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.

I am newsworthy

Sorta.

Louise, the woman with whom I stayed in Savannah, NY, runs a small weekly paper, and she wrote this piece about me. Check it: http://wcs.wayuga.com/en/222/opinions/8299/

Wednesday, 3 August: I did a whole lotta nothin. The office was closed all day, so I couldn't pay for my campsite. Bummer!

Thursday, 4 August: The office was open when I left, and the sweet lady working there only charged me for one night, because "no one was here yesterday. Besides, you're travelling, you need this." Thanks, nice lady!

After my first lunch break, I got on my bike and felt that old whumpa whumpa whumpa. Dang, a flat tire! My first since I got those thorn resistant tubes in the Tri Cities. I thought I was invincible! I checked out the tube, and it had withstood a serious beating. I pulled about 8000 little tiny wires from steel-belted tires out of the tube, and some chunks of glass from the tire. I decided to do a roadside patch job rather than put one of my wimpy spare tubes in, so I patched the obvious culprit, and then patched several other holes that looked liked they were about to become problems soon.

Rolling along, good as new, I passed through some of the prettiest areas I've seen in New York. It is less habited up here, so I got to see a lot of woods and meadows and a few farms, and an occasional glimpse of the St. Lawrence River. There were a few areas that catered to tourists and fishermen, but these were generally just a handful of motels, campgrounds, and restaurants, with a gas station or two and maybe an ice cream shop or grocery store. There weren't any chain anythings, except the gas stations, of course. Actually, it's been a while since I saw a chain anything. Upstate New York is good like that. I'm finding more reasons to like this state, but they all seem to involve being as far from the population centers as possible.

I got to another state park, which happened to be located exactly as far as I wanted to go today, so I didn't attempt to camp for free in the woods. Also, it's still really humid, so a shower was grand. I figured there wouldn't be anyone in the office when I got here, but I didn't count on this: a sign saying they will open at 9AM tomorrow. I was hoping to be out of here by 8AM at the very latest! I have things to do tomorrow! I even bought prepared food for dinner, so I could get to bed sooner. I can't sit around waiting to pay them. And I was fully prepared to pay to camp tonight. New York, why can't you have an envelope/lock box system for after hours payment like every other state park in the entire country? Oh, yeah, and they have already closed up the cheapest sites for the season, so this site is more expensive than I expected. I picked up the copious amounts of trash around my campsite, and decided New York and I are even. If they are going to make it impossible for me to pay, then I won't pay.

Here's why I can't stick around too late tomorrow: I'm headed to Ottawa to visit a friend for a few days. There's a bridge about ten or twelve miles away that crosses the St. Lawrence River, and I would like to make it across before the wind gets too strong. Fortunately for me, it is supposed to be a tailwind, but I don't want it gusting at full strength when I'm on the bridge. That could be dangerous, especially since I heard bicycles aren't technically allowed on that bridge. I heard this from two other cyclists who had crossed it, however, so I'm planning to play dumb and sweet talk my way across, like they did. I've got to remember to hide the bear mace and ASP, though. So here's hoping tomorrow goes smoothly. I'll be turning my phone off to avoid exhorbitant fees, and I'm not sure if I'll post for a couple of days, but I expect to be back in the states on Monday or Tuesday.

If I could hire scabs, I would

Tuesday, 2 September: I rode out of the campground just before 8AM, garbage in hand, looking for a place to throw it. There was a guy sitting outside the office, which still had the "closed" sign up. Did he work there, or was he a fellow camper, waiting to pay? I rode closer, still looking for a garbage can. He greeted me with a friendly smile. I greeted him back, and asked if there was a garbage can around. "Is it just that?" he asks. "I can take it for you." I thank him and hand him my trash. I wish him a good day and ride away as he steps inside the office to throw out my trash. As I ride off, I congratulate myself for being so ballsy as to ask a campground employee to throw out my garbage while I waltz away without paying. Then I feel guilty. But seriously, these campground payment schemes are unfair to the lone campers, and it's not as if I plan on doing this regularily. Just often enough to not feel screwed for all of the times I've over-paid. (Justify, justify, justify.)

