ride for awareness 2007

Epilogue

2007-07-05T19:07:00.000-07:00

ep·i·logue also ep·i·log (ěp'ə-lôg', -lŏg') n.

A short poem or speech spoken directly to the audience
following the conclusion of a play.
The Performer who delivers such a short poem or speech.
A short addition or concluding section at the end of a literary work,
often dealing with the future of its characters. Also called an afterward.

We drove to the Jacksonville airport, said good bye to dad. He found an earlier flight and took it back to Charlotte. We hung around for our flight to Manchester, New Hampshire. We looked forward to seeing Chris's dad, helping him around the house. We also had scheduled a pancake fund raiser at Applebee's. Chris's sister Barb arranged it all, including a visit from a Manchester Union Leader reporter. We'd have an opportunity to tell our story about our moms and about pancreatic cancer.

When we're in Manchester, we always visit Newbury Comics and Stoneyfield Farm Dairy in Londonderry, New Hampshire. The comic shop has music, books/comics, postcards, magnets, bumper stickers, Red Sox Nation paraphernalia and Spawn figures. The place is fun and we usually find something we can't live without.

Stoneyfield Farm Dairy offers plant tours. The tour includes a short video of some history, then a quick out-and-back walk down one factory hallway. The highlight comes at the end of the tour. A tray overflowing with all their products sits on the table, no-limit yogurt consumption, lactose intolerance be damned. If you've never tried YoBaby Original, do so immediately. The top layer is whole cream fat. Growing babies need that extra layer for brain development and long winter nights. It's also a good thing babies can't yet read the nutrition label and fat content numbers.

No tour this time, just stocking up on yogurt and yogurt drinks for Pete, Chris's dad. We get talking to the folks helping us out. We mention we're from Oregon, we love your stuff, we always eat Banilla (Banana/vanilla) yogurt when we can find it and that we come in every time we're in town. They remember us. Out comes the sample tray, well alright!

We eat yogurt, drink yogurt. Chris grabs a strawberry soy yogurt, pops the top, takes a bite. Something is very wrong, but the alarm does not go off in time before she swallows that first bite. The good-through dates are past on a few of the items on the tray. Chris let's them know, we leave.

Immediately it hits, like a stomach flu. Ka-Boom. All the basement action causes a fissure, a lovely hemorrhoid. Nice. Our drive to Portsmouth, New Hampshire the next day was uncomfortable and long for Chris and this was just the beginning. We buy the usual remedies at the drug store.

Still suffering two days later, we catch our flight to NYC. The connection out of JFK turned into one of those precious travel experiences that never translates into words, like being in the military or war. You just have to live through it. Let's just say it was unbelievable. Our gate, stuck between a jumbo jet flight to Italy and another flight to Mexico City was clustered with passenger-in-waiting overflow, all three flights leaving within 20 minutes of one another.

Finally on the plane, the back up in the big blue is so severe, we sit on the tarmac for two more hours. The way the pilot explained it, our on-ramp into the sky was metered, keeping us waiting behind 25 other planes while air traffic cleared out.

Airborne, we pray for a movie, as the flight is almost 7 hours. Every 15 minutes or so, Chris would quickly inhale in pain, the knife-wielding butt barnacle slashing, jabbing and poking for the fun of it. It sounded like she was taking a quick hit off a fatty, not like either of us knows what that sounds like. I'd look at her grimace with eyes squeezed shut. What could I do? I'll write a poem to mark the moment. There is no better way to pay our respects to such circumstances.

The aircraft starts its descent, we know we'll be home in a little over an hour. Emily drops us at the house. We drag ourselves in, open some windows to clear the stale air. The flight delay put our arrival at home around 1 am. Too tired for a shower, brushing my teeth will have to suffice, then to bed. In the darkened bathroom I grab the paste, loading up my brush. Two or three strokes. Did we pick up a new toothpaste? This stuff has no taste.

I turn on the light and check the label - Preparation H.

over and out-until next time

Final mileage and Thank You All

2007-07-03T14:37:00.000-07:00

Total mileage:

2918.09

32 days of riding

(yes we skipped Sanderson, Texas to Del Rio, Texas - too much righteous Texas weather)

91.19 miles per day average

14.48 mph average

Grand total raised for the Pancreatic Cancer Action Network

Just over $14,000

Thanks to . . .

Dad and Phyllis for all the support in the form of food, company, ride to Del Rio, Texas, photography, everything; Pete Panagos for the air miles, room and board when we stopped in; Roxane and Jubal for the great GPS phone (everyone loved it); Peter and Max Panagos for meeting us in High Springs, Florida and bailing us out of a tight spot; Barb Desclos for all her help with the Applebee's Pancake fundraiser; Monica and Deb and their contingent of extremely aware and generous friends; Deedra Tackett for checking on us every day and worrying; Emily Ohlin for keeping Porter happy; Mr. and Mrs. Ohlin for sharing the finish with us and taking St. Augustine pictures; Tom Trissel for the gear hook up; Marsha Ware, the best pod mate ever, for the map and hotel confirmation support; Brad Potts for the cards; Cord Amato for the card graphics; Nicholas Freedman and David L'Heureux for the bicycling.com connection; Dave Baker at Gila Bike&Hike, Silver City, NM for the $10 labor spoke replacement/wheel true, and for being open on Sunday; PanCAN for spending the money wisely and helping people out; All you TRUCKERS out there for slowing down and giving us a bit more room - you know who you are; all the convenience store clerks, for letting us use your bathrooms even when we did not buy anything; everyone who donated to the ride - we want to thank all of you personally for your generosity; Jasper the Cat, for not running too far and inspecting our gear every time we set foot in the MoHo; Salomon USA and West Portland Physical Therapy Clinic for their super-generous donations; David Munk for kicking down with budget money as a donation; Carol, Georgia, Grant and Pam for being great neighbors and checking on the homestead in our absence; Hammer Nutrition for keeping us fueled; Best Western for the most kick ass motels out on the high plains, and to both of you out there reading this blog - we thank you.

Thanks Nina and Phylis for watching over us.
We love you

Day 39 - East Palatka, FL to St. Augustine, FL 45.14 miles/15.0 mph average 2 hrs 47 min

2007-07-03T12:33:00.001-07:00

Leaving East Palatka

One more short day. Not much to say different about this day that has not been said about others. We missed our turn coming out of town, back tracked and corrected. The route heads north along the St. Johns River. It is more scenic, but if we ever do this again, we'd stay on highway 207 straight into St. Augustine. Dump trucks replaced logging trucks on the scenic route, no shoulders, Sketchville Central. 207 is a wide boulevard with 8 to 10 foot shoulders. Shoulda. coulda, woulda stayed on 207. Next time for sure. The last 16 miles due east straight into a head wind (surprised?). We just laughed at it while dodging the dumpers. They must have been filling in low areas because they were swarming.

Dump Trucks, no shoulder, life is sweet

The plan for the finish included riding to the Atlantic, wheel dip and all. Once we arrived into St. Augustine, we realized quickly this would not be easy. Traffic converges on this little town like a blood clot. Everything backs up everywhere. Highway # 1 busts at the seams, while the streets in the city proper are Lilliputian. We canceled the beach ride, proceeding straight to the bike shop where dad and Emily's parents waited for us. There were no fireworks or tears (we cried them all out in Texas), very anti-climatic. In one word: RELIEF.

"Ask me in a month if I'd EVER do this again . . . "

fish-belly hand tops, tanned fingers

I'd turn around and ride back to Portland if I could see my mom again

My hamhocks were cooked - time to quit

We stripped everything off the bikes, put on our street shoes and left the bikes at the shop for shipping. Although we felt a bit flat at the end we were grateful to be safe and also pleased that we could get rid of the bikes and not look at them for a while (maybe UPS would divert my rear wheel to Siberia, no problem).

Let's dump the bikes and go eat

Dad already staked out the UPS store. We dropped in and picked up a shipping box to send all the ride-specific gear back home. We'd be in Manchester, NH for about a week starting tomorrow and did not want to drag the stuff around. Back at the Scottish Inn Motel, we combed through everything and packed just what we'd need for the remainder of the trip, the rest to the UPS store. Business tended to, we coordinated dinner with Tom and Cathy, Emily's parents. It was great having them in St. Augustine for the finish.

Tom and Cathy Ohlin, dining with a few undesirables

We drove to the beach (much further than we thought) stopped into a book shop, found a Dairy Queen (I ate a burger and fries - I just can't stop myself) for dessert then went back to the motel to rest up.

Thanks for everything Dad - We love you

The water was about 80 degrees - for real

over and out

Day 38 - High Springs, FL to East Palatka, FL 94.71 miles/15.0 mph average 5 hours 47 min

2007-07-03T10:40:00.000-07:00

The brick bike path out of High Springs - lasted about a mile

With 95 miles today, we decided to sleep in and go have breakfast with Peter and Max. Waffle House one more time. Just walking in the door feels like eating a meal, so much of the cooked food hangs in the air. Like a contact high, only better. Peter marveled at the quantity of food we consistently ate. Honestly, it was getting old. Pounding food is not something either of us really enjoy. Feeling full all the time distracts from the rest of your life. By the time we ate, got back to the room and prepped to leave, it was nearly 9 am and getting warm. We said our good byes and headed out. Peter and Max planned a few activities for the morning, and we'd see them one more time a bit later.

My first trip through the outlying Gainesville area featured perfect roads, minimal traffic, pure cycling joy. As seen below, it's still the same, but better. Making good time, we rode passed a few high caliber, competitive runners out training on the country roads. With what looked like 2 to 5 percent body fat, we figured they skipped the Waffle House this morning.

OK, no shoulder but who cares?

this road is dreamy, I think I'm in love

The route heads around the north side of the city, then drops south to the Gainesville-Hawthorne State Trail. 16 miles of controlled access recreational path. Such paths work great with the caveat that extra care is needed with families cycling with children. They tend to swerve a bit. The path reminded me of the Birk-Gilman in Seattle, Springwater Corridor in Portland.

(http://www.floridastateparks.org/gainesville-hawthorne/)

Sign at the trail head

Trail starts here - enjoy the ride

The trail proved easy going, just a few rough patches and hilly sections. A doe bolted across the path 15 feet in front of us at one point. Thickly wooded land hid most of the wildlife. The trail parallels state road # 20 into Hawthorne. Dad flew down from Charlotte earlier in the day, and we met up with him in Hawthorne when we stopped for lunch.

From Hawthorne we had about 40 miles remaining on the day. Our plan to stay on state road # 20 fell through since it was Johnny-Dangerous. The logging trucks were once again ridiculous (was it the same pack of 20 following us across the country, running circles around us?). With no shoulder for safe riding, we popped north to the prescribed route, which did turn out better. Jamming through Melrose, Putnam Hall, Florahome and Carraway, 10 miles left to East Palatka. The St. Johns River separates Palatka and East Palatka. Just West of Palatka, Chris states categorically that she has a rear flat. I look down at her tire, it looks OK from where I'm sitting. We are so close and in a groove, I did not even want to stop and check. How awful is that? I look down again, certain that the tire is not losing pressure. I then ask her if it feels like the tire can finish the next 4 miles or so. Stopping to change a flat so close to the end, what can I say, not a good thing.

as it turns out, the tire was not flat, possibly her energy was. We'd been pushing hard against yet another head wind for the last 30 miles. It added up. I felt it. Over the bridge into East Palatka, the Best Western there on the right, dad snapping pics.

does her rear tire look flat to you?

Best baked beans ever

Hot by the end of day, we scrounged change for the Gatorade (what else?) machine outside the room after checking in. We immediately started thinking about food once we cleaned up. Dad did not notice the combo Dunkin Donuts/31 Flavors on the way into town, but we pointed it out on our way to some BBQ with absolutely the best baked beans I've ever tasted. The little bowl of beans with my meal was not enough. I wonder how a baked bean buffet would've worked out. Not pretty, I'd imagine.

We hit 31 flavors on the way back, then retired to dad's room to watch the Red Sox on the tube. Pure bliss, even though they lost to the Yankees, 6 to 2. Bitter.

over and out

day 37 - Madison, FL to High Springs, FL 75.22 miles/15.4 mph average 4 hrs 30 min

2007-07-03T07:19:00.000-07:00

We had little idea of the road conditions on #53 and federal road # 27, but were willing to take a chance. A Florida state trooper was gassing up last night and he told us that 27 had a decent "skirt" or shoulder, and that he remembered it being resurfaced not so long ago. We'd take it.

Up at 4 am, everything organized and ready to go from the night before. We ate in the room, filled our bottles with ice from the ice machine, pulled the door closed and took off. With no city lights polluting the darkness, it was pitch black out. Sunday at 4 to 5 am is too early for church. The only drivers on the road are typically those coming home from bars or parties.

Chris's red flashing light needed batteries so we dropped into the market attached to a gas station next to the motel. We rolled up and a surly group piled out of a car, a drunk girl screaming some choice words and phrases at the driver as he walked toward the store laughing over his shoulder at her. Ah, true love.

Once we got 100 yards from the station, it was like riding into an ink well. Our headlights provided ample light for the road in front of us, but not enough for the sides of the roads. I'd pivot my light back and forth occasionally when approaching a side road or driveway. Chris gave me a Surefire flashlight a while back. Finally, a chance to use it. The light is incredibly bright and tough, made to military and law enforcement specs (http://www.surefire.com/).

We'd hear cars coming miles off, before we saw headlights. The whining, white sound of a single car travels far in the vacuum of no other noise. We decided to pull off the road, douse the bike lights and hide out from the cars. Call it paranoia, but we turned it into a game; hear the car, see the lights, find a driveway to hideout - this usually coincided with a pee break anyway, no harm, no foul. At one point we heard the high pitched whine of 4WD pickups screaming down the road behind us. We scooted to a side road, turned out the bike lights and waited. The pitch of the tires wound down as both trucks slowed to take a hard right onto a dirt road less than 100 yards behind us. Any conversation with the natives at 5 am would probably not be a good one.

The horizon on our left turned from black to purple to deep red, red, than orange as the sun rose. By the time we hit federal road # 27, daylight flooded the woods, and we felt much safer. 27 was the perfect road, all requirements filled; good shoulder and surface, flat, dry weather. We chewed away at the miles until a red rental car slowed down with Peter and Max inside.

Peter, pale Max and Chris

We met up with them between Mayo, Florida and Branford, Florida. Max got out of the car looking a bit pale. He said hello than said "I'm not getting back into that car again, I think I'm gonna throw up." One thing I've discovered about kids, when they say they're going to puke, they usually do. Irony and sarcasm don't apply in these cases. He puked, several times. We could do nothing but feel bad for him while trying to aid in keeping the stuff off of his shoes. His technique will no doubt improve over time. Practice, practice.

25 miles left to High Springs, Peter and Max took off and did some sightseeing. We put our heads down to finish as soon as we could, taking advantage of our early start. One last food stop and I called Bob to let him know the wheel held together, and should make it to town where we'd take it in for another repair. 95 miles on a broken spoke. We finished just after midday, again meeting up with Peter and Max once we hit main street. We followed them to the motel, not just any motel, the Cadillac Motel. $45 a night and well worth it. Diving is popular in the area. The Cadillac is base camp for hoards of middle aged men, staying for weeks at a time, diving the local hot spots.

the wheel I know and love

We pull into the motel. As Chris checks in, Max gets that pale look again and suddenly blows vomit all over the walkway in front of the rooms. A total surprise attack. Was it us? The red paint on the rental car? Video games in a moving car? The state of Florida? What could possibly incite his stomach to hit the reject button? I asked the motel cleaning person for a bucket. Filling it with water, I rinsed the globs off the walkway, double power rinse. Doctor Peter said it was a 24 hour bug.

The Swamp

We cleaned up and dropped the wheel in the trunk, ran it to the shop. The shop guy suggested a Mexican place for lunch. The food was good, but I chose a coconut drink, expecting a sweet liquid. It was bitter with small chunks of diced coconut floating around in the can. Take a drink, chew, take a drink, chew. It sucked.

Peter wanted to take pictures of the Gator stadium (Ben Hill Griffin Stadium). We stopped by, saw workers with a gate open and walked right in. We crawled all over the place and even saw a few nuts running stairs in the heat. http://virtualtour.ufl.edu/campus_sites/stadium.htm. Once inside, it was like a heat sink, the sun beaming down into the center of the stadium, magnified by the bowl-shaped seating structure.

Max, throw up over there, not here

I walked up the stairs to take this picture. The next day on the bike, I couldn't figure out why my calves were on fire. Duh . . . When you do one thing everyday for almost six weeks, your body protests when asked to adapt to a new activity

We drove around for 30 minutes (thanks Peter) looking for Dos Equis. The bike shop guy said it was the shop beer of choice, so we promised a case for saving our asses. Beer as a peace offering or sign of appreciation works. There is nothing better than a free buzz. Enjoy this bit of beer trivia from Wikipedia:

Dos Equis is a Mexican Beer. It was first crafted in Mexico by the German brewmaster Wilhelm Hasse in 1897. Originally called "Siglo XX" ("20th century"), the brand was named to commemorate the arrival of the new century; since the Spanish language uses Roman numerals for centuries, the bottles were marked "XX", two Xs, or "Dos Equis".

On the way back to the motel, Chris treated us to smoothies ($24 total cost, wow), then back to the room for some down time. A fifties style cafe sat 1/8th of a mile down the road for dinner. burgers, salads, fries, Linguini (we taught Max the word - LING + WEENIE, it worked). Then Coronas on the freshly rinsed walkway outside the rooms. Thanks to Peter and Max for coming down to visit us and making the day a great success. Chris summed up by saying that it was a touch of reality, of family, of things that really mattered. It lent perspective to being on strange roads, seeing strange new things, day after long day. Riding every day like this is not real life. Family is always the truest connection to our lives.

over and out

Day 36 - Quincy, FL to Madison, FL 94.61 miles/14.4 mph average 6 hrs 04 min

2007-07-02T07:48:00.001-07:00

Leaving the motel around 6 am, we head north, back on state road # 267 to the interstate 10 junction, with the hope that we could merge onto the interstate for five miles to Midway, where the route picks up again. We rolled down the on ramp with a non-motorized Vehicles prohibited sign stopping us cold. No bikes, skateboards, Big Wheels or Razor scooters allowed. No exhaust, no passage. Weighing the lost time involved with getting stopped by Florida state trooper, we backed up the ramp then headed north to the Quincy city limits, turned right, east on state road # 268.

19 miles into the ride today we pass through Tallahassee, Florida. Car dealerships, strip malls, gas stations everywhere. Nearing the eastern rim of the city, we stop for a quick water/food break then head back out onto beautifully shaded country roads. State road # 20 proves the better option, since the bike route takes a lengthy and unnecessary diversion onto a bike trail south to Woodville, Florida. It adds at least 12 additional miles so we skip it. Sightseeing is low on the list at this point.

