The last day of my journey—from Long Beach to Downey, CA.
My Son in law, Ed, and my granddaughter, Hallesha, joined me on the last leg of my ride. My daughter, Nerrissa, drove them over to Long Beach, including my 2 grandsons, Joshua and Nehemiah and Maya, daughter of a childhood friend of Nerrissa.
They arrived about 9:30. I was ready but there was a lot of visiting to be done. The ride began in earnest about 10:00. The riders consisted of Ed, Hallesha, age 12, and me. The course was on the banks of a river. There are bike trails on both sides of the San Gabriel River. The river begins at the foot of a mountain and winds through several towns, including Downey.
Our ride commences on the bike trail located on either bank of the river. The river flows in a very wide concrete bed, in the center of which the canal maintains the flow. We headed west to Downey, riding on the right bank of the river that supported 2 bike lanes.
Ed rode ahead, Hallesha in the middle and I brought up the rear. It was Halle’s first time riding such a long distance. The process was at a pace suitable for Halle. She was nervous and wobbly, but tried hard not to show it. I kept my eyes on her, encouraging her and helping her to make better use of the pedals. The dangers are that insufficient speed will create a problem for other cyclists. These were many.
Hallesha was a very quick learner. She used the ball of her feet to acquire better leg pressure, and accelerated up hills at precisely the right moment. We arrived at Downey at1:30 where Nerrissa and the rest were awaiting us. It was a glorious day. The sun was shining brightly and there was joy in everyone’s hearts.
I completed my journey and I have a litany of well wishers and benefactors to thank.
Thursday, October 30
Day 40 Fri Oct 24, 2008
From Carlsbad (La Costa) to Long Beach
I left Carlsbad at 7:30 am and headed north on the Pacific Coast Hwy. The ride was a roller coaster along the oceanfront. There were thousands of people along the way. Many campers were sleeping in their cars and vans and RVs. Lots of bikers took advantage of the warm October weather. So did the surfers. The genius of many surfers who rode their bicycles with arms attached fore and aft. These arms were designed to support the surfboard, waist high, allowing the rider to pedal the bicycle with as little discomfort as possible. As I rode further north, it was evident that this creative device was in common usage around these parts.
I went through Camp Pendleton with no problems. I showed my driver’s license. The guard at the gate is from Minnesota. He lives somewhere north of the Twin Cities. He pointed me toward Stuart Mesa to get to PCH. At San Clemente, the home of President Nixon, it became the highway with roller coaster hills that began at the shoreline. The bike paths are in constant use. There were hundreds of bikers moving in the opposite direction, all very colorful. There were lots of Humvees with squads of soldiers in combat uniform on the move, going, I believe, to their training grounds. Lots of helicopters were flying in formation above the restricted area. Just before San Clemente on a 7-mile strip of bike path, I stopped for a few minutes, and then continued on.
The bike path faded in the cluster of trees bordering the shoreline. That was the end; I had to find the area where it continued along the coastline. I spoke to a few surfers, inquiring about the bike trail. I mentioned the PCH, referring to the end of my journey at Long Beach. They looked at me and grinned. A smile I suspected to be sarcastic. Long Beach is a long way from here, I replied. I know its about 65 miles away on PCH. They ushered me to the restaurant across the road.
Eventually, after speaking to a few individuals, I got the information I needed. The bike path began on the frontage road at the crossover where the busses empty their cargo in the schoolyard. I followed the path and continued north for about a mile and picked my way through the residential area of San Clemente.
I traveled across dirt paths for about a mile. At the end I stopped to ask questions and got answers. Most of the folks were quite willing but were so uninformed about the bike paths. I had to make the association that PCH was also a bike path. Once I cleared that up, I was on my way.
Leaving San Clemente, I entered Capistrano Beach and kept heading north. There were a few challenging hills along the way. At Newport Beach I stopped at an ice cream parlor and ordered a strawberry malt and cold water. Traffic began to accumulate. It is Friday and employees are closing offices and heading home. The rest of the PCH is not well equipped with bike paths. Continuing on PCH, I went through Balsa Chica
Beach State Park in Huntington Beach. This was the beginning of sites on the ocean scattered with platforms indicating some type of oil drilling. The shorelines were filled with moms and their little ones, old men catching some rays of the sun on their bent over bodies. Cars are always in abundance in these wide-open spaces. Makes you believe that Californians are mostly outdoors people. So it seems, but then you realize that most of them are tourists.
Leaving Huntington Beach I began to worry that I was well into Long Beach. The canals were filled with magnificent, expensive boats tied safely to their docks. Just like the place in Long Beach where Mar and Denny Morrill (Pam’s sister and brother in law) live.
I stopped to call Pam because I had forgotten to take the Morrill phone number along. Pam was making preparations to celebrate her son’s new office space in Carlsbad. So I continued on. I came to a split on the PCH. It read Long Beach 405. The traffic was too busy so I stayed in the bike lane and went straight ahead.
I arrived at a place that looked very familiar. I hesitated to go any further. I called Pam and she was on her way on the PCH. It was about 2:30 and I told her I would wait by the restaurant that had a large blue swordfish up in the air on a sign and across the street was a large wooden tower. I thought I was in Huntington Beach. She spent about 3 hours trying to find me. She called her sister and niece and they tried to locate the place. When they found it on Google, the address was in Huntington Beach. But she drove up and down in Huntington Beach and couldn’t find it. I finally found some young women walking by and put one of them on the phone with Pam and they talked to her until she found me. I was in Sunset Beach, which has Huntington Beach addresses.
When she finally got there I threw my bike in the van and rode the last 2 miles to the Morrills. Their daughter, Kris, was there from London and she is a fantastic cook. My daughter, Jessica, arrived and so did Morrills other daughter, Cheri and her husband and 3 children. The evening was a very splendid get together. We stayed there overnight.
I left Carlsbad at 7:30 am and headed north on the Pacific Coast Hwy. The ride was a roller coaster along the oceanfront. There were thousands of people along the way. Many campers were sleeping in their cars and vans and RVs. Lots of bikers took advantage of the warm October weather. So did the surfers. The genius of many surfers who rode their bicycles with arms attached fore and aft. These arms were designed to support the surfboard, waist high, allowing the rider to pedal the bicycle with as little discomfort as possible. As I rode further north, it was evident that this creative device was in common usage around these parts.
I went through Camp Pendleton with no problems. I showed my driver’s license. The guard at the gate is from Minnesota. He lives somewhere north of the Twin Cities. He pointed me toward Stuart Mesa to get to PCH. At San Clemente, the home of President Nixon, it became the highway with roller coaster hills that began at the shoreline. The bike paths are in constant use. There were hundreds of bikers moving in the opposite direction, all very colorful. There were lots of Humvees with squads of soldiers in combat uniform on the move, going, I believe, to their training grounds. Lots of helicopters were flying in formation above the restricted area. Just before San Clemente on a 7-mile strip of bike path, I stopped for a few minutes, and then continued on.
The bike path faded in the cluster of trees bordering the shoreline. That was the end; I had to find the area where it continued along the coastline. I spoke to a few surfers, inquiring about the bike trail. I mentioned the PCH, referring to the end of my journey at Long Beach. They looked at me and grinned. A smile I suspected to be sarcastic. Long Beach is a long way from here, I replied. I know its about 65 miles away on PCH. They ushered me to the restaurant across the road.
Eventually, after speaking to a few individuals, I got the information I needed. The bike path began on the frontage road at the crossover where the busses empty their cargo in the schoolyard. I followed the path and continued north for about a mile and picked my way through the residential area of San Clemente.
I traveled across dirt paths for about a mile. At the end I stopped to ask questions and got answers. Most of the folks were quite willing but were so uninformed about the bike paths. I had to make the association that PCH was also a bike path. Once I cleared that up, I was on my way.
Leaving San Clemente, I entered Capistrano Beach and kept heading north. There were a few challenging hills along the way. At Newport Beach I stopped at an ice cream parlor and ordered a strawberry malt and cold water. Traffic began to accumulate. It is Friday and employees are closing offices and heading home. The rest of the PCH is not well equipped with bike paths. Continuing on PCH, I went through Balsa Chica
Beach State Park in Huntington Beach. This was the beginning of sites on the ocean scattered with platforms indicating some type of oil drilling. The shorelines were filled with moms and their little ones, old men catching some rays of the sun on their bent over bodies. Cars are always in abundance in these wide-open spaces. Makes you believe that Californians are mostly outdoors people. So it seems, but then you realize that most of them are tourists.
Leaving Huntington Beach I began to worry that I was well into Long Beach. The canals were filled with magnificent, expensive boats tied safely to their docks. Just like the place in Long Beach where Mar and Denny Morrill (Pam’s sister and brother in law) live.
I stopped to call Pam because I had forgotten to take the Morrill phone number along. Pam was making preparations to celebrate her son’s new office space in Carlsbad. So I continued on. I came to a split on the PCH. It read Long Beach 405. The traffic was too busy so I stayed in the bike lane and went straight ahead.
I arrived at a place that looked very familiar. I hesitated to go any further. I called Pam and she was on her way on the PCH. It was about 2:30 and I told her I would wait by the restaurant that had a large blue swordfish up in the air on a sign and across the street was a large wooden tower. I thought I was in Huntington Beach. She spent about 3 hours trying to find me. She called her sister and niece and they tried to locate the place. When they found it on Google, the address was in Huntington Beach. But she drove up and down in Huntington Beach and couldn’t find it. I finally found some young women walking by and put one of them on the phone with Pam and they talked to her until she found me. I was in Sunset Beach, which has Huntington Beach addresses.
When she finally got there I threw my bike in the van and rode the last 2 miles to the Morrills. Their daughter, Kris, was there from London and she is a fantastic cook. My daughter, Jessica, arrived and so did Morrills other daughter, Cheri and her husband and 3 children. The evening was a very splendid get together. We stayed there overnight.
Wednesday, October 29
Day 39 Thur. Oct 23, 2008
A Day at the La Costa Spa
We got to the Spa about 9:30am.. Pam’s children and their spouses got together to buy us a gift certificate to this Spa.. The atmosphere was beautiful and relaxing. There were small, white buildings around the swimming pool where each person could received a massage. The grounds were very well managed. The grass was green and watered. The flowers like a tropical garden bloomed plentifully. On one side of a walk there were orange trees, 2 to 3 feel tall, laden with fruit. Everything there contributed to a peaceful atmosphere, including the piped-in music permeating the air.
When we were inside the building, we were each given a guided tour. The men and women had separate facilities in some areas, and joint facilities in others. A locker and a soft, white robe were provided. We spent time together in the outdoor Jacuzzi, pool and Roman waterfall. Then we had our massages. And then we went to the inside separate facilities. such as the Jacuzzi, sauna and steam room . When we were finished we went to the little restaurant on the grounds and had a delicious lunch. We went back to the Carroll’s completely relaxed and thankful for the best gift of all.
Greg joined us for a delicious supper outside by their pool. He had to go back to work as he is a financial planner and is very busy and very stressed these days.
We got to the Spa about 9:30am.. Pam’s children and their spouses got together to buy us a gift certificate to this Spa.. The atmosphere was beautiful and relaxing. There were small, white buildings around the swimming pool where each person could received a massage. The grounds were very well managed. The grass was green and watered. The flowers like a tropical garden bloomed plentifully. On one side of a walk there were orange trees, 2 to 3 feel tall, laden with fruit. Everything there contributed to a peaceful atmosphere, including the piped-in music permeating the air.
When we were inside the building, we were each given a guided tour. The men and women had separate facilities in some areas, and joint facilities in others. A locker and a soft, white robe were provided. We spent time together in the outdoor Jacuzzi, pool and Roman waterfall. Then we had our massages. And then we went to the inside separate facilities. such as the Jacuzzi, sauna and steam room . When we were finished we went to the little restaurant on the grounds and had a delicious lunch. We went back to the Carroll’s completely relaxed and thankful for the best gift of all.
Greg joined us for a delicious supper outside by their pool. He had to go back to work as he is a financial planner and is very busy and very stressed these days.
Day 38 Wed. Oct 22, 2008
Day 38 Wed. Oct 22, 2008
At Greg & Rebecca Carroll’s, La Costa, CA. Last Evening. There were children in the cul de sac waiting to greet us yesterday.. Everyone was smiling and hugged us as they immediately continued their games in the street. Grandma Pam was the main feature of this visit. We made sure the heavy articles were left in the van. It’s funny, when clean, good tasting water is available how much of it is consumed.
We had supper with the family and then made plans for tomorrow—Wed. It was going to be a long ride from Imperial Beach to La Costa.
We left home this morning about 9:30. We purposely waited until the rush hour traffic was over. Rebecca cut out 4 maps to guide me on the bike trails from Imperial Beach to La Costa (Carlsbad) or as far as I was able.
Pam drove me down to Imperial Beach. I found the bike trail and I accompanied an old (68) Mexican gentleman on the way to the Coronado Hotel. He rides 9 miles, one-way, to the Coronado every day, so that his remaining years will be filled with healthy habits. As we parted, I remembered that Bud and Ava were in a condo near the Coronado Hotel. I called Pam to call them before I traveled any further. This was our 3rd attempt to get together since we had lunch at their home Phoenix. They insisted we go up to Bud’s condo. Then Ava insisted on making lunch for us. She had made Borscht the day before, with every conceivable vegetable in it. She heated it up for us and it was very delicious. Bud has a beautiful condo in a new building near the Coronado Hotel. As we were waiting for the elevator to leave, they pointed out that John McCain has a condo in that building. I think they also said that one or more of his children have a condo there.
I continued my ride on the waterfront bike path. I was lucky enough to catch the pedestrian ferry to the mainland without waiting too long. I met a group of visitors from Chicago. They are into insurance and sales businesses, particularity the money market. Together we hurried to get aboard. I shared my experiences with them, handing them each a card.
On Broadway near a floating museum, I met Pam. We discussed the rest of the ride for that day. It was quite uncertain that I could finish it partly because of rush hour and partly because of the uncertainty of the route we had chosen. I was willing to ride but she was uncertain because of gaps in the bike trails.
I made it as far as LaJolla and the chaos began. There were no traces of a bike trail. I tried to follow the harbor route, but it disappeared among the private residences occupying the waterfront. Pacific Coast Highway goes by many names. The biking map we had wasn’t much help. I asked people for directions and got something different from each person.
Pam and I finally connected on a city street. There were 2 cyclists following me, but they kept going. We discussed the situation for a while and decided it was too late in the day to continue biking. There were so many cars on the roads, we weren’t sure where the bike paths were, the city streets were in dire need of repair, so we put the bike in van and spent some time trying to find I-5. We found it, returned to La Cost and remained there the rest of the evening. For Pam, being with her grandchildren was the best part of the trip.
At Greg & Rebecca Carroll’s, La Costa, CA. Last Evening. There were children in the cul de sac waiting to greet us yesterday.. Everyone was smiling and hugged us as they immediately continued their games in the street. Grandma Pam was the main feature of this visit. We made sure the heavy articles were left in the van. It’s funny, when clean, good tasting water is available how much of it is consumed.
We had supper with the family and then made plans for tomorrow—Wed. It was going to be a long ride from Imperial Beach to La Costa.
We left home this morning about 9:30. We purposely waited until the rush hour traffic was over. Rebecca cut out 4 maps to guide me on the bike trails from Imperial Beach to La Costa (Carlsbad) or as far as I was able.
Pam drove me down to Imperial Beach. I found the bike trail and I accompanied an old (68) Mexican gentleman on the way to the Coronado Hotel. He rides 9 miles, one-way, to the Coronado every day, so that his remaining years will be filled with healthy habits. As we parted, I remembered that Bud and Ava were in a condo near the Coronado Hotel. I called Pam to call them before I traveled any further. This was our 3rd attempt to get together since we had lunch at their home Phoenix. They insisted we go up to Bud’s condo. Then Ava insisted on making lunch for us. She had made Borscht the day before, with every conceivable vegetable in it. She heated it up for us and it was very delicious. Bud has a beautiful condo in a new building near the Coronado Hotel. As we were waiting for the elevator to leave, they pointed out that John McCain has a condo in that building. I think they also said that one or more of his children have a condo there.
I continued my ride on the waterfront bike path. I was lucky enough to catch the pedestrian ferry to the mainland without waiting too long. I met a group of visitors from Chicago. They are into insurance and sales businesses, particularity the money market. Together we hurried to get aboard. I shared my experiences with them, handing them each a card.
On Broadway near a floating museum, I met Pam. We discussed the rest of the ride for that day. It was quite uncertain that I could finish it partly because of rush hour and partly because of the uncertainty of the route we had chosen. I was willing to ride but she was uncertain because of gaps in the bike trails.
I made it as far as LaJolla and the chaos began. There were no traces of a bike trail. I tried to follow the harbor route, but it disappeared among the private residences occupying the waterfront. Pacific Coast Highway goes by many names. The biking map we had wasn’t much help. I asked people for directions and got something different from each person.
Pam and I finally connected on a city street. There were 2 cyclists following me, but they kept going. We discussed the situation for a while and decided it was too late in the day to continue biking. There were so many cars on the roads, we weren’t sure where the bike paths were, the city streets were in dire need of repair, so we put the bike in van and spent some time trying to find I-5. We found it, returned to La Cost and remained there the rest of the evening. For Pam, being with her grandchildren was the best part of the trip.
Tuesday, October 28
Day 37 Tues. Oct 21, 2008
From Jacumba to Dulzura
Early in the morning the ride up mountains is quite strenuous, but the pain seems less. Hope abides. Perhaps its because the first miles in the morning the sun has very little affect on the strength of the body and the will to make a success of the journey. But above and beyond those 2 factors, the spirit within has just recently been empowered by the volume of prayers of thanksgiving. Like a fully charged battery, the body outshines any signs of weakness or fatigue that permeates the mind. I sound like my father!
The first few miles were hard to dome by. But by the time I conquered my second climb, the going got much better. Thank God for little favors. The reward was outstanding. I was flying down steep declines lapping up the miles at rates from 25 to 30 mph. There were many instances I felt like stopping to capture a few mountain scenes on film, but the joy of fresh, clean air blowing against my face seemed fare more rewarding than the photograph scenes.
However, I was compelled to do the opposite on a few occasions. The stories are too numerous and too compelling. I hope I can do a good job describing the wonders of nature in this remote corner of America. Vast wastelands, minor population
I stopped in Campo to get some ice cream. I had to wait for about 30 minutes to get it. The machine had little ice and I had to await the arrival of the owner who had gone shopping with ice on the list. While awaiting my ice cream, I met a you 21-year-old Mexican. He drove a semi. He, too stopped to get something to eat. He has been driving for 5 years. Then a young woman came to the counter. I gave them each my card. Then I asked her to describe Campo. She thought for a while and responded, “Campo is as country as it gets.” Why, I asked, do you live here? She has a boyfriend who does construction, the money is good and the rent is cheap.
That’s the same response the waitress gave me. She has 2 children. One is 12 and he goes to school and has many friends. The teacher is very good to him and he likes his friends. She lives in an RV camp and the rent is cheap. That’s the same response the waitress gave me. She owns her own RV and has a job.
