Day 1 Day2 Day 3 Day 4 Day 5 Day 6 Day 7 Day 8 Day 9 Day 10
What a day! After
all my careful packing, the bike had to be 'foot-and-mouthed' at Gatwick. This
involved rolling the wheels across a carpet
steeped in disinfectant; tricky with mudguards taped to them.
On the flight, they confused the halves of my flight and put me in first. The champagne and canapés were nice while it
lasted! In
Philadelphia, nobody knew what to do with a bike, so I went up and
down, up and down until a cleaner showed me the way.
When I got to Newport News, there was no bike, no nothing, just me. Apparently the rest was in Philly but eventually
turned up after midnight. Of course I was well out of it.
The bike had escaped damage, but it took 2 1/2 hours to reassemble and reload.
I got away around 10.30, but should have been double-checked as one pannier fell off
within the first 10 miles!
I quickly learnt a lesson : America signpost routes, not towns. Without a map, Yorktown was
a proverbial needle in a haystack.
Naturally I couldn't ask anybody as they
were all in cars. Fortunately it was only five miles
away and surrounded by water, so finding it wasn't too difficult.
The heart of Williamsburg is an 18th century town - the locals dress in period costume;
tourists lap it up. Further on the Chickahominy River had a bridge with an open
wire mesh surface; like the one in St Katherine's dock but a lot lot longer. It's bad enough
being able to see the water but it also grabbed tyres in a most unsettling way. After 50 miles, I'd
had enough and camped behind a 'superette'. There had been a distinct
lack of shops and motels and I couldn't pass up a free offer.
This was one of those days, culminating with the 'trots' caused by
the hot (90+), humid
conditions, and a breakfast of a micro-waved egg and bacon croissant and (cold) carrot cake.
I'm blaming the croissant! Luckily I found the only restroom on route and so avoided
a visit into the bushes (rather difficult as there's little public land).
I lost my Leatherman knife (temporarily) and my sunglasses (permanently). Virginia's very neat and tidy and everyone's got a sit-down
mower. Gardens mean acres of grass with token displays of flowers.
As I was to discover later, all US motels allow bikes in bedrooms;
but this one was on the second floor.
Just as I was leaving, an Amtrak train pulled in - you can't appreciate
American rolling stock
until it's up close. It's BIG!
I met my first cyclists - Dutch. They intend
to camp all the way to Oregon. The rumours of cyclist-chasing dogs are true, and
it's only day 4. At least the natives are friendly, but they look upon riding
across Virginia, let alone America with incredulity. I ended up in a dump in Louisa five miles
off route. At $36 per
night, it's the cheapest yet but no bargain. It's run by (East) Indians; corner shops
being long gone in US culture.
The Blue Ridge Parkway was disappointing; the views obscured by haze and
trees which covered most hilltops. However it
did have beautifully manicured verges. In the trees I spotted several hikers on the
Appalachian Trail (AT) but little wildlife. Compared to Britain, the road kill's poor but does feature skunk, snake and
turtle which we don't see too much of. I earned an apple and
biscuits for having my picture with an elderly couple. There's a great
downhill from the Parkway into a Vesuvius cafe where I added my name to the wall of TransAmerica riders.
Towards the end of the day I asked for directions and was sent
down an unmade road complete with dogs - handy with a fully laden
bicycle! I camped in the KOA at
Natural Bridge. Beside a freeway, this was no bargain; I paid $20 whereas RVs paid $23!
Today I met another America in a place called Buchanan. A LOL (little old lady) told me how you
get around without a car - you don't, unless it's within walking distance.
Another Appalachian day - all up and down, right and left.
I camped behind a store in Catawba along with 6 ATers. Three had never walked before and were gobbling down pills like
there was no tomorrow. Two more were repeats already confident about finishing
with 1500 miles to go!
The last, a policeman, had hitched from New Jersey for the weekend! Naturally we took
advantage of the 'all-you-can-eat' offer at a local restaurant and
topped that off with two blocks of
ice cream from the store.
This was my first Sunday in America so I discovered it's closed, much more than back home (I must remember to stock up on Saturdays). Christiansburg had a ridiculously steep (1 in 4?) hill - a route for cyclists? I tried my first American ATM; very smart - a walk-in with automatic door. Unlike free Britain, it costs - $2.
An initially boring ride alongside a motorway improved after 10 miles when I turned
back into the mountains. At Troutdale I
met more ATers, who were going nowhere fast, and lots more at "The Place" in
Damascus. Most hikers take their first rest here since starting in Georgia.
