It takes all kinds

There are all sorts of riders on this trip. There are those who look like they can barely walk when they get up in the morning, yet they mount their bikes and ride 60+ miles. Some are riding EFI (“every fucking inch”). Others ride part of each day and take the sag wagon for the other part. Still others pick and choose their days to ride. There are those riding on one or two artificial knees, and one riding on his second heart. There are the “big kids” who ride at breakneck speed and are the first ones in every day, and the one who looks like the little brother yelling, “Hey, wait up!”

There are those who leave at the crack of dawn (skipping breakfast) and those who get in at sunset (barely in time for dinner, much less changing and showering).

There are those who ride as though oblivious to the traffic around them, roaming across the lanes while shooting video, and those who ride in rigid pacelines. There are those who stop to take pictures of everything. There are those who ride with the same person every day, never leaving each other’s side, those who ride alone, and those who wander among groups.

Some sleep in their tents no matter what. Others stay in a hotel every chance they get. Some sleep on elaborate beds (one inflatable bed is about 2 feet thick) while others sleep on the thinnest of pads.

A group joined late and ride together every day in matching clothes. Multiple pairs and small groups have formed and become inseparable.

There are couples, a father and son, mother and daughter, mother and son, pairs or groups of friends, people who met on prior cross-country rides and wanted to meet up again, people who knew no one when we started. Some are probably already plotting when they will see each other again, seeming to be lifelong friends by the end of the ride despite never having met before.

There are those who ride all over the world, spending more time on their bikes than at home; those who have done this multiple times; those who completed their crossing in smaller chunks over a series of years; those who returned to repeat a favorite week; those who came just for the last week to say goodbye to the Trail Boss upon his retirement.

We ranged in age from early 20s to late 70s. There were a couple of bike racers, a couple who lead tours of their own, some using up all of their vacation time, some enjoying one last fling before embarking on a new career.

Who rides a bike across the continent? Years ago, it was mostly young people who were “between jobs” or taking a break between school and work, before entering the “real world”. Now it is often retirees and school teachers. The ones who worked in high tech jobs tend to be younger. They could afford to retire years before those of us in service jobs.

Cycle America has a weekly awards night, in which riders give each other awards. They used to be light-hearted and mostly inside jokes. This year they were almost entirely heartfelt thank yous for services provided, like helping to fix a flat tire.

As a result, most of my awards were not given out, but will be today.

• The Dread Pirate Roberts Award: given to a rider who could do it all – ride fast up hills, on flats, through headwinds, and shoot video while riding. He was also an all-around good guy, helping others under tough conditions. [The award was a black mask.]
• The Beast Mode Award: given to a rider who, after an electronic shifter failure, rode through the Black Hills on a single speed bike. Folks rode high-end racing bikes, touring bikes, e-bikes, gravel bikes, cross bikes, mountain bikes, commuter bikes – but she was the only one to ride a single speed through mountains for a day. [The award was a hat in the form of a bison head.]
• The Hammerhead Award: given to a rider who rode hard. At the beginning she followed a stronger rider. By the end she was among the strongest in the group. At first she just rode as fast as possible. Later she was stopping to see the sights. Rumor has it she was the fastest up Whiteface Mountain, leaving her former mentor in the dust. On a windy day, she rode back several miles in order to help several other riders cut through a nasty headwind. [The award was to be a child’s toy hammer.]
• The Eeyore Award: given to a rider who has crossed North America multiple times but still finds something to complain about almost daily – the course was too hilly, too boring, too long; there was too much lasagne. He took shortcuts, often deleting the most scenic part of a ride in order to reduce the mileage. Yet he was lovable in his own way and frequently stopped to help others. [The award was to be a stuffed donkey.]
• The Nancy Sinatra Award: given to a rider who made it up every hill, but often by walking. I was worried about the state of her cleats so wanted to give her some boots that are made for walking. [The award was to be a pair of white go-go boots.]
• The “Yes I Do Own the Whole Damn Road” award: given to a rider who tended to be oblivious to his surroundings. He often wandered into the other lane, or stayed out in the traffic lane when cars approached from behind. [The award was to be a title deed to “The Whole Damn Road”.]
• The Stop and Smell the Roses Award: given to a pair of riders who were among the first out in the morning, always the first in at the end of the day (which was often before noon for them). I wanted to remind them that the east coast would still be there even if they didn’t get there first, and that there was scenery worth looking at, rather than just looking at each other’s back for 4000+ miles. [The award was to be a plastic flower for each – I carried them for a couple thousand miles but never actually presented them.]