About 10 miles later, Pam caught up with me. It was my 7th climb. I completed it and continued on. The next descent was 13 miles long. It went down quickly at very excessive speeds. There were very few times I had to use my pedal. On one side of the road the precipice appeared to be like open jaws, ready to devour me. I held on to my handlebars and made good use of my brakes. It seems hours later I go to the bottom of the descent. I began a great deal of reflection.
Pam had stopped at a truck stop. I just happened to glance from the side of my eyes to see her as I flew by. I got off my bike at Bennetts Road Café that promised daring stories inside. When Pam arrived I told her that this was the last ride down the mountainous side for the day. The shoulders were non-existent, the curves were too shallow and the decline was too steep for a bike rider. At the café we were informed that no motel accommodations were available in any of the succeeding towns on the route to San Diego. We decided to go directly there to try to get a motel. While driving, Pam’s daughter-in-law, Rebecca called to see how we were doing. She suggested we drive to their home in La Costa, spend the night, then drive back to south of San Diego in the morning so Cyril could do that part of the ride. We had a great meal and a good night’s sleep at Greg and Rebecca Carroll’s home and spent some fun time with grandchildren, Cameron and Ashley.
Early in the morning the ride up mountains is quite strenuous, but the pain seems less. Hope abides. Perhaps its because the first miles in the morning the sun has very little affect on the strength of the body and the will to make a success of the journey. But above and beyond those 2 factors, the spirit within has just recently been empowered by the volume of prayers of thanksgiving. Like a fully charged battery, the body outshines any signs of weakness or fatigue that permeates the mind. I sound like my father!
The first few miles were hard to dome by. But by the time I conquered my second climb, the going got much better. Thank God for little favors. The reward was outstanding. I was flying down steep declines lapping up the miles at rates from 25 to 30 mph. There were many instances I felt like stopping to capture a few mountain scenes on film, but the joy of fresh, clean air blowing against my face seemed fare more rewarding than the photograph scenes.
However, I was compelled to do the opposite on a few occasions. The stories are too numerous and too compelling. I hope I can do a good job describing the wonders of nature in this remote corner of America. Vast wastelands, minor population
I stopped in Campo to get some ice cream. I had to wait for about 30 minutes to get it. The machine had little ice and I had to await the arrival of the owner who had gone shopping with ice on the list. While awaiting my ice cream, I met a you 21-year-old Mexican. He drove a semi. He, too stopped to get something to eat. He has been driving for 5 years. Then a young woman came to the counter. I gave them each my card. Then I asked her to describe Campo. She thought for a while and responded, “Campo is as country as it gets.” Why, I asked, do you live here? She has a boyfriend who does construction, the money is good and the rent is cheap.
That’s the same response the waitress gave me. She has 2 children. One is 12 and he goes to school and has many friends. The teacher is very good to him and he likes his friends. She lives in an RV camp and the rent is cheap. That’s the same response the waitress gave me. She owns her own RV and has a job.
About 10 miles later, Pam caught up with me. It was my 7th climb. I completed it and continued on. The next descent was 13 miles long. It went down quickly at very excessive speeds. There were very few times I had to use my pedal. On one side of the road the precipice appeared to be like open jaws, ready to devour me. I held on to my handlebars and made good use of my brakes. It seems hours later I go to the bottom of the descent. I began a great deal of reflection.
Pam had stopped at a truck stop. I just happened to glance from the side of my eyes to see her as I flew by. I got off my bike at Bennetts Road Café that promised daring stories inside. When Pam arrived I told her that this was the last ride down the mountainous side for the day. The shoulders were non-existent, the curves were too shallow and the decline was too steep for a bike rider. At the café we were informed that no motel accommodations were available in any of the succeeding towns on the route to San Diego. We decided to go directly there to try to get a motel. While driving, Pam’s daughter-in-law, Rebecca called to see how we were doing. She suggested we drive to their home in La Costa, spend the night, then drive back to south of San Diego in the morning so Cyril could do that part of the ride. We had a great meal and a good night’s sleep at Greg and Rebecca Carroll’s home and spent some fun time with grandchildren, Cameron and Ashley.
Monday, October 27
Day 36 Mon. Oct. 20, 2008
From Calexico to Jacumba. I was a bit uncomfortable last night. The manager/owner of the Motel Camino Real suggested the YUM YUM, a Chinese restaurant not too far from the motel. We also noted that Jim Bassett and his group had eaten there 9 years ago and really liked it. I felt like Chinese food. I was thinking Egg Fu Yung or Chicken Fried Rice, but my curiosity got the better of me. I inquired about the Yum Yum special and the waitress recommended it very highly. Somehow I missed the part where the waitress said fried chicken with lemon. I was expecting a Chinese dish with some fried chicken in it and some rice. When my order arrived I saw huge pieces of very heavily coated fried chicken and a bowl of rice. Pam ordered Chicken Chop Suey. She ate around it and left most of it on the plate. I, on the other hand, did my very best to clean my plate. I did not wish to offend the waitress and manager. My stomach responded to the after math of my taste buds. I drank a lot of tea and water and went to bed.
I was off my schedule by a whole hour. When I left the motel, it was almost 9:00 am. Traffic was not too congested and the roads were quite comfortable. My ride was shaping up to be an excellent one. I had a wide shoulder and a favorable wind as companions.
Today my thoughts were filled with images of Brother Dietrich, the President of St. John’s. He is so very personal and open. Not so long ago he sent me a copy of a newsletter produced by the student body. That copy he sent me contained a picture of me winning the 100 yd dash against Gustavus Adolpnus. My opposition was Gabriel, can’t remember his last name. The paper reported that the 100 yd dash was completed in 9.85 seconds. He also sent another copy of my picture in the language lab. The letter was so warm and refreshing, I want to tell him very soon that each day on my ride from Minneapolis to California, I dedicated my ride to him.
The road to Jacumba was filled with border patrol and Californians moving across the state. The elevation was beginning to take its toll on me, but I took more breaks and drew my strength from the many people who were rooting for my success. The wind was soft and the sun glared down on my bike and me. The sweat was pouring out. My face looked white with salty lines of dried sweat. My spirit was sagging, but I persevered. The Spa in Jacumba is an old spa, but still in good shape. They have 2 outdoor pools with sulphuric water from a spring that comes from a volcano that is thousands of years old and is always 102 degrees. It cools down a little in the outdoor pools, but stays quite warm in the indoor Jacuzzi.
The manager/owner said people come from all over the world to bathe in this water. It was especially popular with movie stars such as John Wayne and Marilyn Monroe making use of it regularly. It happened that Jim Bassett and his fellow riders stayed here 9 years ago, too. The Jacumba Spa was a welcome sight to me. I showered and went into the sauna, which was very hot. Then I went into the Jacuzzi. While in the Jacuzzi, a young man and woman came in.. I recognized them as fellow travelers from the road. I had stopped on one of the many mountains I had to overcome to observe the landscape more closely. I was planning to take some pictures of these magnificent piles of huge boulders. As I was refreshing myself with a drink of cold water, a car traveled about 200 feet beyond me and stopped. Two people got out and began to take pictures. They then ran across the highway and began to climb the rocks, like mountain goats. I shouted to them to raise their arms. They responded with shouts and laughter.
About 2 hours later, as I enjoyed the Jacuzzi, those 2 people entered. Turns out, they lost their way and were ushered to Jacumba, which was on their way back to San Diego. He is French and is employed in Montreal and she was born in Russia and attends USD in South Dakota.
Pam and I went to a Casino about 13 miles away. It is located about 4000 feet above sea level. A climb that I will have to make tomorrow. There are 2 casinos outside of Jacumba. We had dinner at the one the was furthest away It was a long and interesting day.
I was off my schedule by a whole hour. When I left the motel, it was almost 9:00 am. Traffic was not too congested and the roads were quite comfortable. My ride was shaping up to be an excellent one. I had a wide shoulder and a favorable wind as companions.
Today my thoughts were filled with images of Brother Dietrich, the President of St. John’s. He is so very personal and open. Not so long ago he sent me a copy of a newsletter produced by the student body. That copy he sent me contained a picture of me winning the 100 yd dash against Gustavus Adolpnus. My opposition was Gabriel, can’t remember his last name. The paper reported that the 100 yd dash was completed in 9.85 seconds. He also sent another copy of my picture in the language lab. The letter was so warm and refreshing, I want to tell him very soon that each day on my ride from Minneapolis to California, I dedicated my ride to him.
The road to Jacumba was filled with border patrol and Californians moving across the state. The elevation was beginning to take its toll on me, but I took more breaks and drew my strength from the many people who were rooting for my success. The wind was soft and the sun glared down on my bike and me. The sweat was pouring out. My face looked white with salty lines of dried sweat. My spirit was sagging, but I persevered. The Spa in Jacumba is an old spa, but still in good shape. They have 2 outdoor pools with sulphuric water from a spring that comes from a volcano that is thousands of years old and is always 102 degrees. It cools down a little in the outdoor pools, but stays quite warm in the indoor Jacuzzi.
The manager/owner said people come from all over the world to bathe in this water. It was especially popular with movie stars such as John Wayne and Marilyn Monroe making use of it regularly. It happened that Jim Bassett and his fellow riders stayed here 9 years ago, too. The Jacumba Spa was a welcome sight to me. I showered and went into the sauna, which was very hot. Then I went into the Jacuzzi. While in the Jacuzzi, a young man and woman came in.. I recognized them as fellow travelers from the road. I had stopped on one of the many mountains I had to overcome to observe the landscape more closely. I was planning to take some pictures of these magnificent piles of huge boulders. As I was refreshing myself with a drink of cold water, a car traveled about 200 feet beyond me and stopped. Two people got out and began to take pictures. They then ran across the highway and began to climb the rocks, like mountain goats. I shouted to them to raise their arms. They responded with shouts and laughter.
About 2 hours later, as I enjoyed the Jacuzzi, those 2 people entered. Turns out, they lost their way and were ushered to Jacumba, which was on their way back to San Diego. He is French and is employed in Montreal and she was born in Russia and attends USD in South Dakota.
Pam and I went to a Casino about 13 miles away. It is located about 4000 feet above sea level. A climb that I will have to make tomorrow. There are 2 casinos outside of Jacumba. We had dinner at the one the was furthest away It was a long and interesting day.
Day 35 Sunday, Oct 19, 2008
Got up at 5:30 and prepared myself for the long ride to Calexico. The sun was quite warm this morning. It didn’t take me long to shed the lightweight, bright orange jacket I’ve become so used to wearing. It keeps me from harm’s way. The ride west was relatively pleasant. The shoulders were wide enough and the traffic was light enough and it was a beautiful sunny day.
The miles came quite easily; my speeds were increased to 12 – 21mph and more. The wind was side winding. My first stop was at a rest stop. On both sides of the highway there were sand dunes. Mr. B, the Bike man at Yuma, hinted that the most recent movie of “Star Wars” was filmed right there on the sand dunes. When I came up to the bridge I discovered a large canal of water running through this huge desert. Green foliage was in growth along both side of this canal as the rest of its banks were clothed in soft red sand. It reminds me of the Sahara Desert without the palm trees and no oasis.
On the hillside not too far away was a group of motorcyclists and dune buggies creating fun and pleasure. I stopped to take a picture and was about to move on when I heard from behind me, CYCLIST STOP. Two squad cars—one Hwy Patrol which was brown and gold, and one Border Patrol which was green and white and had his lights flashing. Hwy Patrolman said, When you get to the junction of S98, exit off this highway and follow 98 until you get to Calexico. Meanwhile the border patrol officer stood at a distance to my left. I told the officer what I was about, informing him of my daily log report and handed him my card. He read it within a few seconds and handed it back to me, even when I told him to keep it. I informed him briefly regarding the purpose and beginning of this ride, and my concern for finding alternative routes because of the debris on the shoulders and the frequent flats since I began.
He was quite cordial and did not inquire about the pictures I had taken. He knew immediately when I spoke that there was no breach of security or that there was no crime unintentionally committed. I was on my way and my tires were intact.
Shortly after, Pam caught up with me on Hwy 98. I was 27 miles from Calexico. I drank some cool water and rested in the van for 10 minutes. My hands were numb from gripping the handlebars. I realized too late that I had forgotten my gloves at the rest stop and we did not go back to retrieve them.
I arrived at Calexico about 1:30 pm. I called Pam and she showed up within minutes. She was just heading out to look for me. I followed her to an old motel named Camino Real on Fourth St. We were only a few blocks from the Mexican Border. Another day, another motel. Sounds like the life of a salesman.
Jeff Nohner interviewed me on the Webcam tonight. Jeff is going to edit it to place it on the website. We had to do it in several small segments because we couldn’t email larger segments. But as usual, Jeff found a way to work around the problem. Jeff is so efficient and extremely patient. That’s another story for another time.
The miles came quite easily; my speeds were increased to 12 – 21mph and more. The wind was side winding. My first stop was at a rest stop. On both sides of the highway there were sand dunes. Mr. B, the Bike man at Yuma, hinted that the most recent movie of “Star Wars” was filmed right there on the sand dunes. When I came up to the bridge I discovered a large canal of water running through this huge desert. Green foliage was in growth along both side of this canal as the rest of its banks were clothed in soft red sand. It reminds me of the Sahara Desert without the palm trees and no oasis.
On the hillside not too far away was a group of motorcyclists and dune buggies creating fun and pleasure. I stopped to take a picture and was about to move on when I heard from behind me, CYCLIST STOP. Two squad cars—one Hwy Patrol which was brown and gold, and one Border Patrol which was green and white and had his lights flashing. Hwy Patrolman said, When you get to the junction of S98, exit off this highway and follow 98 until you get to Calexico. Meanwhile the border patrol officer stood at a distance to my left. I told the officer what I was about, informing him of my daily log report and handed him my card. He read it within a few seconds and handed it back to me, even when I told him to keep it. I informed him briefly regarding the purpose and beginning of this ride, and my concern for finding alternative routes because of the debris on the shoulders and the frequent flats since I began.
He was quite cordial and did not inquire about the pictures I had taken. He knew immediately when I spoke that there was no breach of security or that there was no crime unintentionally committed. I was on my way and my tires were intact.
Shortly after, Pam caught up with me on Hwy 98. I was 27 miles from Calexico. I drank some cool water and rested in the van for 10 minutes. My hands were numb from gripping the handlebars. I realized too late that I had forgotten my gloves at the rest stop and we did not go back to retrieve them.
I arrived at Calexico about 1:30 pm. I called Pam and she showed up within minutes. She was just heading out to look for me. I followed her to an old motel named Camino Real on Fourth St. We were only a few blocks from the Mexican Border. Another day, another motel. Sounds like the life of a salesman.
Jeff Nohner interviewed me on the Webcam tonight. Jeff is going to edit it to place it on the website. We had to do it in several small segments because we couldn’t email larger segments. But as usual, Jeff found a way to work around the problem. Jeff is so efficient and extremely patient. That’s another story for another time.
Friday, October 24
Day 34 Sat. Oct 18, 2008
I got up this morning and rode the bike back to the foothill of the mountains east of Yuma and then back to the motel, as I wanted to make up most of the miles I missed yesterday because of the flat tire.
The foothills east of Yuma stand guard on its eastern gateway. As one approaches the valley and gazes upon the mountain range, it appears like a rusty, abandoned saw blade. Its sharp edges pointed to the sky, its teeth worn out from battling the elements for centuries, angry at its intruders that disturb the quiet valley. On the western edge it appears like a mighty giant disposed of most of his extremities. His head is massive, his skeletal face fierce with cruel and angry sentiments., having been ruined and displaced by a western moving civilization. Hopelessly, this massive stretch of mountain stares into the eyes of those who recognize his fate as he lies there in perpetuity.
After riding out and back we spent the rest of the afternoon at the motel, writing and typing. For dinner we went to a Famous Dave’s in Yuma, came back to the motel and watched CNN for the rest of the evening.
The foothills east of Yuma stand guard on its eastern gateway. As one approaches the valley and gazes upon the mountain range, it appears like a rusty, abandoned saw blade. Its sharp edges pointed to the sky, its teeth worn out from battling the elements for centuries, angry at its intruders that disturb the quiet valley. On the western edge it appears like a mighty giant disposed of most of his extremities. His head is massive, his skeletal face fierce with cruel and angry sentiments., having been ruined and displaced by a western moving civilization. Hopelessly, this massive stretch of mountain stares into the eyes of those who recognize his fate as he lies there in perpetuity.
After riding out and back we spent the rest of the afternoon at the motel, writing and typing. For dinner we went to a Famous Dave’s in Yuma, came back to the motel and watched CNN for the rest of the evening.
Day 33 Fri. Oct 17, 2008
I got up at 5:30 am. Made preparations for my long journey today. The terrain is very inviting. This journey should be quite fast and comfortable. The traffic appears to be moderate. I waited until 7:30 for the water to return. I had to go to the motel manager for ice. The accommodations did not provide for those simple amenities. She brought me a small bucket of ice that came from her own refrigerator, I suspected. The cubes were shaped differently.
Imagine the last stop before entering the desert. I was beginning to make plans to rationing whatever little water I had left. However, when she saw me in my riding
gear, perhaps that fact increased her willingness to be accommodating.
I decided to take I-8 all the way. It is straight and flat. It seems Pam and I lose contact with each other in some areas. I did not want to take the chance of riding on bike paths or back roads on which Pam would be unable to catch up with me.
The journey was going quite well. I traveled for about 5 hours. The scenery was more of the same. The mountains appeared blue and misty in the distance. The lands on both sides of the highway were in large part fenced in and signs were posted in yellow and black indicating cattle farming.
There were few trains, very long trains moving in both directions. The area was covered with shrubs, red earth and sand, with a healthy supply of cactus scattered across the terrain. The riverbeds were sandy and dry with stones and pebbles of all colors. These dried up rivers were about 3 to 4 feet wide.
The mountains were becoming clearer and the shoulders along the Interstate revealed signs of broken parts of tires. The last time I repaired my tires was in Phoenix. I replaced the tubes in both the front and back wheels.
I began to worry about my maneuverability. It is not as if it is so very frequent, but on this long journey it appears that most of the semis are running on vulcanized tires, or recaps. When they get too hot from too much travel, they fall apart and tires and wires disintegrate and become strewn on the shoulders. With speeds of about 75mph, everything is swept off the highway and on to the shoulders.
Well, guess what? I felt a thump, thump, thump. Thats right. Another flat. A piece of wire pierced my tire.
I did what I really disliked doing. I called Pam. I was so sure it would not happen again, but it did.
We stopped in a couple of very small towns, but it wasn’t surprising that they didn’t have anyone who could fix a tire. A patrol officer informed me I could get the job done in Yuma at Mr. Bs Bike Shop.
We found the shop and they informed me to return about 6:00 pm. We found a Super 8 for the night, went back to get the bike about 6:00 and crashed for the night.
Imagine the last stop before entering the desert. I was beginning to make plans to rationing whatever little water I had left. However, when she saw me in my riding
gear, perhaps that fact increased her willingness to be accommodating.
I decided to take I-8 all the way. It is straight and flat. It seems Pam and I lose contact with each other in some areas. I did not want to take the chance of riding on bike paths or back roads on which Pam would be unable to catch up with me.
The journey was going quite well. I traveled for about 5 hours. The scenery was more of the same. The mountains appeared blue and misty in the distance. The lands on both sides of the highway were in large part fenced in and signs were posted in yellow and black indicating cattle farming.
