Von Ducky

Von Reno has grown up a lot this summer. Someday I hope to be cycling with him. He was the image of my very first post, so it seems appropriate to end with him. I still plan to go back and read over my adventure, and to add some reflections as well. I think about the trip often- so much that I'm considering doing it again. But first I might bike through Poland. I've started learning the language. Czterdziesci dwa. That's 42.

Metamorphosis

Tania at ''Metamorphosis'' in Kingston inked me.

http://www.metamorphosistattoos.com/
Recommended to me by my good friend Joe, Tania has now tatooed three teachers from Cairo Elementary, maybe more.

Losing True

You know her as ''Kitty''. AKA Rochelle, Amanda, and I went to see the Roches in Woodstock the Friday after I got back.
Maggie, Terre, and Suzzy were great. Rochelle and Amanda were naughty.

In Search Of

Kevin and I, friends for 25 years, who live only 20 minutes apart, finally found time to see each other and play some golf.
See Kevin. See Kevin swing. See Kevin hit a monster shot down the fairway.
See Kevin search for his ball. Hear Kevin curse. Curse, Kevin, curse!

42 Tattoo

The same day I rode out of Buffalo I had the first idea for this tattoo. I talked with those teens in Dunkin' Donuts for an hour; the one at the counter had a tattoo on his forearm. I asked him to turn it so I could see it. It was a pattern with circular elements, and though I liked the tattoo itself, I was more intrigued by its location. I had thought about getting a tattoo in the past, but never in such an obvious place. I liked the brazeness of it. One of my favorite quotes is: ''Well, if you're gonna play, play.'' George Carlin said that. Perhaps not one of our most famous philosophers, but how perfect.
So I made an appointment very shortly after I got home, designed the tattoo, and had it imprinted a few days ago.
42 days on the road. (43, but one day of no mileage.) 42 days to accomplish something I've dreamt of doing for years. 42 days I miss a lot lately. Coincidentally, 42 is also an homage to one of my favorite authors, Douglas Adams. According to him ''42'' is the answer to the great question of ''life, the universe, and everything''. But perfectly useless without knowing the actual question, without understanding the context and meaning.
And we make our kids reguritate for tests, tests, tests!
42.

Twice as Old

Von Reno was surprised to see me, or maybe just my hair.

iCrossed iParty

Read the blurb on the upper right, and come to the party.

La-st-ats

Day39: 105 miles
Day40: 65 miles
Day41: 130 miles
Day42: 70 miles
Day43: 110 miles
Number of Centuries: 6
Average Miles Per Day: 76.5

Fin (Coordinates)

n 42 16.427, w 70 51.554

3,213 Miles
42 Riding Days
232.5 Hours in the Saddle
10 States, 1 Canadian Territory
2 Oceans

The travel is done, but not the blog. In lieu of biking today, I'm blogging. And I'll keep blogging- there are still things I skipped, things I still want to digest and document. Thanks to everyone who followed me, supported me, and assisted me on this trip. Without you I'd probably just keep riding... somewhere. But instead I have family and friends to come home to. See you soon.

Night41 Pittsfield MA (Coordinates)

n 42 25.840, w 73 19.006
I had written a lot about this momentous day, but the post never made it to the blog. Just catching up some now, so more on Day41 soon.
9.21.07 Update:

Third Millenium (Coordinates)

n 42 39.888, w 73 47.361
No picture to show with this third roll of the bike computer because of the lost phone charger. You Albanians will picture exactly where this happened: right in front of the Norma Jean (formerly Madison) theatre.

Hands Across America

This trip has left me a bit of a cripple. My left hand, which above is crossing fingers in the style I've used for years to freak out Joanne [Ciccarelli] Drake, still functions normally. But on my right hand I can't even bring my fingers together. It makes sense. Since this has been happening for the last week, I've noticed that I hold my handlebars differently with each hand. I bend my right wrist more, and although my hand doesn't go numb, it's becoming more useless at the end of each day. I drop change, I can't grip a fork or a pen, and I have trouble making my evening toilet (that means washing up). Know any good therapists?

Just Passing By

Night42 Springfield MA (Coordinates)

n 42 08.517, w 72 29.891
Last night. Atlantic tomorrow.

