Mixed Greenz

New radio blog!

2012-01-21T13:45:00.003-05:00

Well now, I got restless and changed the name of my radio show. Somehow I seem to do that every several years. 'Tis now Rat Salad, named for the Black Sabbath instrumental... Kinda fits with the title Mixed Greenz I guess, too.

Radio playlists shall be illustrated more fully, which I like a lot:

Surf on over and have a look!

What does that mean for THIS blog? Dunno yet. Maybe more photos?

over'n'out,

-m

Big Carnivorous Feast for 12/21/2011

2011-12-29T07:28:00.006-05:00

Wow, another blog post within a month! Started out the show on Xmas eve eve eve eve with a whole album side of Blind Willie Johnson (above). It was from newly-released gorgeous double LP from Mississippi Records. If you've never heard Blind Willie Johnson, you gotta. Spellbinding voice. Speakin' of voices, on some songs he's accompanied by female vocalists -- also spectacular but criminally not identified! Not the fault of Mississippi Records... no one thought to record her name(s) back in 1927-30 when he recorded.

Later in the show featured a R.I.P. tribute to the recently-departed Cape Verdian singer Cesária Évora. That's her top center of the photo collage. Also new mesmerizing minimalist cello-based music from Iceland's Hildur Gudnadóttir (upper right). Played a track from one of my favorite albums of the year, Megafaun. Only a couple Xmas cuts, but they were choice. Punked out Feliz Navidad and Ruuuuufus Thomas.

Entire playlist w/comments right here.

Adios 'n' Happy New Year.

Big Carnivorous Feast for 11/30/2011

2011-12-01T15:40:00.004-05:00

S'pose I oughta report in every 6 months or so that I'm still on the radio at w x d u 88.7 Durham. Above is yesterday's playlist visualized; find it in writing here.

July 26, 1931

2011-07-26T05:00:00.001-04:00

My grandparents, 80 years ago today. Wow.

Go East, Young Men (part 11)

2011-07-11T06:00:00.005-04:00

After 11 days and somewhere along the lines of 900 miles, we made it to Minneapolis on July 11, 1981!

Check us out all twins-y in our BHS running t-shirts...

At this point in my life I remember expecting we'd see the Minneapolis skyline for miles and miles and miles before we got there. I think I envisioned the midwest as completely and totally flat, so I literally was looking for that skyline for most of the last 60-ish miles we rode that day. Not how it turned out of course!

There was some extended rain either this last day or the day before... we can't remember which. But both of us recall it was chilly, and Dave reminded me of our Plan to Keep Legs Warm. Somehow we had the idea that slathering Vaseline on the legs would do it. Maybe so. But then all road grime within 1/2 a mile was attracted like a magnet and stuck to those greased legs. Mmmmmm, mmm.

We made our way down town and relaxed in a park:

Dave digs the view of the IDS tower.

Couple more downtown shots.

Looking for a snack :)

After our downtown rest break we struck out northward for the suburbs to my Grandma's house, our final destination. We crossed the Mississippi River on the old Hennepin Avenue bridge. A part of the road surface was metal see-through grating, a bit scary! Dave felt convince that our tires were narrow enough that they could fall through some of the cracks. But we lived to tell our story.

My bike on the bridge over the Mississippi River.

There at last!

Dave & I arrive at my grandma's house on Forest Dale Road.

Over the next couple days we hung out in the Twin Cities with my relatives. Went up in the aforementioned IDS tower one night to check out the view... see photo above!

Swam in the little lake (above) behind my Grandma's house....

Took apart bikes....

Stuck 'em in boxes...

...and eventually went home on a Greyhound bus!

We had a terrific 11 days.

Big lesson: This trip taught me that 80+ miles per day is pretty exhausting. All subsequent trips I've been on were more like 50 per day... much more relaxing & enjoyable!

Unexpected surprise: I felt inspired by and grateful for the unexpected generosity we experienced.

I was hungry for more bike travel, for sure. Didn't get a chance again until 1985, and you can read all about that in a series of posts starting here. Stay tuned for some stories & photos from France & Hungary & all points between in a few weeks...

Go East, Young Men (part 10)

2011-07-10T06:00:00.000-04:00

July 10, 1981 - Our 2nd to last day of riding. Neither of us remembers too much about this leg o' the journey. Again, I think we were a little fried from doing pretty high mileage.

I remember the day was really hot, and it was very humid too, especially in the valley of the Minnesota River after lunch.

Dave refilling water bottle near Vesta, Minnesota.

We were heading east on Highway 19. Little did I realize that I'd spend a lot of time running and cycling on this road as a college student soon after...

We only had three flat tires the whole trip. Here's Dave fixing one.

Refueled our bodies at this store in Redwood Falls, Minnesota.

Lunch break at a park in Redwood Falls. Of course we had to climb the tank.

No photos at all the rest of that day. Musta been a grind of an afternoon in the heat. I don't even know where we camped out that night. I believe we wanted to get well over half the remaining distance to our final destination, the Minneapolis area--so I think we stayed in Gaylord or Green Isle. This is pretty boring reading here, isn't it? Oh well, least there's a few pics to look at....

Go East, Young Men (part 9)

2011-07-09T06:00:00.000-04:00

Great rural Minnesota scene to start our day on July 9th, 1981:

North of Luverne, Minnesota

We dropped in on Pipestone National Monument for lunch. Here there are large deposits of a gorgeous soft red rock, which indigenous tribes e.g. the Dakota Sioux have carved into pipes and other objects for centuries.

Coupla shots above show the pipestone formations. Growing up amongst geologists taught me to throw my shoe in there for a sense of scale.

A couple years ago Dave went back there on a trip with his family. Below are his kids in front of the Pipestone rock layers!

After lunch we cranked another 45 up to Marshall, Minnesota. There we had wonderful hosts to stay with. Dave's cousins, The Fedas, lived there and put us up for the night. Thanks, y'all. Here they are:

Go East, Young Men (part 8)

2011-07-08T06:00:00.000-04:00

July 8th, 1981 was a three state day! We were in the far southeast corner of South Dakota at sun-up:

...then crossed into the northwest corner of Iowa (Dave above in requisite border picture)...

...and by afternoon had purchased celebratory PBRs and crossed into southwest Minnesota!

Ten miles north o' the border along US 75, we loaded up on food at Luverne, Minnesota. From there a short jaunt further north to the Blue Mounds State Park. Along the way we amused ourselves with a giant turkey.

(BHS runners of the '79-'81 era will note that I am pointing at the BEAK)

(Rest of y'all, don't ask... looong dull story amusing only to us)

Blue Mounds State Park, Minnesota. July 8, 1981

Dave attempts to relax in the hammock, but is hounded constantly by the swarming Minnesota State Bird.

Go East, Young Men (part 7)

2011-07-07T07:00:00.002-04:00

We were approaching the Missouri River valley, up in the northeast corner of Nebraska. It had been one fine experience crossing Nebraska. I would do it again.

30 miles into the day found us at the valley overlook where Intrepid Explorer Captain Dave surveyed the coming territory:

[As always, click a pic to get a larger version of it]

The Missouri River is pretty ginormous at this point (bigger still recently with all the flooding they had up there). Dave remembers being struck by the size of the valley--neither of us had ever seen anything like that.

We crossed the Missouri on a huge double-decker bridge at Yankton, South Dakota. Northbound traffic (that's us) went up a ramp to the upper level. Beautiful up there!

Mark at South Dakota line

Dave's turn!

Missouri River, Yankton, South Dakota. July 7, 1981.

A view up the bridge's upper deck.

I have flown over Yankton in the years since. Easy to spot with the huge river and bridge. Good memories along with the view.

After Yankton we picked our way mostly east over smaller roads. It was flatter now. I don't remember much except a lunch in which between us we ate a whole loaf of bread in the form of PBJ sandwiches, washed down with a half gallon of milk. 18 year old boys can pack in some food, dontcha know. 'Specially if it is also their fuel!

Mark contemplates a grain elevator.

Volin, South Dakota, July 7, 1981.

We ended the day somewhere in Beresford, South Dakota. That's just south o' Sioux Falls for those keeping track at home. Got us a cheap motel. Maybe we were still looking for a proper shower after the sprinkler incident??

Go East, Young Men (part 6)

2011-07-06T07:22:00.001-04:00

July 6th took us out of the sandhills and into somewhat flatter terrain. I think we had a tailwind, too, so the miles came easy this day.

We had a system of trading off the lead, every 3 miles I think. The other would tuck in behind the leader and draft--takes less energy. A couple times when we were tired, we had arguments like "That was only two miles!" "No, that was 3!" blah blah blah. Pretty funny to think about now... our first training for future roommate (and later spousal) relationship management, perhaps???

