The road store merchandise that I brought home

A bunch of other stuff was either used up or given away. Here's what's in the picture: A John Deere baseball cap, some nicely rolled up nylon line, a very nice flag, a defunct inner tube which contributed parts of itself to any number of fixes of various kinds, considderably used duct tape and electrical tape, an S hook, sun glasses, a tie, price tags, cigar with case, sheet rock screws retrieved from the street in front of our nations's capital as I hummed America The beatiful, two bungee cords, a 7/16th inch end wrench.

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Fw: Saturday July 19 Day 64 No Riding

The day began as the previous day had ended, poring over maps and searching the internet for a good route west from Pittsburgh. There were several options, but none was very appealing. In the night I had decided to give Myrtle to Gail as a thank you present and then she could turn Myrtle loose and both would be happier. Although I really liked having Myrtle with me I did have some regrets about taking her from her normal environment and had considered setting her free if I could find a good place. It turns out that Gail's yard is a good place for turtles and a number live in the adjacent woods and stream. So Myrtle is free.

I am starting this entry while sitting in the boarding area of the Pittsburgh airport. The decision to abandon an activity like a bike ride has an interesting asymmetry. One can, or perhaps even must, decide to continue, over and over again with each passing day, but the decision to abandon is a one time decision. You decide to quit. You act on your decision and it is over.
And so it happened for me. By 11:00 I had decided and called Beth. Within an hour and a half she had booked a flight for me, I had packed and Gail had called a taxi. It was almost stunningly fast.

As to reasons, there are those that are immediate and those that are longer term. Regarding the latter, I now realize that in the convoluted course that I had chosen, I had left the least interesting part of the country to the last. Most of the friends had been biked to and there were going to be long stretches with small rewards. I also found myself unable to bike as far in a day as I had anticipated. Further, the pleasures of being home had grown more enticing.

Perhaps the decision was made at this particular point because there is only one good way to enter and leave Pittsburgh on a bike and that is the way I came. By utilizing the 300 plus miles of trail north and west from Washington I had put myself in a place from which it was hard to go on, or at least so it seemed. This difficulty in continuing by way of the road system was no doubt exacerbated by the great pleasure it had been to ride free from the noise of motor vehicles. In a way the trails of the past six days had spoiled me as a highway rider. Also Pittsburgh is in a hilly place and they are steep hills. If you look at a road map you will find that about 100 miles west there are roads that run in straight lines. There are no such roads around Pittsburgh, because near Pittsburg the roads are winding all around following contours on the uneven land. In any case I had been vacillating about the idea of quiting for a while. The moment of decision came while I was reading an online commentary on biking west out of the city and it was full of places where caution would be required. There are in fact many places where, beyond not being reckless, there is no way to be cautious. In such places a biker can only hug the fog line and hope that the drivers are paying attention.

There was little emotion as I dismantled my bike, got it into its travel bag and said goodbye to Joanne's siblings. (I regret that I failed to take their picture.) However, in the waiting area of the airport a TV was showing some skate boarders competing in a half tube event at the X Games. These young athletes were propelling themselves into the air, gyrating wildly and returning to the surface with breath taking grace. Seeing them brought my first moment of mild remorse over my decision to abandon what had been a very long time aspiration. Later as I sat in my seat, 35,000 feet above the passing land, I was still feeling a bit down in the dumps. Then it occurred to me that if I still wanted to be on a bike ride, in stead of changing planes in Vegas I could just bike home from there. There were still plenty of miles to do and it would be in country that was more appealing. That thought cured my melancholy in an instant. Regrettable though it may be that I did not accomplish what I had hoped, I am now ready to be home.

Did any learning go on?

The next to last day on the trail I checked my odometer against the mile markers and found that it was recording speed and distances about 10% higher than what was actually happening. Adjusting for this I rode in all about 2,400 miles. I was disappointed that I couldn't do more miles per day. I had expected to match the 90 and 100 mile days I had done on my trip to Wyoming in the early 90's. Thus the vanity that I had not aged over that time took a hit. It was very clear, and a bit unexpected that companionship mattered, even while riding. Also I learned that there is a better kind of riding than just riding to cover distance. It is a ride that allows for or even is designed to absorb and appreciate what is available along the way. Finally the last piece of riding that I did, getting from the trail to Gail's house, involved climbing a very long, steep hill, on what everyone from Pittsburgh was calling a really hot day, riding a bike with gear that weighed in at the airport the following day at 75 pounds. It was tough. I did not stop until I reached the top. I am not the toughest and I am not as tough as I liked to fancy myself, but I guess maybe I am medium tough. That's OK.

It's nice to be home although we sure have a lot of stuff. I'm feeling a bit of culture shock. The road demands a simplicity of living that is not a bad thing. Maybe I should read again that first chapter of Waldon Pond.

I suppose this is the place where I am to write, The End. As I am finding that nearly impossible to do, it makes me realize how much pleasure has come from the exercise of recording all this. I am most grateful to any and all who have looked in and especially to those who have commented either on the blog itself or separately. I will try to post as an addendum the 2007 letter that was being delivered.

The End

A Thousand Words

Here's three.
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Is Worth

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A Picture

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Friday July 18 Day 63 Dawson to West Mifflin 48 miles, The end of two months

Got off from Dawson shortly after 8:00 on my last day on this trail. After about an hour I gained a riding companion, Armand, who rode with me for about 10 miles. I welcomed the conversation. It kept my mind off the mile markers. When we reached his town I stopped at an information office and there ran into a guy from Maine, of about my age, with a fully loaded bike, heading west in quite a similar endeavor. He had crossed the country a couple of times before and impressed me with his level of organization, and confidence. I have been pondering the fact that the back roads of the central states, while more pleasant to ride will presumably not have much by way of tourist accommodations. He spoke very assuredly about sleeping in small town parks, etc. There was no question that we would go together since he was following a southern route.

When he had gone I got into conversation with a pair of locals, out for their exercise and we ended up riding together most of the rest of the trail. The wife will be attending a conference in Seattle in March and our rapport was such that I invited. them to call on us and perhaps stay with us when they are there.

Both Armand and the couple, Rebecca and Art, rode a bit faster than I had ridden while alone so I got to McKeesport by mid afternoon. I called Joanne Yablonsky's sister Gail, who lives in the adjacent borough, and advised her of my coming. I got some directions, climbed a really steep hill, in high heat of the afternoon and finally came to her home by use of the GPS on my Blackberry. This was really the first time to use it to get to a specific place. Joanne and Gail's brother Mark saw me biking by and called out to me. Gail immediately began to care for my needs which included a shower, food, and most of all a plan for what happens next.

Have I made it known that I am wavering in my resolve? My first hour of the day had been spent in heavy consideration of the idea of flying home from Pittsburgh. There are still lots and lots and lots of miles between here and Wolf Point Montana. Does it serve any purpose to ride them? I am very ambivalent, but comments such as the one from Shoes On certainly encourage me to continue. With Gail there was no talk of stopping and much attention to how to get through and beyond Pittsburgh. As I write this on Saturday morning, that question is still not resolved, but progress is being made.

Gail, who is a vegetarian outdoors person, does not approve of me taking Myrtle from the wild.

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Another shot of Patty and Eugene

In December they have music performances in the house with Eugene playing the organ
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Thursday July 17th Day 63 Rockwood to Dawson PA with side trip to Falling Waters, 50 miles

This Great Allegheny Passage is a great trail, flat to down, smooth, shaded with the occasional interesting sight. As I rode along I passed a lot of other riders coming in the other direction. Often these riders are in groups of four or more. In such cases the facial expressions are often somewhat different with the lead riders in the group appearing euphoric and the last one appearing determined, to put the best word on it. They seem to be having quite a different experience while doing the same thing.

