Boxing Day Pupdate

After a few relaxed, snowbound days in Seattle, I caught a snowy Christmas day flight back to Huntsville, AL. My first flight arrived in Denver (where it was actually warmer than it was in Seattle!) about a half hour late, so I only had a half hour until my scheduled departure way at the other end of a very long terminal. I speed-walked all the way down there, forlornly passing up New Belgium Brewery's version of an airport bar in my haste. My dream of drinking in an airport bar on Christmas day was out the window. When I arrived at the gate, sweaty and needing to urinate, I discovered that the plane had not even arrived yet, and they just hadn't updated the info board thingy. Sigh. They were so stingy and optimistic with their information, I didn't feel comfortable leaving the gate area to go back to the bar. But it looked more like a well-lit café anyway, so it wasn't going to be the seedy, depressing airport bar experience I was seeking, and I don't think I missed anything.

When we were finally able to board the plane, one of the flight attendants made this announcement: "This is the flight to Huntsville. If that is your destination, great! If not-- Huntsville is a little bit warmer than Denver right now, so why don't you just ride along with us, and we'll figure out a way to get you back later."

After an uneventful flight, I arrived in Huntsville on Boxing day, and inquired about the puppies. The one I poisoned lived! Four out of the six were adopted out, and the remaining two stayed at the farm, destined to live a dog's dream life. I will be seeing them soon, so there will be pics, if I can get them to sit still for it.

Seattle Storm '08

I hung around all week watching the cats and chickens, and wandering around the neighborhood watching people snowboard and cross-country ski. By the weekend I needed to get out. My mother kindly agreed to thaw the chicken water for the weekend while I crashed at friends' houses in the north end. She also kindly drove me up there when it became apparent that the Metro buses hadn't figured out how to deal with the huge amount of snow that had fallen in the south end on Thursday. During the weekend, even more snow fell, so that by the time by bro picked me up and brought me back to the south end, there was something close to a foot of snow. And it's mostly still there. Crazy. (see my flickr...)

I'm spending my last few days in Seattle pretending to be snowed in with my brother and sister-in-law, and with two of their friends whose flight home was cancelled, so they actually are snowed in. Into the city, that is. We managed to leave the house long enough to buy some new board games and load up on food and beer.

White Pre-Christmas

Friday night my brother, sister-in-law and I went to a Christmas bash for charity at the really fantastic Club Motor, which featured live music, burlesque, circus freaks (who claim they don't want to be called circus freaks, even though they were billed as such), and a raffle. We won two prizes, and gave one away. Not because I didn't want to keep it, mind you, it was really fantastic, but I'm just not really in a purse-owning place right now.

Saturday night, it snowed, and never turned to rain as it generally does out here. As of Monday night, it is still snowy and icy, and shows no sign of a thaw in the near future. Weird. The chickens' water freezes over every night...

Foxy pink gorillas

I've spent the past week eating, drinking, and hanging with my friends and family-- in short, there was nothing interesting to post about.

Until now.

Last night I went out with a couple of people on an impromptu investigation of the free Tuesday night burlesque show at Sea Monster. The place is tiny, and features about three tables, six bar stools, and a live band, in addition to the 9PM and 11PM burlesque shows. We were pleasantly surprised to find the band was good, and the burlesque was fun. The highlight of the show was the performer "The Shanghai Pearl," who has a twisted sense of humor, and great theatrical presence. In her last act, she came onstage dressed as a pink gorilla-- not a sexy gorilla in any way, just a full body pink fluffy gorilla costume with mask and french maid outfit, which she removed to much applause. She then continued to dance around the stage in her gorilla costume for most of the number, before finally reaching the obligatory disrobing during the final seconds of the act. This was a highly entertaining way to spend a cheap Tuesday evening. It's a tiny bar, and it seemed like the performers used it as a practice venue, so if you decide to head on down, you'll enjoy it more if you have no expectations.

Hometown Tourism

On Monday we wandered around downtown, window-shopping and playing tourist. We stopped by that zany fun house, the downtown branch of the Seattle Public Library, because I had never bothered to check out the new building while I actually lived here. It was a treat. In the afternoon, we drove to Tacoma to drop my cousin off at the Amtrak station, and we had enough spare time on the way down to stop by Weyerhaeuser's Bonsai tree collection, which is both fun to look at and free. We also dropped a buncha cash at the shooting range in Tacoma, where we tried out a .357 something or other handgun that was wrist-achingly heavy. At least it didn't eject the spent shells directly into my forehead, like the 9mm did.

Since then it has been all about chillin' with the cats and chickens, who seem willing to eat almost any table scraps except onions. We have a lot in common, the chickens, my brother and I, but you can tell us apart because my brother and I will eat the onions.

Feeling Taciturn

I don't have much to say on the blog right now, because I'm getting the chance to say it all in person! As many of you know by now, I made a brother-instigated surprise trip back home to Seattle for Thanksgiving. (More thank yous to him than I can possibly express. This was a fantastic idea.) This is the real reason I wanted to be in Alabama by Thanksgiving-- I was planning to fly out of Huntsville the day before Tofurkeyday.

On Wednesday, my stepmom and co-conspirator dropped me off at the airport for an uneventful flight home. On Thursday, I got to surprise my mom at her home for breakfast, and one of my oldest friends at a Thanksgiving dinner. On Friday I got to surprise one of my other oldest friends at her mom's house for leftovers. Saturday and Sunday were all about chilling with my brother's cats, chickens, and various people I love, until the one last surprise for my brother, which is that I got our cousin to come up and meet me here for a few days. The master surpriser got the tables turned on him, mwah ha ha! It was fun to see how differently everyone reacted.

Now that the surprise traps have all been sprung, I can blog again. I am here in Seattle until Christmas day, so there will be plenty of time to hang with everyone. Hey GS people, I am crashing your beer hour on Friday, so show up early, before I drink all of the Fat Tire.

I hope your Thanksgivings were all as good as mine was. I am sure feeling thankful about now.

Thanksgiving is already over

On Sunday evening, my uthah muthah and I drove to her friend's house out in the country, where the puppies are staying while looking for homes. We got plenty of animal time with the five puppies (one already found a home), two dogs, five cats, four horses, eight goats and numerous chickens.

On Monday we took a trip to Unclaimed Baggage in Scottsboro, AL, a store where the contents of unclaimed airline baggage is sold. It is basically a giant thrift store, except that everything in it is really nice, because the previous owners weren't actually intending to get rid of this stuff. They pretty much have every imaginable thing for sale there, from VHS tapes to wedding dresses to handmade silk rugs from the middle east to cell phone chargers. It's amazing how much stuff never gets reunited with its owner. I try to never have to check bags, but now I will be even more militant with my packing. The store has become a huge tourist destination, with busloads of consumers arriving daily. This was pretty much the worst place in the world for a person who has been living minimally for six months to go. I have been wearing the same approximately three outfits this entire time, and a bit of boredom has set in. I went nuts trying on clothes and flipping through CDs, DVDs and books. In the end, I managed to reign it in and just buy a couple of things, one that I actually needed, and some that I kind of sort of needed. (How am I going to pass on a really cute performance thermal undershirt for $6? I need that, right?) I tell ya though, if I lived near that place, I would have a lot of random stuff, and great Halloween costumes, as well as seventeen pairs of glasses. They had a whole wall of glasses ranging in price from $3 to $25, and there were several pairs I really liked. If any of you are in the area and need to get new glasses soon, consider picking up some frames here, and changing out the lenses. Cheap!

On the way back to the puppy boarding house, we got a flat tire, and were assisted by a kind young man who would not have been able to sleep at night if he had let us change the tire ourselves. Okay, those were my stepmom's words, not his, but he was still very much a southern gentleman.

I volunteered to stay with the animals that night, while my stepmom went home to take care of some business and her friend went to a gathering in Nashville with some friends. I was alone with the animals for less than an hour when I discovered one of the puppies had gotten into some heart medication belonging to one of the older dogs. She had somehow chewed the bottle open and an unknown quantity of pills had been eaten by an unknown number of puppies. Yipes! Panic! I monitored them for a while as I researched the medication online. Shortly, one of them began vomiting fairly often, and my research suggested the possibility of her heart stopping. Yipes again! I made a few panicky phone calls, and the puppies' foster mother calmed me down and said it would all be okay. The vet, on the other hand, said to bring her in right away, but that there was really nothing they could do for her. Helpful... Anywho, she lived through the night, which was promising, although she was still pretty lethargic and a bit vomity the next morning. Blurg, at least all of the other animals were fine. 1/~50 isn't a terrible failure rate...

On Tuesday, my stepmom picked me up and we drove up to Nashville to join the party. It was a gathering of Christian truckers, who were having an early Thanksgiving in a timeshare. There was a sermon and communion before the meal. Once again, I felt like an infiltrator. This time, I avoided caffeine, spread out the desserts, and managed not to attack, although things were much less ugly than at the Republican women's luncheon, so it was easier. It was difficult to keep my inner smartass in check, though, but I managed it by hardly talking the whole day, and emailing a bit of smartassery to a friend. I ate a metric ton of delicious homemade cooking, including homemade pie and cake for dessert. Yum! We were joined by a Shoney's waitress the others had met a day or two prior, who writes and performs and sells CDs of poetry. She showed up in her work uniform-- she had to work later in the day-- and gave us a show. Then it was back to Athens for a bit of down time.

Two hundred days and counting

Thursday was day two hundred on the road. My statistics for this one hundred days are less impressive than my first one hundred, in terms of biking and sleeping outdoors, but I've heard that I don't need to work anymore to impress you guys. Perhaps next spring and summer I will be hardcore once again, but I am quite happy with giving myself a break from the hard life. I celebrated my latest milestone with a ride out to a nearby state park, which was both lovely and quite peaceful, it being November and all.

Friday we went down to the Civil Rights Museum and 16th Street Baptist Church in Birmingham, where we and all of the other predominately white tourists were assisted by the entirely black staff.

Saturday we went to the Ave Maria Grotto to see all of the miniature shrines and whatnot created by Brother Joseph Zoettl over the course of about forty years in the early twentieth century. He made use of a lot of material that was either found or given to him over the years, and his work was so precious and detailed, my stepmom and I were all sewed up in horse pies.