In the above photo you can see one of the giant irrigation sprinkler apparatus thingies that stretched beyond the horizon, yet was on wheels and could be moved! We evidently thought it would be good to have a photo of one of us with corn up to our neck. Therefore you can also see a head in the center of the photo--mine, I believe.

'Nother story about the sprinklers: They have bigger sprayers mounted on the ends of them like big antiaircraft gun turrets or something. One time we spotted a sprayer that was aimed all wrong, dousing the road with water instead of the field. Feeling hot & sweaty, we celebrated this pending opportunity to cool off without even dismounting the bikes. Straight ahead bonzai!!!!!!!!!! into the fountain we rode... and then promptly noticed that this was not pristine water we'd been doused with. It was sorta stinky. We tried not to think about where it'd come from. Don't think it ruined our day, but I'm sure we were ready for a real shower later.

We zigzagged north and east. 14 miles to Bartlett. Up 7 and over 24 more to Elgin. 11 miles into Neligh for lunch and a nap on the grass. Not sure of the route after that, but I think it took us through Creighton and eventually to Bloomfield, Nebraska.

We never goofed around ever.

Here is an example of Dave not goofing around.

We surfed that tailwind another 50+ miles after lunch, taking advantage of it while we had it. It made for the longest day of the trip, 110 miles. Camped out under the Bloomfield town water tower, if I remember right...

Go East, Young Men (part 5)

2011-07-05T06:16:00.001-04:00

One good night's sleep later, we were back out in the sun and east bound again. We passed through Westerville, crossed the Middle Loup River at Arcadia, and by lunchtime had reached the valley of the North Loup at the town of Ord, Nebraska.

We ran into more cyclist there! Another pair of dudes, heading a different direction. But we enjoyed a nice lunch together on the steps of the Valley County Courthouse.

Lunch break!

The shade was receding... and so you can see in the photo how our stuff was strewn up the steps as we retreated one step at a time :)

After we ate, a report from the local paper (the Ord Quiz !) happened by, and interview us about our travels.

Lazy long lunch in Ord, plus 46 miles under our belts already on the day. Wish I could remember back to what the plan was... guessing from the maps that we were heading for the Pibel Lake State Recreation Area, described today on their website as "a hidden, secluded oasis on the edge of the Sandhills where large cottonwood trees lean over a quiet, spring-fed lake. " But we never made it there. Got close though. From Ord, we made our way 17 miles north and then 7 miles east to the town of Ericson, Nebraska. This would have been the logical place to (attempt to) buy food for the night... though hopefully we had learned our lesson by now and bought it back in the "big city" of Ord...

Near Ericson, Nebraska. July 5, 1981.

Dave riding along near Ericson, Nebraska.

Me, smack dab in the middle of Ericson, Nebraska.

Well, you guessed it. No stores were open in Ericson, which had a population of just over 100 people. Hey, but guess what was open?!? YES, brothers and sisters, the bar! The Hungry Horse Saloon was open for business, yes it was. Having been down this road before, us 18-year-old veterans of the road marched right on in.

The bartender (who was also possibly the owner???) struck up conversation with us. He was interested in knowing about Dave's t-shirt, which you can see in the photo above. It was a running t-shirt, from Frank Shorter Sports back home in Boulder. Turns out, you see, that the bartender was a runner! He had to be the only one for a hundred miles in any direction. Dave & I were runners and ran track and all that in high school. So we talked running with this guy!

(Some readers may know that Boulder is a bit of a distance running Mecca. World-class athletes move there to train. That guy Frank Shorter? Local attorney. Didn't exactly suck as a distance runner... check out his resumé!)

I wish so much that I could remember the bartender's first name. Can't. I do know his last name was Erickson. Reading on the web now I see that the town was named for an Erickson, so I'll guess our guy was a descendent. Anyhoooo, he insisted that we would be staying at his place that night. It must've been just about closing time, because before long we were following him to his house where we met his wife and several kids. There were 7 kids, at least a couple grown'n'gone if I remember right.

First thing we did was: Go for a run! Um, wow, I think we musta been a little sore and a little tired from all the riding. But how could we turn him down? He probably hadn't run with other people in forever. Great time, actually... I remember dirt paths & roads -- nice running territory. Surely we only did 2 or 3 miles but I don't recall exactly.

Next: Toured the family farm. There were some cattle, I think... but the thing I remember best was wading amongst 50 or so pigs in the pig barn. That was a highlight moment! Terrific fun despite their smell! (Wish I could link you to their smell...!)

We were given our own room for the night, and took a showers in A Real Bathroom. Welcome indeed after all the time on the road.

And then: Dinner! Holy heck did we have dinner. Surely it was the best meal of the trip. I'm pretty sure it was porkchops and green beans and mashed potatos, and a lot of it. Lucky were we. Again, such utter kindness. Wish I could say thank you to them again today.

Erickson Family (minus the 6 older kids).

Ericson, Nebraska on the morning of July 6, 1981.

See that Frank Shorter Sports t-shirt Mr. Erickson is wearing? He and Dave worked out a blockbuster trade :)

Go East, Young Men (part 4)

2011-07-04T06:42:00.000-04:00

On the 4th of July we said Auf Wiedersehen to Wolfgang, who was headed east. Dave & I saddled up and went north into the Nebraska sandhills.

That there, yep, it's the sandhills.

Cool morning departure from North Platte, Nebraska.

North o' North Platte. July 4, 1981.

We rode 25 miles north-northeast on US 83, then hung a right on Nebraska Hwy 92, toward the town of Arnold.

Above two photos: Rest break & view west of Arnold, Nebraska.

17 miles further along, we'd crossed into Custer County and arrived in Arnold, a town of about 700 people and at least one Really Great Café. Arnold looks a little greener on satellite photos than some of the surrounding country, I suspect because it lies in the valley of the South Loup River. This is one of the few drainages coming out of the sandhills.

So, that Really Great Café: We decided to take a break and went on in and found table by the window. There we sat for a nice long while, writing postcards to send home and to Grandmothers and such. We ordered delicious cinnamon rolls and orange juice. Refreshed, we got up to pay at the counter. "There'll be no charge," I remember the person saying. I don't remember now if it was a woman or a man, but I will always remember the words. We were stunned. Such generosity! They would not take our money. Many thanks, Arnold Nebraska!

Sitting in the café in Arnold.

I guess we got the waitress to take the photo?

If I ever see bicycle travelers in the same restaurant as me, their food is on me, dig? Feel the love. Can I get an amen?

We got off the "main road" and followed the smaller River Road southeast along the the South Loup River. At the small town of Calloway we turned northeast, over the sandhills to the Custer County seat, Broken Bow. On the way, we stopped so I could photograph the local fauna:

Suspicious yet curious, these cows inched toward us...

til ol' Dave banged on the fence and they took off running!

Dave gives further analysis: "As I recall we played the cows-inching-toward-us and then bang-on-the-fence game several times. It was at that point and several along the way afterwards that we realized just how “slow” cows really are. I remember you pointing out to me that if you watch a cow looking at you as you ride by, it will not watch you in one continuous motion. Rather its head moves in a start-and-stop motion as you pass by. I’m watching bull riding right now so there is kind of a disconnect, but I think we decided that start stop motion was again a sign of cow “slowness”."

In other fauna news, Dave recalls being chased by a really big dog somewhere in through here.

Somewhere near Broken Bow, Nebraska.

Think Nebraska's just all flat? See that hill? That mess'll keeya if you're already parched 'n' tired. I recall one climb nearly a mile long.

We camped out that night in a park in Broken Bow, Nebraska. I have no pics from the place. I presume this is because we were dog tired and not caring about much. We were finding out what happens if you ride too many miles. It was the 4th of July and there we were in the American heartland with festivities galore around us in this park. There were softball games goin' on, and of course fireworks. Both of us recall being annoyed by the fireworks. I think we just wanted. To. Go. To. Sleep.

A shame! Wish I could head back to Broken Bow for fireworks tonight!

Go East, Young Men (part 3)

2011-07-03T08:32:00.000-04:00

On the third day of July, third day of our trip, we had three riders! We enjoyed getting to know Wolfgang and hearing about his experiences, so it was great to ride with him. 16 miles into the day, we hit the Nebraska state line.

Dave (above) & I (below) greet our mothers.

[Click any photo to enlarge. For some reason that doesn't work on a couple of 'em, but does on most....]

