Bike Tour Prep in the Age of Covid

Preparations for the tour continue. I heard from Mark of the team of Mark and Corey yesterday. He said we’ll see each other in 5 1/2 weeks “hopefully”.

A lot can happen in 5 1/2 weeks. And a lot can happen during a bike tour. I’ve been very lucky so far on the usual bad stuff like crashes, tornados, snow, robberies, and such. Of more immediate concern, of course, is Covid.

I’ve been using cloth masks since the start of the pandemic. I’ve also been careful to avoid enclosed spaces and crowds. Last night I took my wife out for dinner where we ate inside.

Despite a few exceptions such as this dinner, I’ve been a virtual hermit during the pandemic. As far as I know I haven’t contacted Covid yet. (Nor has my wife or daughter.) One interesting benefit of this isolation is that I also have had almost no other illnesses for two years. And I’ve learned that masking is a pretty effective way to avoid pollen-related allergy symptoms. (The DC area is particularly brutal for pollen sufferers.)

The tour will take away from my DC area bubble where people are still using masks to a significant extent. In the last few months mask usage even here tree has declined. And Covid cases are on the rise once again.

I’m heading into areas where mask usage is low. I intend to continue masking because a Covid infection could be disasterous. I imagine having breathing difficulties at 9,000 feet without a hospital anywhere nearby. (Hello, Wyoming!) I decided to buy a couple of N95 masks as a precaution.

I rode to the drug store and began an aisle-by-aisle search. I could only find cheap disposable cloth masks on display. Discouraged I started to leave the store when a message came over the store PA system. “Customers, you can get free N95 masks at the check out. Three per customer.” The check out clerk happened to be standing nearby so I asked him for some. He led me instead to a large stack of cardboard boxes in the entryway of the store. I had walked past them without a glance on the way in.

The boxes were filled with large bunches of disposable N95 masks in plastic bags. I was about to take three when the clerk said “Here. take a bag. Give them out to your friends.” I was flabbergasted. I came home with about 25 masks. I tried one on. These babies rock. They fit tight to your face and they are not at all restrictive of breathing. They are a bit awkward to wear so I expect I’ll only use them in hotels and food stores.

I am down to only a handful of tasks.

Acquire new camp towel (old one is nasty and small)
Buy a small squeeze bottle for my liquid soap (so I can carry 8 ounces instead of 16)
Test my panniers for leaks. Patch with duct tape when necessary.
Put my bike rack on our SUV to make sure it will carry my bike without issues
Reconfigure The Mule and do a fully loaded test ride around the neighborhood.

It’s Never Too Early to Plan a Tour

Yesterday I did a shakedown cruise on The Mule. I recently had it fixed up for my tour by the good folks at Bikes at Vienna. The bike rides fine, although it feels a little different now that it has Schwalbe Marathon Plus Tour tires on it. These tires weight 50 percent more than the Schwable Mondial tires I have been using since the pandemic hit. But the weight is worth it, because they have a beefy tread that is nearly puncture proof (knock wood).

I road The Mule to DC and back, about a 30-mile round trip. The gears and brakes work fine. I did notice that my front rack was a tad wobbly. This is not surprising as I haven’t tightened the bolts in a few years. I need to dig out my wee bottle of Loctite to make sure the bolts stay tight.

The beefier tread means that my bike computer needs to be recalibrated. I think I have it figured out but I want to do one more check before moving on to other things such as,

