Some Say a Picture is Worth a Thousand Words...

So here are a 15,000 and change.

A group shot outside the Popeye Museum in Chester, IL.  I'll tell you what, I've never seen so much Popeye paraphernalia.

A common sight outside the local libraries of America.  Except, there's usually a trailer behind the black bike.

A bit of NYC in Missouri.  Preparation, pass it on.

Grace, Ash, and me at the Rodeo in Marshfield, MO.  My first Rodeo, I wasn't quite sure how to act.  I think I enjoyed the barrel racing and the bull riding most.  For real, we saw a guy get kicked in the face by a bull and spin upside down.  We're talking like a whole 360 and to the floor kick in the face.  Crazy awesome.  He wasn't the rider, but the guy who protects the rider once the rider falls off.  That is, when the rider falls off, this guy, kick in the face guy, steps in to take the kick so the rider doesn't.  Insane.

6:00 am is too early for some... Nah, she was fine.  The rides were super fast since my trailer was in that open trunk there.  Sadly though, Grace and Ashley are riding back to Tulsa as I type, which means the trailer (the weight) is back on.

The joy of having friends to ride with include conversation as well as someone else to take pictures.  Sometimes they turn out great.  Sometimes... well, enough said.  See the Gatorade in my water bottle cage?  Yeah, that's new thanks to Grace and Ash.

Grace and I finishing up this morning.  Got into Kansas just before noon and it's been both flat and not heavily trafficked.  I've really enjoyed it thus far.  Let's see how long that lasts...

From time to time we would drive to a restaurant off route, or perhaps a camping store for more JetBoil fuel.  With tubs of food, my trailer, and other spontaneous gear in the back seat it meant we went three wide in the front.

Cooky's was the home of the 30 different pies.  Sadly, when we arrived last night it had closed down for the evening.  Thankfully however, it opened the next morning at 6 am and was able to whip up some fresh Dutch Blueberry pie.  One word: Wowthattastedsodamngood.

This is Samson.  While Ash and I rode the morning session together, Grace drove ahead to take some pictures and found this guy.  Basically kidnapping him from where ever he was headed, Grace named him and after some time decided to put him in my front bag.  I actually think he liked it because once I started riding, he kept his head out of the bag much like a dog does.  Then we let him go in a river we decided to swim in.

A shot taken from the banks of the Sac River outside Ash Grove, MO.  Here we swam, freed our friend Samson, the turtle, and basked in the hot sun.  Fear not, no sunburn.

Doing some bicycle repairs outside a local gas station.  I've come to find that gas stations like these serve some of the biggest, yet cheapest, sandwiches I've ever had.  Mmm.

The past couple days with Grace and Ash have been so wonderful.  Here's a picture of us last night preparing to cook pizza on the JetBoil.  A couple of summers ago Grace did a NOLS program down in Baja, Mexico where she learned how to cook fancy foods on camping stoves.  The night before we had some tasty fajitas, and had planned to have peace cobbler after the pizza but ran out of fuel... too much good cookin' I guess.  Oops.

Ash being super camera savvy.

More super savvy pictures from Ash.

The Show Me State

Show me what? Friends.

Two nights ago I ran into a couple from London riding West. Quite an exciting moment as they were the first folks I had overtaken on the trip. Its not a race of course, but from time to time one still likes to catch someone. And besides, I had been trailing them for days. Riding a bit with them, they told me about a cyclists only lodge a bit further down the road. They were going to make the push to get there as they heard a storm was moving in and had their hopes set on some sort of pavilion or at least shelter to protect their tent from the rain.

I'll admit, even having a rain-proof tent, it's still nice to be able to pack a dry tent the next day. Though my trailer and tent keep the water out, if I put a wet rainfly into the trailer, it tends to keep the water in. Greg and Katie convinced me to ride the extra 12 miles - putting me at 90 for the day - and when we arrived at the lodging, we found the two were erred in their hopes and there wasn't any kind of shelter. Thankfully however, the Brits were also wrong on the weather, and the a.m. tent was as dry as the day before.

The extra 12 was no problem either really, it was taken with good company and allowed me to meet up with Kevin from Indianapolis. He too was at the cyclist lodging, which was really the yard of Herman Stein (of which I am still very thankful for), so we spent some of the evening swapping some stories of our younger years in Indy. The next day I was off before anyone else awoke, but sure enough Kevin caught me while I took my mid-afternoon break from the sun. He joined me a bit and we rode on together, without first stopping for a $5.95 buffet. The waitress there took to our liking and upped the value by giving us three free slices of cake and two sundaes to split. Mmmm.

