Total Miles: 4,093
States crossed: 13
Total Days: 75
Days OFF: 16
Average miles: 70
Number of Flats: 4
Fueled by: coffee and donuts
In my attempt to keep the blog from turning into a complete novel, I decided to break up the last entry into a few afterthoughts, instead of one.
I have officially been in New York city for 10 days and counting. At least the first five days consisted of only staying indoors, wearing sweatpants and a fleece blanket around my shoulders, drinking real espresso, and watching old episodes of Sex and the City for the 98th time. So in real life time, since I am finally not on bike time anymore, real life time I have only been in New York for about four days. Fair, I think so.
Let me take you back to my last day of riding for a minute, and indulge you with the story of my triumphant and grandiose arrival in my New City.
Of the three most frequently thought about topics during this ever lasting tour, THE "arrival" was definitely at the top of the list. When things got tough, I had a reserve of positive/good/warm/delicious things to think about to force myself out of the bike mentality and into the world I was preparing to enter. I had a beautiful vision of pedaling across the bridge (maybe you're wondering which one, well lets be honest I'm still fresh off the boat and don't even know which one) the sun glinting off my shiny bike, my hair flowing behind me, and the traffic parting ways to let me through. Followed by a magnificent entrance to Battery park with the Statue of Liberty in the backgound, where a huge group of friends are waiting, champagne bottles popping, and an entourage of cyclists follow me across the ribboned finish line. Complete with leaps of joy and rolling around in the grass.
Did I get my big New York City entrance? Well, as you can guess, obviously not. That was already an extravagant fantasy, but you gotta give me something right?
The big day went a little more like this:
I pulled on my overly used spandex, rainjacket which now lacks the ability to provide a water proof shield, pulled my frazzled and frizzy hair under my helmet and pedaled away the morning into the grey sky of Pennsylvania. The rain started about an hour into the ride, and believe me I could handle the rain. I could handle the cold. But combined, around 40 degrees and pouring rain...on a bike? No thank you ma'am.
It went on like this for about the next six hours, with sporadic stops about every mile to try to warm up my quickly numbing fingers and pretend like I was in a warm room, on a bear skin rug, sitting in front of the fire. All I could think about was being done, being off the bike, and being warm and dry. I thought about hitch hiking all day, but that felt like cheating, so I pressed on.
Finally, around 2pm, it had been just about enough of the freezing cold rain that I could take, and I somehow managed to take a wrong turn. I dont know, maybe it was because the rain blinded me and the fog build up in my map bag smudged the directions. Or maybe, I had never felt more pitiful and discouraged in my life and this was just the sign I needed to know that it was okay to stop.
I found my way to a bar, in the middle of a nowhere town, in the middle of the afternoon storm, and in the middle of my mental breakdown. I walked into the bar, dripping rain puddles behind me, choking back the tears staining my face, and with any inhibitions left long ago in a Kansas Town, I avoided the stares of the bar stool occupants and made my way to the back.
At this point, only about 25 miles from where I would hop the train anyway, I was still feeling like I was cheating my own journey for not making this grand and spectacular entrance. I think the minute the raindrops came that vision should have been erased from my mind, but being so close to the finish after so many thousands of miles, I just wanted to finish the last leg.
As I sat on the porch outside the bar, huddling in my own shivers, and crying through the phone, Buddy-yes that was his name- had seen me walk into the bar, and obviously felt sorry for me. He offered to drive me to the train station, and how could I refuse at this point. He gave me his ice cold plastic cup of wine for the car ride, we stopped at Dunkin Donuts on the way there, and he even drove me to the ATM. Saved again, all the way up to the last minute.
Once inside th train station there was a woman there waiting, and when she saw me struggle my way in, with a bike full of gear, she was intrigued. When she heard the news of what I was doing, she instantly made her way to me and stuck out her hand, "I feel like I need to shake your hand! You are amazing."
In more less those words, her shock at my accomplishment made me feel a little better.
I'll stop my little sob story now, but I thought for the full affect you should know how unglamorous it all really felt.
The next part involves me hauling my bike onto the train, taking over an entire car, and staring at disbelief as the city came into my view. My spirits were repaired when I knew for sure my dear friend Molly would be meeting me on the other end of the train. When we finally pulled up to my stop, the last obstacle to face was getting my bike out of the subway station and onto the street. Easy as pie right, well that actually involved me walking around in circles, people streaming past me and staring quizzically at my bike. There was no way in this lifetime I would be able to carry my bike up any kind of stairs, let alone fit it onto a moving escalator. Luckily, as I was standing in the middle of Penn Station, and just the like movies everything was moving in super speed around me as I moved in slow motion, a man helped me find the elevator. Three girls waited with me and started chatting me up. It went something like this.
girl in really tall cute boots "where did you just ride from?"
me: "umm, Jersey, but really San Francisco. I just finished a cross country ride."
cute boots: " OH MY GOD. Congratulations! Are you serious??!"
Other two girls wearing equally cute outfits: "woooaaah."
me: "umm, yup. I just finished. Right now."
cute boots:" holy shit, thats amazing." and blah blah blah. we kept chatting, but that was enough to leave a big grin on my face for a minute. They helped me on the elevator and out into the masses.
and then.... there I was at Times Square, stepping out of the wardrobe and into Narnia.
My pilgrimage is over, and I'm off the bike and into the new world, in this big bad-ass city. I was surprised by a lovely gaggle of girlfriends at a bar that night, and I think my worries from the road immediately lifted from my shoulders and flew through the ceiling.
All that is left to do is find myself a job, and begin this life as a city girl again, no longer a biker/nomad/traveler/vagabond...I'm not sure if I remember how to do that.
