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Topics - Westinghouse

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1
General Discussion / Cycling FL to CA 2002
« on: August 19, 2024, 05:54:55 am »
Friday August 26th 2002:  Started this tour yesterday from Pensacola, Florida. John Shaw and Robert Lee Dixon. Bicycled west on 90 after leaving my van in the storage area. I had stayed two and a half days in Pensacola with Ray and Verna Minshew before leaving. I was doing work on the bike and it was a major pain in the ass. New back wheel, chain, rear derailleur, and freewheel. Made about 33 miles yesterday to west of Loxley Alabama. We slept under a bridge.

This morning we left out around 6:45. We are now in a Waffle House in Daphne, Alabama it looks like. It's about 7 miles from the bridge. The road has a small shoulder. There are many trees. Sweet potatoes are growing along 90 West in this area.

Saturday August 24th 2002: 98 west is much too hilly. Robert is overloaded and has no gears for climbing. Yesterday we got off 98 and went south on a country road to Tanner Williams Road in Alabama. It is mostly gently rolling, with trees on both sides, rustic houses, yards, forests and green fields. We sat at a convenience store at Tanner Williams Road till past 1900 when the store closed. I drank a quart of milk and ate some pie. Then went to a field at tall grass to look for a sleep site. Immediately, a man pulled up in a truck and said, "This is private property." I said I was just leaving. He said there had been a lot of break-ins in that area. I told him I don't do that kind of thing. I reloaded the bike, went back to the store where Robert was sitting. We cycled a few miles more south on Tanner Williams Road till past dark looking for a campsite. Most areas were fenced. I checked a few areas with the flashlight. It was too damp or clumpy or too overgrown in most places. Finally I found a narrow ATV trail into the woods. We walked the bikes back into the trail, off the trail into the trees and set up a sleep site. There were hardly any mosquitoes whatsoever. According to the radio, 14 had been killed by mosquitoes carrying West Nile virus. And there I lay completely exposed under a poly-tarp suspended between some bushes.

On the road by 0645 this morning. We took country roads to 613 south to Pascagoula Mississippi on 90 West. It was a nice peaceful country road with shade and little traffic on the way there. We rested at Hardee's on 90 West and went west on 90 over the Pascagoula river. It is hotter than hell. We did make some stops at waffle house, and Circle K Now in Wendy's in Ocean Springs, Mississippi, 1515. Robert dropped back again about an hour ago. I have not seen him pass here yet. I just had a side salad, chicken nuggets, with water. Here is Robert now at 1520. Robert disappeared again outside Biloxi. Here it is 0845 next morning. No sign of him anywhere. I cycle through Biloxi. Just stopped at Waffle House again and had a cheese and egg sandwich. I waited. No Robert. The usual problems cycling this area. Narrow roads, fast traffic, broken occluded sidewalks. Early morning was a welcome relief from the heat and sun. Around 1900 I sat and waited in front of the armed forces retirement community on 90 West just across from the beach and the gulf of Mexico. I got and drank water in a jug from a security guard in a shack. He had a water fountain inside. I was on the bench outside. Three homeless looking bums came walking slowly along. They sat at my bench, so I got up and left. I got to just east of the sign for Pass Christian corporate city limits. I saw a vacant lot grown over in some low bushes. I got off the bike there. I laid the bike on its side. I slept on the closed cell foam pad, shirtless. I did not use a blanket. It was sweltering all night. There was an early breeze from the Gulf but no relief tonight. Later still, no wind. The sky was clear. I had just thrown a gatorade bottle into the bush here. Later on I was awakened by the sound of raccoons tearing it apart.

Sunday August 25th 2002:  0855 at McDonald's next to St Paul Church on 90 west just west of Pass Christian. Just had a soda, bacon egg cheese biscuit, and yogurt parfait for $5.04. it is already quite warm for cycling. This is not going to be easy. I usually do this sort of thing in winter. Someone said New Orleans is about 65 MI away.

It is now hot as hell. I got into Waveland City corporation limits at 10:15 a.m., got on to 190 West at a roadside park with picnic tables where I got directions from some men and women. They have been riding these big motorcycles. 190 is level. Farther along it was narrow, two lanes, insane with traffic, and no side lane. In Slidell I ate a large salad at Taco Viva. I heard thunderstorms had moved into the area on the radio. There was no shelter for the bike at Taco Viva. I walked across the parking lot. It started to rain while I was crossing the lot. I sat under and overhang near a bush at a shopping mall while it rained half an hour.

I pedaled my fully loaded touring bicycle to Lacombs, Louisiana where I stopped to eat at a convenience store. A black man and woman told me of Tammany Trace. It is a bike path that goes from Slidell to Abido Springs, just behind the store. It is 12 ft wide, level, an asphalt path about 32 miles long. I got on it and stayed until the end past dark-- trees, small bridges, houses, interesting with many community side roads along the way. And then went south again to get on 190. First I went the wrong way going east. I found a side road and I got off into the pines about 30 ft from the road  in among vines and dreadful bugs. I lit the coils mosquito coils and sprayed with off. I heard on the radio, 14 dead from West Nile virus.

Monday August 26th 2002:  75 MI. I ate breakfast at Waffle House. Cycled east on 190, backtracked and got West again. Stopped at another convenience store gas station for eats, power bars. Stopped around 11:00 a.m. at a store for drinks. This was a long day. 190 has four lanes and wide paths in some places. Basically, I stopped and ate and just kept cycling. I kind of miss Robert, but he had not a snowball's chance in hell of doing this even close to my style and pace. I don't mind hanging back a bit for someone, but if it's going to double the length of the tour, that is not acceptable. I kept getting pains in the ball of my right foot. There really isn't much to say basically. I got into Baton Rouge well past dark. Baton rouge is another big town, mostly black it seems, with the usual commercial establishments on the highway. Used side roads getting through the city. The neighborhood seem to be mostly black. There were guys standing on the street corner selling drugs. All the time I was looking for a safe place to sleep but found nothing. Back on 190 west I pedaled past a gambling casino and a large industrial complex, probably petroleum. Finally I went over a large bridge with dangerously large expansion cracks and leveled out on the other side into large areas of agriculture probably corn. Many mosquitoes in this place. I saw a blue flashing lights from a distance up 190. Went to see. Wheeled into the Cajun Crcus truck stop. I had an omelette, hash browns, toast.  A young black man told me of a graveyard across 190. I cycled about 300 yards down a dark gravel road, and entered a large, neatly mowed field of grass on my left. I spread out the pad on a concrete slab beneath an overhang of a maintenance shed. I had a hard time getting to sleep. I was awake until 0200. The grass there was all soaked wet with dew.

Tuesday August 27th 2002. It was a night of fitful sleep. A black man was driving up on the grass and around the building. He says, "How do you do?" I got up a few minutes later, snuffed the mosquito coils, packed, wheeled away, back to the Cajun circus where I am right now, time 08:45. Here 190 west is four lanes, divided, with a wide smooth shoulder, and wake-up rumble strips every 40 ft or so. I'm not in any great hurry to get back on the road today, but I will. I'm wearing a broad brimmed straw hat during day to fend the sun, and I wear a cap at night to keep the headlights out of my eyes. This area is level with much agriculture, swamps, snakes, plenty of crickets everywhere, and mosquitoes. The West Nile virus mosquitoes are around. I am now drinking coffee and trying to recuperate from yesterday and last night. In the Cajun Circus restaurant now - - three black men visible, a young Cajun woman, waitress, two women behind the cash register, five red vinyl booths, four tables of four chairs each, a counter with seven or eight stools-all red, mirrors along the wall, a jukebox, smaller store attached, truckers lounge, parking for trucks out back, eight pump stations in front on 190, chords of firewood stacked out front.

