates and fences can still travel portions of the old road. Here's a piece of it I was able to ride:

Tyrell County ends at the bridge over the Alligator River and the Inter-coastal Waterway. This 3 mile long bridge features a swing portion in the middle instead of a traditional draw bridge. The bridge is rated as being in poor condition, but if you have the guts to cross the Bonner Bridge over the Oregon Inlet (Day 2), this bridge shouldn't bother you too much.

After crossing the Alligator river, 64 takes you through the Alligator River National Wildlife Refuge. This refuge, which contains somewhere around 154,000 acres, takes up a substantial portion of Dare County's dry land. It is managed for all kinds of wildlife, but concentrates on migratory birds and red wolves.

No one seems to have too much problem with the birds, but local farmers and hunters dislike the newly-reintroduced wolf pack. They claim the wolves kill livestock and reduce the population of deer that the locals like to go out and shoot. There is really no evidence of either, but some people will stretch for any excuse to shoot an endangered animal.

In truth, the wolves almost exclusivley hunt smaller prey than deer, and most livestock kills attributed to wolves are in fact caused by wild dogs, disease, or accident. The Fish and Wildlife Service compensates farmers whenever a wolf kills a farm animal, so there is incentive for farmers to cry wolf.

I once got a sneak peak at a few members of the pack from a biologist friend who works at ARNWR. I snapped this picture at an undisclosed location on the Dare County Peninsula:

Red Wolf at ARNWR

Controversy surrounds the Red Wolf program at ARNWR. Some even claim that there is no such species as a red wolf, they are merely a cross breed between the gray wolf and a coyote. Mention this theory to the biologists who work on the Red Wolf Program at ARNWR, and you're likely to get a pretty chilly reception. If the naysayers are correct, I've never seen a wolf face-to-face, so nuts to those people.

On the eastern side of the Dare County Peninsula, Hwy 64 crosses the Virgina Dare Bridge to Roanoke Island:

Virginia Dare Bridge

The Virginia Dare bridge is the longest bridge in the state, and has a couple of great features - bike lanes and a protected pull-out at the top of the span designed specifically for bikes! I always love to stop here and take a break.

Break Time on Virgina Dare Bridge - 2.5 miles to shore in each direction!

Fully Protected From Traffic

After a little break, it was a short cruise down the bridge to cross Roanoke Island. Roanoke Island and Manteo (and Wanchese) are incredible places with rich history and great scenery. Unfortunately, I felt I should bypass all of that and get to the hotel. I didn't want to seem to anti-social.

One more bridge to cross - the Washington Baum bridge between Roanoke Island and Nags Head. No pictures from this bridge - the span is steeper, the wind is stronger, the traffic is heavier, and there is no pull out or bike lane. I kept my attention on the road and cars. Evidently, 5PM on a Friday is a popular time for people to arrive at the beach!

My arrival at the Tar Heel Motel was perfectly timed. Drinks were chilled and ready to pour, and the group was just getting ready to head to Owen's Restaurant for dinner. I did my stretching, cleaned up and walked to Owens for a dinner of Blue Crab Remick. I've been craving some fresh blue crab for a while, but I'm usually way too lazy to clean them myself. Already-cleaned crab is usually prohibitively expensive, but I was willing to let Dad splurge on this occasion.

After that is was a couple of drinks before an early retreat to the bed. My plans for the next day required me to wake before dawn to get as far down the road as possible.

Here's my route for the day. Just under 40 miles, about ten of it over water on large bridges!

It was a great start to a great weekend. I can't think of any other place in North Carolina I would rather ride my bike. I'll cover days 2 and 3 in upcoming posts.

Illinios Trip

2011-05-03T15:33:00.000-07:00

Sorry for this late post, I just came across these pictures as I was cleaning out some files.

Here's some pictures from our trip this last Christmas to visit the family farm in Funk's Grove, Illinios. This is Mom's side of the family - the Funks have been living in and around this house (named the Outlook) for about 100 years. Before that, there was the Prairie Home (not shown), which is now a museum maintained by an endowment from one of the Funks. The Outlook is maintained by a family farm trust, and any family member needs but call ahead to reserve a room in this beautiful house.

Back of the house

Outbuildings

Outbuildings in snow

Funk Family Farm Grade Prime + roast beef

Family Farm sign in Funk's Grove

View as we flew out.

Showers At Steve's House

2011-05-03T15:28:00.000-07:00

No hot water here.

If you plan to visit the Althaus' in Johnson City, TN, consider the following:

Life Back Home

2010-07-16T08:46:00.000-07:00

It has been nearly six months since Adam and I left on our trip, and so much has changed since then. It feels like a lifetime has passed.

When we left, I was looking forward to becoming a father several months after our return home. Now I still plan on becoming a father, but it must wait some time; we lost the baby just a week after I got back to North Carolina.

We didn't make it all the way across the country like we had planned, but the trip had a very complete feel about it nonetheless. Austin was a great place to stop, and a wonderful city to spend a week in. We made new friends, visited with Adam's family spent time visiting the places that form such a large part of his childhood memories. It was wonderful for me to see such things; it gives me more insight into the character of my best friend.

Coming home was a challenge. Losing the baby was hard for me, and much harder on Karen. On top of that, getting used to having a schedule, waking up in the same place each morning took some getting used to. Within a few weeks, I forgot the phase of the moon, the position of the stars at sunset and dawn, and I would be surprised by changes in the weather, all things I knew without even thinking about when we spent most nights outside without a cover.

I ride my bike as transportation much more often than before I left. Cary is not considered a great place for bike commuting, especially if you're headed to Raleigh or Durham. However, after averaging 60 miles a day across the desert, a 12 mile trip to North Raleigh seems like a silly thing to balk at. It's still to be seen whether this healthy new habit is permanent or not.

More than anything else, I look for opportunities to get back out on the road on my bike. A few weeks after returning from Austin, I was back out with my sister, for a trip from Raleigh to Williamsburg. Just last week, Adam and I got back together for a short trip through the mountains of North Carolina and Tennessee.

Adam and I both discovered that we enjoy writing about our journeys nearly as much as we enjoy the trips themselves. The writing crystallizes the experience in our memories, and provides a valuable record for us to look back on later. Therefore, we have decided to continue this blog to document our continuing travels, whether they be on cycle, train, car, plane or boat.

Adam and I are both still unemployed. I'm looking for a job, and Adam is returning to school, to get a Master's Degree from the University of Texas in Lubbock. We are planning to develop a small business that will allow us to travel for a living, and hopefully this will start to take off over the next couple of years. So here's to an unending source of new blog material.

Back in the Saddle in Austin

2010-06-24T12:55:00.000-07:00

I expected to have a horrible time in Austin. I was in a foul mood when we arrived, and expected to spend lots of time sitting around waiting to go home, stewing the whole time. I couldn't have been more wrong. We had an incredible week, with hardly a minute of down time.

We had two sets of wonderful hosts who put us up and put up with us while we were in Austin. Phyllis is an old friend of Adam's mother, and we stored our bikes and gear at her house. Phyllis and her husband, Arlie, cooked us several delicious meals and we spent a good deal of time at their place. She told us when we arrived that she had bought a lot of extra food in anticipation of our arrival, so Adam and I did the thoughtful thing and ate as much of their food as possible so that none would go bad.

One of Adam's friends from the Army lives in Austin, and he was generous enough to loan us his car and his wife for most our stay. Joe had an extra car to get him to work and back, and his wife Marlena had the free time to show us around the areas she knew, and play tourist with us, as both she and Joe are recent arrivals in Austin. We also spent our nights at Joe's house, as they are closer in age to us, and less likely to be upset with our late night departures and arrivals.

Over the course of the week, Adam and I began to get used to automobile life again, although we still managed to get out on our bikes quite a bit. We figured out a much better route between Phyllis's house and downtown Austin, and we rode there and back several days. We even took a day trip out to Pedernales Falls State Park for one more day of country riding. But the distances between Joe's house, Phyllis's house and downtown were just too great, and we slowly developed a dependency on the car again. We got stuck in traffic jams for the first time in two months, and the delay was more unpleasant than usual, as we had almost forgotten what it was like.

During his time living in Japan, Adam developed a taste for two-stepping at honkey tonks. We decided we needed to visit a honkey-tonk while in Texas, and several locals had told us that the Broken Spoke, south of downtown, was the only authentic honkey-tonk around. Marlena was free to join us for the evening, so we got her a cowboy hat, jumped in the car, and headed out.

The broken spoke has been in Austin for nearly half a century. Willie Nelson played there before he had a beard. Vintage cars and buses dotted the lot, permanent decorations that match the aesthetic of the place perfectly. As we walked up to the door, it called to mind nothing more than "Porky's Place". After paying our cover and making our way past the small dining room at the front, we passed the bouncer and entered "the last real music hall in Texas". A long, low room with wooden plank floorboards was flanked down either side by sitting areas filled with wooden picnic tables. At the far end was a low stage, upon which a band was playing. The lead singer of this band had hair like a comic book character. Black and waxed, it looked almost like a helmet, coiffed to an immense height.

The entire center of the hall was crammed with couples two-stepping to the music. Most of the men were in the cowboy uniform - boots, hat, jeans, button-down shirt and a belt buckle large enough to serve as weapon. The ladies' outfits were more varied, but many wore the traditional boots, long, loose skirt with a sleeveless blouse and cowgirl hat.

We watched for the rest of the dance, and immediately we were schooled in the etiquette of country dance halls. Marlena, a not unattractive young lady, was sniped immediately from our side. In Texas honkey-tonks, everyone still follows old fashioned customs, men asking women to dance when a song starts up, paying no heed to age differences or lack of familiarity with potential partners. Marlena did not sit another dance out for the remainder of the evening, except the few times she had to leave the floor to rest.

After watching this, Adam and I took another couple of songs to try to figure out the dance steps, and we plunged right in. The first young lady I asked to dance had on Converse Chucks, just like I did, and I figured she might not be too offended by my two-stepping skills. She wasn't - she turned out to be from NC herself, a UNCW grad, and we had a great time mangling the steps, careening around the floor and laughing ourselves silly.

We then proceeded to dance the night away, with a different partner for me each time. I even got asked to dance by a cute Mexican girl! A couple of the girls I danced with were kind of disappointed by my dance skills, but I got better as the night went on (hindered by Corona Especial) and by the end of the evening I could handle the two-step and their corrupted version of a waltz.

Adam scored a dance with a particularly popular young lady, and she danced with him to the exclusion of everyone else for the rest of the evening. I caught a couple of resentful glances shot his way as he and his new friend, Jodi, would stand together at the end of a song waiting to start the next dance, without giving any hint that they would allow anyone else to intrude. Resentful they might have been, but they were all careful not to let Adam see their feelings. No matter how much beer was being consumed that night, it was not enough to convince anyone to confront Adam.

We danced until the lights came on and the band packed up. I hadn't closed down a bar in a long, long time. Marlena doesn't drink and was generous enough to drive her half-drunk, half-dazed charges back home. We had only driven ten minutes or so before I realized that my credit card was at the bar, with my tab. We got back just in time to retrieve it before the staff left, and good thing too, as they were going to be closed for the next few days, and I would have been eating on Adam's generosity.

We carried that good feeling with us for the rest of our time in Austin. Like I said previously, we had hardly a down minute. Adam's new friend, Jodi, is a silversmith jewelry maker, and we spent some time with her, looking at her shop, visiting her neighborhood and finding good places to eat. We ran with the Hash Club downtown, visited the University of Texas at Austin Natural History Museum, and the UT observatory, where we got to show off the knowledge we got at McDonald Observatory. One of Adam's Army friends, now a PhD candidate at UT got us into the rare and old book repository, where we got to view 500 year old manuscripts written by John Smith, among others. We spent a day sailing on Lake Travis west of Austin with Adam's unlce. Actually, only part of the day was spent sailing; most of the day was spent leaning over the side of the boat, paddling across the glassy water.

We stayed well fed, and drank too much. The time flew by, and before we knew it, we were loading up the UHaul for the trip home. Our last morning in Austin, I was to meet Adam at Phyllis' house to pack our final bags and head out. I arrived a bit before him, having been separated the night before. I got all my gear loaded, and hopped on the bike one last time.