Cranes waiting for clinic to open

My new riding partner

If it came any closer, I could have touched it

Parts of this post were written while on the road but never published. Other parts were written after getting home from the trip. Last week I went to get a post-ride massage. Waiting at the clinic entrance were a pair of sandhill cranes. I rode a few laps around the parking lot to give them time to move, time for me to cool down, and to wait for the clinic to open. After parking my bike, the cranes wandered back to check it out. While I was sitting on a bench reading email, I heard a sound close by and looked up to see one of the cranes (last picture) about three feet away from me.

Back from the trip, I am often sleeping in until sunrise. Hanging laundry this morning, there is a distinct feel of fall in the air.

I am just a vagabond, a drifter on the run

And eloquent profanity, it rolls right off my tongue.¹

One of my favorite couplets, I had to find a way to use it. Four years ago, I rode across the country as a gainfully-employed healthcare professional. A job and 15 patients/day not that I could see that many) awaited my return. Today I ride across that same country, just a vagabond. No job awaits. I am a retired person. When I arrived in Gloucester, MA four years ago I wasn’t ready to stop riding. I wanted to turn around and ride home. This time, that is theoretically possible. (I say “theoretically”, as I am not on a bike suited to carrying heavy loads, so that would mean shipping stuff home and relying on motels and restaurants.)

While I have done this before, all that does is make me over-confident. Have I trained enough this time? After, all, I’m four years older now; pushing 70. Getting into shape comes more slowly, as does recovery.

“Roll um easy” sounds like good advice. There is no rush. The other coast will be there when I get there. Okay, so there’s a schedule – I do have to be at a campsite each night if I want a place to sleep and eat. But how I do that each day is open for consideration. Last time I was tempted to turn around and ride Needles Highway a second time. I can do that if I want. I was into camp plenty early every day – I could ride it twice if I want to.

It is not the same country I rode through four years ago. Even if it were, all I have to do is look to the other side of the road (from the one I was looking at last time) at any given moment and I would be seeing something different this time.

Day 2 Skykomish to Wenatchee.

We awoke in a cloud. If it gets much colder I’ll have to wear my fleece tights to sleep. I wore most of my non-biking warm things last night. We stayed in that cloud as we climbed Stevens Pass. Climbing for 16 miles is all that kept us warm. While Stevens Pass is only a little over 4000 feet, we started at about 800 feet, so it was a 3200 foot net gain. We came into snow at 3200 feet. I passed a snow tunnel (where the snow had melted over a stream but was otherwise intact). I thought about a picture but didn’t really want to stop. About 100 yards later I came upon a full bottle of beer (Modelo). I thought a photo op in the snow with a beer sounded like a great idea (for someone else) so I didn’t stop again. I did stop at Deception Falls to go over the falls in a barrel before getting back on the bike. See the post from 4 years ago for photo. I shot video but have no Wi-if connection here so won’t try to upload it today. No stop at the red caboose, but there is a photo (and maybe a little essay about childcare) four years ago so check it out. I’m not providing a link, since it’s a bit of a pain with the phone app. I likewise didn’t stop at the Iron Goat Interpretive Site but, as a public service, it’s the Cabra de Fierro Sitio Interpretivo. I could maybe get that interpreted in French, Greek, or Afrikaans if I asked around.

The song for the morning climb (to which I cannot provide a YouTube link due to lack of internet access) was “Easy Skankin’” by Bob Marley and the Wailers. I changed the lyric to “easy spinnin’” to keep a rhythm for the climb. Since I can’t listen to it, you go ahead without me.

Visibility at the pass was near zero but the staff were waiting with brownies as a consolation for the lack of view. Heading down the pass involved some serious evaporative cooling. My feet were numb and I kept shaking out my hands to get feeling back. At mile 25 the sun came out for the first time in the four days I’ve been here and at mile 44 I shedded multiple layers.

Descending along the Wenatchee River was breathtakingly beautiful. Most of the best views were in places where I couldn’t take pictures, so you just get the two below.

We followed the Wenatchee River down. When we left the river the hills turned brown. Click the picture on left and you’ll see snow above.

We rode through orchards. (If you look at apple or pear boxes you may see “Wenatchee Valley” or “Lake Chelan”. That’s where we are.) We saw apples , pears, grapes, cherries, and hops. The sunscreen was packed away so my face is slightly burned. It is >80 degrees F here.

Tomorrow will be the first day >100 miles. No rain in the forecast at either end, at the moment.

Tonight’s dinner was memorably wonderful. A green salad, a spinach and strawberry salad, slaw, pineapple, oranges, grapes, watermelon, rice and broccoli, a noodle dish, garbanzo beans in a fabulously spicy sauce, and ice cream. There was also chicken, but I was plenty happy without it. When I remarked that the plates weren’t big enough to hold it all, the cook said “That’s what seconds are for.” It was clearly not FHB night.

The post-dinner meeting let us know about a little route alteration, increasing distance to 107 miles, with lunch at 62; meaning I’m glad I replaced the calories burned today; and I’ll need some snacks to tide me over. Forty miles is my limit without food.