This is a church run hostel; free with few
rules, mainly no drugs or alcohol. I met up with a Geordie who was
on the Trail. He hadn't worked full-time since the Seventies but had been everywhere. We
had a long chat about Tanners', the North/South Downs Ways, etc. I also met
a group of 3 kids (girls of 16 and 14, and a boy of 12). Their parents had sent
them on
the Trail whilst mother was having her 8th(or was it 9th) baby. Quite an achievement to
walk 400+ miles at their ages but most reckon they'll be caught by the
authorities. Late on, I gave others the 'verbals';
surprisingly they shut up immediately.
This was the
best day so far; hilly but not too hilly.
There was a corking 3-mile climb from Hayter's Gap during which I was passed by
just two cars.
Later on I went off-route for several miles by following the road
signs, rather than the map. From 2 onwards, there was continuous rain, not
improved by riding through dilapidated coal-mining towns. At five to six, I
pulled into Breaks Interstate Park. This was the border. On reflection they must have money to burn in Virginia as I can recall
only one pothole in the entire state!
Day 11 Day 12 Day 13 Day 14 Day 15 Day 16 Day 17
Haysi (yesterday) and Elkhorn City had good times decades ago -
now all that's left are gun shops and pawnbrokers. I saw one couple sowing a field by hand, and others
who had a faintly "oriental" look. They
must be handy with a
gun judging by the road signs so I'll say no more.
Despite more dogs especially around Lookout, it was a pleasant run to Pippa Passes. Here an elderly couple
run a small independent hostel. He has a propensity but no skill for DIY!
It's funny how wrong first impressions can be. Tonight I was joined by a "couple". They have the same clothes,
same bikes, same BOB trailers. In conversation it's becomes clear they're
not and headed for Astoria on the west coast (the original end of the trail). Typically they've no
previous experience but I rather envy their titanium touring frames. We
shared take-away pizza as the town closed down at
1930 hours.
The roads were the worst yet. At first the route ran
along the hard shoulder of the US80 highway; wide but saw-toothed.
I slalomed around the lumps tossed from the many passing coal trucks. The narrow US15 highway had
no
shoulder and a constant flow of traffic, but mercifully it lasted only 5
miles. The rest of day saw more undulations; the clearest views being of
abandoned opencast coal workings.
I stopped at Booneville and used
the Internet at the local library; rather impressive for a community of 191. I
camped behind a church; the last visitors were here 5 days ago so there was no company.
The town had a Bluegrass festival; fortunately it was on the other side of town.
This saw the end of the Appalachians; it was now fields and wee hills. I couldn't get going today but the steepest gradients yet encountered might offer an explanation. The weather looked unsettled and a few raindrops around 1300 hours convinced me to stop. Naturally it cleared up later. Berea has a population of around 10,000 including a college but no bike shop!
Today I started the third
Adventure Cycling map and
again made heavy weather of it. It was bottom gear or free-wheel with more agriculture, more cows (what, no horses?). Bluegrass is a misnomer as
it's green with tiny blue flowers.
I
camped at Lincoln Homestead State Park. There was a wash house and
again no company. It had a golf course and a 'rock cafe'; fortunately this closed around midnight. Nobody seemed
interested in the historic buildings; anyway
they are repro (unlike Williamsburg?)!
Again I went off route just before Bardstown, which being Sunday was closed.
Otherwise it was a familiar Kentucky ride with ups and downs; the hill out of Howardstown
sticks in the mind. One dog chased me for several miles but never caught me.
There were too many people at Lincoln's birthplace to consider either
visiting or camping. I stayed in the cheapest ($32) motel yet; an unexpected bonus
were
highlights of the Cup Final and Chelsea v Liverpool. They kept
mentioning "EPL", which eventually I realised meant the English Premier League.
For a change, this was flat with a nagging S/SW wind; plenty
of cows, corn and tobacco. I saw my first Amish, kids in a horse and
buggy, and others hoeing in the fields; finally someone travelling at my pace.
I stayed in another
motel - I must be getting lazy. The only decent thing about US TV are the
weather forecasts. They're more detailed and more localised - you
get told 'it will rain in the next 10 minutes' and it does. In contrast, a
typical news program covers three stories repeated ad nauseam. BBC 24 is sometimes available and gives
a much wider picture. No wonder Americans are so parochial.
Rural Kentucky is much of a muchness; small towns (never villages) with
few shops and lots of agriculture.
Sebree city park provided a tap, a chemical loo, and entertainment in the form of a Little League
baseball game. One side got hammered, and there were few tears. Seven freight trains rolled through only 100 yards away; I was particularly impressed by the
0130 and 0400 services. It makes a change from sheep; I counted over 150
wagons in one instance.