I cruised up and down the streets of Phyllis' neighborhood, letting the memories of the past two months wash over me. It had been so wonderful, and I don't know if I will ever get the chance to do something so grand ever again. The bright green sprouts of spring filled the yards of the houses I passed, and flowers were blooming everywhere. It was warm with a slight breeze blowing the flower's fragrant scent across the road as I pedaled.

It was finally over. No more miles to make, to more camp to set up or break down, truly the end of the road. We had miles and miles yet to cover, but interstate miles are all the same, and nothing to look forward to. I couldn't quite wrap my head around it. It was a strange feeling, but not totally bitter. I was looking forward to seeing my pregnant wife, who had begun to show in my absence. Now that my thought were bent towards home, I began to miss other things as well, things I had not thought about in weeks. My family, my bed, my dog. I looked forward to seeing my friends at Tai Chi class and riding my bike (it's different at home -I missed my usual rides!). It had been two whole months since I had been on my mountain bike!

Thus our departure was bittersweet. I never wanted the trip to end, but everything has to end, and Austin was about as good an ending as I could have hoped for. We said our last goodbyes, crammed ourselves into the cramped, uncomfortable cab of the truck, pointed the wheels east, and drove.

Crashing in Austin

2010-05-26T13:59:00.000-07:00

Silence and weak gray light filled Doc's house in the morning, when I woke. This fit my mood well. Over the past week, I had been growing more and more uncomfortable with Austin as our final destination. For Adam it was a perfect ending spot - he has family, friends and fond memories there. I wanted to keep going. I had no particular love for Austin, and I didn't look forward to sitting around for a week, living with strangers, until it was time to pick up the U-haul that Adam had committed himself to and drive back to Raleigh.

It had all come to a head the previous evening. Just before we reached Doc's house, I told Adam that I wanted to keep going after we hit Austin. He would have to stay for his family's U-haul, but I wanted to press as far as I could, and might Adam pick me up with the truck 8 days later on his way home, if he was willing?

I feared that this would upset Adam; it was, after all, his trip to begin with and I attached myself. I felt bad about abandoning him in Austin, and I didn't know if he would want to come out of the way as he drove home to pick me up in Georgia or however far I made it.

Adam was more receptive of the idea than I could have hoped. He enthusiastically supported my striking out alone, assuring me he would be quite fine flying solo in Austin. I was somewhat apprehinsive of all the time alone, but it felt better to push as far east as possible. I loved life on the road and wasn't ready to stop, then or ever.

I called Karen that evening to let her know my plans, excited at the prospect of my continuing journey. This idea got an acutely hostile reaction. Long silences were broken by short statements, mostly repeating the same things. Karen forbade me to go on without Adam, and I refused to say that I wouldn't. The conversation ended coldly and we hung up.

Now in the weak light before dawn, I crept to the kitchen and attempted to make coffee as quietly as I could in a strange kitchen with my normal pre-coffee morning grace (non-existant). The attempt was partially successful, and I took my coffee out back and sat beside the Seebek's pool.

The conversation with Karen sat heavily on my mind as I sat by the cold water of the pool. Should I continue? How angry would Karen be? Could I pretend to be in Austin while actually continuing to ride? That would make blogging awkward, to say the least. Our premature retirement from the road had been bothering me for days, and just when I thought it was all going to work out, here it was back in my face, along with a heathly dose of resentment for my wife.

I determined to look on the bright side of things, and enjoy what time we had left of our trip. The day was cool, and the wind appeared to be calm. I was still the only person up at the Seebek household, and I was congratulating myself on my apparently successful stealth efforts when June walked up the driveway back from her morning walk. She had been up well before me, as had Adam, writing in his room. The only person whose sleep I protected with my creeping about was half blind and 3/4 deaf Doc.

Before long, June had the smell of waffles drifting through the house, and we all sat down for a breakfast together before we left. They were vegan waffles, as is the entirety of the Seebek's diet. Thus it was with some trepidation that I approached the table, but my fears were soon alleviated. June is famous (according to Doc) for making delicious vegan food at her church, and the waffles were evidence why. No one would ever confuse them with waffles full of eggs, white flower and butter, but they were excellent in their own right. The real Vermont maple syrup that Doc had stockpiled in his garage helped a great bit.

After climbing Doc's windmill to scout our route for the day, we headed north from the Seebek's house, south of San Marcos. A short day of riding would take us through the small college town of San Marcos and into Austin and our final destination. I was in a brooding mood as we pedaled out of Doc's neighborhood and onto the highway.

Between San Marcos and Austin is an ever-shrinking strip of rural land, and we got our last glimpses of small herds of longhorn cattle as we pushed northward. The road became thick with giant trucks hauling loads to and from the numerous concrete plants in this limestone rich region. They were loud, fast and huge, but for the most part they gave us plenty of room on the narrow two-lane roads and we were able to enjoy the scenery.

Disturbingly quickly, urban development replaced our pastoral surroundings. First we passed residential subdivisions carved unceremoniously out of green pasture land. The road widened to four lanes and we started seeing gas stations, high schools and strip malls. Residential and retail development had almost completely taken over when a sudden squall drenched us and we passed one more little ranch beside the road. Partially wooded, with a clear stream running from a small pond, a for sale sign sat beside it's ornate gates. Adam wondered aloud at the possiblity of convincing his father to make the purchase with him.

Crossing under one of the many interstate highways ringing Austin, the clouds broke and steam rose from the pitch black asphalt. On the northern horizon, downtown Austin was briefly visible, it's tall office buildings stabbing into the angry sky, sunlight breaking through the dark roiling clouds and glinting off the glass covered surfaces. A hard, forbidding view, I thought.

For the rest of the day, we experienced the worst kind of riding. Multi-lane, high traffic conditions, where all of your attention must be focused on maintaining position and being aware of all the morons that make up the world's drivers. Stoplights not timed for slow vehicles rob your momentum at the bottom of hills, and drivers love to cut you off, only to stop in traffic immediately after, causing you to brake abruptly.

As we approached downtown on Congress Ave, conditions improved slightly. The last few miles were downhill, and as retail increased on the sides of the road, traffic slowed down and we were traveling nearly the same speed as the cars around us. At last our view of the horizon opened up again as we came near the bridge over the Colorado River. Downtown Austin was laid out before us, the shining golden statue of The Goddess of Liberty tall above the Capitol Building directly in front of us. Unabashed tourists that we are, we stopped a passing hipster and had the reluctant young man take our picture with the skyline in the back ground.

A short few blocks through downtown brought us right to the grounds of the Capitol Building, thick with tour groups and herds of children in matching t-shirts on field trip excursions. We spent the better part of an hour sightseeing, gawking at the buildings and getting in the way of traffic. Checking the time, we decided it was time to be on our way to make it to our host's house before evening, and we mounted our bicycles for the very last leg of our journey.

It was horrible. For those of you from the Triangle area, imagine biking down Capital Blvd at rush hour. Horrible traffic, angry drivers, small lanes, multi-lane roads and large hills were the prominent features. My memory of this stretch is a blur of roaring engines, gaudy signs, and strip mall after strip mall, one indistinguishable from the next.

My already sour mood worsened. I hated the traffic. I hated the road. I was angry with Adam for locking himself into the U-haul. I was angry with Karen for forbidding me to head on alone. I was angry at the stupid hills for not being flat.

In any endevaour, attitude is crucial to performance, and as my attitude darkened, my body began to fail. My shoulders hurt, my butt hurt, I was tired, my legs began to cramp. I had climbed the Rockies, cresting the continental divide with burning legs and scorched lungs, but with a smile on my face. In the suburban hills of Austin, I finally broke. Like an evil feedback loop, my thoughts and my environment fed each other and I spiraled downward as we trudged on.

I was sick of it. It was all over and I wasn't ready to be done. I was being forced to quit halfway through, and now I had to sit here in Austin for a week while Adam visited old friends and toured the sights of his childhood. I hated the thought of it and I grew sullen and bitter. It had only been a few hours since we arrived, and I already hated Austin.

San Antonio

2010-05-03T14:29:00.000-07:00

Just so everyone's up to date - if you haven't heard yet, we made it home safe! I'll cover San Antonio in this post, and finish up the rest of our trip in the next post.

(Adam's photos inserted and his comments in italics)

Our time in San Antonio was great! I had no prior conceptions of what the city would be like, and I was blown away. Adam used his couchsurfing membership to hook us up with a great couple with an incredible old house just a few miles north of downtown and the Riverwalk. Steve and Jayne got us set up in our own separate bedrooms in their totally restored 100 year old house (my bed was a 400 year old antique), then sat us down to give us the house rules.

Rule 1:
Anyone that stays must spend at least one night with the owners of the house, drinking too much and telling their story.

That is all.

Evidently Steve and Jayne are very popular in the couchsurfing network, due to their incredible house and their gregarious personalities. One of their absolute favorite things is having houseguests and hearing all of their stories.

After telling us they don't feed their house guests, they fed us a delicious gourmet meal with fresh baked bread and pesto sauce, and opened a bottle of wine handpicked from their wine cellar. We then fulfilled the terms of our contract, and due solely to our sense of propriety, helped Jayne polish off the bottle of wine as we told our tale.

It took much longer than absolutely necessary to get our story told. Storylistening is an interactive art with Janie, and we would get only a few sentences out before Janie would jump in with comment, anecdote, or amazing tale of their own bicycle touring done on a recumbant tandem all over Europe. The evening felt a bit like a tennis game, bouncing lines back and forth. It took some focus and strength of will to get the story straight and complete, especially as our excessive sense of duty had compelled us to finish off several more bottles of wine.

In addition to his many other talents, Steve is studying to become an official San Antonio tour guide. The next day, he took us all over town, pointing out old buildings designed by famous architects, structures left over from the World Fair, and lots of the famous houses and public works of art.

We like our hosts and the city so much we stayed an extra day. The restaurants around where we were staying were excellent, and we got great recommendations from our host. Downtown, the bustling Riverwalk was great. It was a bit commercial, and overrun with national chain restaurants, but the public art built into the walk itself was unique and funky. With passages beneath waterfalls, plants rendered in lifelike concrete, locks and a surprising variety of waterfowl, the Riverwalk was captivating.

A trip down Adam's memory lane - The Alamo

The best Mexican bakery in San Antonio

We convinced Steve to ride with us on the next leg of our journey. Adam and Steve rode together on Steve's tandem while I followed behind. Having a local guide immediately paid off and we stopped at a french bakery to stock up on supplies for the day.

Dwight taking a spin with Steve on the recumbent trike

Adam and Steve ready to ride to New Braunfels

Spring had arrived. We covered so many miles east on the night train from Del Rio that we had crossed from the arid regions of West Texas to a more humid zone resembling North Carolina. It had been chilly and wet for most of our time in San Antoino, but it was warm and sunny as we pedaled north out of town. The clear air was full of the smell of blooming flowers, lush green vegetation and wet earth. It brought me very strongly back to the summers of my youth, and the feeling I'd get when I would head out on a brand new adventure, with no responsibilities and no one to answer to. It was a strangely pleseant feeling, one of freedom and discovery mixed with the strongest homesickness I have felt in a long time. It lasted all the way to New Braunfels, where we stopped for lunch.

Adam had been looking forward to this since he was in Iraq, when he got a care package filled with New Braunfels Smokehouse jerky and whatever else kind of meat can be shipped to the desert and not spoil. The food was up to the hype, and the brisket was good, but by this time I was beginning to grow a bit weary of beef. Not a frequent beef eater at home, I was beginning to feel the effects of a West Texas diet.

After a quick and cold swim in the Comal River, we met up with Janie, who dropped off Adam's bike and picked up her husband. We asked if they would like to have one more meal with us, and they said in that case, we couldn't miss eating at Coopers Barbeque, the BEST barbecue in Texas. "Oooh", I thought. Barbecue again. But I sucked it up, and I was glad I did. It was a sight to behold. You walk in the door and up to a brick pit. They pull the lid off to reveal row upon row of cooking meat. Sausage, brisket, pork ribs, beef ribs, all crowding each other for space and sizzling over the coals. You point and grunt, and the meat guy skewers a giant piece, chops off a chuck the approximate size you indicate with your hands, dunks it in a vat of sauce and slaps on a tray, which he then hands to you. The food was very good, but it was the memory that was worth the stuffing I took.