More of 190 west with forests, swamps, crops, farms, houses and fields. The shoulder is kind of eaten up here but it is still passable for cycling. It was over 3 miles going over the Morganza spillway bridge, then over another bridge into Krotz Springs where I am now at the restaurant in the Exxon gas station. This is a very small place. Quite warm. Many copulating love bugs are in the air. A pair were stuck to my sunglasses for a while. Finally shook them off. I stopped at the top of the last bridge for a look at the river. A tug and two large barges passed beneath. A railroad trestle was to one side. I saw a large black dead otter on the roadside, also dogs, a raccoon and an armadillo. I suspect Robert is back in Biloxi or Pensacola. Only a moderate amount of traffic flowed by me today. It was like yesterday. I attached a Bell generator light set yesterday but it does not work yet. Maybe it is not properly grounded to the frame. I made my way on this touring bicycle to Appalouses Louisiana to Sunny Oaks motel 1/2 block off of 190 West. Time is now 17:15. $22.50 was the total per day cost of this cheap motel. It was a dump. Later I got a large drink, a cheese bacon and burger at Checkers near there. I slept off and on, and watch TV - - Rio bravo and other programs.

2
February 7th 1999. 74 miles. I left the motel at 9:45 a.m. and headed north on highway 98. Got a bacon and egg sandwich and coffee at a Waffle House restaurant near Panama City beach. 98 took me through miles of woodland with no shoulder and traffic that was too heavy and inconsiderate for really enjoyable cycling. Got a refill of the water bottle at a forest management area that had a fire tower. A ranger there told me they were no longer required to be up in the tower as much as they used to be. I stopped at a convenience store and at a restaurant when it looked like the dark clouds over me would spill their contents, but they just kept blowing East and let loose only a few drops in my area. Got a double Sunday at Baskin-Robbins in Destin, Florida. It is now around 4:00 or 5:00 p.m. I am in Wendy's restaurant in Destin Florida across from the Emerald Tower condominiums which are on the Gulf of Mexico Beach. Earlier in the day I had a slight tailwind. Later it turned to a side wind from the left from the south. Coming into Destin it was a quarter wind from the front left. I was going west.

It felt better getting started this morning after a full day of resting the muscles and getting away from the hectic rat-race highway. Cycling across the United States from east to west is a pain in the neck until you get to Texas where the law requires emergency stop lanes on both sides of the road. From Texas on West, cycling is much more comfortable. I know because I have been through all this before. At this point it looks like I've come about 48 miles so far today. Destin is on a sliver of land between the Gulf of Mexico and the Choctawhatchee intracoastal waterway. It looks like highway 98 will be a four-lane divided highway with paved shoulders to Pensacola from here. That Fairway Inn set me back $40. I just now ate a sour cream and chives potato, a side salad and drank a big diet Coke for $3.18.

I continued peddling my fully loaded bicycle to around Santa Rosa Beach. There I got a bacon and egg sandwich and a grilled cheese sandwich at a Waffle House restaurant. Went on over the bridge and just kept going into the night. About 8 Miles east of Navarre Florida I stopped for water at another convenience store. Three young men working there seemed amazed at my quest of cross country cycling. One very young fellow told me to cycle to Navarre and take the toll bridge to the barrier Island and follow the Beach Road to Pensacola. When I got that far I almost did that, but at the last moment opted for camping the night in a patch of woods near an Eckerd drug store.

The sky had completely clouded over and the wind was coming straight on from the West to the east and it looked like it might shower. I scratched my legs a bit getting the bike into the low-lying scrubs among the myrtle bushes and the pines. I set up the tarp like a lean-to and moved all the gear under it just in case of hard rain. As soon as the mosquitoes came buzzing around I fired up a mosquito coil and sprayed my vulnerable parts with repellent. The wind blew in gusts all night. The rain did not come.

Monday February 8th 1999 70 MI. Looks like I'll get into Alabama today. I was up by 9:15. Packed and got back on 98 west. Ate at a convenience store one pint of milk, tuna salad sandwich, chocolate muffin, cup of coffee. Now in Arby's in Gulf Breeze, Florida. I am drinking artificial lemonade and consulting a map. I have had a sea breeze side-wind from the south all day.  There is no sign that it will stop.

It is now 6:40 p.m. in Eleanor, Alabama. That means I've come about 48 miles so far today. This place has a convenience store with a restaurant where I just had a four piece chicken dinner. It was easy getting through Pensacola when I switched from 98 West 290 West. The road has been getting a lot more rolling on the terrain than it has been so far. In Pensacola I stopped in an Army Navy store and bought two P38 type can openers, the large type. This area here is countryside where I am right now, and  and the southern accent is thick, just as it has been for some time, actually since I left the east coast of Florida and got as far inland as Okeechobee Florida. I just had a conversation with a man named Ron Odell.

Crossing the four Mile bridge over Pensacola Bay was easy with the nice following wind blowing in from the gulf. Where I am now is Eleanor. 90 West does have a paved shoulder two or three feet wide, and there are signs saying bikes sharing the roadway. I think I'll cycle about 14 miles more tonight to around Loxley Alabama before calling it a day. I am not very exact on the mileage, but I think I've come 50 or 54 mi so far today.

Got to Waffle House in Loxley Alabama at interstate 10. I arrived around 10 minutes after 9:00 p.m. . I stayed there until about 10:30 and and ate a waffle with honey. After that I backtracked to a patch of woods with a sort of trail running beside it. I slept this night under a broad reach of oak boughs about 1,000 feet from the restaurant. The sky had clouded over and a foggy mist hung in the air. The mist collected on the leaves overhead and occasionally sprinkled a very light rain down upon me. Clearly audible were the big tractor trailer rigs speeding by on the highway about 250 ft away.

Tuesday February the 9th 1999. About 64 mi today. It was full light when I awoke. I rolled over to see if I would return to sleep, but I stayed awake. I lay there for I don't know how long listening to the sounds and looking at the sky through the twisted design of the limbs emanating from a giant oak tree, when an old pickup truck pulled up into the patch about 15 ft away from where I lay. A white-haired thin elderly man got out of the trunk. He was carrying a pick axe and a garden hoe. It seemed that he did not see me as he walked slowly over to a twisted clump of undergrowth and started rooting around in it with his tools. I watched for at least half a minute and then said hello. He turned with a start and looked at me. I told him exactly what it was I was doing there. He seemed friendly enough and we had a conversation for about 5 minutes. All the time I was packing my gear and getting ready to leave.

I pedaled my fully loaded bicycle across the highway to McDonald's where I had a deluxe breakfast. I remember seeing the clock on the wall when I left there. It was 11:05 a.m. . Highway 90 west was hilly to the town of Malbis about 10 miles away. There I stopped and had a Coke float. The causeway across Mobile Bay was flat as a board and about level with the water in some places. It must be one hell of a place during a hurricane. There was a nice following wind all the way across. I caught a ride in a pickup truck through the Bankhead tunnel.

The sidewalks through Mobile Alabama were really a cracked up mess, and 90 west, also known as Government Boulevard, leaves close quarters between traffic and bicycles. I ate bananas and yogurt at one food store, standing next to a parking lot entrance between an oak tree and a fence. There are numerous old mansion style houses along 90 in this area, and some historical plaques that go with them. Getting out the west end of the city, I have been pushing against a direct headwind and over large rolling hills. When possible I have been cycling on highway 90 and a frontage road running roughly parallel to 90 west, and lined with nice houses to the northwest. At that point 90 west is running southwest toward Pascagoula, Mississippi. It was time to stop at a Burger King in Tillmans Corner just outside the city limits of Mobile. Around mobile and in this region, 90  is known as the Old Spanish Trail. Time now 3:40 p.m. I've covered about 34 miles so far today.

Time now around 8:00 p.m. in Pascagoula, Mississippi. I meant to get a photo of the bicycle leaned against the state line sign going into Mississippi, but I did not. Either I missed it in the dark, or it was not there. There is a light mist in the area at ground level, but visibility is still very good. At least 90 has a nice wide paved shoulder in Mississippi. I am now at the eatery of the golden arches where I just now polished off a 6- piece chicken nuggets. People keep asking the same old questions. Where did you start from. To where are you going? How long did it take you to get here? How many miles do you ride each day? How many flat tires have you had? You have a long way to go. Or you have a long road ahead of you. Gee, I've never heard that before except for maybe  20 times. I might get to Gautier tonight or thereabouts before calling it a day. I will soon be moving out for that place in the dark. I have a feeling this part of the United States is mosquito haven. I will soon find out.