So for all of my statistics loving pals: My total miles travelled on my bicycle in the first two hundred days of my journey has been 5477.1, but the miles that were actually loaded touring miles were 5124.7. The breakdown for days 101-200:

-2633.6 total miles ridden during 50 days of riding, for an average of 52.7 miles per day.
-2435.4 miles ridden loaded toward a new goal during 44 days of riding, for an average of 55.4 miles per day. The rest were unloaded miles ridden while sightseeing.
-8 consecutive nights sleeping outside
-37 total nights sleeping outside
-33 consecutive nights sleeping indoors
-30 nights I paid for lodging
-$795 spent on lodging

Caffeine and Republicans

Since my dad and other mother picked me up from Virginia, I have been lounging at their place in Athens, Alabama (near Huntsville), making cookies, eating, biking, watching movies and taking walks with my stepmom and her good friend. The walk this morning was the best ever, filled with puppies and ice. If you are a puppy freak like me, check out my youtube, because I actually uploaded FIVE videos of the puppies... And have no fear, the puppies have been moved to a safe place, and homes are being sought as I type.

Later, I accompanied my stepmom to a luncheon for the Republican Women of Madison, where she was touting her new book. I was sadly, grossly, pathetically, woefully underdressed, but the southern belles were gracious. Things went pretty smoothly, but I was feeling so out of place I ended up downing four cookies and five glasses of iced tea. After the luncheon, four or five women were still hanging around, kvetching about the president elect, and it was interesting to see how the same fears the liberals had about the Bush administration heading towards becoming a nazi-like fascist regime have now become the conservative's fears about the Obama administration. It seems like whenever anyone in this country disagrees with anyone else, the go-to insult is "Nazi." It's the new n-word. To quote Jon Stewart on the Daily Show, "you have to try really hard to be that evil!" It's a facile and generally completely inaccurate comparison that we make way, way too easily. Anywho, I managed to just sit back and listen for a while, but then things started to get too ugly, and all of the sugar and caffeine kicked in, so I took on the whole room. Fortunately my stepmom, who has totally missed her calling as a conflict negotiator, jumped in and brought the energy level of the room down before I started throwing punches.

Once again, I quit

Saturday, 15 November: I spent some time looking at weather reports last night, and saw that my future involved rain, snow, strong headwinds and very low temperatures. Realizing that my heart is not in this right now, I called in the cavalry. My dad and stepmom are on their way to pick me up and take me to their place in Alabama, where I will regroup and decide how the rest of my travels will be conducted.

Check back infrequently...

Another inch forward

Friday, 14 November: The weather was alright today, kinda sunny, not super windy, and I took yesterday off, so why is today so difficult?

A couple of hours into my ride, I stopped for some gas station coffee. I'm seriously addicted to that syrupy-sweet stuff that comes out of the "cappuccino" machine. I noticed there was a Greyhound station right behind the gas station, and was seriously tempted, but I decided to ride on. I kept following USBR 76, which is always taking long scenic detours around populated areas, which can be a good thing, unless you encounter a sign a couple miles into your hilly detour informing you that the road you are on is closed ahead. Sigh. No choice but to backtrack, unless I want to follow the posted detour route to who knows where and for how long. Since the backtracking brought me back to the bus station, I took it as a sign and went inside to inquire about the possibility of getting me and my Surly to Huntsville. The guy working there didn't know if they could take my bike, and said it was really up to the driver, and he had no way to ask. I could either hang around the bus station until after dark when the next bus was due to arrive, and hope that the driver would take pity and let me aboard, or ride on. Not wanting to risk a nighttime ride to shelter in the predicted rain, I rode on, reminding myself that there is no such thing as "a sign." A few minutes later, I had a roadside meltdown. When I saw that I was only a couple miles from a KOA, I called it a day. Sadly, I didn't get very far today, but at least I was able to dry out my tent (I packed up wet this morning) and do some laundry in the cheapest laundromat I have seen on this trip. Maybe tomorrow I will get somewhere, although the weather report suggests that may not be the case.

Lovely fall weather

Thursday, 13 November: It rained today. I stayed put.

Inching right along...

Wednesday, 12 November: Another cold, hilly day. In the afternoon I decided that, although it might have been possible to reach my intended destination (another KOA) before dark, I didn't want to try. Those hills are killer. I backtracked (blurg!) a couple of miles to a state park. I consoled myself about the short day and the backtracking by telling myself that at least it would be cheaper than the KOA. Wrong. They have done that thing that many state park campgrounds seem to do late in the season, which is to close down the cheap camping area and refuse to bargain on the price for the expensive sites. And there are way too many park employees milling around to try to cheat the system. I guess I could have put an empty envelope with a fake name and address in the drop box, but I just couldn't do it. Someone has to pay all of those park employees.

At least I got another hot shower and was able to charge all of my electronics.

Happy Veterans' Day!

Tuesday, 11 November: Today I was faced with a tough choice: stay on USBR 76 and skirt some large population areas, riding on tranquil country roads into a corner of the national forest where I could probably do some backcountry (free) camping, or stay on the highway through some cities and pay to camp at yet another pricey place. As much as this seems like an easy choice, there were complicating factors. 76 is a longer route, and appears to be more hilly as well. I am still feeling black bear-anoid, and tying my food up after dark is no fun. And last but not least, it has been pretty cold lately, and a hot shower before bed is great for bringing the feeling back into my toes. As I sat on a roadside break contemplating my options, a police officer pulled up and ran my ID and asked me a bunch of questions. It seems there have been some "B&Es" in the area recently (I had to ask: it's breaking and entering) and he thought it would be a good idea to question the transient. He was very nice about the whole thing, but this still helped me make my decision. I don't want to give these guys more reason to hassle me, so I went for the pay camping option.

The ride went fine, although it was less than pleasant going through the cities. In case you were wondering, Salem, VA is full of teenage boys who shout unintelligible things from their reeking filthy trucks. Seriously, doesn't Virginia have emissions laws?! My lungs are illin'! But I digress. The hills were manageable, and I made my destination before dark, where I received a pleasant surprise: I was only charged $8 to camp. Now that's more like it!

All in all, a pretty decent day.

KOA is still pricey

Monday, 10 November: Felt like crap. Stayed in my sleeping bag all day. Was bummed that I was wasting a sunny day, but thought that it would be better to take one day now than two or three later.

Today was almost like a do over of yesterday

Sunday, 9 November: I woke up late again today, but this time because of exhaustion, not partying. It wasn't warm like yesterday, but it was sunny. I had a cold, mean headwind.

For the third time this trip (or is it the fourth?), I sold my soul to the devil for cheap goods. When a girl needs such disparate items as headphones, tortillas and Luna bars, and is a little short on time, where else is she to go but Wal-Mart? My favorite headphones that I continue to buy because they are comfortable, even though the left ear always stops working in less than a year, were cheaper there than I've ever seen them. (What's the deal with that left ear, Sony?)

I got tired and called it quits early, since I was at the KOA, and my next camping opportunity was too far away to reach before dark. I seem to have lost the ability to find free or cheap camping. It's partly because of my mood, but also because I don't have enough daylight hours to go asking around and then move on if I'm out of luck.

I think this is the first time I've stayed at a KOA on this trip. To me they always seem like the epitome of luxury "kamping," but they are actually cheaper than the place I stayed last night. Which isn't saying much.

I'm basically following the I-81 corridor southwest through Virginia, and then will continue along I-75 through Kentucky on my way to northern Alabama. And camping is pricey this close to the freeway! At least it exists. If any of you know of someone along this route who would take in a stinky dirty cyclist, please let me know!

Another gorgeous day

Wasted on pedaling uphill against the wind. Blurg. At least it wasn't raining.

Saturday, 8 November: I got a late start due to last night's festivities, and my own dilly-dallying. I am sort of following US Bicycle Route 76 diagonally across Virginia, with some modifications. On my way through Afton, I stopped by the cookie lady's house, hoping at least to meet her, and possibly to sleep there. Sadly, she did not seem to be home, and the cyclist house was closed for the winter. I'm bummed that I missed her, because she's practically an institution in the cycle touring world. I rode on, bypassing the part of the route that went along Skyline Drive. It was just a bunch of unnecessary hills. That road won't get me again! Instead, I went over to the other side of the mountain that I had spent much of the day riding up, and headed for an exorbitantly priced campground. It was my only option. But I guess I get enough free days that it all equals out. I rolled in after sunset again-- gotta stop doing that!-- and found it to be a pleasant enough place run by a very sweet man. Not sweet enough to give me a discount of any sort, although I didn't try for one, but sweet enough that I didn't hate handing over my money to him. That seems like a good persona to cultivate if you are in the service industry...

I tend to be an accent sponge anyway, but Southern accents seem to be the most infectious. Two seconds into a conversation with a heavily accented person, I find my vowels slipping a bit. Although it seems to facilitate their understanding of the words that are coming out of my mouth, so it's not all bad. I just worry that people will think I'm mocking them, when they know I'm not from around here.

I love a sunny day off

And warm, too!

Friday, 7 November: I took a day off and explored Charlottesville, VA. I walked to the UVa campus to check out the really cohesive architecture, then took the free trolley downtown to wander a bit. The free speech wall, which is basically a giant chalkboardy area, was a fun idea, and had some amusing stuff on it. And a lot of lame teenager garbage. I ate at the Tea Bazaar, which is a super mellow place to sit for a while, then took the free trolley to the campus, and walked back to the apartment. It turned out to be my host's birthday, so we went downtown for a beer and some food, then came home for more beer and Rock Band. I could get addicted to the drumming...

Charlottesville is a pretty cool city. It's in what I'm discovering is a sort of sweet spot for population size: around fifty thousand, although the student population swells this number some. This seems to be large enough to give a decent variety of restaurants and theaters, but small enough to be pretty friendly. They also have what appears to be good public transit.

I am now headed, once again and despite my better judgement, into the mountains of Virginia for some more pain. For various reasons, this seems to be the best route if I want to get to Alabama by Thanksgiving. That's right, as catchy as "Alabama by Christmas" sounds, I would really rather be there by Thanksgiving, as it is my favorite holiday, and I don't want to miss out on any mashed potatoes and gravy. I heard that there are areas of little reception in the mountains, so there may be some days when I don't post.