About five miles west of Monticello, Florida and we are making great time. The surface is smooth, shaded roads, minimal traffic. Then suddenly, PING - another spoke breaks on the rear wheel, drive side! The wheel immediately wobbles out of true, rubbing on the left chain stay. I pull off the road, get off the bike and stare at the wheel in disbelief. I throw it my best stink-eye while simultaneously spewing some colorful language. To put this in context, of the thousands of miles ridden since I started cycling in the late 70's, early 80's, I've broken two spokes. Additionally, weighing just over 170 pounds, I am very good to my wheels, unweighting as much as needed, reducing undo impact. Now, in the span of less than 3000 miles, two more spokes break on the same wheel. There is some bad energy trying to get out of this infected hoop.

As a rule, if three spokes break on the same wheel, the wheel is placed on death row. I see a defective component no longer able to perform at a baseline level. It's fate is sealed. When we get back to Portland, I'll take it apart, cut out the spokes and have a new wheel built up around the existing hub. A new Velocity rim from Australia combined with straight-gauge DT spokes should rid this wheel of all negative energy and psychic weakness.

I come to my senses upon realizing I still need this wheel. I coddle it, apologize and talk nice to it, convince it to hold together for an uncertain distance. I call Bob on his cell and he suggests easing tension on some of the spokes near the broken one. He then assures me the wheel will not fail catastrophically if ridden in its current state. Wobbling into Monticello, we ask around for a bike shop at the corner store. "Yeah, sure, there's a shop back a ways, take a right at the traffic circle," two people tell us. Great! We backtrack but see no shop. Two businesses, one a hardware store, have no idea of any shop in town at all. What?

There is no other bike shop listed in our map until Gainesville, Florida. With Chris's brother meeting us in two days in High Springs, about 15 miles outside of Gainesville, we could bum a ride to the shop. The trick would be to first get to High Springs under our own steam. From where we are, that's about 95 miles. That's a whole truck load of wobble. We press on, nonetheless. 30 miles left to Madison, our next stop. Around Greenville, Florida, half way between Monticello and Madison, we see this sign:

We're too close to quit at this point so we snap the picture,

have a laugh and commence wobble.

The Reduced Speed Ahead sign finally comes into view for Madison. Endorphins flood our brains whenever we see this sign. It tells us we are either at our final destination or close to a lunch break, change in direction, scenery, energy. Again, the motel, this time a Super 8, is close to the interstate so we head south on state road 53 for more than five miles. I check the map and see that we can stay on # 53 for the first 20 miles tomorrow morning, head east on Federal road # 27, straight into High Springs. Though Shalt not Backtrack.

We check in, clean up and walk 100 paces to the Denny's right next door. Food makes everything better and I forget my wheel woes a bit more with each bite. We need an early night since we want a super early start in the morning, allowing enough time to get to the bike shop and wheel repair. My early night turns into watching V for Vendetta. Great movie. This second viewing reveals so much that I missed the first time.

over and out

Day 35 - Rest Day Quincy, Florida Zero miles

2007-06-29T15:06:00.000-07:00

4 days of riding left to go!

With no transportation at a hotel removed from everything except for a Chevron gas station/quick mart, we hung around the room, waiting to get started again. When I did the ride in 1999, I arrived into Gainsville, Florida for my last rest day. After only a few hours I decided to skip the rest day and finish one day early. Physically, you're in great shape and feel you can continue riding day after day, but mentally you are over it. The compulsion to finish steels your resolve, specifically if new and interesting obstacles pop up.

over and out

Day 34 - DeFuniak Springs, FL to Quincy, FL 111.22 miles/15.4 mph average 6 hrs 38 min

2007-06-29T12:46:00.000-07:00

Give it up Florida

We knew every mile ridden today was one closer to a day off the bikes. Chris's knee was holding up well, while the only real elevation gain/loss came in Chattahoochee, Florida. Just a few miles from the Florida/Georgia border, we smelled the fires for the first time when we stopped for lunch in town. The road shoulders played nice and stayed fat the entire day.

http://www.cbsnews.com/stories/2007/05/15/national/main2803447.shtml

Note the average speed of over 15 mph. We know it sounds tame, but the record for the RAAM (Race Across America) is 15.40 mph set in 1986 by Pete Penseyres. Every year a new crop of riders try to break it. It still stands. He did it on virtually no sleep, and who knows what he ate back in 1986. Were Powerbars around then? Check him out - he's quite the dude:

http://www.ultracycling.com/about/hof_ppenseyres.html

We passed through so many little towns with great names:

Argyle

Ponce De Leon

Bonifay

Chipley

Cottondale

Marianna

Sneads

Gretna

The last 28-mile stretch between Gretna and Quincy went fast and furious. I think I may have dropped down onto my aero bars once or twice. We again turned south out of downtown Quincy toward Interstate 10 to find the Holiday Inn Express. We arrived mid afternoon. Chris went to check in and it turns out we made a reservation at the hotel next door, that use to be the Holiday Inn, but in the time between us making the reservation and arriving today, the Holiday Inn built a new property, sold the older one where we were suppose to be, next door. It did not make perfect sense to us either. The important issue is that they honored our rate, which for some crazy reason went up in the interim.

The older hotel, now new to us, still worked out great. It was a fine home for two nights and one full day of rest. It was isolated from restaurants however. The Domino's Pizza delivery menu got dog-eared and very familiar, with this the only day in my life when I've eaten Domino's Pizza twice within 8 hours. We did the usual catch up; laundry, supplies, bike fiddling, TV watching. We even took a decent walk down a side country road for a few miles.

The motel also offered a continental breakfast. We dropped in on our rest day around 8:30 am for food. A young family with five kids fueled up for the trip down to Disney World or some similar attraction in southern Florida. It reminded me of the times we went to Disneyland as kids. Some formula they have there, printing money.

over and out

Day 33 - Pensacola, FL to DeFuniak Springs, FL 91.47 miles/15.0 mph average 5 hrs 38 min

2007-06-29T10:07:00.000-07:00

Today we pick our way out of Pensacola along Cervantes Street which turns into Scenic Highway/90 high above Pensacola Bay. We could live in Pensacola. It seemed bike friendly, clean, nice place to retire. Just a thought. the route winds through several small towns; Riverview, Milton (we stayed on Highway 90 and skipped the Blackwater Trail out of Milton - saved 9 miles), Holt, Milligan, Crestview and finally Mossy Head, 14 miles from DeFuniak Springs.

Highway 90 parallels Interstate 10 most of the route, as we ride just north of Eglin Air Force Base. while leaving Crestview, we rolled along a section of 90 with plenty of residential homes. coming up a slight rise in the road, an older car piloted by an even older man slowly pulled out from a driveway, taking up the entire shoulder. We braked, allowing the driver to casually pull out and eventually get up to speed, merging off the shoulder into the lane of travel. We are certain he did not see us, as he did not bolt out into the lane to beat our arrival. He only cut us off due to the speed we were traveling. I noted the sticker on the right corner of the bumper, knowing it belonged on no other bumper than this gentleman driver's:

Prepare to meet thy Lord

How true. I'm thankful he gave us the option of picking our own Lord, and not sticking us with the standard issue Lord. I then imagined him hitting a pedestrian or cyclist, blissfully oblivious, driving on. The victim now lying prone in the road, this bumper sticker the last thing they see as their eyes close. It's not often such an experience comes complete with instructions.

On the outskirts of DeFuniak Springs, I called the motel wondering where they were. Nobody in town knew of it. I then looked at the name; Rodeway in Mossyhead. Oops, motel 14 miles back in the wrong direction from where we stood. One rule we'd adhere to at all costs: No backtracking - if we're not heading east, we're going nowhere.

I immediately canceled the reservation. Continuing on to Downtown DeFuniak we found all the chain (read predictable) motels lying on the Interstate 10 corridor. Another 5 miles and we pulled into a Days Inn, under new management. Book the room honey! By the time we showered for dinner, the rain poured. The short walk to the local buffet restaurant paid off. We ate well, good American food, desserts, ice cream, just perfect.

On the way back to the room we stopped in at a Chevron for cereal and juice for the next morning. It was only later that I looked at the receipt. One box of Raisin Bran - $7.00. Worth every penny.

Over and out

Day 32 - Bayou La Batre, AL to Pensacola, FL 79.83 miles/13.4 mph average 5 hrs 30 min

2007-06-28T12:27:00.001-07:00

Hill repeats anyone?

Shorter day, more sleep. We got on the road at roughly 6:30 am. Road 188 T's at Road 193. Take a left on 193 and the road ends on Dauphin Island, Alabama. The bridge to the island is huge. A few miles before the bridge a sign read First ferry - 8 am. I looked at my watch and it was 7:20 am. We had 5 miles to go, no problem except for the severe headwind that we've tried to shake since we started out in California. Although we were heading due south the wind was crazy strong, kicking back at each pedal stroke. Sweat poured off us while the headwind offered little evaporative effect. We were grinding to make the first ferry, since the next one arrived 90 minutes later. The apex of the bridge offers a view of the area unlike any other since there are no high points. The bridge height allows watercraft passage underneath, bomb proof enough to survive Katrina without sustaining any damage. The bridge replaced the causeway swept away in 1979 by Hurricane Frederick in 145 mile wind gusts. (below).

A full time ferry service as a long term solution proved too expensive for the state of Alabama. The Figg Bridge Engineering Group (figgbridge.com) designed and built the bridge in just 34 months. The highest point consists of three spans, the main 400 feet in length. This is the first 400 foot span on a precast concrete segmental bridge. The dual, I-shaped piers feature an integrated driving surface. (details courtesy of Figg Bridge website). Words fail in describing how big this bridge is. As I write I realize I have a crush on the bridge. It has what I need. Twice in my life it quietly channeled me away from difficulty, delivering me to where the colors run brighter, the land lay flatter, closer to the end of the ride.

The significance of this bridge can't be overstated in the context of the entire ride. By the time you step onto the Fort Morgan ferry from Dauphin Island, all the effort, stress and challenge of the past 7 states unhinges from your primal brain. The ride experience suddenly vibrates with renewed energy. You're still in Alabama at the ferry dock on the Gulf Shores side but the new land is near and that new land is called Florida. That square-wheeled trailer you dragged across Texas finally falls away and your mood changes. The going is flat, faster than before and more rewarding. Hurricanes, floods, sticky heat and love bugs are all the price paid for the warm life on the gulf. Be sure to visit Dauphin Island sometime. We suggest using a car, but it's not too bad on a bike.

Fort Morgan Parkway whisks (yes, literally whisks) you east toward Gulf Shores. By the time we reached the far side of Gulf Shores we stop into The Waffle House for gut bomb extraordinaire breakfast number two. We ate, sat for another twenty minutes, acclimated outside on the curb for a few more, then fork lifted our full guts onto the bikes. Dessert was the cleanest, most amazing (superlatives fail once again) bike path we've EVER ridden. Behold the shining bike path of your dreams:

Chris refused to pose for this one-Perdido Beach Blvd

Note the rumble strip barrier - an early warning system

designed to prevent squished cyclists

Perdido Beach Blvd morphs into Gulf Beach Highway. They should call it Condo Row. Nearly every free section of beach front on this stretch either has a huge finished condo, a building in progress or, where there is a view, a notice of land use sign standing proudly, a parking spot reserved for an even bigger building. This stretch of road is not very scenic from a car, unless you're shopping for a condo.

We skirt the southeast rim of Pensacola, heading northeast on Barrancas Avenue. Traffic seems tuned into cyclists, probably a result of all the triathletes and roadies training out on this perimeter road. Pensacola is home for many triathletes given the number we saw in just a few miles. The temperature is low 90's and all we have is warm Hammer mix in our bottles. I can barely stand it on ice, let alone at armpit temperature. As we looked out for the next corner store, I hear a strange aircraft noise, unlike anything I've heard before. here are a few details, courtesy of fas.org:

The V-22 Osprey is a tiltrotor vertical/short takeoff and landing (VSTOL), multi-mission air-craft developed to fill multi-Service combat operational requirements. The tiltrotor design combines the vertical flight capabilities of a helicopter with the speed and range of a turboprop airplane and permits aerial refueling and world-wide self deployment.

I'd never seen one in flight before, and it was a strange sight. The oddest aspect is the 38 foot diameter "proprotors." From the ground it looked like it was gliding, although it may have been on approach for landing. There have been three crashes between 1989 when the first prototype took flight and 2000. At over $80 million each, it is an impressive aircraft.

We took a bathroom/juice break at a corner market, remounted the bikes and started jamming. We passed by the front gate of the Naval Air Station and also saw three Blue Angels cruising around. Everything seemed great; we were out of the headwind, about 12 miles from the motel, hitting speeds of over 20 mph (finally), just soaking in the day. suddenly I hear a yelp from Chris about 15 yards behind me. She yells in pain again. Oh shit.

We roll up to a church driveway, pulling off at a safe distance. Chris's left knee gave a shock of pain and she could not fully straighten her leg. It was not that the pain prevented her moving it past 30 degrees, the joint simply bottomed out at that point, range of motion finished. If she tried to flex or extend at the knee joint the nerves would fire and I'd watch the blood run out of her face. Pain is an extraordinary thing, and this was the most pain I've seen her responding to. We got her off the bike and sat down, all while several tractor ditch mowers made passes along the road, kicking up dust, chopped grass, exhaust.

The knee finally gave in after the rough section yesterday. Chris described it as lateral cartilage shifting. We sat there in the dust and flying grass, formulating our new plan: OK, we call AAA, they deliver a car, we load your bike in the back, I keep riding and finish the day, then we hole up in the motel and ponder our options. Florida held such promise, now this. It was one of those moments when you stare off into the distance and ask yourself if this was really happening. Sounds greedy, doesn't it? All the things that DID NOT go wrong, all the times we did not get hit by cars, all the weather we dodged, bad food, dogs, ditches, logging trucks, heat, cold, snow and fatigue. After all of that, we sit on the side of the road mourning her left knee.

As a physical therapist, Chris has the wisdom to just sit still for a bit and see what effect if any, time produces. After 20 minutes or so, she stood up, gave a little knee movement, a bit more. The pain seemed to drain off a bit and she said it felt like the cartilage "unfolded" and smoothed out, releasing pressure on the noisy nerves. We then lowered her saddle, to a point where she looked like a BMX'er in the saddle after a long day spent terrorizing an empty lot or school yard.

Back on the bike, the cranks turned slowly at first, then up to a moderate speed. I kept looking back to make sure her pedals were still turning. Looking back stressed me out, I can't imagine what she felt and thought as the owner of the knee. I'd look back half expecting her kneecap to simply pop off.

We had one last rest day after two more days riding after today. Rest day sorely needed, we need it right now. The Seville Inn sits in downtown Pensacola. Again, the place was nearly empty, and the room big and clean. We showered, gulped hammer recovery drink, then got Chris's knee on ice as she called AAA about our situation. They said that each AAA field office makes their own decisions but that it was likely they'd deliver a car to her as a long-standing AAA member. We held out hope for our first option; convincing her knee to get with the program, but contingencies are always useful.

The front desk clerk pointed us to a corner pub just down the street and what better time than now to get our buzz on? We ate, drank beer, shook our heads, wondering about the next few days. As we sat there, several cyclists rolled by along with a steady stream of runners. Why don't we just buy a little place here in downtown Pensacola, call it a day? We found out later there is a running club that gets together for a "Pub Run." They log miles between bars, get free beer upon arrival, socialize, plan the next outing. After dinner we needed a few supplies. We walked around downtown for about one hour and still did not find anything open. With Chris's knee no longer locked up, full stomachs and beer buzz, maybe we had everything we needed at that moment.

over and out

Day 31 - Wiggins, MS to Bayou La Batre, AL 94.53 miles/13.7 mph average 6 hrs 23 min

2007-06-26T10:07:00.000-07:00

White line - White knuckle

With Wiggins off route, we decided to stay on state road # 26 to state road # 63. Only 36 miles, and it was more direct and ostensibly easier. The route was shorter in miles but longer in misery. We saved 31.5 miles. The conditions were as follows:

no shoulder

constant logging trucks in both directions

very few side roads/driveways for pulling off

(is this story getting old? It is for us . . . )

We pulled off the road for all trucks, any size, no matter what they were hauling (except Wal-Mart rigs - We'd go head to head with them every time) We'd quick head-check back for truck traffic, pulling off as they rumbled by. Monday's are busy down here and constantly yielding slowed us way down. I think I said "we're not suppose to be out on this road" about eight times to Chris.

Passing through Brenndale, Mississippi we crossed over the Pascagoula River a few miles later, then into Lucedale, where we took a hard right south on state road # 63. Conditions improved but the shoulder came and went like the tide. We'd roll along and watch the gap narrow, staying as close to the fog line as safely possible.

Heading south toward Escatawpa, Mississippi We came upon two large groups of prisoners out of a Dr. Seussian fantasy. They wore bright green and white horizontal striped prison garb while picking up roadside trash. We'd roll past, they'd all looked at us. A shotgun-equipped guard sat in an idling truck a short distance behind. I could not help wondering what put them behind bars. Convicts are people just like the rest of us but their crimes define them. We draw immediate conclusions about a murderer, far different than those drawn about a car thief.

We finally arrived in Escatawpa where Interstate 10 crosses over state road # 63. We ate a quick lunch at a freezing cold Subway. As we buckled down to leave, an SUV pulled up. The man in the passenger side asked if we were riding for a cause and raising funds. I quickly outlined what we were up to, he whips out a $20, hands it to me, wishes us good luck as the rig pulls away. Dinner paid for, and thanks so much for the gesture.

A few miles south on 63 we hang a hard left heading east on US Federal Highway 90. The road surface was brutal; old concrete with expansion seams. Sitting in the frigid Subway for lunch combined with 15 miles on jarring surface pushed Chris's right knee to the limit. It started nagging her at the top of the pedal stroke in flexion.

The land flattens out with no hint of elevation gain or loss. We're running along the gulf coast now closing in on the Alabama state line. Finally off of 90 onto state road 188, we cruised through dense forest with perfectly smooth roads, flat, comfortable, warm. A few turns left before arriving into Bayou La Batre, I looked back and Chris was slowing down. I looked back a second time and she says "can I get some help here?" meaning, drop back and let me draft a bit. Keep in mind she is a stoic rider, never asks for assistance or issues a "wait up" but just keeps churning. Her knee pain had ramped up again, power output down significantly. I dropped back and pulled her along, helping where I could.

Just outside of the town of Grand Bay, a dog trotting inside a fenced yard had a two-foot piece of aluminum siding in its mouth. He started barking as soon as he saw us. The bark vibrations shot through the siding, raising the pitch of his protests, like he was barking through a harmonica. I yelled "grab your camera" to Chris. As soon as she pulled it free of her bag the dang dog dropped the siding but kept on barking. The full effect would've been lost without sound.