Today's breakfast came free in exchange for conversation -
that wouldn't happen back home. Amish were here but I didn't see any, only road signs and
horse droppings.
Crossing the Ohio (as the only ferry passenger) meant Illinois, my third
state.
In the park were a Chicago couple; she being at least 20 years older than
him. They plied me with crisps and drinks whilst we jawed about Rock and Blues. Washrooms were automatic including the
loos, and free as no one came round to collect fees.
This was more like home, wooded with steep hills, but Illinois has awful roads. Along with Virginia,
it's the only state which signposts the Trail. However they were so far
apart that it was hard to shake a "I'm lost" feeling.
I camped in Ferne Clyffe State Park where I broke my duck on out-of-town
bikers. I'm not sure they count, only two miles from town. $12 for a tap and an earth loo seemed a
bit steep..
Day 20 Day 21 Day 22 Day 23 Day 24
Keen to show my appreciation, I took the cycle path from the Park
into town but who else would use it? But full marks for effort.
Illinois is lumpy; fortunately 5 or 6
thunderstorms made perfect excuses for rest stops. My original destination
was Chester but it was full of (motor) bikers. I plodded on past Popeye (this is
the US spinach capital), and over the Mississippi. Amazingly no one tried to pass
or tooted on the mile long bridge. The river looked pretty muddy but the flood
plains are more impressive - five miles wide or more.
The motel was
the cheapest yet ($29.95, a special offer). The last thunderstorm of the day was the most
spectacular; it left several inches of rain in the car park. Up against several
clearly well practised truckers, I came nowhere in the 'all-you-can-eat' stakes.
The weather was dull and overcast all day. I met my first West-to-East rider, Grant, 62, from Long Beach, San Diego; I was
also his
first. The road out of Farmington was very dangerous (in fact the worst of the
trip) - sinuous and narrow with heavy traffic.
Johnson's Shut-Ins was packed with campers so I pressed on to Centerville. Camping was on the courthouse lawn with use of the police
station restrooms (rudimentary). With a cafe across the street,
it was rather cosy. I turned down an invite to night's major attraction, an auction; instead I tuned in to the World
Service to learn that Chelsea were back in Europe (UEFA). Presumably
Ranieri will keep his job.
Today's ride through the Ozarks is allegedly the hardest. But
all the 'steep hill' signs were
at the top of the western slopes. After Alley Springs, there was a huge
thunderstorm; trees provided no shelter so it was 'grin and bear it' in the
open. Fortunately the
road had flattened out so sodden clothes weren't too uncomfortable and dried by
journey's end.
This isn't a prosperous part of America - 10-acre
farms for under $10,000! Several locals make a living by collecting wood for turning
into charcoal. I stayed with the Fosses, who make dulcimers and other musical instruments.
A very spectacular thunderstorm came during the night. I was
camped under a marquee erected for a previous night's party and didn't
feel a drop!
What a bizarre day! It started when my helmet went AWOL.
It could be only in one of two places. When it wasn't at the store, it had to be
City Hall.
Another thunderstorm lasted until Hartville where
the B&B didn't exist - it was a private house. Nevertheless I was offered
a floor for the night in the dirtiest house I've ever visited. He was a
detoxing heroin addict, the result of a motorcycle accident; she had three kids, three dogs, two
cats, a rabbit, three rats and chickens. Most had run of the house.
Of the dogs, I met only "good" dog, an English terrier, who eat my spare food! Still they
fed me
at the local diner. Like further East, It's not a good idea to study the folks too closely
- they have rifles in their pickups.
The Ozarks were left behind. It should have been easier, but a
nagging westerly wind sprang up at 15-20 mph. I never felt comfortable until turning south
towards Ash Grove. The scenery's a mixture of small farms and forest - quite
like much of Europe.
For the second day running, the advertised B&B didn't exist. There was another run by a
"Bucket" figure; the decoration was very Laura Ashley. However for $55 a night, I did expect to flush paper down the
loo.
In these parts, diners keep their Stetsons on - is this the
start of the legendary West?
Day 25 Day 26 Day 27 Day 28 Day 29 Day 30 Day 31 Day 32 Day 33 Day 34
After 20 miles, it went very flat very quickly - the prairies
had arrived.
For the next 700 miles, it's uphill - a net gain of 4000 feet. Everything's
bigger, the sky, the views, the
fields of wheat or corn. Roads
are straight, a mile apart in
both directions with enterprising names like SE 101th Lane, etc.
I met
Jennifer and Kala who had started from Pueblo and headed for the East Coast. They were walking up a pimple of
a hill. I tried lines like "this wind is tough" and "it's quite hilly through the
Ozarks". If they make it, they'll push up an awful lot of hills.