Tent – I need to set up my tent and see if I want to use it on this trip. It’s a Big Agnes lightweight backpacking tent that is not freestanding. This is a pain. Also, the inside mesh sags. I miss my big old tent but had to abandon it when, despite, seam sealing, it leaked on me one too many times. I might buy a 2-person, freestanding tent and use that instead.
Panniers – My Ortlieb roll top panniers are pretty beat up. They lost their waterproofing a long time ago. I need to go over them and cover any weak spots with duct tape. I’ll bring some plastic bags to use as liners just to be safe.
Maps and Routing – I have to buy several maps from Adventure Cycling. I need maps for one segment of the Lewis and Clark Route (this will get me from the start to Nebraska). I need to do some research on how to ride across Nebraska to Colorado Springs where I will meet up with my 2019-tour friends Mark and Corey. The three of us will ride the remainder of the Trans America Route from Colorado to the Oregon coast. Mark has an extra set of six maps for this section that he’s offered me, but I’ll need to buy one map segment (from West Yellowstone to Missoula) because this was recently updated.
Bike Transport – My wife and I are driving to Missouri for a wedding in May. I hope to use my Saris Bones rack on her Subaru Outback but she is resisting because she can see the marks on the paint of my Accord. An alternative would be to fold down the back seats and put the bike inside but I fear this will damage my fenders. We’ll figure something out. In any case I just bought new straps for the rack. The old ones are pretty worn out.
Engine performance – Bless me father for I have slacked. It’s been three years since my last bike tour. During that time I have endured a disturbing number of cortisone shots. As of today, I can ride my bike pain free for hours. Walking, however, presents some problems. I’m scheduled for a few more shots to deal with this aspect. I have also experimented with edibles but they haven’t done a thing, except put me to sleep. Some recent experiments with yoga seem to be helping, although I have my doubts based on past experience.
Engine weight – Do you know who Charles Taylor was? He built the light-weight aluminum engine used in the Wright Brothers’ planes. Without him, the Wright Brothers would be just another couple of geeky bike shop owners in Dayton OH. Let’s just say that my engine could use Taylor’s help. Every pound I don’t have to haul up into the Rockies, the better.

There are plenty of other things to worry about. Bison, elk, wolves, bears, wildfires, soul-sucking headwinds, brutal climbs, land whales (RVs), floods, withering heat, and overbooked campsites. Who’s idea was this anyway? Look on the bright side: at least I won’t have to contend with parachuting spiders.

Peace

Lord knows as someone who had ridden the 50 States Ride 13 times, I love a good gimmick. Me and my 650 states can’t hold a candle to the accomplishment of Lynn Salvo.

I first heard about Lynn from a blog reader during one of my tours. She was riding her bike across Canada. It had something to do with a peace sign.

Lynn who is six years older than me rode the Southern Tier route from San Diego to Saint Augustine in 2015. It was her first big tour. She was, by my math, 66 years old. A couple of years later she came up with a crazy idea. Why not trace out a peace sign with her bike tours. Across Canada and up and down both coasts would be the circle, with a dove’s foot down the center of the US from Canada to Wichita and then on to intersect her Southern Tier route to the south, southeast, and southwest.

The peace sign project is a labor of love. Lynn’s older brother John died when his plane crashed in Laos during the Vietnam War.

Reading about the recently completed, last leg of her peace sign down the west coast of the US blew me away. She’s 72 years old and that route sounded HARD. So many hills. So much wind. She even rode her bike on the bridge between Washington State and Astoria Oregon. When I reached Astoria in 2018, I took one look at that sucker and said “No way!” Aside from the fact that it’s a brutal climb, it’s a two-lane highway with no shoulder and the cross winds are insane.

And then there was that mountainous wildfire detour she had to take along the coast of central California. Eek.

14,500 miles over six years.

Dang.

I lifted this map from her blog. I’m pretty sure she won’t mind.

If you can get past the firewall, here is a Washington Post story about her.

Congratulations; Lynn.

Pictures of the Year 2019

Well, once again I wasted untold hours posting this inane blog. In for a penny, in for a pound. So here goes with the pictures of 2019. With one, regrettably from a few years ago.

I finally made it to the Kenwood neighborhood in Bethesda. Cherry blossoms are one of the best things about DC in the spring.

The bike valet at Nationals Park is the best. My bikes spent a lot of time here this year

Nothing says bike touring fun quite like two weeks of thunderstorms.

Springfield, Illinois just around the corner from the grave of the Corn Dog King

Mark, Corey, and me taking shelter from a storm in a church in Kansas

Kansas was an ordeal. Little did we know that the Rockies would be brutal. The sign was pretty neat though.