Bayou La Batre (pronounced Bah-you luh BAT-ree) or by locals as (by luh BAT-ree) is "the seafood capital of Alabama" and is more famous than most of us will ever be:

Bayou La Batre is mentioned in the film Forrest Gump as the home of Forrest's army buddy Benjamin Buford "Bubba" Blue, whom he met during the Vietnam War. After Bubba is killed in combat, despite Forrest's attempt to save him, Forrest eventually fulfills a promise to Bubba by moving to Bayou La Batre, buying a shrimp boat, and trying to catch shrimp. Forrest and another character in the book, Lt. Dan, are out shrimping in the Gulf when Hurricane Carmen strikes the region; Forrest, Lt. Dan, and the boat survive, but the rest of the Bayou La Batre shrimp boat fleet is destroyed. Forrest and Lt. Dan then make a fortune catching shrimp and found the fictitious Bubba Gump Shrimp Company, based in Bayou La Batre.

In Winston Groom's book of the same name (upon which the movie was based), Forrest doesn't buy a boat to catch shrimp, but starts a small but ultimately successful shrimp hatchery in Bayou La Batre with the help of Bubba's father.

In April 2005, Disney Studios launched a secretly built pirate ship, the Black Pearl, out of Bayou La Batre for filming sequels to Pirates of the Caribbean: Curse of the Black Pearl.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bayou_La_Batre,_Alabama

Oyster husks piled up everywhere, the crushed shells the staple for use as gravel. The town felt like it was sitting directly on a beach island, the substrate bleached white shells. Here's a random pic pulled from the web, with random guy providing commentary

"Outside were huge piles of empty oyster shells, and a fine white dust

over the cars. We realized that the strangely white road

was actually paved with crushed oyster shells" said random guy.

We arrive at the hotel, clean up and remember the front desk clerk mentioning a great seafood restaurant "about 1/2 mile down after the second light." It was either that or Sonic Burger. We thought seafood more appropriate when staying in the seafood capital of Alabama, right? We stop at a corner store and tank up on juice, since the sweat poured off us in the humidity. We start walking, and walking and walking. The country road (no sidewalks, cars speeding by) winds this way and that, but no sign of the Lighthouse Restaurant. We stop at a car garage and ask how far the place was. We're told "just down a ways around that curve in the road." We walk and walk, crossing a bridge with ZERO pedestrian accommodation. Imagine timing a dive into a small inlet along the coastline while the tide rushes in, rushes back out. That's what it felt like, scurrying across this bridge before another wave of speeding cars came upon us in an instant.

We complete the country 1/2 mile in roughly 45 minutes, marveling at how different it seemed from an ACTUAL 1/2 mile that we'd grown accustomed to over the course of our lives. The Lighthouse had the most amazing hush puppies, while Chris said the fried oysters ruled the land far and wide. I am not a big seafood fan so I had a cheeseburger, one of the stable fuels used since California.

We considered calling a cab for the return trip to the motel but the thought lasted about one second. Once we started walking things got better. Walking after a meal cannot be underestimated. It works.

We slept well this night. The room was large, clean and comfortable.

over and out

Day 30 - Franklinton, LA to Wiggins, MS 67.66 miles/14.6 mph average 5 hrs 12 min

2007-06-22T07:11:00.000-07:00

Happy mother's Day

Mother's Day as celebrated in the United States today traces back to Anna Jarvis, who, following the death of her mother on May 9, 1905, devoted the rest of her life to establishing Mother's Day as a national, and later an international holiday.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mother%27s_Day_%28United_States%29

Pete, Chris and Phylis Panagos in New Hampshire

Phylis with Max - she would always push her glasses up

with an upturned index finger

Nina's grave marker - it says

I am in full sunshine now on the bottom

Nina on right with her sister Anne,

possibly in Vancouver, BC 1958

The route today featured 20 mile sections between towns. Franklinton to Bogalusa, Louisiana to Poplarville, Mississippi to Wiggins, Mississippi. When we planned the ride months ago, matching appropriate mileage to a town with a motel was challenging. Wiggins was off route, but fit better as a stopping point on the day. We jammed the first 40 miles to Poplarville, lunching on the curb of a gas station/store.

Good bye Best Southern Inn - hello panniers

While packing our things to head back out on the road, a truck driver with Texas plates asked for directions to interstate 59. We looked at our map and told him to head east on State Road 26, our route. Once we left town, it appeared we'd provided bad directions, and the thought of him coming back toward town as we headed out was not appealing. It turned out that we were correct. The interstate overpass sat four miles out.

We took a few turns in the road then state road 26 straightened out to Wiggins, Mississippi. As we drew nearer the town, I checked our accommodation for the night and it said the Southern Inn. Holy Crap, could this be a kissing cousin of the Best Southern Inn? The rate of $43.59 indicated a possible snake in the grass; we'd think it a great deal until we checked in and reality proved far more random and absurd than our imagination. After last night we needed an even scorecard. We needed a list of amenities to shore up our spirits after the deprivation meted out by the Best Southern.

We stopped for a snack at a cemetery in Bogalusa, Louisiana.

There were several folks paying visits this day.

We snapped this gnome - Nina had a few in her yard.

Wiggins sits at the crossroad between state road # 26 and Interstate 49. 26 slopes down toward the interstate and offers a good view of civilization available to us; McDonald's, Pizza Hut and . . and . . . the Best Western! We looked at each other knowing exactly what the new plan was. We rolled into the Best Western parking lot, Chris checked availability at the desk, I immediately called the Southern Inn and canceled our reservation, stating dishonestly that we'd run into mechanical trouble and were still in Poplarville unable to make it to Wiggins by nightfall. I would have eaten bugs to avoid another night like the last.

There were no bugs on the menu at McDonald's or Pizza Hut. We just had to decide what we'd have for lunch and dinner. The motel was stellar, better than we deserved, almost empty, clean, guest laundry, pool, the works. After check in we immediately did laundry, then used the pool for only the second time since beginning the ride. The first was in Globe, Arizona. Swimming takes a lot of energy after so many hours on the bike.

We combined lunch with resupplying provisions at the gas station/store/McDonald's. After only a few hours we trudged back to Pizza Hut for more food. As I sat there eating, one server stopped in his tracks and said "is that Spawn?" while gaping at my right calf tattoo. We then chatted about Spawn with Eli for the next several minutes, until guests started backing up at the door. Here's this kid working at Pizza Hut, still living with his parents as they disapprove of him spending any money on things a kid wants to spend money on. We could sense his frustration while offering a few helpful words of advice - move out.

I envy those premature adults who, at 15 years old start plunking money into a retirement account. I remember when I wanted a skateboard and realized the best way to get it was earn the money for myself. This skateboard (Logan Earth Ski with Sims wheels, Bennett Trucks) was the singular reason why I started delivering papers instead of stealing (more accurately, why I stopped stealing). No matter where you go, teenagers want the same things; freedom to do as they please. From our perspective finding someone with a common interest in Wiggins, Mississippi made this Mother's Day a good one all around, not to mention the motel.

Thanks Nina and Phylis for looking down on us today and nudging everything into place. We needed a good day and you gave us yet another to go with all the others we remember so fondly.

over and out

Day 29 - St. Francisville, LA to Franklinton, LA 94.19 miles/15.7 mph average 5 hrs 17 min.

2007-06-21T10:23:00.000-07:00

The Best Southern Motel - the story for this day. The ride itself went as planned but the motel experience was notable. We jumped on State Route 10 right out of St. Francisville, a straight shot to Franklinton. Dad offered to carry Chris's panniers to the motel and drop them off on their way north. We'd bump into them along the way at some point, Greensburg, Louisiana as it turns out.

We arrived into Greensburg before noon, time for breakfast number two. We fueled up, restroom break, then stepped outside and dad rang. They were just pulling into town. We told him there was a larger gas station 100 yards down where he could park for a bit. I took a pic of a crazy spider then rolled down the hill to where they were.

We climbed into the rig with our turkey sandwiches and juice, happy to get out of the sun for a few minutes. After lunch we hugged and said our good byes, wishing them a safe journey to their next destination. 35 miles and we'd be done for the day, so we kicked off past a huge group of assorted motorcycles parked in the station lot. The two-wheel traffic volume gets ridiculous on the weekends down in this part of the country.

State Route 10 bisects Franklinton with the motel a few miles south on State Route 16. We rolled into town early afternoon, found a Subway and did our eating routine. Subway never fails in that department, but it gets bland after too many visits. One upside is the ice machine and huge cups.

Finally, the Best Southern. Let us first say - this night's lodging cost $36.36 plus applicable state tax. Sounds reasonable. The problem is, sometimes you pay in other ways. We rolled up to the "office" which was actually a front room of what looked like a corner apartment. We noticed the no vacancy sign. Edna the motel owner told us she'd been booked solid since Katrina, and that had we not called several months in advance, we would not have a room - lucky us.

Chris checked in with Edna as I noticed several men standing outside the open door of a room with cars parked in front of it. What can only be described as Mexican Polka blared from a stereo in the room. I stood outside the office answering the same question over and over from a girl not much older than 4 years. She stared at my bike, pointing at each appendage attached to the frame or handlebars; "what's dis?" I'd offer a simple description, she'd respond with "oh." "What's dis?" "Well, that's the light so I can see in the dark." "Oh." The "what's dis/oh" conversation kept up for about 10 minutes. Finally, Chris came out with the key, I asked her what room we had. "Room 115." I looked at the room number right next to the office, following the numbers around the building until I reached 115, right next door to the Mexican Polka Party.

Do you like to party?

We cleaned up, grabbed the local phone book for take out or delivery. Two reasons: Town was about 4 miles from us, meaning we'd have to PEDAL there. Plus, each time we entered or left the room, the party next door would cease speaking and take a look. It was strange, not scary strange, just strange. Here was the perfect opportunity to speak Spanish. At one point I did explain in English why we were on bikes and why we were doing such a thing. I am not sure what part translated, if any.

Oh won't you please be . . . my neighbor? The dog is heading

to the kitchen to toast the one slice of white bread in his mouth

We didn't find delivery, but the Pizza Inn picked up the phone and that's where we were headed. Hunger and Mexican Polka competed for our attention and hunger won out. The music would be over by the time we returned from dinner, right? We ran the testosterone gauntlet outside the door (Chris, are you really gonna where that tank top? How about the black turtleneck?) and zipped over to the Pizza Inn.

First we thought, Salad Bar, then we realized where we were; The Pizza Inn. We did the Pizza Bar! The idea was simple; eat as much pizza as you can stand while not forgetting the dessert pizza bar. By the time we reached the cinnamon streusel pizza (minus the nutmeats; not to be confused with strudal pizza which does not exist, although the definition below sounds like fruit pizza) we still had room for more. We tag teamed six pieces of dessert pizza (they were small). Homer Simpson would have been proud:

streu·sel/Ger. Spelled Pronunciation[Ger. shtroi-zuhl; Eng. stroo-zuhl, stroi-] Pronunciation –noun a topping for coffeecake, consisting of crumbs of blended sugar, cinnamon, flour, butter, and chopped nutmeats.
[Origin: 1925–30; <>strew]

stru·del (strōōd'l, shtrōōd'l) n. A pastry made with fruit or cheese rolled up in layers of thin sheets of dough and then baked. [German, from Middle High German, whirlpool.]

We flopped our bellies to the right side of the bike top tubes to keep them out of traffic, pushed off the curb and burped our way back to our garden paradise, the Best Southern. The party was going full force, and the music played on a repeat loop - we kept saying "didn't we just here this one" to each other. We found Edna doing laundry and casually asked if the music usually tapered off before dark, and please don't mention that we'd asked. Flashback to the film Barton Fink (1991). Barton (John Tuturro) calls Chet (Steve Buscemi) at the front desk of the seedy Hollywood motel, complaining about Charlie Meadows (John Goodman) sobbing in the room next door. Here is the dialogue from a scene near the end of the film, courtesy of

http://www.script-o-rama.com/movie_scripts/b/barton-fink-script-screenplay.html

CHARLIE . . ."C'mon Barton, you think you know about pain? You think I made your life hell? Take a look around this dump. You're just a tourist with a typewriter, Barton. I live here. Don't you understand that". . .His voice is becoming choked. . . . "And you come into MY home . . . And you complain that I'M making too . . . much . . . noise. "

He looks up at Barton.There is a long silence. Finally:

BARTON . . . "I'm sorry." Wearily

CHARLIE . . . "Don't be."

Watch the film for this scene. It does not disappoint. John Goodman delivers this line so convincingly that you feel true embarrassment for poor, clueless, self-centered Barton. These men at the Best Southern Motel may have been day-laborers. The work boots and shoes lined up outside the rooms gave testament to their situation. I sit and write this and they are still there drinking Corona with a Polka chaser.

The room air conditioner

We rolled up to the room, said hello. One man said something I could not understand. He repeated it two more times, I still shrugged with an uninformed grin on my face. Chris said no thank you, we needed to rest up. He asked if we liked to party. Back in the room, we surfed cable while the music thumped our common wall. At 10 pm, like curfew, the music stopped. Exactly eight hours later at 6 am the next morning it kicked back on, same volume. Didn't we just hear this one?

over and out

Day 28 - Rest Day St. Francisville, Louisiana

2007-06-19T13:48:00.000-07:00

This rest day cycle is the last with Dad and Phyllis. They are heading North for NASCAR fun in Charlotte. We've grown use to having their support and company, but with a bit of logistics we'll be ready to rock the rest of the ride unsupported. Our chore list for rest day is considerable;

sleep in

wash clothes

clean the love bugs off the RV windshield

Apply Rain-X to windshield

go through all our gear and send home everything we can't carry on our bike/backs

pack all superfluous gear

find enough boxes to pack gear

find UPS store in town to ship stuff back to Portland

ship all gear back to Portland

blog as much as possible

shop for supplies

organize power food to last the remaining ride

send box with supplies to Quincy, Florida - last rest day

sight see (canceled due to limited time).

eat steak (not canceled - always time for food)

drink margaritas

relax?

The motel sits on interstate # 61, five miles outside of town. It is a Best Western property, by far the nicest chain of hotels in our price range. They have huge rooms, two beds (one for gear download, other for sleeping/TV vegetative state), super clean, guest laundry, swimming pool and Internet sometimes. The motel manager offered the parking lot to dad and Phyllis. Again there were no RV parks close by. We thought we'd stroll through downtown St. Francisville, sightseeing and window shopping, a warm southern breeze our tour guide. There was no time. We managed to go out for breakfast, a cute place tucked behind a few buildings. We'd have never found it without asking for directions, twice.

A rare northwest red-nosed blog hog

tired blog hog

A newly created rest day tradition is bar-b-que and margaritas. We knew drinking our way across the country was not a great strategy. We imbibed on the nights before rest day, got our buzz on then slept in the next day. Dad mixes a stiff drink, so one or two works fine, plus the steak and carbo bomb baked potato is the best tasting sedative available over the counter.

the big rig has a 48" flat screen that remote controls out of the ceiling. You would think a 43 foot RV of this caliber would also feature a big-as-a-piano slide out gas burner grill maxed out with every available feature. No, the cooking unit is small and humble, but it does the trick. It is a fold out number no bigger than you'd find on the bare patio of a military base enlisted housing apartment. It attaches to the mother ship via a natural gas line like an astronaut tethered to the NASA space station.

Dad understands grilling, and his finished products are of the finest quality. Somewhere the grilling gene scrambled and I'm not drawn to the long arm of the grilling tong. I think the pressure of cooking a steak other than my own is more than I care to deal with. Chris is a grilling fiend, always willing to take the heat. The grill we have at home is her property, her domain. She knows the deal. I am allowed to turn on the tank and preheat.

So we ate, drank, sat and did little else.

More food talk

The next day Phyllis had a lunch craving; RICE. She called around to every grocery in town. When asking about a deli or salad bar with rice, none really knew what she was talking about. Oh what we'd give for a Whole Foods Market.

Plan B:

Add an egg to cold cooked rice, then fry it up like a pancake. We've never had these rice cakes (not like those dry ones that are puffed disks of tasteless wonderment). These cakes knew their place in the deep south. They were greasy and so damn good. Always willing to maintain my hypertensive state, I'd apply a healthy amount of salt and pepper, turning a good thing great with a few shakes.

over and out

Day 27 - Simmesport, LA to St. Francisville, LA 51.68 miles/14.7 mph average 3 hrs 15 min.

2007-06-19T10:16:00.000-07:00

Rest day, rest day rest day, say it with me, REST DAY!

Less than 50 miles to go today with a day off the bike tomorrow. The only thing better is slugging down a Coke, thirsty as desert sand, then announcing your pleasure with a combat boot-wearing burp. Both make you cry.

A shorter day means more time in bed sleeping. We got up around 7 am, paid a visit to the RV for breakfast, all while sweating like Cajun pigs. The humidity raged although not at its peak. The water ran off my elbows while standing still thinking of cool, temperate Portland, Oregon. I remember sweating like this in Key West, Florida years ago. I stood at a bank walk-up window, filling out a withdrawal slip while sweat ran from my elbow to wrist, dripping onto the slip and turning my writing into a nice watercolor painting.

By now, we are missing Portland in so many ways, missing all the things that become so clear the further you move away from them. What does this mean? Possibly humans simply romanticize place when removed from it. Maybe survival requires nomadic behavior (avoiding the neighbor tribes before they invade, rape and pillage), behavior that has its roots in dissatisfaction with the present situation. All I can say is of all the places I see, I know that Portland fits the best; loose around the chest and neck, never chafing, pinching or bunching up. (say "bunch" over and over - what a strange word).

We left Simmesport around 8:30. The first few miles included the bridge over the Atchafalaya River. We rolled up to the light at the base of the bridge before heading over. The driver of a flatbed truck got on his PA system and asked if we wanted a lift over the bridge on the flatbed. The words hid under his accent, and it took a few seconds for us to register what he said. We smiled and waved him on.

bridge over the Atchafalaya River - Simmesport, Louisiana

We take an immediate turn after the bridge onto state routes 419/419/420, following the Atchfalaya and Mississippi Rivers - very few cars with a shoulder smoother than the road itself. One short section puts us on state route 1 where we hit a cloud of lovebugs (read more at http://www.bcgov.net/bftlib/lovebugs.htm).

They were so thick they'd fly into your jersey or open mouth. They are called lovebugs since a male and female attach and then go flying/mating for 12.5 hours. The swarm got worse as we climbed up a bridge/overpass. Apparently lovebugs have their own jet stream.