I did cycle on to Gautier with a lengthy stop on the way to patch a punctured tube in the front wheel. The air was permeated with a fog that became dense later. I went into a patch of woods behind a shopping center. It was alongside a dirt road. Stepping to get to the woods from the road, I sank ankle deep in quicksand and quickly pulled myself out and got back onto the road. The ground was soaked and much too clumpy to sleep comfortably. I cycled on to another Waffle House in Gautier and had a waffle for dinner. The cook there told me about a closed parking area a few miles west on 90.  As I pulled away from the Waffle House, two police cars pulled into the parking lot. The fog got so thick I could not see 10 ft in front of me. Headlights became a round globular blinding glare. The eye-glasses kept fogging up blinding me completely. I turned left at a set of traffic lights and searched along its length of road.  I finally found an old road going into the trees. I slept at the end of that road among numerous small trees. It must have been around 1:00 a.m. by the time I got there.






3
General Discussion / Bicycle tour AZ to CA, year 2002.
« on: August 10, 2024, 03:46:09 am »
September 29th 2002, bicycling Arizona and California.  I had a drink of horchata at a convenience store, and tried to buy a tube at a house with bikes out in front of it. They did not have any. I found my way to the crossroads mission next to the railroad tracks. They had three or four buildings, one for detox. Some there were from the prison system, using the place as a halfway house. Breakfast was at 6:30 a.m., lunch at 11:30, dinner at 6:00 p.m. . I was too late for breakfast. I sat with others talking out front on picnic tables. One black dude, known for hopping trains all over the country, told the stories and it did tricks with playing cards. We ate lunch. I hung around and took it easy. I checked my gear into a locker and a locker room kept by Robert Bob Dole. I chained up my bicycle inside the locker room. Later, at 6:30, we went to chapel and heard a pretty damned good sermon by Roy Collins about the story of Daniel. We ate dinner. We had already showered at 3:00 p.m. . To check in to sleep I had to leave a picture ID and blow into a breathalyzer. What does that tell you about that place? I got pajamas and went to bed 25, top bunk in dorm room. They had at least 30 bunks in that room. And by the way, we had steak for dinner.

I slept only a few short hours, and those fitfully. I decided in the morning to leave the mission even though I could have stayed 10 days. This was a bicycling tour, not an extended layover at a flop house. Breakfast was eggs, potatoes, bacon, and bread. Leaving there I cycled uphill and went to Mr B's bicycle shop. All the way there I saw two men from the mission on their way to get an Arizona QUEST card for food, like food stamps. The bike shop was closed, it was too early, but a woman in the office sold me a tube anyway. I used the bathroom at the office of economic security. I told two men there what I thought of government. I cycled West out of town. I had a 44 Oz drink of horchata at a convenience store. I cycled over the bridge into California into Winter Haven just on the west side of the Colorado River. I bought a gallon of de salted water, a burrito and brownie. At first I used the side road. Interstate 8 had a sign prohibiting bicycles. I got back on 8 farther west. I had to exit interstate 8 at one point and went up a hilly road partially covered in tan sugar sand. Some linemen they're clued me into the fact that the road would soon end. I double back, this was imperial sand dunes recreation area, and got on interstate 8. I had to exit again, but the frontage road was like and occluded jigsaw puzzle. I got back on 8 again. I stopped in a restaurant with a large al fresco outside darning area covered over in camouflage webbing. A woman told me of a free mineral spring 20 miles up the road. I ate the burrito and Brownie and went on. Finally I got to the spring. I took a dip there too. I stayed an hour or so. A Korean vet, his wife and two grandchildren and another dude showed up. We talked a while. The older man told me some of his war experiences. I went on into holtville amidst low-lying agricultural fields, some growing and some just plowed up rich looking soil. I found some kind of mall and ate hamburgers and fries in holtville. I drank Gatorade in the town park. I cycled West to get into El Centro at dark. I went to the Shell station convenience store. I had a drink of RX memory drink and Coca-Cola. I called a Korean man who told me I could spend a night at his place in El Centro. As anticipated, I got a recording and it did not get through. I cycled South along dark roads and then East looking for a place to bed down. There was nothing much there. I found a newly built, unused industrial building and got in a small room under the stairwell at ground level. I looked around at the area at first. I slept okay and came about 59 miles.

4
General Discussion / Bicycling Poland August 28, 1994.
« on: August 08, 2024, 04:07:00 am »
Bicycle touring in Poland August 28th 1994.    A quick look through the tents front door proved the bicycle was still there. And now what to do for the day? Clean clothes was the first thought that came to mind, being a steam and sauna kind of guy. Bar soap and Bambi shampoo rubbed in by hand cleaned the filthy dirty clothes of dirt, smoke, b o and air pollution as sink folds of dirty water Rinse down the shower room drain leaving my threads smelling as fresh as daisies. With the wet clothing flapping on a line strung between a tent pole and a large oak tree, I stuffed a camera into my black nylon hip pouch and headed into town on shanks pony. Leaving the bike and gear unattended at the tent was something of a worry, for they might be stolen.

Last night near the office in this campground there was a dome tent with two touring bicycles locked to a nearby fence. Now a man and a woman there we're getting ready to leave on their bikes. They had packed away all their gear. I said hello and we had a short conversation. They were husband and wife from Denmark on a fortnite cycling tour. They described their previous tours. The man said that his $75 Nike cycling shoes had been stolen from where he left them on the fence to dry. They both had cycled extensively in Europe, and that was the first time they had ever been robbed. They asked me about cycling experiences and I told them about my tours. When they wheeled away out of the campground they said they were cycling to Prague.

I walked across the street, through the large parking lot, past the big shiny air conditioned tour buses, past the stalls, and snapped five photographs along the way. The throngs of people in the shrine rooms and in the hallways were incredibly packed and moving at a snail's pace. Larger than life-size sculptures of Christ bearing the cross stood outside. Priests sent in confessionals lining the walls in a semi-opened courtyard. People lined up and waited at each confessional. The place was really crowded for much of the day. I walked in one end and out the other, taking a good look around and getting photographs on the way. From then it was over to a main Street lined with stores and shops, pizzerias, ice cream stands and food stores ad joining the sidewalk. Other stores sold only religious items such as rosaries, pictures of the Christ, pictures of the black Madonna with child, ornate candlesticks, crosses, crucifixes, and clothing for officiates of religious ceremonies. A bistro supply delicious coffee and pastry. Constant exercise builds a gargantuan appetite and it greatly heightens the sense of taste. After a long days on the road, even a simple cup of tea, with no sugar or cream in it, can taste like the nectar of the gods. I walked again past wooden stalls selling religious trinkets and toys for children, and back to the campground, with a stop at a post office to buy an envelope and three postcards. It was a relief to find all the gear was still there. With the journal, map and pen in hand, I repaired to the campground restaurant to write letters and make entries in the log.

The campground was spacious, maybe 10, 15 or 20 acres, and was amply shaded by many oak and broad-leafed trees. The grounds were grassy with spaces for tents, cars Vans and caravans, all of which were present. Nice rental A-frame cabins set at one end of the grounds. A large A-Frame restaurant guarded the entrance. It's 40 ft by 40 ft rear patio consisted of flat stone work set in a cement base. It was sheltered beneath a roof of corrugated, galvanized sheet metal held up by steel poles. The patio was actually a very nice airy place to rest and eat, and a drink and EB Special Pilsner beer brewed by Elbrewery company LTD.