There were few trains, very long trains moving in both directions. The area was covered with shrubs, red earth and sand, with a healthy supply of cactus scattered across the terrain. The riverbeds were sandy and dry with stones and pebbles of all colors. These dried up rivers were about 3 to 4 feet wide.
The mountains were becoming clearer and the shoulders along the Interstate revealed signs of broken parts of tires. The last time I repaired my tires was in Phoenix. I replaced the tubes in both the front and back wheels.
I began to worry about my maneuverability. It is not as if it is so very frequent, but on this long journey it appears that most of the semis are running on vulcanized tires, or recaps. When they get too hot from too much travel, they fall apart and tires and wires disintegrate and become strewn on the shoulders. With speeds of about 75mph, everything is swept off the highway and on to the shoulders.
Well, guess what? I felt a thump, thump, thump. Thats right. Another flat. A piece of wire pierced my tire.
I did what I really disliked doing. I called Pam. I was so sure it would not happen again, but it did.
We stopped in a couple of very small towns, but it wasn’t surprising that they didn’t have anyone who could fix a tire. A patrol officer informed me I could get the job done in Yuma at Mr. Bs Bike Shop.
We found the shop and they informed me to return about 6:00 pm. We found a Super 8 for the night, went back to get the bike about 6:00 and crashed for the night.
Sunday, October 19
Day 32 Thurs. Oct 16, 2008
I got up at my usual time. George, too, was up and his friend, Otto, came to say goodbye.
He brought me some very fine gifts. He once again expressed the heartfelt joy he experienced at last nights get together. I thanked him and he left.
Breakfast followed and the ritual of packing and loading the van began. I got my directions and proceeded to my destination, Gila Bend.
The road was level, a perfect day. The temperature was 84. Some instances there were no shoulders, but the wind was soft and pushed me along in the right direction. There were times when my speedometer climbed to 21mph. I was amazed. Problem is my discomfort impedes the consistency of that speed. My hands become numb, my legs are okay, but the seat creates a hindrance to my blood flow. My nerve endings send a strong message of discord, lack of cooperation.
I have to stand on my pedals and coast until it feels okay to sit again. My hands shift from time to time to allow my shoulder the relief it requires. Every 15 miles, I pause to quench my thirst and plaster my dry lips with a little balm. Or have a bite of my energy bar.
The Arizona countryside is decorated with cactus and short green shrubs, some of them are full grown trees. I’ve been told that plants here do not require a great deal of moisture. I’ve accumulated the names of many plants but at the moment I am not able to share them. The mountain scenes are always spectacular. I’ve stopped a few times to capture scenes I thought would be interesting. They are too numerous and should be left to the imagination.
I was nearing my destination when the highway began to look like an uneven carpet. The frequent lumps on the road caused me to wonder why the DOT would design the road in this fashion, so I stood up on my pedals and began coasting. I was coasting at speeds up to 18-20mph. My naked eyes revealed a level road, with the frequency of lumps occurring. The road was straight with slight curves along an area dominated by tall cactus and shrubs, rocky fields and short trees.
I did not recognizer a decline. To my surprise, I was moving faster. Then suddenly, POW, my rear tire blew out. I quickly stopped , checked it out and began to walk. As I did so, I realized an ever so slight down hill gait in my steps, and the pull of my handlebars leading me on. I stopped, looked back to view from whence I came. It was so minute, hardly noticeable, but there it was, a pedaling break. I was coasting for a mile and more when my tire blew out.
I called Pam and she came for me. She had traveled on I-10 part of the way and she was already at Gila Bend. She picked me up and we drove into town. We checked into the Yucca Motel and bedded down for the night, after I fixed my wheel.
The accommodations were quite poor. Small room, electrical outlets unsuitable for a computer and printer, no ice service and the water supply had to be cut off from 10 pm to 6 am so the city could work on it. I left the mote[ at 7:50am and Pam left about 9:30 am and there still was no water.
He brought me some very fine gifts. He once again expressed the heartfelt joy he experienced at last nights get together. I thanked him and he left.
Breakfast followed and the ritual of packing and loading the van began. I got my directions and proceeded to my destination, Gila Bend.
The road was level, a perfect day. The temperature was 84. Some instances there were no shoulders, but the wind was soft and pushed me along in the right direction. There were times when my speedometer climbed to 21mph. I was amazed. Problem is my discomfort impedes the consistency of that speed. My hands become numb, my legs are okay, but the seat creates a hindrance to my blood flow. My nerve endings send a strong message of discord, lack of cooperation.
I have to stand on my pedals and coast until it feels okay to sit again. My hands shift from time to time to allow my shoulder the relief it requires. Every 15 miles, I pause to quench my thirst and plaster my dry lips with a little balm. Or have a bite of my energy bar.
The Arizona countryside is decorated with cactus and short green shrubs, some of them are full grown trees. I’ve been told that plants here do not require a great deal of moisture. I’ve accumulated the names of many plants but at the moment I am not able to share them. The mountain scenes are always spectacular. I’ve stopped a few times to capture scenes I thought would be interesting. They are too numerous and should be left to the imagination.
I was nearing my destination when the highway began to look like an uneven carpet. The frequent lumps on the road caused me to wonder why the DOT would design the road in this fashion, so I stood up on my pedals and began coasting. I was coasting at speeds up to 18-20mph. My naked eyes revealed a level road, with the frequency of lumps occurring. The road was straight with slight curves along an area dominated by tall cactus and shrubs, rocky fields and short trees.
I did not recognizer a decline. To my surprise, I was moving faster. Then suddenly, POW, my rear tire blew out. I quickly stopped , checked it out and began to walk. As I did so, I realized an ever so slight down hill gait in my steps, and the pull of my handlebars leading me on. I stopped, looked back to view from whence I came. It was so minute, hardly noticeable, but there it was, a pedaling break. I was coasting for a mile and more when my tire blew out.
I called Pam and she came for me. She had traveled on I-10 part of the way and she was already at Gila Bend. She picked me up and we drove into town. We checked into the Yucca Motel and bedded down for the night, after I fixed my wheel.
The accommodations were quite poor. Small room, electrical outlets unsuitable for a computer and printer, no ice service and the water supply had to be cut off from 10 pm to 6 am so the city could work on it. I left the mote[ at 7:50am and Pam left about 9:30 am and there still was no water.
Saturday, October 18
A blog from Billy Bergmann--a musician and very good friend
My experience riding for Cyril this weekend was perhaps on different terrain than that which Cyril has seen for the past several weeks, but none the less in the same spirit I hope. In about four hours we saw only 6 miles of asphalt. The other 30 miles were mostly on the "Birke" trail which starts in Hayward Wisc. and leads 40 miles to the Telemark resort in Cable. This is the same trail that is skied by about 9000 people for The American Birkebeiner, perhaps the largest x-country ski race in the world, ( www.birkie.com ). The trail is also home to Chequamegon Fat Tire Festival, ( www.cheqfattire.com ) , which for 28 years has been the "go to" event for mountain bike racing in the midwest. The latter race has gotten so popular that they had turn away over a third of the applicants this last fall. I was lucky enough to get in and race this year the weekend before Cyril's departure. A couple of my friends did not ride the "Forty" this year and wanted to pre ride the race course in hopes of getting the chance to ride next year. So, we headed from the Twin Cities to the Land of Chequamegon.
We couldn't have picked a better fall day, it topped 70 and the colors, perhaps a week past peak, were still vibrant with yellows and golds. Although beautiful, the Birke trail is a long slog on a mountain bike. The terrain is classic glacial moraine, you descend about 50 to 150 feet and immediately climb back up, only to once again descend. A few of the "roller" sections allow you to gain enough momentum to crest the next hill with little effort, but most of it is one hard short climb after another, and although descending is always fun, the climbs take it out of you in short order. We went out a bit too hard perhaps and by the time we reached the halfway mark we were pretty spent. But with a few energy bars, cliff shots, some fluids and a short rest in the warm fall sun, we were on our way.
The pace slackened as we got off the trail and started out along one of the many miles of forest roads that make up the second half of the route. It was getting too hot for October, the legs were burning, the chatter from our lunch break subsided. To pull out of our sober state a plan was silently established. We started working together as if on a road ride, taking turns pulling a pace line, our tires popping along over the gravel .
It was at this point that I started thinking about just how difficult it is riding solo. There's the whole psychological component of having no one to share, not only the joy of the ride, but almost more importantly, the pain. The unspoken sympathy that it is generated when riding with a group makes it so easy to keep your mind in the ride. Larger still is the physical component. None of those that complete the Tour de France could do so without team members and even fellow competitors sharing the physical work of pulling through the wind, and up the hills, and over the mountains.
A smile came to my face, the misery subsided, I think I even chuckled out loud, realizing that this ride I was on was a piece of cake compared to what Cyril has seen over the past weeks. To go as many miles as he has, solo, with no other rider to share the physical and mental challenges is truly remarkable! (Not to mention that he has about 28- 29 years on me as well). I reached the front of our pace line, it was my turn to pull. My legs came back on now as I now imagined Cyril somewhere in line behind me.
Soon those behind me were chasing me off the open gravel road and we darted into the shaded woods onto my favorite part of single-track, through Martel's pothole and back towards the Birke trail. As we picked up the pace and started thinking of home we missed a cutoff and ended up going the long way around Lake Helene. The few extra miles proved maybe a bit much and faces started to get long again. We stopped and spoke of beer, the hope was restored, we rode on.
Destiny would have it that we botched yet another turn and ended up missing the most challenging section of the ride, up the Fire Tower hill. Most of us were
cooked and wanted only to be home sipping our favorite recovery drink. So, we took the easy way home, on the road, tires humming all the way to the cabin.
What was to be 40 ended up being only 36 miles. A drop in the bucket for you Cyril, but I hope it pulls you along.
Godspeed,
Billy B
We couldn't have picked a better fall day, it topped 70 and the colors, perhaps a week past peak, were still vibrant with yellows and golds. Although beautiful, the Birke trail is a long slog on a mountain bike. The terrain is classic glacial moraine, you descend about 50 to 150 feet and immediately climb back up, only to once again descend. A few of the "roller" sections allow you to gain enough momentum to crest the next hill with little effort, but most of it is one hard short climb after another, and although descending is always fun, the climbs take it out of you in short order. We went out a bit too hard perhaps and by the time we reached the halfway mark we were pretty spent. But with a few energy bars, cliff shots, some fluids and a short rest in the warm fall sun, we were on our way.
The pace slackened as we got off the trail and started out along one of the many miles of forest roads that make up the second half of the route. It was getting too hot for October, the legs were burning, the chatter from our lunch break subsided. To pull out of our sober state a plan was silently established. We started working together as if on a road ride, taking turns pulling a pace line, our tires popping along over the gravel .
It was at this point that I started thinking about just how difficult it is riding solo. There's the whole psychological component of having no one to share, not only the joy of the ride, but almost more importantly, the pain. The unspoken sympathy that it is generated when riding with a group makes it so easy to keep your mind in the ride. Larger still is the physical component. None of those that complete the Tour de France could do so without team members and even fellow competitors sharing the physical work of pulling through the wind, and up the hills, and over the mountains.
A smile came to my face, the misery subsided, I think I even chuckled out loud, realizing that this ride I was on was a piece of cake compared to what Cyril has seen over the past weeks. To go as many miles as he has, solo, with no other rider to share the physical and mental challenges is truly remarkable! (Not to mention that he has about 28- 29 years on me as well). I reached the front of our pace line, it was my turn to pull. My legs came back on now as I now imagined Cyril somewhere in line behind me.
Soon those behind me were chasing me off the open gravel road and we darted into the shaded woods onto my favorite part of single-track, through Martel's pothole and back towards the Birke trail. As we picked up the pace and started thinking of home we missed a cutoff and ended up going the long way around Lake Helene. The few extra miles proved maybe a bit much and faces started to get long again. We stopped and spoke of beer, the hope was restored, we rode on.
Destiny would have it that we botched yet another turn and ended up missing the most challenging section of the ride, up the Fire Tower hill. Most of us were
cooked and wanted only to be home sipping our favorite recovery drink. So, we took the easy way home, on the road, tires humming all the way to the cabin.
What was to be 40 ended up being only 36 miles. A drop in the bucket for you Cyril, but I hope it pulls you along.
Godspeed,
Billy B
Day 31 Wed. Oct 15, 2008
In Paradise Valley—Phoenix, AZ
I slept late. I had a concert to do and I was up very late programming the drum machine for some of my favorite Calypso and Reggae songs. I didn’t have the foggiest notion of how the performance was going to sound.
I called George Mauer and asked for some advice regarding Google and other websites to get words, music, chords, etc for a variety of songs. I also called Steve Moon who is also quite knowledgeable about locating the information we needed. Pam was going out of her mind searching for the information we needed on different websites. She tried prompting the web site by giving the composer’s name or the first few words of a song. Some songs showed up with a different melody to the words than what I knew.
She found a few Spanish songs I could use and 2 Reggae songs I knew. One hour before the performance, I decided to make us of the Karaoke machine that Robert had brought along. I used my CD and sang the songs I could do well, and Bill operated the drum machine. He found the proper keys to accompany the songs. Doug played the guitar and he was very good. For the last ½ hour, Kawuzu Awazili joined us on his Arabic drum We were capable enough to eek out 2 ½ hours of music.
I recognized a few Johnnies: Jim Schlosser and his wife, Shari, Vernon Rausch’s son John Rausch, and Robert and Ann Marie Henry. Kristina and Rick Frederickson, Cyril’s angels from Fountain Hills (Day 28) were there also. And last, but not least, George’s family. His sons, daughters-in-law and grandchildren were there en masse. And many of his friends whom we have met: Robert, Otto, John, Bud and Ava, Also there was Sharon Fischer with her daughter, son-in-law and a friend. Sharon is a friend from St. Joan of Arc who recently moved to Mesa, AZ. A very good crowd.
A few people got up to dance and most of the crowd got up to do a Conga Line. The fundraiser more than lived up to our expectations.
I slept late. I had a concert to do and I was up very late programming the drum machine for some of my favorite Calypso and Reggae songs. I didn’t have the foggiest notion of how the performance was going to sound.
I called George Mauer and asked for some advice regarding Google and other websites to get words, music, chords, etc for a variety of songs. I also called Steve Moon who is also quite knowledgeable about locating the information we needed. Pam was going out of her mind searching for the information we needed on different websites. She tried prompting the web site by giving the composer’s name or the first few words of a song. Some songs showed up with a different melody to the words than what I knew.
She found a few Spanish songs I could use and 2 Reggae songs I knew. One hour before the performance, I decided to make us of the Karaoke machine that Robert had brought along. I used my CD and sang the songs I could do well, and Bill operated the drum machine. He found the proper keys to accompany the songs. Doug played the guitar and he was very good. For the last ½ hour, Kawuzu Awazili joined us on his Arabic drum We were capable enough to eek out 2 ½ hours of music.
I recognized a few Johnnies: Jim Schlosser and his wife, Shari, Vernon Rausch’s son John Rausch, and Robert and Ann Marie Henry. Kristina and Rick Frederickson, Cyril’s angels from Fountain Hills (Day 28) were there also. And last, but not least, George’s family. His sons, daughters-in-law and grandchildren were there en masse. And many of his friends whom we have met: Robert, Otto, John, Bud and Ava, Also there was Sharon Fischer with her daughter, son-in-law and a friend. Sharon is a friend from St. Joan of Arc who recently moved to Mesa, AZ. A very good crowd.
A few people got up to dance and most of the crowd got up to do a Conga Line. The fundraiser more than lived up to our expectations.
Day 30 Tue. Oct 14, 2008
I called Jessica and Nerrissa, my daughters, informing them of the events of the past few days, and attempted to solidify the prospects of another fundraiser in CA.
We had breakfast at home, prepared by George. There was work to be done. I was expected to perform at an open mic at Rula Bula, an Irish Pub, somewhere near the UA campus in Tempe. It is a popular hangout for all. Young, old, talented, not so talented and an audience.
George’s son, Michael, who knows the MC and originator of this gig, called weeks ahead of time to get the arrangements made. Mike is a pilot and flies for Southwest. He put his friend, Bill Miller, in charge of my needs. Bill is an enthusiast of jazz and folk music.
Bill’s friend, Doug, is a videographer and guitarist, among his many talents. He often videos the open mic sessions at Rula Bula.
Walt Richardson, dred locks, beret and all, is the MC of this weekly event. He is a well-known musician in this area, and he brought in his PA system and took charge of the evening. Those interested in displaying their talents signed up on a sheet of paper. I was number 13.
I was told that this bacchanal goes on till the wee hours of the morning. George, Pam and I arrived about 7:30 and sat near the stage. Bill Miller arrived a short time later. Walt and his sister, Lilly, arrived a little later and we were all introduced. When Bill introduced me to Walt, Walt bumped me up to number 2 on the list of performers.
Walt has been on this scene for a very long time. He has been instrumental in assisting many worthy causes. He is well known about these parts. He gave me a very warm introduction and referred to my journey and its purpose. He accompanied me on his guitar for 3 songs which were very well received.
Bill brought along a drum machine for me to use tomorrow evening and we spent part of the evening getting acquainted with it. I also studied it after we got home.
We had breakfast at home, prepared by George. There was work to be done. I was expected to perform at an open mic at Rula Bula, an Irish Pub, somewhere near the UA campus in Tempe. It is a popular hangout for all. Young, old, talented, not so talented and an audience.
George’s son, Michael, who knows the MC and originator of this gig, called weeks ahead of time to get the arrangements made. Mike is a pilot and flies for Southwest. He put his friend, Bill Miller, in charge of my needs. Bill is an enthusiast of jazz and folk music.
Bill’s friend, Doug, is a videographer and guitarist, among his many talents. He often videos the open mic sessions at Rula Bula.
Walt Richardson, dred locks, beret and all, is the MC of this weekly event. He is a well-known musician in this area, and he brought in his PA system and took charge of the evening. Those interested in displaying their talents signed up on a sheet of paper. I was number 13.
I was told that this bacchanal goes on till the wee hours of the morning. George, Pam and I arrived about 7:30 and sat near the stage. Bill Miller arrived a short time later. Walt and his sister, Lilly, arrived a little later and we were all introduced. When Bill introduced me to Walt, Walt bumped me up to number 2 on the list of performers.
Walt has been on this scene for a very long time. He has been instrumental in assisting many worthy causes. He is well known about these parts. He gave me a very warm introduction and referred to my journey and its purpose. He accompanied me on his guitar for 3 songs which were very well received.
Bill brought along a drum machine for me to use tomorrow evening and we spent part of the evening getting acquainted with it. I also studied it after we got home.
Day 29 Mon. Oct. 13, 2008
How wonderful life is. Last night we slept in a beautiful spacious bedroom, complements of George Berkner, a friend since college. It feels so good to adhere to an attitude of laziness and staying under the covers as long as I wish, not getting up to worry about doing how many miles on my bike today. The sun outside the bathroom window showed its brilliance through those thick glass brick walls, which provide natural light into the entire room. We have had the pleasure of being here before, but the experience is always so sociable, warm and inviting.
George possesses great taste in decorating colors. His paintings, prints and figurines all amplify a well designed home, illustrating the desert surroundings. Yes, I shall treasure another restful and compacted, eventful days here in Paradise Valley.