There was a great cafe in Golden City called Cooky's ;
it was packed before noon. The afternoon was a further 33 miles due West to Pittsburgh
into a wind fresher than yesterday.
This was monotonous; fields of wheat or corn, a few cows and semi-derelict nodding donkeys. Buildings were set far back from the road so dogs weren't a problem. The wind continued to blow; by a freak of routing I went W to E at over 20 mph, and a mile later, E to W at under 10 mph. It's no wonder why many start on the West Coast. The highlight was 36-mile road running due West. It had one town; its population of 300 (overstated). In another life, I might find Kansas appealing, but I doubt it. I stopped at Chanute as the next accommodation was a further 40 miles.
Amazingly
there were hills. I had my first puncture outside of Benedict. I thought it was
gum but closer inspection of the rear tyre revealed that it was worn through to the canvas! This was a setback
as places like Walmart sell only MTB (26") tyres, and bike shops are few and far between (one handful
all trip). I could ride the 400/500 miles to Pueblo without a proper spare but likely I'll detour.
Anyway I'm due a rest day, although I've never found them of use.
Today yielded one immediate town, Toronto, where the lunch (no choice) reminded me of school - meat and two veg doused in gravy. It was only $1.75 so no complaints.
I stopped in
Eureka and contacted the nearest cycle shop - it's in Hutchinson, 110 miles away! From a public callbox, it would
have cost $3 for a 1-minute call; luckily I didn't
have that much change so I used a credit card in the motel. The news: The shop
closes at five on Saturday; Monday is Memorial Day and it's closed all day.
Although the land was flat as a pancake, the wind was a killer. The town count doubled and I had time for breakfast in the first (Rosalia) which had a cyclists' log. The other, Cassoday, is the "Prairie Chicken (what they?) Capital Of The World". I made a token effort to reach Hutchinson but gave up around mid afternoon 45 miles short of the target.
Naturally the wind dropped for this short ride. It was big ring all the way and arrived at the (free) Hutchinson hostel around 1130 hours. Already there was Willem, Dutch and 19, and a traditional upright bike. Starting from Washington DC, he's camped all the way relying of good old US hospitality; I wish I had his front. The forecast carried a tornado warning (promising 70/80 mph winds with severe hail). With intermittent sirens, we were optimistic for the real thing but all we got was the usual heavy showers - most disappointing.
On Memorial Day nothing moves in America but we found a laundry and a small supermarket. I gave the hostel a much needed clean. Willem had been surviving on noodles and pasta; the sell-by date on his pasta (bought in Rosalia) was 1999! I treated him to a meal but I'm not sure that he appreciated my cooking.
I bought new tyres, but didn't get away until
1130 due to more thunderstorms. The rain had stopped by the time I
rejoined the Trail. Initially the wind was from the South but it must have moved
round to the East as I went faster and faster. Despite further (6 in all) outbursts,
I averaged 14.2 mph and got to Larned before four. It was the usual Kansas apart
from a large nature reserve on land too poor for farming.
I was safely ensconced when the final and most powerful "tornado" trundled through. Again it was
disappointing but rain
fell solidly for over three hours.
The wind blew from a NNW direction at 15-25 mph, making it a hard ride so I
skipped the Barbed Wire museum. Making things even less interesting, Rush
Center at halfway was the start of
SR96, which ran due West for the next 295 miles! A local curiosity were huge
limestone fence posts (there are no trees; I should have photographed one before
they disappeared within 25 miles). The further west in Kansas one travels the bigger
the wheat fields,
the fewer the cows, oil wells and everything else. It's so monotonous.
Following a takeover, the motel is in two parts, half a mile apart. Guess
who got allocated to the half without the restaurant. Perhaps they just don't like
cyclists!
Riding through Kansas means: look for the next grain silo, at least 10 miles away; once
reached, repeat process until end of day. It is so monotonous especially with an
unhelpful wind. An initial headwind drifted to the North as
temperatures rose into the high 70s; a familiar but less
tiring day.
I got to Leoti before 4 so there was time for e-mails; as usual free at the library. This has been a welcome bonus as
my mobile phone is useless away from towns and cities.
The
motel was decrepit and with no restaurant in town, I had to make do with a snack bar burger.
The wind swung from South to North through West. With temperatures nearing the
'90s, the land became more and more parched. Streams
were empty of water and lakes more like muddy pools. I met 3
coast-to-coasters. One was riding only the flat
bits!
I said goodbye to Bob who unseen had been staying in the same motels for the last
four nights. We worked out that we had
met even earlier (in Eminence on day 22, but were travelling in opposite directions
looking
for lunch). He's off to an cycle
event in Colorado.