The sunny warm morning had given way before a gray, overcast, breezy afternoon. Shorts and a long sleeved t-shirt were comfortable. The feelings were still good. A few nights of solid sleep would have helped. Beginning touring with no physical preparation and cycling 20 days straight over hills, against headwinds and over a mountain range with 60 lb of gear on the bicycle had been challenging. I really owed myself a one-week layover and one of those nice A-frame cabins, but the wallet kept screaming no no. The tendonitis in the right heel had dis-inflamed. The pain in the right foot and ankle had vanished. Not learning some Polish before starting the trip, at least a menu and a hundred words, was regrettable, but three jobs had left no time for such preparation. But it was passable to plod along, grunting and pointing to things I wanted to buy, and then handling over some money, hoping on the one hand that it would be enough, and hoping on the other hand that they would give me the correct change. The legs were just getting into cycling trim. I was somewhat more apprehensive now about cycling through Ukraine. After the warning from the Polish cyclists, I had given cycling there more consideration and concluded that what the Poles told me was more a result of inter-country rivalry than an accurate estimation of Ukraine. Later I would find out how right they were and how wrong I was. But who was I to argue the validity or demerits of their opinions? The farther east the road continued, the lower was the standard of living. Having written to the American consulate in the former Soviet Republic of Georgia before beginning the trip, the American vice Consul General answered by letter stating that, " Crime had become a major problem in all the former republics, and in Georgia, police authority was non-existent outside the cities." Ukraine was still a few days away by bicycle and the proof would be in the pudding. The worry was that they might charge a whopping big visa fee to enter. Those poor backward countries charged more for their visas then the most modern progressive countries. You would think that such poor countries would welcome tourism to their economies. Instead they impose a Visa tariff. Their facilities were almost always grossly substandard. Their restrooms looked and smelled worse than pig styes. Eat in their restaurants and you risk at least diarrhea, and perhaps something worse that you may never be able to get rid of. And there was the constant staring. Whether it was a town, a village or a city, women, men, children, young and old stopped whatever they were doing and stared until I was out of sight. Well, there was still a long way to go, and it ain't over till it's over, and it wasn't over yet over there.

Now my comments on the new low-rider rack over the front wheel. The benefit is that the rack lowers the center of gravity by attaching the panniers closer to the ground which adds to the bikes stability when it is moving. The benefits, however, or negligible, and mean little compared to the problems the rack creates. Medium-sized panniers hung so low that they were not loose by bumps, rises and bushes hundreds of times while pushing the bike through the woods. Sometimes, when traffic was exceptionally heavy, you must cycle close to the curb, they preferred method being to raise the right pedal to the 12:00 position, those allowing yourself to close the distance between the bike and the curb that was taken up by the pedal. Bulky panniers hanging from a low-rider rack fill the space negating the advantage of cycling that close to the curbside. Low-hanging panniers getting caught can send a fast moving cyclist careening out into the traffic. Unlike conventional front racks, the low-rider rack does not allow for stacking extra gear on top.

Some of the roads in Czech and the Poland had shoulders, or paths, but they were so littered with debris and pothole it was necessary to stay to the left of the white line and out in the traffic anyway. As for bike paths anywhere, and this goes for the United States too, most were carefully planned, frustrating obstacle courses. Light poles, recessed manhole covers, drains, parked cars, bumps and cracks between concrete slabs hindered constantly. Most had very bumpy transitions from the path to the road and back making them unsuitable for loaded touring on a bicycle. Many had unannounced dead ends. So-called bike paths in 18 countries were intended as some kind of a bad joke. Most were obstacles strewn danger zones apparently built by non-cyclists so that politicians could say their Town had bike paths. If roads were built and maintained the same as bicycle paths, traffic would slow to a crawl and in many places halt. Motorists would scream to Washington. It is often best to avoid these obstacles regardless of the signs that are posted on them. Not all bike paths were that bad, but most that I saw were that bad. On a long tour, a sign that says bike path usually means where not to ride your bicycle. It may sound strange to the non-cyclotouristes . Try it sometime and you might see for yourself. When cycling on the roads watch for expansion cracks on Bridges. Some can be quite large in this part of the world. Watch out for drains along the roadside, especially those that have uncrossed gratings that run parallel to the curb. They can swallow your wheel and send you head first to the concrete. Wear a good helmet. Keep an eye out for broken glass, bumps and grooves in the road. There are often uneven edges where old roads abutt against new roads being built, that can send you flying. The cyclist must always remember to exercise great caution on long, fast, downhill runs, especially where the road is bumpy and where it twists and bends and is unfamiliar to you and thus is concealing what is waiting for you around the next turn. As for motorists, no matter what anyone says, no matter how the law reads, they systematically discriminate against the rights of bicyclists. That's the way it is.

After writing in the journal at the restaurant, I went back to the tent for a rest. After that, I walked through the parking lot and over to the stores in town and bought 1 quart of milk, two bananas, two nectarines and a loaf of bread. Back at the tent I devoured it all, plus two cheese sandwiches and three nutella sandwiches. The bike and chain needed cleaning as did my dirty body, and all three soon shined. I sat cross leg in front of the tent in the shadows of the tall trees. The sun hovered just over the horizon. Dogs barked in the distance. A train rattled cacophonously far away. The population in the campground had thinned out considerably. Gone were the four tents near the shower room. Only my tent and another remained where nine were pitched the night before. The keepers rode their golf cart over a narrow, gray, gravel path that snaked through the campground. A patch of Blue sky beamed through the gray. And what of all things had captured my thought? The front tire. Hopefully it would wear for at least 3,000 miles. The equipment had been operating satisfactorily. The clean dry clothes stuffed inside a nylon bag made a comfortable pillow. Wow! Clean clothes! Tonight would be a time of much needed sleep. The sky began clearing as it if it were holding the promise of a pleasant calm evening.

I was dozing in the tent when the wind began blowing a storm. It was not as powerful as the one in France, but it was near the same order of strength. Next, there was a short flapping sound, like somebody trying to crack a bull whip and not hitting it just right. The wind had struck the rain fly with such Force that it tore a corner peg out of the ground and sit the fly to flogging. I went out and reset the peg by hand. Thinking that the problem was ended, I called back inside for sleep. Suddenly, another big gust of wind tore a side pig loose and flung it so far away that it could never be found. I went out, replaced it with a spare, and went back in for sleep. Another torrent of air uprooted and and the pig collapsing the center pole in the rear. So I got out to fix it again. Kneeling in the grass, I had a tent firmly gripped in one hand, the tent pole in the other hand and the rain-fly between my teeth. Again, I secured all fastenings and crawled back inside the tent. again, another hard gust of air collapsed the front pole and uprooted pigs. It was obvious that the predicament required special attention. I carefully examined the ground. A thin layer of soil and grass covered a substratum of crushed rock. The plastic pigs would not penetrate the rock using hand power alone which necessitated pushing them in at an angle that did not allow a purchase fast enough to withstand the driving force of the wind. The problem analyzed, The next step was affecting the solution of driving the pigs tightly into the substratum of layer of rock, for staying up all night, or for hours reconstructing the tent after every violent gust was not my idea of how to spend the evening. I reset the pole, push the pegs in by hand, put on shoes, and walked across the narrow gravel path looking for something to use as a hammer. There was a light, chalk colored brick under a tree which I brought back to the tent and I used it to slam the stakes into the ground all the way up to their heads. It was a hell of a job driving them in. the brick kept breaking off in pieces. It looked as though it would break in half. It figured it would be that kind of brick. At length, the pegs were buried so tightly that all hell might have broken loose, flattened the tent, and blown the fly to tatters, and those pigs would not have moved a tad. That meant there would be one hell of a job getting them up when it came time to leave. Had this storm been equal to the one in France, the tent would have remained flat until all natures hostilities had ceased. The wind kicked up for two more hours, then settled into a gentle rain.

The 21st day of this bicycling Odyssey was the first day of rest from cycling. I walked around the town and the shrine, bought food, eight, showered, caught up on the journal and enjoyed the shady, tree-lined serenity of the campground. This was the city of Czestochowa, Poland where monuments to the suffering and the death of Jesus Christ told a story as old as mankind itself, a story in point of man's inhumanity to man, of injustice, suffering, torture and death, and salvation. and what more appropriate place was there for those great works of art than Poland, the past home of Auschwitz concentration camp where tens of thousands of human beings were systematically tortured and murdered and exterminated under the brutal, bloody regime of Nazism? In Poland there were many survivors of the worst that mankind could do, and each survivor could recount something of terrible suffering and death. It is a story as old as mankind itself, an old story who's horrific, bloody theme was at that very moment being played out upon the stages of Yugoslavia and Africa. I thought I knew something about what some of them had endured. I wondered about the dark secrets behind those tough worn faces.