We reach the St. Francisville ferry before noon. The ride lasts less than 30 minutes, but the Mississippi is a huge river where the ferry crosses at a left hand bend. It is dark and murky. We decided against swimming. One last hill up to the town of St. Francisville. We rest, we eat, we blog.

over and out

The Meaning of Dogs in Louisiana

2007-06-19T07:24:00.001-07:00

Dixie - Blue Healer on a leash, should have a long life

We met many dogs, most in Louisiana. They guard their turf. Many run and roam where they please, the end result often lying in the ditch, dead and bloated . It became obvious that our passing through would endanger dogs. We worked out a dog protocol, based on what the dogs did relative to what we did. If a dog started chasing us from a yard on the left, we slowed and sometimes stopped, verbally coaxing it back to the yard. If we sprinted away, this would pull the dog out into oncoming traffic. Two dogs almost licked the bucket before we developed a better strategy.

If the dog was on our side of the road and bolted for us, we'd out run them, but then discovered the bigger ones can easily stride at over 22 miles per hour. If the yard had no ditch, the dog would usually be on us immediately. We needed a new plan.

Chris knew some commands have universal effect on dogs. "GO HOME" is something most dogs either understand or puzzle over. We started yelling "GO HOME!" in a stern loud voice, looking straight at the dog while jabbing and pointing emphatically at the house or double wide the dog started from. Dogs know what pointing means, right? I know Porter does. It worked 99% of the time. A few dogs ignored the command, usually small yipping punk dogs. Most stopped and looked at us, confused and disappointed.

We stopped at one convenience store on our way to Simmesport. A mangy pack of five dogs ran amok in the parking lot. They were not overtly friendly but not aggressive either. A chubby female alpha kept them in check. Once we left the store the dogs migrated back to their yard, two houses down in the direction we were headed. Passing in front of the house, all five charged us, a cacophony of barking and yipping. The smallest one kept coming and got the closest, showing the most courage.

Bite aversion was our first concern, preventing dog/car impact second. With no tethered dog runs, fencing or other barriers, dogs living along well-traveled roads have shorter dog life expectency. On one occasion a dog ran at us, crossed into the middle of the road while we flagged the oncoming traffic. All the while, a girl in the yard casually said, "Percy, you're gonna get hit." I guess dead dogs are just one cost of doing business in Louisiana.

over and out

Day 26 - Oberlin, LA to Simmesport, LA 101.15 miles/15.2 mph average 6 hrs 9 min.

2007-06-18T13:55:00.000-07:00

Simmesport, Louisiana sits on the Atchafalaya River, a spur off the Mississippi. The day started on flat farm roads, good surfaces. #26 to #104, straight into Mamou, Louisiana, the heart of Cajun country. There are so many small side roads in this area it looks like numbered vericose veins on the map. We hung a left on #13 steering clear of Opelousas. The new route was more direct - requiring less map checks. Passing through Lebeau, Palmetto and Bayou Current, we dropped onto road # 105, spinning north along the Atchafalaya River, straight into Simmesport. The road surfaces were better, but logging trucks were everywhere.

The shoulders ran out on us at times. By the time we finally arrived into Simmesport the humidity stacked up, quietly sapping our energy while the crickets buzzed. A small store sits at the junction of main street and road #105 and we sat outside drinking juice and water.

There were no RV parks anywhere near our motel so Dad and Phyllis parked directly in front of the room. I guess this is called "dry camping," meaning you're limited to what water you have on board, plus you have to tank your grey water and sewage and wait to dump it. We cleaned up, drove down to a local cafe and once again, ate too much.

Over and out

Day 25 - Kirbyville, TX to Oberlin, LA 83.10 miles/15.4 mph average 4 hrs 59 min.

2007-06-18T11:35:00.000-07:00

The day we've waited for: Leaving Texas after 14 days of churn and burn, we are ready to get this huge state behind us in search of smoother roads. Roughly (no pun there) 19 miles east of Kirbyville lies the Texas/Louisiana border. We pass through Bleakwood, Texas (no lie - it is just a gas station/store, with broken down cars everywhere, and logging trucks screaming along road #363), then Bon Wier, Texas. and then:

We licked you Texas! OK, so you licked us that day from Sanderson to Del Rio, you and your righteous weather, sissy lightening strikes, sideways rain and your wimpy tornado watch! But we got out with our lives, so we declare us the winner, not you, Texas. Don't be crying to momma now, Texas.

Note the "what was I thinking" hand gesture.

Just after the state line marker, we passed over the Sabine River which shadows the boarder between the two states. With Texas out from under our tires, we continued into beautiful Louisiana, noting on the map that we'd pass through DeRidder, Louisiana in another 24 miles or so. That would be around our lunch time, or second breakfast time, 10 to 11 am. Knowing McDonald's was ahead of us, I started thinking about a BIG MAC and fries, the vision singing to me for miles and miles. We passed through a short rain squall, a good soaker but with 80 or so degrees temp, rain was no big deal.

Louisiana has parish roads, not county roads. Louisiana is different in so many ways, all of them interesting and peculiar. DeRidder, Louisiana is a nice little town, with an interesting story about how it got its name: (http://www.cityofderidder.org/):

The History of DeRidder

The story of DeRidder goes something like this. In 1893, railroads were being built in the United States, and one of their builders was Mr. Stilwell. There was an international financial crisis that year, and Mr. Stilwell could not raise the $3 million needed to finish constructing a railroad from Kansas City down to the Gulf, about 800 miles. Since he could not raise the money in the United States, he decided to go to Europe for aid. He first tried England, but failed. He then went to Holland for assistance. He was at a loss while in Amsterdam, and then remembered a young coffee merchant he had met while on a previous trip to Europe with his wife.

Mr. Stilwell went to the Coffee Exchange for their list of members, and found the name of the young merchant, Jan Dehouyen. Mr. Stilwell found Jan Dehouyen and told him about his plans for building the railroad in the United States. These plans intrigued Jan Dehouyen, so he raised the $3 million needed for this Kansas City Southern Railroad. Then Mr. Dehouyen decided to change careers from coffee to railroads, and traveled to the United States with Mr. Stilwell.

Jan Dehouyen kept an office in Amsterdam, Holland, and there was a map in his office showing Kansas City in the north and the Gulf in the south. Occasionally, Mr. Dehouyen would be asked to name a place, which might be of interest in the future, which was located along the railroad. Mr. Dehouyen had a sister-in-law named Ella DeRidder Dehouyen. She was a beautiful girl from Belgium, and was a favorite relative of Jan Dehouyen. He named our city “DeRidder”, in honor of his sister-in-law.

Any town named after a beautiful Belgian girl is OK by me, no problem. Plus they have a McDonald's. McDonald's is not everywhere you'd think, and when we saw the golden arches on a billboard or in person, we knew we'd again reached civililization. We were about 15 minutes early for the breakfast menu to flip over to the lunch/dinner menu. We cleaned up, dried off a bit, and froze in the MAX AC that seems to blast in every building you go into in the south. It tricks you into thinking that the heat/humidity is not so bad (at least for about 5 minutes) then, when you exit buildings after a prolonged stay indoors, the heat is a welcome change and feels good as the goosebumps flatten out, giving way to the sweat pores.

We ate every last fry, licked the cheese off the wrappers and wet-fingered stray salt and sesame seeds into our mouths, knowing that once the trip was over, McDonald's would not see our shadow for a while. Shivering, we stepped outside and sat on the curb to digest a bit. A nice local gentleman walked up and asked how the ride was going. We both agreed it was going great now that we were out of Texas. He then asked where we started from that morning.

Uuuhhhh . . . .

both our brains locked up. We could not push the name of the town we'd started from just 4 hours ago to the fronts of our brains. Simultaneous dementia set in. The fatiguing, day-in, day-out riding made us road weary and brain dead, like a rock star yelling "thank you Phoenix!" while standing on a stage in Tucson. Life on the road is not always a party, if only it were a heavily edited version of MTV Road Rules. The man then shot us a look that said "druggies" as he passed by us into McDonald's.

37 miles to Oberlin, Louisiana. Dad and Phyllis headed back up from Houston, and we'd meet them later on arrival. Phyllis found an RV park with a CASINO. Casino means buffet to us, slots to others. We arrived at the motel early afternoon. Called dad and he picked us up for dinner. The 5 mile drive between the motel and the casino revealed some interesting land clearing. Bulldozers gathered shrubs, brush, sectioned trees and tree roots into huge piles. These piles were then set on fire with a strange blowtorch-like vehicle backing up to the mountain, expel heat and flame, starting the tree pyre. The smoke coming off the dozens of piles looked like the last day on earth. The remaining day light filtered and dimmed through all the smoke and we regret not having taken a pic.

Buffet was of the sort where you could actually damage yourself if you lost control of the Four Horsemen of the Appetite. There were separate, huge buffet lines for each:

Italian food

Chinese food

American food

enough deserts to feed an army

Cajun and seafood (the word Cajun is derived from the word Acadian, note a brief history below)

Le Grand Dérangement
The huge exodus of Acadians that took place from 1755 to 1762 by order of Governor Lawrence was known as the Grand Dérangement (the Great Upheaval or Great Disturbance)
The Acadians were forced to leave Acadia (Acadia was colonized by the French in the eastern region of Canada in 1604. It was the first European colony in North America).

They were forced to leave for three reasons:

Most Acadians refused to pledge allegiance to the King of England. (right on!)
The English were worried about the very high birth rate among Acadians.
Getting rid of the French-speaking Acadians made room for more English speakers.

The majority of Acadians settled in Louisiana (Acadie Du Sud). The Grand Dérangement is considered the most important event in Cajun and Acadian history.

Harsh.

over and out

Day 24 - Coldspring, TX to Kirbyille, TX 110.23 miles/15.1 mph average 6 hrs 45 min.

2007-06-18T08:59:00.000-07:00

97 degrees - hottest day so far

The closer we get to Louisiana, the thicker the air gets. That languid feeling kicks in first thing, the mornings are sopping with sluicy humidity. By midday the air gets hotter, mopping up the moisture. Today we rode small state routes through several small towns. The surfaces and shoulders (or "skirts" as they say in Florida) varied, sometimes good, sometimes bad.

The maps were confusing and unclear when we reached Shepard, Texas. We spent about 25 minutes seeking the correct route. Finally reaching Kountze, Texas, about 74 miles on the day, we stopped for food and drink. It was mid 90 degrees by now, and I filled a huge cup with ice, bought juices and we sat on the smoke-break bench outside the store. The bench sat on the afternoon shaded side of the building and we let off some steam before heading out again.

Ten miles later we passed through Silsbee, Texas, then got on highway 96. Oh the joy. Straight, smooth, huge shoulder, clean. It lacked charm, but who cared at this point? We jammed down the road for about 30 miles to Kirbyville, stopping only once in Buna, Texas for fluids, and a Burger King cheeseburger for Chris. I was not in the mood for it, just too hot.

Kirbyville sits on highway 96 and we reached it around 3 pm. The Gateway Motel was super funky, but clean and safe. We asked the owner if they had guest laundry. Everything we owned smelled rank since we were without our support crew. She said there was a laundro-mat down the highway a bit. She then asked how many clothes we had, and she offered to wash them for us! How cool was that? She got them back to us after about an hour, and we could not have been happier.

We chowed at Subway, restocked supplies at the local grocer, then went back to the room and enjoyed the air conditioning and TV.

over and out

Turtle Soup

2007-06-15T09:01:00.001-07:00

East Texas Box Turtle Rescue Mission: Hello, my name is Chris. this here is my friend Travis. I found him baking in the sun, peering up at the curb - a final obstable blocking his path to a cool pond. My work with turtles stems from my profession as a CAREGIVER. I heal people, dogs and any sentient life form with above average karma. Oh heck, I help those unfortunates with dented karma too, what can I say.

I look around and realize Team Destroyer has far too many active members in the world right now, so The East Texas Box Turtle Rescue Mission falls under the aegis of Team Caregiver. We rebuild, save, conserve, replenish, reconstitute and generally assist the living world around us. Team Caregiver knows there is no other choice than to help out when we can . It's part of my nature and therefore it is our mission.

thanks Chris, do appreciate the lift.

Love,

Travis

We are not sure, but our records indicate this wayward turtle may be a relative of Travis's.

over and out

Day 23 - Brenham, TX to Coldspring, TX 97.75 miles/14.3 mph average 6 hrs 18 min.

2007-06-14T15:10:00.001-07:00

Welome to the Twilight Zone

Coldspring Texas sits at the eastern edge of the Sam Houston National Forest, AKA "The Big Thicket." A bit about the forest's namesake:

Sam Houston was a soldier, lawyer, governor of Tennessee and first "President" of the Republic of Texas after commanding the Texas army during the successful campaign for independence. For more, check out http://www.lsjunction.com/people/houston.htm. He was not born in Texas, but made quite an impression on the history and politics of the state. Sound like anybody else we know?

The route took a series of smaller ranch roads heading northeast, and the deeper we got into the Thicket, the worse the road surfaces, with more logging trucks. Finally passing through New Waverly, Texas, we had 23 miles remaining on state road 150 into Coldspring. The last 15 miles or so rattled our senses. The shoulder completely vanished, the road dropping off and crumbling into the dirt just right of the fog line.

When we'd see or hear a logging truck behind us (the trucks carried upwards of 25 to 40 small trees per load - used for paper production), we would find the best spot to pull entirely off the road, letting the truck speed by unhindered. We were in no hurry to dance with a semi.

98 miles later, we found the motel, the San Jacinto Inn. We spied a burger place on our way in, cleaned up and headed over. We ordered a full plate of tator tots and a large pizza. Not the best pizza but it had the calories we needed. Bad tator tots don't exist. With enough mayo, they all taste perfect.

Fat, happy and sleepy, I bumped into the hotel owner on my way to the ice machine. Beaufort (for real) told me about all the things he'd survived (cancer, a few heart attacks, moving from place to place) and that his wife was currently undergoing cancer treatments. I just stood there not knowing what to say, so I just listened. I could tell he was happy to have someone to chat with. He told me how Katrina blew the back walls off the motel, and they had hurricane refugees as long-term guests. Coldspring lies 60 miles northeast of Houston and the Gulf Coast shore.

We spoke of cycling and all the riders he hosts coming through town. Beaufort mentioned two cyclists killed by a logging truck on the same road we arrived on, state route 150. I asked if they were through-cyclists, and he said that yes, they were passing through, just like we were.

Later in the evening we took the bikes a few miles west to a convenience store. Chris would not let me go alone. We both felt a strange energy as soon as we arrived here. We started out and about half way there an abused fast and furious Honda blew by full of kids yelling at us and laughing. The exclamation point came in the form of a nearly full plastic bottle of soda whipping in front of us, bouncing into the ditch. We kept moving, turned into the store, the Honda parked with one kid doing ollies in the parking lot on his board.

We rolled up, Chris said something about bad aim. I struck up a conversation with the kid on the board. I asked if there were any skate parks around, and he looked at me sideways and asked if I skated. He said there were a few parks close by. He seemed agitated with me talking to him and would not look me in the eye. It's funny how things change when you become a real person face to face, instead somebody separated by a speeding car.

over and out

Day 22 - Austin, TX to Brenham, TX 93.96 miles/15.1 mph average 5 hrs 44 min.

2007-06-12T10:11:00.000-07:00

We took Highway 290 out of Austin. with 70 degrees and humidity at 5 am, sweat came easily. East of Austin the land flattens out, the road surfaces play fair and the miles hold more promise, less bitterness. 290 has a wide shoulder for the first 25 miles, then construction narrows it down to about a foot width.

One five-mile section featured a newly paved road off to the right, still under construction but ridable. We decided against riding on it since entry and exit was gravel. We cruised along, only stopping for one puncture on Chris's rear tire and food/fluid refill. The day was uneventful until we reached the outskirts of Brenham, Texas. We got lost and took a wrong turn, not realizing we still had 5 miles to get to our hotel.

Note to self: America's Best Value Inn properties are consistently dirty and generally strange. We managed though. Dad and Phyllis are gone for the next few days to Houston for RV repair. We have everything we need strapped to our backs and bikes. The simple life.

over and out

Day 21 - Rest day - Austin, Texas

2007-06-12T07:26:00.000-07:00

The University of Texas at Austin takes up several city blocks. We arrived into the city and rode through several campus streets teeming with poker faced students in transit from one class to the next. In 1966, Charles Whitman turned the UT tower into his own personal crow's nest, raining lead and death down onto passing students and pedestrians. 14 people lost their lives in 94 minutes of shooting before the gunman was finally killed.

The streets surrounding the campus feature cafes, bookstores and all the other amenities common to a university. There were even a few comic shops nearby, although we did not have time to pay a visit:

Comics & More
(512) 440-7373
2104 S Lamar Blvd
Austin, Texas 78704

Rest days are not really rest days. Sleeping in, laundry, bike maintenance, shopping for supplies, staying off your feet and resting. They all compete for your time and there is never enough time. Possibly due to Einstein's theory of relativity. One surprising consequence of this theory is the idea of "time dilation" which states that moving clocks tick slower than an observer's "stationary" clock. We can say with certainty that once we stopped moving, the dang clock just started spinning. Blink and suddenly it is 4:30 am, time to get up and get on the bike once again. Your rest day is over, with most of it sucked into the 100 channels of motel cable TV. I can also say with certainty I am no Einstein as I bend his theory to fit my needs.

The County Line Legendary Bar-B-Q was the only choice for some messy grub and everyone we asked said the same thing. Dad loves a good BBQ sandwich - dinner plans made easy. The restaurant sits on the water a few miles out of downtown in a lush, wealthy area of Austin. We pulled into the parking lot, hungry. no open parking spots told us we were at the right place, wrong time. Chris and Phyllis went in to stake a spot on the wait list. We parked, entered the small lobby, walked passed the host, down a few steps and the place just opened up like the back forty, tables in every direction. Once again, repeat after me;

This is Texas, things are big, this is Texas, things are big.

In the time it took to park the car and walk inside, Chris and Phyllis were already seated along the windows, overlooking the deck and water. Cool. I ordered BBQ Turkey, which was A-MAZE-ING, badda-bing. I know it must sound lame, not having the Fred Flinstone Rack of Ribs, sauce smeared from bib to hairline, but I just couldn't do it. I envisioned a conveyor belt from truck to kitchen loading dock, delivering the untold pounds of meat it takes to keep this place humming. When in Austin, try it out - The County Line:

After dinner we raced over to the Congress Street bridge to see the bats swarm out from under the structure. We were too late and the parking attendant said the "bats already flew." We'd try again the next night. Here's a peak of what it looked like:

Congress Street bridge fills with people

every evening during bat season.

We saw a few bats, saw a few butts. This guy sported

a thong. Chris took this one.

over and out

leaving the blog zone until New Hampshire

2007-05-11T16:33:00.000-07:00

The RV attached to the computer we use for blogging is heading north to Atlanta for quick repairs, then on to Charlotte, North Carolina for some real NASCAR action. Six boxes of stuff went out UPS today, so everything we need from here until St. Augustine rides with us on the bikes.

