It’s been six days since illness stopped my tour. I am feeling a whole lot better, not 100 percent but close.
On Monday I did another 30-mile ride on The Mule, again unloaded. Two miles in, I rode up Rebecca Drive, a challenging hill with steep bits. No problem. My legs didn’t tie up at all. I rode 13 miles to the Pentagon at a much faster pace than I planned. I felt great. Along the way, my chest congestion started to break up. Eww. I turned for home and hit a 10 – 15 mph headwind. I’m such a sucker for a tailwind. Still, I made it home in good shape. When I got home, I started re-packing.
Yesterday, I decided to test my endurance. I rode Big Nellie, my recumbent, 30 miles in perfect weather. No hills, just cruising around Mount Vernon. After I arrived home, I mowed the lawn. I finished mowing without crashing and burning. I would have finished the trimming but the skies opened up. I felt fine afterward. Frankly I was a little surprised.
Today, I took Big Nellie out for another ride. This one was flat and easy. It only lasted 23 miles before storm clouds chased me home. It poured five minutes after I went inside. I still have some lingering sinus aches and my chest is a tad congested but I feel much, much better.
I finished packing, making some further adjustments to my load. I added a chain break tool. I subtracted my saddle wrench and my bear bag. I swapped out my big sleeping bag for my lightweight REI sleep sack and a silk liner. I doubt I’ll encounter nighttime temps under 50 degrees. This arrangement only weighs a few ounces less but it’s much smaller.
The plan is to ride back to the scene of the crime, Charlottesville. My route last week was the height and base of an right isosceles triangle, 238 miles. Instead of re-tracing that route, I’m taking the hypotenuse, a straight line from Mount Vernon to Charlottesville through Culpepper, about 125 miles. That’s 75 miles to Culpeper and 50 to Charlottesville, both are Amtrak cities so no worries about a relapse. I’ll be staying in hotels both nights. The weather forecast is perfect.
After Charlottesville, I plan a short, 35-mile day to the Cookie Lady’s house in Afton. This involves the start of the climb over the Blue Ridge. The next day will involve getting to the top of the Blue Ridge, another 30-mile day, if I stop at a campground in Love, Virginia. If I am up to it, I can descend the west side of the ridge to Vesuvius or maybe Lexington where hotels await. After that it’s down the long neck of southwestern Virginia where I’ll have amble church hostel opportunities.
Realistically, I’m taking this slow. One day at a time.
T. S. Eliot wasn’t entirely wrong about April. Although I must admit April in the mid-Atlantic is decidedly less cruel than it is in New England or upstate New York where I spent my first 29 Aprils.
Reading
Chip Wars by Chris Miller. This book had been recommended by multiple friends. They were right. It’s pretty amazing. It’s the story of the semiconductor industry. Sounds boring, right? The technological aspects are fascinating, but the geopolitics of the chip industry are mind-blowing. Miller tells the story artfully from the very first transistor to the chips that power artificial intelligence.
Watching
The big watching event was the eclipse. We drove to my in-laws’ place in northern Indiana. From there, we drove back roads to Portland, Indiana near the Ohio state line. We were in the zone of totality. Our battle plan worked like a charm with considerable help from the weather gods.
Yeah, I watched the NCAA women’s final. but, for me, April is all about baseball. Nationals fans are a bit like Jim Carrey’s character in Dumb and Dumber: so you’re telling me there’s still a chance! For baseball fans, July is the cruelest month because by mid-summer your team’s flaws become undeniable. For now, the Nats are within a game of .500 and the young talent is starting to show real promise.
I rode to two baseball games at Nats Park. It was a bit chilly but I drank some beer. The games were fun. The ride was funner.
Riding
I took a week off for the first time in years and managed to ride 22 days for a total of 707.5 miles. For the most part, the weather was pretty good. I brought Big Nellie out of the basement and rode it 322.5 miles. Little Nellie chipped in 229 miles. The Mule contributed 156 miles. The Tank took the month off as I tried with fitful success to get rid of the nagging neck pain I’ve been dealing with for months.