The applesauce *was* homemade

Made with Lodi and Rambo apples, sugar and lemon juice. Fantastic!

Thursday, 6 November: After a very VERY leisurely breakfast and chat with Margaret Dawson of Dawson's Country Place Bed and Breakfast, I struck out for parts south. Last night I kvetched about the price, because for someone who tries to camp for free as often as possible, it was a little over my budget, but if you are a couple looking for a quiet getaway, it is actually pretty reasonable. They are located just a short drive from Shenandoah National Park, Charlottesville and three presidential homes, including Monticello. The house is set on 28 acres, mostly wooded with walking trails, abutting two hundred some acres of farmland, so it is quite peaceful. The food is tasty, and the conversation delightful. 540-948-3119 or 866-538-0138, if you're going to be in the Madison, VT area.

I had time to laze around because I was only headed to Charlottesville, just a half day's ride to the south, to stay with friends of friends. The ride in was uneventful. I stopped about two blocks away from my destination to consult my GPS, and was overtaken by my host, who was biking home from work. Exquisite timing! After some good conversation and a shower, we went to the Saigon Cafe, a Vietnamese restaurant recommended by Margaret Dawson. My food wasn't quite what I expected it to be, but it was still pretty tasty, and the price was good. After more conversation, an intrusion from a random guy selling firewood door-to-door (?!) and an excellent new episode of "30 Rock," we were off to bed.

I couldn't hack it

It was just too brutal.

Wednesday, 5 November: Wooooobama!

I spent hours and hours today riding uphill through dense fog and drippy rain. It was brutal, with no compensatory views. I literally had to eat every three miles because I was expending so much energy. The cars and I couldn't see each other until they were right up on me, and there was no shoulder, so every time I heard a car coming I just pulled off onto the grass, thankful for the break and the fact that the pavement didn't have a big drop off at the edge.

I finally reached a high point and headed down into sunshine and beauty and fast fast rolling. My goal of reaching the only open campground in the park, 42 miles from my starting point, and having a shower was starting to look attainable. Then I reached the low point and started heading back up again. I consulted my maps, and it looked like I was in for some ridiculous climbing, so I took the opportunity provided by the crossroad at the low point to exit the park for good. At least I can say I've been to Shenandoah National Park.

I had a wonderful roll out of the mountains, into the sun and warmth and gently rolling farmland hills. I was on a fantastically smooth road with little traffic, headed for a campground that my AAA campbook said existed, and had tent sites. I considered calling ahead, but I couldn't get reception when I thought of calling, and my phone was dying and I wanted to hurry to get there before dark. The campbook had not yet led me astray.

I arrived at the campground about ten minutes before sunset, only to be told that they only accepted RVs, and had no place for tent campers. I pretty much pleaded with the woman to just let me camp on the lawn where no children were playing, but she would not budge, and had no compunctions about turning a lone cyclist away at sunset. She tried to direct me to a campground that was "eight" miles away (closer to ten. I saw the sign. But who's counting?) but I said I couldn't make it that far tonight. She sent me instead to a somewhat pricey bed and breakfast-- although it's not as bad as that hotel in Jersey!-- that was "three" miles away. Actually 4.75, and this time I'm counting.

I arrived just as it was getting dark enough to be scary, and man, did she do me a favor sending me here! The couple running the place just keep getting nicer. The woman said she would knock ten bucks of the price, then she gave me dinner (I think the applesauce was homemade!), then she knocked another fifteen off. It's basically just a big house (I guess that's what B&Bs usually are) with two guestrooms. Mine is a whole little suite over the garage with a kitchenette and a tv and everything. I was excited about watching "Pushing Daisies," but it doesn't seem to be on. Man, that month off sure brought back the tv addict right quick.

The ups and downs today were steep like the mountains.

Did I pick the wrong route?

So far, Shenandoah is beautiful, but brutal. I'm not convinced yet that the beauty outweighs the brutality.

Tuesday, 4 November (election day!): I made it to Shenandoah National Park with almost no rain, which was great, since it had been predicted with a fairly high probability. I saw evidence of brief sprinkling, but I missed most of it. When I got into the park, I climbed 1300 feet in five miles. Blurg. Not so fun toward the end of the day. I was planning to stealth camp, but I chickened out, and there weren't a lot of good places anyhow. I stopped at the visitor center and got a backcountry permit and directions to the nearest place where that sort of thing is allowed. I got there shortly before dark, scarfed a bunch of food, tied the rest of my food up, and pitched my tent in the dark just as the rain was starting in for serious. Now I am safely ensconced within my tent, too exhausted to even bother with the handi-wipe bath...

Virginia is for lovers

I can't actually vouch for that, but I can say that it's pretty nice where I am.

Monday, 3 November: With some difficulty, I left my friend's house and headed west, toward Shenandoah. I'm not in quite the best riding shape after my lazy month off, but am certainly better off than when I started the trip back in May.

I stopped in a national park for lunch, and a kindly ranger who also happens to be into cycling stopped by to chat. I picked his brains about my upcoming camping options, since it had become clear to me that I had grossly underestimated the distance to my intended camping spot. My options were poor, and I steered the subject around to stealth camping possibilities, not specifically for tonight, but for when I'm riding through Shenandoah, since most of the official campgrounds have just closed for the winter. Once we had discussed this a bit, and I said the magic words ("leave no trace"), he offered to let me stay in the picnic area of the park. Given the choice between riding a half day and camping for free or riding really hard until dark and paying money to camp, I went with the former. Now that I am headed south, and am really not that far from Alabama, I'm not feeling the need to push myself too hard. Besides, I don't want to end up in the sorry state I was in when I arrived in Virginia a month ago. I took him up on his offer, and am now lounging in a beautiful meadow surrounded by trees. I have a covered picnic area and pit toilets, and the ranger will lock the gate at sundown. There is no water here, but the kind ranger offered to fill up my bottles for me. He returned with an extra gallon on top of that, so now I don't even have to think about conserving water! Wooo!

Also, it was a little bit sunny.

Don't go to beauty school

Well, not for a haircut. Not if you care how it looks...

Friday, 31 October: I spent two hours getting a haircut at the local beauty school. That route is definitely one for those with more time than money. I enjoyed watching the cute beauty school kids, but was a bit unhappy with the haircut.

I dressed up as the bottom of the closet (odds and ends from costumes past, with a few socks, random scarves and a hanger hanging from my clothing) and attended a Halloween party with my gracious hosts. Fun stuff!

Saturday, 1 November: Brunch, lounging, "Zack and Miri Make a Porno."

Sunday, 2 November: Brunch, lounging, shopping, laundry, packing... Yup, I'm getting ready to scoot tomorrow.

I am increasingly unhappy with this haircut. At least it grows quickly, so I should be able to get it fixed up before too long.

Baltimore-- Who Knew?

Maybe it's because of the sunshiny John Waters tinted glasses I'm wearing, but I kinda dug Baltimore. It's quirky, and the people seem pretty friendly.

Monday, 27 October: Nothing to report, not even a new episode of "How I Met Your Mother." Sigh. I'm gonna miss that show when I return to the road.

Tuesday, 28 October: I took the MARC train from DC to Baltimore for the low low price of $7. I met up with an ex-labbie who recently moved from Seattle to Baltimore, and we went back to his place for some of his wife's delicious cooking. All of you ex-labbies who have had her cooking know you're jealous! It's funny, they are now living about five miles south of the place in Maryland where I camped in those peoples' yard when there was a really bad storm, but at the time, my friends were not yet living here.

Wednesday, 29 October: I walked around a little by the waterfront in Baltimore, and climbed up to the top of Federal Hill Park for a nice view of the harbor and the city. Then I scooted over to the American Visionary Art Museum, which was completely worth the $12 entrance fee. All of the art there is "outsider art," or art made by artists with no formal training. Seriously, if any of you are ever anywhere remotely near to Baltimore, do yourself a favor and check it out. I ended up only allotting about two hours to it, but could easily have spent three or four. It was pretty much completely awesome.

I swung by the lab to surprise my ex-labbie's current labmates, who all moved lab together from Seattle. We popped by the graveyard where Edgar Allen Poe is buried before heading back home for more delicious food and the Obama variety show. The food was better than the infomercial. Mmm, fishballs.

Thursday, 30 October: I wandered around some more in the waterfronty downtowny sort of area, then met up with the scientists for lunch at the Lexington Market, which is apparently the oldest covered market in the country, according to something someone told me. I had "the best crab cakes in Baltimore" (according to the sign), which were indeed delicious. I wandered past the Washington Monument, then caught the train back to Arlington.

Hanging and whatnot

Thursday, 23 October: Much lounging.

Friday, 24 October: Some hanging. I went out in the evening to a nearby bar that serves barbeque seitan sandwiches. I was really excited about that, but then the barbeque sauce was not very flavorful, so it was kind of a let down. The horseradish coleslaw that came with it did everything it could to help, but in the end it was only adequate.

Saturday, 25 October: Some vegging. We dressed up and went out to a nice dinner, then went to Brickskeller for some beers. They have about a jillion varieties, and the cheese plate was quite tasty, especially the smoked gouda.

Sunday, 26 October: We rode out to Mt. Vernon to take in a little history. There is a nice bike path that goes all the way there, so we just had a couple of miles on the road getting to the trail. We saw a historical reenactor guy who was supposed to be George Washington's valet. He did a pretty good job, but didn't stay in character for too long. He spent more time answering historical questions out of character, and talking a lot about the relationship of GW to his slaves, which was more interesting to me than the acting bit, so yay. Then we walked through the house and looked at the outbuildings, before racing the sunlight home. It's kind of a bummer we got a late start today, because I could have spent a lot more time walking the grounds and doing some of the historical walking tours, but I may go back if the weather holds next week. It was a really nice ride.

Back in Arlington

Wednesday, 22 October: I spent last night in New York, where I pretty much did nothing but talk on the phone, photograph my tattoos, and sleep. Today I had some sushi before catching the bus home. I really don't have much to say in this post, I just wanted to make sure you are all aware that there are pics of the tattoo on my flickr, and point out that I have now added a link to youtube videos. There is nothing good there yet, but now that I have set up the account, I will make an effort.