Today as I was riding along I came to a group of 12 to 15 men in orange coveralls, trimming the trail bordering trees. There was one guy in what looked like a uniform of some kind. A couple of them made friendly comments to me or about my bike. When. I passed their truck, I saw it was from the Pennsylvania Department of Corrections. In just a few minutes I came upon quite a pretty, nicely tanned girl wearing a halter and shorts. I immediately wanted to turn around and ride back to observe what reaction she was going to get from the cons.

In the afternoon I past a large group of teenage riders. They were all friendly and greeted me warmly. The guys all looked unremarkable, but the girls were all riding while wearing quite plain dresses. I concluded that they were probably Mennonites.

And the final story from the road today happened on the way to Falling Water. I was riding along when up ahead I saw one animal chase another across the road, putting both in danger of being hit by a car. They survived and just as I was getting to where they had crossed, they crossed back, right in front of me. This time I saw that it was a rabbit, with a fox in hot pursuit. Don't know the end of this story, but I guess foxes have to get their dinners somewhere.

I talked to Andy on the phone a couple of days ago and when he learned where I was, he strongly suggested that I try to get to Falling Waters. For those not acquainted with it it is a home designed by Frank Lloyd Wright. It is now owned and shown by a conservation group in this area. I had heard of it, but of course didn't really know anything. It is 3 miles off the trail at a town that I was to go through at mid day. When I got to Ohiopyle at 11:00 I called and learned that there was an opening in the 12:00 tour group. I figured I could make three miles in an hour, even though I knew there were hills involved. In fact the hill was such that I would not have made it had the woman at the information office not allowed me to leave my bags in her office. As it was I arrived at 11:56. Not only was there a hill going, but once you get to the top of it you then go down steeply, so that there is a big hill on the return as well. This is the steepest climbing I've done since Coulee City. But it was worth it. As the Nike ad says, Just Do It, yourselves. I really enjoyed seeing the house.
After a bit of a rest back at the trail I figured I could do another 20 miles and the map indicated a town there that had sleeping accommodations. When I got to where the town should be there was nothing to be seen. Fortunately before long I overtook a woman who was riding and I asked if we would soon be getting to Dawson. She replied, "On no, you've passed Dawson." Turns out it is on the other side of the river and there is no sign saying so. Back I went and when I got into town I asked the first person I saw about a motel or B and B. My would-be informant assured me there was no such thing in that town, but five miles out of town there was a camp ground - maybe. When pressed he suggested that I go to the big white house two blocks up on the left, and just ask if the occupants had any ideas. This I did and indeed they had the idea that I should stay with them. They had done B and B in the past, but not for several years. Their home is a fine Victorian, painted so as to accent the detail. It was built as the home of a mining baron. I think you will find a picture of Patty and Eugene and one of their parlors.

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Patty and Eugene

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Falling Water

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Balcony at Falling Water

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Wednesday July 16 Day 61 Cumberland MD to Rockwood PA 45 miles

I must have been pretty tired yesterday. The trail I am on now is much easier to ride than that of the previous three days due to a smooth finish and the absence of mud. The first 24 miles were climbing, but at a very manageable grade. At the top I passed from the Chesapeake Bay watershed into that of the Gulf of Mexico. I have crossed the Alleghenies.

For the last ten miles this afternoon I turned on my iPod. I have it set to play all the stuff that's on it in alphabetical order. This can give a great lift especially some of the music from the Three Tenors album. I believe that Pavarotti's trade mark aria was something called Nessum Dorma. It ends with what I think are the words, we will win, repeated several times, each time more dramatically. It was on as I was racing to the end of my ride, I was feeling like Juan Antonio Flecha, having been out in front of the peleton for 120 kilometers, with the finish line in sight and the group closing fast. But I have Pavarotti in my head with Placido Domingo and Jose Contreras coming in on the harmony, singing in a way I cannot convey, "We will win, we will win, we will win". And the timmpany player is going crazy in the final crescendo, and I will not be denied. I was flying. This was a good day of riding.

For any readers who don't get the above description fully, it is based on a common place ending of the Tour de France, which almost always ends with the pack overtaking the solo rider just before the finish line.

I now think the fuzzy animals of unknown species yesterday were ground hogs.

There is a paragraph to be written sometime about Christians I have met and it may as well be now. So far there have been three notable encounters. The first was back in Montana. I was biking along and for a moment had my head down looking at the odometer or something. When I looked up there was a car going my way, except that it was parked on the shoulder. It had a bike on a rack on the back. Egocentric fellow that I am, I immediately assumed the driver had seen me biking along and stopped to chat me up. When I got to the car the woman in the driver's seat rolled down the window, but in stead of asking all about me, she began to describe her traveling companion, a woman amputee who was walking the perimeter of the US as an act of faith. She felt called to do this by God. At each mile marker she was leaving a smallish wooden cross. The car and driver were there to support her. She started in Florida several years ago and now hopes to continue to the west coast and on around without further winter stops. Presently the witness came plugging up the road. When she reached the car she plopped herself into the passenger seat and hurriedly removed her prosthesis and began massaging her stump. It was clear that her act of faith was not an easy task. I declined the proffered literature.
As I calculate my own miles remaining and weigh them against my wish to be home my appreciation of her dedication rises.
In Delaware a man passed me in his car and then pulled off the road. As I approached he got out and came to me. He said he had seen me, old geezer that I am I guess, and he just wanted to tell me how much he respected what I was doing. As he continued to talk, it became clear that he thought I must be doing something akin to the lady described above, or if not for God then for some other worthy cause. He offered me some money to support it, whatever it was. He was from Arizona.

Yesterday as I was coming along that tow path trail, I arrived at a spot where I had been planning to eat my lunch only to find the picnic table occupied by three unusual looking youngish people. I shouted something about sharing the table and one replied by asking would I want to go swimming before or after lunch. This was a clear invitation. I demurred and sat down and opened my food bag. Though they had a hippie kind of look, upon getting close to them they were clearly well groomed and clean. Over lunch they explained that they are devoting their lives to Christian evangelism, but that they were very inclusive in theology, strictly refraining from judging any kind of Christian view point. Their particular take was that one should live simply, patterned, I think on the apostles of biblical times. So they travel about, unhurriedly, on bicycles, proselytizing as the occasion allows, and moving when the spirit directs. One of the bikes was a pretty new looking Cannondale with a trailer. All the bikes were heavily loaded so that for a bike trip it didn't look terribly simple, still if that is all of their possessions, though it was a lot for a cyclist, it would not be much for a home owner. The group has no name and no website. There are apparently other individuals like these forming an amorphous body. There was no effort to recruit me.

This is my first time to stay in a B&B. I quit a bit early today and had time to clean up my bike and oil the chain after the slop of the C&O tow path.

Tomorrow I will pass and try to visit Falling Waters, but apparently reservations are needed so I may not get in.

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No comment

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Self explanatory

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An idea whose time has come

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wild rhodadendrons in western PA

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Tuesday July 15. Day 60 Hancock to Cumberland, 68 miles

First some stuff I forgot yesterday. There was a Black snake, about 4 feet long stretched across the trail. I thought it was a stick and nearly ran over it's tail. Non poisonous according to my informant. A little lizard like creature ran across my path. I saw a fine blue bird of unknown species and there were some furry fellows over the last ten miles today that I could not identify though they seemed like beavers with fluffy tails.

Also yesterday as I drew near one of the unimproved camp sites with it's portapotty and picnic table, I saw a fellow loitering about, tossing stones and looking idle. As I passed I asked if he needed help and he replied that a tow truck was on the way. It seems he was the operator of the truck that empties the potties and when he finished this one, he found that his truck was mired in the mud. He was unconcerned so I just passed on that all purpose folk wisdom, "S... Happens" and pedaled on.