The blog is a bit behind due to losing the computer to a side trip to Houston, riding all day, and TV remote controlitis.

We'll get more pics and get things finished when we again have the chance.

over and out

Jasper the cat

2007-05-10T18:10:00.000-07:00

The early years

Young and in trouble

"as soon as that door opens, I am outta here!"

"So, where are you humans taking me today?"

"OK, how many times do I have to tell you, the can opener
is in the drawer, cat food under my front paw. I can't do this without you."

"This loft is a bit small, but I'll take it!"

Goodbye Yellin' Brick Road

2007-05-10T16:44:00.000-07:00

The typical Texas Ranch Road is not made of brick, cobbles or rocky road ice cream. They're worse:

This gravel, added to:

some good Texas Crude,

combined with some continuous pressure from several years of pick ups and semi tractor trailers running back and forth; Like magic, a Texas Ranch Road is born.

They call this "chip seal" down here in Texas. That's slang for "I'm gonna grind you into dust." The problem is, the newer the road, the rougher it is. Once a ranch road gets some use, shiny smooth ruts form. We'd float back and forth, looking for the smooth spots. Enough about roads, enough about the bikes. Jasper update next.

over and out

Roadkill Etiquette

2007-05-09T18:20:00.000-07:00

if you see a group of buzzards hanging around a fence line chatting, this is where the buffet line starts.

The bigger the animal, the more care you'll need getting around it safely, without throwing up, or worse, running over it.

The hotter the temperature, the more involved your senses get when nearing roadkill.

Exhale through the nose within about 10 feet from the animal. Do not inhale until you are at least 15 yards beyond the unfortunate beast.

If you choose to look at the road kill, always remember the view you take with you will stay with you, in full color. You will see that animal in your mind's eye for some time.

The flatter the roadkill, the less precautions needed to pass safely.

Roadkill becomes increasingly flatter and flatter, to the point where you are convinced it is just a cartoon version of a real animal. This makes the horrible fact that roads routinely eat animals 24/7 a little less horrible.

The most common roadkill seen to date is by far, the Armadillo. We still hope to see a live one, but not yet. Almost all of them end up on their backs, tiny feet pointing skyward, spear-like tail jutting straight out onto the road.

The largest animal seen was a wild boar, as big as a small cow. Scary.

There were more snakes (several rattlers) seen in east Texas and west Louisiana than any other area.

Most unusual potential roadkill were three javalina seen on the way to Sanderson, Texas. They trot with a cocky, short stride. The trio we saw exhibited no apparent fear of the highway, trotting right up to the edge and then back to the fence line. Very strange:

Luckiest soon-to-be roadkill: Three box turtle in varied conditions stranded in the road. Chris found one upside down, untouched on the centerline. She's started the East Texas Box Turtle Rescue Mission. She's the only volunteer. I'm the traffic lookout.

over and out

What I remember

2007-05-09T14:26:00.000-07:00

Ash has been asking me to contribute to our blog. His written words are so beautiful and my writer's anxiety has prevented me from contributing thus far. Then he asked me to write a few words about my Mother, but again, I did not feel I would be able to convey my thoughts and feelings appropriately. I decided to keep it simple and relate some of the more memorable moments with my Mom, talk about who she was and the impact she had on my life.

I remember my Mom would pick me up from Kindergarten and we would go out for lunch at Theo's. I'd look forward to our lunch date every Wednesday.
My Mom would always have breakfast on the table for us every morning before school. She would yell up the stairs for my brother and I to get out of our beds and face the cold NH mornings. She would then drive us 2 miles to our bus stop, where she would sit and wait with us in our warm car until the bus arrived. She would always be waiting for us in the afternoon when we got off the bus.
My Mom made it to EVERY SINGLE soccer and softball game.
My Mom traveled an hour to work each day to pay for my college education. This incredible selfless act still amazes me.
My Mom loved nothing more than to go out to eat. Nobody did Chicken Parmesan like Angelo's did Chicken Parmesan. "It was the sauce" she would say. Mom, I hope you are surrounded in Angelo's Chicken Parmesan with extra sauce.
Next to eating, shopping was my Mom's next love. She would shop for those she loved the most, her three Grandchildren. My Dad had to buy a truck to transport the masses of gifts she would spend 8 months shopping for, down to my brother's house in RI. She would stash the gifts in the trunk of her car and wait until my Dad wasn't around to sneak the bundles up into the spare bedroom, which was now storage space for my Moms shopping sprees. I used to tell my Mom she was out of control. I am so glad she was out of control.
Mom liked to talk. One Martguerita and she was off........! This picture of my Mom is likely post -One Martguerita.
Mom loved being a Grandmother the most (more than going out to eat or talking)
I remember the incredible strength my Mom displayed when hearing of her diagnosis and prognosis. She told me she would miss not seeing Max and Sydney grow up. I promised her we would do our best to talk about her, relay stories and remind them that they were her favorite people.
Before my Mom died she told me she wasn't worried about me, she knew I would be just fine. I told her this was because she was a great mom. I think it's important that Moms know this before this time in their life.
I remember when I first told my Mom that I was going to move in with Ash. My Mom, who seldom left NH, had a flight and a purpose within three weeks. She immediately liked Ash. I will never forget the night Ash asked my Mom what she thought of him and about her daughter moving in with him. I thought she was going to choke on her chicken Parmesan (which was good but not as good as Angelo's Chicken Parmesan.)
I think of my Mom every time I look at my hands reaching out to help a patient, reach for the steering wheel or each time I grab hold of the handlebars of my bike. We have our crooked middle fingers and our knotty knuckles in common. I love looking at my hands, thinking of my Mom, thanking my Mom. I love watching my hands grow old. My mom is always with me.

Day 20 - Wimberly, TX to Austin, TX 64.06 miles/13.7 mph average 4 hrs 18 min.

2007-05-04T13:44:00.000-07:00

Team Geek: Invading Texas in Lycra and loud jerseys.

Without Lance paving the way, we'd have been drawn and quartered by now.

Charge!

Texas Hill Country will not die, nor will the rough roads. Texas Ranch Roads are fine in a vehicle with four fat, 35 psi tires smoothing it out. 90 to 100 psi bike tires are another story. Today's feature was never ending roller coasters. Fun for a while, but they ring you out, big time. Bob easily cruises at 20-22 mph on the flat for hours. We did that for a while, but day after day, not so fun. The road out of Wimberly was narrow and hilly. Things got better after about 20 miles; wider roads and better surfaces as we rode closer to Austin, Texas. We finally passed through Buda, Texas, on the outskirts of Austin proper, where Bob used to ride. Once we hit familiar turf for Bob, the ride got better and better. Some new construction threw us off route, but we took a detour, located the right turns, and cruised through downtown Austin, ate then went searching for the hotel.

It turns out the hotel was sketchy, even for $43 a night. We rolled up, and the desk clerk suggested we look at the room before checking in. One look was enough and we left, got on the phone at a corner gas station and found a better place not too far from where we stood. Dumping all our gear, we cruised to the biggest bike shop we've ever seen, Bicycle Sport Shop (http://bicyclesportshop.com/). Hugh-mung-gus. We drooled over the cool branded clothing and other great items. The shop features Co-Motion Cycles, the Eugene bike company where Bob welds for a living.

Rest day tomorrow.

Over and out

Our stay in Wimberly, Texas - worth a mention

2007-05-04T13:42:00.000-07:00

Denise and Dan run the Wimberly Inn. We checked in, and as we proceeded to our rooms, Denise said we could keep the bikes outside our doors. The place was spotless, and she did not want them inside. We got to the room, and decided to take them inside anyway. Rebels.

I immediately took a shower and discovered that the shower head spewed nothing but a thin misty spray. I finished, called the front desk and told Denise the deal. She said she'd send Dan, her husband, to the room to investigate. The water is hard in the area, and the shower head gets clogged with deposits. Although I offered, she did not want me touching the shower, telling me only Dan could take care of it.

Once I hung up, Chris and I agreed calling was a mistake, since he'd see the bikes and probably take issue with them in the room. A few minutes later, a knock on the door. There was Dan, baggy shorts, long hair with receding hairline, and a t-shirt stuck with sweat over his shoulders, down to his mid back. He saw the bikes and told us that Denise preferred them outside, that we'd better not even think of using any of the towels to clean our bikes, as several other lawless cyclists had done in the past, and that he'd just painted the room so there better not be any residue or grease on the walls when we left.

don't tell Dan we ate in the room

He removed the shower head, rinsed it., tested it, and showed us how to take it off. He gave official permission to fix the issue if the issue arose again, left to finish mowing the lawn right outside our door. Later after dinner, we roamed around the grounds of the inn. It was once a bed and breakfast, opened by a Belgian couple. They knew what they were doing when planning the landscaping. We saw a trail leading down to a small creek and just as we stepped onto the trail, Dan, watching us from the yard, simply said, "snakes." We froze. I think he enjoyed the effect this powerful word had on us city slickers.

He told us snakes had been seen up by the rooms a few days ago, and to just be careful. We explored a bit further on the trail and decided a creek was maybe not as interesting as we thought. We then got talking to Dan, and realized he shared a lot of our views. Coming from California to West Texas, he kept his progressive outlook and even shared some stories of working in Social Services, convincing displaced and under-educated workers to buck up and get back in school. In a matter of 10 minutes we were liking this guy and wish we had more time to drink beer and talk politics with him.

Later that night the rain came and came, creating little rivers in the ground outside our rooms. We opened the door, stood on the walkway, mouths open. Just then Dan walked by, muttering to nobody in particular, "there goes another Texas turd floater."

over and out

Day 19 - Kerrville, TX to Wimberly, TX 86.51 miles/14.5 mph average 5 hrs 57 min.

2007-05-04T13:14:00.000-07:00

I met Bob Westman while working at the Bike Gallery in Portland, Oregon years ago. We stayed in touch, and planned for him to meet us a few days outside of Austin to ride in with us and then catch up with friends. He'd lived in Austin for around six years. He even had a new Co-Motion single bike built for the trip. He is one of the most genuine people I've ever met. He also knows everyone. If he does not know you or you him, give it five minutes, he'll change it.

Bob ponders a world without silicone.

The weather channel offered more bad news; rain, lightening, more rain with strong winds. Late last night in Kerville the rain came down so hard the parking lot had a few inches within 20 minutes. We stood on the balcony and hoped the cycle would continue; rain all night, clear up during the day.

We left Kerrville around 7 am, riding through a light fog. Last night's rain caused several stream and river crossings to overflow, and we crossed two or three. The route to Wimberly featured a few more rolling hills. We went up and down for roughly 80 miles.

A good ole Texas welcome, Y'all come back real soon

About 7 miles outside of Wimberly, I was cruising along, inside the fog line by a few feet but to the left flank of Bob, who was on the white line. Chris rode about 30 yards back. Suddenly a tan colored newer Lincoln Continental drifted by my left elbow, no more than a foot away. Once the adrenalin subsided, Chris told us the driver hit his brakes to take some speed off before drifting as close to me as he could, to give me a little scare. Granted, there are cyclists who act like idiots, earning a driver's wrath. We are very mindful of moving off the road as much as the shoulder will allow if there are any cars approaching from either the front or from behind. In this case, there was no oncoming traffic forcing the driver to get that close.

I thought about filing a police report, but writing about it is just as good. We're only visitors here, and I thought it best that we keep on moving out of the area and not stir up too much dust. We saw a bumper sticker that said "Texas is Bigger than France." Another one said "Drive Friendly." By all means, do drive friendly.

over and out

Day 18 - Camp Wood, TX to Kerrville, TX 88.07 miles/14.2 mph average 5 hrs 43 min.

2007-05-04T12:32:00.001-07:00

It rained again last night, but the ground was dry with overcast skies when we took off around 7 am. The day was a bit shorter, around 85 miles. We took more time in the morning. Once we got out on Ranch Road # 337, things got rough again but after about 10 miles, it smoothed out. The road then climbed up for about 9 miles or so with about the same length decent. You'd never think this was Texas; hilly, lush, green, looking a lot like the mountains of Chile or Venezuela. We saw more wildlife today than all the other days combined. Deer everywhere, wild turkey, buzzards staking out road kill. We may have seen a few elk, but hard to tell the difference when the only glimpse is a flash of fur and a rear end running away from you, all while rolling along at 15 miles an hour on a bike. Do white deer exist? If so, we saw one.

Epic Ride - One for the ages. We'd do it again, maybe.

The route went to Leakey, Texas. Ranch Road #337 bisects the town and we were suppose to stay on it out of Leakey:

Construction made it a no go, so we hung a left onto highway 83, wider shoulders, smoother, and more direct. No brainer. 83 follows the East Frio River, and climbs up at an acceptable grade, but for several miles. We topped out, sped along with a tail wind until we hit road #39. Dad and Phyllis met us at the intersection, and we fueled up with a sandwich while a rusty windmill outside the rig groaned like a long suffering cow.

Road # 39 offered up a series of rollers that went on and on and on, with hardly any traffic at all. It descends into a valley along the Guadalupe River with at least a half dozen or more river crossings along the way. Passing through Hunt and Ingram, Texas, we made one more stop. Chris's front tire was flat when we pulled out after the break (first FLAT!!!), so I changed it, and off we went, straight into Kerrville, TX. The hotel lay at the other end of town through some gnarly road improvements. Check in, meet Bob for dinner, call it a day.

another thin wire from a truck retread strikes again

Fixing flats: A real skill that belongs on my resume

over and out

What I remember

2007-05-01T12:52:00.000-07:00

I remember mom sleeping on a cot with me in the hospital when I was five. I had surgery to repair a bi-lateral hernia and she stayed with me. I woke up in pain, not knowing where I was, confused, having to pee. She calmed me and made sure I found my way to the bathroom and got back into bed.

I remember mom hauling me to the drinking fountain under her arm at the school park. As a kid I liked the taste of sand, so I got a bit more sand in my mouth than I could handle and started choking. She got me to the fountain and washed the sand out of my mouth, wiping my tears away. Off I went looking for more trouble, or maybe just more sand.

I remember mom calming me when I had to submit to a freakishly big scanning device at the orthodontist office. This machine scanned my jaws and teeth in preparation for braces. She convinced me everything would be OK, I just had to sit still. I felt like crying, but she told me everything would be over in a minute or two. She was right, as always.

I remember mom chatting, laughing and listening to all the goofy things I had to ask her about. I remember her having a quick and ready answer for all my health questions. She was a nurse, she knew about this stuff and knew what to tell me.

I remember mom so concerned that Deedra was in the hospital in Salem. I remember my mom so concerned that Deedra should not be there by herself.

I remember mom playing with her grandchild Georgia, looking at her with so much love in her eyes. I could see in my mom's eyes that she knew these moments were fleeting.

I remember my mom, Nina, giving of herself as best she knew how. I remember her lying in the hospital, sick with pancreatic cancer. Her kids were heading out to lunch. She tried to reach for her purse to make sure we had money, like she always did.

I remember mom giving Monica a birthday card, signed in her weakened hand, wishing her a happy birthday, a little more than a week before she passed away. I can hardly look at this card, framed on the wall of Monica's studio. It makes me so sad.

I remember mom never appearing scared throughout her time with pancreatic cancer. I asked her several times if she felt fear, and she would always look up at me and calmly smile and say no. I remember her dignity in life, and in death. I remember what she taught me about living. I remember what she taught me about dying.

Day 17 - Del Rio, TX to Camp Wood, TX 85 miles/13.9 mph average 5 hrs 37 min.

2007-04-30T16:54:00.000-07:00

Sometime between 2 and 3 am this morning the righteous Texas weather kicked in again. The lightening got ridiculous for about 40 minutes, with driving rain. At first the thunder was mumbly rumbly, then by the last shot it cracked with such a snap we were certain it was right across the street from us.

By 5:30 am the rain was still coming down, creating deep puddles in the lot outside the room door. After breakfast, we decided to wait until daybreak to leave. The rain quit so we headed out. The wind was not too bad as we burned through the first 30 miles. The next 30 miles on Ranch Road # 334 (you know the one, right?) slowed us down because the road was super rough.

This area of Texas gets hilly, so the unusual amount of rainfall caused flooding all over. Water overruns river banks and roads easily, and the West Nueces ("new-aces") River runs down from the hilly sections and directly over Ranch Road #334. There was a predicted 9 foot rise in river level, which meant the road would close with enough time to get traffic out of the area before the rush of water overtook the road. We were able to get past this section of road before they closed it. We might have been stuck and forced to backtrack and loop around for several miles to get to Camp Wood. We rolled into town around 3 pm, ate an early dinner, made calls, did laundry and caught up on the blog.

Practicing Safe TV in Camp Wood, Texas

Later we watched Comedy Central in the room. Southpark, coming up at 9 pm, and we're stoked! Right at nine, the Comedy Central channel goes black with the message that a password was now required to turn the channel back on. What? Apparently the hotel management/owner decided that Southpark was too racy for guests, and we'd not be able to view it, even with the door closed, dead bolt thrown. I think of all the violence and absurdity on local news and wonder how any of that could harm a viewer less than Southpark.

over and out

Day 16 - Sanderson, TX to Del Rio, TX Mother Nature wins one ZERO MILES-hitched a ride in the RV

2007-04-29T17:37:00.000-07:00

Weather is now our main concern. The Weather Channel goes on first thing in the morning on the way to the bathroom. The forecast called for thunderstorms, 2 inches of rain, and an easterly wind, gusts to 30 mph. One look out the window and they were spot on. We got out the door around 5:30 am but packed it in after a few miles down the road after seeing at least a dozen lightening flashes. This day was cancelled due to righteous Texas weather.

Yes, it's true, we rolled down the road safe and dry, at about 65 mph, on our way to Del Rio, Texas, the only way we'd ensure our safety while keeping to our rigid (too rigid?) schedule. We're not happy about it, but there was no other option.

We found out only later there was a standing tornado warning until 6 pm in Del Rio, our destination for the day. The heat and humidity have that pre-storm feel. We ate, slept, recovered and will watch the weather for tomorrow.

over and out

Day 15 - Marfa, Texas to Sanderson, Texas 116.15 miles/13.7 mph average 7 hrs 49 min.

2007-04-29T17:30:00.001-07:00

The weather report said thunder storms and easterly winds. We dodged the storms but the winds jammed us for the first 20 miles of 116 total on the day. Once we entered the hilly section leading to Alpine, Texas, we escaped some of the direct wind effect.

Marathon lies about 40 miles out of Sanderson, and the place was filled with motorcycles, even with the rain. They were everywhere. We took one more pit stop and headed out, facing a renewed headwind. The wind/rough road surface tag teamed us until we rolled over the last bridge into Sanderson, where the road smoothed out and all the noise stopped, finally.