Cooper's BBQ with Jayne and Steve

The sun was setting by the time we pulled out of Coopers. We had 15 miles to go to make it to our next host's house, and we were already late. We raced through the dark past fields and cows. Pulling up to the house, we breathed hard from the push. We looked forward to a shower and a good rest. I was still stuffed from Coopers.

We were welcomed into the house and told not to worry - Don and June Seebeck had waited on us for dinner and they were taking us out as soon as we had a chance to clean up. There was nothing for it but to smile graciously and get ready to eat, one more time.

Doc Seebeck operating his windmill and Dwight climbing it

Dinner was not bad, and the company excellent. Doc looked older than he was, as he's a brain cancer survivor. Blind and deaf on one side of his head, he has more energy than Adam and I put together. We ate at his favorite Mexican restaurant in San Marcos, where they fix the vegan meals that Don and June (also a cancer survivor) demand.

After dinner we got a tour of Don's house and land. He has a giant RV, which he used to help him bike over 100,000 miles in his lifetime. He would put in his miles in a race or fundrasing event, and Jen would follow along behind with a comfy home for him at the end. Hanging on the wall of his garage are several old bicycle frames he rode to death - they literally fell apart after too many miles.

All across the southwest, we had been seeing the old metal windmills used to pump water into cisterns to provide water for cattle. Don had acquired a couple of these old windmills and had them erected in his yard as ornaments - the best yard ornaments ever. Especially since he let us climb to the top and check out the view before we rode away in the morning.

After a late night, we got up early. This day's journey would bring us to Austin, Texas. We knew this as our final destination; this would be our last morning waking up on the road.

El Paso To Alpine - Pictures

2010-03-13T15:31:00.000-08:00

I'm sure the music plays, but Feleena doesn't twirl, and there are no handsome young strangers dead on the floor (as far as I know). But this is the original Rosa's Cantina, which inspired Marty Robbins' famous "El Paso". Behind is the hill the hero of the song died upon.

We pulled off the side of the road during a stint on I-10, and picked up a mesquite thorn that went right through Adam's puncture-proof tire. We stood on the side of the interstate in 30 mph winds fixing the flat. I used the extracted thorn to attach my homemade hatband to my hat.

We left the interstate to head south at Kent, TX. Kent now consists of a post office and a gas station, both run by the same lady. She runs back and forth depending on where she is needed. Kent, evidently, used to be a more substantial community, as this hollowed out shell of a school attests. It looks old - they haven't made schools like this since before the 50's, when cinderblock, ugly functional public buildings took over. There was graffitti inside that was at least 20 years old. It was a great place to stop for lunch, sheltered out of the howling wind.

After a brutal day of fighting strong headwinds winds while climing from one plateau into the Davis Mountains, we came around a bend in the road and saw our destination - the McDonald Observatory.

The original telescope, with an 82-inch mirror, was built in the 30's, and has been in operation ever since it is located in the darkest spot left in the Continental US. Unfortunately for us, that didn't help much as the moon was near full, and we could see at night as if the sun was still up.

We took the public tour of the Observatory, which included a tour inside the 107-inch mirror telescope, built in the late 60's.

After the tour, we came back to our host's house. John Kheune works for the Observatory, which is run by the University of Texas, Austin. He and his family live on site, and are often visited by these creatures. Most locals consider Javelinas to be pests, but I thought they looked tasty. When I opened the door to take this picture, John's cat darted outside. Horrified, I raised the alarm, but was told that the cat would be OK, but don't let Trinky Doodle (tiny little dog) out, because the javelinas would make short work of it.

After a short break, we walked back up to the telescopes for a private tour with John. We snapped these pictures during the walk up the mountain:

The lights in the observatory are dimmed to keep the researcher's eyes adjusted to the dark. The red light in the elevator has a much longer wavelength, which doesn't cause the pupil to contract as much.

After our private tour, we went back for the public "Star Gazing Party". We were surprised by the crowd. Our earlier public tour had perhaps a dozen people in it. There were well over 100 people at the star gazing party. We were told that in a few weeks, during spring break, there would be over 1000.

At the Star Gazing Party, the tour leader used a super powerful hand-held laser to point out stars and constellations. We learned a bunch of new constellations - Sirius, Andromeda, Pegasus were among the ones new to us - and the only new ones we retained.

I took this picture at the party with a 30 second exposure - you can see the movement of a couple of the stars behind the telescope during the exposure:

From the McDonald Observatory, we made our way south to our rendevous with "Bikeman" John in Alpine Texas. He owns the only bike shop for 210 miles in each direction, and we desperately needed new inner tubes, as we had had several encounters with mesquite thorns. Here is one of the decorations adorning his shop - a longhorn skull fashioned out of bicycle handlebars and a banana seat.

After stocking up on tubes in Alpine, it was south to Big Bend National Park. Just outside of the park, we ran into our first patch of Blue Bonnet flowers - the state flower of Texas. Adam screeched to a stop and began snapping pictures. They had a thick, sweet perfume that we have detected many times since then on our ride, often without even being able to see the flowers themselves.

Within a few hours of that last picture, the wind had picked up to a steady 20mph, with gusts that had to be at least 40mph. We were leaning at 10 degrees while riding straight to keep from being blown over. The gusts pushed me off the road more than once. Riding off the road is sketchy in mesquite country.

A few miles into the park, we spotted our destination for the night - the Chisos Basin, hidden in these mountains. We were going to stay with another Warm Showers host at the Ramuda - a converted stables now used by the trail maintenance workers for the park. We still had over twenty miles to ride around these mountains and up into them, then down into the basin.

By the time we crested the pass, the sun was down, and we were greeted with this sight. It is a famous view, known as "The Window". I almost crashed, driving off the twisting descent as my gaze kept lifting to the Horizon.

The next morning, we walked up out of the pass for a day of hiking. Back at the top of the pass, we got a much differnt view of the Window, from the same spot:

We did an 8 mile round-trip hike up the Lost Mine trail, which climbed up and out of the Chisos Mountains to the south. It was a chilly, windy day, and we were being sleeted on by the time we hit the summit. The views were spectacular, however, and it was well worth the climb.

The day after our hike, we got up and headed out for our boat trip down the Rio Grande. I'll pick up with those pictures in my next post.

Right now we're hanging out in Austin, splitting our time between Adam's family and sightseeing. There's so much to do here, I haven't had time to sit down and really work on a blog post in the last few days. Perhaps the chance will present itself - but it seems like we might be busy from sunup to sundown until its time for our departure. I will, however, make time to post the pictures from our Rio Grande canoe trip before we leave.

R & R

2010-03-08T17:41:00.000-08:00

We are in San Antonio. Dwight and our host, Steve, are off on a tandem recumbent bike ride around town and I'm staying back, working on some rest and recovery. I find R&R a bit difficult because it requires me to not be doing. The only problem is of all the doing I've done over my life, this bike riding is causing me the most physical pain. Enough that two days ago in Del Rio, TX, I told Dwight I wasn't going to pedal another mile. My feet have gotten quite messed up, more than Iraq, Ranger School, or SF training ever did to me. Maybe I'm just not taking it easy enough on myself without the safety conscious army to worry about me. Or, more likely, I've just worn out my bike shoes and was too stubborn to stop until my toes looked and felt like cocktail weenies that were on fire while still attached to my feet.

Regardless, once we made Del Rio, I was ready to rent a car and drive to Austin, where I knew friends, family and barbeque awaited us. The previous two days of riding from Marathon to Langtry to Del Rio, were some of the worst weather and strongest headwinds we had faced. All I could think of was, this is supposed to be vacation, I don't have to prove my toughness to anyone, and this just isn't fun anymore. Cold, rain and wind don't make for enjoyable riding conditions.

What we did do was ride the Amtrak from Del Rio to San Antonio. Not sure the bikes would get on the train, but they did and we took the easy ride to the home of the Alamo.

I have had many childhood memories come back to me since we've crossed the border into Texas. The strongest memories came flooding into my mind when we found our first bluebonnet, the state flower of Texas. I hadn't seen them in the wild since we left Austin in 1990. All the places my parents took me, McKinney Falls, Pedernales Falls, Enchanted Rock State Parks, the LBJ Ranch, all started crowding my mind and my heart. All my family, especially my Grandparents, were moving through my vision like a slide show.

Now, here in San Antonio, visiting the Alamo, where all my childhood heroes perished defending our future freedom and way of life, I find myself especially reflective. This is one of the main reasons why I embarked on this trip, but it is coming at an unexpected time and place and resulting in unexpected emotions.

After these days of rest, I think we're going to ride the rest of the way into Austin. Swing through New Braunfels, San Marcos, and maybe Lockhart on the way. Then barbeque, TexMex, and Thai for a week.

Next week, I expect we will leave Austin with a load of furniture from my Grandparents, and a truckload of memories and drive the rest of the way back to Raleigh. Not sure that I'm comfortable calling that place home either. Maybe the girl who asked if I was homeless was more correct than she knew. I suppose I will have time to explore that thought when we get to my birthplace, Austin.

Gone to Mexico - Please Send Passports

2010-03-05T14:44:00.001-08:00

Still no decent cell coverage, we have a tenuous wifi connection I hope to use to post this.

I got my hands on a copy of Edward Abbey's Desert Solitaire, and it has put me in a philisophical, wistful, sabatoge-ey state of mind. Forgive me if I ramble.

It was the perfect reading material to prep me for a river trip down the Rio Grande. His description of a rafting trip down doomed Glen Canyon before it became Lake Powell has always moved me. Awe at the grandeur of wilderness, sadness and anger over it's loss and contempt over it's commercialization.

Above all, the importance of wilderness, not just for the sake of preservation (or, as was the case with the creation of our National Forests, for a timber reserve) but as a salve for our souls. Adam has the sentiment permanently at hand, the Abbey quote "wilderness is not a luxury, but a necessity of the human spirit" tatooed around his thigh.

It certainly seems like a luxury to me, sometimes. We took a guided overnight trip through the Santa Elana Canyon in Big Bend NP on the Rio Grande. Travelers on guided tours live in scenic luxury. Our meals were prepared for us (filet mingon, pancakes and sausage as compared to our usual pasta and grits). Our dishes got cleaned. Our trash was packed out. Our guide, Little Billy was incredibley knowledgeable and friendly - and we had him all to ourselves. We decided when to stop for meals, we got input on our campsite, and we set the pace.

I couldn't take much more of it. Don't misunderstand, it was great having Billy there to help guide us through the tight spots, teach us the flora and fauna, and tell us local stories. In fact, Adam and I both agree that Billy is the best guide we've ever had. He would be a great companion on any camping trip.

However, in my experience, camping has always been a socialist activity. We all share the chores- cooking, cleaning, setting up and breaking down - everyone works till the work is done. This capitalist form of camping is alien to me. I felt like a heel, sitting there reading Edward Abbey while Billy prepared our food and cleaned our dishes. (I wonder what Abbey would think of that)

The social dynamics of campsite labor aside, the trip was phenominal. It was a step more removed from real life than the rest of the trip has been so far.

First, it's important to understand how removed I feel from my former life I felt already. This whole bike trip has made me feel disconnected from the real world. Scratch that. This is my normal life. Wake up, pack up my sleeping gear get on the road and ride till I'm hungry or tired. Talk with Adam. Stop and investigate whatever piques my curiosity. Buy food. Cook it. My other life, the life of cars, bills, deadlines, routines, obligations and constraints - that's my abnormal life.

I thought about my car the other day - the first time in weeks - and couldn't remember it clearly. Does it even have a cd player? Stick or automatic? Doesn't matter, I didn't spend long thinking about it. I speak to my wife on the phone, and while I miss her terribly and love her with all of my heart, it is a surreal experience. I can see her face and remember her voice, but that doesn't seem like my life. It's someone else that's going to be going back there - I'm going to get up and ride every morning for the rest of my life.

The trip down the river magnified all of these sensations. The whole of my existince consisted of water, rock, boat, and companions. In my abnormal life, when I do my meditation, it is a fight for the first ten minutes to quiet the noise in my mind, the clutter and rush of daily life. The moment I closed my eyes to meditate on the river, all I saw was swirling water. No traffic, no houses, no infrastructure. Civilization did intrude. 19th century civilization. Mexican vaceros, cowboys, ranged down to the river, roping stray cows, splashing in the river. Billy spoke to them in spanish, letting them know of the stray cows we passed just upstream.