I did two long rides of 53 and 52 miles on Big Nellie. The last one in near 90-degree heat.
I’m more than 300 miles below last year’s pace despite having an extra calendar day. I sit at 2,981 miles which projects to 9,017 miles for the year. I need to get my fanny in gear if I hope to make 10,000 miles. I expect to take several days off in May for a family event so 10K will be a challenge.
I spent a good deal of time doing tour prep. Of course, I keep thinking of things to add to my load, meaning I will be sending home a package after the first week like always. Yesterday I acquired a dog whistle, pepper spray, sunscreen, and a small can of shaving cream. Today, I set up my tent in the backyard. As usual, I forgot a few steps but even so the whole thing took only ten minutes. After that I compared my stock of spare tires to the ones on The Mule. I checked my records and the rear Schwalbe Marathon tire has 6,000 miles on it. I should get me another 1,000 miles or two before replacing it. The front tire, a Schwalbe Mondial, is in even better shape.
I also found a kit to overhaul my Top Peak Road Morph pump, a pump that has proven to be barely adequate over the years. It took forever to get the pump apart and when I did I dropped a tiny spring that went somewhere far far away. I also discovered that the replacement o-ring was the wrong size. Clearly, the bike gods were telling me to buy a new pump so I ordered a Lezyne high volume mini floor pump. Beth at Bikes at Vienna recommended Lezyne pumps. There is one video online that slams the design (if you’re not careful you can pull the valve out of the tire!) but it’s hard to imagine it can be any worse than my Road Morph. Time will tell.
I am down to two items yet to be acquired: a small bottle of Dr. Bronner’s castile soap (it always comes in handy) and a tiny metal valve adapter so that I can use a gas station air pump in a pinch. So tomorrow I will celebrate May Day by doing one last shopping trip.
Giving
This month I made my semi-annual donation to World Central Kitchen in the days after their team in Gaza was killed by the Israeli military.
I also made a donation to Warmshowers.org. If you donate now, you will be entered into a lottery for a new touring bike. Sounds good to me.
Finally, I gave blood this morning for the second time this year. They asked if I wanted to give a double red donation but, with a tour looming, I decided to go with a unit of whole blood.
So here’s the thing. It was raining cats and dogs outside on dreary November day. I decided to give my bikes the day off and my thoughts turned to the future.
I have three events that constrain my touring activities for next year. In April, I’ll be in Indiana for the total solar eclipse. In May, I’ll be in Hartford for my daughter’s law school graduation. In early October I’ll be on the north shore of Massachusetts for a wedding. Of course, I want to be back in DC for the fall riding events so September and November are out. Barring some additional unknown obligation, that leaves mid-May through the end of August for touring. Perfect. Of course, plenty of other things can come up in the meantime but rainy days in November are perfect for dreams of summer on the roads.
Of course, one thing I still want to accomplish is to ride my bike in all 50 states. Most of the states I am missing are in the south and the middle of the country. Here are two ideas that I’ll be rolling around in my head for a few months.
Hot and Sweaty
My southern tour idea would pass through Virginia, Kentucky, Tennessee, Alabama, Mississippi, Louisiana, and, maybe, Arkansas. (The states in italics would be new ones in my 50 states quest.) It would rely mostly on three Adventure Cycling touring routes: the Atlantic Coast, Transamerica, and Great Rivers South routes. Here’s how it would go. Riding south from the DC area to Ashland, Virginia, just north of Richmond (Atlantic Coast), I’d bang a right and head west to the Blue Ridge Mountains. Crossing over the ridge I’d drop into the Shenandoah Valley then southwest to the Kentucky border at The Breaks Interstate Park. I’d cross Kentucky until just north of Cave in Rock, Illinois (TransAmerica). From there I’d head south to the Nashville area where I’d pick up the Natchez Trace Parkway. The Natchez Trace goes southeast through Tennessee to the very northwest corner of Alabama then turns southwest across Mississippi. After the Trace, the Adventure Cycling route continues south, across the Mississippi River to Baton Rouge, Louisiana (Great Rivers South). Just beyond the end of the Trace I’d cross the Mississippi River into Louisiana through Baton Rouge to New Orleans and fly home. This makes for about a 1,700 mile tour.