Last night I rode into Marshfield, MO to find three wonderful things. 1 - A Rodeo. 2 - Grace and Ashley Ellison, brother and sister from Tulsa, OK. And 3 - The fajitas that Grace and Ashley brought.

I know Grace and Ashley from the time I worked at a camp in Minnesota driving boats, so when they said they wanted to join me for part of the adventure, I was pleased to have their presence. The plan is that Ash rides with me in the a.m. while Grace drives to the rest town, and then after lunch, a brief nap, and some good laughs, the two will swap places to bring us to our final destination for the day.

So for the next two days, I get to experience what it would be like to have a pit crew of sorts. All my gear is in their trunk (slack-riding), along with coolers of food and drinks, I get conversation, company, and even someone to take pictures of me while I ride. When I finished riding today, I was taking my shoes off when WHAM a Dr. Pepper was in front of my face. I know, soda isn't the ideal beverage for this sort of thing, but come on, you wouldn't have turned it down either.

They're pretty darn cool. My life is full of entertainment. This is definitely my favorite part of the tr... ok Grace is no longer reading over my shoulder. But seriously, I feel very fortunate. Though, I do dread the moment when the trailer is back on the bike, guessing that my body will be used to lighter weight by then. Tonight we ride into Golden City, where I hear there is a pie place with 30 different flavors of pie, each slice a dollar a piece.

Tomorrow I'll be into the flatland that is Kansas. Missouri has been an unexpected mix of terrain. The Ozark Mountains were much larger than I would have guessed, but great none the less. On the 4th, the roads through there were filled with folks traveling down to the river for canoeing and lazy-riverin' fun. The fireworks I did see were those I woke up to at 6am when a kid rode his bike past my tent, the flashes I saw on a neighboring radio tower, and that's about it. The town I stayed in had done theirs the week before (why, I have no idea).

In other news, and probably much more important, my eldest brother, Will, is engaged and to be wed August 5th! I know, pretty cool if you ask me too. Though, this poses a bit of a problem: Race to finish before August 5th or stash the bike a week from the coast and fly back for the week to only fly west again to finish the last week? OR ride through the Nevada desert instead of the Arizona desert and touch the coast in San Fransisco (avoiding Mission St. from the hours of 2-4 a.m. at all costs)? All this to decided and more. Either way, I will get to the Pacific. Regardless, if you see Will, congratulate him!

And serious, that's what Missouri calls itself: The Show Me State.

Gateway to the West

I crossed Illinois in two days. Now, I stand at the gateway to the west - the Mississippi.

I woke up super early this morning after a full nights sleep behind a Lutheran Church in Carbondale, IL. Now, 5:30am probably sounds crazy, but seeing as I just changed time zones a few days ago, my body thinks its still on east coast time - 5:30 is basically 6:30am. This is a good thing, because in reality the heat starts to beat around 10:00/10:30am. So getting off to an early start allowed me to roll into Chester by 11:30. I figure as I continue to go west, and the time zones continue to push back the hour, I'll continue to get up at the east coast 6:30am... or there abouts. I mean, who wants to ride when the suns up in the desert? Not me.

As I said, I've stopped in Chester, IL to take my afternoon rest. I hadn't heard of Chester prior, but after learning it's the home of Popeye, I felt like we go back years. Yes, Popeye as in the spinach eating sailor-man himself - which makes sense after seeing all the barges on the Mississippi.

My first stop was the library. After checking e-mail, facebook, that sort of thing, I asked the library lady where the closest burger place might be. She told me about an all-you-can-eat-buffet that I apparently missed 2 miles back, and then pointed me next door to a Ma and Pa Cafe - my favorite. Walking away, I told her I may be back, seeing that I like to wait out the heat of the day, and she invited me to join the library for a movie at 1pm. A bit curious, I inquired a bit as to what kind of movie date this was turning into. To my chagrin, I learned that each week the library shows a movie for the youth in the area and this week's showing was Bedtime Stories - the latest Adam Sandler flick. I thought to myself, "How could I miss such a film?"

So, after a club sandwich and some fries, I was back to the library. I got back a little earlier than 1 so I took a quick nap outside in the shade. I awoke to van loads of children and mothers walking past, as my place for the nap was beside the entrance. Yay, movie time! I walked in to find a lot more folks had passed me by on the sidewalk than I thought. Everyone and their mother (not exaggerating) was there - most dressed in PJs (just the kids). I felt out of place, yet again, and sat in a comfy chair in the back. The next hour and a half were full of laughter, my own included, and the occasional black screen resulting from when a kid would stand up and walk across in front of the projector to get more popcorn. Yes, they even had popcorn.

All in all, good film. Though, I don't think I'll watch it a second time.