It's not that I felt even more disconnected - I didn't even think of my abnormal life at all. Rippling water, blazing sun and scouring sand washed it all away.

Tuesday night we camped in Mexico. River tours are allowed to camp and hike on the Mexican side, with certain restrictions. We discussed hiking south, perhaps stopping in Belize to let our family know where we are. A lack of food supplies thwarted our plan.

Coming out of the canyon was like coming out of a movie theater into the afternoon sun. Civilization asserted itself. Tourists appeared on hiking trails along the river. Fishing gear began to appear along the bank.

As we pulled out and loaded our gear back on to our bikes, normal life began to reassert itself. Once again, our path was bound to the asphalt, not the river.

We rode out of the mountains this morning, into Marathon, tx. There is a sense of sadness for me. It's all downhill now, literally and figuratively. No more mountains, and our trip is more than half done. It looks more and more like we're going to stop in Austin.

No Cell Service

2010-03-02T07:36:00.000-08:00

It has been an exciting and eventful week, with limited acces to cell networks and Internet. We've taken some of our best pictures yet, and I have been holding off on writing, hoping to find a place to upload. It now looks like it might be some time before that happens, so I'll have to move forward with no pictures.

We struggled against strong headwinds uphill into the Davis Mountains two days after leaving El Paso. It was spectacular scenery, each climb through a twisty canyon brought us to the edge of another volcanic plateau, before getting into the higher mountains.

The Davis Mountains are one of the darkest regions left in the US, with very little light pollution. This dark hole is home to the McDonald Observatory, which boasts three large telescopes, an 82, and a 107 inch, and a much larger composite telescope built for spectrometry.

We stayed with John, an observatory employee, whom we found on the warm showers list. His family and his pets were gracious and generous hosts, feeding us and giving us backstage tours of the telescopes.

At a "star party", put on by the observatory, we got a look through many of the smaller telescopes on site, and learned some more constellations. We were especially excited about this. Spending so much time laying outside, looking at the stars, we have been looking for some more education on what we were seeing.

Before leaving, John called ahead for us down to Alpine, home of the only bike shop for hundreds of miles. The shop would be closed when we arrived, but the owner was willing to meet us and sell us some inner tubes, as the mesquite thorns have been tearing through our supplies of spares at an alarming rate.

After yet another wearying ride against the wind we pulled into Alpine and called the Bikeman, also named John. Unfortunately, he was occupied, and could not meet. Fortunately, he was occupied at a BBQ, and invited us to join him!

After a donation to the family crisis center, we had a great meal of brisket, potato salad, beans, and beer.

Afterward, John the Bikeman invited us to spend the night in the back of his shop, to share space with his friend Jim, who is renting out some space there. We spent a great evening at the local bar, Railroad Blues, before crashing on the floor of the shop.

The next day, winds were strong out of the southwest, and we had decided to skip our intended trip south to Big Bend National Patk, cutting out 100 miles of fighting the wind. At breakfast, however, we were befriended by a local businessman, Ron, who offered to drive us halfway there, if that would tip the scales.

We accepted his offer, and it has been a great decision! We rode through the park entry at 3:30 in a surreal atmosphere. A wind storm had picked up, and we rode through an alien landscape of jagged peaks and rugged washes in a brown murky haze. 40 mph gusts of wind slammed into our flanks, threatening to push us off the road as we began to climb. 2500 verticle feet later we crested the pass and rode down in the darkening night to our destination, the bunk house for the trail workers at the park. One of the guys here is on the crew, and also on the warm showers list.

Today we took a 10 mile round trip hike up into the mountains, where we found more spectacular scenery, and more wind threatening to blow us off the trail. By the time we reached the summit, snow was again blowing in our faces.

Tomorrow we have scheduled a river expedition down the Rio Grande, through one of the park's famous canyons. We splurged on a guide, and are looking forward to having someone fix our meals and set up camp on our two-day, one night trip.

There is no cellular service in the area, and no access to Internet, so this will not go out until tomorrow morning.

We have been keeping a good pace, and we broke 1000 miles of riding before we got to the observatory, and we're currently at around 1200 miles total for the trip.

Not sure when I'll be able to post again, we won't have cell signal for a couple days at least. Next time I get to a computer terminal, I'll have so much to post!

This Is Why They Said Don't Camp Near The Border

2010-02-24T17:41:00.001-08:00

The weather cleared up and we got in a healthy 60 miles after Luann
dropped us off in downtown El Paso. It has been colder the past few
days than anything we have yet experienced on this trip. Even though
it's dry, it is very windy, and the temperatures are staying in the
forties.

It was really cold last night when we found a spot to camp. Just
outside of McNary Texas, within shouting distance of the Mexican
border, we found an apparently uninhabited stretch of knolly
scrubland, perfect for finding concealment not far from the road.

Within minutes of stopping, I had on every bit of cold weather gear I
had with me, and the temperature continued to drop. We had a quick
dinner of peanut butter sandwiches, and got in our warm sleeping bags
shortly after dark.

We have heard coyotes howling in the dark many nights in the desert.
Last night, when they spoke up in protest of a passing train right
after we laid down, we were a bit unnerved with how close they
sounded. They could not have been more than 100 yards away. Indeed,
when morning came, we found frozen scat within fifty feet of our
campsite.

Sometime later in the night, I was awoken by a persistent sound. It
seemed some sort of off-road vehicle was driving back and forth, the
rough sound of the engine growing and fading, then growing again, over
and over. As I laid there, the realization slowly dawned on me that a
helicopter was circling nearby.

With each pass, the sound grew louder and louder. I had been cacooned
in my sleeping bag, shut off from all outside light. I drew back the
drawstring and pulled my head out as the sound became a roar and the
helicopter passed directly over us, not 100' off the ground. To my
horror, the inside of my bivy sack lit up like Monday night football.
We were directly in the beam of a searchlight.

Dwight - uh, Adam, are you awake?

Adam - of course.

Dwight - so, they see us, huh?

Adam - obviously.

Dwight - so, what do we do?

Adam - what CAN we do?

Dwight - hmm...

Adam - yeah

I pulled back the cover of the bivy sack, watching the helicopter as
it circled, keepig it's light trained on us. Presently, a second light
floated into sight, and a disembodied voice call out "¡bueños nochés,
Señors!"

Dwight - uh

Adam - good evening!

The speaker continued in English, "What are you guys doing here?".
From there, a suprisingly friendly Border Patrol Agent proceeded to
quiz us on our names, where we we coming from, our destination, and
our homes. He decided the two guys wrapped up like mummies laying
beside two bicycles loaded with gear were not, in fact, border jumpers
who had decided to stop for a nap, 500 yards across the Rio Grande, in
17 degree weather.

He concluded with, "well, we're looking for two guys out here, but
you're obviouly not them. You guys go back to sleep."

Yeah, right.

17 degrees showed on the thermometer when we woke this morning. My
fingers hurt trying to stuff all of our gear, wet with melting frost,
into their respective bags Cold to start, and it stayed cold the
whole day. All day long we rode in jackets and gloves, and still our
fingers and toes never warmed up. Tonight's not supposed to be as bad,
we look forward to a low of 35.

We have gone around 75 miles today, putting our total at 950. We
should (knock on wood - a precious commoditty around here) pass 1000
miles tomorrow on our way to shelter at the famous McDonald
Observatory, right outside of Fort Davis!

The Cavalry Drives a Mini-Van

2010-02-22T17:28:00.000-08:00

It has been an eventful few days. We have climbed some tall mountains and seen some great sights. We had our best campsite so far in the Gila National Forest outside of Silver City, and our best ride, from Silver City to Gila Hot Springs on near deserted high mountain roads.

No matter how spectacular the natural wonders, equally memorable are the interesting and incredible people we have been meeting along the way. All along our route we have found friendly faces and helpful attitudes.

In Bisbee, our host (who saved us from a cold night searching for a campsite in the dark) took us down this tunnel, which was not on the published walking tour:

It was an underground (literally and figuratively) art gallery. There was some beautiful and colorful graffiti down there, far past the reach of any outside light:

The Warm Showers list hooked us up with Patrick and Elieen in Silver City. Patrick is a former cross-continent cyclist, and his wife is an accomplished fiddle player. She put on a short show for us our second evening there, playing Irish jigs, marches, and aires.

While in Silver City, my map geek side surfaced. Elieen works at the public library, and Patrick took us by to visit. I found the map chest, and we spent the next hour going over USGS topo maps of the terrain we planned on crossing the next few days:

Here are Patrick and Adam inspecting Adam's swollen toe in the middle of the library. A spider bite seems to be the consensus diagnosis.

Also, in answer to Mom's question - the wound from the loss of the unimportant part of Adam's knee is doing great - as I said it was an unimportant part.

In Silver City, we had our first encounter with other cross-country cyclists. Tony and Brendan are on the same route we are, and caught up to us in Silver City. We spoke for a while and exchanged website information and said our goodbyes, reasonably confident that we would run into them on the road again. Check out their blog at http://justanotherbikerideacrossamerica.org/ .

In Gila Hot Springs, we ran into our most colorful crowd yet. This tiny campground was tucked in a bend in the river in a little valley near the end of a 14 mile long, one-way road mountain road. It had three little pools dug out, fed by a nearby natural hot spring.

The campground was inhabited by a crowd of RVers and campers, the likes of which I have never seen. There was a crazy/hyper man named Bill, his wheelchair bound wife, and her service dog Lightning in a pop-up pull behind, Josephine and her well lived in, dirty old van-sized RV, (and not pictured below) two surfers from Florida bound for California (we had noted their car passing us earlier - who drives with a surf board in New Mexico?), and a grizzled old hippie whose name, conveyance and form of shelter remained a mystery.

And they all soak naked.

But hippies are wise in their ways, as we were to learn. Getting out of the 110 degree water into 25 degree air, then making it back to your campsite, drying and changing while staying reasonably warm is an impossible task. I was shivering and cold to the bone by the time I got in my sleeping bag, and it took quite a while to get warm enough to fall asleep. So our morning soak was done hippie-style. There is nothing better than taking a dip in hot water upon waking up and seeing the thermometer on your bike's computer display this: (if you can't see it says 20 degrees - 30 min and 4 degrees after waking up)

The cliff dwellings we visited that morning are a great segue from people to places. A series of caves between high mountains have made the perfect hiding place for many of the successive inhabitants of this land. The mix of natural grandeur and historic culture is incredible.

At the cliff dwellings we met our second group of touring cyclists - Sundance and Yana, two Aussies whose itinerary makes me feel like a wimp. They started in Ontario and are heading for the west coast, where they hope to find a yacht to crew en route back to Austrailia. They, too, are writing a blog about their adventures, check it out if you're interested: http://meanderingmarsupials.blogspot.com/

Wisely, they had paused in El Paso and rented a car to check out some of these more northerly areas. As we were to learn, it can get cold and wet quickly.

Since the cliff dwellings were at the end of the long mountain road, we had to turn around and head back out. Clouds were rolling in and the wind picked up as we approached the climb out, the longest, steepest stretch of road we had yet faced. A pack of javelinas charged across the pavement as we rode, not twenty yards in front of us. As I frantically tried to get out the camera, the little pork chops huffed and snorted and stomped out of sight. We had been hearing about these creatures for days, and it was a treat to get to see them.

The climb was long, slow and hard. The beautiful vistas I remembered from the day before on the same stretch of road-

Had faded into snowy, fast moving clouds by the time I struggled through the pass:

By the time we reached the bottom on the other side, snow was falling steadily, and I was trying to convince Adam that we should look for paid accommodations for the night. We lucked out with our place to stay, and ended up with a nice cozy cottage for 50$/night. The owner was a retired NC State professor (!) who was a former long distance horse-riding camper, so she has a soft spot for people like us.

By the time we were inside and settled in, the scene outside made us happy we had found shelter.

We enjoyed a beautiful sunset, all the more so as we knew we had a warm den to retreat to.

In the morning, we found that more bad weather was predicted for the next three days. I was of a mind to wait out the storm in the snug little cottage, but our food bag was getting light, and there was no store nearby that could provide us with and groceries, nor any restaurant. There was supposed to be a break in the weather for a while that morning, so we packed our things, said goodbye to Frances, and headed out in the snow.