Part of today was spent on the phone, making preparations for a fundraiser at
Ruby Tuesdays patio in the Paradise Valley Mall, a few miles from here. Robert, a friend of George, Pam and George went out for breakfast, while I stayed to catch up on writing this blog. George cooked dinner for us and after dinner, Otto, another friend of George, stopped over to welcome us. We have met Otto several times before and it is always good to see both Robert and Otto again.
This was to be our only relaxing day.
George possesses great taste in decorating colors. His paintings, prints and figurines all amplify a well designed home, illustrating the desert surroundings. Yes, I shall treasure another restful and compacted, eventful days here in Paradise Valley.
Part of today was spent on the phone, making preparations for a fundraiser at
Ruby Tuesdays patio in the Paradise Valley Mall, a few miles from here. Robert, a friend of George, Pam and George went out for breakfast, while I stayed to catch up on writing this blog. George cooked dinner for us and after dinner, Otto, another friend of George, stopped over to welcome us. We have met Otto several times before and it is always good to see both Robert and Otto again.
This was to be our only relaxing day.
Monday, October 13
Day 28 Sun. Oct. 12, 2008
From Payson to Phoenix 85 miles
There was nothing on the maps we studied that showed us lodging accommodations between Payson and Phoenix. It was a very long trek but it had to be done. All the bikers I spoke to and all the residents of Arizona satisfied my curiosity that the wind was not a serious problem. The roads, as far as anyone knew, were relatively new, that is, well paved with adequate shoulders. Shoulders, YES! I.need lots of shoulders to feel much less of the vacuum effect from those semis moving past my speedy bike. (joke)
My attire was now suited to the weather. I added a pair of long pants to protect my legs from the cold. The weather report indicated the temperature was 49 degrees. I covered my upper body with 2 tee shirts and a windbreaker. My gloves covered all my fingers. My bike and I were ready. The ascent began. It was long but comfortable. As I expected, my body temperature increased, making the cold weather less of a factor.
The bike responded with the sounds of silence. That was cool. The shoulders were very accommodating, save for pieces of worn out tires, empty cans of beer, empty plastic bottles and an assortment of bolts and screws, obviously from vehicles laden with precious cargo, some with much more in tow, climbing these steep mountain pathways.
I was on the road for more than 3 hours when I began to feel some resistance from the back wheel. I stopped about a mile into the climb to examine and take care of the situation. A jeep stopped and the driver, Mark Murdock, inquired if I needed help. The brakes needed some adjustment which he did. Mark is originally from Iowa. He attended Luther College and knew John Ylvisaker, an acquaintance of mine. John and I and Bernie Backman had a group during the civil rights era which we called Three of a Kind.
I thanked Mark for his assistance, mounted the bike, as he said, You will be a lot happier when you reach the top. It is 6 miles away. I wish I did not have to hear that. But I continued to climb and ½ hour later Pam found me. By this time I had traveled well past the 30 mile mark. Descending those hills, I was traveling at top speeds of 30-40 mph. They were good shoulders, but a lot of threatening debris, gravel, rocks and bolts I had to keep my eyes on the road in order to avoid these hazards.
I interrupted my climb occasionally to take photographs of the natural beauty of the Arizonian mountain slopes. The green forest, sparsely augmented by the Suguaro cactus and the patches of cactus plants resembling table tennis rackets, but called Prickly Pear, all emerging from the rocky terrain.
The blue, cloudless sky creates such a magnificent backdrop to the immense, picturesque landscape. I sat on the steel rail overlooking a deep gorge filled with huge boulder sized rocks and fallen trees, brown from many years of seasonal weather.
I sometimes gaze at the traffic hurrying past, all perhaps used to the terrain. I, on the other hand, wish to cherish this phenomenon for as long as I can. My journey’s end is still beyond those blue mountains in the distance.
I reached the pinnacle of the mountain and began my descent. I felt a discomforting roll of the back wheel. I glanced down to discover my rear wheel was flat.
It was as if a voice was telling me, Not yet. Take a deeper look. Enjoy the moment. My phone was not working. It was used a lot the previous day and I had given Pam my recharge chord. She knows I had no phone when she first met me and she promised not to be too far away, just in case.
As fate would have it, my angel turned out to be Mark from Iowa. He called Pam and brought me to her in his Jeep. For the first time in his 20 years in the area, he had gone to the top of a mountain to an observation point. It was something he had wanted to do for a long time and it was my good fortune that he did it today. He is also a biker. He promised, inspired by my adventurous ride to ride from California to Iowa next year..
Pam and I stopped at Fort McDowell, a casino where I had a light lunch and Pam sat in the car and ate a sandwich she had made. Then we found a safe, quiet place in Fountain Hills, in a office center that was closed because it was Sunday. I was able to replace my rear wheel.
Our final destination was Phoenix, or more accurately, Paradise Valley 19 miles away. But before we could get there I had to be rescued once more. We had agreed that I would go south on Hwy 87 and she would catch up with me after finding the route to George Berkner’s home on Mapquest. I went west on Shea, thinking it was 87. She went south on 87. As time passed, I stopped and waited for her on a curb. She went quite a distance on 87 and was worried that she hadn’t caught up with me. A young couple, biking enthusiasts, stopped and asked if I needed help. Their names are Rick and Kristina Fredericksen, and they are our most recent set of angels. They called Pam and told her how to find us in a Target parking lot. They even had a bike rack on top of their car. Pam and I were together once more.
I wanted to complete my planned distance for the day, and it was getting dark, so Pam drove until we had to turn, stopped and waited for me and then went to the next turn, waited, etc. It took about an hour or more
We got to George’s home about 7:30, but we knew he wouldn’t be home until later, so we left the bike there and drove to a Mexican Restaurant, ate, and back to find George at home. What a day.
There was nothing on the maps we studied that showed us lodging accommodations between Payson and Phoenix. It was a very long trek but it had to be done. All the bikers I spoke to and all the residents of Arizona satisfied my curiosity that the wind was not a serious problem. The roads, as far as anyone knew, were relatively new, that is, well paved with adequate shoulders. Shoulders, YES! I.need lots of shoulders to feel much less of the vacuum effect from those semis moving past my speedy bike. (joke)
My attire was now suited to the weather. I added a pair of long pants to protect my legs from the cold. The weather report indicated the temperature was 49 degrees. I covered my upper body with 2 tee shirts and a windbreaker. My gloves covered all my fingers. My bike and I were ready. The ascent began. It was long but comfortable. As I expected, my body temperature increased, making the cold weather less of a factor.
The bike responded with the sounds of silence. That was cool. The shoulders were very accommodating, save for pieces of worn out tires, empty cans of beer, empty plastic bottles and an assortment of bolts and screws, obviously from vehicles laden with precious cargo, some with much more in tow, climbing these steep mountain pathways.
I was on the road for more than 3 hours when I began to feel some resistance from the back wheel. I stopped about a mile into the climb to examine and take care of the situation. A jeep stopped and the driver, Mark Murdock, inquired if I needed help. The brakes needed some adjustment which he did. Mark is originally from Iowa. He attended Luther College and knew John Ylvisaker, an acquaintance of mine. John and I and Bernie Backman had a group during the civil rights era which we called Three of a Kind.
I thanked Mark for his assistance, mounted the bike, as he said, You will be a lot happier when you reach the top. It is 6 miles away. I wish I did not have to hear that. But I continued to climb and ½ hour later Pam found me. By this time I had traveled well past the 30 mile mark. Descending those hills, I was traveling at top speeds of 30-40 mph. They were good shoulders, but a lot of threatening debris, gravel, rocks and bolts I had to keep my eyes on the road in order to avoid these hazards.
I interrupted my climb occasionally to take photographs of the natural beauty of the Arizonian mountain slopes. The green forest, sparsely augmented by the Suguaro cactus and the patches of cactus plants resembling table tennis rackets, but called Prickly Pear, all emerging from the rocky terrain.
The blue, cloudless sky creates such a magnificent backdrop to the immense, picturesque landscape. I sat on the steel rail overlooking a deep gorge filled with huge boulder sized rocks and fallen trees, brown from many years of seasonal weather.
I sometimes gaze at the traffic hurrying past, all perhaps used to the terrain. I, on the other hand, wish to cherish this phenomenon for as long as I can. My journey’s end is still beyond those blue mountains in the distance.
I reached the pinnacle of the mountain and began my descent. I felt a discomforting roll of the back wheel. I glanced down to discover my rear wheel was flat.
It was as if a voice was telling me, Not yet. Take a deeper look. Enjoy the moment. My phone was not working. It was used a lot the previous day and I had given Pam my recharge chord. She knows I had no phone when she first met me and she promised not to be too far away, just in case.
As fate would have it, my angel turned out to be Mark from Iowa. He called Pam and brought me to her in his Jeep. For the first time in his 20 years in the area, he had gone to the top of a mountain to an observation point. It was something he had wanted to do for a long time and it was my good fortune that he did it today. He is also a biker. He promised, inspired by my adventurous ride to ride from California to Iowa next year..
Pam and I stopped at Fort McDowell, a casino where I had a light lunch and Pam sat in the car and ate a sandwich she had made. Then we found a safe, quiet place in Fountain Hills, in a office center that was closed because it was Sunday. I was able to replace my rear wheel.
Our final destination was Phoenix, or more accurately, Paradise Valley 19 miles away. But before we could get there I had to be rescued once more. We had agreed that I would go south on Hwy 87 and she would catch up with me after finding the route to George Berkner’s home on Mapquest. I went west on Shea, thinking it was 87. She went south on 87. As time passed, I stopped and waited for her on a curb. She went quite a distance on 87 and was worried that she hadn’t caught up with me. A young couple, biking enthusiasts, stopped and asked if I needed help. Their names are Rick and Kristina Fredericksen, and they are our most recent set of angels. They called Pam and told her how to find us in a Target parking lot. They even had a bike rack on top of their car. Pam and I were together once more.
I wanted to complete my planned distance for the day, and it was getting dark, so Pam drove until we had to turn, stopped and waited for me and then went to the next turn, waited, etc. It took about an hour or more
We got to George’s home about 7:30, but we knew he wouldn’t be home until later, so we left the bike there and drove to a Mexican Restaurant, ate, and back to find George at home. What a day.
Day 27 Sat. Oct. 11, 2008
From Heber to Payson 53 miles
Last night I went to bed at 9:11 pm, after that sumptuous meal at Sassy’s Café. This morning I got up at 5:30 and performed my ritual. I had my oatmeal with raisins and bananas and my cup of Ovaltine.
I got my bike out of the van. Sometimes there is not enough space to keep it in the motel room. The front wheel was flat! Oh no! Not again! I was so upset. I went back in the motel room to inform Pam. I went to the front desk and inquired from the manager if he knew of anyone in Heber who was capable of assisting me. He recommended Herber Tires.
They could not do it. No one else in town could, so I waited until Pam was ready to leave. We packed the van and headed west on Hwy 260 toward Payson.
The rain fell last night. There was a chill in the air and the constant wind brought out the leather jackets and woolen padded jean jackets. The wind was blowing about 25 to 30 with gusts up to 50 and 60.
Heading west is a dream of difficult, hazardous and uplifting moments, tiresome, yet exuberant because at the end of this journey, I will be surrounded by those I love, by those who care for my well being and believe in my dream. For all of you who played a roll in the creation of this impossible, incredulous ride, thank you profoundly.
We found a bike shop owned by Paul Wolfe, who was very careful to pay attention to all the details of my cycling needs. Paul repaired the 2 front wheels, inserted slime in the original front wheel and calibrated my odometer.
While he was working on my bike, Pam took a walk and decided to walk into a very attractive place called Majestic Mountain Inn. They had a vacancy but quoted a price that was too high. When she told them our story, they gave her a very substantial discount that brought it within our price range. It was just a stone’s throw from the Bike Shop and Tiny’s Restaurant where we ate.. The room was very nice and large enough to get my bike next to my bed., to keep the temperature of the wheels even. It’s nice to be clean and well fed after a long day.
Last night I went to bed at 9:11 pm, after that sumptuous meal at Sassy’s Café. This morning I got up at 5:30 and performed my ritual. I had my oatmeal with raisins and bananas and my cup of Ovaltine.
I got my bike out of the van. Sometimes there is not enough space to keep it in the motel room. The front wheel was flat! Oh no! Not again! I was so upset. I went back in the motel room to inform Pam. I went to the front desk and inquired from the manager if he knew of anyone in Heber who was capable of assisting me. He recommended Herber Tires.
They could not do it. No one else in town could, so I waited until Pam was ready to leave. We packed the van and headed west on Hwy 260 toward Payson.
The rain fell last night. There was a chill in the air and the constant wind brought out the leather jackets and woolen padded jean jackets. The wind was blowing about 25 to 30 with gusts up to 50 and 60.
Heading west is a dream of difficult, hazardous and uplifting moments, tiresome, yet exuberant because at the end of this journey, I will be surrounded by those I love, by those who care for my well being and believe in my dream. For all of you who played a roll in the creation of this impossible, incredulous ride, thank you profoundly.
We found a bike shop owned by Paul Wolfe, who was very careful to pay attention to all the details of my cycling needs. Paul repaired the 2 front wheels, inserted slime in the original front wheel and calibrated my odometer.
While he was working on my bike, Pam took a walk and decided to walk into a very attractive place called Majestic Mountain Inn. They had a vacancy but quoted a price that was too high. When she told them our story, they gave her a very substantial discount that brought it within our price range. It was just a stone’s throw from the Bike Shop and Tiny’s Restaurant where we ate.. The room was very nice and large enough to get my bike next to my bed., to keep the temperature of the wheels even. It’s nice to be clean and well fed after a long day.
Saturday, October 11
Blog from Mindy Ahler Olmstead-A very good friend from St.Joan of Arc
(Mindy rode with Cyril to Mankato the first day and offered to make up some miles for him if he just couldn't do it for some reason.)
Short answer - 54 miles today. If you want to count my commuting miles to work that's another 34 this week.
Since I’ve been following along with Cyril’s blogs, I found myself blogging in my head on my ride today, so I’ll share a little of it with you if you feel like reading it.
7:15 is earliest light at our northern latitude. I got up early to try to follow Cyril’s example, but rain accompanied that first light and I lingered in the dry indoors. 47 degrees when I rose – warmer than most days this week. I do have rain gear, so I don’t know why I was being so wimpy. I toast to Cyril as I eat my oatmeal – laced with peanut butter for an extra protein boost. No Ovaltine in this house, but I added hot cocoa to my morning coffee – really not the same idea, but I enjoyed it.
I left the house at 8am. The actual rain had subsided, but the roads and air were damp. Based on the other things I wanted to get done today, I figured I could do about a 30 mile ride and or 4 hours so I’d be home by noon. 8.75 miles and 50 minutes later I arrive at the beginning of the Gateway trail. Most of my route to this point is my very familiar commute to work with a bike lane and familiar in-town traffic (not too heavy or aggressive).
I thought the ride would be pleasant on the Gateway trail and that I could forget that I was actually in the city. Well the first part of the trail parallels the freeway – I think of Cyril with the loud and fast cars whizzing by – I have a green space and a fence between me and the cars and almost no wind. I hear wind in the trees periodically, but it is light enough I never figured out what direction it was blowing – I couldn’t blame slow progress or credit a quick pace in places to wind.
I was determined to keep going for at least 15 miles before resting – that’s what Cyril would do. Are you starting to see a pattern of thought here? Since this ride is for and with Cyril, he accompanied me the entire way in thought and spirit – or maybe I should say I accompanied him. So around mile 17 I took a break at a parking area with a port-a-potty. It was then about 10 minutes to 10am. If I stuck to my original plan I would turn back now. But at this point I was in North St. Paul, all of the ride so far has been through city – although the way the trail is built it’s somewhat isolated from city – and the prettiest part of the Gateway trail is still ahead. Well, for Cyril I decided to keep going. I was definitely rewarded by the beautiful trees that are suddenly turning gold and red, the ducks and geese in the ponds, the cows calmly grazing in the fields, no sound of traffic, and very few other people. Thank you, Cyril, this was the respite I needed. I arrived at Pine Point Park (the other end of the Gateway trail) about 10:30am. I ate the light snack I’d brought along and planned to stop for a bite to eat on my way back home.
I headed back down the trail in the direction I’d come, heading for home. I picked up my pace considerably in these extra 20 miles, but since I haven’t been training for rides like this I began to notice as I approached my morning stopping point that I’d probably gotten a little carried away in going the full length of the trail. I was getting very hungry and wasn’t seeing any place to stop. I somehow missed the quick mart I remembered being just off the trail – could be that it was in the area that has been rebuilt, so it looks completely different. By the time I reached the end of the trail, I was really dragging. Cyril, I don’t know how you keep this up each day. My average pace was just under 13 miles per hour and that was pushing really hard. I put the bike in low gear and crawled along at a snail’s pace up and around the capital and cathedral – pulled along by the promise of a sandwich at the Great Harvest bakery on Selby.
OK, lunch can make quite a bit of difference! The sandwich was delicious and the break just enough time to reenergize and now just over 5 miles left to home.
I reached home and was grateful to be there – a fridge full of food and my own hot shower waiting. In the last 5 miles, the sun had come out and it was finally starting to warm up. I got home, took a hot shower, covered myself in Tiger liniment to ease the sore muscles, took a 20 minute rest on the couch then got up to finish the days work – laundry which I hung outside on the line in the sun and breeze, roasting red peppers on the grill, making supper and checking in on Cyril’s blog.
Well I did ride 54 miles for you today, Cyril, even though I’m sure you would have done it faster and much easier – it was cake compared to what you’ve been riding through. I’ll ride with you again next week either Tuesday or Friday (I’ll let myself be a wimp to weather).
All my love to you and Pam.
Mindy
Short answer - 54 miles today. If you want to count my commuting miles to work that's another 34 this week.
Since I’ve been following along with Cyril’s blogs, I found myself blogging in my head on my ride today, so I’ll share a little of it with you if you feel like reading it.
7:15 is earliest light at our northern latitude. I got up early to try to follow Cyril’s example, but rain accompanied that first light and I lingered in the dry indoors. 47 degrees when I rose – warmer than most days this week. I do have rain gear, so I don’t know why I was being so wimpy. I toast to Cyril as I eat my oatmeal – laced with peanut butter for an extra protein boost. No Ovaltine in this house, but I added hot cocoa to my morning coffee – really not the same idea, but I enjoyed it.
I left the house at 8am. The actual rain had subsided, but the roads and air were damp. Based on the other things I wanted to get done today, I figured I could do about a 30 mile ride and or 4 hours so I’d be home by noon. 8.75 miles and 50 minutes later I arrive at the beginning of the Gateway trail. Most of my route to this point is my very familiar commute to work with a bike lane and familiar in-town traffic (not too heavy or aggressive).
I thought the ride would be pleasant on the Gateway trail and that I could forget that I was actually in the city. Well the first part of the trail parallels the freeway – I think of Cyril with the loud and fast cars whizzing by – I have a green space and a fence between me and the cars and almost no wind. I hear wind in the trees periodically, but it is light enough I never figured out what direction it was blowing – I couldn’t blame slow progress or credit a quick pace in places to wind.