Lastly, all I can say is a HUGE thank you to the countless people along the way, the emails/messages/support from wonderful friends, all the amazing kindness I found in the expansive country of ours. I could not have made it this far without any of those things, so thank you to everyone who supported me in huge and small ways. If you have any questions for me I'm still digesting this crazy adventure and would love to keep talking about it, clearly.
And I'm out, ready to take on this extremely giant city in full force!
PEACE.
ps. I'm slowly uploading photos to my flickr account, check em out if you want to SEE what it was all about.
http://www.flickr.com/photos/sidracarder/
26.10.09
18.10.09
the last few weeks..
This is what I wrote while basking in the glory of hitting the East Coast, and feeling like a princess in her tower...
So far, I have had less than four days of normalcy and biking already feels like a distant dream. As if I somehow magically appeared, here in DC, to be greeted by such beautiful autumn sunshine, delicious food, a roof over my head, and wonderful company. What an incredible feeling to stop moving for a minute, and just be.
I thought for a minute, only a minute, that it might be nice to live in one of the many small towns of America I pedalled through. In fact, this little country side dream has been this romantic fantasy of mine for a while; to wear vibrant sundresses, wide brimmed straw hats, run around bare foot, and sit on a summertime porch in a rocking chair drinking lemonade. Obviously a bit extreme, but doesn't that sound kind of wonderful?
Well, it turns out, after being away from the hustle and bustle of cities, I had no idea how much I was missing it. I am completely in awe of this city where so much happens, and my undying love for eclectic, diverse, lively, and bustling city life is back in full force.
Awaiting this DC arrival reminded me of being a little kid waiting for Christmas. Christmas was my absolute favorite time of year, and it was almost agonizing how long the wait seemed to go on. I remember feeling a twinge of sadness even on Christmas Day as each event finished and the hours got shorter, just knowing I would have to wait an entire year again for such magic. I used to anxiously await Christmas day for months, peeking at the days of the advent and sneaking those little chocolate treats days early. On the real day, I would wake up before the crack of dawn to wake up my older brother, sneaking into his room in my slippered feet and wait until a more appropriate hour to slip downstairs and find our treasures.
Arriving in DC, felt like Christmas day. It felt as though I was waiting all year to get there, each mile felt like another day on the calender. Pouring over the miles on my map each night and re counting the miles to go until I had memorized each town name along the way. By the time the day came to finally ride into the city, I was up long before 5am. The moon was still out.
A hundred mile day turned into over 115 after a few mishaps with the new directions. After getting confused and riding an unneccesary extra ten mile loop, I decided it would be a good idea to just take highway 1 the rest of the way to the supposed bike trail I would ride into the city on. Not such a good idea, and this turned into a full out sprint with the cars, trying to balance between the invisible shoulder and the crazy drivers.
but...I made it to the city, and just in time for sunset at the National Monument. Pretty epic.
I spent a glorious week hanging out in DC, relaxing and NOT biking...okay maybe a little biking. I was so caught up in the incredible feeling of reaching the East Coast, feeling like a semi normal person again, and staying in a beautiful home with great people, I think I forgot the last stretch of the trip to New York City was still awaiting.
I put those 300 miles so far out of my mind, the day I was set to leave felt like almost the start of the trip again, and those three hundred miles might as well have been another 4,000. With heavy legs, heavy heart, heavy heavy bike; I pedaled out of the DC foggy morning, without a clue of where I was sleeping that night.
As with nearly every single day of the last two and half months, even the last four days from the DC stretch to NYC, there were wonderful people along the way to help get me there.
The day I left DC, I could already feel the dramatic shift from fall into cold winter air. It was 3:30pm and I had only biked 35 miles. The next town, the next anything, was at least 90 miles from where I was. Picturing in my mind, the ditch, or bush, or tree I would have to roll my sleeping bag into was starting to feel like the worst idea ever.
Looking down at my map again, as if looking over and over again would somehow solve my problem, a man pulled over and asked me where I was staying. On the verge of tears, pretty consistantly now, I said, "I don't know. I'm not really sure where I am. Is there a place to camp around here?" Knowing entirely too well that a small town in Pennsylvania would not be down with me pitching a tent in their corn fields.
To break it down, he lived right around the corner, so invited me to his house to wait for his wife to get home. He pulls out all kinds of maps of the area helping me to route the next day of biking, and eventually invites me to stay the night. He and his wife are big time cyclists, and he biked the country over 30 years ago. I'm just wondering how we managed to meet up on that corner, in the cold. We enjoyed a huge pasta feast that night, lots of wine, and pumpkin pie. In the morning, his wife made us waffles and coffee, and we sat at the kitchen island chatting about life. She even packed me a brown bag lunch, complete with home made cookies. The trail magic continues to be abundant and life saving.
Feeling refreshed and ready to take on the challenging ride of the next and last three days, I pedaled away on another 100 mile day.
I was preparing to bike around 200 miles in the next two days, the final leg of this entirely too long journey. In retrospect, after biking thousands of miles already, 200 is nothing right? Thats not exactly how it felt.
I had my last night of camping somewhere in Pennsylvania near Lancaster County, by a lake in the freezing cold air of night. Fortunately, I made an early decision to treat myself to a hotel on my last night. Its hard enough to want to bike with cold hands and feet, but just the thought of rolling out my tent after 10o miles, made me a little nauseous.
Well as luck would have it, I got lost and then found again. Two runners who were trying to help me find my way back to the bike path, graciously made some phone calls and hooked me up with the nicest hotel in town. I walked into the crown plaza, dripping in sweatcicles and rolling my bike across the marble floor. People in ball gowns swept by me. Okay, not quite ball gowns, but I would not have felt any more out of place than I already did. At least they were expecting me this time.