Our whole day was spent paralleling the South Platte River, on what used to be the main highway before the interstate was built on the other side of the river. We passed through Big Springs, Brule, and Ogallala. I had Ogallala flashbacks, recalling a car trip with my grandparents years earlier in which we had some stomach-ache-inducing food yuck at an A&W restaurant...

Good thing we weren't riding through the area during the 10-inch rain year. They had quite a flood in early July 2002.

Onward through Roscoe to a lunch break under a shade tree in Paxton, Nebraska.

Loungin' in the shade. Paxton, Nebraska, July 3, 1981.

Wolfgang & Dave on the road, east of Paxton. July 3, 1981.

Our day's ride ended in North Platte, Nebraska. North Platte is a railroad town of about 20,000 people. The South Platte River (which comes down out of the Colorado mountains) and the North Platte River (coming from the Wyoming mountains) join there, forming the Platte River. On the river goes in broad arcs across the length of Nebraska, where it dumps into the Missouri River south of Omaha. One day, I need to get back there to see the Sandhill Cranes.

We camped next to the North Platte River on the north side of town. Zooming in on my Google map, it must've been Cody Park--presumably named for "Buffalo" Bill Cody. I do believe that is Buffalo Bill on the city seal, seen at the Cody Park web page.

Mark 'n' Dave taking a dip in the North Platte River.

Campsite at North Platte, Nebraska. July 3, 1981.

Go East, Young Men (part 2)

2011-07-02T07:25:00.021-04:00

When we crawled out of our tent on July 2, 1981, this is what we saw:

At some point during the night, violent thunderstorms rolled in. I believe it lasted quite a long time. There was a lot of lightning and it rained really hard. Somehow we slept enough anyway and the little green tent we had kept us pretty dry. The dry creek obviously flash-flooded, pounding all the overgrown weeds down flat. Low lying spots pooled with water.

By first light the storm was gone though, so we readied for day 2 of riding. A little later that day we met someone who told us the storms had been particularly fierce, including big hail in places. This person had heard on the radio that hail was so big it had killed some sheep one county over!

Dave readies for ridin'.

We headed east on Colorado Hwy 14. It was cool and overcast... nice for riding compared to the scorcher the day before. It was us, a few cars, and a lot of big trucks.

Highway 14 east. Beautiful.

One of many....

Roadside rest break...

Mostly the road was straight as an arrow. 27 miles to Raymer... and after 60 miles we arrived in the relatively large town of Sterling, Colorado. It's located on I-76 in the northeast corner of Colorado, on the South Platte River. I think it was here that we learned of the demise of the sheep... I suppose we ate some food. I know we didn't buy much food to carry though. With miles more planned, see, we thought we were smart not to carry all that weight.

Little did we know, this was a problem. After Sterling, we went northeast along the S. Platte River valley, on US 138, and we quickly learned that tiny towns would not necessarily have a store that was open late in the afternoon... if there was a store at all. I think we were ready to stop for the night, but we couldn't find any food! No food in Iliff (current population 213). No food in Proctor (prolly about the same). No food in Crook (current population 128). We were now 27 miles beyond Sterling, tiring and definitely hungry. Teenage. Boys. MUST. EAT!

Dave strikes a pose of frustration after finding yet another closed store.

Still no food in Crook, Colorado. But, we'll pose for a picture...

What to do? Ain't much choice but Ride On! Another 15 miles later we limped into the next town, Sedgwick. We were >100 miles deep in the day now. There had to be a store here. But... there wasn't. Not open anyway. Current population of Sedgwick is 191... gives you the idea. Ain't much goin' on. Uh oh, now what??

Suddenly, the unexpected. Parked down the street was a loaded bike that looked a lot like ours!

We rushed over to investigate. The bike's owner was nowhere in sight. The bike was parked in front of a bar--apparently the only thing happening in town. Uh, were we allowed in a bar? Hell, we were only 18. Ultimately we did not hesitate. Surely we looked completely out of place to any regulars! There was one guy down at an end stool that was not dressed like anyone else. Bike clothes. We had found our rider.

His name was Wolfgang Wolkenaer, from near the city of Köln in West Germany. He was several years old than us, and was in the midst of a massive solo cycle tour all over North America. Most importantly, he was food-smart and had plenty. He was happy to share it. This was good because I think all we could get in the bar was bags of chips and Slim Jims or some mess like that. We all set up camp together in the town park:

Dave & Wolfgang. Sedgwick, Colorado July 2, 1981.

Wolfgang Wolkenaer

Go East, Young Men (part 1)

2011-07-01T21:02:00.021-04:00

Thirty years ago today: July 1, 1981

Two younguns, 18 years old, less than a month after graduation, lookin' for adventure. So we loaded up them bikes and headed east. We left Boulder, Colorado (home) on July 1, 1981 and ended up in Minneapolis 11 days later.

I had no idea what an impact it would have on me... suffice to say that it got me hooked on bike travel. Within a dozen years after this journey, I had cycled in 30 of the U.S. states, 3 Canadian provinces, and 8 European countries.

A few photos and stories to follow over the next 11 days to commemorate the trip's 30th anniversary! [CLICK on any photo to see it bigger]

Above: Dave (right) and I (left) ham it up before riding off from my house.

The first pedal strokes: Boulder, Colorado early in the morning.

I personally am fond of Dave's mom's plaid pants.

Above two photos: Pedaling out of Boulder.

Photos by my friend Gene who saw us off.

From Boulder we headed northeast through our favorite stockyard town (not any more, I don't think), Longmont... then north up through Loveland to Fort Collins. 50 miles under the belt; time to EAT. Although, given we were 18, we probably had already eaten a fair amount...

Moi. Lunch spot in Fort Collins. Dig those old-style Bell helmets!

After lunch we slogged another 37 miles due east, basically. We ended up near the tiny town of Briggsdale, in a dusty campground at the edge of the Pawnee National Grassland. It was HOT that afternoon. I remember being sorta dismayed that we thought it would be flat riding, but nooooo. There were a number of large rolling hills that definitely took something out of the legs...

Dave's tan/dirt lines, day 1.

My tan/dirt lines, day 1.

Were we dumb to sunscreen?

No, I think we just didn't apply often enough.

Slim pickin's from the "grocery store" in Briggsdale.

I think we had the donuts and some fruit the next day for breakfast.

Drank all the milk at once.

Dave at campsite, Pawnee National Grassland.

The day's "shower." What the hell, it felt good I'm sure.

Dave kicks back in the hammock.

We tried sleeping in these once but it wasn't comfy enough for that.

We did think they were cool though.

The campsite, Pawnee National Grassland.

Like I said, the campground was dry and dusty. There was a creek running through it that was completely dry. If I remember right there were Very High weeds growing in it, so it appeared to have been dry for quite some time.

Um, it didn't stay dry long. Stay tuned, gentle reader.

Big Carnivorous Feast for 5/25/2011

2011-05-26T14:22:00.004-04:00

Covered lotsa ground on yesterday's show, from Charlie Poole & The North Carolina Ramblers to Peruvian bugalu from the 60s to a little X-ray Spex in tribute to the recently-departed Poly Styrene. Plenty of good new stuff too!

Playlist/commentary here.

2010-12-25T19:00:00.006-05:00

R.I.P. Captain Beefheart

Above are selected music clips. Below, the six-part BBC documentary narrated by John Peel.

2010-12-25T07:58:00.001-05:00

Below are two Christmas postcards that my Grandma had at her house. They are from 1916 (ice skating) and 1915 (snowball girl). Merry Xmas!

Washin' dishes. And RECORDS... (!)

2010-11-26T21:30:00.003-05:00

Scrubbed the grime off some old LPs today:

Which LPs?

A nice array, including these:

Old records = cheap, glorious, fun!

Big Carnivorous Feast for 11/17/2010

2010-11-22T08:31:00.005-05:00

Howdy peeps, a collage-y representation of last week's programme du radio above. Please note the centerpiece. The Vegetable Orchestra is an amazing ensemble. Jus' 'bout every sound you hear on the album was made by an instrument made of a vegetable. You'd think that'd be sorta boring. Y'know, like a cold li'l pile of over-cooked green beans. BUT NO! It is alive and vibrant like a killer Thai stir fry of varied and colorful vegetables!

But this is a CARNIVOROUS feast, you say. Well, look: Gimme a break here. I do like vegetables y'know. Plenty o' good meat around too these two hours. Mingus, Prine, Wild Magnolia Indians, Whiskey C'est Mon Ami, rarities from the vaults of Del-Fi, Last Year's Men, no old guy lo-fi cry, and the Salty Papa Blues!

Playlist and comments right here.

Adios.