I heart Montreal

This city is so chill. If I had even an ounce of style, I would want to live here. As it is, I am on par with the Montreal homeless population, so I guess I will stick with the original plan of going back home to Seattle, where I am average.

Thursday, 16 October: After an eleven hour train ride, I arrived at the hostel in Montreal in time for the weekly Thursday bar tour. It was interesting bar-hopping with a group of 23 people, but we managed to stick together until the bars closed at 3 am. Then everyone scattered in search of food.

Friday, 17 October: I awoke in time for the Mont Royal/ poutine walk. This isn't the cheapest hostel around, but they have activities all of the time, and the people who work here are really nice and fun, so I'm happy. After all the hard work of walking over to Mont Royal Park and climbing the "mountain" for a spectacular view of the city, my first encounter with poutine was excellent. I went with the classic gravy and cheese curds, but they offered many other interesting looking combos.

Saturday, 18 October: I spent all day getting tattooed by Yann at Glamort. I am completely enamored of the work, but hadn't considered how old and faded my other tattoos would look in comparison. I had thought they were holding up pretty well...

Now my legs are burning with the fire of a thousand suns.

My friend from Ottawa and her husband (an ex-labbie) came to meet me in Montreal, and we stayed with her cousin, who lives near many good food shops. We ate like kings.

Sunday, 19 October: After sleeping in a bit and having a leisurely breakfast of croissants and pastries from a fantastic local bakery, we went to Mont Royal Park for a walk in the sunshine. Although I had just been there on Friday, I was glad to go again, because it is a huge park, with many trails and a lot going on. Every Sunday while the weather holds there is a "tamtam jam"-- basically a big hippie drum circle that waxes and wanes throughout the day. We stopped for a bit to watch them on the way into and out of the park, but didn't hang around long enough to get a contact high. At the same time, nearby, there is a weekly medieval battle. There was an interesting range of warriors present: from people with full costumes and crests on their shields to dudes in KISS T-shirts who like swords. One guy had a door for a shield.

We went out to eat, and I had to try the Mexican poutine. It basically had nacho toppings, with a sort of salsa-ish chili-ish sauce in place of the regular gravy that is usually on poutine. It was not as good as the classic.

Monday, 20 October: I wandered around for a while today, and got Vietnamese food in Chinatown. I attempted to go to an art exhibit that I had heard good things about, but the place is closed on Mondays. C'est la vie...

Tuesday, 21 October: Another ten hour train ride back to New York. It rained on both of my train riding days, but was nice the whole time I was in Montreal. It's like my time there was favored by the travel gods.

When did Gaiken grow all of those extra chins?

He must have gained weight during his pregnancy.

Tuesday, 14 October: It was only 4.5 grueling hours by bus from Arlington, VA to NYC. There was a ridiculously polite kid on the bus who was chatting with his seatmate, and he actually referenced his time in the Boy Scouts. It was such a cliché.

I dumped my stuff at a hostel, then walked to Times Square, that gaudy ode to consumption, and found the half price ticket booth, where I picked up a ticket to Monty Python's Spamalot. At half price, it was right at the upper limit of what I was willing to pay. The show was completely awesome, and was only dragged down a little by the presence of Clay Aiken, who was adequate in his multiple roles (kind of an inspired choice for Brave Sir Robin, actually) but who seemed a bit in love with being Clay Aiken. Unfortunately, he was the only "name" in the show, so all the Claymates were cheering for him, even though he is the least experienced actor in the show.

During intermission I chatted up the lone woman seated next to me, who turned out to be a reporter from Copenhagen. She had lived in New York for several years as a foreign corespondent for a Copenhagen newspaper. Shortly after moving back home, her boss, who also publishes travel books, sent her back here for two months to write a New York travel book. It's a tough life. I asked her to join me for a drink after the show, and we went to the bar upstairs at Sardi's, which was quite mellow. Our conversation was a bit odd, for a couple of reasons. She is one of those people who loves New York, and she spent a lot of time trying to convince me that it is a great city, and that I should give it a better chance, and why all of the things I dislike about the city can actually be interpreted positively... The love-New-York people and the hate-New-York people will never understand each other. The other thing that was odd in our conversation was that I found myself clashing with her Euro-brand super-liberalism. It's not that I necessarily disagreed with her critiques of our country, but I found them to be really condescending. She had that sort of "you unsophisticated gun toting Americans should just grow up and throw out all of your guns because you don't need them and your brand of democracy is weird" attitude. So sorry we invented it! I found myself in the strange position of having to defend gun ownership and the electoral college. Well, I guess I didn't have to, but I was feeling like *someone* should. I wasn't in the mood to agree with her condescension.

Wednesday, 15 October: I dragged myself out of bed super late this morning, after enduring hours of sleep interruptions from my thoughtless roommates. Seriously, people, if you are sharing a room in a hostel and plan on getting up at 4:30 AM, you need to figure out how the key works in the door, and you need to either pack the night before, or do it in the hall. You can not spend half an hour rustling through every single thing in your luggage while four other people are trying to sleep.

I needed some Canadian cash, but sadly my bank seems to be the only one that does not change money. All of the other banks will do it for their own customers, but not my bank. Sigh. I ended up at Western Union, which gave me a decent exchange rate (I think) and only charged me $5. So that's taken care of.

I spent the larger part of the day wandering around Central Park, which was pretty nice. I started to think maybe I hadn't given NYC a fair shake, and should have stayed longer and explored more, but that feeling went away once I left the park. Just kidding, I think I would come back with a friend, but I've had enough alone time here.

After Central Park I decided that a subway ride would be the cheese in my New York cake, so now that's done. The subway system seems pretty fantastic.

I checked back at the half price ticket place, but they didn't have tickets for the other show I wanted to see, which is just as well, because it would still be pricey, and I was beat anyway. Better to go to bed early, so I'll be ready to catch the train to Montreal at 8:20 in the morning. I'll likely be out of contact for the next five days while I'm there.



Many of you know that I've never really been interested in visiting NYC, because the bigger the city, the less I like it. And this one seems like the d-bag capital of the world. But I couldn't travel the entire country and just skip New York when I am *right here.* So I forced myself to come, kinda like when I went to Niagara. Besides, I shouldn't judge it without visiting.

This city is a trip. There is this kind of lawless feeling to people's actions, that reminded me at first of Montana. Everyone just does whatever they want, and expects everyone else to deal with it. That works okay when you live in a town of six hundred people with no stoplights, but in a city this big and crowded, pretty much anything you do, ever, will cause you to tread on someone's toes. It could be argued that this gives people all the more reason to behave selfishly since you will never get what you want unless you get assertive and take it for yourself. It could also be argued that people go too far with this mode of living, and that if more people followed the rules, there would be a lot less people getting angry about things. But the anger seems brief, and a way of life. People shout or honk at each other constantly, then walk away and forget anything ever happened.

The lawless individualism is paired, weirdly, with herd behavior. As soon as a few people start to trickle across a street against the light, the floodgates open, it's safety in numbers, and everyone is in the street. The cars are pretty much completely subject to the whims of pedestrians, and all they can do about it is honk. A lot.

It's weird to be in an area this crowded. I'm completely over-stimulated, despite the fact that I haven't had a real conversation all day. Central Park was better than the streets, but there is not really anywhere truly peaceful. I guess no one comes to New York looking for peace and quiet, and the people who live here can just go home and close the door and windows, and hope they have good soundproofing. Or maybe the noise doesn't bother them. After being here for a day and a half, it's easy to see how people who live here have to tune everyone else out, for their own sanity, which is why it's possible for people to be murdered in the streets while all of the neighbors pretend it isn't happening and don't call the police. You also have to pretend everyone else can't hear you, otherwise you would never be able to have a normal conversation. That's how you end up with something like this.

And of course, everyone is always talking on their bluetooth devices. Hardly any of the devices are imaginary-- way fewer than I expected.

Brr

It's a lovely day, but I'm on a highly air-conditioned bus to NYC, where I will be splurging on a hostel and visiting the obligatory sites. Everyone on the bus is wearing a jacket. This is ridiculous.

Friday, 10 October: We went to the Dogfish Head Alehouse, which is run by my favorite brewery. The actual brewery is in Delaware, but one of the two random alehouses they run happens to be just a few miles away, in Falls Church. I heart their beer, but the alehouse was a bit of a letdown. The food was adequate, and they were out of a beer I wanted to try. The beer I had was good, but I had tried it in Chicago. They sold some stuff to go, but not the thing we wanted, and were out of another thing I wanted. The waiter was kind enough to direct us to a small neighborhood grocery store that specialized in beer, which is pretty close to the apartment, and well worth the trip.

Saturday, 11 October: We had a nice bike ride out to Bethesda for lunch. I reached a new personal best: 1.1 miles without touching my handlebars. And I could have gone further, if it weren't for those meddling kids! Several times I got to about 2/3 of a mile and had to brake when confronted by too many other trail users. The last time this happened, I wasn't having it. I held up my hands and yelled "Don't make me touch the handlebars! I'm setting a record!" They moved aside. I thanked them on the way past.

In the afternoon we returned to the beer store for a beer tasting, and spent much time discussing porters with the devoted beer lover who was pouring.

Sunday, 12 October: I dragged myself off the couch for just long enough to go to Hellburger, because my friend claims that they serve the best burgers ever, so despite my love of guilt-free protein, I had to see what she was talking about. The burger was alright, and they offered many delicious topping options, but the bun disintegrated quickly, and the burger was just too big for me. My mouth is tiny. It all fit in my stomach, though, with a little help from my friend the fork.

Monday, 13 October: I took a nice bike ride around Arlington, in a loop on three different bike paths, with barely any time on the street.

Oh My God, Are You Serious!?!

As much as I want it to be a joke, (seriously, stick around for the last two minutes, it's worth it) AIG asked for another $37,800,000,000 bailout after spending $440,000 on a corporate retreat after getting an $85,000,000,000 bailout from the government. I could have just typed "billion," but I thought all of the zeroes were more effective.