At this point I was religiously checking the weather channel for news about my last day of riding. I'm so glad it was all sunny and blue skies. Actually, the forecast was cold and rainy, all day for the next four days. Thinking I could handle this news, knowing I only had one more day left, I spent the night trying to prepare for what lay ahead.
Battling my urge to give up and never get back on a bike, I was trying to keep in mind all the incredibly positive things, and people that seemed to appear out of thin air through my careless mistakes. These consistant serendipitous encounters, which may be nothing more than a stroke of good luck, continue to leave me baffled yet ready to share the goodwill.
I have now been in New York City for a little over a week....which may account for the lack of comprehension or motivation to write about what just happened.
read on for one last post in this infinite blogosphere....
So far, I have had less than four days of normalcy and biking already feels like a distant dream. As if I somehow magically appeared, here in DC, to be greeted by such beautiful autumn sunshine, delicious food, a roof over my head, and wonderful company. What an incredible feeling to stop moving for a minute, and just be.
I thought for a minute, only a minute, that it might be nice to live in one of the many small towns of America I pedalled through. In fact, this little country side dream has been this romantic fantasy of mine for a while; to wear vibrant sundresses, wide brimmed straw hats, run around bare foot, and sit on a summertime porch in a rocking chair drinking lemonade. Obviously a bit extreme, but doesn't that sound kind of wonderful?
Well, it turns out, after being away from the hustle and bustle of cities, I had no idea how much I was missing it. I am completely in awe of this city where so much happens, and my undying love for eclectic, diverse, lively, and bustling city life is back in full force.
Awaiting this DC arrival reminded me of being a little kid waiting for Christmas. Christmas was my absolute favorite time of year, and it was almost agonizing how long the wait seemed to go on. I remember feeling a twinge of sadness even on Christmas Day as each event finished and the hours got shorter, just knowing I would have to wait an entire year again for such magic. I used to anxiously await Christmas day for months, peeking at the days of the advent and sneaking those little chocolate treats days early. On the real day, I would wake up before the crack of dawn to wake up my older brother, sneaking into his room in my slippered feet and wait until a more appropriate hour to slip downstairs and find our treasures.
Arriving in DC, felt like Christmas day. It felt as though I was waiting all year to get there, each mile felt like another day on the calender. Pouring over the miles on my map each night and re counting the miles to go until I had memorized each town name along the way. By the time the day came to finally ride into the city, I was up long before 5am. The moon was still out.
A hundred mile day turned into over 115 after a few mishaps with the new directions. After getting confused and riding an unneccesary extra ten mile loop, I decided it would be a good idea to just take highway 1 the rest of the way to the supposed bike trail I would ride into the city on. Not such a good idea, and this turned into a full out sprint with the cars, trying to balance between the invisible shoulder and the crazy drivers.
but...I made it to the city, and just in time for sunset at the National Monument. Pretty epic.
I spent a glorious week hanging out in DC, relaxing and NOT biking...okay maybe a little biking. I was so caught up in the incredible feeling of reaching the East Coast, feeling like a semi normal person again, and staying in a beautiful home with great people, I think I forgot the last stretch of the trip to New York City was still awaiting.
I put those 300 miles so far out of my mind, the day I was set to leave felt like almost the start of the trip again, and those three hundred miles might as well have been another 4,000. With heavy legs, heavy heart, heavy heavy bike; I pedaled out of the DC foggy morning, without a clue of where I was sleeping that night.
As with nearly every single day of the last two and half months, even the last four days from the DC stretch to NYC, there were wonderful people along the way to help get me there.
The day I left DC, I could already feel the dramatic shift from fall into cold winter air. It was 3:30pm and I had only biked 35 miles. The next town, the next anything, was at least 90 miles from where I was. Picturing in my mind, the ditch, or bush, or tree I would have to roll my sleeping bag into was starting to feel like the worst idea ever.
Looking down at my map again, as if looking over and over again would somehow solve my problem, a man pulled over and asked me where I was staying. On the verge of tears, pretty consistantly now, I said, "I don't know. I'm not really sure where I am. Is there a place to camp around here?" Knowing entirely too well that a small town in Pennsylvania would not be down with me pitching a tent in their corn fields.
To break it down, he lived right around the corner, so invited me to his house to wait for his wife to get home. He pulls out all kinds of maps of the area helping me to route the next day of biking, and eventually invites me to stay the night. He and his wife are big time cyclists, and he biked the country over 30 years ago. I'm just wondering how we managed to meet up on that corner, in the cold. We enjoyed a huge pasta feast that night, lots of wine, and pumpkin pie. In the morning, his wife made us waffles and coffee, and we sat at the kitchen island chatting about life. She even packed me a brown bag lunch, complete with home made cookies. The trail magic continues to be abundant and life saving.
Feeling refreshed and ready to take on the challenging ride of the next and last three days, I pedaled away on another 100 mile day.
I was preparing to bike around 200 miles in the next two days, the final leg of this entirely too long journey. In retrospect, after biking thousands of miles already, 200 is nothing right? Thats not exactly how it felt.
I had my last night of camping somewhere in Pennsylvania near Lancaster County, by a lake in the freezing cold air of night. Fortunately, I made an early decision to treat myself to a hotel on my last night. Its hard enough to want to bike with cold hands and feet, but just the thought of rolling out my tent after 10o miles, made me a little nauseous.