New England bike trip November 1-11, 1985 -- floods, cookies, kindness... and home.

2010-11-09T21:13:00.021-05:00

Friday November 1 - Monday November 4, 1985

These four days were spent in Washington DC. I was only planning to stay two nights, but that quickly turned into five nights because of heavy persistent rain. The remnants of Hurricane Juan had come up from the Gulf of Mexico and sort of stalled out over West Virginia and Virginia, and it just poured rain for five days. Jon, David and Susan were happy to have me, for which I was thankful.

Jon didn't have a car so we got around town on bikes or the Metro. One night we were out on bikes 'til 2am, getting totally soaked in the rain. Having the time of our life, though, so what the hell?!?

One of the last things we did that night was go to the national mall to look at some of the monuments. The Lincoln Memorial was pretty spectacular on a rainy night. Towering white pillars against a dark black and orange sky. And all the surfaces were shiny and wet. At Lincoln's feet we found a temporary escape from the downpour. We stood quietly and read the inscriptions on the walls, and took in the view across the Reflecting Pool to the Washington Monument and the Capitol beyond.

Our next stop was the Vietnam Veterans Memorial, a couple hundred yards away. In my journal I called it "definitely the most impressive monument in Washington." I went on to write "An incredible feeling hangs in the air when you are by it. We just stood there in awe in the pouring rain as we read name after name after name after name on the wet black marble panels. 55,000 names. Horrifying."

I once again realized there was something especially powerful about being there when it was sort of quiet and lonely and meditative. It didn't matter that we were getting wet. That really paled in comparison to the experience, and in fact added to it.

I spent some time with my friend Janet in DC as well. She was an intern for Indiana Senator Lugar. She took me on a tour. We rode a little subway shuttle from the Senate office building to the Capitol. She walked me though the House, the Senate, and showed me statues and what not beneath the Dome. We were able to walk just about any place, including what seemed like some more secure areas, because she had a government badge and I was with her. I wrote in my journal "fun for me, but I wondered about lax security…" I suspect that it's a lot different today…

Tuesday, November 5, 1985

We were up early. After some breakfast we loaded my stuff into David's car and Jon drove me out of the city center, to a point just outside the Beltway on the west side. From there I was off again, heavy-trafficked roads at first but thinner as I got further out of the city. "Sproing" went another spoke, but I sort of couldn't be bothered by getting angry about it any more. A few more days of riding and that ol' wheel was going in the trash heap. When I got home to Colorado I planned to buy a brand new wheel.

David, Jon & Susan. Washington DC, November 5, 1985.

Jon & me. Washington DC, November 5, 1985.

Soon after that the rain started again. I'd left DC on the 5th because the weather forecasters were all but certain we'd have nothing but "a liiiiiitle bit" of rain that day. Bad luck for me: It began to rain at least as hard as any time I'd seen during the past soaking days in Washington. Despite that my mood was just fine. Westward I went along highway 55, finally stopping for a break at Markham, VA. The post office there had a spacious covered porch. Lunch spot! I had leftover falafels to eat, and some pleasant people interactions with postal customers. One woman told me a lot about a pretty bad flooding situation ahead of me at Front Royal. Perhaps preserving my mood, I had already decided that I was moteling it that night. I had no interest in remaining soggy all night.

I crossed over Manassas Gap, at the low north end of the Blue Ridge. It's only 887 feet elevation there, so not a very big climb. On the other side I descended into the Shenandoah River Valley and the city of Front Royal. The Chamber of Commerce helped me find an inexpensive motel. Had me a hot shower and turned on the black-and-white TV to check the weather forecast. Rain was on the way out, at last. But the flooding was to get worse, with peak river levels expected in Front Royal the next morning. I was glad that my planned route was up, up and away from the water, onto the Skyline Drive.

Later on I walked 1/2 a mile to a large grocery store, grabbing a little fast food dinner en route. I loaded up on food to carry, because the Skyline Drive would take me 2 days to ride, and it was not clear that I'd find anywhere to buy food up there. Lightweight Ramen noodles, whole wheat rolls, cheese, instant oatmeal…

Wednesday November 6, 1985

Grapefruit and donuts for breakfast, patches of blue in the sky above. Time to ride! I looked forward to the exhilaration of the climb ahead and the views from up there. It was not far to the entrance to Shenandoah National Park and the 105-mile road along its length, the Skyline Drive.

Up I went. Two miles in, I'd climbed from Front Royal's altitude of ~600 feet to an overlook at ~1400 feet. Great views almost immediately, including the flooded river down in the valley. I went through a lot of film!

Skyline Drive, just south of Front Royal, VA. November 6, 1985.

Flooded Shenandoah River visible at right.

By milepost 15, I was up to 3000 feet. This Colorado boy was lovin' it! Then I lost 400 feet or so, only to get out of saddle and climb some more, back to 3300 feet at the Hogback Mountain overlook. After that, great swooping downhill curves, 1000 feet down in over only a couple miles. Just past milepost 30 I arrived at Thornton Gap, where a visitor's center offered hot chocolate to complement my lunch of rolls & cheese.

Various views from the Skyline Drive, November 6, 1985.

Flooding seen again in the photo above.

Me up there on the Skyline Drive, November 6, 1985.

After my lunch break it was back up onto higher ridges again. I was back up to 3300 feet within five miles, and soon after to the high point of the Skyline Drive, 3680 feet somewhere around milepost 42. Big Meadows, my campground for the night, was about ten miles beyond that, still above 3000 feet. Soon before my arrival there, I met a woman from Florida who was driving all over the USA in an old white van. We had a fun talk. This included an explanation of the cardboard sign taped across a big dent in her van. It said "MOOSE KISS!" in memory of hitting a moose up in Vermont. Ouch.

In the campground, I met another van traveler, Al from New Jersey. We struck up a conversation and decided to split a campsite. Made for a real cheap overnight. Just $3.50! We combined out foodstuffs to create a dinner with two courses: Ramen, baked beans. Right on, campfood! I gave my mom a call to reassure her I had not been swept away in any floods.

Big Meadows campground. That's Al from NJ.

Here's what the flood looked like on ABC News (below). Notice the waters rolling through Harper's Ferry. The very site of the above photo well-underwater!

'Nuther bit of dramatic news footage:

Thursday November 7, 1985

Beautiful cold, clear morning up on the mountain. Al made scrambled eggs and insisted on sharing them with me. On the way over to the bathhouse to brush my teeth I ran into Moose Kiss woman again.

Off onto the beloved road I went, feeling good about the trip but a little sad that it was soon to be over. The sun was great that day. It cast tree-shadows across the road in stripe-like fashion for long segments of road, creating a great strobe light effect if I was zooming across them on a descent.

Midday I found a good spot for lunch. Just as I dismount the bike, a hiker emerged from the woods. I was at a spot where the Appalachian Trail crossed the road. This guy from Richmond, VA was up for a 3-day backpack trip. We sat and ate and talked together.

Much of the remainder of the day was downhill, as I was gradually getting closer to milepost 105 and the south end of the Skyline Drive at Rockfish Gap. There I crossed under I-64. Hoping for groceries and more film, I found none there. Instead I settled for a sandwich at the Howard Johnson's.

Nearby lived the famous (in cycling circles, anyway) "Cookie Lady," June Curry. Her informal hostel was where I hoped to stay that night. When I asked directions, the guy knew exactly where to send me, as though he'd answered that question more than a few times before! I had to ride a short distance along highway 250, then right onto a tiny road that plunged sharply into the valley, leading me to the village of Afton, Virginia. Just before the railroad tracks, I found two brick houses with a mechanic's garage between them. The sign above the big wooden garage doors said "Haven Bros." I walked up to a man there to ask about the Cookie Lady. "I'm the Cookie Lady's dad!" he replied. He happily welcomed me to Afton and led me to one of the houses, where I met Ms. Curry.

View from above Afton, Virginia. November 7, 1985.

Before reading on, it's best to know why I was here to begin with. Go here to read about the legend of the Cookie Lady, and my visit with her 25 years later! Included there: pictures of us then and now!

OK, now that you're back from that little side bar… back to the trip! I was cyclist #271 of 1985 to experience the amazing hospitality of the Cookie Lady, the last of the year. It was way beyond the usual season for cyclists, so she did not have any fresh-baked cookies ready and was very apologetic on this point. "This is all I have," she sighed, as she stuffed me full of those really good Danish butter cookies from a round tin. She was so kind, it really didn't matter. The cookies were washed down with lemonade. I had so much that I wasn't really hungry at any kind of "normal" dinner hour.