It was very pleasant at first, with a light snow blanketing the trees, and rocks, leaving the canyon walls bare and stark in their contrast. Before long, however, the snow had soaked through our gloves and jackets, and we began to freeze. Snow began to accumulate on the bags on our bikes and Adam's beard. My fingers started to burn. The thermometer dropped from 35 to 34. As we climbed numerous small hills, I began to sweat, threatening to soak through my hat and shirt. Meanwhile my fingers ceased to burn and went numb instead. They felt like frozen hotdogs stuck in gloves. The thermometer dropped to 33. I was worried that if it dropped below freezing, we would start to risk frostbite.

You notice there are no pictures from this leg of our trip. We only stopped once so I could add another layer of clothing, we were intent on making it the 20 miles to San Lorenzo, where there was supposed to be a store and cell service. We were not in the mood for piddling around framing shots.

Clumps of snow were falling off my hat as the wind picked up and the icy snow stung harder against my face. I began to wonder how much more I could take. If a pickup truck had passed our way, I would have flagged them down, but for once there was less traffic that could be desired.

Nothing has been more welcome than the sight of the sun starting to push through the clouds, and the feel of the snow getting lighter against my face. It continued to clear, but we did not get warm or begin to really dry out till we pulled into the only cafe in San Lorenzo.

From San Lorenzo we took a good look at the weather and the road before us. There was supposed to be a break in the weather for a while, but the snow was supposed to close back in on us before evening. We had 2500 feet to climb, and it appeared that while we were in a dry spot, the pass before us still looked quite frosty.

For once we decided to play it safe, and we called Adam's family friend Luann to come pick us up from El Paso. It was torture sitting around for a couple of hours in perfect weather, thinking about the climb we were passing up. At least it gave us a chance to check out the bakery run out of a trailer behind the house of a clan of "Not-Mennonite Mennonites", as described by the waitress at the cafe. Not where you'd expect to find a gouremet bakery, but we keep our eyes open for good bread wherever we go. We found this place on a tip from the Wise Hippies of Gila Hot Springs.

Luann arrived and put us in her minivan and took us to her home in El Paso. So instead of hunkering down in the snow, we sit around drinking coffee in her sitting room,

watching the olympics on her 60" HDTV and mixing drinks at the wet bar,

and lounging and reading and writing on the computer in her library:

All while hanging out with Barney and Karen,

and eating Luann's delicious homemade chili.

We'll wait out the bad weather here, and probably head out Tuesday afternoon. Our highest elevations are behind us, and we plan on taking our time exploring southern Texas, a place I have never been, and Adam's childhood home.

Snowbound!

2010-02-21T15:24:00.000-08:00

The thermometer on the bike said 18 degrees when I woke up this
morning. We had been warm in our bags, but by the time coffee and
grits were put down, our fingers and toes were numb. What was there to
do but strip naked and jump in the water?
The day before we had climbed our highest pass yet, 7440'. It was a
great ride, starting in dry scrubland as we left Silver City, climbing
through dry juniper-pinyon forests.
There was very little traffic on this twisty and steep road, and every
time we rounded a corner, we were met with a completely different
grand vista.
Spruce and fir trees were just starting to show up as we crested out
final summit, and a stunning view of the Gila Wilderness opened up
beneath us. The last several miles of the day were a screaming drop
into the valley, where we found a campsite at the Gila Hot Springs
campground, populated by a unique mix of small rv campers, surfers
from Florida, and old hippies.
A nice long soak in the hot springs set us right up, but walking back
to the campsite with wet shorts in sub freezing weather was chilly
indeed.
So this morning we had learned the lesson of the wet shorts, and we
stripped to the skin and joined the naked hippie rv campers in the hot
spring, where we were offered a morning "toke" and favored with 9-11
truther theories.
Dry-shorted and toasty warm, we hopped on the bikes, bellies full of
grits and hippie tacos. Where might a stranger find grits, in a land
where people say "what's grits?" They hide grits with the Mexican
food, labeled as "yellow cornmeal polenta". Ha!
A few miles down the road, the only bridge to the Gila Cliff Dwellings
had been washed out, and only bike and pedestrian could cross. It was
the first time in our entire trip that we got such looks of envy,
passing the formerly car bound down the final 1.5 miles of road to the
cliff dwellings trailhead.
After our short hike at the site came decision time. We had thousands
of feet to climb, and bad weather was setting in. If we got caught in
the high pass, it would be a chilly night. We had met enough of th rv-
ers that we thought we could bum a ride over the next couple of passes
into the low land below, where the weather would present not a mortal
threat, but merely severe discomfort.
Of course we decided to push for it, and we began to climb up the hill
we decended yesterday, 1500 feet in five miles, with some slopes of
8%. There is a professional bike race called the Gila Monster that
makes this same out and back trip, and this is truly a monster! In my
lowest gear, I struggled to keep my feet moving, the road a never
ending ribbon stretching up and up in front of us.
A few miles in, the wind began to pick up, boxing the compass. Icy
gusts of 20 mph cut through my sweat-soaked shirt, checking my
miserable, strained 4 mph to a near standstill. Adam climbed on out of
sight, and the mountains and grand views we enjoyed the day before
disappeared in rain and snow.
The first snow began to fall on us as we summited the pass, so light
at first that Adam thought I was seeing things. We threw on our warm
gear after climbing in shorts and t-shirts. Adam busted out a set of
pushups to spit in the mountain's eye and we set off down the mountain
in thickening snow. By the time we reached bottom, snow was falling
steadily, sticking to our jackets and hats.
At a small "fine dining restaraunt and motel" the waitress called down
the road to see if she could find us a sheltered camping spot. That
put us in the care of Francis, a retired inn owner a few miles down
the road. She was worried about people camping in the worsening storm,
and offered us a 170$ cottage for 50$. This even though she's closed
for her birthday this weekend!
So tonight we sleep in warmth and watch tv, as the snow piles up
outside. I won't get to send this post untill tomorrow, we haven't had
cell service since we left Silver City. Tommorow we face Emmory Pass,
the highest point left on our route, and our biggest hill yet,
climbing past 8200 feet. If snow doesn't block the pass, after that
summit, it's downhill all the way to the Mississippi.

Snowy sunset

2010-02-20T17:54:00.000-08:00

We got snowed in this afternoon. It started as we crested 7440 feet
heading south from Gila Cliff Dwellings. If the roads clear, we'll
head to a pass through the Black Mountains that tops 8000 feet.

Silver City Refuge

2010-02-17T18:53:00.000-08:00

Today we rode 42 mountainous miles, yesterday we did 71, for a grand total of around 770.

We crossed our highest pass yet at 6355' on our way into Silver City. I had previously made contact with a couple on the Warm Showers list who have been generous enough to host us for the evening.

I had to explain the Warm Showers list to my then-girlfriend Karen the first time I told her some girl from the Warm Showers list was coming to stay at my place for the evening. It's an online network set up to give touring cyclists potential contacts throughout the world - possible offers of shelter, laundry, warm showers and, if you're lucky, food.

Our current hosts, Patrick and Eileen, live in an original adobe brick house built in the 1930's, a few blocks away from downtown:

That's Patrick's grandmother's spinning wheel against the wall.

Upon our arrival in Silver City, we cleaned up and Patrick took us out for lunch and showed us around town. The main street from the town's early days when it was a working silver mine is now a 50' deep ditch that the locals call the "Big Ditch". Rain and floods over time slowly washed out main street, until eventually there were numerous pedestrian bridges crossing over. The wall of water that smashed into Silver City in 1895 destroyed much of main street, and the remaining businesses began using their back doors for entrances. Main street is now one block over, and the curbs on the street get as high as 2' or 3' to accommodate the water that still floods the town.

Silver City has survived the closing of the silver and then the copper mines by transforming into an art mecca. There is a food co-op, several gourmet coffee and deli shops, lots of arts and crafts shops, and an active downtown restoration and revitalization effort. There are even two bike shops in a town of 10,000!

For dinner Patrick and Eileen served us spaghetti with home made sauce, and for dessert Patrick made me a nice espresso to go with the blueberry pie from the local deli. It sure it tough out here on the road.

In Your Face

2010-02-17T15:09:00.000-08:00

Title suggested by Adam.

It was an inauspicious start, Adam took a little spill on the tricky
streets of Bisbee, not a hundred yards after leaving Shayna's front
door, tearing off a small, unimportant part of his knee. Unimportant,
but it's absence has been rather painful.

We spent the last two days since leaving Bisbee beating into a strong
headwind, cutting our average speed in half. It's been grueling,
demoralizing work. At least when you're climbing uphill, you get some
great views and a ride down on the other side. After twenty miles of
fighting twenty mph gusts, you stop to rest, you look like you're in
the same spot, flat and sandy with lots of yuccas, with distant brown
mountains on the horizon. Then you realize you could turn around and
go back the same distance in a quarter of the time.

Just east of Bisbee is a giant pit mine, inactive since the seventies.
Shayna told us that with the current high price of copper, there are
plans afoot to reopen it.

This thing is huge! A mile long, and at least 1000 feet deep, it
boggles the mind. My camera phone does not do it justice, I'll post
some better pics when we get to a computer. In this one, you can just
make out the buildings on the left for some scale.

Surprise Mountains and Trail Angels

2010-02-14T17:29:00.000-08:00

There's so much to write today! It feels like forever since my last post, and indeed we have had lots of fun and pain since then. Adam covered the outline of the past few days pretty well, I'm going to try to fill in with some pictures and a few stories.

Another word of apology - a few people have asked for info on total and daily mileage. I can guess, but for now, the computer is out of commission again, and we will not be able to get those numbers till we find the correct parts to get it mounted again.

It was great to get back on the road again after Tucson. We were there almost three full days, and it felt like forever. The break did give some of our aches and pains a chance to fade a little bit, and we left feeling great and looking forward to the ride.

Coming out of town, we followed the shared-use path beside the river, which actually had a little running water on the eastern end of town.

The caverns were a great stop. The tour guide was a young art student, with an ironic attitude and a full bag of cheesy lines about the caves he very obviously enjoyed showing off. "There are stalactites and stalagmites, and here are the stalaglights (motions to indirect lighting features covered with fake rock)".

Shortly down the road from Colossal Caves Mountain Park, we had two good bird sightings. We think the first one was a Cooper's Hawk sitting on the end of a dead agave blossom:

The second could be a Red Tail Hawk, but I'm not sure. I'm pretty bad at bird IDs, if there is anyone reading that has a clue, please post in the comments.

From that point on it was a pretty rough day. The wind was in our face as we headed south, towards Tombstone. A slight uphill grade began to wear on us significantly as the miles wore by. Locals in Tucson had told us that there would be a significant climb in elevation to Brisbee after Tombstone, but never mentioned the Santa Ritas, well before Tombstone.

As the afternoon grew old, we hit these mountains totally unprepared for them. We needed to make it about ten miles to get to National Forest land, where we would not be trespassing as we camped. The initial estimate of 45 minutes for this leg transformed into a grueling two hour climb into the seemingly ever-ascending mountains.

Right before sunset, we crossed into National Forest land (I was too tired to note the particular name of the forest, and we certainly weren't stopping for pictures). The sun was slipping below the hills to the west as we pulled off and stumbled upon a tunnel or culvert built under a high point in the road, which appeared to be constructed to allow wildlife to cross the roadway without risking the traffic. Barbed wire fences along the roadway herd larger animals to these tunnels for their and the auto drivers safety.

We thought it would be a great place to camp:

Since our first day out we have not pitched the tent, preferring to sleep out under the stars under a tarp. The dew has been a problem, so in Tucson we ditched our tent and picked up a couple of bivy sacks, and thus saved ourselves a lot of space and weight in the bargain. For the first night, they worked great, keeping us warm and dry in a sub-freezing night.

Tombstone was a bit of a disappointment. More like a wild-west theme park than a real city. We ate at Big Nose Kate's Saloon, where the Kurt Russel version of Tombstone was playing on several flat-screens around the room, as local actors reenacted scenes from the same movie.