The big news of this morning is that Myrtle laid an egg. I had put her in the bathtub with a little water and left her alone. A bit later from where I was sitting I noticed an oblong object about and inch long lying in the tub. I could hardly believe my eyes, but sure enough that is what it was. The shell was pretty soft and I didn't know how to carry it on the bike so I just put it into the basket Myrtle rides in below my glove compartment. When I looked for it later in the day, it seemed like Myrtle had eaten it.

Last night I called my friend Carl Compton, whose brother lives in Cincinnati, and with whom I had discussed the possibility of his flying back to ride with me and his brother for a while. The riding part is not going to work out, but my reason for bringing it up is that Carl asked me how the riding was going. That is what I want to discus. I'm not sure what I said to Carl, but today I spent some time reviewing the question. Here's the truth. Six or seven or eight hours of bike riding a day becomes monotonous. It also generates occasional pain in various parts such as hands, butt, lower back, feet, and knees. If this is such a good time, why do I tend to keep close track of the miles remaining each day? And if all of what I have just said is true, why am I doing this? Here's the answer.. It is satisfying. That's it. It is satisfying, and satisfaction is what one wants from life. Also, of course, all that litany of woes is relieved by times when I'm seeing new and interesting sights, but mostly it is just satisfying.

Good night from Cumberland, Maryland.

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Entrance to the Paw Paw tunnel

The barges came through on the right
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You could also buy a glass of water for a buck

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Self explanatory

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Monday July 14th Day 59 Brunswick to Hancock 80 miles on the odometer

Happy Birthday to Andy



This was an ambitious day, coming after a rainy end to yesterday so I was up pretty early and out of camp by 8:00. I went into town for a solid breakfast and in the cafe met another rider who was going in the opposite direction. We had a good talk about bikes and tour riding and he gave me some good information about this leg of the trail. (Note to Jim: If you get to Seattle look me up and we'll take care of you while you are there.). Started riding at about 9:00. The trail though wet and somewhat muddy was better than yesterday and improved throughout the day. It was still a long ride as I averaged less than 10 MPH. The ride included a detour where the trail is out due to flooding and that had some hills, though it was on very pleasant back roads. There was some very snazzy gentleman farm houses and property along the way in western Maryland. My main disappointment with the trail is that there is very little opportunity to get something to eat as the trails goes through no towns and near few towns. Given my long agenda I didn't want to go riding off the route looking for something to eat. I made due with what I had, which was fine and finally arrived at the town of Hancock which is adjacent to the trail. The last 10 miles I did on a state Rail to Trail trail that parallels the C&O and is paved. I got in at about 7:00, had a big restaurant dinner and cleaned up and slept at a motel.



Fauna on the trail: The east has more colorful birds than we do in Washington State. I saw cardinals and other unknown birds. I heard even more strange songs and calls. I saw deer, muskrats, turtles, rabbits, and a couple of more exotic things I can't remember right now.

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Sunday July 12 Day 58 Arlington to Brunswick MD 68 miles

Although I had thought about getting an early start on this the first day of my homeward journey, in fact I took my time getting out the door, and then before I got to the elevator I noticed that the tire I had changed two days before was a little flat. Apparently I had not done a perfect job. I did it again, this time merely replacing the inner tube with another. Finally I was off, onto the trail into DC and then with some fussing around in Georgetown, onto the Chesapeake and Ohio tow path. The canal was built in about 1840 and was an important transportation link between the coastal communities on Chesapeake Bay and the hinterlands to the west. It, like the other canals of the era, was eventually displaced by the railroad. The C&O property is now owned by the National Park Service. Only some parts of the canal are maintained, but all of the tow path, save one washed out place, is open as a hiking and biking trail of some 185 miles. It was in quite heavy use, especially near Washington on this Sunday. It is not paved so it is a little tougher to ride than a paved path, but it is very flat. There are unimproved camp grounds about every five miles once you get outside DC. They have a water pump and a portapotty. The quality of the water is checked every two weeks. About 5:00 a thunder storm broke. I had just arrived at a private camp place, one of just a few that exist along the trail. I was able to take shelter and the storm didn't last long, but the effect on the trail was pretty severe, turning it into a pretty muddy place. Once the storm subsided I rode on, but before long what had been a light rain became a downpour. I continued on until I got to Brunswick and there. I went into a campground owned by the town. I and the bike were both covered with mud, but I found the showers and washed off my feet, shoes, and legs. As I set up my tent there was only a slight rain. Soon after I and all my gear were inside the sky opened up for a third time. There were a couple of small dripping points in the fly, but after about 20 minutes the rain subsided and I slept without incident. Again, as in Delaware, there were no mosquitos.
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July 11th and 12th Days. 56 and 57. At Paulie and Meredith's apartment in Arlington VA No riding

I had either 4 or 5 naps on Friday and I did the blog entries for the previous couple of days.. By then it was late afternoon and I was ready to work on my bike a bit, patch a tire that had gone flat during the night, and determine what I would get done at a shop the next day. If you're going to get a flat tire, there is no better place than at home. That's it.



First thing Saturday I took the bike to a small, unpretentious shop to get a few issues resolved. It is now probably in better shape than when I started. On the way home I stopped at Bed Bath and Beyond and bought a basket in which to carry Myrtle. Next I went through all my gear to eliminate anything that was no longer needed. In the evening Beth and I drove out to Manassa, VA to have dinner with Jeff and Jennifer Loren. Jeff played soccer with me for several years and still comes out for an occasional game and brings his son, Ben, who is now old enough to play. It was my first time to drive in about two months.



Turning for home: I have been riding for nearly two months. The odometer shows. 2,278 miles ridden which is close to what remains before me. I have lost about 5 pounds. The main physical stress has been pain and numbness in my hands and my seat after a few hours of riding. The main mental stresses involve uncertainty about routes and road conditions, and where I will sleep. There have been few, if any, moments of actual risk. I don't relish leaving Beth and Meredith in an hour or so, but I am ready to ride again. Seeing so many friends in a long sequence has been even more pleasure than I had anticipated.

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Jeff and Jennifer and salmon from the Northwest

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Turbo

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Thursday July 10, 55th Day, Severna Park to DC 52 miles

The night before we had studied the map and found two possible routes to DC. Both included trails, but we were not certain that the longer trail had actually been completed and if it didn't go through all the way it seemed to leave one in a bad spot for roads. I ultimately chose the route with the shorter, but surer bike path. The first 8 miles were on this trail and they were great, but I hadn't been off the trail long when the road that I expected to take into DC was closed due to a washed out bridge. The marked detour led to the interstate that was closed to bikes so I thought I'd better just take the original road on the chance that I would be able to walk or bike where cars couldn't go. I was just setting out when I happened to notice a Maryland Highway Department building right there. Although it is sometimes better not to ask the authorities if you are planning to do something a little off base, I decided to stop. I went in and ultimately got to two guys who understood my problem and knew that the detour signs for bikes had not been put out. They dug out their planning maps, made copies for me and showed me where the detour route was to go and where the signage would be once it was in place. I was just about to take my leave when another guy came by and when he saw what I was being told he added the information that the county had objected to the state's planned detour and so the state would not be putting up any signs. The county considered the detour route to be too narrow and dangerous and offered no alternative for bikers. Thus informed I left and took what would have been the bike detour which turned out not to be fatal as you have already realized. In fact it was mostly very pleasant, quiet and tree lined. I passed about 20 turtles on this road, 19 of which were flattened. The other one was standing at the edge of the pavement making up his mind. I allowed him no such chance.

Eventually I reached the more heavily used road with its noise (bad) and wide shoulders. (good). I stayed on my route as things grew increasingly urban and after what seemed a long time reached the Capital, the Mall etc. The previous day I had found a fine flag which I had not yet displayed even though two days before that I had lost my previous flag, the one found with the hack saw blade. I also lost the hack saw blade. Anyway I had this newest flag and I was feeling very inspired by the buildings and the tourists, many of whom were obviously from other countries so I hung my flag on my bike and walked around singing America The Beautiful softly to myself.