This tour has some interesting aspects. First, it is logistically pretty simple. I only have to figure out how to get my bike and me home from the finish. Second, it uses the TransAmerica route for about half the distance. The TransAmerica has been in existence since 1976 so there are loads of places to stay. It uses the Natchez Trace which does not allow truck traffic and has numerous campsites and other places to stay. The Great Rivers South route goes near a few interesting places like Muscle Shoals, Alabama (famous for two music studios) and Tupelo, Mississippi (Elvis Presley’s birthplace). And if I get really ambitious there are scads of Civil War sites. The big downside to this route is that it can be oppressively hot and humid in the deep south. At least this means I can bring lighter gear. Two other unfun considerations are the dogs and steep hills of eastern Kentucky.
An alternative would allow me to pick off Arkansas. The bridge across the Mississippi at Natchez looks like a death trap (no shoulders, beaucoup trucks, rednecks in beat up pick up trucks, Easy Rider nightmares) so I would have to turn north somewhere along the southern part of the trace. I could ride 90 miles from Natchez to Vicksburg and cross the river there on an old two-lane bridge that is right next to an interstate bridge and likely to be lightly used. Once across I’d head north into Arkansas ending at Little Rock. The area along the river in Mississippi is a series of short steep climbs but oddly not too hilly in Arkansas. This 350-mile side trip is an awful lot of riding to pick off one state though.
The DC to Little Rock Tour. (Note New Orleans is just off the bottom of the map directly below Natchez.
Fly Over Loop
Should my spouse decide to visit her parents in northern Indiana, I could start a tour from there just as I did in 2019. This route would run through Indiana, Illinois, Kansas, Iowa, South Dakota, Wyoming, Nebraska, Colorado, Texas, Oklahoma, and Arkansas. I’d begin riding due south to Indianapolis where I’d pick up Adventure Cycling’s Eastern Express route. This route would take me west across Indiana and Illinois to Saint Charles, Missouri. There I’d pick up the Adventure Cycling’s Lewis and Clark route and follow the Katy Trail and the Missouri River west. I’d continue northeast of Kansas City into Kansas, Iowa, and Nebraska until turning west at Sioux Falls, South Dakota. I’d then follow the Adventure Cycling Association’s Pikes, Peaks, and Prairies route across the Badlands to Mount Rushmore. I’d head north along the Michelson Trail through the Black Hills to Deadwood. Next I’d turn west to check out Devils Tower in Wyoming before heading south across the prairie through Nebraska and Colorado to Amarillo, Texas. At Amarillo I’d bang a left and head east across Oklahoma into northwest Arkansas where I could finish near Fayetteville.
I suppose I could simplify this tour by riding straight across Iowa. That would take some additional planning though. The highlights of this tour would be the Badlands, Devils Tower, and the Michelson Trail, which has a stellar reputation among tourists. The lowlights would be heat and wind. Most of the Great Plains can get brutally hot in mid-summer. The long ride south from Wyoming to Texas likely would be into a strong headwind. Also, there are long stretches on this route without any services including water. BYOB.
The whole loop would be about 3,000 miles, the same distance as my Indiana to San Francisco tour in 2019.
It would make a heck of a lot more sense to start the tour in Sioux Falls but that would involve an additional logistical hassle. Also, I’d miss out on so much corn and soy and livestock.
Flyover Tour.
Beyond 2024 and 2025
Aside from Alaska, which would involve some sort of special one-off trip, I’d still need to pick off the southwest. There are two options.