Weather was now our main concern, and we kept seeing thunderstorms, lightening and rain for the next few days. We'd play it by ear once we got up to head out to Del Rio, Texas.

over and out

Day 14 - Rest Day Round Up -Texas is not for sissies

2007-04-29T16:37:00.001-07:00

We spent a day in Marfa and were so delirious from fatigue that we wanted to buy a house and stay here. The town is an anomaly, stuck out on a windswept plain at 4500 feet above sea level. There are affordable adobe houses everywhere, a great Coffee shop called the Brown Recluse (the breakfast burrito was hands down the best breakfast we've had so far), and a seduction that makes you forget you're standing in Texas. There is one large book store well-stocked with art, bio and political tomes, but mostly art books. Donald Judd is well represented since he put the town on the map. Several derelict Marfa warehouses and other buildings now serve as the home for the Chinati Foundation:

http://www.chinati.org/english2/collection/judd_aluminum.htm

The 74 mile ride from Van Horn, Texas may have scarred us for life. The term Marfa Mile defines miles ridden with your guts and soul, not just your body:

Marfa Mile\ Mar-fuh Mile noun: one mile ridden on a bike with all of the following characteristics: One percent grade increase that goes on forever; no change in road direction, ever; headwinds of between 20 to 30 mph; oil over crushed gravel road surface. A fuller and more true definition of a Marfa Mile results in riding more than 50 of them at one time, with no more than two riders.

rough road - frustratingly straight, rising incrementally.

This view looks back at hard-won distance - note the slight rise.

The flags are laughing at us, pointing in the direction we should be heading

We stayed at the Thunderbird Motel. We may have been too tired to even enjoy it. We skipped the pool; no energy:

http://www.thunderbirdmarfa.com/ It proved several notches higher than most of the road side digs we've been crashing at. One word of advice; use the ear plugs if turning in early. It is a lively place and the intermittent freight trains passing through town all have horn-happy engineers. We did not have the energy to try the pool. Maybe next time.

Miles ridden: 1200 give or take

Texas Pride: the roads here are extremely clean, and the fine for littering ranges from $10 to $1000, depending on how heinous your litter is.
Cowboy hats can be worn without irony, but only if you have Lee or Wrangler Jeans on. Cowboy hats do not work with shorts. Cowboy boots don't work with shorts.
Not everyone speaks with an accent, Texan or otherwise.

over and out

Day 13 - Van Horn, TX to Marfa, TX 73.05 miles/11.7 mph average 6 hrs 12 min.

2007-04-27T09:52:00.000-07:00

West Texas

74 miles took us 6 hours. The day started fine but after 20 miles, the road surface got rougher, the headwind picked up and suddenly our outlook changed. The other mind-bending aspect was the 1200 foot elevation gain, OVER 74 MILES, with only one slight change in direction in the road over the entire distance. Straight, straight, straight. (see Marfa Mile entry)

We saw some interesting things in the first 20 miles of the ride. A little collection of trailers and a few houses called Lobo looked interesting. Here are few pics.

How about this: Mel Gibson, Governor of his own pie hole.

Now that would make the world a better place.

The sign says Lobos Support Kinky Friedman for Governor

Richard S. "Kinky" Friedman (born October 31, 1944) is an American singer, songwriter, novelist, humorist, politician and former columnist for Texas Monthly. He was one of two independent candidates in the 2006 election for the office of Governor of Texas. Receiving 12.6% of the vote, Friedman placed fourth in the five-party race.

It felt like we were in spin class with a fan blowing hot air on us. Imagine a gradual hill with not one single respite, no downhill or even flat sections to unweight your saddle or stretch. If you'd even dare coast for 10 seconds, the headwind drained your speed like a vampire at a blood buffet, from around 12 mph, to 8 mph or slower, but we will never admit to it. We wished for a steep hill that would eliminate the torturous, unrelenting grind, upward, inch by inch.

There is just one small town, Valentine, between Van Horn and Marfa. Valentine has no services to speak of, but it was our primary goal, at about the halfway point. Just a few minutes off the bike. Most towns introduce themselves with billboards and other signs of life, providing bits of encouragement.

Valentine gave up nothing, except an amazing public art installation. Inserting a non-functioning PRADA boutique in the middle of west Texas; brilliant. Provocative juxtaposition in such a refined manner can't be easy.

" Hey Chris, that matching purse and shoes

are gonna have to wait, the door is bolted shut."

27 miles left, we sat down at a picnic area and divided the miles into 4 to 5 mile chunks. After each length, we stopped, took some water and food, and convinced each other to continue. With 6 miles left, Dad met us and said it was all down hill after the next rise. Once inside the Marfa city limit sign, the road surface improved, and the rattling in our head ceased. Marfa is a cool little town, well worth the 7 hour grind it took to get here (not sure if I really mean that).

Hey Emily, are the walls on fire?

Good Night Marfa, wherever you are

Day 12 - El Paso, TX to Van Horn, TX 135.56 miles/16.8 mph average 7 hrs 28 min.

2007-04-25T17:37:00.000-07:00

sunrise on loop 375- Purple Heart Memorial Highway,

passing through Fort Bliss Military Reservation

Anything is possible with a tail wind. We put away about 130 miles in around 7 hours today, with dynamic wind-assist. The temps are topping out at around 80 degrees, so it is perfect weather. The Texas weather system is moving east in front of us, so we have been very lucky thus far. I throw a coin in every fountain for Lady Luck, and chant her name every 15 minutes.

The signs look good, still heading east

I-10 comprised much of the route today, and the stream of semi tractor-trailer trucks is simply ridiculous. They travel in packs, to probably avoid the radar, then there will be a lull of up to a minute or more, no trucks, just the sound of my creaking seat post clamp, then, another wave of trucks. The last ten miles was a fast downhill, and our motel was an easy find since Van Horn, TX has one main street, and several lodgings. We go off the route tomorrow to Marfa, TX.

John Madden calls ahead to Chuy's Restaurant for his table (and chair) when passing through Van Horn. He refuses to fly and prefers his big bus. He put Chuy's on the map once he discovered their great food.

over and out

Day 11 - Las Cruces, NM to El Paso, TX 58.84 miles/14.5 mph average 3 hrs 45 min.

2007-04-25T17:10:00.000-07:00

Small mileage, big day. Any time you cross the boarder into Texas, you better have your Texas passport ready, with your wits dialed up to 11. We got up late and decided to use the breakfast coupons we received at the hotel in Las Cruces. Pancakes, eggs, bacon and hash browns may not be the best power food, but it tasted good and we got a discount. But, taking a nap is the best response to such a breakfast, rather than a bike ride. We lazily gathered our stuff together for the day, and headed out around 7:30 or 8 am. I was punch drunk from the food and can hardly remember much at this point. We planned on an easy ride, but it turned into quite a bit more than we expected.

Don't Cry for me El Paso

Even with huge SUVs speeding through El Paso, most all the drivers were very careful and even slowed down when going around us. Although there are bike lanes everywhere, there is a strong feeling that bikes don't really belong in this town. We saw one other person on a bike, and she looked like a student at the University of Texas at El Paso. We miss the river of bikes typical of Portland, Oregon. Strength in numbers is a reality, and the chance of the driver behind you owning and using a bike improves your odds.

The shallow canals between the rows are flooded for watering the groves

Highway 28 travels straight through miles and miles of pecan tree groves. The road was good with long sections shaded by the trees. Once we got close to El Paso the real ride began. The city is shaped like the nose of an airplane, with the west side split from the east by the Franklin mountain range and state park. Parts of the city creep up the mountain side, but to get from one side to the other entails either going up and over the mountain or running the perimeter. It took nearly two hours to get around the hill and out to our motel. Once there, we realized many of the rooms functioned as home base for people working in El Paso but not living there full time. The place was extremely quiet the night we spent there, so it worked out well.

over and out

Day 10 - Silver City, NM to Las Cruces, NM 117.78 miles/17.3 mph average 6 hrs 17 min.

2007-04-25T16:52:00.000-07:00

Dave Baker at Gila Bike and Hike replaced the broken

spoke for $10 labor, how cool is that?

He also started the Yellow Bike program in Austin, TX.

The ride out of Silver City, NM starts with some roller coasters to get you warm, then highway 180 drains away from the Mogollon mountain range toward the Interstate 10 corridor. We took a right at Deming, NM onto state road #549, instead of hopping on I-10. 549 is flat and inviting, since one or two cars come along every 10 minutes or so. We stayed on it until about 17 miles outside of Las Cruces, NM. The road abruptly ends, and we lifted the bikes over the fence and finished up on the interstate. The winds either help or hurt you, depending on where your're headed. By noon they kick up pretty good. We have been lucky up to this point.

When synchronized cycling makes it into the Olympics, we'll be ready. Here we are working on our routine while cruising highway 549.

This is for you mom, we love you.

over and out

Note! Scroll down for pics, going back to Day one

2007-04-22T19:55:00.000-07:00

The RV park has great wireless service, so we loaded some more pics.

Thanks

Day 9, Rest Day Round Up - fun facts for the kids

2007-04-22T17:48:00.000-07:00

Miles ridden: 685

number of saddle sores: two

greatest discovery: Desentin

number of bonks: two (one each)

days of freezing precipitation: two

highest elevation: 6,250 feet, give or take

number of flats: ZERO
(thank you Goddess of Pressure and All Things Inflated)

Things Lost: two bar end plugs and one cat.

Things found: one cat and a new appreciation of how big this country is.

The best use of the VISA card slogan: "dad and Phyllis, everywhere we want them to be."

approximate hours of TV watched: 21 hours, give or take.

Songs Stuck in our heads at different points:

By the Time I Get to Phoenix
Rhinestone Cowboy
Rocky Raccoon
Here Comes the Sun
We're on the Road to Nowhere
Relax - Don't do it
Looks Like We Made It

Most memorable moments: getting the cat back and finally reaching the continental divide.

Day 8 - Safford AZ, to Silver City, NM 122.88 miles/13.2 mph average 8 hrs 34 min.

2007-04-22T11:25:00.000-07:00

Wet, cold, hungry and deleriously happy

when we saw the Jeep.

What more could we ask for?

OK, today was it, the day that will haunt us for years to come. It was a great ride, but with a few challenges. 122 miles combined with 3000 to 4000 feet of elevation gain kicked us around like unsuspecting mugging victims. The weather started out fine, a bit cool, with clouds. About 15 miles in Chris hit a strange bonk that came out of nowhere. This lasted about 15 miles or so, and we got it solved before we hit the main climb.

With a raging tailwind, we dropped down into a valley with one last stop before going up and up. Threeway consists of a small grocery, gas station and porta-potty, where highways 191, 70 and 78 meet. We pit stopped and headed up 70 into the Gila forest area. About 10 miles up the slightly pitched elevation, we stopped to take off leg/arm warmers, vest and gloves. Just a few miles later the clouds moved in, and it got colder. Then the rain started, quickly turning to snow. All the cold weather clothing went back on. When we topped out at around 6300 feet it was snowing sideways, due to the side/tail wind we still had. Our main concern was soaking wet gloves, hands cold and aching. I'd ride along with one hand tucked behind my back like a horse jockey, then switch to the other, just to get them out of the wind chill.

We rounded a corner and there came Dad and Phyllis heading up the road toward us. Oh the mercy. By this time Chris was delirious with cold, now tempered with happiness at the sight of the Jeep. Our support team has remarkable timing, and we can't explain it. We stopped, peeled off our wet gloves, vests and arm warmers. Dad turned the heat on full blast and we sat in the back seat shivering, eating turkey sandwiches washed down with Gatorade and V8. About 30 minutes later, we regrouped, donned dry gloves, and reluctantly exited the car for an additional 57 miles to Silver City. The next 25 miles or so were sunny and fast. We passed through a few small towns, making sure to take food breaks (really mental breaks OFF the bike) at every opportunity.

By now we were chugging toward the continental divide, and all seemed right with the world. About 12 miles from Silver City, NM, a spoke on the drive side of my rear wheel popped. With the wheel pringled, it would not clear the rear brake, so I took the pads out, and jockeyed the wheel in the rear hub to minimize the tire sidewall from rubbing on the frame. I checked for cell service - none. I needed to call a bike shop and find one open on Sunday, magically our rest day. If the spoke chose to die this day, I praised it's timing.

The last 12 miles were done standing out of the saddle, as I did not want to pop another spoke and disable the bike with a locked up rear wheel. Chris had reached her new physical limit, and each new rise in the road elicited screams, screams that I could not hear. She likes to scream in private.

I rounded a few more bends in the road, and stopped again to check for a cell signal. Got it! I called the first shop on the list, Gila Hike and Bike on College Avenue. This Sunday would be the first they'd be open for the season. My broken spoke was an old soul with a deep understanding of circumstance and luck.

With arms on fire, sweat flooding down my face and a screaming wife 200 yards behind me, I soldiered on. The continental divide sign FINALLY came into view and we knew we had only four miles left to go. Even in our weakened mental and physical state, we had to take a pic of the sign. We both knew that we'd never be here at this spot again on bikes, ever.

Highway 180 turns friendly and drops down into Silver City, and we were thrilled. We rolled into the hotel at around 4:30 pm. The most important part of finishing every day is getting it done before sunset, average speed be damned.

Now we rest.

over and out

Day 7 - Globe AZ to Safford, AZ 79.85 miles/14.8 mph average 5 hrs 28 min

2007-04-22T11:02:00.000-07:00

Shorter day, flatter and a bit quicker. The weather was perfect, and everyone was so friendly. People waved, said hello, made eye contact and were generally super nice. We passed through the Apache Indian reservation, and they too have a Casino. Dad and Phyllis had an easy morning that included a trip to the Casino for some coin tossing. The word is that they "broke even," a phrase that says so much! They are very disciplined in their gambling and do not do it as a means of investment.

We chatted with a helmetless (AZ gives you the option) biker on a Harley Sportster. He was originally from Phoenix, but got out due to the population influx. He told us that the Mesa area has the highest growth rate in the US right now. Apparently about 35,000 new homes are built every year, and families with kids are moving in now, not just snowbirds. The main issue is that huge real estate developments are going up at so fast, with one grocery store and one gas station serving everyone. It sounds like a meal with several dishes where everything has to be ready at the same time.

Once in Safford I quickly saw how much this little town had also grown. I came through here in 1999, and it was just a little strip along highway 70. It is much more then that now. One wonders when all the empty space between these little towns finally fills up. It can't possibly happen, can it? Say it aint so.

over and out

Day 6 - Tempe, AZ to Globe, AZ 82.58 miles/12.2 mph average 6 hrs 14 min.

2007-04-22T10:38:00.000-07:00

Another shorter day, but the miles are adding up. We passed through Mesa, AZ and Apache Junction, AZ. We took a hard left onto Highway 60. Way up ahead of us we saw a pair of cyclists spinning some low gears, moving slow and steady. We pull along side and chatted a bit. They turned out to be a husband/wife team from San Diego. They'd just quit their jobs and were on a six month, fully loaded (camping/cooking gear - the works) trip to Nova Scotia. They'd hit the Florida coast and shoot north through New England, then up through Canada. What a trip.

The road went up quickly as we passed through Superior and Miami, AZ. The last half of the ride went up with most of the steep climbing lasting five miles, with a narrow tunnel halfway up for some sprint work. We passed through the tunnel with nothing more than ringing ears from the truck noise. Once clear, we looked back and saw a WIDE LOAD pilot car coming up. A massive earth mover dogged down on a lowboy trailer spread way beyond the lane markers. I have no idea what would have happened if we'd been in the tunnel at the same time. Wide loads don't make a habit of stopping.

Closing in on Globe, we'd consumed our limit of Hammer Gel (it is working great, no stomach issues). Finally at the hotel, we saw a McDonald's right next door. We dumped our stuff in the room, rolled over on the bikes, still in lycra and met our support crew there for a picnic of some fine American fast food. That Big Mac tasted exactly like every one I'd ever eaten in my life, and therein lies the brilliance of McDonald's. Don't mess with the formula. Taste bud memory is long lasting and serious, just ask Coke. Dad super sized his fries and I managed to steal a few.

over and out

I love Technology, always and forever - GPS and photo update

2007-04-22T10:03:00.000-07:00

See below, as we are now able to load pics. More pics means less words, and this is a good thing. We'll get the best ones posted as time permits.

Also the GPS is experiencing intermittent issues, and we apologize. Our chief IT manager, Jubal Harpster is working day and night for resolution.

over and out

Day 5 - Wickenburg, AZ to Tempe, AZ 72.36 miles/14.4 mph average 6 hrs 30 min.

2007-04-19T17:48:00.001-07:00

it was cold this morning, but no rain.

We left Wickenburg, AZ around 6 am since this was a shorter day. The route shoots you straight toward Phoenix, AZ on Highway 60. The sprawling congestion began at the town of Surprise, and we needed a break. Several miles back we spied a Burger King billboard and that was all it took. I started talking about the BK french toast sticks, and that was where we headed. The food tasted good, but did not stick to the ribs too well.

Several more miles down the road we hit Phoenix proper. The route takes you through the city on strategically mapped out residential streets and for nearly 10 miles on the Canal bike path. OK, we did get lost once or twice while negotiating the residential area. One very important lesson for Phoenix is they have a 24th Place, 24th Street and 24th Avenue, all right next to one another. Too much fun.

One other side note, we were in a left hand turn lane at a light, and as our light turned green (no arrow, just yield), the oncoming traffic hesitated to let us go. As we started making the turn, a Fast and Furious car came blasting through the intersection at about 45 mph, youngish female driver on her phone. I jammed the front brake as the rear wheel came off the ground about a foot. We live to ride another day.

Near the end of the route we skirted Arizona State University, one huge complex. There is new construction all around it, and we picked our way through it to Tempe, AZ, our home for the night.

over and out

Day 4 - Ehrenberg, AZ to Wickenburg, AZ 78.75 miles/14.2 mph average 5 hrs 7 min.

2007-04-18T16:43:00.000-07:00

Here we are, leaving Ehrenberg, AZ. Us against the trucks.

We are center frame, small and insignificant.

Jasper, Gear Inspector # 4275.

The beautiful southwest, they aim to please

Most hotels and motels offer continental breakfast. This makes our mornings much easier and faster. We ate breakfast at 6 am and headed down the road. Today was the first day we had real heat, and it got to about 80 degrees or so. The route also consisted of 15 to 20 mile sections of straight road, with a slight climb. Highway 60 also offers minimal traffic and you can see it coming for miles and miles. Very few surprises. We arrived in the town of Hope, AZ, and as we were picking up lunch at a market, the only one on this part of Highway 60, my dad and Phyllis pulled up.