"And crowned thy good, With brotherhood,
From sea to shining sea."

At 6:00 I met Beth at the old post office which has a steeple filled with bells upon which a crew of ringers was going to practice at 7:00. The Park Rangers who police the building had told us we could not attend the practice, but Beth, by means of some innocent questions directed at the ringers, managed to get us in. After practice we went to Mere and Paulie's place via the subway.

Flags: I was given a flag near Memorial Day at Ferndale WA. I lost it. I was given a replacement by Polly Kolstad, which I lost and then found again. I left that with Beth when I saw her in New Hampshire. I found another in Connecticut which I left in my motel in Atlantic City. I found the one in Maryland that I mounted on my bike in Washington, and I found one on the subway riding to Arlington.

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Myrtle

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Suddenly I realized I had road shopped an entire outfit

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But I wasn't sure which side was the front.

Not a welcome sign

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Wednesday July 9th 54th day Near Georgetown DE to Severna Park MD with automotive help. About 60 miles of riding.

I was up and off pretty early. With no shower facilities I was starting off with well salted skin and clothes from the previous day. There is something called the American Heritage Trail that may run all the way to California on back roads for the most part. It is marked in Delaware and I followed it except when I lost it, which was about three times. Nonetheless it took me to the Maryland border where a couple of electric power linemen advised on how to proceed. The Delaware riding was very pleasant - quite flat. Some of the people of southern Delaware speak with a distinct drawl. Temperature and humidity were both pretty high, but mitigated by the wind. In Maryland I eventually passed from quiet rural roads to busier stuff, but with good shoulders so it was not scary. In the mid afternoon. I got to the Chesapeake Bay Bridge which I knew I could not cross. My friends Bill and Carol McLay live just across this bridge and Bill had volunteered to come and pick me up and take me home. I called and he came.

Not counting my brother, Bill is the friend of longest duration of those I have visited and in fact now of all whom I know. We met as freshmen at Queen Anne High School in particular playing freshman basketball. He is my last high school buddy. Carol was two years behind us so she is second longest of people I now have contact with. Bill's work took them out of Seattle right after college and eventually deposited them in Maryland where they have raised three kids, now married with children and living very near their parents. I asked them about the point when the east coast became their homeland. They thought it was once their kids reached high school and formed their identity in this area. This all matters to me because of Meredith and Paulie's place of living and working.

A hearty meal of steak, baked potatoes and local corn on the cob sustained us though an evening of remenicing, updating, and catching up on mutual friends. The McLays are doing fine in their early years of retirement. Bill's mother recently passed away at an age beyond 100 and they faced the task of emptying and selling a house that had been built by Bill's grandfather in 1905. A portion of the contents, mostly Bill's train collection is pictured below. They moved a few years ago from a home that I recall as perfectly adequate and when I asked why they had done so Bill said it was to have a basement for his train set up. He says it is coming.

A shower that removed two days of road grime was pretty nice too.

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It's going to be a great train lay out.

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Bill, Carol, & Dinner

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July 8 53rd Day Atlantic City to Georgetown DE In which I am rescued by the Coast Guard Auxiliary. 77 miles

Rose at 6:00 to get an early start. Riding by.7:15. Started out taking the board walk and intended to stay at the shore, but that proved impractical due to the disjointed nature of the road along the shore and me having misplaced my map. This led me to follow Rte nine which was actually quicker which was a good thing since I arrived at the Cape May ferry only four minutes before its departure. The ride to Cape May was pretty uneventful except for the place where the Rte 9 bridge was closed so the traffic was detoured onto the expressway. As I pedaled up the on ramp I figured I would not get far as there was a set of toll booths right at that place. I was pretty sure they would send me back and I didn't know what I would do then. However when I got to the toll booths I went into the manager's office and explained my plight and was told that while the bridge on Rte 9 was out for cars and trucks, pedestrians and bikes could cross. Thus informed I made my way off the expressway and back to the bridge on Rte 9. I was able to continue without any problem.

I saw an electronic sign giving the temperature as 90 degrees, but there was a brisk head wind to cool me off. (Yes that is irony dripping from those words, but it is true that the head wind was cooling to a degree.)

I had an hour and a half on the ferry to rest and eat and was quite refreshed by the time we landed in Delaware. However I was not prepared for the 100 degree heat that enveloped me when I rolled off of the boat. Again happily, or not, there was a head wind. I resolved to not do any hard pedaling and just put enough energy into the bike to move it along. Thus proceeding I arrived at my destination for the day in a timely way around 5:30.

I was at a state forest facility that according to my map had camp sites. There was no sign of officialdom, but there was a group of about 20 people having a picnic. I went to them to ask about a ranger or campground and was directed to a nearby house. As I started away my informant asked if I would like to have some dinner. I said I'd be back and went to the ranger's home. After learning that the entire camping facility consisted of a porta potty and permission to use the ground I returned to the picnic group. I had neglected to pick up food for dinner on my way so the hamburgers, beans, and cookies were a good deal better than what I had in my panniers. Just as I got over to where they were at a picnic shelter the sky opened up with a 20 minute torrent. We all sheltered together as I explained what I was up to and they explained that they were the local Coast Guard Auxiliary unit 12-09. These are the kind of people who volunteer to help the Coast Guard do its work and so you can suppose that they are predisposed to helping out strangers. We spent a couple hours in conversation, drawing out some coincidental information - one fellow has a son living in Bothell (a Seattle suburb) and one woman lives in the same neighborhood of Arlington VA. as Meredith. We finished with toasted marshmellows and singing. When my hosts had all gone, rather than go to the camp site I just rolled out my thermarest on the picnic table and slept there under the shelter. It felt a little bit like stealth camping.

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I'm heading left

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Monday July 7 52nd Day Tom's River NJ to Atlantic City. 66 miles

Off about 9:00. I rode along Rte 9 which is busy and noisy, but with wide shoulders almost everywhere. The riding was uneventful. At lunch I stopped in a little sandwich place, but just as I was about to set out again a heavy rain began. It kept me there for an hour and a quarter or an hour and a half. I guess I have been pretty lucky not to have been more impacted by rain so far. Both the other times that I got rained on hard I was near my destination and just persevered until I got where I was going. Today it finally lightened up and I set out. Within a few miles Rte 9 conjoined with the Garden State Expressway and since there was no notice forbidding it, I went onto it as well. I planned to exit at the first opportunity, but before that came I heard a siren behind me and when I looked around there was a trooper waving me to stop and come back to him. When I got close he said, "Where do you think you;re going?".

I replied, "I'm following Rte 9". Well he was having none of that and in a kindly manner insisted that I load my bike into the trunk of his cruiser and he drove me to the off ramp. I finished out the day riding into Atlantic City where in a moment I will go take a walk on the board walk.

I just made my first projections of when I might leave DC and start home and when I might reach Pittsburgh. I was taken aback. I am going too slowly..
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New Jersey's Finest

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Here it is The one you never see

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Sunday July 6, NYC to Tom River NJ, 58 miles

Today we go our separate ways, Paulie by plane to Norfolk VA to continue the class he is taking, Meredith and Beth to DC and me to NJ by ferry from NYC to Sandy Hook NJ and then down the Jersey shore. All the riding today was easy; flat and unscary. It is a little confusing as the shore road is forced inland from time to time and it is not always clear which way to go. At one point a guy riding a Serotta (a very fine, and expensive bike) caught up to me and offered local knowledge. That is exactly what I needed and he not only marked my map he also rode with me for half an hour. He has done the northern route across the country with Adventure Cycling, so he knew what I was speaking of when I told of my own partial trip across. He lives in the town of Ocean Grove which, like Oak Bluff on Martha's Vineyard was a Methodist camp town. In fact Ocean Grove is still owned by the Methodists and it has just the same look as the camp portion of Oak Bluff. Some of the buildings even remain as tents.