Option one would follow Route 66 from Santa Monica, California through northern Arizona and New Mexico (with side trips to the Grand Canyon and Sedona) ending who knows where. I could even go all the way home which would be about 3,500 miles. If I still needed Arkansas, I would ride from Tulsa to Fayetteville before rejoining Route 66 in Joplin, Missouri.
Another option would be to cross the country from San Diego to New Orleans. This could be combined with the first tour above to pick off seven states in one go. That would be somewhere over 3,300 miles. Also, I’d probably stop in Phoenix to rent a car to go see the Grand Canyon and Sedona.
Any tour involving the desert Southwest would start in early April to avoid the impossible heat of the desert southwest in May and June. I’d finish in June.
The biggest impediment to conquering the 50 States challenge is age. I lost two good touring years to the pandemic which pushes a completion out to my early 70s. As old as that sounds I recall meeting two 70-something riders in my bike travels. I met one man near Fort Scott, Kansas. He was riding north to Sioux Falls, South Dakota before turning left for somewhere in California. I encountered the other elderly rider near the Oregon/Idaho border. “When I was young this was fun; now that I’m old, it’s work.”
Then there’s the 80-year-old man I met in Sheridan Lake, Colorado in 2022. He was riding a tadpole (two wheels in front) trike and pulling a trailer. His daily mileage was low but he started in Denver and was headed somewhere east.
One of the unexpected pleasures of bicycle touring is the opportunity to stumble upon historic sites of great interest. Mostly, I confess, these sites are interesting because of my woeful ignorance of U. S. history. How many times have you stopped the car to read the roadside markers that explain some nugget of “what happened here”? When travelling by bicycle, especially east to west, these roadside markers give a sort of commentary on how America was founded.
Take for example the markers on the TransAmerica Bicycle Trail in central Kansas. One marker commemorates the homestead of George Washington Carver. He was born in Missouri and spent most of his life in Alabama. It seems life on the prairie was not to his liking.
Another set of markers further to the west described the Sand Creek Massacre of 1864. I don’t know if I ever learned of this in school. How sad for this country that there were so many of these attacks on native encampments that it’s nearly impossible to remember them all. As I stood there looking north toward the site some miles distant I couldn’t help but think that I was standing in the middle of literally millions of acres of land, much of which was utterly unoccupied. What a stain on this country that the white settlers could not figure out how to share peacefully this massive canvas of prairie. Of course, I also could not see the native prairie grasses, the millions of bison, passenger pigeons, or other wildlife that the settlers wiped out in the name of progress and Manifest Destiny.
In Montana and Idaho we came upon sites connected with the Nez Perce War. We spent about an hour at the Big Hole Massacre site shaking our heads in disbelief. The massacre was directed by General O. O. Howard. Howard had made a good name for himself as the director of the Freeman’s Bureau which helped formerly enslaved people of the South transition to life during Reconstruction and who founded Howard University in the District of Columbia. History is complicated, it seems.
These sites are not without comic relief. Later on the way up Lolo Pass into Idaho, we came upon the site of Fort Fizzle, where the Nez Perce outfoxed the Army that was lying in wait. Rather than take the trail right past the army’s position, the Nez Perce simply stayed higher up in the mountains. I’d like to have seen the look on the fort commander’s face when her realized he’d been punked.
In 2022 I stopped to check out the remnants of the Sante Fe trail near Cimarron, Kansas. Many hundreds of miles later my route intersected with the Oregon and Mormon Trails where they coincide at Split Rock, Wyoming. Riding is hard but I can’t begin to imagine hoofing it across these plains.
In Wyoming, we came upon the gravesite of Sacagawea, the famous guide for the Lewis and Clark expedition, on the Wind River reservation. The gravesite itself wasn’t nearly as interesting as the rest of the still operational graveyard. As we moved west we encountered the ghosts of the Lewis and Clark expedition time and again, ultimately reaching their winter encampment at Fort Clatsop near Astoria, Oregon.