See the vanishing point - be the vanishing point

They have this knack for being right where we need them, making us feel pretty lucky. We hung out with them and ate, then saddled back up and pushed on for another 40 miles or so, into Wickenburg. Chris was feeling much better, with a tweak here or there. We both go into physical pain management mode as soon as we hit the motels.

We arrived into Wickenburg around 4:30 pm, even though it was suppose to be a shorter day. Even the short ones put up a fight. The hotel was a piece of work, a mom and pop arrangement that worked out just fine. Wish we had some interesting stories about the ride, but it was just a flat grind.

over and out

Day 3 - El Centro, CA to Ehrenberg, AZ 115.83 miles/13.5 mph average - 7 hrs 56 min.

2007-04-18T16:22:00.000-07:00

The day started great. Cool temps with clear skies. We were on the road by 6 am, and pedaled through Brawley and onto highway 78. This one road serves as the only passage through the North Algodones Dunes Wilderness Area. This area changes from agriculture to scrub brush in about 100 yards. The scrub them changes to miles and miles of dunes. The dune buggy crowd meets in Glamis, California for the sand party.

Turkey and Cheese in Glamis, California - a ride staple.

rolling into Palo Verde, wearing most of our cold-weather gear. It rained in the desert.

Chris did well, but there is that tiny issue of her rear end. Imagine an adult diaper rash brought on by too many miles in the saddle. Props go out to my sister, Roxane, mother of two. She had the great idea to suggest using over-the-counter diaper rash remedies. Hey, it works! She toughed it out and stood out of the saddle as much as her knees and arms could take, and we rolled into Ehrenberg, AZ around 5 pm.

Dad and Phyllis travel in this little number

We can afford this. Note the free hay bale

bench the dealer threw in no charge.

The Flying J truck stop runs a hotel and eatery. We checked in, cleaned up, and went to grub. By the time I sat down, I had that familiar, shaky feeling of bottomed out blood sugar. I was prepared to start insulting people if the food did not arrive damn quick. Truckers eat well, the plate of food spanned from fork to knife, shoulder width. We chowed.

over and out

The trouble with Jasper

2007-04-16T05:31:00.001-07:00

Jasper, a few hours before the jail break

On Saturday night, first night here, we returned from dinner to Jasper the motor home cat, sleeping on the dash. It did not take long for all of us to get busy with this or that, and at some point Jasper slipped out the door and was gone. Keep in mind this is a cat who has NEVER been outside, so one can image what the big world must look like to him. He has no reference point for getting back to the rig, since he's never seen it much from ground level.

Add a busy and noisy RV park on a Saturday night, fireworks going off, kids and dogs everywhere, and the end result is a freaked out cat, nowhere to be found. By the time we realized he was gone, around 9 pm or so, we were planning to call it a night and get some sleep before the 3:30 am alarm. Jasper's flight changed everything, and we spent the next 1.5 hours searching for him, burning up flashlight batteries. We roamed the park several times, no cat.

My dad and step mom love this cat for several different reasons. First is that he is just a cool cat, no question. He replaced Ajax, who was hit when he got too close to a busy road. Jasper's sister Sophie had a feline infection that was too much for her, so she was put to sleep. Dad needed some good cat Karma, but it was not forthcoming. Suddenly the ride became secondary to finding Jasper, so we all went to bed, exhausted and sick at the idea that the cat was gone. Conventional wisdom states that it is best to leave the cat at home when bumping around in an RV. If the cat gets out, it is gone.

Sunday morning, we loaded everything in the car, and while searching for the start point down at the marina, Phyllis my step mom called. She went out into the park, 5 am. A few hushed calls to Jasper elicited a loud MEOW, which led her to a rig two spaces down. Phyllis had the wisdom to go out into the quiet park, the only time you can hear anything as soft as a cat's meow. She called us in the car with the news, just as we found our takeoff point. With park security, a few fellow travelers and dad returning to the scene, they discovered that Jasper had crawled up under a motor home and wedged himself headfirst between a small corridor of space between the gas tank and frame. He could not back out, nor was he interested in any coaxing and protested with load traumatic cat screams.

Out of ideas, Phyllis decided to locate the nearest fire department. A call did no good, as the fire station was just starting the morning shift change. She then got in the car, drove to the station and said the magic words, "we might have to remove the gas tank." This got their attention, and off they went to the park to save Jasper. After just 30 minutes and a tag team effort, an unwedged Jasper found himself back in dad's firm grip, seemingly fine about the whole affair.

Rescued at last. Who's Happier, Dad or Jasper?

Phyllis called us at the moment of rescue, as we rode up Alpine blvd away from the Pacific coast. In an instant our motivation for the ride came flooding back, knowing that Jasper was safe, dad and Phyllis had their travel partner back, and we had a second chance at keeping the cat inside.

Over and out

day 2 - leaving San Diego, to El Centro, CA 138.24 miles/13.6 mph average 9 hrs 22 min.

2007-04-16T05:22:00.000-07:00

With a bit more than four hours sleep, we got up around 3:30 am. Showers were out of the question the previous night, due to the search and rescue underway. The bikes were already jammed into the back of my Dad's Jeep SUV, so we gathered up all the other stuff and headed out.

The start point sits next to Sea World, seemingly easy to find. Not so this day. We drove around looking for Old Sea World Road, which had been replaced with Sea World Road. We tracked a few circles, lost. Phyllis then called to let us know that she heard a cat up under a motor home a few spaces over (see above post). Although we really wanted to get the ride started, this information lent an urgency, as we wanted Dad to get back to the park and help find Jasper. I can tell you this cat is part of the family, and when a member just disappears, it is freaky.

Once we located a road a mile or two from where we'd normally start, we popped out, threw the front wheels on the bikes and off we went. The road went up immediately as we left the coast. It was a slow grind, through rain, hail and a bit of sleet. We had no idea we'd get this kind of weather. Were we really in California? The elevation gain was no more than about 4200 feet or so, nice and slow. The clouds hid the road ahead. Every time we thought we'd hit a summit, the road went up, again.

Once on the plateau, it warmed up a bit, and the going got much easier. We passed a wind farm with a few dozen massive, turning wind mills. We have pics, and will get them up soon. The route then dumped us onto I-8, descending under the strongest cross winds I've ever dealt with.

From there we exited onto state route 98. The tail wind pushed us along at about 25 mph, and up to 30-35 mph if we decided to peddle, soft peddle at that. These winds cut about an hour off our already slow and steady pace.

We rolled into El Centro at 5 pm, cleaned up and went to Denny's!

Over and out

day 1 arrival in SD

2007-04-16T05:08:00.000-07:00

Phyllis successfully wrestles the camera from Dad's hands and snaps a pic

Phyllis supervises our gear organizing session

We took the early flight to SD and the excitement started right away. Our friends dropped us off, and as we stood in the line for checked bag security, I realized we'd left the camera bag either at home or in their car. We can do without cameras, but the maps and GPS phone were also in the bag. After a bit if hand-wringing we got in touch with our airport ride and they returned within 15 minutes. Off we went. We then had a bit of trouble finding the gate, and walked up to our flight as they were boarding. Normally airport time goes well, but not on this day.

The one stop in Reno packed the plane, but the flight was short. SD weather was a bit cooler than normal, and we would get a better taste of it when we rode away from the coast. Mission Hills Bike shop received our bikes and had them assembled and ready. They were a great group, and the shop had that grease and rubber smell that every good shop should have.

So everything fell into place, bike ready, a quick dinner, one stop at the Whole Foods for last minute items. We'd anticipated an early relaxing night, but Jasper the cat had other ideas. More on that later, I am unable to download pics in this motel lobby, as I write this, so we'll post again with a nice portrait of this very cool cat. My Dad and Phyllis travel with a 7 month old orange tabby, but he has never been outside.

over and out

Reality Bites

2007-04-10T21:43:00.000-07:00

Porter's reaction to the news that we are leaving for 6 weeks. We tried to justify our ride, scratched his butt, gave him treats but he continued to look at us with his pleading dog eyes. He will be spending the 6 weeks with his other Mother, Emily, who we all wish a speedy recovery from her ankle surgery. Porter will make an excellent therapy assistance dog. We told him we would return with some fresh armadillo from Texas.

Over and out

Equipment Lowdown - Part Two

2007-04-05T13:24:00.000-07:00

I am carrying minimal bad-weather clothing in my pack. Yes, back pack. I am wearing a Salomon Raid Revo S-Lab racing pack. Although we are not racing anywhere, the pack is light weight, spacious and has a separate hydration bladder compartment. The bladder can be removed and replaced without opening the main compartment. Smart. Most self-respecting touring cyclists would never wear a backpack on a multi-day journey. The rule is, "make the bike carry the weight, not your body." I've worn a pack commuting for so many years, it just feels natural at this point. For me, loaded panniers also make the bike handle poorly. We are placing the focus on the quality of the ride itself. It is a challenge to eliminate stuff down to just the essentials. One person's important item is another person's dead weight. We also need to carry off-bike shoes, as light as possible.

over and out

a view of day three - El Centro CA to Ehrenberg, AZ

2007-04-04T09:54:00.000-07:00

Here is a preview of what the terrain looks like for about 70 miles or so, on our way to Arizona. It is a beautiful and unforgiving landscape that offers in trade what you give it as your ride through. The traffic consists of intermittent big rigs with a few cars mixed in for flavor. One other interesting side note is there are several black rectangular burn marks in the breakdown lane, about 5 feet by 12 to 15 feet in size. It took me a minute to figure out these amount to the chalk outlines of cars that overheated, caught fire and melted down onto the pavement, their last resting place. Photo courtesy of my dad Fairrel, the Ride for Awareness 2007 team photographer.

over and out

Equipment Lowdown - Part One

2007-04-02T11:35:00.000-07:00

Chris is riding a KONA Jake the Snake, set up for touring. FSA compact crank, FSA wheels, Wound-Up fork (whoa), Chris King headset, Speedplay Frog pedals for happy knees, and Specialized Armadillos for the good fight against punctures. After many changes she finally feels dialed into the correct fit on the bike, as of two days ago. The last correction was installing the Frogs, which eliminated the last residual knee tweak she'd recently experienced.

A few other items integral to the trip are Ortlieb panniers and seat pack. The panniers will ride shotgun in the big rig RV when we have climbing days (is this cheating?), and will have extra on-bike clothes in one and off-bike wear in the other. The compact drive FSA crank works well and offers a great gear range without adding more weight to an already solid rig. Weight is less of an issue when durability seems like a better option.

Back in 1994 I bought a Specialized M2, first generation. After thousands of miles over 12 years, one chainstay cracked at the BB shell. Specialized sent me a Allez Elite frameset, no questions asked, without even first seeing the original frame. Amazing. Originally equipped with Mavic ZAP (yes, this stuff made it across the country in 1999 - the battery died in the Florida panhandle. A new battery and I was back on the road in five minutes), I've replaced everything except for the crankset and handlebars. The crank is dated technology, not as light, stiff or pimpy as DA/RECORD/FSA or any other exotic crank, but it looks cool with the hidden chain ring bolts. Appearance counts for something in America, last time I checked. I replaced the cracked ring bolts and installed new FSA rings, 53/39 with 13-26 cogset.

The Mavic SSC brakes will never stop crime, but they'll do a number on your bike. For the money, they are the best available. I do have a Mavic bias and plead guilty. I try to go with the little guys most of the time, they are usually more interesting. I do admit to a sealed Shimano BB though. The modified Salomon chalk bag is now a feed bag. Mountain Soles fixed some elastic webbing and Velcro straps so the bag hangs perfectly between the Cinelli Spinachi illegal in all 50 states aero bars. The bag has a side draw string that cinches it up at the waist, perfectly suited to squeezing down on the Hammer flasks. The jumbo Ortlieb seat pack holds quite a bit. This pack saved me when my rack broke in Fort Davis, Texas. I emptied my panniers onto the bed and played "he loves me - he loves me not." After boxing up 60% of my stuff, I was able to get the remaining heavy stuff into this seat pack. This pack is an old friend and we will never part. It taught me a lesson about overpacking.

over and out

2 weeks and counting

2007-03-29T12:41:00.000-07:00

We are at the point in this process where we just want to ride the bike. The weather looks good and 80 to 90 degrees sounds fine. We ship the bikes early next week, and they're as dialed as they can be at this point. The same holds true about our form. We did as much riding as we could, but we are also relying on that often used philosophy of "riding into shape."

Lighter touring presupposes faster touring. The miles will pile up, we will suffer, our crotches will be on fire and we'll churn away at it. Climbing up and away from the coast, the earth will flatten out, then we'll hit New Mexico, going up and up. The benefit of climbing hills on a bike is that it allows and promotes changing position; sit, stand, hands on the drops, hands on the tops, move to the brake hoods and relax.

We reach Silver City, NM and rest for a day off the bike, then we drain down toward Las Cruces, and in another day we'll find ourselves in the unfathomable expanse of Texas. Ruler-straight, flat roads with a headwind routinely crush the toughest cyclists. Ask any of them. One word; monotony and no real sense of going anywhere. It's a killer. East Texas Hill country, beautiful and not to be trifled with. Louisiana, Mississippi, Alabama and Florida - flat, wet and soupy, just perfect. We then arrive at the Atlantic Ocean, and there you have it. Too much fun.

over and out

mileage is scarce, but not for long

2007-03-20T14:22:00.000-07:00

We managed to crank out a 50 miler on Sunday, and getting longer rides in is challenging when you have to work for a living. It felt good to be dry and warm on the bike, if not hot. California and Arizona experienced unseasonably hot weather last week, mid to upper 90's. It has since cooled off, and we are watching it to see where it heads in the next 3 weeks or so. Acclimating will prove interesting, since we live in such damp and cool spring weather. The central valley of California is capable of producing serious temps.

over and out

map link - look up and to the right

2007-03-20T13:59:00.000-07:00

My sister Roxane and her husband Jubal provided the GPS phone that will track our whereabouts and slow but steady progress. More importantly, Jubal is lending the expertise in getting the whole kit up and running. All we have to do is turn on the phone, not lose it and continue making eastward progress. Sounds easy enough.

Thank you Roxane and Jubal, this was a fantastic addition to our ride, and we hope it provides some interest.

over and out

2 degrees of separation

2007-03-12T17:10:00.000-07:00

While chatting with my dentist today, I told him about the ride and our goals. I have to first say, my dentist is good at what he does. Sure, he finds cavities, battles gum disease and whitens teeth, but he does one other thing very well. He listens. He takes the time to ask how you are, what you are up to and then he lets you chat. He asks great questions proving without any doubt he heard what you just said. The 2 to 5 minute exchange following his tour of my mouth always makes me feel great. This sounds basic, but when you pay attention, you suddenly realize sometimes people aren't.

While explaining the ride, and our desire to raise money for pancreatic cancer research, he tells me of two patients affected by pancreatic cancer. One had a close family member who passed away from it. The other survived for two years before passing. The point is, this happens all the time. We tell someone about the ride and invariably we hear they know of a person who has a relative or friend who is or is not still here. We talk about the ride, but what we really do is talk about our moms. We hear others, and hopefully give them a chance to talk about someone they've known and loved. It provides a chance to think back on someone at an unexpected instant. Those moments are the best.

over and out

Donations

2007-03-08T15:36:00.000-08:00

Salomon USA (formerly Salomon North America) made a significant donation to our fundraising efforts. Meaningful on so many levels, this will push us well over 50% of our total goal of $12,000, and it demonstrates that people and organizations care. Thanks to Tom Berry, John Danielson and Kate Lee.

Several fellow employees also donated vacation time to our effort, eliminating the financial pressure of taking six weeks away from work. Without this worry, the daily task of completing the miles will be that much easier. The hardest part is asking, while others easily give of themselves.

Thank you:

Jevon Crafts , Carmel Clark, Addy Sage, Tom Trissel, Brad Potts, John Mears, Terra Stephens, Megan Hutchinson, Wendy Meyer, Eric Miesch, Bo Johnson, Kristie Merx, Kate Lee, Marsha Ware, Tracy Gillespie, Yiorgos Makris, Paul Guimond, Debbie Ashley, Keith Johnson, Shani Womack, Patrick Carland, Mary Hardaker, Nicole Ricci, Tiffany Munk, David Munk.

over and out

Hammer food

2007-02-28T13:21:00.000-08:00

We just received a fantastic shipment of Hammer Nutrition products. As noted below, this stuff really works, and their product line makes infinite sense. Hammer also threw in some great gel bottles, powder mixing bottle, t-shirts, stickers (we love stickers, forever and ever) and a few other items. We'll be sending the boxes of gels and powder to Dad and Phyllis in Mesquite, Nevada, where they'll be in a few weeks.

Thank you Hammer for your great products!

over and out

displaced energy

2007-02-23T09:08:00.000-08:00

I don't like feeling helpless, unable to change the outcome of a situation, no matter what. Imagine your team is down by one run in the 9th inning as you beam every bit of energy you have straight to the eyes, reflexes and bat of your team's last hitter standing ready at the plate. All you want from the universe is that one blooper base hit with a runner at third. You don't need the homerun, you just need a vibration of hope.

It was like this with my mother passing away. We watched and hoped for something, unable to do anything except look at the surgeon for another chance for her under the knife. This lasted six months.

There are a few ways of processing this feeling of ineffectiveness:

Give in to it and recognize universal energy and its flow. Passive by definition, this approach makes sense. We might call it coping by disconnection. I routinely use this method for life events that require an explanation that is not forthcoming. An example might be not getting a position you've interviewed for. Elements of the hiring process are beyond your control, and the list of events conspiring against you will not be sent to you in the mail. The energy flow did not conduct in such a way that got you hired. Or, the energy flow acted just as it should have, thereby keeping you available for something else. A friend of ours calls this approach the F.I.D.O principle; F it and drive on.

The other approach I call the principle of displaced energy. Once we got over the shock of the 17 months that separated our mother's deaths and all that went with these events, we looked at each other and agreed we had to do something. Doing something is almost always better than doing nothing. In our case, the energy unleashed by sadness funneled into planning and goal setting. This ride is helping us not only process and move on, but it will also clear our heads a bit to make room so we can remember.

over and out

ride itinerary

2007-02-07T20:01:00.000-08:00

Here is our full itinerary. Although we'd like more time to meander and see more country, we've set a schedule designed to put away the miles in descent chunks, enabling us to finish the ride in the time we've reserved for it. We'll maintain the schedule in the absence of any physical or mechanical event that could delay us. You can't plan for the unplanned event, so we're focusing our energy toward positive daily outcomes.

The other aspect of our approach is that we'll treat each day like a work day. Our single task for each riding day is to simply complete the mileage, clean up, eat, stretch and recover for the next day. With no other distractions draining energy needed for cranking on the pedals, each day offers another great bike ride. What else could we ask for? We both realize how fortunate we are to have this opportunity to raise money for a great cause, experience the United States from a bike, and most importantly, remember Nina and Phylis.