5
General Discussion / Bicycling California, any roads 2002
« on: August 05, 2024, 03:45:45 am »
I had made it by bicycle from Southeast coastal Florida to California near the Salton Sea. Wednesday October 2nd 2002. I awoke early to a red horizon in the east. It was still dark. Cars and trucks were filing past on the dirt road on the other side of the shed. Because of the way I had positioned myself and bicycle, no one saw me there. I was out of there before the sun. Yesterday's wind had persisted till past midnight. I was worried it might come blasting in at any moment again. Salton City was 21 miles away, the next pit stop, and by the time I got there it was still relatively calm. A little Mexican restaurant there served eggs, beans, potatoes and toast for $5. Their little store did not have a price on anything except the alcohol so I did not buy. Instead I went to a nearby market and got a quart of milk for $1.19 and Coke for $1.19. I ate there, seated in a folding metal chair on the sidewalk out front, facing the small parking lot. This place is like a valley between two large ranges of mountains, one to the west and the other to the east. I cycled 7 miles more to the Firehouse Cafe in Desert Shores. You can see the Salton sea in this area, a salt sea 35 miles long and 15 mi wide, 235 ft below sea level. Here I just drank iced tea and used the restroom. The waitress was  untalkative. It was a relief to find a still calm wind outside. I left that place at noon.

Then I went through the Riviera vineyards. After that I turned onto Old highway 86, where, I had been told, there would be more services than the new 86. In many areas old 86 was bounded on both sides by tall groves of date palms and citrus trees. Small Mexican markets were along the roadside, as were small settlements. On the outskirts of Thermal I got a quart of milk and four cookies. I ate and drank sitting in front of a flat metal railing. There was road work going on on the old 86. Pilot cars were leading lines of traffic back and forth in the work areas. The flag woman just waved me through. Now I am at the KFC Kentucky fried Chicken in Coachella California 4:10 p.m., writing this and drinking a large fruit punch for $1.39 plus tax. The wind never did kick up a storm like it did yesterday not today. Somebody had mentioned that it had not blown like it did yesterday for quite some time. I have pedaled this loaded bike 51 miles so far today which is quite a bit farther than I had anticipated I would. Now I think I may go only as far as Indio today, three or four miles from here. The sun is still high and shining brightly through a sparsely clouded blue sky. The air has been cool, not cold. Last night while sleeping, this morning while sleeping I had to wear a jacket to be safe from the weather. Oh this about crossroads mission in Yuma Arizona. Lockers were kept apart from the sleeping and eating areas, next to the tracks, inside shed with roof and the sides of chain linked fence topped with concertina wire, the kind you see on prison fences. There was a little wooden cubicle office where Bob Dole acts as security. You give him id. He gives you a key to a locker. You unlock and stole your gear. Give him back the key. He gives you your id. A locker is $2 a week. If you have no money, there is a set of shelves where you can lay your stuff out in the open for free. The place is locked up tight at night.

October 3rd 2002. Time 11:20 a.m., place Wendy's Northwest of Palm Springs. I bicycle only 3 miles to Indio on highway 111 and somehow got off 111 and went to La Quinta in a dark Rich expensive town where I had a meal and iced tea and to another Mexican restaurant. This town is nestled in the mountains. I found highway 111 again after a long ride and asking directions from a taxi driver on the street. Just now hauled off into a field of hard tan colored sand with sparse low bushes, next to a ravine. I slept fairly well. I had to get in the blanket and wrap myself in a tarp to keep warm. There is a clear starry sky all around that lasted all night. So I was in Wendy's and here I am in Wendy's. It is a clear cloudless blue hazy day. Mountains are visible in every direction at close and afar. Jack in The box and Chevron are across the street. I just had a cheeseburger, salad, and iced tea. I was up and out at 8:00 a.m. this morning. I kept on highway 111. The first stop was a convenience store deli for coffee and pastry. Used the restroom at a car wash next door. The sidewalks in this area were supposed to be a designated bike path, however, the transitions from sidewalk to road and road to sidewalk did not make a convincing argument that they were genuinely intended for bicycles. I have pedaled my velocipede 20 miles or so. I am looking at maps which are not suitable for precision cycling, but they do get you there. I am dirty now. I need a good hot shower or bath. I think I might shoot for a hotel in Inglewood or on Venice beach, I think. That wind never did show up yesterday, and it is not here yet again today. Good on those two points. It is still early though. 

After Wendy's I cycled across I-10 and used the shoulder on 10. I noticed that there was a frontage road to my right. At the next exit I got off looking for a frontage road but there was no alternative route. I pumped air in my tires and got back on 10 west. This area is very mountainous. The landscape between the roadway and the mountains to the South has had built upon it many tall white windmills for generating electricity. At another accident was a sign saying all bicycles and motor driven cycles must exit. I did not cross over to the frontage Road on the other side of i-10. Two cars were parked near the intersection there. I asked a man if he knew how far the frontage road went. He did not know. He asked another in the car and so he did not know either.

Then a woman got out of the first car. She was wearing long camouflage pants. She started talking about the mountains and how they shined in the sun. She asked questions. Are you happy? Do you have money? Do you have food? Are you hungry? When she asked me if I had everything I needed I said Hell No. I was hoping she might want to make some arrangements for fulfilling some of life's other unrequited needs. She was not bad looking. If others had not been there, who knows? We had a short conversation on the Bible, psychology, the terrorist threat, some of my experiences in Ireland and about her experience being attacked by a mental patient while working as a psychologist. She offered me a can of chocolate covered peanuts, but I declined. I went on my way on the frontage road.

Later I got back on i-10. Then came another sign that said I had to exit. To hell with this nonsense. I carried the bike through the fine white sand, over two sets of railroad tracks, over a sand berm and over a broken barbed wire fence to a road going west again. The road shoulder was bumpy as hell. What a stupid asinine rerouting system. Basically after that it was a matter of going from the south side of to the north and back and forth to keep on a frontage road. At one point my road turned into a rocky lumpy dirt path for maybe a few miles. There I had to go over a railroad track and go right into a small town to stay in a roadway. Again at an intersection I got on the north side of I-10 and into the town of Beaumont. I think it was the name. Here I had a dinner of turkey, mashed potatoes with gravy, vegetables, a bun and homemade bread pudding for $6.60 at the country junction restaurant. I read the Riverside California newspaper. These stories. President Bush is getting powers to make preemptive war against Iraq, but first giving Iraq a chance to disarm and give an accounting of all their weapons of Mass slaughter. And and Ron CEO has surrendered to authorities. That was what made the news. From there I kept pedaling along my Road in town until it ended at a freeway entrance to interstate 10. A hitchhiker at the entrance said there was another road over there. I went to the other Road and cycled west. It was a very nice Road for cycling until it ended at an obviously new subdivision of expensive houses where the road was still under construction. Luckily, the work crew were still there and one guy told me about a dirt road going over some wash at the end of this newly built road. I cycled over the hand packed wet surface of dirt to a raised concrete curb at its end.

Then I lifted the bike up over the curb and pushed it through the thick fine clay sand to a make-shift dirt road and down into a lower area. There I looked up and I saw two young teenage girls, 13 possibly 14, walking unsteadily, precariously along a thin narrow ridge about 15 ft up. The ridge was slanted at about 45° to the ground and they were walking down this ridge and they had bikes. The girl in front was trying to balance herself and control working the handlebars and brakes to keep it from rolling forward. She could not do both and let go of the bike. It went rolling sliding and flying to the ground below. What a stunt. A fall from that perch was likely and could have been fatal. The last time I saw them they had made it to the ground safely and they were putting the chain back on front chain rings of one of the bikes. I pushed on across the wash and up a steep short hill. Then I came to a very steep downhill grade. There was no pushing or riding the bike straight down it. It was much too steep. I started to a couple of times but could see I was headed for certain disaster. Then I had an idea. Sitting in the sand, I took off my plastic soled cycling shoes and put on my rubber soled athletic shoes. Then, choosing a part of the hill with deeper sand for better foothold, I walked the bike down at one angle across the face of the hill. By working the brake levers I was able to keep the velocipede from getting away from me. Once at the bottom, about 30 ft below, I pushed across a dirt road to an open field, through an opening in a fence and out to a roadway. Then it was back to a frontage road on the south side of I-10 and later back to the north side of 10, and here I am at Burger King next to I-10 in Calimesa, having come about 50 or 54 miles.

6
General Discussion / Bicycling Ukraine September 13, 1994
« on: July 31, 2024, 12:17:50 am »
Awake before first light, the body and mind implored just lie here, and it was 8:30 a.m. before they ordered to hoist myself out of bed and stand against the day. Immediately upon waking a peasant walked up outside and spoke in a foreign language. This was probably his shed I was sleeping in and he wanted it back. I packed and sped away in only a few minutes.