Yet another oddity encountered on my tour was the Supermax Prison near Florence, Colorado. You can see two or three lower security prisons from the road and they are quite massive, but the Supermax is out of view. In it, are the baddest of the bad. (The county includes a total of ten prisons which is a pretty creepy statistic.)
David Goodrich took a different approach to bicycling through history. He intentionally rode three sections of the underground railroad. I had seen roadside signs describing where Frederick Bailey – who would become Frederick Douglass once he escaped enslavement – and Harriet Tubman on Maryland’s Eastern Shore. Goodrich rode Tubman’s route through Maryland, Delaware, Pennsylvania, New Jersey, and New York to her ultimate destination of St. Catherines, Ontario in slavery-free, British-controlled Canada. Amazingly, she passed through and stayed at a safe house in Albany, New York where I grew up. I had absolutely no idea that the underground railroad came through Albany. This may be because Albany was about as racially segregated a place as you could find in the north. Redlining will do that.
Goodrich’s travels also took him places in Mississippi, Tennessee, Kentucky and Ohio. In Mississippi he toured Civil War sites and checked out the early locations where delta blues music took root and flourished. His account of these travels is contained in his new book, On Freedom Road. It’s wonderfully written and informative. After I finished reading it, I immediately ordered his two two other books about the intersection of his bicycle touring and climate change.
I met the author at a book signing event at Bards Alley bookshop in Vienna, Virginia. My thanks to the good folks at Bike at Vienna for bringing it to my attention.
I’ve been wanting to do long distance bike tours for as long as I can remember. The idea really took hold of my imagination when I met a young woman named Anne back when I was in grad school. Anne had ridden across the country on the TransAmerica Bicycle Trail as part of Bikecentennial. Bikecentennial was an event involving several small groups of riders going east and west who used the TransAm crossing as a way to celebrate the U. S. Bicentennial. Anne told me all kinds of tales of her trip. It was profoundly life altering for her.
It took me nearly forty years but I finally made the crossing myself. It was every bit as life altering for me as it was for Anne. Frankly, I don’t know how she and the many others who rode Bikecentennial did the ride with the equipment back then, The thought of riding a loaded-down ten-speed bike over all those mountain passes out west then up and down the Ozarks and Appalachian Mountains in the east blows me away. The bike I rode had 24 gears in a drivetrain that had been modified with lower, easier to spin chainrings. The highest mountain pass I climbed was Sherman Pass in Washington State. At 5,574 feet it was about 10,000 feet less than Hoosier Pass in Colorado on the TransAm.
Sometime around 1990, I became a member of Bikecentennial, the organization that developed the TransAm Trail and the 1976 event. I figured for a few dollars a year I could dream about following in Anne’s tracks while I rode my bike to and from work here in DC.
Bikecentennial the organization became the Adventure Cycling Association (ACA) and developed many more routes across the US (and a bit of western Canada). After a few self-designed bike tours in 2000, 2003, 2004 and 2005, I used Adventure Cycling route maps to ride solo around the top of Lake Michigan in 2016. The next year I used the ACA Atlantic Coast Route to ride to Key West and the ACA Florida Connector Route to cross Florida from Fort Myers to Fort Lauderdale. In 2018 I rode solo from my home near DC to Portland Oregon using maps from four different Adventure Cycling routes. I used three different ACA routes to go from Northern Indiana to San Francisco in 2019. Last year I used two of the ACA routes to go from Saint Louis to Portland, covering the western two-thirds of the TransAmerica Trail in the process.
Last year I noticed that my friend Jeff had become a lifetime member of Adventure Cycling. To my knowledge he’s never done a tour. He just thinks it’s a cool organization worthy of support. A few years ago a couple of BikeDC expats, Emma and Katie, became Adventure Cycling employees. And last fall, my Friday Coffee Club friend Ricky became an ACA board member.
It seemed like Adventure Cycling was closing in on me.