Well as luck would have it, I got lost and then found again. Two runners who were trying to help me find my way back to the bike path, graciously made some phone calls and hooked me up with the nicest hotel in town. I walked into the crown plaza, dripping in sweatcicles and rolling my bike across the marble floor. People in ball gowns swept by me. Okay, not quite ball gowns, but I would not have felt any more out of place than I already did. At least they were expecting me this time.
At this point I was religiously checking the weather channel for news about my last day of riding. I'm so glad it was all sunny and blue skies. Actually, the forecast was cold and rainy, all day for the next four days. Thinking I could handle this news, knowing I only had one more day left, I spent the night trying to prepare for what lay ahead.
Battling my urge to give up and never get back on a bike, I was trying to keep in mind all the incredibly positive things, and people that seemed to appear out of thin air through my careless mistakes. These consistant serendipitous encounters, which may be nothing more than a stroke of good luck, continue to leave me baffled yet ready to share the goodwill.
I have now been in New York City for a little over a week....which may account for the lack of comprehension or motivation to write about what just happened.
read on for one last post in this infinite blogosphere....
27.9.09
im still in the belt, of the bible that is..
total miles: 3,245
total miles today: lucky number 23, oops.
number of cats at the tree house i get to stay at right now: SIX, and a pregnant mommy!
number of times i almost quit yesterday: almost 12
check out the map link, look how close i'm getting!!
Well howdy y'all. I apologize for the lack of updates as of late, I ain't had much time to type out in these here woods. (please read the rest of the post out loud, in a southern drawl, for your own entertainment.) I think I forgot my roots and all of sudden picked up the local lingo that I love so much.
That being said, I am still comfortably making my way through Appalachia country - which is actually pronounced APPA-LA-CHA, we got it wrong in the West- and hoping to be in the big VA tomorrow, if I can get rolling early enough.
The last few days have been more than tough as I hit a huge patch of POURING rain. Pouring, pounding, crazy rain. And I hail from the great city of Seattle, so you know I don't lie.
However, I did manage to find my train hopping lovely little sister, Channing, in Kentucky. I found her in a similar state as me; homeless, hungry, tired, and ready to eat a gallon of moose tracks ice cream, on the ground at a Shell Gas Station. We must come from the same family or something, Thank God she is crazy enough, like me, to wander thousands of miles from home, and still find each other in the middle of blue grass Kentucky on a Wed. night. Wonderful.
Well we also found Hope, in Berea. Literally, Hope, a wonderful college student residing in my new favorite Southern Town, was kind enough to let us crash at her pad, cook up feasts of Spaghetti, and enjoy a warm bed and roof for a few nights. It was a much needed recuperation for me. Not my sister is the first familiar face I have seen in what feels like years. Needless to say, it was difficult to peel myself away from them to head back on the road, solo as always, and into the storm. It took a lot of bananas, peanut butter, and coffee to motivate for that late morning.
The great news, I'm hoping though, is I am officially in the heart of Appalachia country, and it is crazy beautiful. Aside from the over the top humidity, which is always nice when you sweat all day already, this state is absolutely stunning. I feel like I'm in another country, or maybe in the jungle. There is something familiar about all the green trees that makes me feel at home, and happy to be out of the corn for awhile.
After arriving in Buckhorn, KY two days ago in the pounding rain, I found refuge at the state park and in the local diner nearby. The next morning it was still pounding rain, and flashing lightening all around my tent, so obviously I had a very late start, still in the rain. I have not made it too far the last few days, because well, I would rather make it East all in one piece, and its a little hard to want to pack up a dripping wet tent, slide ever so gracefully into dripping wet spandex, and bike ever so swiftly into sheets of rain and the looming threat of lightening ahead.
After a good five hours of rain biking yesterday I made it to Hazard, KY. Literally hazardous to my well being. I tried to find a church to crash at, because that has repeatedly proved to be the best place to crash if there is no campsite, or if you cant afford a hotel room. I spent an hour riding around the town, pedaling through the rivers of water in the road, and was unable to find even a single soul on the streets to tell me what to do.
Defeated and soaking wet, I finally gave in and checked into the glamorous hotel down the road, and spent the next hour, okay the next nine hours watching TV. I forgot how addicting CSI can be. Although maybe not the best decision to watch a show about crime, while you are biking alone through the rain, in unfamiliar territory. It helped that there was an amber alert repeatedly flashing on the screen for a kidnapping that occurred that morning, in the same county. yikes.
Once again, hoping to get an early start was a failure this morning, i just could not peel myself out of bed to get going, and I quickly decided after 23 miles that I would be done for the day. So here I am, in Hindman, Kentucky, feasting at a bed and breakfast in the trees. Dave greeted me in the driveway with a tall glass of Southern Sweet ice tea, and made me a baked potato for supper. Just before I ordered take out and drank at least five more teas. Supposedly there is an ice cream Sunday on the way. Could I ask for anything more?
Also, if you want to know the best diet in the world, go on a bike tour. Not only is this a summer boot camp weight loss program, but you get to eat everything you could ever want, and more; and still feel starving. At least that's what happens to me. No joke, I usually have to eat dinner at least twice, and I could still eat dessert all day. I guess I'll have to start training for iron man Hawaii or something so I can keep burning the millions of calories I eat every day. Good thing New York City is not known for pizza and bagels or anything, I think i might be doomed.
Gearing up for a century ride in the morning to get across the Virginia border. I can finally see the light at the end of the tunnel, and I keep wishing I could bike 300 miles everyday...then i would be there in no time! For now, I'll keep spinning along on my granny gears, hooving all the donuts in sight, and practicing my southern accent.
See you all on the other side of these hills!
ciao ciao.
s.
total miles today: lucky number 23, oops.
number of cats at the tree house i get to stay at right now: SIX, and a pregnant mommy!
number of times i almost quit yesterday: almost 12
check out the map link, look how close i'm getting!!