After giving me detailed instructions on how to go Jim realized that there were Dan Henry's (road markers) for an MS bike ride to Cape May done just a couple of weeks ago. He suggested I just follow them which I was happy to do. Unfortunately, although the signs were very well done and easy to follow, it turns out that the MS route to Cape may, at the south end of the Jersey coast, is not direct, but winds around and backtracks some. It did get me through the worst spot, but after an hour I abandoned the signage and just followed the highway.



Around 6:00 when I started looking for a campground, one of my panniers broke. Since the nearest camping seemed to be about 10 miles away and involved some back tracking to the north I bailed and took a cheap motel. The bag has been repaired and I think it will work just fine.

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Jim in front of tents at Methodist camp city of Ocean Grove

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Jill

I should have included in the posting of July 5th a comment about Jill. She was both a completely gracious host, putting up with 4 people in her small space while maintaining a happy disposition, and an admirable guide to the city she loves living in. She treated us very well. I hope it was some fun for her too.
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Saturday July 5 Day 50 No Riding

This was kind of a Seinfeld day in which 5 friends wandered about the Big Apple just enjoying the street life. In the afternoon we had a good tour of the Teddy Roosevelt birth place and in the evening we went to a show, The Altar Boyz. We had half price orchestra seats so we were very close to some amazingly talented singer/actors. Afterward Jill took us to a restaurant where the wait staff is composed of would be Broadway performers who sang continuously as we ate our after show desserts.
I have failed to report that Paulie arrived two nights ago and it has been very nice for me to see him and Mere interacting with affection and concern for one another.

Tomorrow it is back to the road.
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Jill in her little Little Italy apt

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Jill And The Champ

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Friday July 4 49th day, no riding

Today we went to Coney Island to see, or at least be near, the World Hot Dog eating championships. The crowd was not large, but it was enough that we could not actually see the contest from the limited space in front of the stage so while the contest was being contested, we were buying and eating some of Nathan's Famous Hot Dogs at the back of the venue. For your information and edification be assured that Nathan's Famous and World's Best hot dogs are about as good as any other ordinary hot dog you might encounter wrapped in a corn meal blanket at the Safeway deli. The show however had its appeal, matching as it did the former, and 6 years Champion, a Japanese guy name Tobayashi, with last year's winner Joey Chestnut. As you may have seen reported on Sports Center, the favorites tied in the regulation ten minutes, consuming 59 hot dogs each. This itself was a first time occurrence and the MC simply decided on an eat off in which the first one to consume 5 more dogs would be the winner. To the delight of the locals and the dismay of a gaggle of Japanese visitors, Joey came through. Afterwards we managed some face time with some of the judges. Tobayashi is the man who moved the sport from winning results in the 30's to the 50's and 60's so he is a big time guy in this field.

Over the remainder of the day we strolled the board walk, and Times Square and at night went to Jill's office to catch the fireworks. Thus was past our Fourth of July.

In the previous entry I wrote of the color of Jamaica Ave where I first really got into the City. I forgot to mention two sights in particular, one a guy doing chin ups on a traffic light that stood on a street corner and the other a guy driving a truck with his left leg raised and pushed out his door window in either an effort to be cool or to avoid being hot, or perhaps both.

From time to time, as we walk about I tune my iPod to Billy Joel's New York State of Mind.

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Beth with the judges of World Hot Dog Eating Championship, Coney Is NY

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Waiting to buy a Nathan's hot dog

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Thursday July 3 Day 48 No Riding

Today Beth and I took the train out to Radbury NJ to visit Claire Prettitore, the wife of my Peace Corps partner, Tony. Tony passed away about ten years ago, but we continue to see Claire when the opportunity occurs. We took the train from Penn Station meaning that we had the NYC experience of taking the subway to the station and then the commuter train to the suburbs. Our usual conversation with Claire in which each of us reports on the doings of our children lasted the afternoon and then into an early bird dinner. Tony and Claire raised four boys and a girl all of whom have professional careers in a variety of fields, and places. They are now past the age of their dad when he and I shared a year in Peru. Three of them have come to look like him and seeing their pictures brought back thoughts and memories I hadn't expected. Tony was a few years older than me, and when I was 23 or 24 that was a quarter of my lifetime. He was a considerable influence. I flatter myself to think that I learned to be a better person in my time with him. Not wanting to stir hurtful memories for Claire I didn't talk about it with her, but I thought about how much of life I have enjoyed in the last ten years and how sad it is that Tony and his family did not get a similar experience. It was Tony who taught me to love my friends. He was a good guy.





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Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday, days 45, 46, 47 Narragansette to NYC

First of all note the corrected spelling of my Sunday night stop.

On Monday a ride of about 50 miles got me to New London Ct where the ferry departs for the east end of Long Island. I had a brief rest stop at Mystic Seaport. From the ferry terminal in New London I used my GPS search program to locate and make a reservation for camping about ten miles from the ferry landing on the Long Island. Motels were costing up to $230 for a single so. $35 camp site looked pretty good. Got off the ferry at about 6:30 and had a great evening ride to the campground. Eastern Long Island is rural land; farming with the coastal areas developed as fancy resorts or vacation stuff.

There were two small stories from the day. In Connecticut I came upon a flag lying at the edge of the shoulder. I stopped, of course, and then I saw right by my bike wheel, a hacksaw blade. I picked up the blade and went into the woods off the shoulder where I found, cut and trimmed a branch of the right size. The flag had a sleeve stitched into the attaching end so I slipped the flag onto the stick and stuck the flag out on the left side on my bike. I'm feeling significantly safer thus displaying my patriotism as I suspect that there are some drivers who, while they might not much mind running over a cyclist, would never run over our flag.

To save on weight I use a rain fly as a tent, but that means it does not come all the way to the ground. Something woke me in the small hours of the morning and in the dimness I made out an animal just outside the fly. I thought it was a cat, but with a closer look I realized that a raccoon had reached under the fly, grabbed my food bag and pulled it outside where it was trying to get it open. I roused myself and took the bag to the restroom which had doors to close. I left it there. In the morning all was fine.

Riding distance for the day was 70 some miles.

There is a marked bike route along Rte 25 and 25A all across the eastern half of the Long Island. For the first half it has a wide shoulder and little traffic, but as one moves west things get tighter. I didn't have a map of the whole island so I was not sure how much progress I was making. Nonetheless I persevered and near day's end I had reached Smithtown which is near the middle. There are three particular uncertainties in such a riding situation. First will the route become impassable for some reason? Second will there be a place to sleep? Third, will the weather go bad? At Smithtown the marked bike route comes to an end. The marked route had become a mixed blessing for the last ten miles or so as it provided a lightly used way, but one with a number of steep hills winding down and up again at several shore side towns. I think staying with Rte 25 or 25A would have been better than following the bike signs. After fooling around for some time trying to find a campground, I settled for an Econolodge. In the process I found a bike shop where the owner gave good advice for the next day.

On Wednesday
I got off around 8:00 AM which is good for me. Following the suggestion of the bike shop owner I made my way to the Long Island Expressway and took the service road that runs along side the main line. Bikes are prohibited from the main line, but at one point I got confused and went up an on ramp. In about a mile there was an exit and I got back on the service road. Eventually the service road came to an end and I had to scurry around looking for another route west. I managed to find Rte 25, known there as Woodbury Road followed it to 107 and then got on the Jericho Turnpike. I record this detail for future reference if I or anyone I know wants to bike into NYC from the east end of Long Island. By this time the towns are basically adjacent to one another and eventually the Jericho Turnpike reaches Queens Village and becomes Jamaica Avenue.