At some point in the afternoon, General Fatigue, Sweaty Bum Rash and Sore Leg Muscles formed a collective bargaining unit and invited Willpower to the table for a talk.

Willpower swaggered in to the room with a cocky smile, sat down at the mahogany table and asked "What's up, guys?" Her smile faltered a bit when she noticed the angry glares on the faces of the others at the table.

"We would like to take tomorrow off," said Sore Leg Muscles.

Willpower answered, "Yeah, I know you guys have been working really hard, and I appreciate it. I have such confidence in you, and I wouldn't ask you to do more than I thought you could handle. Here's what I'm thinking: we finish out today, then do a half day tomorrow that will take us to a really cool park over by the Thousand Islands, then we spend all afternoon and the next morning there, then do another half day, then we're on track to make Ottawa on Friday."

"No way!" Sweaty Bum Rash hissed vehemently. "I know about your half days! You say we are going to take two in a row, but then you--"

"Let's try to keep a civil dialogue flowing," General Fatigue cut her off with a sharp look. She turned back toward Willpower. "Rash has a point. You haven't always kept you word on half days. Look, if you examine your position, you will see that you don't exactly have any power in this situation. If you agree to take tomorrow off, we will agree to make decent progress today, and get you to Ottawa on Friday. Otherwise, we will call it quits right now, and good luck getting out of this random yard you are loafing in."

Willpower considered this for the briefest of moments, then agreed with mock courtesy, "Taking tomorrow off sounds like a great idea. We'll just go to the state park, pay for a night, and see how we feel in the morn--"

"Uh-uh," said Muscles sharply. "You're going to commit. We're paying for two nights up front."

"Fine," Willpower rolled her eyes. "Is there anything *else* you want?"

Rash asked sheepishly, "Could we buy some baked goods? You never let us buy anything squishy..."

"I am completely on board with that!" Willpower said a little too eagerly.

When we all got to the park on Lake Ontario with our grocery bag full of baked goods and cherry-jalepeño fudge, there was a sign on the office that instructed us to go pick a campsite and come back to pay in the morning. The park is trying to tempt us to sneak out without paying and not take tomorrow off! But we won't do it. We have a deal. And beside, there is a swimming beach here, and tomorrow is supposed to be nice. That hasn't happened often enough on this trip. Now, I just need to make friends with some of the kayakers camped here...

Almost a rest day

Monday, 1 September: After a lazy morning of sleeping in, eating bagels, and playing the game of Life, I finally got back on my bike and pedalled a lackluster half day. It was a pretty nice ride, thanks to some route advice from the woman I stayed with. I had that winning combination of non-busy road with smooth pavement, and there was usually a shoulder. It was a hot day, with a bit of a headwind and some hills, which contributed to my lack of enthusiasm for the ride.

Around 6PM I made it to a city that is way bigger than I generally like to stay in, but there wasn't much of anything coming up in the direction I was headed. I had serious doubts about making it to anything before dark, so, being in no mood for an adventure or begging, I stopped at a convenience store to inquire about camping. I was directed to a campground on the lake at the edge of town (my Garmin didn't know about this one. It doesn't seem to have the best info...) about two miles away. The office was closed when I arrived, and I asked another camper if she knew what I should do. She asked when I was leaving in the morning and said the office opened at 8AM. I said "So if I leave before 8, it's free?" She shrugged non-commitally. Tempting. I found a spot and set up, then asked some other campers how much it costs. $17. Hmm. Seems kinda pricey... I checked out the bathroom, and decided that if I skipped showering in their dank facilities, then I could justify a sleep-and-dash to myself. I didn't pedal too hard or long today anyway, so showering can wait.