From here, I ride into Missouri (though part of Illinois is on the other side of the Mississippi, strangely enough) and run into the wonderful phenomena of abundant City Parks that allow cyclists to set up a tent within the park. I've run into this before but its been bare - most camping has been in folks yards as even the smallest towns back east had "No Camping" policies within city limits. Apparently Missouri and Kansas are great for this though, so I look forward to the no-hastle camping of which I am about to embark on.

My 4th of July I will be riding from Centerville, MO to Houston, MO. Houston has a population just shy of 2,000 so I'm bound to run into some fireworks. Hopefully they wont be sent in my direction. Which reminds me of a story.

One time I was in San Fransisco for the 4th. I was visiting with my friend Dave, but broke away to see another friend. The plan was that when I was finished hanging out with that friend, I would call Dave and he would come and get me. I called, but no answer. Well, I knew the general direction of where I was going, and since it was 2am, I headed that way. From 2am - 4am I walked Mission St. downtown San Fran. Each block I walked, a different group of kids would shoot bottle rockets at me, as I held the phone, despite having a dead battery, to my ear acting as if someone was on the other side. After not finding the place, I headed back through the gauntlet. A memorable 4th of July. Here's for hoping this one is not held in the same fashion.

Make sure you guys are checking out the music on the side - I'm going to try to put up a string of songs I consider prophetic/theological in some form or fashion. There's been a few already. Watch out, they might get nasty.

Two Great Nights, Here's for Hoping

After taking a week off, I've been back on the road for another four days. Taking the first day a bit slow, the next two I tackled back at full force, hitting 80 a day. Today, I write from Marion, KY, a small city right at the edge of Kentucky and Illinois. The past two nights have been lovely stays - the first being right next to a lake and the second being at the First Baptist Church in Sebree.

The campsite was at a US Army Corps of Engineers campsite, on the Rough River Dam. I got into the campsite after hours and all the signs seemed to tell me to set up camp and pay in the morning. When the office opens. At 10am. Now usually, by 10am, I'm taking my pre-lunch break a good 20 miles away from where I awoke. Hence, a free site was in the making.

The tenants from the night before had left some trash and burnt offerings in the fire pit, so after collecting a bit of brush I was able to put a fire together - making it the first for the trip. In the month I've been on the road, I've learned that my favorite time to ride is just after 6pm. Sometimes even closer to 7:30. Its at that time that I can smell the smoke from people's backyard fires as I ride by. So to actually be graced with the presence of a fire Sunday night was quite a time.

Just after getting the fire started, a white van pulled up to the end of my campsite and waited. It was clear to tell there was some kind of park person inside. Busted. I walked towards the vehicle, fully prepared to dish over the cash, when a woman stepped out the passenger side, introduced herself as the Camp attendant, and told me I had paid.

"I what? Uh, what's the occasion?" I questioned.
"It's your birthday." the driver responded.

Apparently, the Camp Attendant is sympathetic to cyclists and it was my lucky night. She pinned the "Paid" stub to the reflector at the end of the driveway, told me about a good breakfast place down the road, and after hearing me thank her yet again, added "Besides, it's just one shower."

Which of course begged my response, "There're showers here?"

On my ride yesterday I rode through Utica, KY - home of my good friend Clayton. Taking a bit to get a hold of him I rested at the Fast Fuel shop on the corner of 140 and 431. After getting a bit restless at the local gas station, I headed across the street to find the Volunteer Fire Station. I had remembered seeing something about the Firehouse on the back of my map the night before and rechecked for details. I found the place was cycler friendly, explaining why it was completely unlocked and unmanned. Walking into the air conditioned building, I found a log for cyclists to sign, mattresses, a fridge, and a number of dry snacks in the cabinets. Lying down on the mattress, I waited for Clayton to call.

I awoke as the phone vibrated against the cold floor. It wasn't Clayton, but after taking it I found I had had a missed call from Clayton. When we finally met up, I had learned that he had come all the way out to Fast Fuel, asking the tenant there if "a tall guy probably wearing a speedo thingy" had come through. Following his directions, I headed back to his house with him and Zeke, another friend from Centre who just happened to be visiting for the day.

After meeting his family, the three of us caught up on what each had been doing for the past year, as it had been that long since we were all together at Centre. I learned Zeke is getting ready to head north to Chicago's Divinity school while Clayton is going south to Tennessee to make music with another friend, Scott. It was hard leaving, as his mother had invited me for Chicken, but I continued on towards Sebree, KY. I would have stayed - free meal, are you kidding? - but while resting at the Firehouse, I had called ahead to the cyclist hostel and the woman on the other side told me she'd have dinner cooking when I arrived. And since I had made the call a few hours before, I didn't know how much trouble the hostel had gone through to prepare dinner.

