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)