I was determined to keep going for at least 15 miles before resting – that’s what Cyril would do. Are you starting to see a pattern of thought here? Since this ride is for and with Cyril, he accompanied me the entire way in thought and spirit – or maybe I should say I accompanied him. So around mile 17 I took a break at a parking area with a port-a-potty. It was then about 10 minutes to 10am. If I stuck to my original plan I would turn back now. But at this point I was in North St. Paul, all of the ride so far has been through city – although the way the trail is built it’s somewhat isolated from city – and the prettiest part of the Gateway trail is still ahead. Well, for Cyril I decided to keep going. I was definitely rewarded by the beautiful trees that are suddenly turning gold and red, the ducks and geese in the ponds, the cows calmly grazing in the fields, no sound of traffic, and very few other people. Thank you, Cyril, this was the respite I needed. I arrived at Pine Point Park (the other end of the Gateway trail) about 10:30am. I ate the light snack I’d brought along and planned to stop for a bite to eat on my way back home.
I headed back down the trail in the direction I’d come, heading for home. I picked up my pace considerably in these extra 20 miles, but since I haven’t been training for rides like this I began to notice as I approached my morning stopping point that I’d probably gotten a little carried away in going the full length of the trail. I was getting very hungry and wasn’t seeing any place to stop. I somehow missed the quick mart I remembered being just off the trail – could be that it was in the area that has been rebuilt, so it looks completely different. By the time I reached the end of the trail, I was really dragging. Cyril, I don’t know how you keep this up each day. My average pace was just under 13 miles per hour and that was pushing really hard. I put the bike in low gear and crawled along at a snail’s pace up and around the capital and cathedral – pulled along by the promise of a sandwich at the Great Harvest bakery on Selby.
OK, lunch can make quite a bit of difference! The sandwich was delicious and the break just enough time to reenergize and now just over 5 miles left to home.
I reached home and was grateful to be there – a fridge full of food and my own hot shower waiting. In the last 5 miles, the sun had come out and it was finally starting to warm up. I got home, took a hot shower, covered myself in Tiger liniment to ease the sore muscles, took a 20 minute rest on the couch then got up to finish the days work – laundry which I hung outside on the line in the sun and breeze, roasting red peppers on the grill, making supper and checking in on Cyril’s blog.
Well I did ride 54 miles for you today, Cyril, even though I’m sure you would have done it faster and much easier – it was cake compared to what you’ve been riding through. I’ll ride with you again next week either Tuesday or Friday (I’ll let myself be a wimp to weather).
All my love to you and Pam.
Mindy
Friday, October 10
Day 26 Fri. Oct 10, 2008
From Show Low to Heber, AZ 41 miles
This morning I checked the wheels of my bicycle. The front tire was getting soft. I decided to put some air in the tire; big mistake. The pump I own does not fit the valves on the inner tube. At Sorocco I purchased a hand pump which was designed to add a few more pounds until I reach a gas station.
Remember, my tires were inflated with 4 ounces of slime to prevent goat heads, small seedpods with very hard, sharp needles, from puncturing the tires. I’m supposed to remove the pin at the top of the valve stem place it into my mouth for immediate response after inflating the tire, to prevent too much air release from the tube. Well, that minor memory slip caused me an extra 20 minutes of riding time. What’s the rush, I’m on a journey, against the wind. I did remember to remove the pin before pumping. I replaced the front tire, adjusted the brakes and must wait until I arrive at a town with a qualified bike shop to replace or remove the pin from the tube I intended to inflate.
Show Low is a fairly large town, located on Hwy 60. It stretches out East and West for many miles. The central road is the highway that runs through it, Hwy 60. The name of that road is Deuce of Clubs. In 1878 Colonel Cooley and his ranching partner, Marion Clark, decided to play a card game for ownership of their ranch. On the last hand Clark said, Show low and you win. The Colonel laid down his hand with the deuce of clubs, winning the game. It has been Show Low ever since.
One of the longest streets T’s off of Deuce of Clubs and travels south. It too, markets a mall, JC Penney, Radio Shack and other retail and service businesses. And of course a quantity of residences and plenty of construction in progress.
I discovered Mountain Road because I was looking for a new battery for my camera. First I went to K Mart. It seems like all or most small town techno needs are met by K Mart or Wal Mart. Not so this time. Someone suggested Radio Shack and gave me directions.
Today I followed Hwy 60 out of Show Low and left it to follow Hwy 260 all the way to Heber. AZ. There were many paved walking paths and parkways along the way out of town. Lots of women and seniors were making use of them.
The wind began to pick up further out and the shoulders began to reappear this time with no corrugated restrictions to minimize the riding space. I thanked Sister Wind and sang a song in my heart to her. Opening my mouth on the ride is prohibited. My lips dry out and particles of sand, dust, asphalt, pebbles may enter my mouth.
Then I discovered long gliding valleys. What a pleasure, but that joy was soon circumvented. The blasted wind kicked up to about 30 mph. This will be my last day to curse the wind. Sister Wind, I’m sorry. I made the choice to ride west. You find pleasure in bringing moisture and cool temperatures to these regions. Who am I to want change?
I was well into 3 hours of my ride when Pam caught up with me. The highway began to develop more and more sophisticated hills. They climb in very subtle ways. First there is a bump on the road then further down the road a slight turn becomes a long up hill climb in very small increments that last for, well, too many minutes.
Occasionally when I look up the mountains are decorated with tall skeleton of pine trees, suggesting that Brother Fire had visited these parts and did considerable damage to the green forest mountain. It is no wonder that Sister Wind has full control of the mountains, the highways, everything. I tell you the winds are angry.
But, praise be to God! There are young pine trees already taking deep roots and spreading fledgling branches dancing in the wind. It is so nice to see green instead of red dirt and stones. Understand, of course, that the picture I am painting certainly reflects only portions of this vast country.
As I travel through the region called Snow Mountain, on one side of the highway there are miles and miles of fire destroyed forests, while on the opposite side, green trees are tall and old but green, some parts of their trunks are split open half deceased, the other brimming with life.
At Heber, Pam and I found the only resting place, Best Western Sawmill Inn, a bit on the upscale. We had to take it or drive 63 miles to the next town. We ate at Sassy’s Café, where we met Jerry and Deb Ostrem, who had kind words of encouragement for us and gave us a much appreciated donation.
We also went to a small open market. Sort of a one vendor Farmer’s Market. We purchased some fresh fruit and sweet corn.
I just got a call from Serdar. It is such a pleasure to chat with him. God bless you, Serdar. Pam enjoyed talking to her daughter in law, Rebecca and her son, Tom.
This morning I checked the wheels of my bicycle. The front tire was getting soft. I decided to put some air in the tire; big mistake. The pump I own does not fit the valves on the inner tube. At Sorocco I purchased a hand pump which was designed to add a few more pounds until I reach a gas station.
Remember, my tires were inflated with 4 ounces of slime to prevent goat heads, small seedpods with very hard, sharp needles, from puncturing the tires. I’m supposed to remove the pin at the top of the valve stem place it into my mouth for immediate response after inflating the tire, to prevent too much air release from the tube. Well, that minor memory slip caused me an extra 20 minutes of riding time. What’s the rush, I’m on a journey, against the wind. I did remember to remove the pin before pumping. I replaced the front tire, adjusted the brakes and must wait until I arrive at a town with a qualified bike shop to replace or remove the pin from the tube I intended to inflate.
Show Low is a fairly large town, located on Hwy 60. It stretches out East and West for many miles. The central road is the highway that runs through it, Hwy 60. The name of that road is Deuce of Clubs. In 1878 Colonel Cooley and his ranching partner, Marion Clark, decided to play a card game for ownership of their ranch. On the last hand Clark said, Show low and you win. The Colonel laid down his hand with the deuce of clubs, winning the game. It has been Show Low ever since.
One of the longest streets T’s off of Deuce of Clubs and travels south. It too, markets a mall, JC Penney, Radio Shack and other retail and service businesses. And of course a quantity of residences and plenty of construction in progress.
I discovered Mountain Road because I was looking for a new battery for my camera. First I went to K Mart. It seems like all or most small town techno needs are met by K Mart or Wal Mart. Not so this time. Someone suggested Radio Shack and gave me directions.
Today I followed Hwy 60 out of Show Low and left it to follow Hwy 260 all the way to Heber. AZ. There were many paved walking paths and parkways along the way out of town. Lots of women and seniors were making use of them.
The wind began to pick up further out and the shoulders began to reappear this time with no corrugated restrictions to minimize the riding space. I thanked Sister Wind and sang a song in my heart to her. Opening my mouth on the ride is prohibited. My lips dry out and particles of sand, dust, asphalt, pebbles may enter my mouth.
Then I discovered long gliding valleys. What a pleasure, but that joy was soon circumvented. The blasted wind kicked up to about 30 mph. This will be my last day to curse the wind. Sister Wind, I’m sorry. I made the choice to ride west. You find pleasure in bringing moisture and cool temperatures to these regions. Who am I to want change?
I was well into 3 hours of my ride when Pam caught up with me. The highway began to develop more and more sophisticated hills. They climb in very subtle ways. First there is a bump on the road then further down the road a slight turn becomes a long up hill climb in very small increments that last for, well, too many minutes.
Occasionally when I look up the mountains are decorated with tall skeleton of pine trees, suggesting that Brother Fire had visited these parts and did considerable damage to the green forest mountain. It is no wonder that Sister Wind has full control of the mountains, the highways, everything. I tell you the winds are angry.
But, praise be to God! There are young pine trees already taking deep roots and spreading fledgling branches dancing in the wind. It is so nice to see green instead of red dirt and stones. Understand, of course, that the picture I am painting certainly reflects only portions of this vast country.
As I travel through the region called Snow Mountain, on one side of the highway there are miles and miles of fire destroyed forests, while on the opposite side, green trees are tall and old but green, some parts of their trunks are split open half deceased, the other brimming with life.
At Heber, Pam and I found the only resting place, Best Western Sawmill Inn, a bit on the upscale. We had to take it or drive 63 miles to the next town. We ate at Sassy’s Café, where we met Jerry and Deb Ostrem, who had kind words of encouragement for us and gave us a much appreciated donation.
We also went to a small open market. Sort of a one vendor Farmer’s Market. We purchased some fresh fruit and sweet corn.
I just got a call from Serdar. It is such a pleasure to chat with him. God bless you, Serdar. Pam enjoyed talking to her daughter in law, Rebecca and her son, Tom.
Day 25 Thurs. Oct 9, 2008
From Springerville to Show Low 42 miles
The journey to Show Low is a very rough and windy ride. Approaching Show Low, the journey is a composition of rolling hills, in this case long distances of climbing into and around the slopes of an endless mountain range. The mountain surface is brown spotted with short tough green umbrella shaped pine trees and large boulders protruding the smooth brown slopes. I sometimes think I hear voices singing Home, Home on the Range, where the deer and the antelope play.
Today I stopped because about 200 yards away were 3 magnificent deer, blending with the surroundings save for their white chests. They paused from their grazing and looked at me as did I at them.
They had enough of me and turned around displaying their rear ends. They traveled a distance, and were quite sure I understood their insult, turned around to take their final gaze at me, then disappeared behind a ledge in the meadowland.
The signs on the road – Cross winds next 7 miles. Let me tell you, before that sign came into view, I knew full well they were in existence, because the narrow shoulders punctuated by those frequent gusts of wind made me aware. Lots and lots of howling spurts prevented me from hearing the traffic behind me. I soon began to experience white knuckles.
I had to ride over corrugated shoulders measuring 2 feet or less. The highway is elevated well over 18 inches from the gravel and leaves me insufficient space to wiggle with any amount of wind pressure from passing vehicles, especially when descending a slope.
Pam caught up with me on the road as I was climbing a slope. She too was alarmed by the frequency of the gusts of wind. I told her to go ahead and that I would call if I needed any help.
When I reached the summit I saw a small rest pit at the side of the road. As I approached it a motorcyclist and his wife, on one bike pulled over as I intended. We chatted for a while. They were on vacation and wanted to enjoy the sunny weather now cooled by the cold pacific jet stream.
They were riding the strangest, most technically built Honda I have ever seen. Sure it was the top of the line. Tom, I think that was his name, said it was designed just as the Golden Wing Honda except for the TV and other bells and whistles. It was a huge, fine machine. They paused to rest from the wind. I left them there, handing them each a card and continued on my way.
At Show Low we found a vacancy at Americas Best Value Inn. It is run by an Indian family as was the one we stayed in at Springerville. The room is designed for the handicapped. I’m not sure whether she saw Pam first or me. She offered us Room 106 a room set aside for the handicapped. It’s large, comfortable and just the right price.
The journey to Show Low is a very rough and windy ride. Approaching Show Low, the journey is a composition of rolling hills, in this case long distances of climbing into and around the slopes of an endless mountain range. The mountain surface is brown spotted with short tough green umbrella shaped pine trees and large boulders protruding the smooth brown slopes. I sometimes think I hear voices singing Home, Home on the Range, where the deer and the antelope play.
Today I stopped because about 200 yards away were 3 magnificent deer, blending with the surroundings save for their white chests. They paused from their grazing and looked at me as did I at them.
They had enough of me and turned around displaying their rear ends. They traveled a distance, and were quite sure I understood their insult, turned around to take their final gaze at me, then disappeared behind a ledge in the meadowland.
The signs on the road – Cross winds next 7 miles. Let me tell you, before that sign came into view, I knew full well they were in existence, because the narrow shoulders punctuated by those frequent gusts of wind made me aware. Lots and lots of howling spurts prevented me from hearing the traffic behind me. I soon began to experience white knuckles.
I had to ride over corrugated shoulders measuring 2 feet or less. The highway is elevated well over 18 inches from the gravel and leaves me insufficient space to wiggle with any amount of wind pressure from passing vehicles, especially when descending a slope.
Pam caught up with me on the road as I was climbing a slope. She too was alarmed by the frequency of the gusts of wind. I told her to go ahead and that I would call if I needed any help.
When I reached the summit I saw a small rest pit at the side of the road. As I approached it a motorcyclist and his wife, on one bike pulled over as I intended. We chatted for a while. They were on vacation and wanted to enjoy the sunny weather now cooled by the cold pacific jet stream.
They were riding the strangest, most technically built Honda I have ever seen. Sure it was the top of the line. Tom, I think that was his name, said it was designed just as the Golden Wing Honda except for the TV and other bells and whistles. It was a huge, fine machine. They paused to rest from the wind. I left them there, handing them each a card and continued on my way.
At Show Low we found a vacancy at Americas Best Value Inn. It is run by an Indian family as was the one we stayed in at Springerville. The room is designed for the handicapped. I’m not sure whether she saw Pam first or me. She offered us Room 106 a room set aside for the handicapped. It’s large, comfortable and just the right price.
Thursday, October 9
Day 24 Wed. Oct 8, 2008
Today I felt the need to regroup. Pam agreed. We had to catch up on the blog. I, of course, made an assessment of my condition. I felt the need to massage my lower extremities, soothe my aching pains. Stretch my left arm and sleep a little longer. I took a very hot tub soak. The first one ever on this trip. The rest period was well spent. Pam typed my notes, I wrote with more clarity, I hope. I felt so relaxed and unrushed. We got groceries and Pam cooked.
Thanks to Arlene and Judy, Pam’s cousins, for supplying the funds for tonight’s stay. Thanks again also to Mike from St. Joan’s for donating a night’s stay. And thanks again to Serdar, a Turkish angel and friend who went out of his way to provide a room at the Holiday Inn Express in Liberal, KS. We truly wish from the bottom of our hearts to thank each and every one of you for your kindness and thoughtfulness. NB: My bottom thanks you too.
I also had time to read the Guest Book messages. Thank you Charmion, my niece in Trinidad, for the Guest Book note and for getting the article in the Trinidad Express. Thanks to Millie Clark, to Cheryl Kramer, to Joe Chouinard and to Amy from Famous Dave’s. We really enjoy reading all of them.
I would like to thank everyone for your encouraging words. It means a great deal when one’s world has become minimized by a bicycle, a motel room and restaurants. Thank God I have a charming companion who motivates me and keeps me focused all the way.
Yes, Wednesday was a day well spent and certainly much cherished. Once more, thank you all.
Thanks to Arlene and Judy, Pam’s cousins, for supplying the funds for tonight’s stay. Thanks again also to Mike from St. Joan’s for donating a night’s stay. And thanks again to Serdar, a Turkish angel and friend who went out of his way to provide a room at the Holiday Inn Express in Liberal, KS. We truly wish from the bottom of our hearts to thank each and every one of you for your kindness and thoughtfulness. NB: My bottom thanks you too.
I also had time to read the Guest Book messages. Thank you Charmion, my niece in Trinidad, for the Guest Book note and for getting the article in the Trinidad Express. Thanks to Millie Clark, to Cheryl Kramer, to Joe Chouinard and to Amy from Famous Dave’s. We really enjoy reading all of them.
I would like to thank everyone for your encouraging words. It means a great deal when one’s world has become minimized by a bicycle, a motel room and restaurants. Thank God I have a charming companion who motivates me and keeps me focused all the way.
Yes, Wednesday was a day well spent and certainly much cherished. Once more, thank you all.
Day 23 Tues. Oct. 7, 2008
From Magdalena, NM to Springerville, AZ
At the High Country Lodge breakfast was served starting at 7:30. I like to be on my way by about 7:00. The darkness, however, still lingers and I’m cautious about riding in the darkness, and besides Pam won’t allow it.
Interestingly, a cold wave, the effect of a Pacific storm has climbed the divide and deposited moisture on a very extensive portion of the southwestern region resulting in very cold weather and snow on the mountains.
I was forced to ride with 2 tee shirts and my bright orange jacket and a pair of long warm up pants. I do not have long riding gear. I’m hoping that riding south will eliminate the need for warm clothing. I’m aware that semi desert territories are cold at night and the sun delays its ascent to perform its warming up duties.
The roads were cool and friendly, the hills are a bit provocative. That is they give you the appearance of being level. They stretch out for miles and as you try to reach the end you see another level of miles ahead of you. That’s why I don’t look ahead. I’ve been tricked enough. I look for antelope and jack rabbits and deer and other game. I refuse to play games with the road. No, I’m not angry. I just want to know that the miles come much quicker than the road is ready to admit.
The New Mexico Dept of Transportation has a nasty habit of sweeping the gravel onto the shoulders and spraying oil over it. Sometimes you think you think you are riding on quick sand. If you observe very closely you would see portions of grass or weed growing through the gravel. What makes matters worse is that they do not know when to stop the repairs on the road. They go on for miles and miles, up hill and down.
On the road to Datil, which was our planned stopping place, I stopped at a rest stop that was a viewing place for the National Radio Academy Observatory. They just call it VLA, Very Large Array. There are 27 huge radio telescopes on the Plains of St. Augustin. While there Pam caught up with me. A few minutes later a couple on motorcycles stopped. They are from Alberta, Canada, and are on their way to Phoenix for the winter. Their names are Karen and Don Moench. We all had a great time getting acquainted. Their daughter and son in law have lived in Grand Cayman for about 4 or 5 years and just had a baby boy 4 months ago. Don and Karen are going down there in a couple of weeks to meet their first grandchild.
They very generously contributed to the scholarship fund before they left. Karen said they make about 200 to 250 miles a day. That’s a whole lot more than 50. Pam left to go to the Visitor Center at the Observatory and I continued my ride to Datil.