I had heard about Sebree as early as Afton, Virginia. When resting at the Cookie Lady's place, an Eastbounder, Nick, shared the good news of Sebree with me, describing it as just like the cycle house, except without the memorabilia. Tell you what, Nick was not far off. Minus the News Team and memorabilia, Sebree had it all - laundry, stocked fridges, mattresses, couches, TV, pool and ping pong tables, shower, etc. Of course, I wasn't quite able to enjoy the ping pong being the only one there for the night.

Bob and Violet have been at the Church there for 30 years, and half that time running this hostel for cyclists as well. They used to make the cyclers homemade ice cream, but have since stopped as it became too expensive to make that much ice cream. The two had me up for dinner - pork roast, Lima beans, noodles, salad, apple sauce, sauteed squash, and sweat tea! - and we discussed the history of the hostel. They said they'll get between 150-200 cyclists a summer and have each up for dinner, which for many is their first meal at a table - I guess I've been extra blessed thus far. I also learned that the night before they had 6 Westbounders, which means there are six people for me to try to catch if I'm looking to ride with someone. After dinner, the two prayed for my journey, and I was off to bed. Talk about a great nights sleep. Mmm.

As I said, I'm in Marion, looking to take the Ferry across into Illinois in a couple hours, where I'll try and rest in Elizabethtown, IL. Bob tells me Elizabethtown is a pretty area, lots of old buildings, so I'm hoping to settle with some extra time to enjoy the area. We'll see.

The Ride Continues

After a great 72 hours of funraising - the journey continues. I'm still under my goal but have been convinced to keep riding. What convinced me? An incredible amount of individual donations along with the two sponsorships mentioned below - BGI and The Hub. That and the prospects of continued donations of course. Obviously, at this point I'd like to thank then the many folks who have clearly expressed their desire to see this ride until completion. Without your generosity, this would not be possible. My debt to society increases.

It's funny, I was speaking with my good friend Shauna when it hit me - this stop in Danville has been just as much a part of the journey as the Appalachians. Yeah, so I sweat more on the mountains and I was probably even more thirsty. But mentally, this has been just as much a challenge as Hayters Gap or that 27 mile incline called the Blue Ridge Parkway. Comfortable living, slim outlook for raising enough cash, cheap flights back to New York, vacation in Northern Michigan if I didn't continue - the challenges add up, each in their own way scratching at the vision of the Pacific, the vision that has brought me thus far. What seemed to be a daily occurrence, the outlook for the journey waxed and waned when confronted by these challenges. But no. Not anymore. Because of consistent encouragement from friends like Rob, Jonathan, Brian, Sarah, Shauna, my brother Will, Dan, Mark, the list goes on. Because of encouragement, whether in word or deed, this Pacific vision stands the victor. (Can you tell I'm excited?)

Tomorrow I hit it again hard, riding on. I'll come into the Hub around 8:30am, grab my last free cup of coffee (maybe not my last) and pedal onward. I'm excited for the next portion of the trip - Kansas nears where I'll be joined by Grace and Ashley for some mileage. But first, Kentucky, Illinois, and Missouri. Whoa son, don't get ahead of yourself.

Hear you me - injuries aside - this ride will come to completion on the coast of California (Pacific skinny dipping. Who's in?)

A New Option - Funraising

Last night I was able to enjoy one of my favorite past times here in Danville. When I was living in the apartment with Rob and Mark, we used to put cushions out on the porch roof and sit out there, beers in hand, watching the cars pass on Third St. and discuss life's questions. Thankfully, Rob remains in the same apartment which allowed for a return to the roof. We sat there for hours, accompanied by a good friend, Jonathan, discussing ways in which this ride could continue. As I said, Rob is good for leveling out all the options and finding what works. Jonathan claims Rob got the skill from him, so the fact that they were both present meant I was in good hands. The following is what we came up with.

I met with Jim Davis, my former boss and owner of The Hub, again the favorite café here in Danville, this morning about creating sponsorship opportunities for businesses around the area. He was onboard for the price of advertising and I am proud to announce that The Hub is the first official sponsor of this ride, contributing to the cause of getting the word out on Sojourners, the work we do, and the need for Asylum reform. I'm also pleased to announce that after some phone calls to Indianapolis, I've also acquired a sponsorship from Bicycle Garage of Indianapolis (BGI). So know we're that much closer to making this trip happen and get the word out on Sojourners thanks to both the Hub and BGI!
But the fun doesn't stop there. In the short time since yesterday's post went public, I've received a number of emails and phone calls inquiring about the journey's end, each sharing their grief (of sorts) and hopes that I would be able to continue (if anything for a continued reading of the blog). In the calls and emails, a reoccurring suggestion has been that of making use of Paypal. Now, I'm not a fan of fundraising; I mean, who likes asking for money? In fact, I refuse to fundraise. But fun raising, that I can do. Thus the new option. You've read about The Purist, The Compromise, etc. - well now meet The Fun Raiser.