Night40 Waterville NY (Coordinates)

n 42 56.044, w 75 22.759
Because I told a good friend I would, and because I had nowhere else to bunk, I slept in a cemetary in Waterville. I pulled into at least four motels toward the end of the day, all with no vacancies. And it stormed. Before the first wave I was able to duck into a little pizza place, where I met a nice family who asked all about my trip. They had a son going in to fifth grade who, every time I answered one of his questions, would raise his eyebrows and look at his father in astonishment. They gave me some ideas of places I could check out for tonight, bit none of their suggestions worked out. So I did what I always do when I don't know where I'm going to stay- I kept riding. And eventually I came to Waterville. As I rode up Main Street there I could see the cemetary crowning a hill a block to the left. I knew immediately that's where I would sleep. The rain and thunder
threatened more, but didn't sweep in until I was safely bedded down- next to the Lockwoods and Mr. Chambers.
I have ridden over 2,500 miles, over the Cascades and the Rockies, and I have never climbed hills like there are between Auburn and Cazenovia. I don't know what to say about them really. I went up to 1500 feet, down to 500, up to 1700, down to 500, and up, and down...
There were three distinct hills that blew my mind. Coming down is like freefalling, hands constantly pumping the breaks, and climbing I did at no more than 3 mph. Simply unique territory.

Night39 Skaneateles NY (Coordinates)

n 42 56.630, w 76 27.728
Today took me through the beautiful Finger Lakes area of New York. The beautiful, gently rolling hills of central New York. I am very familiar with this type of terrain, so I finished one of the easiest centuries I've ever done- 106 miles- and ended the day just outside the quaint town of Skaneateles.

Spada-dee-dada

One of the best surprises of the trip, my very good friend Eric tracked me down (using the blog) and met me for breakfast the morning of Day39. Well, it wasn't exactly a surprise since I talked to him the night before, and months ago we planned do meet up on the road. But who really keeps those promises: ''We'll have to get together...'' Friends like Eric do. Eric, his dad, and his uncle were three weeks into their own adventure. They have been biking (the motorized kind) down from Alaska, and as we got closer to crossing paths, and out of Canada's dead cell zones, we organized to meet. I haven't seen a single face I know since I left Danny and Geni over a month ago, and seeing Eric felt like a turning point- I'm getting close to home on the east coast.
It was great to sit and share a meal and stories of the road. (Spada- Maybe some day we can organize a trip together. You would have liked this one, and I would have liked the company. But no way could you get me up by 8:00 every day.)
Check out the Spada's blog: http://biketrip07.blogspot.com/

Night34 Vassar MI (Coordinates)

n 43 22.297, w 83 35.063
A friend informed me I was missing a night, so here it is, well out of order.
This blog might be a little messed up. I swear I remember writing about doing laundry in the tub, but due to the vagaries of this phone and my data connection I'm not sure if it ever got out. Shampoo, bathtub, footwork, and a place to hang dry is how I've been doing my laundry for the last month and a half.

Where Am I?

I must have taken a couple of left turns and not realized it.

I have a phone charger now, but not a lot of time to charge it. I'm sitting in restaurant in Lee, Massachusetts. Yesterday turned out to be an amazing day, and I'm ahead of schedule, but I'm anxious to get to Boston, now only a day and a half away. I have a lot to blog. My plan is to catch up tonight, so check early tomorrow- the last day!

Charger Gone

I must have left my charger at the last hotel. And the battery is almost dead now. Tomorrow I'll check in town for a Verizon store...

Stats (That's ''Stats'' backwards.)

Day28: 85 miles
Day29: 60 miles
Day30: 90 miles
Day31: 90 miles
Day32: 5 miles
Day33: 96 miles
Day34: 75 miles
Day35: 85 miles
Day36: 120 kilometers
Day37: 170 kilometers
Day38: 85 miles
Total: 2,740 miles
Total Time in Saddle: 198 hours
Number of Days Left: ??

Night38 Attica NY (Coordinates)

n 42 52.408, w 78 16.540
The view of Buffalo from the Peace Bridge was a welcome sight. Everything immediately seemed so familiar even though I'm still hundreds of miles from home. The route signs, the rolling hills, and the first Dunkin' Donuts.
I stopped in that Dunkin' Donuts, and met four very inquisitve teens. I sat and consumed two croissant sandwiches and two iced coffees while they fired question after question at me. One kid just kept shaking his head and saying, ''All the way from Seattle on a bike?!'' The one who worked there gave me the ''police discount'' when he rang me up. That's what it read, right on the register's screen: ''police discount''. I think it was 50% off.
I really enjoyed talking with them and I hated to leave, but I wanted to get back on the road. The closer I get to home, the more anxious I feel, but it's important to me to savor these last days as well.