Well howdy y'all. I apologize for the lack of updates as of late, I ain't had much time to type out in these here woods. (please read the rest of the post out loud, in a southern drawl, for your own entertainment.) I think I forgot my roots and all of sudden picked up the local lingo that I love so much.
That being said, I am still comfortably making my way through Appalachia country - which is actually pronounced APPA-LA-CHA, we got it wrong in the West- and hoping to be in the big VA tomorrow, if I can get rolling early enough.
The last few days have been more than tough as I hit a huge patch of POURING rain. Pouring, pounding, crazy rain. And I hail from the great city of Seattle, so you know I don't lie.
However, I did manage to find my train hopping lovely little sister, Channing, in Kentucky. I found her in a similar state as me; homeless, hungry, tired, and ready to eat a gallon of moose tracks ice cream, on the ground at a Shell Gas Station. We must come from the same family or something, Thank God she is crazy enough, like me, to wander thousands of miles from home, and still find each other in the middle of blue grass Kentucky on a Wed. night. Wonderful.
Well we also found Hope, in Berea. Literally, Hope, a wonderful college student residing in my new favorite Southern Town, was kind enough to let us crash at her pad, cook up feasts of Spaghetti, and enjoy a warm bed and roof for a few nights. It was a much needed recuperation for me. Not my sister is the first familiar face I have seen in what feels like years. Needless to say, it was difficult to peel myself away from them to head back on the road, solo as always, and into the storm. It took a lot of bananas, peanut butter, and coffee to motivate for that late morning.
The great news, I'm hoping though, is I am officially in the heart of Appalachia country, and it is crazy beautiful. Aside from the over the top humidity, which is always nice when you sweat all day already, this state is absolutely stunning. I feel like I'm in another country, or maybe in the jungle. There is something familiar about all the green trees that makes me feel at home, and happy to be out of the corn for awhile.
After arriving in Buckhorn, KY two days ago in the pounding rain, I found refuge at the state park and in the local diner nearby. The next morning it was still pounding rain, and flashing lightening all around my tent, so obviously I had a very late start, still in the rain. I have not made it too far the last few days, because well, I would rather make it East all in one piece, and its a little hard to want to pack up a dripping wet tent, slide ever so gracefully into dripping wet spandex, and bike ever so swiftly into sheets of rain and the looming threat of lightening ahead.
After a good five hours of rain biking yesterday I made it to Hazard, KY. Literally hazardous to my well being. I tried to find a church to crash at, because that has repeatedly proved to be the best place to crash if there is no campsite, or if you cant afford a hotel room. I spent an hour riding around the town, pedaling through the rivers of water in the road, and was unable to find even a single soul on the streets to tell me what to do.
Defeated and soaking wet, I finally gave in and checked into the glamorous hotel down the road, and spent the next hour, okay the next nine hours watching TV. I forgot how addicting CSI can be. Although maybe not the best decision to watch a show about crime, while you are biking alone through the rain, in unfamiliar territory. It helped that there was an amber alert repeatedly flashing on the screen for a kidnapping that occurred that morning, in the same county. yikes.
Once again, hoping to get an early start was a failure this morning, i just could not peel myself out of bed to get going, and I quickly decided after 23 miles that I would be done for the day. So here I am, in Hindman, Kentucky, feasting at a bed and breakfast in the trees. Dave greeted me in the driveway with a tall glass of Southern Sweet ice tea, and made me a baked potato for supper. Just before I ordered take out and drank at least five more teas. Supposedly there is an ice cream Sunday on the way. Could I ask for anything more?
Also, if you want to know the best diet in the world, go on a bike tour. Not only is this a summer boot camp weight loss program, but you get to eat everything you could ever want, and more; and still feel starving. At least that's what happens to me. No joke, I usually have to eat dinner at least twice, and I could still eat dessert all day. I guess I'll have to start training for iron man Hawaii or something so I can keep burning the millions of calories I eat every day. Good thing New York City is not known for pizza and bagels or anything, I think i might be doomed.
Gearing up for a century ride in the morning to get across the Virginia border. I can finally see the light at the end of the tunnel, and I keep wishing I could bike 300 miles everyday...then i would be there in no time! For now, I'll keep spinning along on my granny gears, hooving all the donuts in sight, and practicing my southern accent.
See you all on the other side of these hills!
ciao ciao.
s.
20.9.09
In the Bluegrass.
Current Town: Sebree Kentucky.
Total Miles: almost 3/4 of the way...
Miles to go: about 1,000 to DC. about 1,300 to NYC!
Number of Angels on the Trail: Infinite
I came down from the Ozarks to find myself in Illinois, the state with the smallest amount of miles to tackle, but somehow felt like a bazillion. Spent the night in Chester, to celebrate the crossing of the MISSISSIPPI river, something I never ever thought I would do on bicycle. Felt pretty epic to be riding over that great big massive sludge of a river, listening to Jay Z, and wobbling by the speeding cars.
From Chester I biked a few more miles to Carbondale where I was graciously rescued by Joe at the local bike shop. He must have immediately known I was a worn out cycle tourist (its pretty easy to spot us) because we instantly started talking all about biking. He toured the Transam earlier this summer, so was very helpful with tips and commiseration. Joe graciously let me crash at his place for the night and took me out on the town for a giant bowl of spaghetti and much needed beer. I always get very excited to be in an actual city sized town, so it was great to cruise around the college campus, luggage free, on our bikes and get a taste for Southern Illinois. We rode out the next morning, my first riding buddy in WEEKS, and Joe showed me some of the great back roads through his beautiful state. What a treat to ride next to someone, but it also made me realize one thing: life on the road is SO much better when you have good company next to you. So thank you, thank you, thank you, Joe for being a wonderful host on this long journey.