Soon a large town's restaurant served up a meal of soup, bread, cream and four glasses of compote all for 40 cents. I was thinking about biking to the Crimean peninsula on the Black sea, and mapping the next leg of the journey from there. The day was sunny and warm with a hazy Blue sky.

It was 50 miles south of the herder's shack and 6:30 p.m. when this was written. I was working on my third Brew in a cafe/bistro. The main conclusion was that from the time of leaving the shack until now had been one hell of a lousy and miserable day for cycling. A stiff headwind, the endless hills beat against me all the time. Hills were short and steep and long and gradual and multitudinous and a general pain in the ass. The road surface transformed from very good to more fitting for a tank. Heavy fast traffic fouled the air worse than ever before. Lunch was cookies and water while seated on a guardrail. An unusual rural bus stop served as a place to rest and snack on sandwiches. It was a large four-way concrete junction box, built to intersect the ends of four large water pipes. It had no benches so I parked my bum in one of the large holes cut in the concrete walls. It was completely surrounded by large agricultural fields, and like almost all rural bus stops in Ukraine, it smelled like human feces. Expose a single morsel of food to the open air and the nasty flies in thick squadrons appeared. So, I sat there resting and eating, fighting off the disease carrying flies, vowing to myself never to become used to the smell of shit in the air. Oh well it was neither appetizing nor nutritious.

I cycled on down the bumpy, dusty, windswept, winding road till afternoon found me low on water and thirsty as hell. A narrow side Road brought me into a small farming village where I saw a man trodding the road. When I asked him for water, he pointed to a yard on the other side of a green metal gate. Behind the gate in a small dirt yard next to a small cottage sat a boy of six or eight and two old women wearing long dresses and scarves. I held the plastic water bottle upside down and simulated drinking from it. The old women pointed to a round stone well in the center of the yard. This well was identical to the one I first got water from after entering the country of Ukraine. A metal bucket of clear cool water sat on top of it. The boy ambled up, grabbed a metal cup that hung on a nail in a wooden fence and handed it to me. I dipped water from the bucket into the black plastic water bottle, said thanks, walked out through the gateway and cycled out to the highway. I immediately added two iodine tablets to the water. Back on highway M/20 6 old peasant women in traditional dress were sitting on a curb and facing the highway. Each had a bucket of apples for sale. They all beamed radiant golden smiles at my approach. I stopped and flipped out the camera to take a picture. When they saw the camera they all screamed and turned their heads away. Angered at that I just cycled away.

A small roadside store came into view around 4:30 p.m., and man was that ever a relief. Beating against a head wind all day lowers the tolerance for frustration like nothing else. The back was aching and not even old peasant women selling apples would consent to having their pictures taken. And here was a store, if you could call it that. There would be no starving after all. Pulling in to take a look I leaned the bike against it. The store itself sold only shoes, used sweatpants and bottles of beer. In front of the store, out in the open, a man and woman sold gum, candy, cigarettes, 2- litre containers of soda and greasy foul-looking buns with meat on the inside which they kept on a little foldable table. What choices can one recently expect cycling in such a place? Was that the answer? It was. I bought soda, and ate two Snickers bars and four greasy buns. Then I bought gum, two more Snickers bars and one more greasy bun for the road, or for the hospital as the case might have been. Those buns looked suspicious. Two tour buses pulled in the parking lot. People piled out and gathered around the table. There was the usual dose of questions and stares. The half hour stop relieved and refreshed my spirits which had plummeted to new lows fighting the wind all day through the monotonous agrarian countryside. It was a misery.

Many hills farther down the road came another restaurant, this one composed of a concrete, double A frame, about 12 ft tall at the apex, with a small raised concrete patio out front. Oak and Chestnut thickly wooded the surrounding area. Spread out in the trees, about 200 ft from the main building, were small wooden A-frame huts. I say small. From the ground to the Apex was 7 or 8 ft. In each hut were a table and chairs. Each round table was a thick segment of tree and the chairs were smaller cuts of the same. The setting was quiet shady and cool. The patio of the main building held small round stand up tables. In one corner a man cooked shish kabob over a wood fire in a narrow rectangular metal grill about 4 ft high. In another corner a woman stood next to a small wooden table on which were displayed orange soda and beer for 40 cents a bottle, cigarettes, a can of diced pineapple, bottled wine and vodka. A man chopped fire would behind the building. A man stood urinating against the side of a truck in the parking lot. A man at the table set bread out for a moment. Flies crawled all over it. He ate it anyway. Then the man pulled a chunk of food from his mouth and threw it on the table. Three scroungy looking dogs simpered around the table and went into the backyard for barking. The ever-present abacus was in view. Not once did I see a cash register in any place in Ukraine. They all use the abacus. I ate three well-cooked shish kabobs.

Normal everyday people in Ukraine looked like our skid row down-and- outers in the United States. Rough looking, unshaved, unclean, soiled clothing. It was the normal appearance all across the country. It was their way of life. A truck sped by on the highway. It hit a large pothole and made one hell of an explosive racket like nothing I had heard since the train derailment I survived in Ireland in 1980. That was one hell of a noise. It was a wonder it kept going. I expected to see it explode apart right then and there.

The sky was darkening. It was 7:25 p.m. I was anxious to find a place to camp early to avoid repeating last night's blind search in the dark. The area around the restaurant was pleasant looking, and during the day I had passed many good places for camping. Therefore, I concluded that the next good site was waiting just over the next Hill. Well, it wasn't. 10:00 p.m. had come and gone by the time I finally got settled in. The haze and the lights blighted vision, and several times brought me to complete halts for want of seeing more than a foot in front of the handlebar. A long stand of trees about 50 ft wide that I searched had a foot path running down the middle and dirt roads on both sides with foliage not thick enough for concealment. I wanted a place where no one could see in either at night or in the early hours. Fields  encompassed both sides for as far as the eye could see. Pushing the bike farther from the highway on one side of the stand, I came to a group of houses in advanced stages of construction. I almost decided to sleep there, but changed my mind when I saw people driving around. I cycle the dirt farm Road slowly, laboriously back to highway M/20, and bent South. Finding another side road, I followed it a while to a clump of trees growing out like a dome shelter over a depression in the earth. It looked like a good prospect. I picked my way around in the trees in the dark, pushed the bike along a bushy fence line and rolled down into the hollow. It looked ideal. Then I switched on the flashlight to look for the best spot to roll out the sleeping bag. 25 small piles of human offal and tatters of used toilet paper filthed the soft carpet of dead leaves. Whoever wrote travel books for the Commonwealth of independent states had not cycled through these places and checked them out thoroughly. I left that pest hole immediately. The best spot I could find was a clump of bushes near a fence line about 25 ft from the road. All night the air carried a faint acrid smell of ammonia. There was a gas station and truck stop near there. Maybe they had a leak.

On day 37 I cycle 57 lousy miserable miles over roads more suited for tanks than cars and not meant for bicycles at all. The food was not by any means fit for cycling or athletics. The water tasted of iodine, yuck. Dinner was greasy, suspicious looking buns probably laced with infectious microorganisms. I snacked amidst the disease carrying flies and the repellent odor of human cess. All day I passed excellent woodland places to camp, and at night when one was really needed, it was not to be found. Ukraine and Eastern Europe were known to be substandard compared to America and the west, but the constant doses of filth and inconvenience were very much worse than I expected. Before I left the US people asked why I wanted to go to such a place. I told them it has nothing to do with wanting to go to such a place. The goal is getting out and seeing the world, and cycling would afford a more thorough view of the world than other means of travel. If these countries are poor, so be it. Had Eastern Europe been rich I would have gone there nevertheless. I went there in spite of the poorness, not because of it, and having been there I would feel no  desire to return. Or as one person in my hometown of Stuart Florida asked me years later. So you went to Ukraine. Do you think you would like to go back there and visit again. Yes I answered, in a tank with a flame thrower.