I met Pam at Datil, where we began the search for sleeping accommodations. We try to find a motel that has a refrigerator and microwave and high speed internet connection. The refrigerator has become more important as we have added more items that need refrigeration on the road. We have a 12 volt cooler in the van, which has been wonderful. Another of Jeff’s great suggestions. But we have to take everything in at night, because we can’t leave the car running all night to keep the cooler cool. The only motel in Datil was only 3 months old, but didn’t have refrigerators in the rooms and cost $65. We have never had to go over $60 and didn’t want to start now. They were the first place that offered no discounts, such as AAA, AARP or just plain Senior Citizens discount.
We decided to move on. We also try to schedule our day so that we arrive at a place to stay by mid afternoon, so I have time and energy to clean up and write for the blog and Pam has time to type it in. Finding the right place at the right time and the right cost is just not always possible. Although we have been very lucky. I think this was only the 2nd time we had to move on to the next town. We had to go all the way to Springerville, AZ to find a motel. There we found a place for $49 plus tax with what we needed and right on Hwy 60 which I will be riding on again on Thurs. Since we arrived late in the day and we were behind on the blog and both were quite tired, we decided to take a day off for R and R. And for healing my bottom.
We enjoyed a meal at a Mexican restaurant, caught the rest of the Presidential Debate and got to bed fairly early.
At the High Country Lodge breakfast was served starting at 7:30. I like to be on my way by about 7:00. The darkness, however, still lingers and I’m cautious about riding in the darkness, and besides Pam won’t allow it.
Interestingly, a cold wave, the effect of a Pacific storm has climbed the divide and deposited moisture on a very extensive portion of the southwestern region resulting in very cold weather and snow on the mountains.
I was forced to ride with 2 tee shirts and my bright orange jacket and a pair of long warm up pants. I do not have long riding gear. I’m hoping that riding south will eliminate the need for warm clothing. I’m aware that semi desert territories are cold at night and the sun delays its ascent to perform its warming up duties.
The roads were cool and friendly, the hills are a bit provocative. That is they give you the appearance of being level. They stretch out for miles and as you try to reach the end you see another level of miles ahead of you. That’s why I don’t look ahead. I’ve been tricked enough. I look for antelope and jack rabbits and deer and other game. I refuse to play games with the road. No, I’m not angry. I just want to know that the miles come much quicker than the road is ready to admit.
The New Mexico Dept of Transportation has a nasty habit of sweeping the gravel onto the shoulders and spraying oil over it. Sometimes you think you think you are riding on quick sand. If you observe very closely you would see portions of grass or weed growing through the gravel. What makes matters worse is that they do not know when to stop the repairs on the road. They go on for miles and miles, up hill and down.
On the road to Datil, which was our planned stopping place, I stopped at a rest stop that was a viewing place for the National Radio Academy Observatory. They just call it VLA, Very Large Array. There are 27 huge radio telescopes on the Plains of St. Augustin. While there Pam caught up with me. A few minutes later a couple on motorcycles stopped. They are from Alberta, Canada, and are on their way to Phoenix for the winter. Their names are Karen and Don Moench. We all had a great time getting acquainted. Their daughter and son in law have lived in Grand Cayman for about 4 or 5 years and just had a baby boy 4 months ago. Don and Karen are going down there in a couple of weeks to meet their first grandchild.
They very generously contributed to the scholarship fund before they left. Karen said they make about 200 to 250 miles a day. That’s a whole lot more than 50. Pam left to go to the Visitor Center at the Observatory and I continued my ride to Datil.
I met Pam at Datil, where we began the search for sleeping accommodations. We try to find a motel that has a refrigerator and microwave and high speed internet connection. The refrigerator has become more important as we have added more items that need refrigeration on the road. We have a 12 volt cooler in the van, which has been wonderful. Another of Jeff’s great suggestions. But we have to take everything in at night, because we can’t leave the car running all night to keep the cooler cool. The only motel in Datil was only 3 months old, but didn’t have refrigerators in the rooms and cost $65. We have never had to go over $60 and didn’t want to start now. They were the first place that offered no discounts, such as AAA, AARP or just plain Senior Citizens discount.
We decided to move on. We also try to schedule our day so that we arrive at a place to stay by mid afternoon, so I have time and energy to clean up and write for the blog and Pam has time to type it in. Finding the right place at the right time and the right cost is just not always possible. Although we have been very lucky. I think this was only the 2nd time we had to move on to the next town. We had to go all the way to Springerville, AZ to find a motel. There we found a place for $49 plus tax with what we needed and right on Hwy 60 which I will be riding on again on Thurs. Since we arrived late in the day and we were behind on the blog and both were quite tired, we decided to take a day off for R and R. And for healing my bottom.
We enjoyed a meal at a Mexican restaurant, caught the rest of the Presidential Debate and got to bed fairly early.
Wednesday, October 8
Day 22 Mon. Oct 6, 2008
Socorro to Magdelena. 27 miles. On Sunday afternoon, we arrived at Socorro, rented a room and I immediately began working on the bike, as if I knew what the hell I was doing.
A few weeks before I started my ride, Gordy Bailey had organized a ride in Dodge County for his friends and his son and his friends. The ride was 62 miles. I was bringing up the rear and Gordy’s son was staying with me. He demonstrated the gear changes in the bike and corrected a gear changer so that the gears could be switched without excessive noise
On Sunday I had attempted to recall that lesson. I repaired a flat tire and made use of a special corrective repair called Green Slime. It is pumped into the inner tube which allow the slime to cover all the holes in the tube. I put it in the tire rather than the tube. I patched the inner tube, pumped it up and adjusted the brakes. I was so proud of the effectiveness of my learning curve.
The next morning I got up and checked the wheel. It was flat. So I finally decided to utilize the new wheel I had purchased at Erik’s Bike Shop. I replaced the wheel and having done so, I was on my way. About 6 or 8 miles out, I had another flat. I wasn’t sure what to do, but I had to do something. I called Pam and asked her to pick me up. Pam, on Sunday, had driven and walked around Socorro and found a bike shop. It was closed Sun. and Mon. but when she picked me up we went to that bike shop in hopes it might be open, but it wasn’t. So I went across the street to the Chamber of Commerce.
I inquired if they knew of anyone besides the bike shop who could help me with my bike. Terry, a retired Federal employee, but the Director of the Chamber of Commerce, came to my rescue. He is a weekend biker and knows how to fix tires. We followed him to his home and he repaired all 4 of my inner tubes.
Then he called the bike shop owner at home. He, Karl, was at home with a sick daughter, but learning about my predicament, he obliged. His shop is called Spoke-n-Word Cycles. When he arrived, not only did he fix all 4 wheels, but he replaced the patched tubes with new ones and injected them all with a golden colored slime that was especially designed for bicycles. It, more or less, guarantees that no goat head weeds shall ever flatten my tires again. Goat head is a very small weed pod with very hard needles protruding. When you go over them with your bike they pierce the tire and the tube. They are alongside the roads in parts of New Mexico. Car and truck tires aren’t affected, but everyone we have met in western New Mexico knows about them.
Karl also adjusted my gears and brakes. I received another valuable lesson in cycling. I should have a pump on the bike and a repair kit. So I bought both from Karl.
In the Twin City area when you bike and your bike gets sick, you go to Erik’s Bike Shop. And in Minnesota when you participate in 300 and 400 mile bike rides for charities and your bike gets sick, Erik the bike man is there to take care of you.
Around noon I thanked both Terry and Karl and I was on my way. I also learned from Karl that Jim Voss is a regular customer and stops when he passes through every year. Two days ago he was on his way to Phoenix.
I began for the second time my ascent. I was pushing back at the successive waves of wind that swept down like an angry semi driver. With each relentless surge it howled in my ear with a shrill voice: Despair! Despair! I going home! The ascent too silently joined in the struggle. The degree of its angle getting a little steeper every few hundred yards. I believe it is 6 degrees every 1000 ft. I looked down at the road and pushed harder at my pedals. The climb continues for approximately 1 ½ miles. The Trusty Titanium Sequando and I triumphed. But I had to repeat another battles very soon after. It took me 3 ½ hours to complete 27 miles to Magdalena.
Me, all I have to complain about it the seat on my bike. What makes this journey so interesting is the people you meet and their willingness to make donation to the cause. Karl gave me his time and a fair discount. Terry took time from his work and repaired my tires, but suggested the need to check with Karl, the expert. He refused to take nay money for his time and work and shared many experiences and stories with me.
Cars as they pass, toot their horns, not frequently, but enough to put some muscle in the ride. I have yet to wave to a vehicle, even semis, and not get a cordial response. When we stop to eat at a café or restaurant people are so darn polite and friendly.
We remained in Magdalena for the night. It’s a very cozy High Country Lodge on Hwy 60. A young man and his father came from Idaho to hunt in the mountains. They spent 3 days and the son shot an elk. They donated the meat to a charity and just took the head home for a trophy. They gave us all the snacks, etc they had and hadn’t even opened because they thought they would be there longer.
A few weeks before I started my ride, Gordy Bailey had organized a ride in Dodge County for his friends and his son and his friends. The ride was 62 miles. I was bringing up the rear and Gordy’s son was staying with me. He demonstrated the gear changes in the bike and corrected a gear changer so that the gears could be switched without excessive noise
On Sunday I had attempted to recall that lesson. I repaired a flat tire and made use of a special corrective repair called Green Slime. It is pumped into the inner tube which allow the slime to cover all the holes in the tube. I put it in the tire rather than the tube. I patched the inner tube, pumped it up and adjusted the brakes. I was so proud of the effectiveness of my learning curve.
The next morning I got up and checked the wheel. It was flat. So I finally decided to utilize the new wheel I had purchased at Erik’s Bike Shop. I replaced the wheel and having done so, I was on my way. About 6 or 8 miles out, I had another flat. I wasn’t sure what to do, but I had to do something. I called Pam and asked her to pick me up. Pam, on Sunday, had driven and walked around Socorro and found a bike shop. It was closed Sun. and Mon. but when she picked me up we went to that bike shop in hopes it might be open, but it wasn’t. So I went across the street to the Chamber of Commerce.
I inquired if they knew of anyone besides the bike shop who could help me with my bike. Terry, a retired Federal employee, but the Director of the Chamber of Commerce, came to my rescue. He is a weekend biker and knows how to fix tires. We followed him to his home and he repaired all 4 of my inner tubes.
Then he called the bike shop owner at home. He, Karl, was at home with a sick daughter, but learning about my predicament, he obliged. His shop is called Spoke-n-Word Cycles. When he arrived, not only did he fix all 4 wheels, but he replaced the patched tubes with new ones and injected them all with a golden colored slime that was especially designed for bicycles. It, more or less, guarantees that no goat head weeds shall ever flatten my tires again. Goat head is a very small weed pod with very hard needles protruding. When you go over them with your bike they pierce the tire and the tube. They are alongside the roads in parts of New Mexico. Car and truck tires aren’t affected, but everyone we have met in western New Mexico knows about them.
Karl also adjusted my gears and brakes. I received another valuable lesson in cycling. I should have a pump on the bike and a repair kit. So I bought both from Karl.
In the Twin City area when you bike and your bike gets sick, you go to Erik’s Bike Shop. And in Minnesota when you participate in 300 and 400 mile bike rides for charities and your bike gets sick, Erik the bike man is there to take care of you.
Around noon I thanked both Terry and Karl and I was on my way. I also learned from Karl that Jim Voss is a regular customer and stops when he passes through every year. Two days ago he was on his way to Phoenix.
I began for the second time my ascent. I was pushing back at the successive waves of wind that swept down like an angry semi driver. With each relentless surge it howled in my ear with a shrill voice: Despair! Despair! I going home! The ascent too silently joined in the struggle. The degree of its angle getting a little steeper every few hundred yards. I believe it is 6 degrees every 1000 ft. I looked down at the road and pushed harder at my pedals. The climb continues for approximately 1 ½ miles. The Trusty Titanium Sequando and I triumphed. But I had to repeat another battles very soon after. It took me 3 ½ hours to complete 27 miles to Magdalena.
Me, all I have to complain about it the seat on my bike. What makes this journey so interesting is the people you meet and their willingness to make donation to the cause. Karl gave me his time and a fair discount. Terry took time from his work and repaired my tires, but suggested the need to check with Karl, the expert. He refused to take nay money for his time and work and shared many experiences and stories with me.
Cars as they pass, toot their horns, not frequently, but enough to put some muscle in the ride. I have yet to wave to a vehicle, even semis, and not get a cordial response. When we stop to eat at a café or restaurant people are so darn polite and friendly.
We remained in Magdalena for the night. It’s a very cozy High Country Lodge on Hwy 60. A young man and his father came from Idaho to hunt in the mountains. They spent 3 days and the son shot an elk. They donated the meat to a charity and just took the head home for a trophy. They gave us all the snacks, etc they had and hadn’t even opened because they thought they would be there longer.
Day 21 Sunday Oct. 5, 2008
From Mountainair to Socorro. 66 miles. The rain fell last night and continued on during most of the morning. My first rising occurred at 4:30 am. Peering through the window, a steady drip continued. I went back to bed. We anticipated the rainfall. We had seen the storm coming, dark clouds had been coming in from the south and circled above us yesterday afternoon.
It gave me time to reflect on our experience in the town of Mountainair. I wrote about the old, refurbished hotel yesterday, but there is more. The Schaffer Hotel includes a restaurant and curio shop in addition to the hotel. I was told it is a cowboy and cowgirl hotel. Most of the rooms have a number of single beds and the bathroom facilities are communal. They also have a game room with pool tables and pinball machines. It was very nice and I wish we had time to read all the articles and pictures on the walls about the hotel’s history.
Pam visited a Visitors Center yesterday and returned with a Southwestern Indian Tribes book and a brochure about the Salinas Pueblo Missions. We had breakfast today at the Ancient Cities Café. We returned to the motel, gathered our belongings, handed over the keys and headed out to see the ruins of one of the ancient missions. At the Visitors Center we first watched a video about the Indians, the Franciscan Monks and the Conquistadors. Then on to the ruins. We drove to the Salinas Pueblo Mission site know as Quarai. It is a difficult and enlightening story about the Spanish conquest of the west, the powerful influences of the church and its desire to convert the natives and the greed of those individuals who were given authority to govern in the name of Spain.
We spent a long time walking through the ruins and being amazed at the architectural development of a mostly unknown tribe, a people who had lived over a thousand years in the adverse conditions of New Mexico. And had, within a period of 300 years succumbed to diseases and hunger under the rule of foreign governments.
We drove west on Hwy. 60, arriving at Socorro in the early afternoon, where we found lodging at a Super 8. Along the way we noticed on either side of Hwy 60, out in the fields, junked cars and RVs. Most of them appeared to be deserted as they were rusty and dilapidated. I can only draw a parallel with the Pueblo Indian ruins which I had just visited a few hours ago.
Weather permitting, I shall continue my ride tomorrow.
It gave me time to reflect on our experience in the town of Mountainair. I wrote about the old, refurbished hotel yesterday, but there is more. The Schaffer Hotel includes a restaurant and curio shop in addition to the hotel. I was told it is a cowboy and cowgirl hotel. Most of the rooms have a number of single beds and the bathroom facilities are communal. They also have a game room with pool tables and pinball machines. It was very nice and I wish we had time to read all the articles and pictures on the walls about the hotel’s history.
Pam visited a Visitors Center yesterday and returned with a Southwestern Indian Tribes book and a brochure about the Salinas Pueblo Missions. We had breakfast today at the Ancient Cities Café. We returned to the motel, gathered our belongings, handed over the keys and headed out to see the ruins of one of the ancient missions. At the Visitors Center we first watched a video about the Indians, the Franciscan Monks and the Conquistadors. Then on to the ruins. We drove to the Salinas Pueblo Mission site know as Quarai. It is a difficult and enlightening story about the Spanish conquest of the west, the powerful influences of the church and its desire to convert the natives and the greed of those individuals who were given authority to govern in the name of Spain.
We spent a long time walking through the ruins and being amazed at the architectural development of a mostly unknown tribe, a people who had lived over a thousand years in the adverse conditions of New Mexico. And had, within a period of 300 years succumbed to diseases and hunger under the rule of foreign governments.
We drove west on Hwy. 60, arriving at Socorro in the early afternoon, where we found lodging at a Super 8. Along the way we noticed on either side of Hwy 60, out in the fields, junked cars and RVs. Most of them appeared to be deserted as they were rusty and dilapidated. I can only draw a parallel with the Pueblo Indian ruins which I had just visited a few hours ago.
Weather permitting, I shall continue my ride tomorrow.
Sunday, October 5
Day 20 Sat. Oct. 4, 2008
From Vaughn to Mountainair—66 miles. Last night we had supper at Penny’s Diner. We brought home some milk so I could prepare breakfast in the room and make some minor adjustments to the bicycle.
I got it into my head that the cold wave sweeping down from the Pacific, to this part of the country, would lessen the volume of high pressure winds I’m about to face today. It worked for the 23 miles I rode.
I got past Encino and turned left on Hwy 60, traveling south to Willard. Here the shoulders disappeared completely. The roads began to assume a roller coaster effect. I put my head down, changed into the lowest gear and kept my eyes just past my front wheels.
The winds pushed hard and I said, “Sequoia! Take me home.” As I climbed out of those bike hills moving at the rate of 8 mph, I saw a rattle snake in my path, jaws open, curled up with a beautiful color design of diamond shapes decorating his back (gold and black diamonds).
I said, “Excuse me!” and found the extra surge to climb a bit faster. The surge really did work for me. Don’t tell that to Obama!
The road was a beautiful pattern of red, blue, black and white pebbles, which continued for miles, but sometimes changed with blue and gray becoming the dominant colors.
It wasn’t too difficult to maintain my focus on the highway because it was all I could see for miles and miles. Occasionally I looked up at my surroundings: in the distance were the mountains, along the highway were wide sections of cut grass, sometimes not cut, and between the mountains and the highway, huge sections of fenced properties, ranches, I presume, occupying my visual space for hours upon hours.
And yes, those mile long trains drawn by 3 or more engines transporting large bins, or containers with various initials and insignia identifying their owner and/or country. Some of the containers were refrigerated and some flatbeds carried large agricultural equipment.
More and more, my journey took on the feeling that I was traveling through a huge basin. The mountains were the perimeters, the not too grassy slopes, now brown, as fall has begun, and spotted areas of black and brown cattle feeding in that vast space. It was a basin swirling with winds with a collection of feeding cows, shrubs and miles of fences.
Along with the evidence of a strong wind is my slower speed and my thin jacket whistling a happy tune, and my numb fingers moving every so often on my handle bars searching for some relief.
I was 39 miles away from Mountainair when I heard my name called. It was Pam. I did not even hear the vehicle behind me. Very rarely does that occur. Ranchers in these parts always travel in Pick-up Trucks. You can hear the rubber of those wheels from way off.
We decided that I should stop riding and we should get into Mountainair as soon as possible. There were no shoulders for me to ride on, we could see that rain was coming, and we didn’t have a reservation. We drove slowly through the town and saw a neat, attractive little motel called “The Rock.” We stopped and they had one room left! It was about 1:30, so I showered and took a short nap. When I got up we went to a newly renovated, very old (1923) hotel for dinner. The current owners are a couple who were very friendly and the food was great. There were several pictures of Renee Zellweger on the wall. She was there about 8 months ago filming a movie that has not been released yet. Mountainair was one of the more successful appearing towns we have passed through.