Had I known I was going to be doing this bike touring thing into my late 60s I could have saved a bundle of cash in annual dues by becoming a lifetime member of Adventure Cycling way back in the 1980s. Instead, I paid my dues annually for 32 years, all the while reading about bike touring in Adventure Cyclist magazine, the best bicycling magazine around. I suppose it’s all proof that imposter syndrome is a powerful force. I could at least take comfort in the fact that I was supporting an organization that was doing great things for bicycling and bicycle tourists.
I doubt I have more than a handful of long distance bike trips left in my tank. It makes not a lick of financial sense to do it (heck, I don’t even itemize anymore), but last month I decided to become a lifetime member of Adventure Cycling. I figure I’ll make back the cost in terms of annual dues savings in about 25 years.
Even before I finished my ride this summer, people were asking me, “What was the best part?” It may seem strange to say this but until I reviewed my blog posts last week, I had forgotten much of the ride! I suppose this was because I was so focused on the present that the past was of little importance.
And now that I have reviewed the posts, I still don’t have an answer. There were plenty of highlights.
Lincoln’s tomb (and the comic graves nearby) in Springfield, Illinois.
The Burma Shave signs on the Route 66 bike path in Illinois.
The many trail angels that showed me kindness, especially Jesse, the retired chef in a white pickup truck in Saint Louis. I am not exaggerating when I say that he saved my life. (I’ll never forget how he vacillated between saying “I love you” and cussing like Samuel L. Jackson.)
The Buddhist monk in the cowboy hat walking on the side of the road in Missouri. I am still kicking myself that I didn’t take his picture but he seemed completely at peace, gliding down the shoulder of the road with a serene smile across his face.
Taking a dive in the pool at the city park in Ash Grove, Missouri at the end of a hot and frustrating day. Fifteen minutes of bliss.
Meeting and riding with Mark and Corey from Ash Grove to Pueblo, Colorado.
The Cosmosphere in Hutchinson, Kansas. I could have spent hours and hours in that place.
The medicinal effects of marijuana edibles, an order of magnitude more effective and long lasting than ibuprofen for the pain in my left knee and hip.
Mo at the Courtyard Country Inn in Westcliffe, Colorado for getting me a room after one of my most exhausting days on a bike.
Making it to the top of Monarch Pass. And flying down the other side for ten miles.
San Miguel Canyon in Colorado. I went off route to avoid Lizard Head Pass and rode through a breathtaking canyon. Pure serendipity.
The Hogback in Grand Staircase – Escalante National Monument.
All the bike tourists I met on the side of the road. The French sisters and Dan Hurwitz are still riding. The sisters are on Instagram and Dan has a blog.
Friday night Jessie and Mike took me to the neighborhood Puerto Rican restaurant In Haight Ashbury and we stuffed ourselves. How do you say gut bomb in Spanish?
Yesterday we took The Mule to Bespoke, a bike shop across town. The owner used to work at my local bike shop in Mt. Vernon. He’ll ship my baby home later this week.
I rode a Jump bike back from the bike shop. It was my first time on an electric assist bike. It’s two-wheeled crack.
We had breakfast al fresco at a restaurant on the Wiggle, a bike route that weaves through the streets of this section of the city, avoiding big hills. It’s painted green and includes a counterflow section.
I bought a massive duffle bag Friday. It had straps on it so I can wear it like a backpack. I could wipe out every passenger on a BART train with this baby. Bwa ha ha.
Last night we had phenomenal tacos at a Mexican place before imbibing a huge bowl of punch at a bar. Not much of an improvement on my bike touring diet I must say but it felt considerably less painful.
I’m staying with Jessie and Mike until Monday morning when the duffle and I will relocate to a hotel near the Oakland airport for Tuesday’s flight home. I’ve already scheduled two happy hours for next week. Unfortunately they are for the same evening.
I looked up some descriptive statistics on the Western Express yesterday. Between Pueblo CO and San Francisco I did more than 98,000 feet of climbing.