Day 35 Day 36 Day 37 Day 38 Day 39 Day 40 Day 41 Day 42
For some reason Mountain Time starts 25 miles before the Colorado border.
The roads were very quiet but hot (85+). Although the Trail turned southwest, the wind
shifted south and still was no help.
Another up and down day gained only 200 feet. It's too dry for arable farming so the wheat has disappeared
(hoorah!) replaced by a few potential Macdonald's customers (cows). Haswell is a ghost
town (almost), but has a campground
for cyclists. Wonder of wonder, the Sugar City
elevator was silhouetted against the Rockies more than 50 miles away - now I am
getting somewhere..
The hotel (sic!) was run-down, but only $5; air-conditioning extra (I should
have paid). They cleared up one puzzle - for the last week I'd
been following a
railway line without seeing any trains. The last ran over two years ago; it's a parking lot for surplus wagons.
Just when I didn't need it, a tailwind sprang up and propelled me to Pueblo before noon. I met a couple on their second coast-to-coast trip. Judging by the
gear and tales of 150+ mile
days on the Northern Trail, they're a shade faster than me.
Whilst looking for someplace to stay, I met up with
Robert. a French Canadian with a French wife. A most
indecisive man! He said he would put me up; then he would not. He'd said he'd feed me, then he
didn't. He said he'd find me a motel, then he turned back. The house
was chaos with gear all over the place, and the dog bit me! I found a motel after miles of trailer parks full of
'south of the border' folks.
This was perfection - the Rockies (or more accurately the Wet Mountains). It was a struggle to 9,300 ft needing several stops. I met Dick, originally from Holland (where else) but now a New Zealander. I was the first biker he'd met on the Trail.The Transamerica Trail splits in Pueblo and I'm headed along the brand new Western Express section so I didn't expect to meet another coast-to-coaster. The best view of the Sangro De Cristo Mountains was from 'main street' in Westcliffe. Unfortunately I didn't have the camera. In the morning, they were shrouded in thick mist.
Another great day with the last yapping dogs of the trip. Until lunch the route ran alongside the Arkansas
River which holds more water than further East!.
Prompted by the heavy traffic, I stopped for a long chat with Ben. He was an African American carrying
too much weight on both the bike and himself (I can talk!). He'd met Dick the day before. I doubt if
he'll make it the whole way, but full marks for trying.
In Salida I fell upon a second-hand
bookshop where I spent a happy lunch, and a camping store where I bought the recommended water purifier. Headwind and lack of ambition caused a stop below the summit of Monarch
Pass, the high point of the trip. Here I met John, a long term resident and carpenter,
camping with his son, Joe. After feeding me on burgers and beer, he
introduced me to a Hammersmith couple who fed me chocolate cake. One of the
unexpected joys of America are humming birds. They're everywhere, even
here at nearly 10,000 ft above sea level.
It took three hours to ride
the 10 miles to
the top of Monarch Pass at 11,300 feet. Up to 10,000 ft was no
problem but then I stopped every quarter mile feeling utterly exhausted. At the top were hordes of
tourists but undeterred I took a lengthy rest. The descent was a typically
American effort - long, smooth and winding with no severe gradients or turns. An early stop around 3 left time for e-mails, and a
tour
of the shops.
The first 25 miles ran beside the Blue Mesa Reservoir where I met a
fellow being. You'd find better bikes on a scrap heap. Still he seemed quite content
with life.
After that It was uphill with distant tantalising views of the Black Canyon.
The descent to Cimarron and lunch was very pleasant as road works caused delays of around 10 minutes (to other
road users). Surprisingly they were controlled by women (men doing the heavy stuff). The
climb to Cerro Summit was hard with temperatures in the '90s.
How Montrose has a
population of 9000 remains a mystery. Maybe there's still gold in these barren hills.
The first 27 miles to Ridgeway were unpleasant - heavy traffic on a
narrow winding road with little or no shoulder. The next 25 miles had great views
especially near the Dallas Divide summit. Along the way I
was passed (and re-passed) by 3 cyclists out on a day trip. From Placerville towards Telluride was wet and
unpleasant due to weekend traffic.
I gave someone the finger (probably they didn't notice but I felt better).
The first campsite was closed (long-time) so on and upwards to the Matterhorn CG (9700 ft). Here I met up two cyclists
riding between Denver and Arizona. One's ridden an Iron Man so I won't be
sitting on their
wheel in the morning.
Now that I'm fit for the mountains, I romped up the two miles to the summit
before the long (50 miles!) descent to Dolores. It's not difficult
to see why this state's called Colorado. Along the way I breakfasted in
Rico with the last night's cyclists. One had punctured as otherwise I
would never have caught them.