I'm watching the news about the Minneapolis bridge collapse, and I've gotten out my map and checked my GPS to see where I was in realtion to that particular one. I was about three bridges south. It timing and location had been different, I may have had to Evil-Knievel the Mississippi.

Cross-Country Next Year

The day after I stopped to take a picture of this SmartCar, I saw another in the parking lot of Tim Horton's. (If you've ever been to Canada for two seconds, you know exactly what Tim Horton's is. If you haven't, you have no idea.)
The driver of the car was rolling down his window as I was pulling in. I said, ''Great car.'' He said, ''Great bike,'' and went on to tell me he was a cyclist, he'd done a bunch of touring, and asked me about my trip. He said he would have given me a place to stay if he had seen me last night.
We talked about the car, too. His is a diesel, and it gets about 60 miles to the gallon. I told him I really wanted one, but they weren't selling in the states yet. Next year, he told me, but only the gas version, and the mileage wasn't as good as some cars already sold in the U.S. No matter, I still want one. (I can always hook a little trailer up to it for my trips to Home Depot.)

Steady As She Goes

The elevation of Canada is 731 feet. All of Canada, that is, if the west-east route that I traveled is any indication.
You know when you're dreaming and things seem familiar, yet just a little off? That's Canada.

Take Off Eh. Time For a Two-Four.

Should I call this a ''cross-countries'' trip?

My Driver (Continued)

Kyle said she'd been out west a bunch of times and would like to live there, but she's a little scared to go on her own and leave her family. I told her to go for it, she could always come back. I hope she does.
I thanked her, told her about the blog, and snapped her picture. She truly brightened my erstwhile crappy morning.

My Driver

The last time I crossed the border into Canada, six years ago, I had to call for a taxi since bikes aren't allowed to ride over the bridge. Expecting to have to do the same again, I pulled all the way to the right of the toll booths and waited to catch the eye of a customs worker. I did. Two, actually- Kyle and her supervisor. ''Cross country?'' the supervisor was yelling to Kyle. ''Cross country?'' Kyle yelled to me. I yelled, ''Yeah.'' (It was noisy, so we were yelling at each other. Not to be confused with the Port Huron folk yelling at me that morning.)
The supervisor came over and told me to cross all the booths and that they'd give me a ride across in their truck. No charge either, a big difference from last trip.
Kyle (pictured above) restored my faith in the people of Port Huron, although I'm not sure if she herself resides there. She was very friendly and chatty (in the best sense). It took us at least 20 minutes to get over the bridge and through customs on the other side. She was glad for the break, she said, since she usually just collects tolls. This was her first time bringing someone over the bridge, and her first time crossing the bridge during the day. The drinking and gambling ages in Canada are both 19, and I'm guessing she's only about 20. We talked all about the border, and I was surprised to hear that most of the trucks that come into the U.S. here are garbage trucks... full garbage trucks that return empty. (Continued)

Night37 Dunnville ON (Coordinates)

n 42 54.993, w 79 39.092
Long day. Late day. Sleep now. New York tomorrow!

Night36 Lambeth Ontario (Coordinates)

n 42 55.420, w 81 16.591
I'm beat, so I'm just catching up on coordinates.

Do I Look Happy?

Mom sent a copy of my birth certificate to Port Huron, and I rode down to the post office to retrieve it. The woman behind the counter, a pleasant looking person, was a bit frustrated with me as I questioned her for clarity about the forms I had to fill in. The reason I mention it is that she was at least the tenth unfriendly person I ran into in Port Huron. People in traffic, at the motel, at convenience stores- just unhappy. I was anxious to get out of Michigan.

Totally Tubular

I think the guy's name is Dan, and I never learned the girl's name, but they did me a solid. Last night as I was checking the pressure in my tires, they both blew. I didn't even know if I had two spares. I did, but just two.
I've been splitting the rubber at the base of the valve. The only way I know how, right now, to avoid it is to leave the tires alone.
Now that I'm down to no spares, and a recurring type of tube failure that's almost impossible to patch, I'm hyper-sensitive to the road.
After talking with ''Dan'' and ''girl'' for a while at a restaurant where we were both taking a meal break, I mentioned my predicament. Dan said he happened to have a tube that wouldn't fit his tire and that I should take it. What luck, really. I thanked him over and again; he was giving me peace of mind, not just a tube.
Dan has been cross country twice by himself, and now he and girl are heading up to Minnesota to see some friends. They were shocked to hear that they were the first people I've met who were also traveling by bike. (I've met many cyclists, but no one on a bike trip.)
My good luck continues. I might have to stop at Turningstone Casino on my way through New York.