I got settled into the Bike House, the house dedicated to travelers. There was a jar in there for donations. I made one. She accepted no formal fee to stay there. I wanted to help out around the place if I could, and asked what I could do. She asked me to go through the guestbooks and tally up the number of visitors by state. This was a very fun activity and a great way to get a sense of the scope of this woman's unique world contribution! Fun to see where everybody was from and read their notes of thanks.

Around 8pm I thought I'd better eat something, so I went into the Bike House kitchen where some canned goods were available for guests. I was about to open a can of spaghetti when there was a knock at the door. The Cookie Lady entered, bringing me a lovely dinner consisting of a hamburger, greens, cake, and a bowl of jello! She said she hoped this would "make up" for the lack of fresh-baked cookies earlier! I was speechless other than managing "thank you" several times. Wow.

Friday November 8, 1985

I was Charlottesville-bound for my last day on the road. I was planning to stay with a college friend of my parents. It was only 20 miles east, if I rode directly. I had planned a longer "scenic route," south first and then east to the town of Scottsville, and finally back north to Charlottesville. But Scottsville was under water! It is located on the northernmost bend of the James River, upstream from Richmond. Two days earlier, the river had crested at 31 feet above flood stage, their second worst flood on record.

Check out this 1985 video of the James, 50-60 miles upstream from Scottsville in Lynchburg, VA:

Needless to say I abandoned my route plan. Didn't know what sort of road closures and so forth I might come across. I did want to get some riding in on such a nice day, though. So, I rode my unloaded bike on a morning side-trip, back up and over Rockfish Gap and down the west side to the town of Waynesville. I was out of film and really wanted to take some pictures of Ms. June and her father before I left there. Found what I needed at a large drug store, and headed back uphill again. Went I reached Rockfish Gap, I decided to go south along the first couple miles of the Blue Ridge Parkway (basically a southward extension of the Skyline Drive), just to see it. More beautiful views from up there, including the Cookie Lady's house far below.

When I got back, I began to gather my things together and re-load the bike. It was a really warm day, first one in awhile where I rode in shorts. As I made preparations, the Cookie Lady appeared and handed me a plate of cookies still warm from the oven! "Eat as many as you want; they're all for you!" she exclaimed. My my! A truly kind and amazing lady. They were delicious, of course. We took pictures--some with her Polaroid for her archives, some with my camera. And then I was off, down the mountain toward Charlottesville, inspired by kindness and psyched to pay the world back some day.

The Cookie Lady's father & me. Afton, Virginia, November 8, 1985.

The Cookie Lady & me. Afton, Virginia, November 8, 1985.

I rode straight to Charlottesville on U.S. 250. Pretty Piedmont landscape, but too many cars. One kind soul decided it would be fun to SCREAM at me out of the bed of a passing pick-up truck. Thanks, bud. Nothing deflated my mood though. I really felt great about the trip, now drawing to a close.

In town I just sort of followed my nose, not in a hurry, 'til I found the UVa campus. Looked around for a bit and then used a pay phone to call Chuck, my parents' friend who was a UVa professor. He'd been through Boulder not long before and visited with my Mom. She told him about my trip plans and he told her to send me to him! We made plans to meet in a couple hours. I continued to look around the campus, and met a friendly graduate student named Laurie. We had a nice conversation and went and had a bite to eat and a beer at a nearby place having happy hour.

Chuck and I rendezvoused later and went to his house, where I stayed for the weekend.

Chuck on the UVa campus

He was a terrific host! We went to Monticello, looked around the campus, went out to eat a bunch, went to some parties, etc. I got a bike box from a local shop and got my bike packed into it for the trip home.

Three views of the UVa campus

My grandma and grandpa came up from Richmond and we enjoyed a nice lunch together. Little did I know that 4 years later I'd be living nearby :) and seeing them a lot more often.

My grandparents and me in Charlottesville.

Monday-Tuesday November 11-12, 1985

Bus to Washington --> flight to Newark --> sleeping overnight on an airport windowsill! There were probably 30-40 people crashed out on the concourse floor, chairs, and windowsills, so I was in good company so to speak. Managed 3 hours sleep, wandered around, ran out of food. But eventually was on a plane headed home……

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A big blogosphere thank you from the bottom of my heart to all the kind, friendly, generous people I met all over the place on this trip and many others. From Arnold, Nebraska to Scribner Hill, Maine to Afton, Virginia to Icking, Bavaria to Budapest, Hungary and so many other places, I have seen the basic goodness of people shine. It is inspiring and makes me (still) have a lot of faith in human nature.

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I'm happy to be riding back into this country. It is a kind of nowhere, famous for nothing at all, and has an appeal because of just that. Tensions disappear along old roads like this.

--Robert M. Pirsig, Zen And The Art Of Motorcycle Maintenance

New England bike trip October 29-31, 1985 -- to Washington DC!

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Tuesday October 29, 1985.

The day before I found out that bikes were allowed on Lancaster County buses. This was an idea ahead of its time, for sure. I was happy about it because I was facing a 100-mile day to the next hostel, in Gettysburg, PA. Yet I also wanted time to check out the Lancaster farmer's market, which was open on Tuesdays. Bikes-on-buses solved the problem.

I was up early and headed for New Holland to catch the bus. It was as cold as any time during the trip, but beautiful. Witness the photo of the farm and full moon (and no power lines). At the bus stop I met a construction worker on his way to his job site. Nice conversation ensued and he helped me lift the bike onto the bus.

Early morning near New Holland, PA. October 29, 1985.

The farmer's market was terrific. The only disappointment was that I could only carry a limited amount. I bought about all I could carry (stomach + panniers). According to my journal I bought: an orange (10¢), 1.5 lb of purple Concord grapes (50¢), a block of six sticky buns (45¢), a loaf of homemade hearth bread (50¢), and a dozen homemade donuts (95¢). Outside I fueled up for the day's ride by polishing off all the sticky buns and grapes and a few donuts. The donuts were the best things: delicious, sometimes jelly-filled, and a little chewier than most mass-produced donuts.

Farmer's market haul, Lancaster, PA. October 29, 1985.

After this feast my bike and I boarded one more bus, which took us 11 more miles west, to Columbia, PA. I disembarked there and picked up some mail at the p.o. Then rode across the Susquehanna River, much much wider here than when I'd seen it upstream a few days prior.

Soon I caught up to another guy riding a loaded bike! Can't remember his name and never wrote it down! He lived in NYC and was riding from there to Baltimore. Our routes overlapped for about 20 miles, so we rode together and swapped stories. We turned south at Hallam, PA and rode together to the town of Red Lion. Along the way, he took the one and only picture from the trip with me aboard the loaded bike. Beautiful sun and beautiful farmland were again the dominant pleasures of the day. Another spoke broke and was fixed, but it was easily forgotten.

On the road south of Hallam, PA. October 29, 1985.

The guy from NYC at Red Lion, PA. October 29, 1985.

Mr. NYC headed south from there, while I zigzagged westward through Glen Rock and Glenville to the bigger town of Hanover. I took a rest break there and met a local man who told me about the Civil War history of the area. He took my picture with a downtown statue. Then I was off again for Gettysburg, 14 miles further west. I got there an hour before sunset. The day's total was 60-65 miles instead of 100, thanks to the buses.

Near Glen Rock, PA. October 29, 1985.

In Hanover, PA. October 29, 1985.

The hostel was right downtown in an old hotel building. I checked in and unloaded the bike. I then rode a much-lighter bike a couple miles over to the Gettysburg battlefield park. It was cold, quiet and deserted, and appropriately solemn in the fading light. A very impressive place that I'd like to see again. I captured some time-exposure silhouette shots with the camera before heading back to town.

Gettysburg Hostel. October 29, 1985.

Gettysburg battlefield at sunset, October 29, 1985.

Wednesday October 30, 1985.

The Maryland line was not far away. I got there before I knew it, pedaling along under thin gray clouds. Pennsylvania, which I'd been unsure of and dreading 8 days before, turned out delightful all the way across. Sunny weather, fab experiences, great riding. Glad I didn't punt and hop a bus!

I passed through Emmitsburg and Thurmont on the main road before turning west onto smaller routes. I went west on Rocky Ridge Road, a.k.a. state route 77. I climbed about a thousand feet total, mostly within the Catoctin Mountain State Park. I had no idea at the time that I'd passed about 1 mile south of Camp David, where just a few years before President Jimmy Carter had finessed the Camp David Accords agreement between Egyptian President Anwar Sadat and Israeli Prime Minister Manachem Begin.

Emmitsburg, Maryland. October 30, 1985.

Near Catoctin Mountain, Maryland. October 30, 1985.