Right now, I am writing you all from Sebree, Kentucky. I crossed over the border from Illinois, by a small Tug boat like ferry, yesterday morning and cruised through the Blue Grass hills to this charming little town, Sebree.
Okay, it might have gone a little bit more like this: I slept in a sketch ball campsite the night before-which was closed due to storm damage - mosquito infested swamp land that it was, I managed to catch a few winks. Finding motivation for another 80 mile day the next morning though was a bit difficult. For some reason sleeping in a marsh, alone, and illegally might I add, does not always elicit the urge to power through big miles in the early morning. Luckily, I had heard news of a Baptist Church, in Sebree, that allows cyclists to sleep over, and sometimes provides a home cooked meal. Well, I had no idea what I was even in for.
I rolled up to Sebree early in the day to find a huge banner outside stating, "Cyclist's Welcome." Even on the Transam trail, these signs seem to be few and far between, and the closest thing is Bikers Welcome: that one gets me every time, until I realize it is really meant for those hard core leather bound, Sturgis, motorcyclists.
Needless to say, as I was trying to decide if I should knock on the Church neighbors door, up rolls a white car, and Violet pokes her head out, "You must be looking for someone to let you in, honey!" I could only shake my head up and down, hopeful that things were about to turn around.
Well, turn around they did. I have never met more hospitable, kind, and generous hosts in my life, and that must mean a lot because they seem to be in abundance these days. I'm not sure if its the fact that I always look super haggard, I'm alone, I'm a chick, or all of the above...but something about lugging around my life on the back of a bicycle seems to bring out the best in people.
It turns out, Violet and her husband Pastor Bob, are true legends along the Transamerica trail. They have hosted hundreds, probably thousands of cyclists over the past thirty years; opening their doors and hearts to sweat stained, semi-homeless, vagabonds of the trail. Not something everyone will jump at the chance to do.
Last night I enjoyed one of my first home cooked meals in a long time, a hot shower, and clean laundry, as well as a mountain of ice cream that Bob prepared for me. Let's just say I couldn't decide what flavor to eat, so I chose all five. Delicious.
After a long heart to heart with Violet over our heaping bowls of ice cream, it must have been apparent that I have been without company, or a hug, for a long, long time. It only took about three minutes for both of us to be completely in tears, just Violet and I, sitting in her linoleum kitchen, wiping our eyes with the table napkins. What a sight.
I'm not sure if it was from the sheer happiness of being in a home again, or the crazy winding tale of her life that really got me, but I'm starting to notice how completely vulnerable and open us cyclists must appear, because I sure do get to hear a lot of wonderful and sometimes traumatic life stories. It must be the spandex. There is just something non threatening about a person walking around in day light wearing bike shorts. It clearly tells you immediately: this person has no shame, none at all. I'll take that as a good thing, because obviously, when you're willing to wear unflattering, tight in all the wrong places, padding in the butt, spandex, every day all day in public; you must be a pretty chill, laid back kinda gal. No frills necessary, and while I don't have a choice at this point, I'll take it.
Back to the Trail Angels of the moment, I think I might go take a nap, again, after all that ice cream it feels like its a good time to hibernate for a minute. I was planning to leave this morning, but then I just had to ask myself, why? Why would I ever leave this oasis? Okay I might have to sooner or later, but for now, I'm just going to relax and enjoy this wonderful Southern hospitality.
So much more to come.
-s
Total Miles: almost 3/4 of the way...
Miles to go: about 1,000 to DC. about 1,300 to NYC!
Number of Angels on the Trail: Infinite
I came down from the Ozarks to find myself in Illinois, the state with the smallest amount of miles to tackle, but somehow felt like a bazillion. Spent the night in Chester, to celebrate the crossing of the MISSISSIPPI river, something I never ever thought I would do on bicycle. Felt pretty epic to be riding over that great big massive sludge of a river, listening to Jay Z, and wobbling by the speeding cars.
From Chester I biked a few more miles to Carbondale where I was graciously rescued by Joe at the local bike shop. He must have immediately known I was a worn out cycle tourist (its pretty easy to spot us) because we instantly started talking all about biking. He toured the Transam earlier this summer, so was very helpful with tips and commiseration. Joe graciously let me crash at his place for the night and took me out on the town for a giant bowl of spaghetti and much needed beer. I always get very excited to be in an actual city sized town, so it was great to cruise around the college campus, luggage free, on our bikes and get a taste for Southern Illinois. We rode out the next morning, my first riding buddy in WEEKS, and Joe showed me some of the great back roads through his beautiful state. What a treat to ride next to someone, but it also made me realize one thing: life on the road is SO much better when you have good company next to you. So thank you, thank you, thank you, Joe for being a wonderful host on this long journey.
Right now, I am writing you all from Sebree, Kentucky. I crossed over the border from Illinois, by a small Tug boat like ferry, yesterday morning and cruised through the Blue Grass hills to this charming little town, Sebree.
Okay, it might have gone a little bit more like this: I slept in a sketch ball campsite the night before-which was closed due to storm damage - mosquito infested swamp land that it was, I managed to catch a few winks. Finding motivation for another 80 mile day the next morning though was a bit difficult. For some reason sleeping in a marsh, alone, and illegally might I add, does not always elicit the urge to power through big miles in the early morning. Luckily, I had heard news of a Baptist Church, in Sebree, that allows cyclists to sleep over, and sometimes provides a home cooked meal. Well, I had no idea what I was even in for.