After Dolores, it couldn't have been more different; the mountains gave way to undulating, parched but irrigated plains where they grew Pinto beans (what
they?).
Dove Creek had one motel, one store and that's about it. The store had a laundrette where I watched the
final game of the Stanley Cup. Appropriately, Colorado won 3-1 and Ray Brouque
got his first winner's medal in his 22nd and last season.
Day 43 Day 44 Day 45 Day 46 Day 47 Day 48 Day 49
Yesterday's epic ride left me with only one destination, Blanding, where I arrived around one. I can't believe it has a population of 3000+ - where are they? It's semi-desert and very, very hot. Everything was closed except for a cafe full of bored kids. OK it's non-PC, but 'red Indian' is a quite accurate description.
I was off to an early start, thanks to an unwanted morning call, someone showering at 0520.
At Fry's Canyon Inn, the only building
on route, I met (another) Dutch couple taking their time about touring Utah.
They hadn't left when I arrived for lunch. It was over 100 but a breeze made it almost
bearable. This was a day
for mesas, buttes (very John Wayne).
The campsite at Lake Powell (upper reaches of the Colorado river) was 'unimproved',
with a restroom with facilities for gutting
fish(!). Water was from standpipes and so warm that the coolest mouthful was the first. My tan was much improved by flying dust. I should have stayed at Fry's
Cannon and taken time to visit the Arches National
Park!
The camp site wasn't wardened and, feeling dishonest, I left without paying. A steep hill took me up,
over and back down to the farther shore of Lake
Powell. Another long uphill ran through a very narrow canyon and the next downhill
yielded a C2Cer.
Utah has sandstones of all colours; the range is simply amazing but in these parts it
looks like cement. Off-road bikers have ruined the pristine look of hills by
careering all over them.
Turning west at Hanksville meant tackling
an increasingly strong crosswind. Later this became a headwind with thick dust clouds. As it got
nasty, I packed at Gainsville,
a wooden shack masquerading as a motel.
On time this was the longest day. It doubled the number of C2Cers,
being ten in total, a group of six, another Dutch couple, and two solo women, one sagged by her
husband.
The major feature was the climb up and over Boulder Mountain. Not only
was this the biggest single climb of the trip but it snowed for about an
hour and a half (2 or 3 inches). At times only two slight depressions indicate
the line of the road and the passage of the last car. The Dutch were working their way
round the world and so came equipped with winter gear; I had to put on all my clothes. The weather set
Utah June record lows; Yellowstone had 2 feet of snow!
I spent the evening with Pat, a jolly SF
lady biker who never travels without her bottle of rum.
It felt cold (40ish) early on, but warmed up significantly during the day. The first 15 miles were along the Hogback. It's like our own Hog's Back but only 10 feet wide - fantastic! I called it a day at Tropic just before another long uphill. The book of Mormon came in at least ten languages but I settled for TV - very limited.
After 13 miles, I realised that I didn't
have my helmet and had to turn back. I'd intended this to be a rehearsal for the
desert so the early start of 0600 became a late start
of 0754. I was quicker up the hill the
second time but that wasn't much compensation.
I shunned Bryce Canyon (filling rapidly with tourists).
The climb from Panguich went go and
go. Suddenly I seemed to take wings; it was Bernie, a local biker, giving me a
friendly push.
I was invited home to Padowan via a cracking 1
in 7 descent complete with alpine bends. Halfway down we watched whilst a
well-drilling lorry was recovered from a canyon (the driver had fallen asleep
at the wheel). Bernie and his wife, Gina, were great. After a meal of pasta and a shower, Gina
nipped out for ice cream which made me feel even guiltier.
Bernie paced me over the first fifteen miles before turning back. In a way I was glad he was gone; I don't think I could stay with him for much longer. At Minersville I met up with Tom who was hoping to do SF-Boston in 50 days. We chatted for over an hour as it was very very hot. Despite this, I reached Milford before one. This is a crazy place; they irrigate to grow grass, some of which goes to Japan! Unless I want to camp in the desert and I don't, the overnight stops for the next few days leave no choice.
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Day 55
I
got away around 6. The desert wasn't too sandy, just short on water
and long on vegetation a foot high. There were three big climbs; each set 15 miles apart on a dead straight road with an indifferent surface. A breezy crosswind
threw up dust devils, tumbleweed, - strong
enough to dislodge my cap.
The only shelter was a derelict building around halfway. Starting early seemed to
work. Most of my gallon and a half of water got consumed.
The high spot was meeting a guy, walking across America. He had a placard which read 'Love life', a tin-foil parasol, and
was hauling a supermarket trolley full of water bottles.