Below (and on the side) you will find a donate button in which blog followers are able to contribute to (and here's the Fun part!) the cause of getting the word out on Sojourners, the work we do, and the need for Asylum reform. Help make this possible, join me in funraising!

Bike Trouble and a Dilemma

I rode into Kentucky Sunday afternoon, reaching the 1000 mile mark.  In fact, it was exactly 1002 miles from New York City to the boarder of Virginia and Kentucky via my route (and a few wrong turns).  On the way into Kentucky however, there were a number of hills and bits of the Appalachians that got the best of me and my steed.

Not sure if I posted it, but late last week I broke another spoke.  Earlier in my trip I had broken a spoke in Pennsylvania but was able to ride a bit further before getting it fixed in D.C. so when my second broke late last week, I figured I could make it to the nearest bike shop before anything else would go wrong.  And I did.  Well, sort of.

The day I was riding on US 11, I got into Abingdon, VA and found a bike shop.  I told the fellas working what my problem was and

 they took a look at it.  Apparently their mechanic was at a wedding and the spokes they did have were the wrong size... so they sent me on my way.  Next bike shop on route?  Danville Kentucky, 200 miles before me, or Damascus Virginia, nearly 100 miles in the other directions.  Not wanting to backtrack, I pressed on.

The area between Virginia and Kentucky, still mountainous, was beating me up with it's seemingly pointless up and down.  Somewhere in Breaks Interstate Park I broke my third spoke, which meant at the time I had two broken spokes.  Now a bit of science.

Spokes are what connect the outer circle of the wheel, that which connects with the road, to the inner circle of the wheel, that which connects with my bike frame.  If a spoke is missing, the proper tension is not present c

ausing the two circles to be unbalanced, resulting in a wobbly ride.  If two spokes are missing, you get a super wobbly ride and the outside circle, that which connects with the ground, begins to connect with the frame of your bike as it rubs against the inside of the fork of the frame.

Imagine this scenario.  You're riding up a mountain on a bike at a slow speed (it's steep).  Attached to your seat post is a rope trailing behind you with a person holding the other end, walking up the hill at your pace (it's steep).  Every two pedals you make, the person holding the rope give you a tug backwards.  That's what it felt like with two broken spokes.  Every time the wobbled section of the tire came through my fork, it rubbed on the frame so hard that momentum nearly came to a standstill.  After a few miles of this, you can see how it might get a little old.

I stopped in Elkhorn City, KY, about 5 miles into Kentucky.  The town itself was pretty quiet - Main Street looked like an abandoned parking lot with grass growing through cracks, shops were out of business, and the only hopping spot seemed to be The Rusty Fork Cafe, a restaurant at the intersection of SR 80 and 197.  It was just after noon so I was needing to take my afternoon break anyway, so I walked the bike to a nearby park to make some food and figure out what I was going to do with this spoke problem.

(A softball game I caught in Elkhorn City, KY.  Good folks in Elkhorn - John sent me away with a couple Reese's Cups.)

By 6:00pm, I was beginning to worry.  I had made some phone calls and all signs pointed to no closer shop than Danville, again 200 miles away.  I called my former roommate Rob, to brainstorm.  He's good at that.

Back in 2007, Rob, my other friend Mark, and I walked the Camino de Santiago in Spain.  There was a moment right before we started of which we had to make some serious decisions concerning the walk.  I remember sitting on the ground at a train station in Germany as Rob led us through every option we had, discovering new ones as we thought it all out, in an attempt to solve the dilemma we had found ourselves in.

Similar to that day in the train station, Rob helped me think through the options.  Finally we settled on a solution both were happy with.  Rob would leave 30 minutes later, making the nearly 4 hour ride to Elkhorn City to pick me up and drive me to Danville, KY in order to have the bike serviced.  We got into DanVegas (as the kids call it...) around 2:30am.  What a road trip.  The whole time we conversed about my trip, the time he and Mark walked the Appalachian Trail, and whether or not this sort of break from the journey was 'legal'.

The next morning, I dropped the bike off at Ernst's shop, Danville Bike and Footwear, and made an early appearance at The Hub, the favorite Danville coffee shop and my place of work for just over a year while studying at Centre.  All the usuals were there and I enjoyed catching up with everyone.  Besides catching up with friends, I spent the day discussing with Rob what would happen from this point forward.