And speaking of corporate financial shenanigans, a friend's blog alerted me to the fact that 79% of US corporations pay no taxes at all, according to a report by the Government Accounting Office. It's all very well said in that first link, so I am going to move on to the real purpose of this blog, and you can choose to dig it if you wish.

I think being in the DC area right around election time is having an effect on me...

Tuesday, 7 October: I showed up late for pub quiz, and was no help at all, but our team won, so my two beers were free.


Wednesday, 8 October: After giving the nice man several hundred dollars, I picked up my bike from the shop, and man is that thing sweet. I glided (glid? glode?) soundlessly back to the apartment.


Thursday, 9 October: I considered riding my bike, but then I didn't. Maybe tomorrow. There is a surplus of nice weather here right now, and getting on my bike doesn't really feel urgent.

I like to lounge around.

It is good.

Friday, 3 October: We went out to a pirate bar in Maryland, where we enjoyed (some of us enjoyed it too much-- and by some of us, I mean me) some tasty grog. Which is pretty much a fancy name for rum, rum, rum, triple sec, and spices. On the rocks.

Saturday, 4 October: We met my mom and her friend in Annapolis for sushi. Yum yum yummity yum.

We went to the haunted forest, which was pretty much a giant money pit, but, you know, for charity. I had fun. The best part was when we got in a discussion about what sorts of things would be scary for adults. April 13th and you haven't done your taxes! Your mortgage is past due! Then we started personalizing the scariness. Mine was "you have two flat tires, no spare tubes, and it's raining, so you can't patch the tubes you have!"

Sunday, 5 October: I did nothing, unless you count eating, reading, watching tv and napping.

Monday, 6 October: Much like Sunday.

Whitest. Day. Ever.

Thursday, 2 October: This morning after breakfast and morning news I got dressed and walked to Whole Foods to buy some food. I found myself in the midst of a consumer mecca, replete with bike and coffee shops. It was interesting to note that almost all shoppers were white, and basically every person working in the service sector was not white, with the exception of that heavily tattooed kid. I passed by the park on the way back to the apartment, where I spent the rest of the day rocking out while baking, cooking and cleaning, and of course, catching up on a few shows I miss, since I don't have a TV.

In the evening, the girls and I watched the vp debates. A good drinking game, with simple-to-follow-rules: drink every time Palin says or does something cutesy/folksy (gol'durnit!), and drink when either candidate attempts to identify with/ ingratiate themselves to "Joe Sixpack."

Friday, 3 October: More of the same, although I'm hoping to also fit in some yoga, and maybe go out for some beer and food tonight.

(Sorry I went a little link crazy. Posting from an actual computer is so much easier than from my phone.)

It's day 150 on the road...

...and I quit. Temporarily, of course. I'm a little bummed that I didn't quite make 5000 miles before the break, but 4934.3 is pretty close. Painfully close.

Wednesday, 1 October: I rode easy today, with my only goal being to facilitate my salvation by getting closer to the DC metropolitan area, but not too close. The ride was mostly non-treacherous, thanks to a little advice from last night's hosts, who invited me in for breakfast and bathroom time this morning.

Once I got closer to the large population center, I parked my bum at a bar to wait for one of my oldest friends to arrive in her internal combustion-driven road machine to rescue me. I am really looking forward to taking a little bike break. Hopefully soon my muscles will stop being sore, those three brand-new aches that popped up yesterday will go away, and my enthusiasm will return. So you all can look forward to a time of sporadic, boring posts about bike maintenance, baking cookies, bus trips to New York City, and train trips to Montreal, while I look forward to a birthday dinner with my mom.

Riding my bike too much is making me dumb

Seriously. And even less coordinated than I was before.

Tuesday, 30 September: I was miserable and hating life all day. I made it to Maryland, and the hills got smaller, but the headwind got stronger and the shoulders virtually disappeared in the afternoon. I called and cried to Newscat, whose house I am headed toward, but she was unable to rescue me today. She promised to rescue me tomorrow, however, so I would not have to deal with actually riding into the city, so that lifted my mood considerably.

I headed to the next town and inquired about camping, since I was no longer concerned with making it to my intended ending point, which I was totally not going to reach anyway. Someone at the grocery store suggested an empty field that he doubted I would get rousted from. I didn't quite find it, but I found a smallish field or park looking area that I thought I might be able to hide in, although it was pretty close to a house, so I wasn't sure. Then I noticed the people from the house were eating in their backyard, so I (stupidly) wandered in and tried to explain myself. They were (rightly) freaked out by my presence, but they settled down after a few minutes, and even gave me some dinner. The woman remarked that she was reminded of how her mother used to feed hobos. I joked that I had been near a lot of train tracks on this trip. After dinner and some chatting, I started setting up my tent in their backyard just as some thunder rolled in. I finished and hopped inside just as the sky opened up and dumped. It was a pretty terrific storm, quite electrically active. At one point I heard a siren and thought it might be a tornado warning siren (or maybe hurricane?) but I am still on solid ground inside my tent, so I guess things will be okay.

Philly should drop the P

Monday, 29 September: Ugh. This morning, after no warm-up time, I had a miserable, painful, pathetically slow ride out of Philly. Once I got a little ways out of the city, the hills got a bit more mellow, but then the headwind picked up, so it wasn't much better. After a phone call to the birthday girl, (I heart you!) I felt cheered up and a bit energized for a while, and traffic got lighter, and people got friendlier. But then the hills got worse again and I barely made it to my destination before dark. The guy working at the campground was super grumpy, and didn't explain things to me very well. He was like "do you need to go to the bathroom?" and I was all "well, not just now..." It turns out that what he meant to say was "there is a primitive camping area that has no bathrooms and is closer than the other camping area and probably much much cheaper." But I figured that out way too late. I think I showed up during the calling of the lotto numbers, so he was planning to hold me responsible if he had won, but didn't realize it. Cuz you can only get those numbers from the TV, not from tomorrow's paper...

It turned out to be all for the best, as their showers were fantastic, and I had a good time hanging out by the fire for a couple of hours with my camp neighbor-- I'm not kidding-- Cletus, originally from West Virginia. I know this is a super left coasty thing to say, but I never thought I would meet an actual flesh-and-blood person named Cletus. He was not a slack-jawed yokel; he was a very nice guy who gave me a burger, some beer and some good conversation.

Here's to thunderstorms

Sunday, 28 September: Sleeping in, ice cream, oatmeal fudge bars, and red curry. Mmm.

The weather was occasionally very bad today, with much rain and some thunder, so I'm glad I was able to take the day off indoors. It's kinda funny-- if it hadn't been for a thunderstorm that passed over when I was in Hingham, MT, I wouldn't have met the touring cyclist I'm staying with right now, when he and his riding partners ducked into the bar for shelter. Because in Montana, the only thing that is always open in every small town is a bar...

From state/province nineteen back to number eleven

So tired.

Saturday, 26 September: Today I had a fairly uneventful ride through the drizzle, mist and sprinkles. New Jersey was fairly flat. Pennsylvania is pretty and hilly. There were several detours on my route as I neared Philly, and people were helpful in an extremely unhelpful way. I would ask a question about how far the road was blocked, because I wanted to return to that road, as it was the most direct route to where I was going. Instead of giving me a useful answer, people would ask me where I was going, like they were going to give me a whole new route or something. I couldn't even answer that question, because I was on my way to see another touring cyclist I met on the road, and I just had his address. I would be like "Um, Philadelphia..." because I didn't know the name of the neighborhood or anything.

I made it to his place before dark, and he took me out to Pat's in South Philly for a cheesesteak. I wish I had brought my camera. It is right across the street from Gino's, another famous old cheesesteak place, which has a ridiculous amount of neon on the premises. A game had just ended, so the sportsfans were out in full force, and the lines for sandwiches were long, although the business is quite efficient, so things moved quickly. It was fun being down there at the height of the mania.

When does the hurting stop?

Friday, 26 September: Today was rainy, as was last night. Every time I pack up my tent in the rain, it rains harder just as I'm starting to pack up, then slows down once I've shoved the whole sodden mess into the bag. Nature thinks it's hiLARious.

My Garmin spit out a route that probably would have worked fine, but I was all "Oh no, I can make a shorter route that has less hills!" I'm not sure I did either. I just made today worse, I think. Part of my proposed route was on a divided highway-- not my favorite to ride on, but they generally have big shoulders, and things go pretty quickly. Not so today. This was practically a freeway, and the shoulder came and went at random. I got off of that pretty quickly, and had to meander through the sprawling Jersey suburbs to get back on track. At least the roads are all labeled, and the drivers are much more careful with my life than NY drivers.

Hey MSN: next time could you work out all the bugs BEFORE you roll out a new product? And make sure it works with your OS and browser? I'm just sayin'.

$4 mocha. $3 tiny cup of fruit. $6 sandwich. $2 muffin. Paying for the whole shebang with a Starbucks gift card then scarfing like a pig while you drip all over their nice clean "café" and charge your phone: priceless.

A woman drove up next to me for a mobile chat, and offered to let me stay at her place, but it was only 3 PM, and I wanted to go a lot further today. I'm set on making it to Philly tomorrow, and I needed to reach a reasonable halfway point. Tomorrow I'm following Garmin's instructions to the letter.

I made it through the day by promising myself a motel stay tonight, to make up for all the rain. And there was no way I was going to camp in *that* tent. So for some reason I decided there would be hotels and motels in the direction I was headed, but that was dumb. When I got around to checking, the one I was headed for was not actually a hotel (thanks Garmin!) and I had to switch directions at 6 PM and head to the only other hotel I could even hope to reach. Night fell like an anvil on the way there, and my wet glasses made it impossible to see when there were headlights coming at me. Also, I broke my headlight. So I took off my glasses (and the rear-view mirror attached to them), put on my tiny headlamp, and rode (blind) to the hotel. I was getting pretty panicky, but I made it in one piece. Then, after getting literally soaked today, I got figuratively soaked by the hotel. Yeesh, is it pricey! And I called around-- nothing is cheap in this area of friggin' nowheresville New Jersey. Blurg. I guess that's the price I pay for poor planning. I don't even want to type how much it cost, but I will say it approaches the total amount of money I spent on camping for the previous 44 days. And no free breakfast! And a twin bed in a tiny room. Although the bathroom is big enough to pitch a tent in, so I did just that. And I'm on the third floor, so a porter had to help me carry my bike and stuff up the stairs, and I felt obligated to tip. But with all of the free camping and kind hospitality I've received lately, I have no right to bitch.