As soon as I hit Jamaica things changed. I was in town. The complexion on the sidewalks turned brown. Even the smells became sweet and powerful. The thing that I have trouble remembering about The Big Apple is that it is big. A street like Jamaica Ave goes on and on. As it does the population and the traffic thicken until finally it is like the streets of Manhattan itself, jammed and jumping with life. At first I ride with care and regard for the lights, but at a certain point a teenager on a bike passes on the sidewalk and dashes through a red light. It reminds me how to ride in NYC. I follow Jamaica until it comes to Atlantic Ave which leads from Queens into Brooklyn and after a long passage to the Brooklyn Bridge. I realize I am energized in a way I am not when riding the country. I am, in fact, an urban bike rider. Beth and I had arranged to meet at the middle of the bridge. Beth, Mere, and I arrived within two minutes of one another at about 3:20. I had done about 55 miles and was tired. We rested for a while and then walked to the apartment of Mere's friend Jill Macklem where we were to stay. Dinner in Little Italy and talk with Jill brought the day to a close.

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Are you missing some mail

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On the Brooklyn bridge

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Sunday June 29, Day 44 (Bad counting last entry) Woods Hole to Nagansatt RI 17 miles of riding

Woods Hole is on the end of a peninsula at the end of a peninsula. To travel south by land requires going a good ways north to get started. An alternative is to take a ferry to Martha's Vineyard and from there a ferry to Rhode Island. This also sets you up for a ferry across Long Island Sound to Long Island where is found the borough of Brooklyn with it's pedestrian bridge to Manhattan. I opted for the ferry route. Beth and Meredith came with me to M's Vineyard, to see the sights, as I awaited my ferry. We bid farewell for a couple of days until we again hook up in Manhattan. I got off the second ferry about 5:30 and rode on a few miles before darkness fell and I checked into a Holiday Inn. Nothing eventful to report, except that I found a dollar on the road.
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Friday and Saturday June 27 and 28. Saturday begins a new week, but I have lost track of the number. Must be days 35 and 36. The Birthday Weekend.

Mo and her great friend from toddler days Nancy Kanwisher are jointly celebrating their fiftieth birthdays. They are both uncommon women, Mo being the CEO of a school and Nancy being an MIT faculty member with numerous honors. The "party" consisted of what at one time would have been called a cocktail party on Friday night, a picnic on an island in the Woods Hole harbor on Saturday and a restaurant meal followed by folk dancing on Saturday. Insiders like Beth, Meredith and me also had two breakfasts and party prep and clean up activities with the honored couple. I was also graciously recognized on the first evening, it being my true birthday. Singing, scrabble, and beach walks filled other time. There were probably a dozen or more people we knew, in attendance, most of whom we had not seen for some time. At least three reminded me of my decadal scheme for living, so that silliness must have made more of an impression than I ever supposed. Woods Hole is the location of a fairly elite scientific community and some pretty comfortable summer living quarters. You can rent a nice family house in the summer for say $3,000 a week. It was quite fun to be on the inside with these guys. The more famous playground of Martha's Vineyard is served by ferry from Woods Hole. Hyannis Port is not too far up the shore. This is a place for self indulgence if one is so disposed. As you know your reporter IS so disposed which makes it at least bitter sweet for the weekend to run out and the bike ride to commence again.



Having only the sketchiest notion of an itinerary, I took a look at some maps and fixed upon a plan to leave Woods Hole by ferry, bound indirectly for Rhode Island. That's for tomorrow.

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(This entry should be read after the entry below it on the blog). Was she surprised?

The Symmes/Jones household was hopping on Monday night as the family, which includes three daughters, was getting ready to spend a couple of weeks at Chappaquidick. In addition to me and Beth, they were also hosting Marianne's sister and her friend. Marianne had prepared a big pasta dish and salad. We were all up late getting ready so as to get an early start in the morning. When morning came Beth rode with Whit to Woods Hole and I set off by bike for Boston. Of the 68 miles that day the most notable was around mile 65 when the skies opened up and it rained as I have never seen it rain before - not even in Guatemala. I got my raincoat on and then just huddled over my handle bars for about five minutes. Then, with the deluge still upon us, I started to ride. After a while I took shelter in a super market and called Betsy McCagg from there. It turned out that I was only a short distance from their home so when the rain subsided I headed out and arrived for my sleep over at about 6:30. Betsy's sister Mary and her family came for dinner. It was a fine thing to see these young families sharing what I consider the best years of all, those when one's children are young.

The next day I rode into Boston and caught a ferry to Provincetown on the tip of Cape Cod arriving with enough time to bike about half way down the cape where I spent the night at a hostel. I had two interesting meetings during the day. The first was near Cambridge when I asked directions of a young woman and after speaking with her for a moment I realized she was the very person Betsy had spoken of the night before and whose picture she had shown me. She will be the US single women's sculler at Beijing. The other interesting conversation was with a 50 something guy who was on the ferry and had a backpack. I asked him if he was going to be camping on Cape Cod and that opened a soliloquy on something called stealth camping. This guy was starting a walk down the east coast of the country in which he planned to camp at any unposted area that met his fancy. He pointed out that while it is against the rules to sleep on the beach during the night, it mostly was not so during the day. Nor is it prohibited to walk on the beach at night. He was prepared to reverse the normal order of things. Apparently you can read about stealth camping on line.

This brings us to Thursday, my day to get to Woods Hole and surprise Mo. There is a nice bike trail over the middle third of the cape. North of that there is a side road that is good for riding as the traffic is fairly slow and not too heavy. But yesterday the last portion of the ride was a bit trying. Nonetheless I arrived at the home of Nancy, the other birthday girl, and seemed to surprise Mo when she later arrived herself.

For the party givers and the early arrivers, the party was on.

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Spotty Blog

Saturday, Sunday and Monday I am in transit via train and plane to New England, where, I hope to surprise Mo by attending her birthday party. I even found a gift for her at the Road Mart. I will write for the next week, but not post until I see Mo

On Friday night (Wolf Point MT) I broke down the bike and practiced packing it in the suitcase. I did it for real the next day after riding to the train station. The rest of my gear, including my tent and sleeping bag went into a large cloth sided bag. I was pushing the size and weight limits of Am Track and also United Airlines. I was nervous, but pretty confidant. The train didn't leave Wolf Point until late on Saturday afternoon so I had lots of time to get myself and gear ready. Indeed I got on without a problem. There were plenty of open double seats so I was alone until Fargo. It was quiet and pretty and easy. I decided to have dinner on board to see how an Am Track dinner would be. Unfortunately my mother's training in how to like over cooked vegetables, and Wonder Bread, has been eroded over the years by all you readers who have prepared many meals for me, not least Beth. Take the train. It's great. Take your own food.

The train seats had significantly more leg room than do coach seats on planes and until Fargo, at about 3:00 AM I had no seat partner, so all in all I slept pretty well.

Due to the flooding in Wisconsin the train did not go beyond Minneapolis and we transferred to charter buses to get to Chicago. In this transfer they gave preference to those who had continuing train connections beyond Chicago. Three buses were going directly there and the rest of the passengers were to be assigned to buses that would stop at destinations along the way. They didn't quite fill the three express buses with people who had continuing connections so they chose a few of the remaining group to be on those buses. At about this time I mentioned to the l guy in charge that it might be good to ask if anyone had plane connections to make and he acknowledged that that would be a good idea. Just then the woman assistant came in from the buses and said there was one more seat. I raised my hand to ask for it and the guy looked at me and said something about my bright yellow shirt and motioned me on. I hustled out the door with two suit cases and two panniers. Because I was last on the bus my bags were last into the belly of the bus and I looked forward to them being first unloaded when we got to Chicago. Feeling pretty lucky, if not actually smug, I hopped on board and started down the aisle. I figured my seat would be at the back right next to the restroom, but not so. About half way back on the left side was an empty aisle seat, well sort of empty. I paused when I reached it and looked down, a little unsure. The guy in the window seat said it was available as he hitched himself up. It occurred to me that he may have been going to Chicago to audition for a place on the biggest loser, if you get my meaning. Be careful what you wish for.