Allow me outline my options and then provide a brief pro and con afterwards.

The Purest - Rob drives another 400 miles to drop me off where I left off, 200 miles from Danville.

The Compromise - I ride 100 miles east of Danville and then back into Danville, amounting to the 200 miles I missed.

The Justified Excuse - Ride on from Danville.

Game Over - I'll explain below.

The Purist option requires a lot from Rob.  That's a con; but believe it or not, he's actually a purist when it comes to these long distance journeys (having hiked the AT) and favors this, despite having a full week of work ahead of him.  I could do this.

The Compromise option makes the same distance, but still leaves a portion of the trip untraversed.  It seems most likely as it's least troublesome for all.

The Justified Excuse option doesn't seem likely.  It derives its name from the 350+ miles I put in before actually heading westward - the portion from New York to Virginia - of which wasn't riding across the country so much as getting me to the place to ride across the country.  I suppose it even comes from the idea that when I get to the Pacific at San Diego, I plan on riding along the coast for another 250+ miles to Santa Barbara.  I'm not really feeling this option.

And now, the Game Over option. I haven't mentioned this before, mostly because I'm not really a fan, but it needs mentioning. If anything, for those faithfully following my journey.

Part of the adventure of this trip has been the fact that it's been on a low budget.  Correction: Very low budget.  I've learned however, that this sort of thing needs to be a fully funded endeavor.  High milage means huge appetite.  The longer I ride, the hungrier I get - one burns a bit more calories riding this sort of thing than simply walking in New York.  Also, high milage means high wear and tear on the bike.  I've already had to dish out a couple hundred dollars on repairs and maintenance - and at 1000 miles with about 3000 to go, the need for maintenance will not go away anytime soon.  Hence I find myself in a tough place as I have a quickly diminishing source of funds (Ok, so seeing the same movie twice didn't help either, but it was still cheaper than one movie in New York).

Consider it this way: I'm not at E just yet, but I'm getting close.  And as I get close, it's the old decision of whether or not you want to run out on the interstate or on an exit.  You have enough gas t get you further down the road, but if you do go further, you risk running out between exits rather than on an exit, which usually has gas stations.

Does my analogy make sense?  The exit is Danville, a short drive from my hometown in Indiana.  I'd have enough 'gas' to get a start there or back in New York.  The interstate is somewhere in the middle of Western Kentucky or Illinois, still a short drive from the hometown, but then literally I'll be at empty and the options for what I do after that point are severely limited.

Did I see it coming?  Well, I was aware of the amount I began with and have been following it since starting the ride.  So... yeah.  Did I care?  Not really.  Did I expect bicycle maintenance to be as expensive?  No.

This is the dilemma I find myself in. Overall, not favorable.  But at the same time, I cannot complain an ounce about the three weeks I have had.  1000 miles.  Several beds, showers, breakfasts, lunches, dinners.  Popsicles, cakes, pies, and ice cream.  Countless handshakes, smiles, and warm welcomings.  I have experienced what others call the American Spirit - something referred to as no longer with us, but very much alive.

Keep in mind: Game over is not the same as quitting.  One chooses to quit ( Q).  One is forced to stop when it's game over (frozen screen...? Not familiar with this analogy since I have a Mac).

Some Brief Interactions

The following are a few funny interactions I had with different groups of people (and a few related and unrelated pictures).  Again, on the theme of not long enough events to create a full blog for each, but each meriting a mention.

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A few mornings ago I was riding on US 11, actually taking a shortcut of sorts, when a police car, lights fully lit, pulled around me.  Slowing down in front of me I began thinking to the story I read in another cyclist's journal (the one questioned for a double homicide).  Obviously, I began to worry a bit, "Oh no, what'd I do?" but finally noticing that the car was not slowing down, I realized it was not lit on my occasion.  I looked behind me to find a whole host of cyclists nearing my trailer.  One by one they flew past, nearly 50 of them, racing their hearts out (which of course caused me to want to ride faster).  I think what made this hilarious, for me at least, was that I was listening to Rome's rendition of T.I.'s Whatever You Like.  Now most paid no attention at all but I think there were others who recognized the tune and of course the looks which followed ranged from flabbergasted to sheer pleasure.  If only I had the camera for that one.

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At a gas station on US 11 I ran into a biker gang.  4 strong, each covered in leather, tattoos, beards, and an assortment of bandanas.  Stepping off my steed, they looked at me a bit confused; I mean, in my tights and all I do look a bit goofy.  I feared what would follow.  But to my chagrin the four were quite interested in the ride I was making and question followed question.  