I turned south, and back downhill, to Wolfsville. Bought two bananas there for 20¢ to fuel up. Further south were fairly large rolling hills… pretty. And eventually I came to the Potomac at Knoxville, Maryland, near Harper's Ferry, WV. Hadn't found much in the way of decent food or grocery stores on this day, so I hit a café for a sandwich. More rain was forecast so I was happy to have a roof above my head in the nearby hostel.

Maryland countryside north of Harper's Ferry. October 30, 1985.

Harper's Ferry, WV. October 30, 1985.

Thursday October 31, 1985

Off to DC! I'd never been there before so I was looking forward to seeing the city. I had learned from the hostel about the C&O Canal that parallels the Potomac. Specifically, I learned about the "towpath" alongside the canal, nowadays used as a walking / biking trail. The weather in the morning was better than I thought it would be--still dry. So, I decided to give the towpath a try on my bike. Being off the road was pleasant of course, but I found that there were so many leaves down by now that I couldn't see ruts, roots, rocks and so forth. That made for slow going, especially since I was concerned about my iffy wheel. So I abandoned the path after only about 5 miles, at Brunswick, Maryland.

C&O Canal towpath. Not too many leaves on the path here.

October 31, 1985.

Sign w/ illustration that makes clear the historical use of the towpath.

Mechanical issues surfaced soon enough anyway! Broken spoke (ho-hum……), and then later I got this sensation under my feet that something was wrong with the pedals. Hard to describe, but unmistakable when your feet are well-accustomed to thousands of revolutions that feel normal! I kept looking down trying to figure it out. Finally I noticed that my right crank arm was bent! I got off the bike to look closer, and WOW! It wasn't just bent; it was cracked! I couldn't imagine how this could've occurred. But it was clear that it would break soon. Every time I pedaled the crack would open up and close back… gradually worsening.

Luckily I only had about 20 miles more to DC, where bike shops a'plenty awaited. I managed to limp into the city pedaling with my left leg only (!) for 20 miles! There were no major hills the rest of the way, fortunately. I made my way one-legged along River Road through Bethesda and into Washingon itself.

I found a big grocery store where I happily made up for the slim pickings of the day before. I bought a deli-container of Greek pasta salad, a quart of chocolate milk, and a package of Cherry Newtons. Dunno how I came up with that combo, just wanted something "different."

Through the trip I had made it a point to try all the new types of "Newtons" on the market. I hereby concluded that Cherry Newtons were the worst ones. But I ate the whole package anyway :)

I made my way past familiar-from-pictures sights like Watergate, the Washington Monument, The White House. The rain had held off so I enjoyed just looking around for awhile.

My faithful steed posing before the Washington Monument.

October 31, 1985.

The White House. October 31, 1985. "Hi, is Ron home?"

The broken crank arm! :(

Eventually it was getting on in the day, and since daylight savings time ended the previous weekend it was getting dark earlier in the day. I picked my way through traffic to a rowhouse neighborhood northeast of the Capitol to my friend Jon's house. His roomate David welcomed me in and handed me a welcome beer. Before long Jon was there, and their other roomate, David's sister Susan. That night we went out to a Halloween Party in Falls Church, VA where a ton of college friends and acquaintances were. Great to be among familiar faces after a long stretch on my own!

Happy Halloween!

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Happy Halloween everyone!

Check out this halloween card received by my great aunt in 1912!

New England bike trip October 27-28, 1985 -- Pennsylvania

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Sunday October 27, 1985.

Early in the morning I stumbled out the back door of the ambulance station into bright sunlight. There I found two of the ambulance guys, packing up to leave. They were suspicious to see me, a stranger, emerging from their building. I explained whole deal. That's when they told me they'd been there at 4:30am, banging around to go out on a call. All of us were surprised I had slept through the whole thing!

The ambulance station on google streetview today...

(above and below)

The St. Clair main street was quiet and still. I bought a box of cornflakes and milk at a small store and went back to my "quarters" and devoured all of it, milk too.

And soon I was on the road again. Followed a not-so-pretty main highway south through Pottsville and Schuylkill Haven. The deep blue and ginormous broad mountain ridges ahead were beautiful though. Well-rested and well-fed (not to mention really pleased with the unique memories I'd forever have of St. Clair), I was looking forward to climbing again. I have always liked cycling uphill. Running uphill too. Call me crazy. All good for me there in PA; it had plenty of hill to offer!

Big climb south of Schuylkill Haven, PA. October 27, 1985.

Appalachian Trail crossing. October 27, 1985.

Many I'll walk it someday?

Atop the first big ridge I crossed the Appalachian Trail. On the other side, a terrific descent to the intersection with I-78. I kept south on state route 419 to Womelsdorf. All of a sudden I was in "PA Dutch" country. There were German names everywhere ("Dutch" is a misnomer; it's supposed to be "Deutsch"). Rehrersburg, Schaefferstown, Kleinfeltersville, etc.

Not long after, I was in Amish country too. I was now in Lancaster County, and horse & buggy combos became more and more frequent. I had never seen this before. It was sort of hard to believe. Eventually I made my way to Bowmansville, home of the PA Dutch youth hostel.

Lancaster County, PA. October 27, 1985.

Bowmansville, PA. October 27, 1985.

Which looks more ancient--the buggy or the car??

I had some hours to wait before they opened at 5, time I spent hanging out in front of the general store nearby. Reading, eating, and people-watching. Horse & buggy watching too. The Amish and Mennonites wore traditional plain clothing. Young men around my age were clad much different than I, and much different than in the blue collar mining towns I'd been in earlier. Many of them were cruising around on 5-speed bikes with upright handlebars. Seemed like the "cool" thing for that demographic! They waved when they saw me with my bike. Wish I had a photo of one or more of those guys. I noticed too that cars were very bike-tolerant.

The hostel had a barn for parking bikes. They also had plenty of interesting reading material from which I learned the histories of the local people, the difference between Amish and Mennonites and various orders of each. I enjoyed talking with the man who ran the hostel, Carl. He was a teacher at a Mennonite school in nearby Euphrata, PA.

Monday October 28, 1985.

I took a day off from riding on October 28th. The plan for the day was to explore Lancaster County using their excellent public bus system and my feet! I was armed with a county map. Carl gave me a ride to his school in the morning. From there I walked a couple miles along quite roads to Euphrata, where I could catch the bus. I rode it into the city of Lancaster. En route I saw a farmer working his field with a team of horses pulling all the equipment.

In the city I was disappointed that the farmer's market wasn't open on Mondays. But I found a 25¢ macaroon at a little store. That plus some apple sauce earlier was all I ate 'til lunch. I was saving my stomach. Had a plan, see. After a bit of walking in Lancaster I hopped another bus east to New Holland, PA. From there I walked a couple miles out of town to where I planned to EAT a very large amount of food. My destination was the Shady Maple Smorgasbord, recommended by Carl. Oh my, it was great. $6 for all I could eat. Breads, soups, vegetables, meats, casseroles, desserts. I took my time, read the local paper, and ate a lot. Highlight dessert: traditional shoo-fly pie.

(Why I took no pictures of the place, or the food, I'll never know. Not too late, though! They're still there! Prices ain't $6 no mo but it looks right reasonable.

http://www.shady-maple.com/smorgasbord)

Horses & buggies parked near the Shady Maple (above & below). October 28, 1985. Again, observed the fuel-efficient super-compact 80's cars!

From the Shady Maple it was about six miles to the hostel. I decided to walk it, taking in some more scenery. The map got me onto more quiet, pretty farm-country roads. After four miles or so, I was thinking I'd like a little more reading time at the hostel. So I put out the ol' thumb and hitched a ride the rest of the way. Great day. Only way it coulda been better is if I'd had time to get to the pretzel factory in the town of Lititz.

Along my walk back toward Bowmansville. October 28, 1985.

New England bike trip October 26, 1985 -- buckwheat pancakes, haunted house, ambulance station!

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The 26th was sunny again, and my day's ride started with a huge downhill with a 10% grade, down off the mountain to the "town" of Red Rock. There wasn't much there… a gas station, some junked out cars… and Zel's Restaurant! Mike the Ranger told me to go there for sure, for they served "the best pancakes I ever had." Indeed they were fine! I had sourdough buckwheat cakes and two big hunks of sausage for a very reasonable price.

The restaurant had only one table--a big long one where everyone sat together. Beside me were some folks who, according to my journal from the day, were "local-looking." (What exactly did I mean by that, I wonder???) Across the table was a couple from Harrisburg who said they went out of their way to eat at Zel's when they could. They informed me that Zel was in her 80s but still cooking up a storm.