On arrival I unpacked the bike, put it together and rode to the apartment of our friend Maggie. She took me in, we went to a place she knew that does great Chicago style pizza and we talked the evening away. Maggie is in her late twenties and works in the health division of the Boeing Co. She started out in Seattle doing fitness training for the Boeing execs and they took her back east when the company moved. She lives downtown and is having a great time there. She also has an expanded work position, and a budding male relationship so things are pretty good. My only disappointment was that I did not get to see the lake front before meeting Maggie as I had planned, because I had trouble getting my bike put back together quickly when I got off the bus. However in the morning Maggie went for an early run along the shore and I followed on my bike. The night before Maggie had found on line instructions on how to bike into O'Hare through the taxi entrance. The only alternative seems to be via a freeway. I set out at about 8:00 on the 20 plus mile ride.

It turns out Chicago is a great biking town. It is flat and has a well developed system of bike lanes and routes. There were dozens of people biking that Monday morning. It all went fine until I actually got into the staging area where cabs wait to be allowed to the passenger load zones at the terminal buildings. The online instructions said there would be odd stares, but no one would object to a biker. Wrong. I was stopped by a security person who wanted to know who said I could enter the airport in this way. I showed him my printed out instructions and said they came from that authoritative place "on line". I hoped that would mean something. It did. It meant that the guy was befuddled. He didn't believe I was supposed to be let through, but knowing I was ticketed for a flight, and that there was no other safe way for me to get in, he didn't want to send me back to the freeway. Finally after about 15 minutes he decided to let me go, but to follow me closely in his patrol car so that no cabbie would run over me. And that is how I rode to O'Hare. He made copies of the instructions for further investigation. I hope I'm not the last one to get there that way because it worked very well.

Three hours later Beth and Marianne Jones picked me up at the Manchester NH airport and took me to Concord for the night.

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The guy who figured out how to spoil ice cream

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Friday June 20, 35th day, Glasgow to Wolf Point, 50 miles

Five weeks completed today and I am still in Montana. Well, there are reasons, right?

Today's flat tire came early, about 10 miles out of Glasgow. You might think this was an unlucky thing since I used my last patch to get over the last 10 miles into Glasgow the night before, but here's the truth. I am a really lucky guy, maybe due to the three 4 leaf clovers that Rita gave me when I visited her on day 1. I had heard that the guy in Havre was the last bike shop on the Hi-Line, but it ain't so. There is a funky place in Glasgow run by a retired insurance salesman. He said he bought the property for tax purposes. This guy is about as out of date as the hundred or so bikes that he has jammed into this house and yard. He just posts his phone number at the shop and people call when they want something. Before leaving town that morning I took the time to call and ask if he could supply a patch kit. He said he'd be right over. He brought a tube and two kits. Now if he hadn't been there and willing to come to the shop with that stuff, THEN I would have been in trouble. Also I should note that the time off of the bike is actually a time of recovery for my butt and hands.

All my tire problems have been with the rear wheel where most of the weight is being carried. I think that may be part of the trouble. I will reload some weight to the trailer. I had no more trouble yesterday if you don't count eating jalapena ice cream.

A guy in the tiny town of Nashua says he's got over 300 flavors, but none of the 7 I tasted was as good as chocolate chip mint. The worst was the Jalapeno. This is ice cream for Tracy. The rest of you can just say no thank you.

And now for today's special, an annotated list of the road kill:. (Not for the squeamish)

We could start with homo sapiens, not actually still in place, but represented by their white crosses. Their numbers are impressive as noted earlier, but less on the Hi-Line than west of the divide.

Numbering even more than the homo sapiens are the ground hogs, whose furry little crushed bodies litter the road. I nearly got one myself two days ago.

The antelope get taken in season and out I suppose. You usually smell them before you see them. For some reason they are all well off of the roadway. Maybe they are moving fast when fatally struck and the momentum carries them 30 yards beyond the shoulder.

The reptilian world is also represented. Rattlers and garter snakes, I would say, though positive identification is often difficult.

One sad, sad amphibian had just not gone fast enough and lost his left hind quarter under a wheel. He was a good size turtle and I stopped to check him out. He had not yet expired, but the flies were all over his exposed wound. I tried to think of something to do for him, but had no ideas.

There have been a couple of middle sized furry mammals that I could not identify.

There have been birds aplenty, of varieties various. Most I don't recognize, but they have included red winged black birds, doves, and a hawk at least.

I believe every Montana gas station has a heavy duty windshield washing tool and bucket for each pump. They're so ubiquitous that I suspect they may be legally required in the hope that cleaner windshields would lead to fewer white crosses. Anyway I have 5 dead bugs on my windshield and I've swatted many more than that into eternity while they were enjoying their last supper on my arm. Not a bad way to go I've always thought.

Finally, just for completeness, I mention the many tire treads that have gone to their final rest, which is in fact on the road.

I think I am going to be off of the grid for a few days now so there will be a period without postings, but I'll be back. When I return I will try to remember to tell you of the amputee, walking to demonstrate her faith

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Thursday June 19 Day 34 Malta to Glasgow, 81 miles Some Good Luck

Wow, what a day. First of all there was a strong, steady wind at my back. The land was more rolling than yesterday and on the up hills, when I was going slowly, I could often feel the wind push me ahead. Two or three times when I was rolling along the flat, unaware of the wind, I turned back to see something or pick something up and I had to struggle to go to the west. Second the road and the traffic were both as good as could be. Third, today I listened to my iPod as I was riding. You all know that I am a conservative, and one thing I have been conserving is my iPod music so that I wouldn't get tired of it. Today I gave myself a treat.

Some readers know that I wrote a book a couple years ago. It is an ABC for eighty somethings. It offers my thoughts on good and bad ways of dying. Today I refined that a little. I have said to Beth many times that if I get killed while riding my bike, she must know that I was having fun. Here's better. If I get hit while riding across the prairie of north eastern Montana, on the Hi-Line, with the wind at my back, and my buds in my ears, listening to Pavarotti, know that I was near my bliss point.

Update from yesterday:
there were no itchy spots from yesterday's mosquitoes and though there were a bunch of trains rumbling through all night long, none was able to keep me from my slumber.

So today went great until mid afternoon when I thought I would be arriving in Glasgow by mid afternoon. I was cruising down a hill when the bike began to wobble in a queer way. I applied the brakes and wondered what was up. Then I realized I had another flat. You may think this was an unlucky event, but consider this. In all my ride across Montana, I have seen only two rest areas and the second one was about 40 feet from where my tire went flat. What are the odds. In fact this was extremely good luck. It meant there was shade, a place off the highway, a picnic table to put my stuff on and a rest room to clean up in. So you see I was in fact, very lucky, even more than you yet know.

After you take off the tire and extract the tube from rim you must then find the puncture. This can be difficult. I knew my hole was small because the leak was quite slow. The guy who taught me how to patch bike tires said that if you just keep pumping air into the tube, the hole will eventually reveal itself. Last summer I finally decided to test that assertion when I had a tube with a leak that I could not find. I just kept pumping air into it and looking for the hole to open up, when suddenly the whole thing burst. Since I had no spare tube with me today due to the flat two days ago, I could not afford to blow it to smithereens. (What is a smithereen anyway?). The other method of finding a leak is to inflate the tube and then submerge it in water. The rising bubbles reveal the leaking point. I took the pressurized tire to the men's room, but found that the sink did not have a stopper. I would have folded up a paper towel and stopped the bowl, but the hand dryer was a hot air blower of the kind with three step instructions: 1 push the button, 2 rub hands together in the hot air 3. Rub hands on your pants. There was only one way to find the leak and you can guess what that was. Did I do it? Yes of course. There was no alternative. I did however flush first. Once the hole was identified I proceeded to patch it in the usual way, but with great care, since I had only one patch, having forgotten to get a new patch kit at the last two bike shops I've been in. I pumped the tire, reloaded the bike and with some apprehension started on the last ten miles.