After the regular meeting there was a special meeting for the coast-to-coast riders. (Not everyone is here for the duration.) The meeting was getting long when someone ran in to announce that tents were flying away and bikes were falling over. After battening down the hatches, I’m ready for bed. I won’t cover the bike tonight, as I’m afraid that would only give the wind encouragement.

The rhythm of this life is pretty simple and satisfying – get up in the morning, dress, pack everything away, load the trailer, eat breakfast, ride. Arrive at camp, unload the trailer, hang everything to dry, then pitch the tent, clean and lube the bike, take a shower, and change. Hang out until dinner and a meeting. Set out clothes for tomorrow. Go to bed. Rinse, repeat.

¹ Lowell George, “Roll Um Easy”, 1973

Double your pleasure

I missed Wednesday night’s ride. I was delivering my bike to Cannon Falls, MN, intergalactic headquarters of Cycle America. While there is peace of mind in knowing my bike will be delivered to the starting point of the ride (without having to dismantle and ship it, or drag it through an airport), I’m not sure I saved much money, putting $130 worth of gas in the car that day. (Not that I used it all on my 520 miles of driving.) It also rained all day here, so I’m not sure I would have ridden anyway. For the first 100 miles, visibility was about 100 yards. I was following an orange truck that I only realized was orange when the sky lightened temporarily. It was mostly a vague grey box in front of me with red lights shining out. The sun was shining in Minnesota. When I got home I realized the 520 miles I drove will take me a week on a bike.

Thursday night’s ride was in my favorite area. Since I won’t be here for the Wednesday Night New Glarus ride, and I was going to be there anyway, I figured I would do the Wednesday Night route for a warmup, then meet my friends for the Thursday route, since they start and end at the same spot. And when training to ride across the continent, 25 miles just aren’t enough.

It didn’t go exactly as planned. Retirement means not having to follow a strict schedule. The book I was reading was too good to put down so I read a few more chapters before leaving the house and only rode a bit of the Wednesday route, though still enough to turn the 25 mile ride into something more that 40.

New Glarus area ridge

Writing about favorites inspired me to stop writing and go visit another favorite. I figured I wanted to get in one more highway cleanup before the trip, so I will save this and head out. See ya later.

The highway is clean. Aside from the usual detritus, today yielded a wheel well liner. Post-cleanup we enjoyed a ride on the clean highway and lamented the many Bud Light cans on the rest of the ride.

I never get tired of this view. Good thing they put a bench here for me to sit on.

Time

It was 23 years ago yesterday that I started my current job. Did I think I would be here this long? Who knows? I may have thought that about other jobs that didn’t last that long.

But the time has come today. Cycle America 2022, possibly the last iteration of this great coast-to-coast ride, starts in 9½ weeks. At my age, it’s time to start training in earnest. Training takes time, and is not compatible with working 40 hours/week (says the guy who did just that 4 years ago and is doing it again right now).

So today I tell the world (or at least the tiny corner of the world that reads this blog), that I am retiring. And on Father’s Day (also Juneteenth) I will once again (in a time-honored ritual) dip my rear tire into the Pacific Ocean and embark on a 9 week adventure, riding more than 4000 miles to dip my front tire into the Atlantic Ocean. In my own ritual, I will scoop up a vial of the Pacific, seal it with wax, and break the seal 9 weeks later to merge it with the Atlantic.

I did this 4 years ago, thinking it was a once in a lifetime thing. Little did I know. I will be 70 soon. If I live to beat Robert Marchand‘s age group Hour Record, I’ll have to stick around for a long time – longer than I spent at this job. I’ll probably have to start working again to be able to afford to live that long. But right now, I’m done with working.

I invite you to follow me (again, if you followed me four years ago). I plan to return to daily posts. Or maybe there will be days that I just want to go out for a post-ride beer and skip a day. I can do what I want. I’m retired. (That sounds weird.) While the route will be the same, the experience won’t be. You can read each post and, if you have time on your hands, go back and read the same day’s post from four years ago. The dates won’t match, but the days of the week will. In 2018 we started on Sunday, June 17. This time we’ll start on Sunday, June 19. You can probably figure out the math from there.

The WordPress algorithm provides links to two other posts each day that it thinks are thematically related. Yesterday’s post linked to this. Rereading it, I don’t know how anyone could think I’d still be working come June. It foreshadowed this announcement just a bit.

While I believe in retiring early and often, this was the longest I have ever been at one job. That’s why my leaving gets two posts. I wrote them at different times, not realizing when I wrote the second that I’d already done this once. There will probably be a third on my last day. Maybe the fact that I wrote two different posts to say the same thing in different ways is a sign that I’m getting old.