He's nuts of course, but happy on this, his birthday.
The motel in Baker was $39 for something so tatty (surely he means charming). Who
cares - Nevada is my second to last state.
The road was similar to yesterday but with only two climbs. In the middle of
nowhere (OK, a road junction), there was a cocktail bar (and naturally casino), the only
building on route! Still I haven't seen any water so
the water purifier's a complete waste of money. I was now on US50, the 'loneliest highway in
America'. Annoyingly the yard wide hard shoulder was
unusable as a "rumble strip" took up most of its width, sometimes even creeping into the roadway.
I reached Ely around noon. For such a small place, it's got an amazing number of
motels - all thanks to gambling.
THE END!
According to the map, it was 83 miles; according to the signpost,
it was 77 miles,
but I made it 80 miles to Eureka. I started at 5am(and a bit), and found it very
easy despite 3 and 1/2 summits. Along the way I met a package tour of cyclists, dressed alike and followed by a sag wagon. I was going downhill
so really gave it some.
Within 400 yards of the finish, I was run down
from behind by a Volvo hauling a trailer. I felt like strangling the driver, but
I seemed to be nailed to the ground. Anyhow, how do you strangle someone with a
dislocated shoulder? It was 110 miles to Elko hospital, made even more uncomfortable by being
securely strapped
to the stretcher. I can't help
but admire the US health service: from accident to operation to discharge = 5 hours!
How one could be run down on a clear day on
a road over 30 feet wide with no traffic? Even more galling, I was on the soft shoulder.
A lady taking her baby for a check-up brought the bike to Elko.
It was a write-off at the back but the front was OK. I can't
believe how lucky I am to escape more serious injury. The police wanted to keep my helmet as evidence that helmets save lives. I
had to be honest and explained that it was on the pannier rack, not my head!
There were no bikes for
hire and even if there had been, could I have ridden one-handed over the Sierras?
Whilst I made the travel arrangements, the bike shop bundled
my belongings into a bike box. The bike stayed behind and probably it is still
there. Amtrak turned up 30 minutes late at 0415 hours. It was a scenic
and slow ride; that's 600 miles in 15 hours, or 4 hours slower than a Greyhound. No wonder it was
empty.
Amazingly the mobile phone worked and I contacted Bob (Boulder Pat's husband).
He was very obliging considering that we'd never met. With his help,
it was a cinch getting between train and airport. SF has
more than adequate public transport; perhaps I shouldn't not taken this easy
option.
The flight passed without
incident. At Gatwick, Dave and I played hide and seek before locating each
other using our mobile phones.
A SECOND COMING
I must be lucky; the middle of nowhere produces a witness who
confirms my story - it was all his fault,
and that's official. I shall returned!
It rained solidly on a September training tour of Scotland but I expected
better things in America. On September 11th, I'm in my favourite hostel at
Rogart with Kate and Frank.
A week later I had to turn up four hours early for the 1100 flight, which was further delayed when passengers were off-loaded for security reasons. The in-flight entertainment malfunctioned so 'Shrek' was shown repeatedly. In SF the Russian taxi driver needed a map to navigate the two miles to Pat and Bob's.
For a day I was a tourist; book and music explored in SF,
El Cerrito and Berkeley. The Subway and trains were cheap, under
$3 for 13 miles. Sadly that's still not cheap enough to tempt Americans from their
cars.
I tried Amtrak but they refused the bike even in its box. Luggage must be off-loaded by staff
but there are none at Elko! Madness - I'd no problem going the other way! It's OK
($15) on Greyhound, as long as it remains in its box.
Strangely advance tickets can be bought for passengers, but not their luggage!
Departure
time was 0030 hours. Although there were roughly two seats per passenger, nobody got much rest as
the bus emptied every 2/3 hours at scheduled stops. I had
bought a ticket to Elko but in Reno I
checked the itinerary which showed a earlier stop at Carlin (most services don't stop
there). This saved 15 miles on the ride back to Eureka.
A room in a brand new motel was $38 but the only food was Burger King. Carlin's not much of a place -
one supermarket, one motel, one Burger King and that's about it.
I re-assembled the
bike, leaving behind a mountain of cardboard, pipe lagging, etc. The motel had help yourself breakfasts so I
did and more. Surprisingly
the
93-mile ride was quite interesting: thermal springs, farms growing grass and
cows. There was even a fire station at Pine Valley. From maps, I'd
anticipated nothing. But it was very very hot.
Maybe
the ride (into a headwind) had been a mile or two too far, as I woke up with a
splitting headache. I decided to take the day off. From my accent alone,
the police knew who I was. I revisited the accident site, and by a roundabout
route, found my witness, the daughter of a local family. We
chatted for a couple of hours. Mum commutes daily 80 miles each way to Ely;
father distributes bread and cakes. They like Eureka; the kid's
not quite so keen.