After spreading all my stuff out to dry and lubing my bike chain, I hopped in the tub for a soak. Then I realized I was totally wasting my time! One should always take full advantage of a tub one doesn't have to clean, especially when one has paid dearly for the privilege of using said tub, so I got out the weedwacker and went to work. Who's a lady? Me! (Do I have to leave a tip for the cleaning person, too?)

New York pushes, and I push back

Thursday, 25 September: It was kind of a tough ride today. There was no direct route through the part of Connecticut I was in to the bridge over the Hudson that I needed to cross in New York. I spent the morning working my way through a bunch of quiet, lovely, but ridiculously hilly roads in a wooded part of southwestern Connecticut to get to a main road. Once I got there, it was both a relief and a bummer.

It was interesting to note how much the courtesy afforded me by the other vehicles on the road plummeted once I had rolled across the border into New York. There was a fairly clear demarcation.

Once again, I underestimated the distance to my intended camping spot, as well as my stamina on the hills. And the hills themselves. I saw a good spot to stealth camp, but I hadn't filled up my water, because I thought there would be more, you know, anything other than residences on this side of the Hudson. I rolled on until I reached a town that pretty much had nothing in it but a bunch of houses and a really big library that was open until nine! I went in and inquired about camping, and the nice girls who worked there couldn't think of anywhere close I could go. Since they were young and hip, I got a bit more assertive-- NY drivers are rubbing off on me!-- and asked if I could camp at the library. They said it was fine to set up behind the library, since I was planning to leave well before it opens again tomorrow. I thanked them, filled up my water in the bathroom, and set up. I even discovered an outlet on the backside of the building, so I was able to charge up my phone, since there was no sun today. Yup, I stole power from a library where I was allowed to camp for free. Take that, New York!

Connecticut has a couple of hills

But so far, it's nothing like Rhode Island. And it doesn't even approach Wisconsin.

Wednesday, 24 September: Today was beautiful, and Allan rode with me for about thirty miles before heading back home. It was kinda nice riding with someone else, even though we weren't really chatting much or anything. We got to point out things we thought were funny or neat or wacky, and we made many jokes about the surfeit of Dunkin' Donuts.

Most of the time I had good shoulders, thanks to the Connecticut bicycle map and route planning assistance from Allan.

I continued westward into a part of Connecticut that has no legit camping options, but does have a large greenbelt area near some power lines, perfect for a little stealth camping. I slipped down into the trees and waited until it was almost dark to set up my tent. Here's hoping I don't get caught, or trampled by that deer I just saw.

There's an odd noise that sounds a bit like a drum circle, so there may be hippies in these woods, but I'm guessing I have more to fear from raccoons than from hippies. Although, with their opposable thumbs, hippies do have a better chance of getting my food out of that tree. But they'll be giggling the whole time, so I'll totally hear them.

Recovering in Connecticut

I spent the day hanging with Allan and his wife, eating, route planning, talking bikes and, of course, petting the dog. All of the route planning helped me to feel a lot better about heading down the east coast. We planned a nice little NYC-avoiding route, since the thought of riding anywhere near there makes me pretty nervous. So I guess I found one more thing I'm afraid of, in addition to bears...

Sadly, I'm developing a brutal case of texter-thumbs from all of the typing on my phone, which has been exacerbated by the many recent tires changes. (You rely pretty heavily on your thumbs toward the end of the process.) If I get a bit terse for a while, that is probably why.

Rhode Island tried to kill me, y'all!

Seriously. It was like western Wisconsin all up in here! I cycled through every gear I had every five minutes or so. Luckily for me, I was rescued by Allan, the touring cyclist I met outside of that ice cream shop in Ohio. He swooped in with his newfangled horseless carriage and picked me up at the border of Connecticut and my physical limits, and whisked me away to his home, his wife, her brownies and the dog.

Monday, 22 September: I packed up, careful to remove my own trash, but none of the pre-existing trash, from the vacant lot. It's like I was never there. I headed south through Rhode Island, and its monstrous hills. At least it was pretty out there, though road conditions were spotty, and it was cloudy all day. I was headed for Allan's place, and he offered to ride out a ways to meet me and guide me back, because there were some tricky spots, but I was dragging, so when he offered to come get me in his car, I was all over that. I insisted on riding to Connecticut on my own power, but after that I was all about the internal combustion. Sadly, once again I either missed the sign at the border, or there wasn't one.

I got a nice tour of the route we would have ridden, then a shower, dinner, beer and brownies. And, of course, much conversation and dog petting.

Massachusetts tried to keep me for another night

But I escaped.

Sunday, 21 September: I had more navigation problems this morning trying to reach a main road. I figured out what must be happening. The road I'm on forks off in a non-obvious way, and looks like a lesser road, so I stay on the "main" looking road, and suddenly I'm off track. This has happened multiple times. On one of these excursions, I got stuck on the wrong side of the train tracks, waiting for a very slow, very long train. Just when the end was in sight, the train stopped. Then it reversed. Slowly. When the end was once again in sight, it stopped again. It was such a cruel joke, but after a minute or two, it moved again, still in reverse, so I was on my way. Whew.

Flat tire in the afternoon. In the new tire. It appears that those Tuffy strips I bought in lieu of thorn resistant tubes are only good for making tire changes take longer, and making me crankier.

All of this misnavigation and tire changing slowed me down enough that I once again could not make it to my intended destination before dark. I did make it out of Massachusetts, however, and into lovely Rhode Island. Once again, there was no welcoming sign, so I have no proof tat I am here. I'm in a pretty, well-treed part of the state, where the shoulders are wide and smooth. Ah. I found a piece of undeveloped property for sale in a sort of commercial area outside of a town, so I pushed my bike past the garbage people had dumped there and set up camp. If I ignore the trash, it's really quite lovely, with lots of trees and bushes and crickets. I'm hidden from the road, and feel pretty safe. Having cell reception is a pleasant surprise, because it's pretty hilly out here, bordering on mountainous, and not super habited. But I think I'm pretty near to several towns, so I guess I got lucky.

I wish I could teleport out of Massachusetts

I would like this state a lot more if they could just go ahead and label ALL of their streets.

Saturday, 20 September: It was a lovely morning to ride along the coast. That is also what literally hundreds of other cyclists thought. Most of them were going the opposite direction as me, so I think it was some sort of organized ride. I wasn't really sure of the protocol for this sort of thing. Usually I wave and greet all cyclists I pass, but there were just way too many of them, so I did a lot of smiling and nodding.

I somehow made it into Massachusetts without seeing a welcome sign. I don't know if I just missed it, or if they didn't bother to put one up. I'm going with the second option, since only about two-thirds of their streets are marked. Obviously they are bad at signs.

Since I wanted to ride down the coast, and was being indecisive about my route and destination today, I ended up taking the long way. The very long way, since I got lost a lot. I would be riding along on a road that I didn't think had any turns, and there would be an intersection where nothing was marked, and I would go the way that seemed right, and then discover I had turned onto the wrong road. I would stop, turn on my Garmin, wait for it to boot up and find satellites, and then refigure my route. Sigh.

There is a Canadianesque scarcity of good shoulders in many parts of this state. Usually I can deal with narrow shoulders, but the people who built the roads in Massachusetts used a mathematical equation that made the width of the shoulder inversely proportional to how twisty, hilly, shady, and overgrown with vegetation that portion of roadway is. I spent most of my afternoon watching my rearview mirror, waiting for impending doom. A few times I almost hoped I would get hit so I wouldn't have to ride here anymore, but the drivers were actually surprisingly courteous. Massachusetts' score stands at drivers: 1, infrastructure: -14.

There is pretty much only one place to camp many miles outside of Boston. I didn't want to ride through Boston, but I wasn't sure I wanted to take that big of a detour. I considered a route that skirted Boston a bit, and had no camping, but then I got a mental image of riding through suburbs all day and staying at an Econolodge, which didn't appeal, so I headed for the campground. I'm still not sure I made the right choice. My route took me through a really seedy city, where I got lost some more, but was afraid to stop and check my Garmin or talk to anyone. I just kept riding until I got out of town, then refigured my route.

All of the navigation problems put me behind schedule, and I knew I would never make it to the campground before dark. I kept wasting precious daylight asking people for help, but no one knew anything or offered to help. A police officer in a small town hemmed and hawed and asked questions about my trip until it got a bit darker, and ended up directing me to an empty fairground about two miles away. He seemed unconcerned about me riding after dark, and my statement "I'm afraid to ride after dark, and am starting to panic a bit," had no effect. A block or two later, I ducked in to a fire station to plead my case. Those guys didn't want to scrape me off the road, so they were more helpful. The lieutenant ended up driving me to "station 3," their training facility, a couple of miles out of town, where he let me inside to use the bathroom before I set up my tent behind the building. There was a shower in the bathroom, but I didn't push my luck. I was kind of anxious to get to bed anyway, and with the cooler weather, I'm less gunky at the end of the day.

So many heavy sighs...

Farewell, back tire

You've served me well for over 4329.8 miles.

Friday, 19 September: I hung around Portsmouth with my friend, and then we went up to Kittery for a walk in the park with her mom. I officially stuck my hand in the Atlantic Ocean.

And I have gotten all of my bike tire problems taken care of for a while. I hope.

In the evening my friend and her man took me to dinner-- lobster ravioli in a tomato basil cream sauce with shrimp and sundried tomatoes. Oh yeah. My belly is happy.

At least the weather was nice

Thursday, 18 September: On the road from Portland, ME to Portsmouth, NH this morning, I met a touring cyclist-- the first woman I have met who is also traveling alone. After speaking with her for less than a minute, it became clear that she was a bit off. After another minute or two I had pretty much confirmed my suspicion that she was a homeless person with a bike. She was very sweet, and very unstable. I asked if she had enough warm clothes, thinking I could pass along my new T-shirt, but she said she was fine. It broke my heart to leave her. I'm already worried about her safety, but she has been getting along fine without me up until now.