7
General Discussion / Bicycling southern tier, east to west, 2010.
« on: July 27, 2024, 05:08:56 am »
January 5th 2010. I was up at 9:00 a.m. from the field amongst the thistles behind the store. I packed and pushed the bike to the store. It was open. Not last night. I went in. There was a woman cashier. They usually say hello or how are you doing? I got two cold vitamin drinks, fig newtons, coffee, and energy drink. Eight and drank at a table. I had small talk with the woman. Cycles West after that. I went up some long gradual hills but it's only 35 miles to fort Stockton. I had two punctures. One in the front and one in the rear. The front was a patch that delaminated. The rear was caused by a radial wire. I admit I was fatigued. I checked into the deluxe motel for $33.99 a day. I had a chicken tender meal at a Mexican Cafe next to the bus station. I want to Walmart for energy mix. Ace hardware for patches on the glue. I got two 24 oz of beers, and a 24 oz tea. I ate a meal and drank in the room. I watched tv. There's a good heater in this room. Slept fitfully.

January 6th 2010. I paid another day at the motel and cycled into town. I got a patch kit a protein mix and I did email at the library. then I did laundry I got to borrow soap and ate a meal at another Mexican restaurant. It is now 9:15 p.m. that would be Eastern standard time but I am here near fort Stockton Texas. I am in room 129 in fort stockton. I have been stretching, eating, drinking protein mix, and watching TV and what was on tv? The virginian, Custer's last stand, dog the bounty Hunter. Now I'm getting ready to take a shower. I'm planning to travel farther west in the morning. I called Mary and Christina I talked to Captain vining sherman. I talked by phone to William Crowe in stuart. He has had a case of some disease. He was not feeling too good at all. I left the voicemail for Jack Cunningham. I have been drinking a lot of liquids in the room.

On the morning of the 7th I cycled West out of fort Stockton about 53 miles to balmorhea, a town of some 580 people. Time now 9:15 by Eastern Time on January 9th and Van Horn Texas. In balmorio. I cycled the neighborhood streets, found no roadside place to camp, and got to into an old abandoned small concrete building next to the Dutch oven restaurant also in disuse and abandoned. There were roadside food stands, very small, and a convenience store and a Mexican restaurant. It was dirty and cramped inside, but it was free of charge and inside. 53 miles this day.

January 8th 2010 I was up around 10:00 a.m. eastern time. The restaurant opened at 11:00 a.m. Central time. I did not want to wait. I cycle to the convenience store. I got coffee, chocolate hot drinks, some kind of junk food, drink and energy drink, and took the 2-mile road back to I-10 West. I-10 held precious little restaurant food and the 68 miles to Van Horn. Two convenience stores one truck stop a restaurant west of Kent at Cherry Creek road. No flats today no punctures. But a total of six so far on the trip.

I entered the red and white and Amber lit roads of Van Horn by the frontage Road in the dark. I was thinking of camping. I looked at the posted prices of the motel rooms on Broadway. The farther west I went the lower the prices posted. What when I got the $25 at the Kings inn I got a room number 7. As they it ain't the Ritz however it is warm with TV and the standard amenities. I cycle to a convenience store, got a 24-oz Icehouse beer, went back and drank and ate snacks and watched TV.


8
August 27th 1994 marked the 20th day of my travel. By days and a total of 1,130 mi had been pedaled from Paris, France. That was 511 in the first 10 days, add 619 in the second 10 days. These past 10 days have taken me through West Germany, through the Czech Republic and into Poland. The terrain ranged from flat to rolling to hilly to mountainous. It had been an introduction to the substandard living conditions of Eastern Europe, frightful contrasts between the west and the east, between the Free world and communism's appalling legacy. Young women prostituted themselves on the roads. From the roadway it appeared that most of their world was a farm. There had been warnings against bicycling into the former Soviet republics, particularly Ukraine. Roadside stands and bistros would become regular features for the remaining Eastern European part of the journey. There had been steeper climbs on other tours, and much longer climbs too, however for a combination of length and steepness on the same climb, the most difficult was the mountain range at the Czech and Polish border. High mountain elevations gave beautiful panoramic views of the countryside. In check the traffic was frenzied, and in Poland it was maniacally insane. Poverty wore many faces to the world, and that was most obvious in the neglect and deterioration of the people of Eastern Europe and in their civilization. Air on the roads was egregiously heavily polluted. I had gone without a shower and shave for 10 days, and had camped every night. The women of the West were much more beautiful and healthy looking than the women of Eastern Europe. I often wondered about what experiences lay behind the worn, severe, hard faces of the elderly men and women who stared as I rolled slowly past their houses and farms their fields and through their cities. I had jokingly told myself that I had become a millionaire, in Polish currency that is. The health was good. Being bullied off the road by insane motorists had angered me, and I had taken to showing the offenders my index finger. Still, for some mysterious reasons, the former Soviet republics held their exotic allure. How wrong could a man be?


9
Tammany Trace north of New Orleans was great for cycling. Others were seen running and cycling and walking. It was table top flat all the way and hardly ever had to stop for motorized traffic at any of the crossings. One small grocery store I stopped in for a can of beans and a can of Vienna sausage had several kinds of bicycles hanging from the ceiling and standing in its showcase windows. It had been dark for some time when I reached the trails end in Covington. I was concerned because of a weather report of rain, lightning and hail. I spent quite a bit of time cycling around town and back down the trace looking for a high place to set up camp, but to no avail. I finally had to settle on a small fenced in grassy area with trees across from the corner club bar. I set up the tarp using the tent poles. By the time I cooked it was about midnight. I climbed in under the tarp to sleep, and 10 seconds later the rain started. At first it was only a few light drops. But later it increased to a torrential downpour. Lightning flooded the sky  like a gigantic strobe light. The rain just kept pouring almost all night long. Eventually the water started inching its way into and under the tarp. The ground was hard and impervious to penetration by water. It had been very hard pushing the aluminum tent pegs into the ground, almost impossible. And it just rained and rained and rained. I could not sleep because I was worried about all the lightning strikes in my area. Later the weather channel would report over 2000 lightning strikes in the vicinity.

About 50 ft away stood a sprawling one story building with a large overhang that was probably used as a carport at one time. I resolved that once the rain let up for a while I would move everything under the overhang awning. It was on the other side of a flora fence. It was morning by the time that break came. First, I grabbed the four panniers and walked through ankle deep water to the roadway and back around to the overhang. The rain picked up again so I waited there a while until it abated again. I just walked through deep water through the flora fence and got the handlebar bag, foam pad, and sleeping bag. After that I got the rest of the gear, the bike and  carried them all under the overhead. I set out the tarp flat on the concrete floor to dry. I set up the pad on its edges. I spread the bag over a couple of wooden sawhorses to dry. I listened to the radio and brushed my teeth. I emptied water out of my shoes and rung my socks until they were no longer soaked. I packed the panniers and waited.

When the rain let up sufficiently I cycled over to McDonald's about two blocks away where I am at this moment at 1600 which is 4:00 p.m. civilian time. Outside there is a constant drizzle. The weatherman says this wet weather May remain in the area for a few days. I cannot cycle in it. Therefore, I may be locked in here for a few days. I will go to a laundromat to dry the sleeping bag at least. I may end up sleeping underneath that same overhang tonight. There were two reasons why I did not go under the overhang to begin with. I thought it might be an act of trespassing and it was not well concealed. Also I had not thought the storm would be so severe with so much lightning and rain. Who knows, maybe the weather will clear up sooner than predicted. My muscles could use the rest anyway. Maybe this will be a good time to get in some stretches. I did drink three pints of Red dog beer before hitting the sack last night. At this moment thunder continues to shake these dark gray and light gray skies.

I went to a laundromat in Covington and dried the sleeping bag. Then I sat on a bench out in front of the laundromat. Next I walked to the Dollar tree store and bought a box of taco flavored cheese-its and a 32 oz gatorade. I sat and ate and drank on the bench near the laundromat. There were a few day labor types hanging around there. Later I went back to McDonald's for a cup of coffee. It tasted old and bitter. I did not finish it. Around dark I went back to the building carport, lay out the pad and bag and laid down. I turned on the radio. The weatherman said the rain has gone now. I did some stretches and went to sleep.