Eureka's quite civilised, motels, a museum, a clinic, an ambulance station, the police station
and several 19th buildings in reasonable condition. It's not overcrowded; 10000
square miles with population of 350. I'm not saying I could live
here but if you do get run down, it's a pleasant enough spot!
This section of Nevada has mining (of sorts), farming (of sorts), rivers (of sorts), and two tree-lined summits. Suddenly at the end of the day, Austin appeared beneath my feet, over 1500 ft below. A continuous downhill sweep of curves ended in main street. Quite a lot had already fallen down and the rest was up for sale. There wasn't even a proper store, but fortunately there were two cafes.
Given a choice, I opted for a more northerly route along US50. A
change in the weather had brought a strong SW wind which I hoped might ease late
in the day. It was tiring with plenty of dust devils, but flat. By lunchtime I'd
reached Colds Springs Station; the sandwich was so delicious that even I left a
tip! According to frequent signs, the Pony Express came this way though all I
saw were a few stones and adobe walls.
The motel was wooden, and $25 per night. The air-conditioning blew sand into the
room; the floor had a large hole covered by a carpet.
I must have met the entire population - all 11 of them.
It was surprising how cold the mornings were - most days my
feet didn't warm up until at least 1030 hours. Sand Mountain had a solar powered telephone, and Salt Wells offered "girls, girls,
girls" - not a service I needed at the time. On the roadside embankments across Salt Flats, visitors had
picked their names in stones - a nicer kind of graffiti.
I reached civilisation (Fallon) around 1030 for a late breakfast. This exists thanks only to extensive irrigation.
I hoped to stop at the Silver Springs casino but it was full(?) at noon. From there to Carson City was
hideous, a continuous ribbon of shacks and mobile homes.
Apart from the first five miles, this was glorious. The 4500+ ft climb
had only two hardish sections, one after Woodfords, the other just
below the summit. It sprouted cyclists but not of the touring variety. I wanted to stop at Kirkwood but the minimum stay was two nights($130). Fortunately the Mormon Emigration Trail was
a 32 mile downhill and I could coast at over 40 mph for long stretches.
The sting in the tail was the last few miles into Pollock Pines, a very upmarket place with mansions set
amongst virgin forest.
The motel was out of town so I settled for a takeaway pizza.
By the time I'd finished, other guests went hungry at the help yourself
breakfast. This was back to civilisation with a bang; the Placerville roads were
full of cars and worse than at home.
The Trail went past Folsom prison, unseen except the tips of its searchlight
towers. However inmates were tidying the grounds and, later on, parts of the
trail.
Sacramento had a 20+ mile cycle path running between the levee and the
American River, so the town passed almost unnoticed. The path was packed with cyclists and I overtook
many of them - got to show who's a real cyclist.
The next cycle path was alongside a motorway. Unsurprisingly there were no cyclists
but it lead to Davis, the home of the University Of California. This had cyclists
in abundance (and controlled by roundabouts - the only ones I saw in America).
It was expensive - over $100 per night.
This was more like it! - quiet roads and more cyclists. There were orchards (is that the right word) of many fruits including walnuts. After Rockville, the route followed a busy motorway but a final up and over led into Vallejo, a working town - famous for Johnny Otis and not much else. It's a Navy town complete with fleets of mothballed warships. The centre's full of Red Cross shops...I'll say no more.
I stumbled off the ferry into a mass jog between the two bridges. Because of ben Laden, the Golden Gate Bridge was closed to pedestrians and cyclists (but not cars!). A room costs over $100 for nothing special. I hit Haight-Astbury and the Golden Gate Park (full of bikes, and sadly even more cars). At 96 degrees, fun it wasn't.
Luckily the bridge re-opened at 0700 hours. I didn't quite make that but it was close. I crossed into Marin County and back before checking out and breakfast. The famous fog ensured there wasn't much to see (unlike yesterday).
It was quite chilly. Without a map, getting to Burlingame (Pat and Bob) was hit and miss. The many freeways etc meant the smaller roads carried very little traffic so I could afford to go astray.
I packed the bike but forgot the spare tyre. There was just time for a
final round of the bookshops; I picked up Henry Dudeney and others.
The airport was deserted and I chat for 20 minutes at a check-in desk which had no other customers.
On the plane, each passenger had at least three seats. This was just right as two of my handsets malfunctioned, one
randomly summoning the cabin staff, much to their annoyance. Heathrow gained acollection of cardboard etc and I was home within two hours of landing.