A few miles down the road I got very upset with myself for not thinking to offer her food. Where was my head? I had just hit a sale on Luna bars at a grocery store, and stocked way up. Dammit, dammit, dammit.

The rest of the day passed in a blur of concrete, sunshine, cars and roadsigns while I was lost in thought. How odd that this should happen so soon after my only-half-in-jest post about how homeless people should call themselves travelers, and after a brief conversation this morning about how mental illness is only an illness if it interferes with your life or the lives of those around you.

Beer and conversation (and Scrabble) with my friend in Portsmouth helped.

Everything I own is dry

And much of it is even clean! This feels as good as that time I stayed at that hotel and did laundry after escaping from the icy clutches of Glacier National Park.

Wednesday, 17 September: After doing some laundry, I wandered around Portland. It was a beautiful sunny day, so I spent much of it outside, near the waterfront.

I stopped in at the Maine College of Art, and was captivated by a piece called "Wall of Intentions." It was a found art display of around nine hundred grocery lists, to do lists, and notes to self and to housemates. Many were fairly pedestrian, but a few cracked me up, like the one that simply said "Sunday, 11AM. Cat's dirty." I think this was my favorite: http://www.flickr.com/photos/26490833@N02/2866767898/

Sushi and beer for lunch, then more wandering in the sunshine. There's a really nice trail that goes through some greenspace by the waterfront. It would have been a really fantastic bicycle ride, but there was no way I was getting on that thing today.

On several occasions during the day, I caught myself attempting to check my rearview mirror to see if there was anyone behind me. I was not, of course, wearing my mirror clipped to my glasses as I hoofed it around the city; that would be uber dorkotronic. What fascinates me the most about this new behavior is that it took more than four months to develop. It seems that if this was going to become ingrained at all, it would have happened after just a month or two. But maybe it's because I have spent a greater percentage of my waking hours on my bicycle in the last month or so.

I feel so adopted all the time

Tuesday, 16 September: I woke up too late and was seen by far too many campground employees to sneak out this morning. But that was okay. I was thinking I had gotten enough free camping lately anyway to have such a poor attitude about it, and besides, I was curious how much they would want to charge and if I could talk them down.

While I was packing up my now-just-slightly-damp things, a woman drove up and chatted with me about my trip. She thought it was so great, she told me I could grab a free cup of coffee in the office on my way out, and asked if there was anything they could give me to help with my trip. Suspecting she would advocate for me, I asked about the price of camping. When her query was returned from the office with the (discounted weekday!) price of $24.50, I got all "Holy cow! That much?!" She gave me a sympathetic look and took off, saying she would try to talk them down in the office. She returned a bit later, and told me they were comping me for the night, and I could have a free Danforth Bay Campground T-shirt if I could carry it. Dang! Homeless people should strap on a backpack and walk across the country. "Travelers" are so much more socially acceptable than "homeless people."

So if any of you are looking to resort camp in New Hampshire, pop on by Danforth Bay off Ossipee Lake Road. This upcoming weekend is firefighter appreciation weekend, which makes me want to turn around and head back. Rowr.

The ride today was a mellow roll down to sea level in Portland, Maine. It was a little chilly, so I rocked my new foxy yellow long-sleeved thick cotton T-shirt. I got another flat, sigh, but I have been promised a trip to a bike shop in Portsmouth. As some of you already knew, I was originally planning to go all the way over to Bar Harbor, Maine, which is the northeast corner for the adventure cycling routes, and is in Acadia National Park, which is supposed to be lovely. Well, I've been having a little too much fun on my days off, and had decided that I was running short on time, and would have to skip Maine if I wanted to get to Newscat's place near DC in time for my birthday. I was headed for a friend's place in Portsmouth, New Hampshire, when a conversation with Go Jake yesterday caused another midday change of plans. He was excited that I was in his old stomping grounds, and sent me off to his friend in Portland, Maine with the highest of recommendations, so how could I refuse? Besides, the symmetry geek who lives inside my brain loves the idea that my first night was spent in Portland, Oregon, and my northeast corner is in Portland, Maine.

Go Jake's friend does not disappoint.

Max speed: 44 MPH

Woo hoo! Heck yeah! Wooooooo! Wah hooooo! HECK! YEAH! (Big love to salesman Dave, for selling me on the Kanc!)

Monday, 15 September: I woke up and checked the headlines this morning, and it was like the freakin' apocalypse. Ike! Stock market!! Deadly train wreck!!! Yikes.

The proprietor of Cold Spring Camp in Lincoln, NH, came over to chat while I was taking down my slightly-less-soaked tent. He gave me my money back "for the trip" and even offered to let me use his phone to call my father.

I was just about to set out when I noticed that my rear tire was flat once again. Lame. I was able to patch the skinny tube, so I still have a spare. It held all day, but what has two thumbs and needs a friggin' bike shop? This girl.

I rode up over the Kancamagus Highway. The wind wasn't quite as helpful as I had fantasized it would be, but it wasn't a big jerk, either. After two and a half hours of pedaling, two power bars, some trail mix, many rest stops, and fifteen miles, I reached the pass. There was no walking or sobbing, although I may have teared up a little on the way down. As I crested the top and headed down the best part (seven percent grade for four miles!) the pavement got ultra smooth, the shoulder widened, and the sun peeked through the clouds. My iPod stepped up and played a brainless woohoo party song just as I began my decent. There was no removing the giant grin from my face. I screamed and threw rockfingers at every vehicle I saw. No one gave a crap. My throat is a bit sore now. All of this lunacy may have been partly attributable to the swig of whiskey I had at the pass (props to Jenny, Chris and Max!), but it had more to do with the pure and unadulterated weeee. If I lived over here I would ride that thing daily.

It took just over an hour to ride the next twenty-two miles.

I found a campground, but the office was already closed for the night. There was nothing posted about rates or what to do after hours. I wandered around, looking for the tent camping area. This place is vast, and swanky. They have a pool. It is mostly seasonal RV people, but after asking directions a few times, I found a place to set up. The bathroom is really nice, and I'm afraid it may be too rich for my blood, but there are no other tent campers to ask about rates. I did have to pay for the shower, though, so I'm seriously contemplating a repeat performance of the old sleep-and-skeedaddle.

But for now, I'm just gonna think about the woooooohooooo!

Everything I own is wet

And it stinks. I can't tell if my backpack is just dirty, or starting to mildew. Tonight I'm opting out of my sleeping bag, since there is a 100% chance that it will touch the floor of the tent and get even wetter.

Sunday, 14 September: This morning was quite rainy, but I packed up my soaking tent and got to it anyway. Vermont tried to make up for the last two grueling days by giving me a lovely parting gift of about sixteen mostly downhill miles. Thanks, Vermont! I'll miss you, too, ya crazy nutter. I didn't seriously pedal for the first six, and then after that I only had to pedal about twenty or thirty percent of the time. Nice. That really helped me to not flip out over the crap weather and the flat tire. Yup, after about fourteen miles I heard a really fantastic hissing noise. That was my most dramatic flat yet! I'm not sure that tube can be fixed-- it was leaking at the site of a previous fix-- but it definitely wasn't happening in the drizzle. I inserted one my skinny, wimpy spares and crossed my fingers. So far so good.

I rolled into New Hampshire, but the sign was in a dangerous spot on the road, so I couldn't get my usual picture. The state sort of eased me into the mountains with some smallish hills. The rain stopped, and the sun even came out for a couple minutes. I climbed out of my sweatbox-- I mean raingear-- and actually began to dry off a little. Things were seeming pretty good when wham! Headwind. Blurg. It isn't supposed to be difficult to go 6 MPH downhill. I object. I dragged myself up some really big hills, and as I got higher I entered some cloudy drizzliness. Then there it was. The best sign in the world. (http://www.flickr.com/photos/26490833@N02/2858569090/) It marked the beginning of five or six miles downhill. Tight. The ascents are tough over here, but the descents kinda make it worth it.

I'm currently headed for the Kancamagus Highway, which was recommended to me by another touring cyclist. His description was this: "it's ten miles up, and twenty miles down." Well, shoot, I haven't had enough punishment lately, sign me up! It goes through a national forest and is supposed to be quite scenic. My plan was to ride up the first few miles of the ascent today, camp, and finish it out tomorrow, but a chat with the ladies at the tourist info center changed that. My options were:

A) ride uphill for four miles to a $20 state park campsite with neither showers nor electricity, and be really bitter about it, or

B) camp just outside of town at a private campground that cost $21 and had showers and power (my solar panel wasn't so helpful today), and gamble that tomorrow's predicted 20-30 MPH west wind will push me over the pass in record time. Except for that part with the switchback. I'll most likely be walking there. And sobbing bitterly.

It kinda seemed like a no-brainer. Upon arriving at the campground, I noticed another campground right next door that had not been mentioned in any of the brochures at the info center. I inquired, and the guy only charged me $15. I am his only customer tonight. He's a nice enough guy, if a tidge odd, but he's 88 and still running this place. It's kinda run down, but the water is hot, the electricity works, and I'm camped right on the river with all of its white noise. Ah. Hopefully I'll get a ton of sleep, so I can be ready for a full assault on the pass tomorrow.

Ah, the mountains.

Saturday, 13 September: I got a late start this morning, due to all of the critterruptions to my sleep last night. It's kind of a bummer, because it was a really nice day for riding. The hills were brutal, and I didn't make it anywhere near as far as I would have liked to, but the days are getting shorter. I stopped when I encountered some state forest land, because the helpful people from the state park I stayed at last night told me I could camp wherever on state forest land as long as I left no trace. I'm never sure of the rules from state to state. I should just assume I can camp until told differently. But it wouldn't have made much of a difference lately, since I don't recall seeing any state forest land that was specifically posted as such. I only see fences and no trespassing signs. Anywho, here I am, I think at a trailhead of some sort, facility-free and happy to have handi-wipes, extra water and a shovel.

It's nice being way out in nowhere again, but I miss having reception. Vermont has good reception in the towns, but not so much in the woods and mountains. I can stop to post this at the next town, but it's tough to do all of the internet and phone calling things I need to do during the day, when I'm so focused on riding because of the shorter daylight hours. Such are the trials of life on the road...

