16
General Discussion / Re: Bike 'friendliness' of US hotels?
« on: August 01, 2024, 01:11:49 am »
Several times across the US by bicycle. Nobody reacted like having the bike in the room was a problem.
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17
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.
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.
18
General Discussion / Re: Cycling Ukraine September 10, 1994.
« on: July 30, 2024, 01:44:31 am »Wow, what a journey! It seems like you truly went deep into the local life in Ukraine, facing unforeseen challenges and building some fascinating connections during your time there. From talking about prices with hotel staff to seeing animals in their natural places and feeling the unexpected things that happen when flying locally, your story shows a colorful view of traveling away from crowded tourist spots.
Yes, the challenges, some of them, were unforeseen. I had done research on that region. From what I could gather, such filthy, nasty conditions might be encountered in India and some third-world regions. There was no information I found that could have alerted anyone about such conditions in eastern Europe and the CIS. The travel books are for tourists. They had no idea such places existed and they had no reason for concern.
19
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.
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.
20
General Discussion / Re: Cycling Germany, Czech, Poland 1994, west to east.
« on: July 27, 2024, 03:00:17 am »Your detailed story really makes clear the big differences and obstacles of traveling through Eastern Europe during the 90s. The stories you tell give a clear and colorful image of the area's challenges, both with its natural surroundings and economic conditions. It is interesting to hear how the trip has changed your view and feeling for adventure. Thanks for sharing such a candid and compelling reflection on your travels!
Thank you. I have several journals, some highly detailed in the descriptions.
21
General Discussion / Re: Camping in Banff after flying in for GDMBR
« on: July 21, 2024, 03:41:17 am »
It is possible to do. I did it several times that way. Out of the jet. Assemble bike in airport. Out the door. Down the road a long way before bed time.
22
General Discussion / Re: Cycling Ukraine September 10, 1994.
« on: July 19, 2024, 04:26:12 am »
August 27th 1994 marked the 20th day of my bicycle travel. By days and a total of $1,130 mi had been pedaled from paris, france. That was 511 days in the first 10 days, add $619 mi 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 eventing frightful contrasts between the west and the east, between the Free world and communisms appalling legacy. Young women prostituted themselves on the roads. From the roadway it appeared that most of that world was a farm. There had been warnings against bicycling into the former Soviet republics, particularly ukraine. Roadside to 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 Warren, 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 zlytok 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?
23
General Discussion / Cycling Germany, Czech, Poland 1994, west to east.
« on: July 19, 2024, 03:12:09 am »
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?
24
General Discussion / Cycling Florida to California in 2007. A day in the life.
« on: July 18, 2024, 02:57:11 am »
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.
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.
25
General Discussion / Re: Cycling Ukraine September 10, 1994.
« on: July 17, 2024, 05:13:40 am »
Yes, the tourist hot spots are fine. I had gone to and explored the great cathedrals, museums, art galleries and battlefields of western civilizations. I made a small bit of history myself. Learning about the highest and finest cultural achievements can be highly didactic, probably more so when comparing those expressions among diverse cultures and civilizations worldwide.
The purpose of cycling that region was to investigate the hinterlands away from where the tourists went. It was a different world than the one of the main attractions. Countless elder people had in living memory the horrors and atrocities of the second world war, of the death camps, of the millions of innocent people systematically exterminated. These elders transferred their mentalities to their children and great grandchildren. Of course, one cannot expect people with such a background to have mentalities even remotely like Americans. In one city, Micholiav, they were EVACUATING an American evangelical group because the sharp clash between mentalities had caused some serious problems. They had these evangelical virtue signalers from la la land arrogating to themselves that they could direct the lives of people who were raised to believe they could all be exterminated at any moment. Incompatible they were, and the bible punchers were air lifted out before anything more serious could happen.
One notable aspect of Ukrainian society in 1994 was the camaraderie. When young men gathered or grouped there was a perceivable bond between them, a brotherhood not commonly seen in the USA or western Europe. I mentioned this to someone and asked about it. He told me this. Those people were discussing the fact that the exterminations could happen again. The threat, the possibility they might all be murdered was one part of the mutual bond they shared. I think it was instinctive. And here it is 2024, some 79 years after the second world war, and the exterminations are happening again.