I rolled up to Sebree early in the day to find a huge banner outside stating, "Cyclist's Welcome." Even on the Transam trail, these signs seem to be few and far between, and the closest thing is Bikers Welcome: that one gets me every time, until I realize it is really meant for those hard core leather bound, Sturgis, motorcyclists.
Needless to say, as I was trying to decide if I should knock on the Church neighbors door, up rolls a white car, and Violet pokes her head out, "You must be looking for someone to let you in, honey!" I could only shake my head up and down, hopeful that things were about to turn around.
Well, turn around they did. I have never met more hospitable, kind, and generous hosts in my life, and that must mean a lot because they seem to be in abundance these days. I'm not sure if its the fact that I always look super haggard, I'm alone, I'm a chick, or all of the above...but something about lugging around my life on the back of a bicycle seems to bring out the best in people.
It turns out, Violet and her husband Pastor Bob, are true legends along the Transamerica trail. They have hosted hundreds, probably thousands of cyclists over the past thirty years; opening their doors and hearts to sweat stained, semi-homeless, vagabonds of the trail. Not something everyone will jump at the chance to do.
Last night I enjoyed one of my first home cooked meals in a long time, a hot shower, and clean laundry, as well as a mountain of ice cream that Bob prepared for me. Let's just say I couldn't decide what flavor to eat, so I chose all five. Delicious.
After a long heart to heart with Violet over our heaping bowls of ice cream, it must have been apparent that I have been without company, or a hug, for a long, long time. It only took about three minutes for both of us to be completely in tears, just Violet and I, sitting in her linoleum kitchen, wiping our eyes with the table napkins. What a sight.
I'm not sure if it was from the sheer happiness of being in a home again, or the crazy winding tale of her life that really got me, but I'm starting to notice how completely vulnerable and open us cyclists must appear, because I sure do get to hear a lot of wonderful and sometimes traumatic life stories. It must be the spandex. There is just something non threatening about a person walking around in day light wearing bike shorts. It clearly tells you immediately: this person has no shame, none at all. I'll take that as a good thing, because obviously, when you're willing to wear unflattering, tight in all the wrong places, padding in the butt, spandex, every day all day in public; you must be a pretty chill, laid back kinda gal. No frills necessary, and while I don't have a choice at this point, I'll take it.
Back to the Trail Angels of the moment, I think I might go take a nap, again, after all that ice cream it feels like its a good time to hibernate for a minute. I was planning to leave this morning, but then I just had to ask myself, why? Why would I ever leave this oasis? Okay I might have to sooner or later, but for now, I'm just going to relax and enjoy this wonderful Southern hospitality.
So much more to come.
-s
16.9.09
Into the 7th state, Illinois!
Total miles: Over 2,500!
hours on bike: a billion
days on the road: 46!
miles to go: I wish I could say 5, but I think its more like 1,500.
number of donuts to keep me going: enough to fill a Krispy Cream.
Dear Mr and Mrs Farmington America,
I am writing to you today, in regards to the frequent close encounters I am having, with all the wild dogs of the Ozark hills. I think its swell that you have dogs, I love dogs, and I know you must think they protect your property and your precious cattle. However, I find it very unnecessary to leave your pit bulls/rottweilers/german shepards/and even mangy terriers, off leash and free to roam the fields. This is not only terrifying and dangerous, for both myself and your puppy, but just down right rude. Please keep your dogs either tied up in the yard, behind a fence, or pretty much anywhere that I don't have to see them, hear them, or feel them biting at my ankles. I'm pretty sure my legs are a little crucial for me to keep pedaling, so please, don't make me get out the pepper spray..because I will use it.
and PS. Please, please, take down the Confederate flags hanging in your yard. That's even scarier.
Thanks!
So...I just thought I would include a little letter to all those farmers out there, which I should actually post up somewhere. The last few days there have been more than a few close calls with farm dogs. I was chased down by a pack of five yesterday, and after biking 80 miles already, its a bit hard to sprint uphill and out of their teeth's reach. I would more than love to grab the mase that's strapped on my bike (it really is, seriously) and spray a dog in the face, but, I feel that might be taking it a little far. I would like to keep my ankles bite free though. And yes, there have been numerous Confederate flag decorum sightings lately, which usually means I am in an all out pedaling spring at this point, trying to spin myself as far away as possible.
Back to the basics, I made it through ALL of Missouri in five days! I'm now in Chester, Illinois, basically straddling the border, but who's here to be the real judge. Although Missouri definitely lived up to all the hype of steep roller coaster hills, it has been a much needed and refreshing break from the never ending desolate prairies of Kansas. I think I may have even grown a few more leg muscles in the last few days, just trying to haul ass up those steep hills. It gets tough tugging around so much weight on the back of my bike, and usually takes all the strength I can muster to get to the top, and then I just have to do it all again, and again, and again. I find myself dreaming of the days when I could just ride my bicycle around the streets of San Francisco, with nothing on it! That's when I used to complain about just carrying a backpack to school...those were the days.
I have been riding through the Ozark hills, and if I knew my US geography I would have already known those were in Missouri. Since that's not the case, it was a nice surprise to find out how beautiful this state really is. I can feel the seasons beginning to change around me as well, and the leaves are starting to change and fall all around me as I ride the hills. Its feeling great to be out of the hot summer days, but I'm also beginning to feel the anxiety of the cold weather fast approaching, which means shorter days and less time to ride.