And today to prove that this tour has traumatized me, I signed up for my 11th 50 States Ride on Sept 7. Nigel Tufnel would be pleased.
I hand washed my clothes in the hotel last night. It must not be as dry here because it was all slightly damp this morning.
After breakfast I improvised a route back to the Western Express at Rockville. The wind was howling in my face. The American flags still flying from Independence Day we’re flying horizontally. Don’t go back to Rockville and waste another gear.
Then it got seriously hilly. I couldn’t believe I was using my granny gear. The map said I had a bike trail ahead. When I got there I saw that it had an 8% grade.
It’s a good thing I threw some stuff out at the hotel.
I arrived at the ferry terminal just as the 10:30 boat was leaving for San Francisco. Killing time I had Friday Coffee Club solo with a pretty awesome chocolate chip cookie.
I sat in the sun with my back to the pier. When I turned around after 20 minutes I saw that a line had formed with well over 100 people in it. No worries; it’s a big boat. The Mule went in a bike rack in the rear and I took a seat inside. The ride was as smooth as a bus until we approached San Francisco. Thankfully the swells were short lived.
Jessie and Mike were waiting for me. After a short chat we followed a trolley bus up Market Street, dodged a dozen misbehaving pedestrians, rode the Wiggle to The Panhandle, and ended at their place in the Haight.
After Mike moved The Mule and all my stuff upstairs to the apartment, we walked around the block so I could buy a duffle bag for the trip home.
Later they treated me to dinner at a Puerto Rican restaurant, beers at home, and ice cream at a shop up the street.
Way back in Missouri I met Rob and Fay on their way from Santa Monica to Chicago on Route 66z we hit it off and they invited me to stay at their place if I’d decided to finish my ride in Sacramento or San Francisco.
As things worked out, I ended up riding through Sacramento. Despite the fact that I arrived a day early and that they had plans for the night, they opened their home to me. Before they left for a night out at the football (soccer) pitch, they left me with a warm pasta casserole, instructions to eat or drink anything else to my liking, a huge TV, and a swimming pool.
I never made it to the pool because one of their comfy chairs knocked me out. I woke up 90 minutes later totally disoriented. Before and after my slumber I drank about six pints of cold, cold water from the fridge. (94 miles of riding makes for a powerful thirst.
We chatted a bit after they came home and again over the breakfast they made me. Then thru gave me a rolling escort back up to the Western Express Route. We then rode the fantastic bike trail along the American River into Old Town Sacramento, and ultimately over the Tower Bridge into West Sacramento. It was about 27 miles in all. What terrific hosts!
I continued heading west on the causeway over farm fields along I-80.
Then after a few miles of suburban roads I entered Davis. I remember coming to Davis in 1979 and marveling at how the community embraced cycling. Today, as I was taking a left turn a white SUV pulled up along my right hand side. I had missed the fact that the left turn had two lanes. The driver Roth window open started yammering at me to learn the rules of the road. She could have said something constructive like “You need to be in the right lane”, but she chose to be an asshole.
So I chose to tell her to fuck off.
This happened as we were moving in traffic.
After she passed me, I signaled and moved over. Oddly the driver behind Miss Bossypants had no trouble comprehending my maneuver.
There was a criterium going on in town. I saw it as an impediment between me and lunch.
A couple of passers by chatted with me, apologized for the driver’s rudeness, and explained how to get to a good restaurant along the race course. This being a holiday the placed was packed. Many of the tables had whiny kids. The line go order food was out the door. I left.
After another five miles I spotted a Subway and hoovered a foot long.
The trail west of Davis was designed for me; it was riddled with bumps from tree roots. Where’s my axe when I need it?
Soon I was back on two lane country roads they actually went up and down a bit. Show me what you got, Yolo County.
Not much.
I rolled through orchards if fruit trees, past farm fields, and along a Putah Creek.
Near Winters the creek was filled with families having fun with tubes and other water toys.
I stopped in Winters for GatorAde and an Its It, which is the closest food you can get to Meth.