Our plan as we left Tombstone was to camp halfway between there and Bisbee, our next destination. It was only a 20 mile trip, but there is a big climb on the way to Bisbee, one we had advance warning of. However, as we rode downhill out of Tombstone with the wind at our backs again, and the thought of a warm bed and shower tempting us, we made the decision to try to make the push up the hill and hit Bisbee that night. It was Saturday night, and we heard Bisbee was a great town to party in.

Adam gave you the exact amount of gain we made. Unlike the Santa Rita mountains, this was one long uphill with an ever-increasing grade. Six miles into the climb, I was wondering if I could make it to the top. It was after sunset, sweat was pouring off my brow, and my legs and lungs were burning fiercely. I was seriously considering thumbing down one of the pickup trucks passing us going uphill.

Unexpectedly, we crested the hill, and rode through a tunnel under the Great Divide, and sped downhill the last two miles into Bisbee, just as the darkness was starting to settle in.

We rode into a festive downtown filled with couples during an evening art expo and listening to street musicians.

We kept our eye out for a cheap-looking hotel. We did not consider the Valentine's Day factor, and there was also a Yoga expo in town. The first three hotels we passed had "no vacancies" signs. When we finally stopped and asked, we were told that there were no vacancies in town, and we might have luck in a neighborhood five miles down the road. Down the dark, cold, hilly road.

I was going through the list of local hotels on a phone in a The Grand Saloon and Hotel when a young woman named Shayna overheard our plight and offered to put us up for the evening. This has been the best stroke of luck on our trip so far.

We had a couple of drinks with Shayna as we got to know each other. Her house is tucked into the hillside, just a block away from down town so we dropped our bikes and gear off at there and headed out for the evening.

Since then we have been getting the insider's look at Bisbee. Shayna runs a gourmet coffee roasting company downtown, and seems to know every local here. She knows a lot of the history of the town, and all the good places to go.

Today she gave us a back alley tour of the city. Begun as a mining camp for the local copper mines, it's population peaked at near 70,000 around the turn of the last century, and the current population is around 6000. It's stacked on top of itself on the steep hills of Tombstone Canyon. We took the picture at the top of this post from Castle Rock, which juts up out of the middle of the city. You can click on it for a larger version.

The area is criss-crossed with huge staircases, narrow and winding streets, and hidden vistas.

While standing on the street taking pictures of a house particularly pointed out by Shayna, we were spotted by the owner of the house and invited in for a tour. It was an amazing yard filled with deep pools, twisted stone arches and, big coy. My pictures cannot do it justice, and the owner Lee told us that there are good pictures on his website TheMermaidCastle.com

Now we're relaxing before dinner. Shayna has promised us rosemary grilled chicken, made with rosemary grown in her back yard. We'll be on the road again tomorrow, heading east with an eye towards heading north to Silver City in New Mexico. We'd like to see the Gila Cliff Dwellings, but have to be careful because it can still get snowy there this time of year.

Since Tuscon we've done about 150 miles for a total of around 600 miles. We're well into our trip!

Please post any questions you have in the comments. Most people we meet on the road have all kinds of questions, and I'd like to know what kind of things people are interested in hearing.

Our next promise of civilization is in Silver City, where a local B&B owner hosts touring cyclists!

Crossing the Old West

2010-02-14T14:41:00.000-08:00

Dwight and I have had a great ride across an area of Arizona that is
about as old west as can still be found. We departed Tucson for good
on Friday morning and headed south east along the Old Spanish Trail,
which took us to Colossal caverns. We have decided to take it a little
easier and see more of the sites.

The caves were a worthwhile stop. We signed up for the tour after a
lunch of peanut butter on bagels. Our guide, Travis, let us stash our
bikes behind their office. He then took us through an amazing cavern
system with several features that I hadn't seen before. There were
several formations of cave ice, a layer of sediment that forms and
solidifies, then stays suspended when the water leaves.

After the cave we headed back into the mountains toward Sonoita. We
made it about 60 miles total and stopped when we found a flat spot in
the national forest.

The next morning we woke up to see snow covered peaks to our south and
an unknown amount of hills between us and Tombstone. We stopped after
12 miles for some Internet and breakfast. After our break, we turned
east and headed to Tombstone.

Tombstone was the least old west place we went because it tried too
hard to relive the times of Wyatt Earp and the OK Corral. We did feel
like new cowboys riding into town as we pedaled down the middle of the
old historic distric.

After lunch, we decided to keep going the last 22 miles to Bisbee.
It was about 1600 and we expected about an hour and a half of
daylight. The first half was a nice downhill that allowed us to keep a
nice pace. When we got to the bottom of the valley, the bridge over
the creek had an Arizona survey marker that indicated the elevation
was 4624 feet. Six miles later we rolled into Bisbee at 5300 feet. It
was one of the more strenuous sections of our ride.

Bisbee is a great town. It is a lot more what you'd expect out of the
old west because it has allowed itself to evolve while still
maintaining its charm.

Mulligan

2010-02-11T19:47:00.000-08:00

Adam was having a Bad Day. Not yet a Very Bad Day, but worse than just a bad day.
First, his riding partner - loathe to abandon the indolance of the past two days - lazed about the house in the morning, delaying his departure by two hours. Then, he had to wait in a long line at the post office just to buy a sheet of post card stamps. The hat he acquired the day before was turning out to be too big, as it flopped around on his head in the wind, sometimes blocking his view.
He had a little falling incident after brief contact with a railing on the river path, and though no damage was done to bike or rider, there is the physiological consideration.
After riding several more miles, we decided that the hat was not going to cut it. It was not going to work while on the bike, and we either had to send it home, or get it fixed. So we called a do-over, and rode 12 miles back into Tucson to see the little lady at the hat store. She fixed him right up with a little padding in the band, and now the hat fits great.
By this time, it was pretty late in the day, and we couldn't expect to make it out of the Tucson area by dark. We knew this would be the case when we turned back, so we rode the few miles back to Adam's Aunt Donna's house. When we got back, the house was locked up, but we enjoyed ourselves sitting on the back patio listening to music, something we haven't had an opportunity to do in a while. It was nice to just sit back and relax with nothing to do.
This also gives us a little time to go over our route again. We are playing chicken with the snowstorms north of the Tucson area. There are several spots we want to see in that area, including the Gila Cliff Dwellings, but the weather can be kind of dicey. We don't mind cold weather, or snow on the ground as long as the roads are clear. Getting stuck in a snow storm could be kind of uncomfortable. Anything approaching a low of 20 also starts to intrude on our comfort zone.
We have a little breathing room in our schedule, as after some discussion, Adam and I decided that we were not terribly interested in riding through Louisiana and Mississippi, and that we will find transit across those states in some manner. That gives us the flexibility to see some more of the things in Arizona and New Mexico that we would like instead of racing across the West. With that in mind, we're heading south and east towards the Mexican border again to visit Tombstone and Brisbee, which we hear is neat.
The bikes are still mostly loaded, and we plan to be up and out early to check out Colossal Caverns on the way out of town. Adam apologised to me for setting us back another day. I told him not to worry - I'm not going to complain about another night with clean sheets and a warm bed!

Lunch in Tucson

2010-02-11T08:03:00.000-08:00

This is a picture that Donna took of us at lunch yesterday. We are now steel cowboys!

Photo update

2010-02-10T21:24:00.000-08:00

We have had a wonderful rest day in Tucson. We analyzed our route and searched for potential places to stay over the next week or two until we get to El Paso. We got several recommendations and decided to go with the southern route of our possible options out of Tucson. If we go north, we run the risk of riding into snowy mountains. So, we will go see Tombstone and stay south of I-10 until we are into New Mexico.

In the afternoon, we ate pizza with Donna for lunch. After that we ran a few more errands and cleaned up and performed maintenance on the bicycles. For dinner, we fulfilled a craving from the last few days with fajitas at Guadalajara Grill.

Since Dwight normally writes the blog posts from his phone, we can't include too many pictures. This post is pictures with captions and references to previous blogs.

Day 1: San Diego to Alpine

San Diego Country Park

Day 2: Alpine to Ocotillo

Looking across the Mexican border

Coming down the mountains

Windblown and sunburned after 45 mph down the mountain

Sunset from the campsite outside Ocotillo (click image for full view)

Day 3: Ocotillo to Glamis

Sunrise over our campsite at Ocotillo

Below sea level between El Centro and Brawley

Night view from our sand dune campsite near Glamis. The bright lights are a passing car. The far off city lights are El Centro and Brawley

Day 4: Glamis to Yuma

Securing lodging for the evening via email atop the sand dune

Our campsite at the back of the sand dune

Taking a break after 30 good miles with a tailwind enroute to Yuma

Day 5: Yuma to Petroglyphs state park

Welcome to Arizona, where the roads haven't been paved for years!

Day 6: Petroglyphs State Park to Maricopa

Barrel Cactus growing near the petroglyphs

Hummingbird near our campsite at petroglyphs state park

Day 8: Tucson rest day

Getting ready for fajitas!

Rest Day

2010-02-09T16:37:00.001-08:00

First of all, sorry for the formatting on the mobile posts. The formatting from the phone I use gets messed up when it uploads to the blog, and I don't know how to fix it out besides going in and editing the html line by line. I'm way too lazy for that. I'll keep working on it, but sorry till then.

Monday was rough. After checking out the petroglyphs right next to the campgrounds,

we rode back down to the interstate and made our way to the town of Gila Bend. 1700 happy people and five old crabs, according to their sign:

The old crabs are listed by name, though you can't really make it out from this picture.

In my opinion, maps should be interactive. I'm a computer mapping professional (or would be if someone would pay me to do it again), so I expect maps to work a little like mapquest or google earth. If you click on a location, it should tell you what it is. If you click on two locations, you should be able to get an accurate reading of the distance between the two points, along your line of travel.

Paper maps do not work like this. We estimated from the dumb (literally) paper map that we had a 30 mile ride from Gila Pass to Maracopa where we would get supplies, and then camp outside of town. Our estimate was off by about 50%, and we had pedaled 45 miles before pulling into the lot for the grocery store in Maracopa. It was a long, dry, tedious ride into headwinds through the Sonora Desert.

This picture was taken when we still had faith in our original estimate and thought dinner and rest was 10 miles away, not 25.
After our 115 mile day yesterday, we were both looking to take it kind of easy and stop a little early. Instead we found ourselves rushing out of town as the sun went down, hoping to find a good spot to camp before it got too dark. We were worn down, tired, sore, and we were each in a foul mood. Adam joked about getting his aunt to come pick us up from her home in Tucson.

The best camping spot we could find was between the railroad track and and pistachio grove, behind a pile of debris. We heated up dinner quickly, put all our gear under Adam's green tarp, and settled in where we hoped to remain unobserved.

We worried at first, but before long we had come to like our spot. We could see the road and the trains, but we were well protected from discovery. We couldn't risk much light, as we might give away our position, so after dinner we laid around and tried to learn the constellations in the nearly cloudless sky. (We have Orion, Taurus, Perseus, and Cassiopeia's, I think we figured out Gemini last night)

Our only remaining worry was that the farmer who's pistachio trees we were near would drive by around dawn and discover us. So we woke up at 5, shook the frozen dew from our sleeping bags, and packed our gear. It was still pitch dark, so we cooked some oatmeal and made coffee as we waited for dawn. It was still pitch dark. We walked our bikes over the tracks and set up our lights and waited for dawn.

I managed to restrain Adam for about ten more minutes and as the sky was just starting to get light in the east before he dragged me onto the road, headed towards Casa Grande. We had put 15 miles behind us before the sun was up, and we were at our destination in Casa Grande by 8:30.

If we had ridden all the way to Tuscon, we would have spent most of the day on the shoulder of the interstate, all thoughts drowned out by passing semis. Instead, we waited in a Starbucks in Casa Grande for Donna, Adam's aunt, to come pick us up. We loaded our gear into the van, and she drove us to her home in Tuscon.

We spent the rest of the day running errands. We are ditching the tent (haven't used it once) for bivy sacks, I needed new tires, and we both needed a hat to keep the sun off.

Tomorrow is a full rest day! We'll run more errands, we're going to service the bikes and rest up. Hopefully a full day off will allow some of the aches and pains to fade a bit, and hopefully the soreness in my legs will transform into extra strength by Thursday.