The purpose of cycling that region was to investigate the hinterlands away from where the tourists went. It was a different world than the one of the main attractions. Countless elder people had in living memory the horrors and atrocities of the second world war, of the death camps, of the millions of innocent people systematically exterminated. These elders transferred their mentalities to their children and great grandchildren. Of course, one cannot expect people with such a background to have mentalities even remotely like Americans. In one city, Micholiav, they were EVACUATING an American evangelical group because the sharp clash between mentalities had caused some serious problems. They had these evangelical virtue signalers from la la land arrogating to themselves that they could direct the lives of people who were raised to believe they could all be exterminated at any moment. Incompatible they were, and the bible punchers were air lifted out before anything more serious could happen.
One notable aspect of Ukrainian society in 1994 was the camaraderie. When young men gathered or grouped there was a perceivable bond between them, a brotherhood not commonly seen in the USA or western Europe. I mentioned this to someone and asked about it. He told me this. Those people were discussing the fact that the exterminations could happen again. The threat, the possibility they might all be murdered was one part of the mutual bond they shared. I think it was instinctive. And here it is 2024, some 79 years after the second world war, and the exterminations are happening again.
26
General Discussion / Re: Cycling Ukraine September 10, 1994.
« on: July 16, 2024, 04:44:49 am »
Ukrainian Restaurant, 1994---So, I am cycling along in Ukraine and I see a sign for a bistro / restaurant. I think maybe, just maybe I can get a nutritional meal that will not send me to the grave yard. I go in and what do I see? There is a counter with stools, a waiter, and a refrigerated glass display case holding foods. None of the glass display cases in Ukraine are actually refrigerated. They keep the small sliding glass doors to the cases open deliberately. Near the display case is an open window with no glass or screen. Just outside this window-hole is a step toilet. These were standard across the country. It could be wood or concrete, enclosed on three sides, with a floor and a hole in the ground. You step over the hole, squat. These things have no drain field. They ware open cesspools. Deep inside the hole are these large flies buzzing and crawling. I see them flying through the open window into the bistro into the display case. The food is covered with them so thickly the food is barely visible. I say food. It looks like dangerous toxic sludge, cruel feeding for the lowliest swine.
A man at the counter orders a meal. The grimy waiter goes to the display case. He brushes away the flies. He spoons the suspicious looking slop onto a plate. He serves it to the mucent stunted customer. He starts to eat, bends over the plate and vomits onto the plate. The waiter takes the plate, scrapes it off with a fork, spoons on more rancid puke, and hands it to another customer.
I was out of there like a shot.
A man at the counter orders a meal. The grimy waiter goes to the display case. He brushes away the flies. He spoons the suspicious looking slop onto a plate. He serves it to the mucent stunted customer. He starts to eat, bends over the plate and vomits onto the plate. The waiter takes the plate, scrapes it off with a fork, spoons on more rancid puke, and hands it to another customer.
I was out of there like a shot.
27
Routes / 1993---Cycling the pacific coast bicycle route. North to south.
« on: July 16, 2024, 02:35:33 am »
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.
28
General Discussion / 1993---Cycling pacific coast bicycle route, north to south.
« on: July 16, 2024, 02:24:40 am »
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.
29
General Discussion / Re: Newb advice
« on: July 15, 2024, 12:49:03 am »
Put racks and panniers on the bike, and you have your touring bike. Triple chainset on the front, wide range on the rear. Schwalbe tires. WalMart wheels are prohibited. Good wheels with alloy rims and stainless steel spokes.
30
General Discussion / Re: Fit for Touring?
« on: July 15, 2024, 12:38:14 am »
On the Brooks leather saddle. An article online detailed how to soften the leather before riding. It has to be done only once. It has to do with a heat lamp, rubbing in oil, light thumping with a baseball bat. When you ride the saddle as sold, your body weight and moisture and oils need a long time to soften the leather. The softening is needed for the leather to mold to your contours. It could require weeks of long-term daily cycling. The pre-ride treatment causes the leather to mold to your particular measurements, starting, not in three weeks, but immediately.