"How far you going?" one asked.

"I'm at 888 miles right now, looking to get over 900 by the end of the day," I nervously replied.

"888?  Shoot, he's almost got us Gus!" one shot back at the inquisitor.

"And when you expecting to make it to the Pacific?" another added.

Turning to him, "Sometime in August, maybe.  I've got more school in September, so I guess I have until then if I need it."

Laughing, one chimed in, "Come August, while you're just getting to the coast, we'll be in a bar somewhere with a few beers."

"Pour one out for me," I responded.

The Q&A section continued session continued for some time, proving to be a bit bothersome for me.  That is... well, you see, my reason for stopping was bathroom related.

Taking my afternoon rest at a local volunteer firehouse.

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Further down US 11 I came to Chilhowie, VA where I rode past a school with several young folks at the road's edge holding car wash signs.  Riding by, the kids clearly knew I wasn't a car but still adamantly waved their signs in my directions to get a laugh.  I shrugged my shoulders and smiled, pressing onward.  As I got further down the road, I realized I had already put in a couple of hours, hitting the morning session pretty hard, and thought to myself why not? (a theme of my trip).

I circled round back to the entrance of the school parking lot and rode up to a bunch of hoses, buckets, students, and parents.  "How much for a rinse?"

"Well, we're taking donations... It's for the school band - we're raising money for band trip this summer."

A bit confused as to why I pulled in, I explained I was pretty hot from the sun and could use a rinse.  It took a bit of encouragement and a small donation, but not before long the students were spraying me down and having a bunch of fun with it, maybe a little too much fun even - hose in the face is not always pleasant to have happen to you, but always funny to see.

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My attempt at an Into the Wild shot and the night's sky in Wytheville, VA.

A barn.  The sky was muggy so I had to make it black and white to look 'good'.

More Blue Ridge

As one can see, the Cookie Lady is super excited to house and talk with cyclists that come through.  She not only welcomes folks warmly, but sends them on their way prepared - be it hunger pains or housing pains.  One of the more delightful treasures June sent me away with, in addition to a full stomach, was the business card of the Lee family who were located in Radford, VA.  Handing me the card, she went on and on to tell me story after story of how wonderful the Lees are to cyclists.

My favorite story shared was that of a young family who came through with their daughter whose birthday was three days later.  "And you know, Radford is about a three day ride from here," making sure I understood.  Well, somehow the Lee's had caught wind of the birthday, probably from June herself, and to the child's amazement when they finally arrived in Radford, the whole place was decked out in Birthday gear - ribbons, Happy Birthday signs, cake and all!  "Good people, the Lees," she insisted.

Needless to say, a couple days later I pedaled just outside Radford and made the phone call to the Lee residence to check for vacancy.  As soon as "Trans Am" came out of my mouth (the name of the route), Sarah, Mrs. Lee, was giving me directions and insight on where to stop for dinner before arriving.  She directed me to a pizza place in Christiansburg which had an all-you-can-eat pizza buffet (the sort of thing that has been a huge ally in this endeavor), and after filling up for under $6, I was off to Radford.

Upon my arrival, I met the whole family - Thad, Sarah, their son Sam, and Katie the dog - and was given the grand tour of what would be my stomping ground for the next 10 hours.  "Once you're here, you're family - no one waits on you, you help yourself."  My kind of place.

After settling in a bit, I joined Thad, Sarah and David, the family's Presbyterian pastor, who were enjoying a porch sit, soaking up what was left of the balmy night.  I listened intently as the three exchanged stories, adding a piece or two as the conversation allowed.  Evidently Thad had made the ride back in 1998, starting in the West riding East, and David's brother in law was among the first to ride in 1976 when the route was first put together.  Soon enough, only Thad and I were left on the porch as he began to tell me about Radford and the significance of the New River, which runs right through/next to the city.

It's said that the New River is one of the oldest rivers in the world - second only to the Nile.  Geologists posit that billions of years ago the Appalachians were the present day Himalayas, and that over time have eroded to their present height, size, or girth (however one measures a mountain).  Now the New River itself runs north, into West Virginia, eventually connecting with the Ohio, and for those who don't know rivers, eventually pours into the Mississippi which heads out into the Gulf de Mexico.  So in order for a river to run north like it does, through the Appalachians, it's said the river must have been around BEFORE the mountains themselves - hence, 2nd oldest river in the world.  I know, crazy.  But, it's science.

The next morning I asked Thad and Sarah, who were comfortably lounging in their PJs, for directions to the nearest "breakfast joint."  Without missing a beat, the two pointed to the fridge with heads still buried in their newspapers.  Again, my kind of place.  After some eggs, bacon, and a pair of bagels, I was back on the road, not to forget the generosity of the Lee family.