We're going to start trying to post our daily and cumulative mileages. The problem is that I have been using a bike computer calibrated for my other bike, so it's readings are off. I'll have done the conversion by tomorrow and post our numbers. For right now, I think we've done around 415 miles this week.

Our first week on the road has been great. It already seems like we live in a different world. Things start to bleed together, and I have trouble remembering what day it is. It's great. I'm looking forward to the rest, and I need it, but I can't wait to get back on the road!

Century!

2010-02-07T21:08:00.001-08:00

So, no posting after the wine and steak last night. Should have known
better than to think I was going to.

Sean and Ali were great hosts, they opened their house to us. We met
their neighbor's children, who treated the house like it was their
own, coming in and playing out back and getting snacks in the kitchen.

They fixed us a great meal of steak and potatoes, served us wine, let
us use the shower and washing machine, and gave us each our own queen
size bed.

We slept in late this morning, and then fixed breakfast at Sean and
Ali's house. Sean was there to see us off In the morning, and we
headed out at around 10.

It is hard to express how grateful we are for the hospitality last
night. Not only were they generous, we had a wonderful time sitting
around and talking after dinner. So if you guys are reading, thanks
again!

From Yuma, we headed east through Dateland, where we got date shakes.
They were sweet and chunky. Neat once, I think that will do it for me.

The last ten miles into Dateland was supposed to be on a frontage road
along I-8. It started rough and bumpy, and deteriorated from there. By
the time we were three miles away from Dateland, it had turned into a
strip of crumbled asphalt mixed with soft sand, punctuated by bone
jarring bumps and wheel-destroying holes. Our tent poles shook loose
from my bike, and I can't imagine how my tires survived.

After almost falling over the third time, we jumped the barbed wire
fence, crossed to the other side of I-8, and rode the last three miles
into Dateland on the shoulder of the freeway. After all that, the
shakes were Welcome indeed.

After the break, all signs of the hated frontage road had disappeared,
so all bicycle traffic had to ride on the interstate. We rode the last
(we thought) 30 miles on the interstate.

Traffic was loud, but the shoulder of the road was wide, smooth, and
clear. With the wind at our backs we were averaging around 25 mph, and
with my iPod playing the miles passed quickly. We started seeing our
first wild saguaro cactii on this stretch of road. They dotted the
landscape, sticking up like thin fingers poking from the ground.

Just around sunset we got to our exit, where we expected to find
camping (tables for cooking and benches for sitting! Maybe even
water!) sign read: "camping - 11 miles". We decided to go for it
anyway, as it was better than getting back on the interstate to an
unknown destination after dark.

As we rode through the flat, scrubby plain into the rocky hills of the
park the sun set quickly behind mountains to the west, and the sun
shining through the clouds and the brown rock of the hills made the
horizon look like a smoky fire, framing giant saguaro cactii on the
ridgeline.

It was full dark before we reached the campground, and we almost
missed our turn twice before we stopped and got out our lights.

Even with the late start, stiff tail winds drove us to first century
today! Averaging around 20 mph for the day, we got somewhere around
120 miles before we finally stopped and set up camp in Petroglyphs
State Park. Hope this wind stays at our backs!

Showers!

2010-02-06T17:10:00.000-08:00

Sitting on Sean and Ali's back porch, watching the rain fall while i'm
warm, clean and dry. Enjoying a nice glass of wine.

Long day today, we're pretty tired and sore.

I'll write more later, after steaks and potatoes, perhaps.

Desert

2010-02-05T20:35:00.000-08:00

Today started off with a private showing from the Navy's Blue Angels.
They flew in close formation close overhead for about half an hour as
we rode.

My goal for the day was to get to El Centro and find the bike shop. My
tires were literally falling apart, and it's a miracle they got me off
the mountain in one piece.

The bike shop in El Centro had a great mechanic named Brian.
Unfortunately, the selection was rather poor and I now have temporary
cheap tires that should last till we get to Yuma.

All day long we traveled on nearly flat ground, surrounded by barren
mountains. Towards sunset, we climbed into the dunes of Imperial
Sand Dunes recreation area.

The map we are using indicated ther was camping at the Imperial Dunes
Recreation Area. So as the lush, irrigated land gave way to scrubby
dunes in a sharp line, we started pushing a little harder in
anticipation of running water and showers.

Imperial Dunes is an incredible place to camp - if your idea of
camping is driving your huge truck, towing your huge trailer with your
fleet of dune buggies and atvs to race around the desert. When we
asked at the ranger station about camping we were told that there is
no water, no showers, not even any picnic tables. We could camp
anywhere we pleased, but "be careful where you camp, because there's a
lot of this orv-ing. You know."

He didn't mention the wilderness area right across the road where the
only thing allowed is hiking and camping. We figured that out
ourselves through the clever reading of the ranger's map.

So now we are on a high dune, having climbed more than 1000 feet from
El Centro, which lies about 100 feet below sea level. It shields our campsite from the road and from the top of it, I can see all of
the towns we came through today, and the distant lights of Mexicali on
the horizon.

Right across the road from us is the main meeting area of the off-
roading crew. They have everything you could
need in the middle of the desert. No water, flushing toilets, or
tables. But they had nitrogen service, carnival food, giant tires and firewood for sale (no fire allowed in wildness area, sorry).
Currently we are discussing our route, possibly trying to go through
Dateland, which comes highly reccomended. Anybody heard of Dateland?

Down From The Mountains

2010-02-04T21:38:00.000-08:00

We are over our first set of mountains!

After spending the last day and a half painfully storing up potential
energy, we spent it all in 8 hair raising miles.

Our route brushed us against the Mexican border and through a border
patrol checkpoint. Here, the two lane road ends, and all bicycle traffic
must merge onto the interstate.

Finally, after two days of grinding up miles-
long slopes at Four or five miles an hour, we found ourselves bombing
down the freeway, not much slower than some of the trucks trying not
to burn out their brakes.

The veiw was breathtaking, it was hard to take my eyes off the
scenery, as we descended around the last hills, and the valley spread
out below us.

But I did tear my gaze away, as it required full attention to navigate
the debris-strewn shoulder at high speed while watching out for
interstate traffic and dealing with strong cross-winds.

We're now camping in the desert in what I assume is BLM land. We even
have a little fire to keep us warm.

Tomorrow we have to find a bike shop, as the ride down the mountain
seems to have shredded my rear tire!

Into the Mountains

2010-02-03T17:56:00.000-08:00

Our first day is done!

We got out of San Diego, through Alpine, and are cooking dinner at
camp in Cleveland National Forest. We are going to sleep under stars
(clouds) because we are too tired to set up the tent.

The hills are big, and they will get bigger tomorrow and the next day.

After that, I'm pretty sure it's all downhill to Raleigh.

Leaving San Diego

2010-02-02T20:55:00.001-08:00

Our bikes are delivered and re-assembled, our bags are packed, and we're tying off all of our loose ends, we leave tomorrow morning!

We had a great time in San Diego, I can't think of a better place we could have been stuck for a few days. My wonderful family gave us a great room with a wonderful view, fed us incredible food, helped us receive and assemble our bikes, and gave us transportation. Here's the view from our room of Mission Bay: Lots of thanks to Mary and Alan, Scott and Sarah, Suzie, Nancy, and Aunt Jodi, who was kind enough to let us live with her for most of a week.

My Mother came out from Raleigh, NC to see us off, and she has been a great help to us while we were here. Even after we leave, she's still going to be working for us, carting home the stuff we wanted for LA and San Diego, but didn't want to load on our bikes.

We did so much in San Diego, but we'll keep it short here with a couple of highlights.

This is the USS Midway. It was built in the 40's, served in Desert Storm, and is now a museum in downtown San Diego.
We finally received our bikes on Tuesday afternoon. We wrapped up our tour of the USS Midway and headed to my cousin's Scott's furniture company, Design Synthesis. Scott was kind enough to receive our shipment, as they required a loading dock to drop off our bike.

I think we've been able to set up our phones so that we can post short entries and camera phone pictures on the go. We'll try to write a good post and download some higher quality photos when we get good internet connections.

Tomorrow's the big day, it's hard to believe its finally here! Wish us luck!

Catching up with friends in SoCal

2010-02-01T10:30:00.000-08:00

We have spent more time in California than originally anticipated, but we have enjoyed it all. We flew into Los Angeles on 27 January and our trip became an adventure right away.

An obviously foreign girl left her iPhone near where we were charging our phones by baggage claim. Dwight tried to run her down to return her phone, but she was gone. We ended up calling the last person she called and getting them to come back to get the phone. They offered to give us a ride and took us to Union Station downtown. They were in the fashion industry, one French and the other Venezuelan.

When we got to the train platform, there were many people speaking in languages other than English. Between the foreign sounds and the completely different climate, it felt like we were in a foreign country. We stopped at my friend Barb's studio to pick up keys and got to watch some taping of her show, All My Children. There was a map of Pine Valley on the wall in the studio, which is the name of the first area we plan to camp outside San Diego. After discussions with several people, Barb told us it was the fictional location of the show, in Pennsylvania.

After a good night's rest and a morning of catching up on email and blogging, we headed out to Eaton Canyon, NE of Pasadena. It was a great hike up a stream valley (they called it a river). They measure water on a different scale than we do back east. The reverse is true for mountains.

The waterfall at the end of the trail was nice and cool, in the shaded end of the canyon. The water felt about 50 F, so we didn't do any swimming!

There were many other people out enjoying the day. We did some tree identification (Scotch Pine!) and practiced with our cameras. At the end of the day, we had over 125 pictures, including a few nice panoramics. In the evening we met up with Barb, her niece, and coworker for dinner.
The next day, we headed out to the beaches. We started at Santa Monica Pier, the western terminus of Route 66. I got a call from Pat back in New York that it was 5 degrees, so I made sure to send him a picture from the warm, sunny beach!

Our next stop was Venice Beach. We had a great lunch and then walked to view the area. There were some great architecturally interesting beach houses. We walked to Muscle Beach, which looked like all the equipment was still vintage from the 60s. I knocked out a set of pullups, just to get a small workout in. There were so many strangely dressed people, that we stood out in collared shirts and unripped blue jeans.

Our last stop was Longbeach, where we met Dwight's longtime friend, Kris Larson. We had a great, wide ranging conversation about Kris's move to California and his work with the city planning there and back in Raleigh before he left. Barb's niece is close to completing her master's in urban planning, so we exchanged their contact information.

Shortly after Kris's girlfriend, Erin, showed up, he headed to a brewery for dinner. Another old friend from Raleigh, John Murphy, met us there. We spent the evening catching up and telling stories. It was really great to see those guys again. For me, it had been almost 15 years, and it seems like, while we've all changed, we still managed to be friends.

I've noticed that since I've been back, I've been more interested and feeling more part of these friendships than I did before. I guess that's the difference between always being ready to leave, and now having a little more permanency to my life.

The great evening came to an end, and we went back to Barb's. In the morning, after another nice breakfast, Barb took us to the train station. She was very helpful and a great host in LA. We took the train and stopped to have lunch with Kris and Erin in Longbeach at the local Art Museum overlooking the bay. The breakfast burritos and flautas were outstanding!

We could see the oil rigs, which drill diagonally to reach deposits directly beneath the city, only a few hundred feet off shore. The city ordered the oil companies to make the drilling platforms less of an eyesore, so they are camouflaged to look like little resort islands.

After lunch, we got on another train and headed to San Diego. Dwight's mom and cousin picked us up and we went to dinner with Dwight's family.

Sunday morning (31 JAN), we got up, had a little breakfast, and I went to the San Diego Hash. It was a great trail up one side of a valley and back down the next valley. The lunch was great and they did skits for their change of leadership. It was a great afternoon.

Now it's 1 Feb and our bikes still aren't here. I did talk to the freight company, and they say the bikes will get delivered tomorrow, so we've got another day in sunny California. There always seems to be errands to run. We are both really looking forward to getting on the road and getting into the rhythm of our ride.

Shakedown Trip, OBX NC, Day 2

2010-01-31T20:01:00.000-08:00

I thougth when we started this trip that the hardest part of sleeping outdoors would be getting up in the morning and starting to ride on sore musles and minds dulled from poor sleep on a cold, hard ground. I was completely wrong. We slept great, and the hard part was breaking camp in the cold. I looked forward to getting on the bike, as I wasn't very sore, and I wanted to work up a little warmth.