Me out front of Zel's Restaurant.

Red Rock, PA. October 26, 1985.

25 miles later I arrived in Bloomsburg. I knew I was getting close to the Appalachian Trail and hoped I could find a campsite or a hiker's shelter up there to sleep in. A sporting goods store called up a local hiking club, and I learned there were no shelters. Uh, bummer.

North of Bloomsburg, PA. October 26, 1985.

For the rest of the day I had some pretty long grinding climbs. It was one big tall Pennsylvania ridge after another. Good downhills of course, but more time was spent climbing! I descended through the coal mining town of Centralia and eventually reached the town of Ashland.

Centralia, PA. October 26, 1985.

Mike the Ranger was not the only source of good food tips at the state park. Norman the bachelor supplied me with the knowledge of Snyder's ice cream shop, in Ashland. I went straight there and had me a terrific banana split. Never turn down local food advice! [2010 web search reveals that Snyder's is still around, but not Zel's. 'Magine she done passed on……. R.I.P. ]

Snyder's Ice Cream. Ashland, PA. October 26, 1985.

I went on, laboring up another big climb toward Frackville. I was pretty beat. I was having that uncertainty problem, about where I'd sleep that night. There were some state parks in the area but they were closed for the season! So I chose to ride a larger road, in hopes of finding some kind of commercial campground or RV park or something. I went on and on but found nothing.

Soon it was starting to get dark, and I made it to the town of St. Clair. I started asking around about camping spots but there really wasn't anything there. I even called some motels but their prices were too steep for me. I was determined to find something. Someone told me about a small town park, but it was closed after dark. I had camped in town parks in small towns in the past, so I figured I'd just go ask the police department's permission. Found the the police station but no one was there! It was getting darker… Strangely, despite nowhere to go, I felt calmly assured that this was going to work out. So, why not sit and read? That's what I did, assuming someone would show up sooner or later.

Sure enough, after awhile along came the Police Chief himself, Tom Maley. I asked him about camping in the park, and he didn't hesitate to say yes. But he said I might not be very happy over there, because there'd probably be beer-drinkers 'n' hellraisers around (sorry, couldn't resist slipping in a l'il ZZ Top reference…). So he said "Why don't you just stay in here?" and led me into the ambulance station next door. He was also director of the ambulance service. I couldn't have imagined a better "campsite." The chief of police had personality invited me to stay in a large lounge, with heat, couch, fridge, and color TV! No one stayed there overnight normally -- they were an "on-call" ambulance service.

Across the street I found a place to buy a hamburger. There was local beer and a Penn State football schedule on the wall.

The ambulance lounge *was* used buy community groups at times, and that night 'til 9pm there was a group in there registering floats etc. for an upcoming parade. Not many people came in. The ladies in there insisted I should go down the street to see the local "haunted house," set up in the church. I wasn't so keen to go but one of them pulled out a dollar bill for my admission ticket! I guess I could said no, but where's the fun in that? I felt a little more into it given her generosity. I walked over and found myself in a loooong line to get in. Mostly it was teenagers, and I was the only one nobody knew. It was sort of amusing because you could tell they were trying to figure out "Who's THAT guy?" The haunted house was actually really good. Kids dressed in black with white face paint and red lips and whatever all would jump out and scare you, laughing evilly.

Back at the ambulance station, the ladies were closing down their gig. The wished me luck and gave me three more dollars for my breakfast the next day. I tried to decline, explaining I was fine, etc. But they wouldn't let me refuse. So, I accepted and said thanks and resigned myself to paying the world back some day.

I settled down to watch Game 6 of the World Series, eating cookies and milk. This was good living indeed! I was tired but the game drew me in. I stayed up 'til the bloody end, watching Kansas City come back late to beat the Cardinals and tie the Series. (The next day, they won it…) I then fell sound asleep, so asleep that I did not hear the ambulance dudes come into the building and drive out on a 4:30am call!

St. Clair, Pennsylvania, early the next morning.

Ambulance station somewhere in there on the left :)

New England bike trip October 19-25, 1985 -- Central NY and down to PA

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Saturday October 19, 1985.

Yes, it was raining in the morning. Check-out time for the motel was 11am. I intended to stay 'til 10:59. There was some hope of rain ending in the afternoon, said my TV. Took a long shower, killed more time in front of the TV. Eventually it was time to go, rain or not, with great uncertainty about that night. Found my way west along small road to the town of West Milton. Drip, drip, drip. Puddles. Wet. Smell of worms. Pretty, I guess... don't recall for sure, and since it was wet I wasn't digging the camera out to take shots.

Along small roads, asking about directions becomes routine. Hard to tell which road to take in real life out of one town if your aim is to be on that little gray line on the map between This dot and That dot. I loved "gray roads" though so it was worth the trouble. A store clerk in West Milton got me steered correctly onto Galway Road, west to (yep) Galway and eventually (after the road changed names a couple times) to Perth. I took shelter from the rain under a gas station canopy for a while. I met some high school kids there and we struck up a good conversation. Later, down the road, they passed me in their car, honking and waving.

Around 1:30pm I rolled into Johnstown, New York. I was looking for a grocery store for lunch supplies, but didn't see any along the main street. So I turned down a side street. There I saw a woman out walking her dog. For some reason she did not look all that approachable. I almost rode on past her. But, I stopped and asked her where I could find a store. And then I learned my own lesson in not judging a book by its cover!

The woman told me where a nearby grocery was, but quickly began to ask questions about my trip, about the rain, and where I was going today. I didn't really know so I said I was heading "west" and camping somewhere. No sooner had I said this when she mused "You know... (pause)... if you stayed here 'til six you could get a warm meal at the church." I didn't think much of it right then, wanting to put some more miles in that day and not knowing what I'd do til 6, let alone after... But then the offer expanded quickly to include camping out in this lady's garage! (Dry!) Hmmmm......

I pondered. She asked, "Would you like an apple, anyway...?" Well, sure I would. And before I knew it, I was inside a local funeral home. Say HUH? OK, backing up now: Eleanor, my latest kind stranger, was the mother of the proprietor (family business). She was minding the fort that day. So there I was eating her apple, my leftover bagels, etc, and pouring over maps in a funeral parlor. Well now, life is full of surprises. I soon enough realized that staying was practical--it just meant a longish next day's ride to a youth hostel on my radar screen for the next night. It was wet out. It was getting on in the day. Why not stay? I did.

I helped Eleanor prepare candied carrots and an apple salad for the potluck. We went to pick up an 86-year-old friend of hers en route to the dinner. I helped her down the front steps to the car. Soon there was crowd, and a fine spread of meatloaf, scalloped potatoes, fruit salads, green salads, casseroles… and lots of desserts. A not-very-good clown+magic act provided entertainment for the kids. The dude was funny because he made numerous mistakes but just sorta laughed them off and the kids never knew the difference.

We sat next to Eleanor's neighbors, Doris and 16-yr-old son Jeff. Jeff was a ski-crazy guy who was very pleased to talk with a guy from Colorado. Eleanor explained the garage plan to Doris while I was up getting food, and Doris wouldn't hear of it. She had empty beds (older kids off in college) and insisted I sleep in one! Boy, and uncertain rainy day had certainly taken quite a turn.

Jeff, Doris and Eleanor.

Johnstown, NY. October 19, 1985.

That night Jeff & I ate leftover cake, and Doris and I talked. I found out I was not the first person they'd taken in. Not long before some Syrian students had been in town for school, and found themselves with an expiring apartment lease… Doris and her husband brought them home for a couple months! Wow.

Sunday October 20, 1985

Doris' husband Bob came home as I was readying to leave. He'd been away on a trip. "See, we take in Americans too!" Doris said.

After many thanks all around, I rode off west along the Mohawk River. I crossed over it at a Palatine Bridge. I climbed out of the river valley and began a stretch off big wide rolling ridges. Really pretty in there, and I was riding small county roads to boot. This made for some navigation challenges as I didn't have a detailed map. With the help of passersby for directions it always worked out though.

Palatine Bridge, NY. October 20, 1985.

Two views SW of Palatine Bridge, NY. October 20, 1985.

Also I had a good bit of dog combat that day. Sprayed a lot of them in the face with my water bottle as they came alongside me, all barking and fangy. I met some cyclists that day who actually carried mace to fend of dogs! They told me there was a NY state law that if you got bit by a dog on a public rode, the dog could be euthanized at your discretion. Pretty serious law!