If you come to Seattle by ferry or other boat you have a very nice view of the harbor and skyline as you arrive. If you fly in at dusk on a clear day you may get a view of our mountain and then the water and islands of the Sound and finally the city lights. It's very pretty. If you are driving across the high plain of Bolivia on your way to La Paz and night has fallen you will be bewildered by the absence of any sign of a large city. You will think, "I know it's the third world, but don't they even have street lights." Then suddenly you will find yourself at the edge of a great basin and there below will be the lights of a metropolis. It is a great entry. If you ride a bike across the Hi-Line from the west toward Glasgow, and it's the end of the day and you are tired, you might be looking for a sign that the town is near. You will reach a point of ground a little above the rest and there just on the horizon will be the first thing to see when approaching a prairie town, the water tower. I've heard that standing on the deck of a sailboat the distance to the horizon that one can see is seven miles. Seldom do you see that far on land, but coming into Glasgow I figured I could see the water tower from about eight miles. This too is a great entry.

Good night my friends. Tomorrow is another day, with another piece of a long, but dandy road.

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Wednesday June 18, Day 33 Chinook to Malta, 74 miles, in 6 hours of riding.

Up a bit before 6:00 in order to get an early start. My motel offered a continental breakfast and there I met the first other bikers that I've talked to. They're a married couple from just outside Seattle at Duval. I set out riding a strong tail wind, the best yet. The road was flat and straight with very little traffic. The first 20 miles were just sweet, but then things turn sour. I got a flat. To get a wheel off my bike requires that I unload it completely and take off the fairing. When I got the tube out my heart sank as I saw that it was not patchable. As some people suffer from depression, I suffer from constitutional optimism and I was pretty sure I had not brought a spare tube. I was cursing my stupid optimism and thinking I would be having to hitch hike again. But then, as I was putting unused tools back in their places I found a tube. Rapture! Rapture! The whole thing took about an hour and I was really glad I had pushed on the night before and started this day early. For much of the middle day the shoulder had a rumble strip right where I had to ride so that was not good and after lunch I had four miles of unpaved road to plod along. Nevertheless I got to Malta in time to make a short visit to the local dinosaur museum. Though small it was great. To get to see it was the reason I had left early.

I'm camping tonight just across from the Duval riders, There are mosquitoes but they are not treating me too badly. I'm wearing long pants and arm warmers.

Did you hear that? Or perhaps you felt it. A four engine, 105 car freight train just rolled past, about 50 yards from where I sit. It is the second one in the last hour. The proprietor told me that they go by here, but I think I will sleep ok as I have been right along. One other small feature of the day was the mosquitoes. As you know, mosquitoes are usually not a problem when there is wind to blow them away, but today my lovely tail wind just blew them along beside me making me a sitting target so to speak. I'll be interested to see tomorrow how many bites I'll find on my body.There are some here in Malta, but not as many as were on the road.

This is really nice riding country, flat and straight with courteous drivers.

And now to bed.

P.S. My clothes are starting to get a little ripe.

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Tuesday June 17th Day 32 Chester to Chinook, 88 miles

We were up around 6:00, farmers hours, and after a breakfast of biscuits and gravy I bid goodbye to Polly and Dayton drove me about 25 miles to Chester which is up on highway 2. I set off from there at 9:15 thus creating a gap in my journey from West Glacier to Chester.I had been resting for 6 days and felt pretty strong. There was a nice wind out of the southwest which was a help. It is now Wednesday evening and I am having trouble remembering yesterday's ride. Oh yes, it was flat and straight. Maybe that's why I don't remember much. I did find the pillow department and not far from that another mattress department, this one had only one item, no box spring, but it was a pillow top queen. We just paid about a grand for one just like it a year or two ago. OK that's enough on that topic, right?



I got to Havre, the only sizable town here on the high line, as highway 2 is known, at about 5:00. Since the next day's ride was looking like 90 miles I decided to do 20 more that day. I had a little bit to eat and then set out. I rolled into Chinook by 8:30, still in the day light, but a huge black cloud had been following me and I heard today there was hail in Chester. Hail destroys fields of wheat.

Motel, shower, bed.

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An ordinary meal

Jumbo shrimp, brussel sprouts, and apricots with a peanut sauce
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Days. 26 - 31 My Time With Dayton and Polly

So Dayton plucked me off the cold, sleety street of East Glacier (there seemed to be only one) and hauled me to his home in Great Falls. I have news. Our countrymen on the prairie no longer live in sod houses. I'll come back to this.

When Dayton found me I had been honed into a medium tough bicyclist with steelish legs and an iron ass. He and Polly began immediately to chip away at this fine specimen through a series of gourmet meals, comfortable furniture, a barber and other forms of soft, dandified living. In theory I might have escaped back to the road on Saturday or Sunday, but in fact neither the spirit nor the flesh were willing. Now it will probably take an expulsion to get me back on my bike.

Dayton is a farmer. On our ride down from Glacier we talked of farming. From time to time over the past few decades, in certain parlors of Montlake and Capital Hill I have expounded on the life and ways of farmers. Dayton is my exclusive source and until now my principal, if not my only point has been that farming, while a spiritually rewarding occupation is also fraught with worry. The time here has broadened my perspective and no doubt added to my lecture, to wit: farming is complex, at least dry land wheat farming. Here I will leave out harvesting the crop, storing the crop, selling the crop, choosing the machinery, operating the machinery, controlling weeds, utilizing moisture and several other topics and elaborate only on fertilizing. Here they add nitrogen and phosphate in order to increase yields (output per acre) and increase the protein in the wheat. Phosphate stays still in the ground. Nitrogen sinks. Phosphate needs only one application which can be done at the time of seeding. Some nitrogen can be applied at seeding, but not all that is needed. Later applications are necessary. Nitrogen increases the protein content of the wheat which at certain levels earns a premium in the price. But the premium does not rise indefinitely. Therefore a farmer could waste money by paying for nitrogen which results in protein that earns no premium. That is, there is such a thing as wasteful application of nitrogen. The land is not of a consistent quality over the entire farm so the applications of both nitrogen and phosphate need to be adjusted according the particular soil. That's about all I got on fertilizer.

Dayton is also the fellow with the luminous toe nail.

Polly is a lady. By this I mean two things at least. One, she knows what's right and what's not, and two, she aspires to what's right. There is not much compromise with these principals. A meal for instance is not to be undertaken lightly or hurriedly, but rather with care and creativity. (A note to other good cooks of my acquaintance, you know who you are: just because you haven't heard me say such things about you doesn't mean I don't know they're true for you too.). Polly's house is of a comfortable size, but not immodest. The walls are hung with original art, some influenced by her work as a docent at the Charlie Russell Museum. She practices for her piano lesson on a 150 year old baby grand. Her free lance writing for the Great Falls Tribune focuses on fitness and travel. Her calligraphy desk is ever ready at the side of her office. The orchid on the coffee table gets personal attention.. You get the idea. There's also the symphony board, the tennis, the thrice weekly fitness class (she attends it, she doesn't teach it) and the summers at the farm and her grandmother role to round out her life.

Here's some of what we did while I was with them: told the old stories and some new ones, had a dinner party, went out for Father's Day dinner, had a steak dinner in and a steak dinner out, took a 20 mile bike ride, had a picnic, went to fitness class, visited the several falls of Great Falls, all with near record water coming over, went to the farm and worked on spraying the cheat grass on the land that is fallow this year, so it would not infest next year's crop (I watched).

I said I would come back to the house. Here it is. The house is not grand or ostentatious, but let me put it this way; if a world renown musician came to town to play with the local symphony, as does happen, and he or she were billeted at the Kolstad's house, the person would not stand agape, but there would be no element of a civil way of life that would be missed. In the guest shower, for instance, there are four vials filled with lotions for purposes unknown to me. Surely nothing more is needed.

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