Night35 Port Huron MI (Coordinates)

n 43 00.378, w 82 26.448
So here I am. Again. Six years ago I was in this exact same motel. I remember because I walked over to White Castle to get something to eat. It is the first and only White Castle I've seen. The picture here could be the house of the woman who let me sleep in her backyard the night before the last day of the first attempt. I can't remember exactly, but it seems familiar. I remember how crappy the roads are around here. Not just the shoulder, but the lane as well. The only other thing I recognized was a restaurant I had eaten at. It's now closed down.
Tomorrow I cross into Canada, and if my experience is the same as last time I'm going to be forced to find transport over the bridge. That means calling for a cab.

Today marks five weeks on the road. Because I'm so close to New York I feel as if I'm done, or I should be done, but then I realize I still have another week. And a week is still longer than any bike trip I've ever done in the past. A lot of miles left to cover. At the same time, the miles have been flying by. Not in terms of speed, but in routine. 75 miles a day is as nothing now. And honestly, Minnesota, Wisconsin, and Michigan I'm sure have their own distinct personalities, but to me they have been far too subtle to detect. One day is very much like the next lately. Am I anxious to get home finally? No. But I can't wait to see Von Reno again!

Night33 (Continued)

The trooper and I chatted more. He sighed more. I assured him I would just be riding down to the next exit. The shoulder here was wide and clean, so I felt very safe, and he finally did as well. He even gave me advice where to stay, and where not to stay in town.
We shook hands, and he wished me a good trip, and I thanked him. He really was a cool guy- didn't take himself too seriously, but obviously cared about his job protecting people.

Night33 Clare MI (Coordinates)

n 43 49.199, w 84 46.215
I didn't take a single picture today. I wish I had taken one of the Michigan state trooper who pulled me over. He turned out to be a really friendly and helpful guy. Turned out, because at first he was a mix between amused and exasperated.
''What are you doing?'' he said, as he got out of his car. I had stopped not because I had seen him, but because he pulled up behind me and sounded one of those emergency buzzes.
I told him I was just riding down to Clare, which at this point was only a couple of miles away.
''This is the freeway,'' he said.
''I've just been following Route 10 and it turned into a freeway,'' I said. It was perfectly true. And there were no signs restricting pedestrians or bikes when it happened. He asked where I was coming from. I told him Seattle originally, but today from Ludington.
''You rode from Ludington today?'' he asked. ''That's-''
''95 miles,'' I finished his thought.
He smiled. He sighed. ''I want to get you off the road, bring you to the next exit.'' He could tell by the look on my face that I had not come this far to get a two-mile lift. ''But you probably don't want that,'' he said.
He smiled and chuckled some more, and we talked some about my trip. He said he understood about the commitment and not wanting a ride since he had been riding his motorcycle into work every day, rain or shine. For some reason he couldn't today, and he felt like he had broken a promise with himself.
(Continued)

Testing

Phone Problems

Night32 Ludington MI (Coordinates)

n 43 57.312, w 86 26.559
The boat trip took four hours, and adding an hour for entering the eastern time zone made it close to 7:00 before I actually deboarded with my bike. I wanted to put some miles in, but the weather was still lousy, and I was drained from the ferry- like sitting in a car or on a plane for an extended time.
So instead of riding I opted to find a room for the night, get something to eat, and maybe get out on the road early the next morning. The room was cheap and comfortable. The calamari from the Italian restaurant was delicious. Two out of three ain't bad.

Crossed A Great Lake

8 States.

Unclear

I hoped to spend the day on the open deck, but the conditions continue to be lousy. There were some rumbles of thunder during the trip, but really it's just plain old rainy.

Inside

There are two decks that serve cafeteria-style food. There are multiple outdoor observation areas. There is a quiet room/museum. There is an arcade. There is a theatre. There are small state rooms. There are two TV viewing areas.
I'd rather be on my bike.

Boarding the Badger

The S.S. Badger. Once used to transport freight cars, it was built in 1953, put out of service as the railroad hit hard economic times, and reinvented as a passenger ferry in 1991. It's 420 feet long and 60 feet wide, weighing 8,000 tons. (There's a small theater with an informational movie, too.)
$59 for me, and $5 for my bike. Bye, Wisconsin.