Electrically equipped apartments in Pueblo, CO

Flooding in western Missouri and eastern Kansas on the way west

Part of a farm building that was obliterated by a tornado near Golden City, Missouri. Three people died here.

I rode to the top of this beast. The ride down was epic.

Indomitable French sisters in Boulder, Utah

Hoodoos in the Amphitheater at Bryce Canyon

The Mule poses next to the Cedar Break National Monument snow bank in late June

Gio and Christina from Italy in Eureka, Nevada

img_3032-1 — Downhill through California wineries

Morning view from my motel room – Caples Lake, California in the Sierras

Sugarloaf with sticks — Hiking Sugarloaf, Maryland

Lotus blossoms at the Anacostia Botanical Gardens

Dinner view — They won the whole damned thing. Unreal.

IMG_3282 (1) — Tired? Not me. Emilia at the Great Pumpkin Ride

IMG_3266 (1) — Autumn in Fort Hunt Park near home

@darsal pool noodle man #biketivism #stoputurnsonpenn — A stellar human being killed by an out-of-control driver. Still hard to believe Miss you Dave.

And I Thought It Was Me

One of the worst, most depressing experiences I have ever had on a bike, or for that matter off a bike, was hitting the wall on my first day climbing in the Colorado Rockies. The day started with 30 miles from Pueblo to Wetmore. In the process I climbed about 1,400 feet. It was a bit challenging but not too bad.

Between Wetmore and Westcliffe, however, was a 3,000 foot climb over what I learned today is something called Hardscrabble Pass. The Google says the distance is 15 miles but other accounts have it at 12 miles. Either way it is a relentless grade of between 6 and 8 percent for most of the way up.

Today I read an account of a bike tourist who did this ride in 2009. He describes having to stop every 1/10 of a mile to avoid going anaerobic. His legs kept tying up as he rode. With no experience at this sort of thing, I didn’t stop until I was completely unable to get a breath. At around 7,500 feet, I leaned over my bike gasping. (My asthma didn’t help a whole lot.)

Another rider broke the Pueblo to Westcliffe ride into two days. He referred to the pass as “the wall.” He took five hours to ride 15 miles over the top. And he walked three times.

After starting and stopping several times, I ended up walking the steepest part about half way between Wetmore and the pass. I felt humiliated, but these two journals assure me that my failure to ride nonstop over the pass had nothing to do with my fitness or age.

My ego feels better now.

No Name Tour: Highlights

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 epic flooding in eastern Kansas.
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.
Bryce Canyon. Egads, it’s amazing.
Red Canyon, the little known canyon to the west of Bryce.
The ride from Cedar Breaks National Monument to Cedar City, Utah, a loss of 5,000 feet in 20 miles.
My Warmshowers hosts in Hutchinson, Carson City, and Sacramento. And Jesse and Mike in San Francisco.
Mushroom Swiss burgers in Nevada. Everybody I met was raving about them for good reason.
The sign guys who helped me find a place (and drove me to dinner) after I climbed Carson Pass in California.
The bike mechanics in Pueblo, Salida, Ridgeway, and Carson City who dropped everything to help me.
Most of my days seemed to be in survival mode on this tour. Still I had hours and hours of meditative solitude.

No Name Tour: Aftermath In SF

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.

Team Rootchopper assemble!

No Name Tour: Day 51 – You Have to Earn It

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.

Tomorrow I’ll ship The Mule home.

Miles today: 28

Tour miles: 2,976

No Name Tour: Day 50 – Gems in the Breakdown Lane

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.

Total miles: 75.5

Tour miles: 2,948

Top speed: 26.1 mph

More pix on Instagram

No Name Tour: Day 49 – 8,000 Feet, 94 Miles, 40 MPH, and a Ton of Hemoglobin

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.

Today’s miles: 94.5

Tour miles: 2,875.3

Top speed: 40.1 mph

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