The first glimpse of the Appalachians in Northern Virginia along with a cute cat that napped with me... no fleas, thankfully.

Cookie Lady and the Blue Ridge

Previously on Whereabouts in America:
I got into Afton and followed the signs to the Cookie Lady, not knowing what to expect. Making the final turn to her house, I saw before me something quite peculiar...

What I found was a local CBS van. (Flash required! Make sure you have it for the video.)



Or if that doesn't work - try this

And the article too.

That should give you a feel for both the Cookie Lady and my stay there. Remember, I had planned to continue on. But when I learned the kitchen was stocked with free food, I quickly altered my plans.

After Jennifer and the local CBS van left, things settled down at the Cookie Lady's house. June went up to her house and left me in charge of setting up any other cyclists that came through.

Alone, I walked the house laden with postcards, bicycle parts, letters, pictures, theses, and everything else one could connect to bicycles in one form or fashion. I flipped the pages of one transcribed journal, reading the stories the writer had penned. One that I remember told of the interaction between a cyclist and a cop at the border of a town.

"Where were you two days ago?" the cop asked the cyclist.
Thinking he was to be lectured about illegal camping, he left his response loose. "Back a few towns..."
"No. Exactly where were you?" the cop inquired harder.
The writer went on to tell that two nights back there had been a double homicide and he was one of the officers suspects - "I didn't fit in." Apparently, after explaining what he was doing, the cop let him go on, realizing he hadn't been apart of the incident.

And I thought my stories were funny.

The significance of the house and its memorabilia set in the longer I was there. About 33 years of stuff. Each with a story, a passion, a history. Quite humbling.

I cooked dinner, grabbed a copy of Jack Kerouac's On the Road I found in a stack of books, and took it all outside to enjoy the early evening. As I began to open the book, and Eastbounder, Nick, showed up. Nick started his journey from San Diego and was headed to Boston - pretty much the exact trip I'm making, in reverse and going beyond New York. He was in his 7th week, having started around April 25th. A good guy, we swapped stories, insights, and places to stop and find a meal. Apparently in Kentucky, there's another place like the Cookie Lady's. I told him about Sue and Chuck at the Methodist Church in Maryland. I never got to Kerouac, but didn't mind; I'd prefer good conversation about any day.

(Cookie Lady water spot)

The next morning, after pancakes and bacon, I began my ascent up the Appalachian mountains, Blue Ridge style. Rain and clouds shrouded the entire climb. I was pretty bummed, I trust there were some fantastic views, but didn't mind it when I reached the peak and the clouds finally opened and I felt the warmth of sunlight. It took 3.5 hours to get to the top, reaching an altitude of 3,200 ft, and a mere 20 minutes to get down. That is, 20 minutes of squeezing my breaks so hard that my hands began to hurt all the while still traveling between 20-30 mph. The road winded down this way and that; had I not held the breaks I would have drifted into the other lane on a turn or worse, gone over an edge even steeper than the road itself. I'm sure any car that was making the climb in the other lane could see the sense of accomplishment I was feeling at the moment - not only did my hands hurt, but my cheeks hurt from smiling ear to ear.

(This is the elevation profile of Afton - home of the Cookie Lady - and the 27 miles of incline that followed the 3.5 hour ride up with 20 minute decline. Notice the decline to Vesuvius, still not 2 miles...)

I relaxed a bit in Lexington, VA and continued on to Buchanon, VA for the nights stay, racking up 79 miles for the day. In Buchanon, I waited outside a volunteer firefighter station to find someone who could point me in the direction of a campground. Their was some kind of meeting taking place inside and when it finally let out, a whole host of people were offering to help.

One man jumped in, "I'll tell you where you can camp. You see that insurance building," he said pointing directly across the street. "My wife owns the building, you can camp behind it. If anyone gives you trouble, tell 'em the Vice Mayor, Chandler, said you can."

As I began setting up camp, another man walked towards me. "Oh no, I'm going to have to drop names," I thought.

As he approached he began, "You see those clouds over there? The way their hanging on the mountains make it look like its going to rain. There's a bandstand behind that building," he motioned. "You can camp under it if you want. If anyone gives you trouble, tell em Marty Richtman told you can. They shouldn't bother you much." Now I don't know who Marty Richtman is, but he sure thinks he's hot stuff - as if he were the Mayor himself.

The days since then have been lots of ups and downs. More time going up, but I think the elevation is leveling out soon. I am in Abingdon, VA currently, after a 54 mile morning, and have my last large climb this evening. Kentucky is just around the corner I reckon.