DAY ONE - SAT, April 14th
San Diego, CA
Lodging: F&P Movable Motorcoach Motel

DAY TWO - SUN, April 15th
depart from Spanish Landing Park
ride to El Centro, CA
136 miles
lodging: brunners motel
215 north imperial ave.
760.352.6431

DAY THREE - MON, April 16th
ride to Ehrenberg, AZ
110 miles
Lodging: Best Western Flying J motel
928.923.1111/800.292.9711

DAY FOUR - TUES, April 17th
ride to Wickenburg, AZ
113 miles
Lodging: Westerner motel 680 W. wickenberg wy
928.684.2493

DAY FIVE - WED, April 18th
ride to Mesa, AZ
69 miles
lodging: days inn 1221 E. Apache Blvd.
480.968.7793/800.329.7466

DAY SIX - THURS, April 19th
ride to Globe, AZ
77 miles
lodging: days inn 630 East Ash St.
480.425.5500

DAY SEVEN - FRI, April 20th
ride to Safford, AZ
79 miles
lodging: comfort inn, 1578 w. thatcher blvd
928.428.5851

DAY EIGHT - SAT, April 21st
ride to Silver City, NM
117 miles hilly as hell
lodging: super 8, US 180
505.388.1983/800.800.8000

DAY NINE - SUN, April 22nd
Silver City, NM
ZERO miles - REST

DAY TEN - MON, April 23rd
ride to Las Cruces, NM
115 miles
lodging: best western,
505.524.8603

DAY 11 - TUES, April 24th
ride to El Paso, TX
83.5 miles
lodging: super lodge 9487 Dyer St.
915.751.1201

DAY 12 - WED, April 25th
ride to Van horn, TX
127.5 miles
lodging: motel 6
432.283.2992/800.466.8356

DAY 13 - THURS, April 26th
ride to Marfa, TX
82 miles
lodging: thunderbird 600 west san antonio
877.729.1984

DAY 14 - FRI, April 27th
Marfa, TX
ZERO miles - REST

DAY 15 - SAT, April 28th
ride to Sanderson, TX
112 miles
lodging: desert air motel US 90 West
432.345.2572

DAY 16 - SUN, April 29th
ride to Del Rio, TX
122 miles
lodging: Residency Inn 3811 Hywy 90 West
830.775.7414

DAY 17 - MON, April 30th
ride to Camp Wood, TX
79 miles
lodging: woodbine SR # 55
830.597.2310

DAY 18 - TUES, May 1st
ride to Kerrville, TX
87 miles
lodging: Motel 6 1810 Sidney Baker St.
830.257.1500

DAY 19 - WED, May 2nd
ride to Wimberley, TX
87 miles
lodging: wimberley inn 3237 ranch rd.
512.847.3750

DAY 20 - THURS, May 3rd
ride to Austin, TX
48.5 miles
lodging: ACE motel 2627 Manor
512.476.9033

DAY 21 - FRI, May 4th
Austin, TX
ZERO miles - REST

DAY 22 - SAT, May 5th
ride to Brenham, TX (take 290 brenham)
107 miles
lodging: america's best value inn 201 hywy 290
979.830.1110

DAY 23 - SUN, May 6th
ride to Coldspring, TX
108 miles
lodging: san jacinto inn SR # 150
936.653.3008

DAY 24 - MON, May 7th
ride to Kirbyville, TX
104 miles
lodging: gateway inn 3125 margaret ave
409.423.4611

DAY 25 - TUES, May 8th
ride to Oberlin, LA
80 miles
lodging: oberlin inn corner of SR 26 & US 165
877.443.6355

DAY 26 - WED, May 9th
ride to Simmersport, LA
110 miles
lodging: sportsman's motel SR # 1
318.941.2222

DAY 27 - THURS, May 10th
ride to St. Francisville, LA
48 miles
lodging: St Francisville hotel on the lake hywy 61
225.635.3821

DAY 28 - FRI, May 11th
St. Francisville, LA
ZERO miles - REST

DAY 29 - SAT, May 12th
ride to Franklinton, LA
96 miles
lodging: best southern motel 21150 hywy 16
985.839.9875

DAY 30 - SUN, May 13th
ride to Wiggins, MS
51 miles
lodging: southern inn 404 frontage drive
601.928.5422

DAY 31 - MON, May 14th
ride to Bayou La-Batre, AL
126 miles
lodging: guest house inn and suite 13155 n wintzell
251.824.2020

DAY 32 - TUES, May 15th
ride to Pensacola, FL
88 miles
lodging: Seville Inn 223 east garden street
850.433.8331

DAY 33 - WED, May 16th
ride to De Funiak Springs, FL
80 miles
lodging: rodeway inn mosseyhead 326 grn acres dr
800.671.9207

DAY 34 - THURS, May 17th
ride to Quincy, FL
103 miles
lodging: holiday inn express
800.875.2500

DAY 35 - FRI, May 18th
Quincy, FL
ZERO miles - REST

DAY 36 - SAT, May 19th
Madison, FL
99 miles
lodging: super 8 - 6160 state rd 53 south
850.973.6267

DAY 37 - SUN, May 20th
ride to High Springs, FL
90 miles
lodging: cadillac hotel 405 nw santa fe blvd
386.454.1701

Day 38- MON, May 21st
ride to East Palatka, FL
87 miles
lodging: best western 119 hywy 17 south
386.325.7800

Day 39 - TUES, May 22nd
ride to St. Augustine FL
41 miles
lodging: scottish inn 110 san marco ave
904.824.2871

We are done!~

over and out

Things left to do

2007-01-26T17:22:00.000-08:00

Every day we see new donations on our page. At the risk of gushing, we are astounded at the generosity of those we know, and even more with those we've never met. I sometimes have a jaundiced view of humanity and the cruelty we mete out on one another. Then, through the ripple effect of shared experience, I'm reminded of what we all have in common.

All our flights, motels and hotels are booked, equipment gathered and ready to go. Dad found an RV spot near where we are taking off out of San Diego, so the pressure is off to figure out how we'd get around, pick up the bikes, get to a hotel, on and on. We also take off on a Sunday, so it should be a quiet exit out of the big city. Someone once said that a plan is nothing but a good idea. Most plans go off without a hitch, but the chance of the universe butting in and grabbing the steering wheel always exists. It is funny how this works.

When I did this ride in 1999 solo, I remember JRA (just riding along) in east Texas, flat land, clear, dry day. I reached down to adjust my waist pack or some such thing, oversteered into the curb and as my front wheel caught the concrete edge, I slammed down onto my right lateral knee. I got up, looked down and watched the hematoma raise into a swollen peak, just like a cartoon character's noggin smacked with a frying pan. Here is the best part; as I brushed myself off and regained some composure, I looked up and less than 10 yards in front of me stood a street sign, arrow pointing to the right, with the word "hospital" underneath the arrow. I felt this strange sensation that I'd stumbled into a scripted rehearsal. I paid a quick visit to the ER and they were nice enough give me antibiotic soap, an ice pack and bandage, minus the check-in process. You might say I was a freelance ER patient. That was the only time I hit the deck on that ride, just like I'd planned it.

The last ingredient integral to the ride is energy food. Chris got started on Hammer products a while back, stemming from a desire to improve performance on the bike. I don't use gels and powders due to the cost, but Hammer products work. We have no vested interest in this company, but our ride to Mt. Saint Helens last summer proved their effect. We did an 84 mile, out and back ride from Toutle, Washington to Johnston Ridge Observatory, 5.5 miles from the crater of Mt. St. Helens, at 4314 feet elevation. Hammer makes a gel you consume from little plastic flasks. We did the round trip on just the gel plus a tiny bagel shared at the parking lot turnaround. I felt fine the entire distance, until the last two miles or so, when the bonk swooped down like a vampire bat. When blood sugar leaves the building, all you want to do is get off the bike and go straight to BurgerVille. The bonk makes you a bit loco as well, or more accurately, it makes things matter less than they normally would, things like pride, image and your sense of self-containment.

Years ago while living in Canada, I woke up one Sunday morning with the idea of getting some miles in before breakfast. I headed out with no food or money, thinking I'd be gone no more than an hour or two. After riding out to a small town and back, twice as far as I'd planned, I found myself about 15 miles away from home, totally depleted of energy. Just turning the pedals became an exercise in concentration, while the grassy ditches along the road beckoned me to get off the bike and lay down for a nap. As I looked up the road, I saw a woman loading her kids into a minivan. Kids meant food. I stopped, leaned my bike against the telephone pole and approached her with pleading and sunken eyes. I asked if she could spare a piece of fruit; an apple or banana, anything. The look of horror on her face told me everything. She then added, "why don't you just get back on your bike and head on down that road," while pointing in the direction I was headed. My only response was a shrug while I choked on a delirious giggle. I cannot blame her, I must have looked like a corpse. It felt like all the blood in my body was swirling around in my legs.

Back on the bike, a managed another five miles when I saw a pizza place getting ready to open. I stumbled in and slowly explained my plight. The cheese sandwich on white bread with a Coke chaser transported me to a place I needed to be at that moment. I could actually feel my eyes beginning to refocus.

Bonk once, shame on me; bonk twice, shame on the soccer mom who won't give me a banana.

over and out

Generosity flows

2007-01-23T18:22:00.000-08:00

Hey, I have to tell you how amazing the response has been to our ride. We plan to formally thank each and every one who donated toward our goal and those others who gave selflessly of their time and energy. What makes this all the more impressive is, we are not the best at asking for things. That independent streak runs deep and wide in each of us, so we thank you all for responding in such a positive way, even when the "ask" does not come easily. Some standouts are the following:

Pete Panagos - he provided enough air miles for our flight from St. Augustine, Florida, to Manchester, New Hampshire, then back home to the great Northwest. He is a generous and thoughtful person, and we look forward to seeing him after we complete the ride.

Fairrel and Phyllis Tackett - When we think of parents, the most accurate descriptive is - giving. We recently found out that Fairrel and Phyllis will stick loosely to our route until the Florida pan handle. The relief for both of us was palpable. Confidence and energy increase when someone is there who knows you and is on your side no matter what.

Barb Desclos - Here is a person whose organizational skills are powers used for good. She is instrumental in getting the word out to friends and family who knew and loved her mother, Phylis Panagos. We thank her for all the work she has already done, and for all the work to come. She says our goal is too low, and from what she is doing for us, she is probably right.

Salomon North America and West Portland Physical Therapy Clinic - Two of our primary sponsors. Both organizations, made up of a collection of individuals, have been nothing short of 100% positive and totally supportive in the form of time away to complete the ride and financial support toward our costs and direct fund raising efforts. We thank you all for your kindness and generosity.

Cord Amato - Graphics Czar who willingly designed our postcard. He is a talented and crazy/funny individual, and we appreciate his effort in making us look respectable and legit. the feedback on the postcard says he succeeded.

Jevon Crafts - Jevon maximized his link to the bike industry by calling in favors from friends in the industry and retail world. We thank Jevon for being so free with his assistance, and making the whole process more interesting and fun. Let's face it, Jevon has a sense of humor that is like nothing we've ever experienced before. Thanks man!

Brad Potts - Marketing Maverick who slopped some corporate dollars our way and took care of the postcard printing costs. His easy going manner and support saved us badly needed dollars that will go directly into our motel budget. Little does he know that his gesture will keep us out of a tent for several nights! How cool is that? Brad also connected us to the following three individuals.

Zack Grice, Nicholas Freedman and David L'Heureux - Each played a part in posting a short article on the website of one of the most widely read cycling publications, Bicycling Magazine (www.bicycling.com/article/1,6610,sl-3-12-15323-1,00.html). If we raise awareness of pancreatic cancer one click in few people, then we have succeeded. We sincerely appreciate this kind of exposure, and would not have it if not for their generosity.

Tom Trissel and Ralph Cronin - Sometimes dreams are made of the stuff that surrounds us. Tom Trissel made the ask of Ralph Cronin, President of Active Sports Group, Inc. for some Michelin tires and tubes. The heavy box showed up yesterday packed with tires, tubes, two Michelin Man (Bibendum) jerseys, socks and stickers. This kind of support is immediate and significant. We thank both for their thoughtful generosity.

New Braunfels Smokehouse - I came across their website and wanted some of their pepper turkey jerky, right now. I sent a letter, and in return they donated one pound of jerky. We make a daily effort in saving it for the ride. The jerky will get us up and out of San Diego, California. Our route through Texas takes us within about 50 miles of this little town with the big smokehouse.

There are so many more and we will make sure to not forget anyone. Thank you all.

over and out

Like being struck by lightning

2007-01-14T10:25:00.000-08:00

According to the research, someone dies of pancreatic cancer every 17 minutes in the United States. The numbers also say that it is the fourth leading cause of cancer death in the United States. What's missing here is how difficult it is to diagnose and treat. Often a metastasis shows up somewhere else in the body and is then traced back to the pancreas. This is what happened with my mother-in-law. When the doctors finally figured out it was pancreatic cancer, she had only 12 weeks to live at that point. In my mom's case, she had several issues with her bile duct, and it was assumed that this blockage occurred from other issues.

Without going into further detail, the point of this is to increase the basic understanding of the most common symptoms of pancreatic cancer. This cancer is also known as the "silent disease," since early onset has very few visible symptoms.

Common Symptoms:

pain in upper abdomen or upper back
yellow skin and eyes, dark urine from jaundice
weakness
loss of appetite
nausea and vomiting
weight loss

The above symptoms are not naturally limited to pancreatic cancer, nor are they a sure sign of it. They can simply act as incentive for a physical exam and further investigation into the health of the pancreas. A six inch long gland stuck between the stomach and the spine, the pancreas is also surrounded by the liver, intestine and other organs. It produces insulin, pancreatic juices and other hormones. This vital organ serves us as it remains tucked away and nearly invisible to most scans or hands-on examinations. I write this and think about all the abdominal pain my mother endured and never really complained about.

Risk factors for pancreatic cancer:

Age - most cases occur in those over the age of 60.
smoking - smokers are two to three times more likely than non-smokers to develop pancreatic cancer.
diabetes - this cancer occurs more often in those with diabetes.
male gender - more men suffer from this cancer.
African American - they are more likely than Asians, Hispanics or whites to get pancreatic cancer.
family history - your risk triples if your mother, father, sister or brother had the disease. A family history of colon or ovarian cancer also increases the risk.
chronic pancreatitis - some research shows that this painful condition of the pancreas may increase the risk of cancer of the pancreas.

Other studies show that prolonged exposure to certain chemicals, dry cleaning fluids for example, may also increase the risk. To wrap up, there is no way to ensure our health indefinitely. Dis-ease happens. With a bit more information, we may be able to, at the very least ask a few more questions and seek out a bit more information. Little harm is done when considering the alternative of not having as much information as we possibly can.

over and out

Saddle time

2007-01-04T18:33:00.000-08:00

OK, so we finally make it into 2007, and the reality of our ride for awareness hits like a cold front. We have roughly 12 weeks to get all the organizing done as we as train for the ride. The first three days out of San Diego are each more than 100 miles, so that will be an interesting transition from cold and wet Portland, to balmy San Diego and the possible heat sink of the agricultural valley of California.

Portland is currently freezing cold, and riding is the last thing we want to do. We're keeping things moving with the gym, commuting on bike and taking exercise classes, in the case of Chris. She has this work gig where she takes three intense classes a week, that frankly kick ass. I attended one and it was fun and challenging. I think we'll be OK. The other issue is time spent on the bike during the first difficult week will ride us into shape, as they say. There is some truth to this, when you think of endurance in terms of body parts coming into contact with the bike. This is the kind of endurance we'll really need. You never want a saddle sore. No fun. I had one as large as an olive (a large green olive) when I passed through Mamou, Louisiana in 1999 while on this same route, solo Ride for Awareness, for mental illness. That day ended at the residence of a host family. Later that evening I asked for a sewing needle to "mend my shorts," wink, wink.

The itinerary is about done. A few more tweaks, and it'll be perfect, whatever that means. We will post the ride schedule here for your amusement. My dad and step mom are heading out in their motor coach this next week, and we've got a box of supplies to pass off to them as they pass through Portland; tires, tubes, turkey jerky, varied power foods, floor pump and other items. They'll provide some support during the first week or so, maybe longer. I hope they understand how much better our rides will be knowing they are out there in the big rig, riding shotgun with us.

We have five rest days scheduled, and we hope to run into them along the way. My big sister and her partner plan to meet us for a rest day in Marfa, Texas. This is a little west Texas town put on the map by the late Donald Judd. In 1972 he started buying up real estate there. He needed more space for his own large-scale art and for his burgeoning personal art collection. Marfa lies in the high Chihuahuan desert, three hours by car from El Paso and the nearest airport. we'll go off our planned route, skip Fort Davis, Texas for Marfa. I also want to experiment with a new panoramic camera I recently acquired. Where else do you go when you want to absorb space in all its empty glory? Texas, baby.

Over and out

Now we begin

2007-01-03T19:21:00.000-08:00

Time. It winks, blinks, clicks and pops. Time steals our lives away when we're not looking. It imposes order on the deserts and entropy to roadkill. Time is at once expansive and constricting, and just when we think we've controlled it, it slips away again. Hold water in your cupped hand and watch it trickle away. Time moves away from us like the water does, try as we might to hold it still.

Our moments move past us as we squeeze our eyes shut and wish for a rewind mechanism. We pin down the bits of our lives with photos, memories and words. We try to delineate the moments and years as they run together like peas and gravy. The inexorability of time means nothing until someone you know and love passes away. Suddenly, the tattoo of reality imprints onto your thoughts, and you now understand fully what we are all up against. The bottomless pit of time holds a bedrock moment for all in equal measure and suddenly the phrase live in the moment sounds less cliched.

This blog is not about time, it is about a bicycle ride designed to honor two extraordinary women. Ride for Awareness 2007 is for two mothers who never met, but who infused just the right mix of character and personality in two of their children. Those two children grew up, lived their lives, then bumped into each other and got married. The two mothers loved their kids very much. They loved them so much that when they each got sick, they did everything they knew to protect all of their children from having to say good bye. Both mothers passed away within 17 months of each other, both from complications stemming from pancreatic cancer:

Nina Tackett
born Feb. 9th 1937
died June 12th, 2004

Phylis Panagos
born Sept. 9th, 1931
died Nov. 12th, 2005

This ride and blog, as well as all the planning and work is a celebration of Nina and Phylis. It is our way of saying thank you for providing more than we deserved, and encouraging us in anything we thought important. It is a thank you for all the bills paid, dishes washed, laughter and idle conversations that now shine like fine crystal in our minds. It is our humble way of paying past dues for a lesson in dignity that very few are qualified to teach. Nina and Phylis wrote the lesson plan. Thank you for your wisdom and love.

Over and out