Feeling taciturn

Rain bad, Ben and Jerry's good
That wind was weaksauce.

Friday, 12 September: today was extremely difficult, but no regrets. Check out this article about how economists can justify my trip:
http://www.slate.com/id/2199463/

Another shot...

...at co-opting another culture by pooping all over an ancient art form that I have only a passing understanding of:

Leaves begin to change
Headed for Ben and Jerry's
Cycling in Vermont

Thursday, 11 September: Last night I couldn't find the proprietor of the Ranch Side Park Campground in Ellenburg, NY, so I set up my tent and had a hot shower in the nice clean bathroom. This morning I went to pay on the way out, but when he found out it was just me with my tent and my bike, the proprietor told me to forget about it and have a nice day. Well, same to you, buddy!

I headed Vermont-ward, planning to ride across the northern part, which is both less mountainy and less populated, but then my friend was like "Vermont! You're going to the Ben and Jerry's factory, right?!" How could I have forgotten that? I picked up the map of Vermont (and New Hampshire!) at the well stocked visitor's center in Vermont, and planned out a mid-day reroute. I should get ice cream fresh from the factory some time tomorrow, and with the new route I had the added bonus of riding south through a series of islands in the northern part of Lake Champlaign. Very lovely. I kept my eyes peeled for Champ, Nessie's US cousin, but there were no ancient sea monsters in evidence.

I had to call it quits a bit early today, because of the challenges inherent in large population center evasion, but that was probably a good thing, since there hasn't been much spring in my step lately. Maybe taking it a bit easy will turn things around.

So far the only lame thing about Vermont is that after charging $16 for a campsite in the state park, they nickle and dime you (draw and quarter?) by charging for showers. And there was no kind of sign or anything that indicated how many quarters should be inserted, and what that would buy you.

Here's a Canadian who coulda used some bear mace:

http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/26650046/

I try not to be political on this blog, but in this time of political rancor and rampant spreading of untruths, I just wanted to be sure you all know about this non-partisan site:

http://factcheck.org/

Nough said.

Haiku of nothingness

Sunny but not hot
Rode east after a late start
Uneventful day

Wednesday, 10 September: I saw a couple of signs today that said "State Law: Pedestrians must walk on left side of road facing traffic." I'm pretty sure this is a law in Washington, too, as well as a lot of other places. I found it interesting that after 3968 miles of riding in North America, with something like 500 of these miles in New York state, the only time I've ever seen signs like this is on a reservation. It struck me as extremely paternal, but then I got to wondering who controls the road signs on the res. Perhaps it is not the whitey government acting paternally, but the res government? If anyone has any theories or info about this, I'd love to hear them.

In case I was too whiny before

I just wanted to be crystal clear in stating that Ottawa was a lovely city, and I had a great time with my friend. It was just the actual biking to and from Ottawa that was lame, and made me cranky.

Tuesday, 9 September: The weather report called for rain all day, and I was super cranky anyway, so I decided to take the day off. I know, I know, the trip is starting to look like one day of riding followed by three rest days, but whatever.

This morning I wandered around the completely deserted campground and found a single unlocked handicapped bathroom that they must have missed when locking everything else in the campground. I hung out in the covered picnic table area for a while, reading, when a park employee showed up to empty the garbage. I asked him if the campground was closed, and he said it was, because they were about to begin construction on it, but he offered to drive me to the other campground. I practically begged to be allowed to stay, since it takes a while to pack up my stuff, and it was all rainy and crappy, but after calling the office, he insisted that I move. He was very nice about it, and gave me some garbage bags to put stuff in, and helped me load it into the truck. He then took me down to the office to register, where I surreptitiously confirmed that none of the eight zillion signs on the door said anything about the campground closure. There were no maps posted. When we drove out to the other campground, I noted aloud that none of the signs even mentioned the campground toward which we were headed. Obviously I was still cranky.

I picked a site next to the bathroom, far from the handful of other campers, most of whom are in RVs, so it's pretty much my own private building. Everything got even wetter during the move, especially my tent, so I set it up to let it dry, and took all of my stuff into the bathroom to dry.

Later in the afternoon the sun came out and dried things, and also made me regret not riding, because it would only have been incredibly miserable for just over half of the day, and then... On second thought, no regrets.

Show me road in Ontario with paved shoulders that are decent for cycling...

...and I'll show you that you are holding the map upside-down, and that road is actually in New York.

Friday, 5 SEPTEMBER: I chatted with a maintainence guy on my way out of the park, and he said not to worry about paying. This sort of thing happens late in the season when they cut down on staff hours. Whew.

I went to the bridge at Ogdensburg, where the toll booth people informed me that bicycles were not allowed on the bridge, and that I should go over to the administration building and ask for a ride. This was accomplished surprisingly quickly, and a very strong man who was able to lift my nearly fully loaded bike into his truck shuttled me across and dropped me off at customs. The first Canadian official I encountered was (understandably, I suppose) suspicious of a person with no job and bear mace who wanted to come into his country just for the weekend. The guy asked specifically whether I had mace, so I couldn't lie, but I did avoid mentioning my ASP. I'm still not sure if it would have mattered. He conducted a very haphazard search of a few of my belongings, and asked me multiple times if I had rolling papers. Then he wanted to know why I had matches in my backpack, and was, for some reason, surprised that I had a cookstove with me. What a nut! He turned me over to a woman with the statement "she has bear mace!" to which the woman responded "bear mace is allowed!" in a somewhat surprised manner. She questioned me for a while then let me go.

I rode onward to Ottawa on bumpy streets with no shoulders. The drivers wanted to kill me. I hadn't ridden in wind that strong since North Dakota. It was a bit gusty, but was mostly kinda blowing in the general direction in which I was headed. The road turned a lot, though, so sometimes the wind blew me off the road. It was so hot and windy, I ran out of water early in the afternoon. I knocked on someone's door and asked for water. The gave me ice water and lemon iced tea, and chatted with me about biking in the area while I drank it. So nice! Shortly after that, I got more frequent shoulders and the wind was more focused at my back, so I pretty much blew the last 20km or so to my friend's house. Navigating the city was not so fun, as drivers were still trying to kill me. Tons of people ride their bicycles for transportation in this city, including my friend, so I applaud their courage and their take-no-guff attitude. A couple of beers, some food and an ice cream cone later, I felt much better about the day.

Saturday, 6 September: It was rainy today, so we spent the morning lazing around-- well, I was lazing, my friend was working. In the afternoon the rain let up a bit, so we walked around the city, and I got to see the Parliament building and other really beautiful buildings nearby. I forgot my camera, though. We went to the market for some produce and some delicious Quebecois cheese. It was a pretty nice tour of the city, then we went and gorged ourselves-- well I gorged, anyway-- on pasta, salad, cheese, and chocolate. Mmm, mmm, good.

Sunday, 7 September: While my friend stayed in and worked, I rode along the canal trail to the Ottawa River trail. It was quite lovely, and went past a rock sculpture garden that an artist rebuilds every year in the shallow water at the edge of the river. All of the sculptures are made by balancing natural rocks, and are generally destroyed every winter by the elements. Most of the sculptures are approachable, and I am impressed that they are all intact. I continued on to Mountain Equipment Co-op, which is like a Canadian REI, but cheaper, and picked up a few things.

When I returned to my friend's place, she had noticed that there was some kind of fest happening in the park near her house, so we went down to check it out. It turned out to be a raw food festival, so we checked out the hippies and sampled the yucky raw food while walking in the mud under a gray sky with some sprinkles of rain. We joked that it felt like Seattle.

Later we made delicious cooked food.

Monday, 8 September: I rode out of Ottawa today, and the sometime-shoulder disappeared completely outside of the city. It was sunny, and the wind was trying to blow me in front of the cars. I made it to the St. Lawrence River, then headed east toward a bridge back to the US. The road I was on had a fantastic, smooth bike lane, and the tailwind was pushing me along at terrific speeds. I had fantasies of travelling the 42 km to the bridge in record time. This didn't last long. The bike lane was part of the Riverfront Trail, which headed off through some parks. I figured a bit of meandering was preferable to the shoulderless road, so I attempted to follow the trail. This was difficult because it went onto random park roads and paths, which branched often and weren't always marked. After wasting a lot of time and energy and my precious tailwind backtracking and wandering back and forth, the trail left the parks and turned into that gravel crap. I was pretty irritated by the lack of progress at this point, and now I was on this lame trail travelling at less than two-thirds the speed I was moving at on the pavement. After a while it became paved, but it was still wasting my time and tailwind with its meandering. The dearth of shoulder and Canadian drivers' penchant for letting me know what they think of me riding my bicycle on their road made returning to the road an undesirable choice, but I ended up doing just that when the trail was about to seriously deviate and add some unnecessary kilometers to the trip. When the trail returned to the road, I gave it another shot, but now it had gotten hilly-- hillier than the road! Lame. I went back to the road and stayed there, impatient Candian drivers be hanged.

Shortly before I reached the bridge, the sky let loose with a torrential downpour. It slowed up before I got to the bridge, though, and the wind abated, so it wasn't too dangerous crossing. Except for the expansion seams. Those were no fun at all. At least cyclists don't have to pay the toll to cross, that was nice.

The US border patrol people were duly impressed by my journey, and didn't ask a single question about what I was bringing across the border. They just asked about the trip, and gave me directions to the state park I was planning to camp in. This may be the first time in my life that it was easier to come back in to the US than it was to leave it.

I had to backtrack a bit to reach the park, but there wasn't really anything in the direction I wanted to go, so this seemed like the best option. It was also a bit further than it looked on the map, but the other options were pricier, and I'm stubborn and cheap. I made it to the campground just before dark, picked the spot closest to the bathroom, and did my best to set up my tent on the freaking grass-covered solid rock that you are expected to pound your tent stakes into. I dug out some dry clothes and headed for the locked bathroom. What the?! The sign on the office had told me to pick a site, it didn't say anything about locked bathrooms! It's been such a long, frustrating day that the denial of expected shower hit me hard, and I sobbed bitterly while having a handiwipe bath in the tent. So lame. At least I know there is no one around, so I can spread my clothes out to dry in the covered picnic table area.

Attempting to look on the bright side: today's backtracking led to a new record: 87.8 miles.