I got it into my head that the cold wave sweeping down from the Pacific, to this part of the country, would lessen the volume of high pressure winds I’m about to face today. It worked for the 23 miles I rode.
I got past Encino and turned left on Hwy 60, traveling south to Willard. Here the shoulders disappeared completely. The roads began to assume a roller coaster effect. I put my head down, changed into the lowest gear and kept my eyes just past my front wheels.
The winds pushed hard and I said, “Sequoia! Take me home.” As I climbed out of those bike hills moving at the rate of 8 mph, I saw a rattle snake in my path, jaws open, curled up with a beautiful color design of diamond shapes decorating his back (gold and black diamonds).
I said, “Excuse me!” and found the extra surge to climb a bit faster. The surge really did work for me. Don’t tell that to Obama!
The road was a beautiful pattern of red, blue, black and white pebbles, which continued for miles, but sometimes changed with blue and gray becoming the dominant colors.
It wasn’t too difficult to maintain my focus on the highway because it was all I could see for miles and miles. Occasionally I looked up at my surroundings: in the distance were the mountains, along the highway were wide sections of cut grass, sometimes not cut, and between the mountains and the highway, huge sections of fenced properties, ranches, I presume, occupying my visual space for hours upon hours.
And yes, those mile long trains drawn by 3 or more engines transporting large bins, or containers with various initials and insignia identifying their owner and/or country. Some of the containers were refrigerated and some flatbeds carried large agricultural equipment.
More and more, my journey took on the feeling that I was traveling through a huge basin. The mountains were the perimeters, the not too grassy slopes, now brown, as fall has begun, and spotted areas of black and brown cattle feeding in that vast space. It was a basin swirling with winds with a collection of feeding cows, shrubs and miles of fences.
Along with the evidence of a strong wind is my slower speed and my thin jacket whistling a happy tune, and my numb fingers moving every so often on my handle bars searching for some relief.
I was 39 miles away from Mountainair when I heard my name called. It was Pam. I did not even hear the vehicle behind me. Very rarely does that occur. Ranchers in these parts always travel in Pick-up Trucks. You can hear the rubber of those wheels from way off.
We decided that I should stop riding and we should get into Mountainair as soon as possible. There were no shoulders for me to ride on, we could see that rain was coming, and we didn’t have a reservation. We drove slowly through the town and saw a neat, attractive little motel called “The Rock.” We stopped and they had one room left! It was about 1:30, so I showered and took a short nap. When I got up we went to a newly renovated, very old (1923) hotel for dinner. The current owners are a couple who were very friendly and the food was great. There were several pictures of Renee Zellweger on the wall. She was there about 8 months ago filming a movie that has not been released yet. Mountainair was one of the more successful appearing towns we have passed through.
Saturday, October 4
Day 19 Fri. Oct. 3, 2008
Ride from Santa Rosa to Vaughn, 42 miles. I got up this morning at 5:23. The Motel 6 did not supply a clock. I depend on that red-eyed monster, a digital clock, to keep a good check on my sleeping and waking hours. Pam brought in the Kitchen boxes to allow me to prepare my oatmeal and a cup of Ovaltine. I used an electric frying pan with a temperature dial. I got my oatmeal and Ovaltine prepared and made use of the bathroom light and a chair to enjoy my honeyed, tasty breakfast. Everything was prepared for a 7:30 am departure. Dishes washed and put away, clothes packed, but Pam insisted she wanted to do the packing the van. She handed me my directions last night and then place it on my bed. She went out for a walk. She returned as I was about to leave. Once more we checked directions per Mapquest and I was on my way.
Repairs were being done on the highway that ran through the town of Santa Rosa. The road construction was completed for traffic going west, but barriers were set up to enable eastbound traffic to make use of the same stretch of completed highway. There were no shoulders available, as you can well imagine. I improvised and rode west on the stretch where workers were preparing the concrete base cutting narrow grooves to hold the first layer firmly in place. I had to make my way in and out of machinery. I smiled and said, “Good Morning” to everyone whenever they could hear me above the sound of their machines. It was a chilly morning even though the sun was already shining. I made sure I was wearing my bright orange riding jacket. My map was in my memory and as I multi-tasked my way on this part of the journey, I omitted "Line 3—Take Hwy 54 West". Instead I took Hwy 40. Everybody was going that way. It looked so elementary, all the traffic west was using Hwy 40. So I followed suit.
On Hwy 40 the climb was steadily uphill, the breeze soft and cool. I could move against the wind and I did quite well with adequate shoulders available. Thank God, no repairs are bind done. Then as I continued to ascend with not too much pressure on my legs. The signs did not tell me the extent of the elevation, but the scenery sure made an impact on my ride. There were several bridges not too conspicuous because everything was tarred and nicely paved.
Everything was going fine. I managed to change gears very well. Until I passed a sign: “El Rancho. One mile. Stookey. One mile. Exit 263”. I left on the exit and called Pam. It took a couple of calls before we connected. She was having breakfast at a restaurant, thinking she had a lot of time before we had to meet up. While waiting for her to call back, I was observing the surrounding landscape. There are no large trees on the land, only a somewhat stunted shrub and its leaves. The prairie grass reminds me of a nut grass, only taller, making its presence known on this semi desert land. There is not enough space and time to talk about the red shapes of rocky formations I’ve observed.
Finally we connected on our cells. Result—I have to turn back and go the way I came. She would meet me at Vaughn.
I tell you, what goes up must come down. Traveling east was quite easy. My expert friends have already told me so. I was sailing with the wind and descending downhill. It’s not that simple. There are places where the bump in the road allows you to peddle to the next descent. Gosh that was fun! I was at an elevation of 7000 feet. When I arrived at Santa Rosa it was 5000 ft. So I got my kicks (a little) on Rte. 66.
I stopped at a garage owned and operated by Jose, I asked him if he knew the way to Vaughn. He gave me all the directions I needed. He shared his cool drinking water with me and allowed me to make use of his urinal. We exchanged stories about our families. His grandmother and his father were teachers, and his wife is a teacher and he said, “Who knows? My daughter wants to become a teacher.”
Vaughn is 42 miles from Santa Rosa. I had already ridden 20 miles—10 out and 10 back. I found the right way to Vaughn, even though a sign was missing. The sign read “South”. I took it and with the right directions came the blasted wind (oops) my favorite companion. I must be gentle with my expressions. Someone or a whole community is fortunate that the cool SE winds are blowing there. I must live with my choice.
I saw a few large ranches with names such as Gonzales and Diaz. I finally made my weary way to the Belle Air Motel, where Pam was already unpacked and resting. We went to Penny’s Diner, a somewhat upscale version of Mickey’s Diner in St. Paul. It was elegant and well managed. Mostly greasy food, just the same as it used to be in the 50’s.
They had quite a bit of 50’s memorabilia in the diner and I took pictures of some of the most interesting: a signed picture of Frank Sinatra, The Birds (a 50’s group from Mpls), a few others and at the same time listened to 50’s music.
It’s now 9:30 pm. I’ll talk to you tomorrow. Thanks for keeping me motivated.
Repairs were being done on the highway that ran through the town of Santa Rosa. The road construction was completed for traffic going west, but barriers were set up to enable eastbound traffic to make use of the same stretch of completed highway. There were no shoulders available, as you can well imagine. I improvised and rode west on the stretch where workers were preparing the concrete base cutting narrow grooves to hold the first layer firmly in place. I had to make my way in and out of machinery. I smiled and said, “Good Morning” to everyone whenever they could hear me above the sound of their machines. It was a chilly morning even though the sun was already shining. I made sure I was wearing my bright orange riding jacket. My map was in my memory and as I multi-tasked my way on this part of the journey, I omitted "Line 3—Take Hwy 54 West". Instead I took Hwy 40. Everybody was going that way. It looked so elementary, all the traffic west was using Hwy 40. So I followed suit.
On Hwy 40 the climb was steadily uphill, the breeze soft and cool. I could move against the wind and I did quite well with adequate shoulders available. Thank God, no repairs are bind done. Then as I continued to ascend with not too much pressure on my legs. The signs did not tell me the extent of the elevation, but the scenery sure made an impact on my ride. There were several bridges not too conspicuous because everything was tarred and nicely paved.
Everything was going fine. I managed to change gears very well. Until I passed a sign: “El Rancho. One mile. Stookey. One mile. Exit 263”. I left on the exit and called Pam. It took a couple of calls before we connected. She was having breakfast at a restaurant, thinking she had a lot of time before we had to meet up. While waiting for her to call back, I was observing the surrounding landscape. There are no large trees on the land, only a somewhat stunted shrub and its leaves. The prairie grass reminds me of a nut grass, only taller, making its presence known on this semi desert land. There is not enough space and time to talk about the red shapes of rocky formations I’ve observed.
Finally we connected on our cells. Result—I have to turn back and go the way I came. She would meet me at Vaughn.
I tell you, what goes up must come down. Traveling east was quite easy. My expert friends have already told me so. I was sailing with the wind and descending downhill. It’s not that simple. There are places where the bump in the road allows you to peddle to the next descent. Gosh that was fun! I was at an elevation of 7000 feet. When I arrived at Santa Rosa it was 5000 ft. So I got my kicks (a little) on Rte. 66.
I stopped at a garage owned and operated by Jose, I asked him if he knew the way to Vaughn. He gave me all the directions I needed. He shared his cool drinking water with me and allowed me to make use of his urinal. We exchanged stories about our families. His grandmother and his father were teachers, and his wife is a teacher and he said, “Who knows? My daughter wants to become a teacher.”
Vaughn is 42 miles from Santa Rosa. I had already ridden 20 miles—10 out and 10 back. I found the right way to Vaughn, even though a sign was missing. The sign read “South”. I took it and with the right directions came the blasted wind (oops) my favorite companion. I must be gentle with my expressions. Someone or a whole community is fortunate that the cool SE winds are blowing there. I must live with my choice.
I saw a few large ranches with names such as Gonzales and Diaz. I finally made my weary way to the Belle Air Motel, where Pam was already unpacked and resting. We went to Penny’s Diner, a somewhat upscale version of Mickey’s Diner in St. Paul. It was elegant and well managed. Mostly greasy food, just the same as it used to be in the 50’s.
They had quite a bit of 50’s memorabilia in the diner and I took pictures of some of the most interesting: a signed picture of Frank Sinatra, The Birds (a 50’s group from Mpls), a few others and at the same time listened to 50’s music.
It’s now 9:30 pm. I’ll talk to you tomorrow. Thanks for keeping me motivated.
Day 18 Thur. Oct. 2, 2008
From Tucumcari to Santa Rosa, 58 miles. Breakfast was to be served in Rm. 104. I didn’t bother to go. I made a drink of cold Ovaltine and had a glass of water in which I poured a half spoonful of Shaklee Performance. That somehow stimulates me to do more, better than my ordinary.
Pam and I made a concerted effort to be at the motel in Santa Rosa in time to watch the Vice Presidential debate. We found a cheap motel at a Travelodge on Rte. 66. Sleep was hard to come by, but such is life. I didn’t complete my routine of preparing for the next day’s ride. I felt a little unbalanced. Tomorrow will be better.
Pam and I made a concerted effort to be at the motel in Santa Rosa in time to watch the Vice Presidential debate. We found a cheap motel at a Travelodge on Rte. 66. Sleep was hard to come by, but such is life. I didn’t complete my routine of preparing for the next day’s ride. I felt a little unbalanced. Tomorrow will be better.
Day 17 Oct. 1, 2008
From Western Stars Motel at Nara Visa to Tucumcari, NM. When I woke up this morning, the front wheel of my bike was flat. There were no businesses in Nara Visa except the motel, so we drove to Tucumcari, and after 3 tries we found a tire shop that could help me. The spare wheel I have was too large, and the brakes had to be adjusted. I tried with no success to adjust them myself, so the mechanic did it for me.
Yesterday, Pam had secured a room at the Travelodge Motel on Route 66/Tucumcari Blvd for today. We had breakfast at the Kix Restaurant (Get your Kix on Rte 66), where we met a couple who were driving the complete Rte. 66 from Chicago to Santa Monica, in a late 60’s Mustang. Lew Toulmin is a travel columnist for the “Montgomery Sentinal” and has written a book called, The Most Traveled Man on Earth. His wife, Susan, is accompanying him and takes notes as they travel. Their home is Silver Springs, MD. We exchanged stories and took pictures of each other. He gave me his Rte.66 Cap, a fantastic cap with the entire Rte. 66 on it.
I rode my bicycle around Tucumcari for 4 hours to make up for the 40 miles I did not ride today. On the western edge of town I met up with Jim Voss again, who is on his way to Santa Rosa. We stood at the junction of Rte 66 and Hwy 40, having a conversation, when Lew & Susan drove up in their Mustang. I introduced them to Jim who was gaga over the Mustang. He said it was one of the______ cars ever and he loved it. Toulmin’s were on their way to the air show at the local airport. The air show was a pretty big deal locally. It seemed everyone we talked to was going, but Pam and I didn’t have the time or energy. Jim and I went our separate ways; he rode off to Santa Rosa and I continued to do my make up ride. I returned to the motel at 2:20 pm.
Antonio from Liberal, KS called this evening and we had a nice conversation. He was happy to hear of a possible radio interview scheduled for 8:30 pm Saturday. Von Martin, a fellow Trinidadian, owns a radio station out East. He promised me a little more exposure regarding the ride.
Yesterday, Pam had secured a room at the Travelodge Motel on Route 66/Tucumcari Blvd for today. We had breakfast at the Kix Restaurant (Get your Kix on Rte 66), where we met a couple who were driving the complete Rte. 66 from Chicago to Santa Monica, in a late 60’s Mustang. Lew Toulmin is a travel columnist for the “Montgomery Sentinal” and has written a book called, The Most Traveled Man on Earth. His wife, Susan, is accompanying him and takes notes as they travel. Their home is Silver Springs, MD. We exchanged stories and took pictures of each other. He gave me his Rte.66 Cap, a fantastic cap with the entire Rte. 66 on it.
I rode my bicycle around Tucumcari for 4 hours to make up for the 40 miles I did not ride today. On the western edge of town I met up with Jim Voss again, who is on his way to Santa Rosa. We stood at the junction of Rte 66 and Hwy 40, having a conversation, when Lew & Susan drove up in their Mustang. I introduced them to Jim who was gaga over the Mustang. He said it was one of the______ cars ever and he loved it. Toulmin’s were on their way to the air show at the local airport. The air show was a pretty big deal locally. It seemed everyone we talked to was going, but Pam and I didn’t have the time or energy. Jim and I went our separate ways; he rode off to Santa Rosa and I continued to do my make up ride. I returned to the motel at 2:20 pm.
Antonio from Liberal, KS called this evening and we had a nice conversation. He was happy to hear of a possible radio interview scheduled for 8:30 pm Saturday. Von Martin, a fellow Trinidadian, owns a radio station out East. He promised me a little more exposure regarding the ride.
Day 16 Sept 30, 2008
From Super 8 in Dalhart to Nara Visa, NM. I got up at 5:30 am and prepared myself for today. This Super 8 did not deserve the name it bears. The room did not have a refrigerator or microwave, which every other Super 8 we have stayed at, and the TV reception was a mess. Their “breakfast” did not include bananas and the apple juice and orange juice were watered down. I sat around the breakfast lounge waiting for the dawn. It was still very dark at 7:30 am. A few more customers arrived and satisfied their needs, consuming coffee and sugared baked delicacies. Fresh fruit was visibly absent. Perhaps the service reflects the nees of its regular customers.
The weather report indicated that the breeze (wind currents) would be quite calm. (That is subject to debate.) A few blocks away from the motel I discovered my back wheel need inflating. Instead of returning, I got off the bike and walked a very short distance away to a tire repair shop where I was assisted. I checked the fron tire which needed no air (my assumption.) Thirty-five miles away I was the fron tire responding awkwardly to the bumps on the road. I called pam. Half an hour later she arrived. I pumped up the tire and once more I was on my way.
The wind picked up measurably, my speed limit decreased from 12.2 mph to 9.3 mph. Highway 54 does not reflect the kind of luck I had yesterday on my way from Guymon to Dalhart. The wind found the better part of my back and made the ride a very pleasant one.
Highway 54 in New Mexico cuts through a terrain, which reminds me of Zane Grey, an American novelist. His writings piqued my interest in the Old West at a young boy. The Second World War was in effect when I was reading his novels, and American soldiers were training at Green Hill, a few miles from my home. Whenever I would take the uniforms my mother had washed and pressed for a few of the soldiers, I would sometimes ask the soldiers for any books they didn’t want anymore or I would dig in the trash can find some very exciting novels.
As I ride through those soft red clay hills and see the surroundings spread out before me, the short green trees in the midst of thick brown grass and flowering vegetation, I’m reminded of the cowboys who acted as scouts for the generation of Americans moving westward. The slow pace of their horses on a windy day, such as today, their heads bent forward to keep their broad hats from being blown away, at the same time keeping their eyes peeled for any Indian surprises. His books were so graphic. Some of them were made into movies.
I ride the roller coaster road and do battle with the 30 mph wind. I wish I were back in Kansas. My odometer would read a much better progress to my ride. But as luck would have it, I saw a beautiful flower growing at the shoulder. I stopped and sat down to get a close up. I did not realize it at the time; it was only when I got up I felt a sting on my rear. I reached and the pain transferred to my fingers. My shoes, my socks, my shorts were entirely decorated with those prickly stock-ons.
A little further, on the top of a little rising, I saw a green patch, bordered by grazing cows in the meadow that interrupted their grazing to look at me. The green area was totally Irish green. It stretched for almost a quarter of a mile. The beauty of it all is the contrasting colors, with flowering shrubs under a blue, hazy, sunny sky. I stopped to take a photograph. On the opposite side of the road, in the distance, a train with lights on, weaving its way on its rails through the hillside of patchy brown and green foliage.
Perhaps this is what the pioneers saw, a dream to be realized, a Hope to become a reality. I felt refreshed from my soliloquy. I had to move on. The wind was still there as busy as ever. I traveled along at my slow pace, but down the road apiece, (a term I remember from my gardening parents who walked long miles to bring home the food.) my front tire went flat. I called Pam. She came for me.
Tonight I’ll sleep in Nara Visa at the Western Stars Motel, the only place still inhabited in Nara Visa, and a left over from the heyday of Historic Rte. 66. Tomorrow I will ride to Tucumcari, a town that is a memorial to the days of Historic Rte. 66. Get your kicks on Route 66!
The weather report indicated that the breeze (wind currents) would be quite calm. (That is subject to debate.) A few blocks away from the motel I discovered my back wheel need inflating. Instead of returning, I got off the bike and walked a very short distance away to a tire repair shop where I was assisted. I checked the fron tire which needed no air (my assumption.) Thirty-five miles away I was the fron tire responding awkwardly to the bumps on the road. I called pam. Half an hour later she arrived. I pumped up the tire and once more I was on my way.
The wind picked up measurably, my speed limit decreased from 12.2 mph to 9.3 mph. Highway 54 does not reflect the kind of luck I had yesterday on my way from Guymon to Dalhart. The wind found the better part of my back and made the ride a very pleasant one.