10
Sunday August 22nd 1993 at 9:25 a.m. now in Denny's in crescent City for coffee. Just got here. The weather is gray, foggy, cool. Cycled South on 101. And Itasca motorhome came way too close. So it turned right into crescent City harbor district. Followed it in and told the jerks about it. Cycled long long steep hill. Foggy visibility maybe 200 or 300 ft max. Narrow path made it treacherous. The weather cleared around 11:30 for a while. In del Norte Coast redwood State Park. Big trees, long downhill to level area along a beach. Stopped at the beach and farther along at a rest area near a pond. Put on more aspercreme. Time now 3:00 p.m. I am at the Klamath salmon festival. Just had a big meal and re-watered my bottles. Sunny blue warm with wind from the north. I have another major climb just up the road. So what was that the festival. Chainsaw competition, Indian traditional dance, food stands, handicrafts. Plenty of Indians. The road over the hill is no cycling route. Whatever set it aside as such as a peculiar sense of humor. Elk prairie Road is my next alternate route over the hill coming up.

11
Sunday August 22nd 1993 at 9:25 a.m. Now in Denny's in crescent City for coffee. Just got here. The weather is gray, foggy, cool. Cycled South on 101. An Itasca motorhome came way too close. Saw it turned right into crescent City harbor district. Followed it in and told the jerks about it. Cycled long long steep hill. Foggy visibility maybe 200 or 300 ft max. Narrow path made it treacherous. The weather cleared around 11:30 for a while. In del Norte Coast redwood State Park. Big trees, long downhill to level area along a beach. Stopped at the beach and farther along at a rest area near a pond. Put on more aspercreme. Time now 3:00 p.m. I am at the Klamath salmon festival. Just had a big meal and re-watered my bottles. Sunny blue warm with wind from the north. I have another major climb just up the road. So what was that the festival. Chainsaw competition, Indian traditional dance, food stands, handicrafts. Plenty of Indians. The road over the hill is no cycling route. Whoever set it aside as such had a peculiar sense of humor. Elk prairie Road is my next alternate route over the hill coming up.

12
General Discussion / Starting my first ever bicycling tour.
« on: June 11, 2024, 11:14:34 am »
Thursday, July 14th, 1984. The flight arrived in Gatwick this morning around 9:30. I put my bicycle together they're on the spot in the baggage room, trashed the box, and took the train into Victoria station, a 35 minute ride. There four other men and I were approached by two females who were getting people to go to a certain hotel chain. The affair commenced in a van ride around town to two hotels or hostels around town both of which had no vacancies. We ended up back at the station. I made one call and got a room in a hostel where I am now, 3 lb a night. Today I rode my bike around Westminster for a while, but this city traffic is a bit much for me. Notwithstanding that, I had lunch of fish and chips, dinner at mcdonald's, and saw Westminster abbey, the Thames River, Buckingham palace, the British museum, two major squares, green park, Hyde park, and the immediate general vicinity. It is now 1:00 a.m. on the 15th. Four of us are in a dorm just talking, playing cards and sleeping. Today I met a man who retired from the Royal Marines. We talked about military life, England and the best routes for bicycling to Canterbury and the South coast.

Friday, June 15th, 1984. This morning at 9:30 I woke up from a sound sleep at the gayfere hostel on gayfere Street just one block or two from Westminster Abbey. I packed my bicycle and took off for Canterbury by 10:00, with a stop at the corner restaurant for toast and marmalade, coffee and a roll. The way out of town was extremely busy as was the rest of the journey with the exception of a few miles out of the 60 miles traveled. The road, a2, was lousy for cycling, and tomorrow I am getting a Bartholomew's one in 250,000 which shows the country lanes. The trip took all of 7 hours owing to Long steep hills which I almost gave up on, heavy traffic and traffic lights as numerous as the Stars. The route took me through several towns, the biggest of which was rochester. On the way I ate two apples, and orange, one and a half pounds of green grapes, a box of strawberries and a box of farmhouse biscuits and four bottles of water and a chicken dinner with carrots string beans and boiled potatoes.

The towns were old and interesting, the countryside was lush and deep green, the roads smooth and the people friendly. Now arriving in Canterbury I find that the used hostel is all booked up. So I have made a reservation for Saturday and I am now in a nice little b&b for only 5 lb. It is now 10:50 p.m. and I am going to hit the hay. The address here is 7 South Canterbury Road and I am looking forward to a good breakfast in the morning.

13
Now in Zen hostel in Gainesville December 10th 2009. Started Monday December the 7th from Vero Beach. Did 78 miles to Mims. US1 had a nice shoulder most of the way except in Melbourne where it disappeared and the sidewalks suck for cycling. Stopped in a dunkin' donut for 40 minutes. Also had to wait for the rain for 2 or 3 hours at a roadside arcade run by Rich Cummings. Mims was all wet when I got there. Two women at a convenience store said highway 46 was dangerous, two lanes, with a lot of accidents. I found a place in the trees to string up the tarp at the northeast corner of US1 and highway 46.

December 8th 2009. I awoke and packed. I noticed I had camped about 150 ft from a house. I prefer to stay clear of houses when I can, but I did not see it in the dark. It was about 11:00 p.m. last night when I finally got set up to sleep. So late due to the rain. I cycle West on highway 46 to McDonald's where I had a breakfast of pancakes, yuck. I left there around 9:30 a.m. 46 was a very good road for cycling east of sanford. It has a good shoulder. The scenery along the way was quite swampy. West of Sanford traffic increased very much and the road took on more of what the women had described the night before. I took various roads to eustis where I got on highway 19 going north through Ocala national forest. The area is rolling. The growth on both sides of the road was so thick and interlaced like a flora fence I could not get the bicycle in anywhere to sleep. And there was hardly any place to lay down. I finally did find a short road to a tower. I got off into the trees and bushes behind a fence around that Tower. I just lay on the ground and threw the tarp on top of me. No rain. I had already searched several places to sleep before I found that place. It was very cramped. 77 miles.

14
With a view to these latest rounds of storms and tornadoes, it is good practice to stay ahead of the weather. A cyclist touring long distances could find himself wild-camped away from a roadway when some unprecedented wild powerful storm suddenly appears and wreaks serious damage. It happened three times to me.  As far as I know, googling weather forecasts for different regions should yield accurate reliable information.  When you do not know severe storms are coming, they can take you by surprise.  I cycled the southern tier one summer east to west. It was hotter than hell, but otherwise the weather was great.There was 25 minutes of rain in Slidell Louisiana, and one night of heavy rain near Las Cruces, New Mexico. That was it for a two month tour. Doing the southern tier again there were extremely serious very dangerous radical changes in the  weather. On another crossing it was a miracle I survived it. Doing a transcontinental bicycle tour can bring you to very nice weather with rain here and there. It can also steer you into a seriously hazardous situation, if you do not keep yourselves forewarned. I ignored the weather advisories. I also woke up to a tornado shredding trees all around near the Mississippi in or south of Minnesota, 1987. I got myself into a number of fixes with the weather while bicycle touring because I was not prepared.

15
I bicycled the southern tier alone from southeast coastal Florida to San Diego, California. It was in the highest heat of summer, at times 110 degrees F. Water was going in and out of me like I was a sieve. Baseline hydration was at least 6 full 47 ounce fountain drinks.  Add to that draining the water bottles, water and other beverages in restaurants it came close to three gallons of water daily. I could drink three gallons a day for four consecutive days, and not urinate at all.  The water went through me so fast it did not get to the kidneys.

I have bicycle toured and camped 36,000 miles through 19 countries.  Like other experienced distance tourists, I was outside in the elements in some dangerous and challenging surroundings. The worst events were sudden, unexpected, unforeseen, extreme changes in the weather. You know, like, you are slumbering comfortably in your tent and bag.  All is peaceful and calm. Then without warning the wind suddenly gains velocity and it is 30 mph, then 60 mph, then 70 mph.  The tent is hammered to the ground.  You hightail it to a nearby bridge and get under it. You crawl up the retaining wall.  You sit perched at the top.  The rain is coming in parallel horizontal to the roadway at 70 mph.  Interstate highway traffic stopped.  Tractor trailers pushed over on their sides. Thousands of bolts of lightning slamming to earth all around. It is dark night made to look like daylight with all those electrical bolts. A bobcat comes running in for cover. Lightning strikes fifty feet away, conducts through water across the road, and kills it. That is how I spent one night when bicycling across America.

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