Deadliest Klatch

With all of their pots soaking on the bottom of Lake Michigan, the old crew takes a well-deserved break. (You should hear the language- especially out of the mouth of that Menonite octagerarian!)

Night31 Manitowoc WI (Coordinates)

n 44 05.348, w 87 39.584
Lake Michigan in the background. Tomorrow, Thursday, I should be relaxing on the S.S. Badger, a boat that ferries its riders to Michigan. I know this seems to break the meticulous rules of this ocean to ocean ride, and it does. I don't make any caveats or excuses. Despite being a cheat, there are reasons I wanted to travel this way.
I've never been to Wisconsin. And now I have.
But mostly, when I attempted this ride six years ago, part of my plan to make it in time to DDFF and Geni's wedding on time was to ride the ferry from Michigan to Wisconsin. I made it to Michigan. I did not make it to Wisconsin.
In a few days I should be back on my original route.

Night30 Waupaca WI (Coordinates)

n 44 21.455, w 89 06.637
Big day, trying to make a two-day push out of Wisconsin.

Night29 Neillsvile WI (Coordinates)

n 44 33.102, w 90 35.749
I woke up kind of late at the empty house, so Day29 was shorter than average. No rain, no wind. A pleasant ride of long rolling terrain. Wisconsin is a lot less flat than I imagined it to be.

Night28 The Whole Story Part III

Remember that it was pouring, and after 85 miles, I was tired and it was late. What are the chances that I find a deserted house in the middle of the first monster storm of the trip? I don't know. And the fact that the house has a large, unlocked porch with roof and walls? It doesn't matter. I found it, and I was going to take full advantage of my luck. After setting up the tent and sleeping bag, and changing clothes- all kept dry in panniers and garbage bags- I instinctively snapped into my regular routine of charging my phone and iPod for the next day. What are the chances a rider in a storm stumbles upon a deserted house with enclosed back porch with working outlets? Very, very small, I'm sure. But, damn, I'm lucky.
The next morning, with fully-charged devices, I looked into the clear and sunny distance to see three motel signs rising into the air like church steeples, not even a mile away.
Near the motels was a McDonald's, and as I filled my cup with ice and Diet Coke, I felt vaguely as if I was Tom Hanks in ''Castaway'', returning to civilization. Of course, all I did was sleep on a porch, and I didn't have to perform any dentistry with an iceskate. (I would have, though!)

Night28 The Whole Story Part II

I didn't want to surprise or worry the homeowners. I had no idea whether they saw me pull into their driveway or not. I thought it best to at least let them know I was there. Maybe they'd be able to help.
As I approached the front door, I noticed a device locked around the handle. My mother used to work in real estate, and I thought this might be what they use to lock away a key for agents to access. It didn't look quite the same as those I've seen before, and I thought maybe instead it was some sort of alarm.
No doorbell, so I knocked, and knocked, and knocked. I tried to peek into the adjacent windows, but either they were opaque or the inside was completely dark. I looked for other windows to check, and worked my way around to the back of the house. The back porch was the first part of the entire property that seemed to say the house was empty. There was no door, but more than that it looked as though decorations had been removed. And now I saw that many of the windows, still covered by old curtains, were broken. The back porch had a sliding glass door, and I could clearly see that the inside was almost completely empty. A few tables with trivial decorations were left just to fill the space some. I knocked just in case. No answer.

Night28 The Whole Story Part I

I would have stopped in Elk Mound, because by that time it had already begun pouring. But Elk Mound didn't even have a mound of elks, let alone a place to stay. The next sign said seven miles to Eau Claire. I continued, and so did the rain, but only one of us was gaining power and confidence.
Then the lightning. It's a topic of discussion and debate among cyclists about what to do when you're caught like this. The wisest thing, ''they'' say, is to pull over, stay away from tall objects, get away from the bike, and squat on the balls of your feet. If lightning does strike nearby, it is less likely to travel through your heart if you are only minorly connected to the ground.
What really happens is this: every time lightning strikes nearby you duck your head for a second, utter something blasphemous, and pedal faster.
And that's just what I did until the lightning was striking on both sides of the road, and I spotted the house. It was still pouring at this point, and I had no idea how long it would last. I only wanted to get under a roof, and not knowing if the residents would let a soaking stranger in, I headed for a sure thing- the garage.
Under the tin roof the rain was deafening, but I instantly felt much safer. Time to get my bearings. No end in sight to the storm. Visibility as far as the road, a hundred yards, but no further. A car with grass growing around it, this garage, and the house. Me, soaked to the skin and a little cold.