Highway 54 in New Mexico cuts through a terrain, which reminds me of Zane Grey, an American novelist. His writings piqued my interest in the Old West at a young boy. The Second World War was in effect when I was reading his novels, and American soldiers were training at Green Hill, a few miles from my home. Whenever I would take the uniforms my mother had washed and pressed for a few of the soldiers, I would sometimes ask the soldiers for any books they didn’t want anymore or I would dig in the trash can find some very exciting novels.
As I ride through those soft red clay hills and see the surroundings spread out before me, the short green trees in the midst of thick brown grass and flowering vegetation, I’m reminded of the cowboys who acted as scouts for the generation of Americans moving westward. The slow pace of their horses on a windy day, such as today, their heads bent forward to keep their broad hats from being blown away, at the same time keeping their eyes peeled for any Indian surprises. His books were so graphic. Some of them were made into movies.
I ride the roller coaster road and do battle with the 30 mph wind. I wish I were back in Kansas. My odometer would read a much better progress to my ride. But as luck would have it, I saw a beautiful flower growing at the shoulder. I stopped and sat down to get a close up. I did not realize it at the time; it was only when I got up I felt a sting on my rear. I reached and the pain transferred to my fingers. My shoes, my socks, my shorts were entirely decorated with those prickly stock-ons.
A little further, on the top of a little rising, I saw a green patch, bordered by grazing cows in the meadow that interrupted their grazing to look at me. The green area was totally Irish green. It stretched for almost a quarter of a mile. The beauty of it all is the contrasting colors, with flowering shrubs under a blue, hazy, sunny sky. I stopped to take a photograph. On the opposite side of the road, in the distance, a train with lights on, weaving its way on its rails through the hillside of patchy brown and green foliage.
Perhaps this is what the pioneers saw, a dream to be realized, a Hope to become a reality. I felt refreshed from my soliloquy. I had to move on. The wind was still there as busy as ever. I traveled along at my slow pace, but down the road apiece, (a term I remember from my gardening parents who walked long miles to bring home the food.) my front tire went flat. I called Pam. She came for me.
Tonight I’ll sleep in Nara Visa at the Western Stars Motel, the only place still inhabited in Nara Visa, and a left over from the heyday of Historic Rte. 66. Tomorrow I will ride to Tucumcari, a town that is a memorial to the days of Historic Rte. 66. Get your kicks on Route 66!
Wednesday, October 1
Day 15 Mon. Sept 29, 2008
Leaving Guymon, OK for Dalhart, TX. About 70 miles. I left the motel at 7:30 sharp and headed west on Hwy 54.The sun was up but there was still a chill in the air. The semis were few and the wide shoulders on the highway certainly were a welcome sight. The red golden sun was behind me and so, too, was the calm breeze. I said a sacred thank you and the strength in my legs accelerated to a very fair speed. I even thought, with joy in my heart, that I could exceed the speed limit! (smile)
Somewhere between Guymon and Dalhart an accident occurred. A very serious one.
The sheriff had his light on as he sped past me. When I caught up with him, he had barricades across Hwy 54. He informed me that there had been an accident at 6:00 am. Two semis (which I learned later) collided head on and burst into flames leaving a massive burning of carriages and engines, etc, burning across the freeway. The sheriff attempted to send me to the detour.
There were no shoulders on that detour and I told him my wife would be lost and so would I if I didn’t stick to my planned route. He listened to me and he determined that the police at the scene would let me through to Stratford. (Luckily, Pam stopped to ask that same sheriff, if a man on a bike had come that way. He told her “yes”, but he didn’t think Cyril should have to ride on the detour with no shoulders, so he let him go through. Pam had to take the detour, but he told her to meet her husband at the Dairy Queen in Stratford.)
About 10 miles away I arrived at the scene of the accident. The engine and chassis of both vehicles were melted into one. Wheels and tires were burnt to ashes. The long cargo carrying containers were all ashes. I quickly took a few pictures. The policeman (Davis) came up to me and said, “Do not take pictures. This is a crime scene.” I responded, “I thought this was an accident.” “Yes, it’s an accident, but it’s also a crime scene.” We exchanged information. I gave him my card and he allowed me to continue on my journey.
Pam and I actually got to the Dairy Queen in Stratford about the same time! About the same time a group of railroad workers arrived at the Dairy Queen. One of them was Greg Parks, whom we met at the motel the day before. We were all engaged in conversation and I was handing out my cards, when one of the men said, “Come on, I’ll buy you lunch.” I had an ice cream cone and water and Pam had a hamburger. We had a lot of conversation over lunch and some of them pulled out their cell phones to take pictures of us. We also took pictures of them. Half an hour later we shook hands with them all and received a few dollars for the scholarship fund.
Twenty-eight more miles to Dalhart! The road was welcoming, the wind was whistling softly, sending waves of cool air bending the tall grass along the highway. My wheels joined in the chorus. I sailed along at my fastest speeds.
What wonderful day! Thank you, Lord, for sharing your joys with me today. May your name be blessed!
Ten miles outside my destination, I entered a rest stop. The rest stops out here in the southwest are very unlike those in MN. An open air concrete shelter, a small fireplace made of metal strips above the ground, mainly for cooking with coal, not wood, and a large garbage container.
I sat there for a few moments, easing the numbness in my fingers. Another cyclist, fully loaded down, arrived. I went over to introduce myself. He, I must say, has been cycling for a very long time. Turns out he started out at Virginia, MN, about 200 miles north of the Twin Cities. He left his cabin near Virginia on Sept 15, the same day I began my journey. He is planning to arrive in the Phoenix area about Oct. 9. His name is Jim Voss and he has relatives in Minnetonka. We chatted for a while as we experienced the cool breeze on our backs, for which we were very thankful, as opposed to the Kansas wind tunnel the entire length of the state.
I arrived at Dalhart about 4:00 pm, showered, had supper and got a call from Greg Parks, informing us that his friends were very pleased to have met me. They immediately went to the web site and read my stories. This was such good news. I thanked him and asked him to share the joy.
The time is now 10:30 pm, way past my bedtime. I have to ride 97 miles to New Mexico tomorrow. I hope the weather will help me do it. I must say GOOD NIGHT! Correction, Pam has scheduled me for less.
Somewhere between Guymon and Dalhart an accident occurred. A very serious one.
The sheriff had his light on as he sped past me. When I caught up with him, he had barricades across Hwy 54. He informed me that there had been an accident at 6:00 am. Two semis (which I learned later) collided head on and burst into flames leaving a massive burning of carriages and engines, etc, burning across the freeway. The sheriff attempted to send me to the detour.
There were no shoulders on that detour and I told him my wife would be lost and so would I if I didn’t stick to my planned route. He listened to me and he determined that the police at the scene would let me through to Stratford. (Luckily, Pam stopped to ask that same sheriff, if a man on a bike had come that way. He told her “yes”, but he didn’t think Cyril should have to ride on the detour with no shoulders, so he let him go through. Pam had to take the detour, but he told her to meet her husband at the Dairy Queen in Stratford.)
About 10 miles away I arrived at the scene of the accident. The engine and chassis of both vehicles were melted into one. Wheels and tires were burnt to ashes. The long cargo carrying containers were all ashes. I quickly took a few pictures. The policeman (Davis) came up to me and said, “Do not take pictures. This is a crime scene.” I responded, “I thought this was an accident.” “Yes, it’s an accident, but it’s also a crime scene.” We exchanged information. I gave him my card and he allowed me to continue on my journey.
Pam and I actually got to the Dairy Queen in Stratford about the same time! About the same time a group of railroad workers arrived at the Dairy Queen. One of them was Greg Parks, whom we met at the motel the day before. We were all engaged in conversation and I was handing out my cards, when one of the men said, “Come on, I’ll buy you lunch.” I had an ice cream cone and water and Pam had a hamburger. We had a lot of conversation over lunch and some of them pulled out their cell phones to take pictures of us. We also took pictures of them. Half an hour later we shook hands with them all and received a few dollars for the scholarship fund.
Twenty-eight more miles to Dalhart! The road was welcoming, the wind was whistling softly, sending waves of cool air bending the tall grass along the highway. My wheels joined in the chorus. I sailed along at my fastest speeds.
What wonderful day! Thank you, Lord, for sharing your joys with me today. May your name be blessed!
Ten miles outside my destination, I entered a rest stop. The rest stops out here in the southwest are very unlike those in MN. An open air concrete shelter, a small fireplace made of metal strips above the ground, mainly for cooking with coal, not wood, and a large garbage container.
I sat there for a few moments, easing the numbness in my fingers. Another cyclist, fully loaded down, arrived. I went over to introduce myself. He, I must say, has been cycling for a very long time. Turns out he started out at Virginia, MN, about 200 miles north of the Twin Cities. He left his cabin near Virginia on Sept 15, the same day I began my journey. He is planning to arrive in the Phoenix area about Oct. 9. His name is Jim Voss and he has relatives in Minnetonka. We chatted for a while as we experienced the cool breeze on our backs, for which we were very thankful, as opposed to the Kansas wind tunnel the entire length of the state.
I arrived at Dalhart about 4:00 pm, showered, had supper and got a call from Greg Parks, informing us that his friends were very pleased to have met me. They immediately went to the web site and read my stories. This was such good news. I thanked him and asked him to share the joy.
The time is now 10:30 pm, way past my bedtime. I have to ride 97 miles to New Mexico tomorrow. I hope the weather will help me do it. I must say GOOD NIGHT! Correction, Pam has scheduled me for less.
Monday, September 29
Day 14 Sun. Sept 28, 2008
The last 2 nights we slept in Liberal, KS and tonight we will sleep in Guymon, OK. I took advantage of the few daytime hours to include a few extra stories before they go forgotten.
My story today is a short one. A distance of 40 miles from the Holiday Inn Express in Liberal to a Super 8 in Guymon. I left the Holiday Inn and turned left on 15th Ave. I was going the wrong way. I sensed it immediately, but I needed verification. There was a police squad car coming towards me. I stopped him and showed him my directions. He turned me around and set me on course. Hwy 54 is referred to as Old Hwy 54, but no “west”. For about 5 miles and still no sign with “Hwy 54 W.” About 5 miles and still no sign with “West.” Again I am faced with a decision. I called my back-up. No answer. I took my chances. Five miles west I saw another sign. This time it said “Tyrone”. I knew I was on the right track.
The highway was well paved with a very favorable wind. My speeds were accelerated. I was traveling at 13 to 18 mph, the road was quite level and mostly straight. Perhaps because of the heat, the remains of a few animals, some of which appear to be domesticated lay strewn on the edge of the shoulder.
On occasions I saw a lonely butterfly (Monarchs). There are other butterflies here, too. They are yellow in color; they are sometimes hidden in the bright yellow clumps of flowers growing by the roadside. There are also grasshoppers and preying mantis.
The flowers seem to decorate my journey and give me a pleasant feeling. During my ride through Kansas I noticed aluminum can trashed by the roadside, seemingly the empty can tossed from a fast moving semi. This was, perhaps, from my perspective, every 2 or 3 miles apart. Frequently, however, the crickets serenade my passing. I feel like an Olympian being cheered on his/her way to the victory stand.
The ride today seemed short and not complicated by too many semis. Relatively speaking there were no hills. I did change gears about 2 or 3 times. One thing is quite noticeable, rambling, tumbling weed inhabit this state. The hillsides are covered with brown grass and the trees are stunted, or appear to be very young trees. I’ve also noticed along the highway, trees are spaced to accommodate enough roots that the moisture in the soil can keep alive. Unfortunately that is not always the case.
Long trains, three of these, passed me laden with cargo, heading west. One mil long would not be an exaggeration. Pam was waiting for me at the Super 8. I sat in the shade and drank a lot of milk. While sitting there, Greg Parks, a railroad worker, came up and spoke to me. He was elated that I was doing the ride to LA on a bicycle. He dipped his hand into his pocket and handed me some money. He took a picture of me on his cell phone and sent it to his wife. Pam took a picture of both of us. I gave him my card. He was surprised that I was 78!. He mentioned his father was 83,but was not doing as well as I am. I told him to start drinking Ovaltine and brandy.
My story today is a short one. A distance of 40 miles from the Holiday Inn Express in Liberal to a Super 8 in Guymon. I left the Holiday Inn and turned left on 15th Ave. I was going the wrong way. I sensed it immediately, but I needed verification. There was a police squad car coming towards me. I stopped him and showed him my directions. He turned me around and set me on course. Hwy 54 is referred to as Old Hwy 54, but no “west”. For about 5 miles and still no sign with “Hwy 54 W.” About 5 miles and still no sign with “West.” Again I am faced with a decision. I called my back-up. No answer. I took my chances. Five miles west I saw another sign. This time it said “Tyrone”. I knew I was on the right track.
The highway was well paved with a very favorable wind. My speeds were accelerated. I was traveling at 13 to 18 mph, the road was quite level and mostly straight. Perhaps because of the heat, the remains of a few animals, some of which appear to be domesticated lay strewn on the edge of the shoulder.
On occasions I saw a lonely butterfly (Monarchs). There are other butterflies here, too. They are yellow in color; they are sometimes hidden in the bright yellow clumps of flowers growing by the roadside. There are also grasshoppers and preying mantis.
The flowers seem to decorate my journey and give me a pleasant feeling. During my ride through Kansas I noticed aluminum can trashed by the roadside, seemingly the empty can tossed from a fast moving semi. This was, perhaps, from my perspective, every 2 or 3 miles apart. Frequently, however, the crickets serenade my passing. I feel like an Olympian being cheered on his/her way to the victory stand.
The ride today seemed short and not complicated by too many semis. Relatively speaking there were no hills. I did change gears about 2 or 3 times. One thing is quite noticeable, rambling, tumbling weed inhabit this state. The hillsides are covered with brown grass and the trees are stunted, or appear to be very young trees. I’ve also noticed along the highway, trees are spaced to accommodate enough roots that the moisture in the soil can keep alive. Unfortunately that is not always the case.
Long trains, three of these, passed me laden with cargo, heading west. One mil long would not be an exaggeration. Pam was waiting for me at the Super 8. I sat in the shade and drank a lot of milk. While sitting there, Greg Parks, a railroad worker, came up and spoke to me. He was elated that I was doing the ride to LA on a bicycle. He dipped his hand into his pocket and handed me some money. He took a picture of me on his cell phone and sent it to his wife. Pam took a picture of both of us. I gave him my card. He was surprised that I was 78!. He mentioned his father was 83,but was not doing as well as I am. I told him to start drinking Ovaltine and brandy.
Sunday, September 28
Day 13 Sat. Sept 27, 2008
There is the pain of the ride.
There is the pleasure
The observations
The conversations
The method of the ride
The loneliness of the ride
The hope/good conclusion
When I began the ride from Utica Road, I was accompanied by 3 very successful riders, Jim Bassett, Gordie Bailey and Mindy Ahler/Olmstead. Their enthusiasm for my cause was extremely overwhelming and very highly appreciated. They assisted me in making good judgments for my future ride. Their positive moods and attitudes plus the spontaneous humor gave buoyancy to the ride and I thank them implicitly for their friendship and prayers.
For as long as I can remember, I’ve always worn under shorts under my riding gear. I did the same when I prepared for the marathons, but as I have been riding, I realized I had to make adjustments to ease the terrible pain which I experienced. The last day before Gordy left Sibley, IA, I posed the question to him about my discomfort. He immediately responded. In the end I shed my seat cushion and my briefs. Now I only feel the numbness in my bottom and my hands. Less pain, better and longer ride. Hee Haw!
As I leave the Midwest, traveling (pedaling) southwest to California, the tall, green trees seem to be getting shorter and I am unable to recognize what kind of trees I’m seeing. In addition, the amount of road kill from excessive speed tells me that there are fewer and fewer animals the warmer climes of this country. I also see fewer Monarch Butterflies. Yesterday, however, I was totally surprised. I came across 2 huge deer killed off Hwy 56 between Montezuma and Copeland. The landscape was completely covered by large cattle farms. I saw only one large, wooded area, which was enclosed not too far from where I saw the dead deer. The thing that amazes me is that skunks, rabbits and other small animals were not as frequent in this area of the country, so obviously those 2 lovely animals were completely out of their regular location.
I was told by Jim and Gordie that riding across America is a very personal and pleasurable experience. And so it is! I met semi drivers, couples on the road moving to a new home, a special young man from Baltimore by the name of Antonio Deener, who is a telecommunications contractor. He travels in his truck across America working alone, searching for the best contracts in the telecommunication industry to keep his wife and four children together. Today as I was writing, Pam handed me the phone and said, “Antonio Deener would like to talk to you.” Antonio was concerned about me because he had been following our blog and I hadn’t gotten anything written for a day or two. I was overwhelmed. We talked for a long while and he promised to call again.
I have tried to keep a positive attitude about the raging wind. It can be quite useful and Kansas is taking advantage of its power. They are harnessing the wind with expensive turbines, a network of them. Personally, I am doing my best to understand how I can utilize the currents of wind that slow me down. I haven’t yet figured it out!
There is the pleasure
The observations
The conversations
The method of the ride
The loneliness of the ride
The hope/good conclusion
When I began the ride from Utica Road, I was accompanied by 3 very successful riders, Jim Bassett, Gordie Bailey and Mindy Ahler/Olmstead. Their enthusiasm for my cause was extremely overwhelming and very highly appreciated. They assisted me in making good judgments for my future ride. Their positive moods and attitudes plus the spontaneous humor gave buoyancy to the ride and I thank them implicitly for their friendship and prayers.
For as long as I can remember, I’ve always worn under shorts under my riding gear. I did the same when I prepared for the marathons, but as I have been riding, I realized I had to make adjustments to ease the terrible pain which I experienced. The last day before Gordy left Sibley, IA, I posed the question to him about my discomfort. He immediately responded. In the end I shed my seat cushion and my briefs. Now I only feel the numbness in my bottom and my hands. Less pain, better and longer ride. Hee Haw!
As I leave the Midwest, traveling (pedaling) southwest to California, the tall, green trees seem to be getting shorter and I am unable to recognize what kind of trees I’m seeing. In addition, the amount of road kill from excessive speed tells me that there are fewer and fewer animals the warmer climes of this country. I also see fewer Monarch Butterflies. Yesterday, however, I was totally surprised. I came across 2 huge deer killed off Hwy 56 between Montezuma and Copeland. The landscape was completely covered by large cattle farms. I saw only one large, wooded area, which was enclosed not too far from where I saw the dead deer. The thing that amazes me is that skunks, rabbits and other small animals were not as frequent in this area of the country, so obviously those 2 lovely animals were completely out of their regular location.
I was told by Jim and Gordie that riding across America is a very personal and pleasurable experience. And so it is! I met semi drivers, couples on the road moving to a new home, a special young man from Baltimore by the name of Antonio Deener, who is a telecommunications contractor. He travels in his truck across America working alone, searching for the best contracts in the telecommunication industry to keep his wife and four children together. Today as I was writing, Pam handed me the phone and said, “Antonio Deener would like to talk to you.” Antonio was concerned about me because he had been following our blog and I hadn’t gotten anything written for a day or two. I was overwhelmed. We talked for a long while and he promised to call again.
I have tried to keep a positive attitude about the raging wind. It can be quite useful and Kansas is taking advantage of its power. They are harnessing the wind with expensive turbines, a network of them. Personally, I am doing my best to understand how I can utilize the currents of wind that slow me down. I haven’t yet figured it out!
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