From Winters I did more easy climbing and rode past Vacaville, known mostly for its hospital for the criminally insane. I didn’t have to deal with any loonies running loose but I did see a wild turkey run across the road in front of me.
Could it be that the turkey was a human escapee and that something in god water is making me go mad?
From Vacaville it was a short spin to Fairfield. The afternoon heat and 75 miles of riding convinced me to find a motel. And do I did.
I pulled a Joe Walsh and washed everything I own except my shoes in the bathroom sink. Tomorrow’s 2-hour ride to the ferry terminal in Vallejo could be a tad moist.
Last night’s improvised lodging worked out great. Dan, Spencer, and I went our for burgers and beers then I hit the hay. I awoke at 1:30 and looked out the window. Not a cloud in the sky just so many stars that Carl Sagan would be pleased.
The early morning view of the lake was nearly as amazing.
The lodge unexpectedly provided motel breakfast. The lodge owner told me to expect a few more climbs before the road tips toward California’s Central Valley.
He was right, of course. The first hill was rudely a mile into the ride. How dare they?
A few miles later was a 1,000 foot climb back up to 7,900 feet. Sleeping at 8,000 feet seemed to help me get over this hump. There was a third climb of a few hundred feet after they then The Mule could take off.
I stopped a few times to admire the view.
At Hams Station I considered eating second breakfast. The restaurant has both open and closed signs displayed. If they couldn’t decide I wasn’t going to give them my business. I rode past Cooks Station a few miles later but by then I was looking to break 60 miles by noon, so no dice.
After about ten miles of descending the route at 25 to 40 mph, I turned off the main highway. No more rumble strips. No more direct sunlight. The narrow, two-lane, shaded country road now had patches and small potholes all over the place. The shade made it hard to tell where they were. I had to slow my roll down into the teens. So not fair!
Every so often I’d get rambunctious and let The Mule loose… until I hit a rough section. My back took the worst of the bumps.
At Omo Ranch I started seeing farms. Soon thereafter I saw miles and miles of vineyards, each with a tasting room. I didn’t give into temptation.
At Ono Ranch an elevation sign said I was at 3,612 feet. This was the first time since Kansas that I’d been below 4,000 feet.
In Mt Aukum I stopped for lunch at noon at a cafe. It was just shy of 50 miles for the day. Still not a bad morning’s work.
Back on the bike I was passed through a few gigantic vineyards then found myself passing fields of tall, golden grass. The occasional field had some cattle in it but they wanted nothing to do with entertaining me. Instead they looked up, momentarily stopped chewing, then returned to their mastication.
I stopped again at tony Rancho Murieta where I saw a text from my Warmshowers hosts. It suggested a route to their house that completely bypassed Folsom to the north, saving me at least 15 miles.
They were leaving the house at four do I decided to see if I could get there before they left. It was then that I realized that i was now about 60 feet above sea level and my legs seemed supercharged. Hemoglobin is a wonderful thing.
I arrived at Fay and Robs place just as they were leaving. They left me food, beer, and a swimming pool. So far I’ve taken what was behind door number 1.
Tomorrow will be my approach to San Francisco. I plan on riding through Sacramento, Davis, Vacaville, and Fairfield. If my legs will agree I’ll ride all the way to Vallejo, the point of departure for the ferry to the City. Then, on Friday morning I’ll set sail for the Ferry Terminal and a reunion with my bikeDC friends Jessie and Mike.
A couple of passers by chatted with me, apologized for the driver’s rudeness, and explained how to get to a good restaurant along the race course. This being a holiday the placed was packed. Many of the tables had whiny kids. The line go order food was out the door. I left.
At Hams Station I considered eating second breakfast. The restaurant has both open and closed signs displayed. If they couldn’t decide I wasn’t going to give them my business. I rode past Cooks Station a few miles later but by then I was looking to break 60 miles by noon, so no dice.
A Few Spokes Shy of a Wheel 