Bike tour in a box
Posted 1 year ago
The things they carried, #1
The blue jersey on the left was imported from Belgium (thank you Virginia!) and I got the employee discount on the wool New Belgium jersey by promising a picture of it in front of the Grand Canyon.
Posted 1 year ago
The great Northeast
I left the TransAmerican route on Tuesday, headed for the Atlantic bicycle route into the northeast. I improvised a cut through to avoid veering south towards Richmond, VA, and was to pick up the Atlantic route just south of Fredericksburg. I had lunch in Spotsylvania and thought that I was well on my way, until I realized that it was not Spotsylvania at all, I was a few miles south at Thornburg, as the connector road marked in red and white on the map didn’t exist. I checked the key, and there was no indication that red and white meant “it isn’t there.” At any rate I turned north and was soon in the worst traffic imaginable, riding past miles and miles of the great strip mall, so I veered off the highway into suburbia and was soon miles off course, in 97 degree heat trying to find a tree to sit under to try once again to work out the connection between the ACA bicycle maps which only show small roads, and the regular maps which don’t show them at all. I discovered my mistake and got back on track but now hours behind schedule in an area with very few places to stay. I rode on, determined to make it to Prince William Forest Park and pitch my tent. I was just starting to feel OK, thinking “OK, if I push continously and don’t stop much, I can just make it,” when I was rudely mocked by a mockingbird perched on the speed limit sign. I laughed at it and it attacked, chasing me down the road and hitting my helmet with its wings, bringing my total animal attacks up to three. I rode on and soon was nearing the road which would lead me to the park, cutting through the US Marine Corps Reservation. Of course when I got to the road it was gated, no access, and threatening live munitions on any trespassers. This was no joke, you could hear the firing from inside. I looked back at the map, and now the only road to the park was nine miles off course. It would be barely further to just go to Dale City, on the outskirts of DC, and get a motel, so I decided to push on and make it about a hundred mile day, and make forward progress. I veered off route again into the great strip mall and was soon back in the worst traffic imaginable- cars were honking, I was hit by a 7 up bottle, I flipped off the thrower and he flipped me off in return. I became convinced that I would soon be hit by a car. I rode the last two miles to the motel on some six lane road at 25 mph in a fifty mph zone, right against the construction barriers, with my little red blinkie blinking against the twighlight, with a steady stream of honking and screaming DC traffic behind me. I was sure that I was going to die, but I did not, although the whole experience was worse than when I accidentally biked onto the interstate in Christiansburg, VA. “The northeast is going to be horrible,” I thought. I woke up the next morning, prepared for the worst, and rode a deserted country road into the beautiful town of Occoquan, and then picked up the DC bike path, and rode past the airport, over the Potomac, by the Lincoln Memorial and reflector pool, through a thunderstorm and right into Bethesda, to my friend Ambika’s apartment, all on large sidewalks. The next morning I inspected my rear tire which had been suspect for a while, and it was now shredded, with threads sticking out of it everywhere, so I waited for the great strip mall to open and picked up a Panaracer bike courier tire at the Rockville REI and the second best pulled pork sandwich Ive had on the trip at Urban BBQ Rockville. I rode into Maryland, where my only goal was to stay as far from Baltimore as possible, and was soon completely lost, as Maryland’s favorite trick is to name one street “Timberland” and another street “Timberland Mill.” You can try all you want to keep these things straight in your mind after hours of bicycling in 95 degree weather with a lot of pulled pork sandwich in your belly but you can’t. You will wind up completely lost. When I wound up at a crossroads for a second time I sacked my old plan, and made a new plan to stop 30 miles closer. I set off on the new plan, and saw that the highway I was supposed to use had bumper to bumper traffic which was moving more slowly than I was. Since the DC area drivers had been swerving over from the opposite lane to tell me what they thought of cyclists, I really had no desire to see what hundreds of Baltimore area drivers thought of a cyclist passing them during a traffic jam so I turned to Google, and said “Google- find me a route to a motel less than 30 miles from here taking no highways.” Google said, “hah, is that all, it’s already done, you humans are so cute.” I looked at the purple Google route, which seemed to be the most ridiculously twisting purple line through the cul-de-sacs and McMansions of every bland suburban development in the outskirts of Baltimore. I had no other option, so I set off, dutifully turning every half mile on roads named “Dark Star, New Town, and Avatar.” I rode past parked Lexuses and Mercedes. I rode down a one way gravel road connecting one high end suburban development with another, and was passed by a Mercedes and a Prius. I asked dog walkers for directions to the high school. The local Police stared at me with incredulity, clearly wondering where in world I had come from? I felt like the explorer in John Cheever’s The Swimmer who christens a new river by connecting all the swimming pools in his mind. After sixty turns and twenty wrong turns I made the thirty miles to the Comfort Inn, Cockeysville, MD. The girl at the counter asked where had I come from. I said I came from Bethesda, on the back roads. She said “I didn’t think there were any back roads around here.” The next day I rode into Pennsylvania, with no idea what to expect, and was greeted by a car full of Woo Woo Girls shouting “Woo Woo!” at the state line. The local farm kids would lean out of their cars and give me a thumbs up. Amish kids would stare at me smiling and waving and ask where was I going in their funny English accents, and murmer among themselves in German when I asked if I could take their picture. I passed Amish and Mennonite buggies full of smiling and waving adults and barefoot smiling and waving kids. I saw that the Plain Folks have many bicycles in their garages with the buggies. After Fredericksburg and Dale City it was like heaven, if heaven smelled strongly of manure. Today I have one more day in Lancaster county, the Amish world, and then tomorrow I will ride into Jersey, take the train into Manhattan and relax with my brother.
Posted 1 year ago
Back at it for the last leg
After a wonderful break at my cousin Keith and his wife Bev’s farm in Nellysford VA, I flew home to Jackson to celebrate my grandmother’s 90th birthday. The party was a big success and I was able to see Virginia too! I returned to Nellysford, learned how to dig carrots and tie up peppers, and then set off this morning headed towards D.C. and New York. By biking one day in Jackson I got back in much better shape than I was in after my previous break, so today I was able to go 93 miles from Nellysford to Mineral, VA. This leg is only 66 miles on the interstate, but a lot longer if you stick to country roads. I got into Mineral, and the local fire department let me shower in the fire house and set up my tent in the yard. Free camping always makes it hard to resist a BBQ restaurant, and good BBQ makes it hard to resist an ice cream shop, so I am going to bed well fed. I will have to lose weight the next time I bike across the country. Perhaps just make a few more Tours d’Utah.
Journal of a transamerican bike tour from San Diego to New York City, beginning May, 2010.