Yesterday was one of the most mentally draining and difficult days I have had; extremely steep hills to climb, cold grey rainy drizzle, no shoulder in all of Missouri, and mean dogs. After riding over 90 miles and not arriving in town until nearly dark, on the verge of tears, and nearly panicking; I was about at the end of the rope trying to find the park to sleep in, seriously. As luck would have it, my day was saved once again, and I got to be the third cyclist ever to stay in the brand new Trans America cycling hostel, in Farmington, Missouri.
Maybe that does not sound like a big deal, but after weeks of sleeping on the ground, in the rain, and wearing yesterdays sweaty spandex; I needed a break as much as ever, and this was definitely it. I was the only one there, obviously, so I got to lounge on couches, do my laundry, have a long, hot shower, and sleep in a real bunk bed! What a treat.
Today I decided to celebrate my arrival in a new state with a short day, and to prepare myself for the ominous Appalachian mountains which I will be hitting in just a few days. Supposedly, this Mountain range is the toughest yet. I guess I was lying to myself the whole time when I thought I was done with the hard stuff after Colorado. But...I think, if I have made it this far already, there is clearly no turning around, and I'm pretty sure I can handle the challenge.
Feeling more ready than ever to hit the East soon, and taking all the kind words of strangers with me to keep me going.
PS. Could somebody remind me what life was like before the bike? Its beginning to feel like I have never, ever done anything else in life; besides riding a bicycle for nine hours every day, sleeping in parks, and eating ice cream and donuts every chance I get. I feel like there is something I'm forgetting, like my former life was really a dream... did I ever do anything else??
cheers!
hours on bike: a billion
days on the road: 46!
miles to go: I wish I could say 5, but I think its more like 1,500.
number of donuts to keep me going: enough to fill a Krispy Cream.
Dear Mr and Mrs Farmington America,
I am writing to you today, in regards to the frequent close encounters I am having, with all the wild dogs of the Ozark hills. I think its swell that you have dogs, I love dogs, and I know you must think they protect your property and your precious cattle. However, I find it very unnecessary to leave your pit bulls/rottweilers/german shepards/and even mangy terriers, off leash and free to roam the fields. This is not only terrifying and dangerous, for both myself and your puppy, but just down right rude. Please keep your dogs either tied up in the yard, behind a fence, or pretty much anywhere that I don't have to see them, hear them, or feel them biting at my ankles. I'm pretty sure my legs are a little crucial for me to keep pedaling, so please, don't make me get out the pepper spray..because I will use it.
and PS. Please, please, take down the Confederate flags hanging in your yard. That's even scarier.
Thanks!
So...I just thought I would include a little letter to all those farmers out there, which I should actually post up somewhere. The last few days there have been more than a few close calls with farm dogs. I was chased down by a pack of five yesterday, and after biking 80 miles already, its a bit hard to sprint uphill and out of their teeth's reach. I would more than love to grab the mase that's strapped on my bike (it really is, seriously) and spray a dog in the face, but, I feel that might be taking it a little far. I would like to keep my ankles bite free though. And yes, there have been numerous Confederate flag decorum sightings lately, which usually means I am in an all out pedaling spring at this point, trying to spin myself as far away as possible.
Back to the basics, I made it through ALL of Missouri in five days! I'm now in Chester, Illinois, basically straddling the border, but who's here to be the real judge. Although Missouri definitely lived up to all the hype of steep roller coaster hills, it has been a much needed and refreshing break from the never ending desolate prairies of Kansas. I think I may have even grown a few more leg muscles in the last few days, just trying to haul ass up those steep hills. It gets tough tugging around so much weight on the back of my bike, and usually takes all the strength I can muster to get to the top, and then I just have to do it all again, and again, and again. I find myself dreaming of the days when I could just ride my bicycle around the streets of San Francisco, with nothing on it! That's when I used to complain about just carrying a backpack to school...those were the days.
I have been riding through the Ozark hills, and if I knew my US geography I would have already known those were in Missouri. Since that's not the case, it was a nice surprise to find out how beautiful this state really is. I can feel the seasons beginning to change around me as well, and the leaves are starting to change and fall all around me as I ride the hills. Its feeling great to be out of the hot summer days, but I'm also beginning to feel the anxiety of the cold weather fast approaching, which means shorter days and less time to ride.
Yesterday was one of the most mentally draining and difficult days I have had; extremely steep hills to climb, cold grey rainy drizzle, no shoulder in all of Missouri, and mean dogs. After riding over 90 miles and not arriving in town until nearly dark, on the verge of tears, and nearly panicking; I was about at the end of the rope trying to find the park to sleep in, seriously. As luck would have it, my day was saved once again, and I got to be the third cyclist ever to stay in the brand new Trans America cycling hostel, in Farmington, Missouri.
Maybe that does not sound like a big deal, but after weeks of sleeping on the ground, in the rain, and wearing yesterdays sweaty spandex; I needed a break as much as ever, and this was definitely it. I was the only one there, obviously, so I got to lounge on couches, do my laundry, have a long, hot shower, and sleep in a real bunk bed! What a treat.
Today I decided to celebrate my arrival in a new state with a short day, and to prepare myself for the ominous Appalachian mountains which I will be hitting in just a few days. Supposedly, this Mountain range is the toughest yet. I guess I was lying to myself the whole time when I thought I was done with the hard stuff after Colorado. But...I think, if I have made it this far already, there is clearly no turning around, and I'm pretty sure I can handle the challenge.
Feeling more ready than ever to hit the East soon, and taking all the kind words of strangers with me to keep me going.
PS. Could somebody remind me what life was like before the bike? Its beginning to feel like I have never, ever done anything else in life; besides riding a bicycle for nine hours every day, sleeping in parks, and eating ice cream and donuts every chance I get. I feel like there is something I'm forgetting, like my former life was really a dream... did I ever do anything else??
cheers!
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