We woke right before dawn, packed our tent, and made our way back to the road. It was chilly when we got out of our sleeping bags, but after a few minutes on the bike, we warmed right up.

Our first stop was in Manteo at the grocery store to buy a little food for breakfast. Another mile down the road, and we stopped at the rest area on Hwy 64 just south of Manteo. We claimed a picnic table, broke out the stove, and proceeded to cook cheesy grits and eggs. It was pretty cold at breakfast, as there was nothing to cut the wind coming off the sound.

We ate breakfast quickly and got on the road. From previous experience, I was not looking forward to crossing the Washington Baum Bridge, which crosses from Roanoke Island to the Nags Head causeway. Though it is not the longest bridge in the area, it is steep, the winds are high, and there is often lots of traffic.

We found the bridge as steep as I remembered, but the wind was at our back, and traffic was not too bad. We cruised right across and headed south on Hwy 12 towards Cape Hatteras.

We had a great ride heading south on the outer banks. The wind was at our back, and we kept a pretty good pace.

After going through South Nags Head, we had to cross the Bonner Bridge, the bridge over the Oregon Inlet.

I have a long history with the Bonner Bridge. Twenty years ago, I biked up the outer banks with a summer camp group, but we were required to ride across bridges in the support van, with the bikes in the trailer. When I lived on the outer banks, I never made it far enough south on my bike to have an opportunity to ride the bridge. I had been looking forward to this for some time.

The Bonner Bridge is long, curvy, narrow and windy. The view is spectacular, however, and the traffic at this time of year is not so bad. We fixed Adam's camera to the handlebar of his bike and recorded video as we began to cross the bridge. With the wind still at our backs, we were able to keep a good pace, and soon found ourselves at the top of the span.

This bridge has no bicycle facilities built in, but there was no traffic at the time, so we were able to stop and take a good look. On the south side of the inlet, the old abandoned Coast Guard Station was visible, contrasting sharply with the modern, clean-looking Coast Guard Station located on the northern side of the inlet. Marsh and the open water of the Pamlico Sound stretched as far as we could see to the west, and to the east we could see the angry, turbulent water whipped into a froth where the ocean tide, wind and the still water of the sound all collide.

Winter is my favorite time on the outer banks. The tourists have gone home, the weather is often raw and bleak. The ocean seems more powerful, and takes on an angry, vengeful aspect. Nor'easter storms can turn the breakers into a foamy mass of whitewater for hundres of yards out. Wind whips at your clothes, blowing sand dances across the beach like the first light dusting of snow on asphalt. There is plenty of wildlife present, but the tundra swans and snow geese present this time of year just remind you of how harsh the weather can be.

Never does nature seem more present, more immediate. There is no warmth, no shelter, no concession to humanity.

It is desolate, forbidding. I have found no place more beautiful.

I would have like to set up camp right there. At the very least, it would have been nice to break for a few minutes to soak in the view. As it was, traffic started catching up to us, and we had to continue down the bridge on to Pea Island.

We took this picture just south of the bridge:

Not sure where this spur of road used to go, or if it was perhaps a boat ramp at some point. Unless I'm mistaken, the Bonner Bridge was the first bridge to span the Oregon Inlet, so maybe this is where the old local road used to end.

What I found interesting was the make of the car pictured on the warning sign. It seems this sign cautions agianst driving your El Camino into the sound. Good advice, I think. Only Volkswagons float.

A dozen or so miles further down the road, we stopped at the Pea Island National Wildlife Refuge Visitor Center. They have some nice telescopes set up for viewing the birds that forage in the fresh water ponds maintained by the USFWS. We picked up a few post cards, checked out the maps and some of the bird ID sheets, and headed out on our way.

The rest of the trip south was pretty monotonous. The two lane road runs straight, and has a narrow shoulder. A man-made line of dunes, constructed to protect the road, blocked our view of the ocean to the west, while the view to the east was of expanses of marsh and low sandy dunes. The power lines overhead streched into the distance, fading into the salty air well short of any turn or deviation from their course.

These long expanses were broken by a few developed areas, little towns indistinguishable from each other. Old, smaller cottages side up to huge 20 room beach mansions, with small shops and numerous restraunts.

One of these towns, Chicamacomico, while unremarkable in appearance now has a small claim to fame. It was home to the first all African-American Life Saving Station in the US. This service eventually evolved into the US Coast Guard.

These were brave men. Brave, or insane. They would row out to wrecked ships to pull sailors to the safety of shore before their ships broke up and they drowned in the surf. Since the ships didn't often run aground in nice, clear weather, this feat was most often performed in highly dangerous situations. When the waves and wind made it impossible to row out, many of the members of the service would swim out in hurricane conditions to drag back survivors. It was dangerous and deadly work, and they lived out here at a time when they were often the only inhabitants for miles around. And since the Chicamacomico station was all African-American, these particular servcie members often found their thanks chilly and reluctant.

We passed Buxton and had a distant look at the tallest brick lighthouse on the east coast, the Hatteras Light. In Hatteras village, we caught the free ferry to Ocracoke, which was a nice, warm break.

Ocracoke was a nice ride. Since the ferry only runs every hour this time of year, and the ferry is the only thing to drive to on the east end of the island.

We pulled into Ocrocoke village just before sunset, and scoped out our camping spot near the Springer's Point, part of the North Carolina Coastal Land Trust. Springer's Point used to be a hangout of Blackbeard the pirate.

There is more than just pirates to worry about at Springer's Point. If you are not careful, the turtles will drop from the trees and ambush you:

We watched the sun set over Springer's Point. It was one of those rare sunsets, when you can see the last sliver of sun as it dissapears below the horizon, unobscured by land, trees, or clouds. Watching that last bit of light wink out is the perfect way to end a day.

We ate dinner out at Daijo, and were one of only two groups there that evening. Daijo was one of only two places open for dinner in Ocracoke this time of year.

After dinner we turned on our lights, rode back past Springer's Point and set up camp. I was fast asleep in no time, and slept well until our alarm went off well before dawn.

It was cold and dark as we broke camp and brought our bikes out of the woods. We warmed up in the ferry office with coffee and trail mix while we waited for our final leg of the journey to begin. The sun rose over the Pamlico Sound as we rode the Swan Quarter ferry back to our car.

We had a great shakedown ride. Our gear (and our legs and lungs and bums) held up admirably. The cold was penetrating, but not miserable. As long as it doesn't get much colder during our long trip, we should be OK.

The hardest part now is waiting for the real trip to begin. Our tickets are purchased, our gear is ready, and the open road beckons.

Shakedown Trip, OBX NC, Day 1

2010-01-28T10:31:00.000-08:00

Two weeks ago, Adam and I did a short, two night trip around the northern outer banks in North Carolina to shakedown our gear and bikes.

We parked the car at the ferry in Swan Quarter, southeast of Lake Mattamuskeet:

View Untitled in a larger map

We got permission from the ferry staff to leave our car at the ferry for a couple of days, loaded the gear onto our bikes, and headed out.

We took US 264 east, went past Lake Mattamuskeet, through Englehard, on north into the Alligator River National Wildlife Refuge, past Stumpy Point and Manns Harbor, crossed the old Umstead Bridge which brought us to the northern end of Roanoke Island, just north of Manteo.

It was a pretty long ride - about 75 miles for the day. Wind was not against us, but not always with us. The route was unpopulated for the most part. US 264 goes through some of the most sparsely populated areas in North Carolina. We passed miles and miles of forested swamp, the road cutting straight through without bend or turn, with a wide canal on each side of us.

Monotonous as the road was, the wildlife and solitude was great. So few cars travel this way that we could take the whole lane side-by-side, with more than enough warning when cars would approach us from the rear. We scared up innumerable Kingfishers and Great Blue Herons hunting in the canals. They were much more scared of us than they were of the cars that would occasionally pass.

We thought we would buy some oysters in Englehard or Manns Harbor to roast as we camped that evening. The couple of places we stopped were sold out. We were told that the boat would be back "in about ten minutes", and that they might have some oysters aboard when it came in. We opted not to wait. We were not getting very welcoming signals from the incomprehensively accented locals hanging around.

It was a good thing we weren't able to find any oysters - it was not possible to build a fire at our campsite that night, and we would have been unable to cook them. I can eat a few raw oysters, but not a whole peck.

The Dare County Penninsula is connected to Roanoke Island by two bridges - The Virginia Dare Bridge and the Umstead Bridge. The Virginia Dare Bridge is the newer of the two, and the longest bridge in the state, at five miles long. It has four travel lanes and a nominal bike lane, which resembles a small shoulder, and a pull-out on the top of the span, which was added explicitly to give cyclists a place to stop out of traffic.

The Umstead Bridge is older, built sometime in the 50's north of the new bridge. It has two travel lanes with no median, no shoulder, and is three miles long. This is my favorite three miles of highway for cycling that I've found yet. It has a large area at the top of the span meant as parking for utility vehicles that come out to service the bridge. This is a perfect spot to pull over, enjoy the view, and eat a snack.

I love cycling across this bridge. The guard rails are low, the bridge is narrow, and it feels like you're flying across the water when you're on the bike. I've seen all kinds of wildlife from this bridge, from dolphins to sea turtles, numerous kinds of jellies, purple martins, gulls, cormorants, and pelicans.

We crossed the Croatan Sound using the Umstead bridge, and took a nice break at the top.

After completing the trip across the bridge, we camped on private land right near the shore of the north end of the island, not far from the Lost Colony staff housing. There was ice forming on the rocks on the south shore of Roanoke Sound, and it was in the low 30's when we stopped for the day.

We ate spaghettii with pesto, dry sausage and cheese for dinner. I put in a few extra miles on the bike to pick up a 22 of Fat Tire to wash it all down with. Very satisfying meal.

We had not been cold while cycling all day, but it started to get chilly by the time we were cleaned up from dinner. We were sheltered from the wind, but it felt like the ground was leeching all the heat out of our bones.

Once in our sleeping bags, we were as warm as we cared to be. We had good digital coverage, so we caught up on email before falling asleep. Even when the ground is hard and cold, it's pretty easy to get to sleep after putting in around 80 miles on the bike.

Shakedown ride at the Outerbanks

2010-01-26T20:35:00.001-08:00

This photo is from Swan Quarter, NC, the start of our shakedown ride on 11-13 January. The gear here is what we will look like when we start riding from San Diego next Monday. I expect that I will post most of the pictures and Dwight will post most of the writing.

I will also write about Operation Free, a veterans group of which I am a member, that is working to improve our national security through controlling climate change. http://www.operationfree.net/home/ is the website. We will stop to make presentations when we have opportunities. We are using fuel to get to our start, but shouldn't produce many emissions, unless we eat a lot of beans along the way.

I am hoping to have time for reflection, to work through my new life out of the army, and to discuss each of our futures, considering the major changes we are both facing. I better get to bed for the early plane flight tomorrow. I am amazed that this is really happening.

Getting Started

2010-01-26T16:59:00.000-08:00

What do you do when you lose your job and find out you're expecting a child?

Drop everything, and escape on your bicycle, of course.

Adam has just got out of the Army, and my job in Durham wound to an end. We have a little money saved, and we decided that this opportunity was not likely to present itself again. After lots of consideration, Karen told me to go for it. After the baby comes, there will be no more trips like this for a long time to come. Its now or never.

On the first of February, we'll start on the beach in San Diego and head east on our bikes. We're fully self-sufficient, which means we'll be camping and cooking our own food. We'll have no support following us, and we'll be carrying all of our own gear - bike supplies, camping and cooking gear, and clothes.

We plan on a two-month trip, finishing up on the east coast on Adam's birthday, March 28th. Our route will keep as far south as possible to avoid the worst weather. We'll go through southern Arizona, New Mexico, El Paso, Del Rio, and on to Austin. From there our route is less well defined - it will be largely determined by how much time we have remaining, what the weather is like, and how we feel.

We'll try to post as often as possible, uploading our location, pictures, and descriptions of what we see and do. This blog is meant to keep everyone interested in our trip up to date, and to relieve the worry of some of our family members. We'll try to post as often as possible, but we'll be limited by how often we can find a keyboard and an internet connection. Check back, and let us know in the comments if you have any questions