Eventually I rode south along the east side of Lake Oswego to Cooperstown. There I for some reason declined to go in and see the Baseball Hall of Fame, choosing instead to enjoy the sun in the park, eating some gooey apple pastry stuff and some bananas while writing for a bit. Also spent time talking to a number of people who happened by. A loaded bicycle is always a conversation starter. People just walk right up and ask where you're from, where you're going, etc. -- and the conversation goes from there. I met an art student, a couple from NYC, and a girl my age from there in town who told me all about her solo travels in Brazil.

Outside of town I busted another spoke. It was actually my second of the day. I was pissed. But I fixed it and forged on. [In retrospect, this broken spoke plague I'd been dealing with is a rare thing. Clearly the wheel was doomed and I should've pitched it and started over with a new one! Guess I was too stubborn or too limited of budget to go that route…]

I was aiming for a youth hostel in Gilbertsville, NY, 30-35 miles southwest of Cooperstown. I continued on small county roads. There were only teeny towns along my route, so grocery options were limited. I was hoping to pick up some lightweight Ramen noodles but ended up having to settle for a heavy can of soup. I had managed to spend a little too much time lunching and talking. That plus all the time spend fixing broken spokes all added up, and it was starting to get dark before I reached Gilbertsville. It got so dark by the time I was approaching the town, I almost didn't see some camo-clad hunters walking home along the road. I stopped and confirmed my sketchy directions with them, and continued along in the dark, flashlight in my hand! I actually didn't keep it on; I only flicked it on when a car was coming to make sure they saw me. It was cold and I had gloves on, making switching the flashlight on sort of challenging.

Finally I arrived at the hostel, a house tucked alongside a print shop. The owners were Debbie, a headstart teacher, and her daughter Karen, a junior at Antioch College. They greeted me with dinner! (I'd made a reservation so they knew I was on the way.) It was falafel on pita with vegetables. Chocolate fudge sundaes later! I did the dishes to say thanks, and asked Karen about Antioch. This was a "primitive" hostel, I should say. Meaning, there was an outhouse instead of a bathroom. And the shower was cold-only (!), and the place was heated (sort of?) by a wood-burning stove. No matter, sleeping bag was plenty warm. And it only cost $2.50 to stay there. Sort of inconceivable today.

Monday October 21, 1985.

Next morning I cooked some oatmeal and got on the road again, headed west. It was sunny again. Good riding on more small local roads, surrounded by pretty farms. Uphill, downhill. Some were pretty steep. Occasionally a tiny town. I stopped in one of them, McDonough, which wasn't even marked on my map. I sat in front of the general store to eat lunch. I wrote postcards showing the same store in black & white decades earlier. I marked an "x" on them where I sat!

A sunny day west of Gilbertsville, NY. October 21, 1985.

Pit stop in McDonough, NY. October 21, 1985.

My destination that afternoon was another hostel, near the town of Willet, NY. I asked someone where the hostel was. "Down the road about 1/4 mile to the first dirt road, take a right, and it's the only house up there." It was WAY up there. I had to push the bike a good 3/4 mile up the dirt road.

A small brown farmhouse awaited me. Nobody was home except four cats. I didn't see any AYH signs around (American Youth Hostel), so I wasn't even sure this was the right place. But I peered in the window and saw hostel materials inside. I didn't go in; figured it'd be best to wait 'til someone came home. IF they came home, that is. The Gilbertsville people told me they'd had people stay at their place who reported the Willet hostel was deserted. It was unlocked, so they had just used it anyway, without disturbing anything. I figured I could do the same but felt I should wait outside as long as possible. It was nice and sunny anyway, so I just enjoyed that. The cats (three were kittens) piled onto me in one big purring mass and slept.

Youth hostel home near Willet, NY. October 21, 1985.

The Willet hostel cats. October 21, 1985.

Last light of day near Willet, NY. October 21, 1985.

After about 3 hours, the sun had set and nobody had come home. Odd, because the AYH handbook for 1985 listed the place as "open" at this time of year, and said no reservations were required. So, I went on in. It looked pretty lived in. But the cats seemed hungry, like they hadn't been fed in awhile. ??!??!? Hmmm. There was no running water here. I had to get water from the well out front, lowering the bucket about 30 feet on a rope to get some. Just to be safe I boiled the water before using any. I went to sleep about 10pm. Around midnight, I was awakened by the sound of someone coming in the front door! The owner was home at last! He was surprised to find me but luckily quite understanding and cool about it. A weird situation! I was out the door the next morning before he ever got up. I left him a note apologizing for the surprise but also suggesting he might like to change his hostel's listing in the AYH handbook! About a year later I received the AYH magazine in the mail and noticed that he'd withdrawn his place from the hostel list! :)

Tuesday October 22, 1985.

I walked down the long dirt road into the chilly valley below. In Willet I found that the little store there served breakfast, so I bought the special. Two eggs, toast, and milk for 99¢. Later I visit the bathroom in the shed out back. Man, I was if this area of New York wasn't "the boonies," I dunno what was. Brushed my teeth at the laundromat sink next door, because the bathroom in the shed had no sink!

It was cold, but sunny. Rode more ups and downs… no major climbs, just lots of small and medium hills. About 8 miles away I reached the town of Marathon. Stopped for a little rest, sitting on a guardrail watching traffic whizz past. I was feeling low, wondering what the hell I was doing out here, sort of the same alone and uncertain feeling I'd had on the bus to Maine a couple weeks earlier. Part of it was the Willet hostel incident, and part of it was the Great Unkown of Pennsylvania. I had no idea where I'd stay, all the way across that really big state. I even contemplated taking a bus across Pennsylvania, but never too seriously.

Onward I went, west to Ithaca via Hartford and Caroline. There was a BIG downhill into Ithaca, with a very pretty view of the valley. I quickly found Ithaca Commons, an outdoor pedestrian zone. It was a lot like the Pearl Street Mall in my hometown of Boulder, so I felt at home walking along pushing my bike, happier than I'd been a few hours before. I went to a book store and had to go up a San Francisco-steep kind of street to get there. I would've happily tried to tackle the hill on my bike but it was so steep I feared breaking more spokes on my notorious wheel. So I walked it.

Ithaca, NY. October 22, 1985.

I also visited a bike shop to do some basic lubing and maintenance. Busted a toe clip so bought a new one. Didn't buy a new wheel though, nope, just went on tempting fate………. :) At the shop I met Phillip, an eye surgeon who loved cycling and was real interested in asking about my trip. He had done several trips before, staying in motels and eating in restaurants all along the way. He obviously didn't have my budget limitations! It's fun to compare and contrast the travel styles of Phillip and Mark! To each their own, for sure.

Phillip soon offered to play host for my stay in Ithaca. Once again, the generosity of people shone brightly. He guided me through the Cornell campus to his family's home in Cayuga Heights. His wife Lessly and school-age kids were equally welcoming. We sat on the back porch eating pomegranates in the sun, enjoying the view of Cayuga Lake. They too had an older child off at college, so I was installed into his room! Lessly insisted on adding my laundry to her pile. They served a lovely dinner of warm tuna-apple salad, dark bread, and broccoli, with rich chocolate cake afterward.

After dinner I went around town with Phillip running various errands while he showed me the sights. Among other things he pointed out Carl Sagan's house. He said he was acquainted with Carl but that they had "violent political differences."

Wednesday October 23, 1985.

Early in the morning I was up to thank Phillip for everything and see him off to work at 6:30. Lessly and I had some cereal for breakfast. I hauled their trash cans down to the curb for pick up that day. I wanted to help out in some way in thanks for their kindness. Soon, I was off again. Lessly told me to "be sure an write your mother!"

I spent a good part of the day exploring Ithaca some more. I went to the post office to pick up more mail. By prior arrangement, my mom had mailed me a packet of traveler's checks. I guess I didn't want to carry all of my stash at once, in case I lost 'em! So here was my infusion of funds. Certainly not the way I'd operate today in the ATM age. I went to the Ithaca farmer's market where I found a great loaf of banana bread and a dude selling hot veggie egg rolls.

Also I met with some people at Cornell to learn about graduate programs there, chemistry and environmental science if I remember right. Seems funny to think of that now because it must've been soon after then that I decided lab science was not part of my future. Perhaps fueled by all the great people contact of travel, I determined that people-work was my future. In the next years I became a teacher, my "first career." The thread continues today as a physician assistant.

Mid-afternoon I aimed the wheels northwest, just a short ride of less than 20>

A view of Cayuga Lake. October 23, 1985.

Creek near Trumansburg, NY. October 23, 1985.

From there I picked my way over to the intersection of Cold Springs Road and Podunk Road, where I found the hostel. The sign outside said "Podunk Cross Country Ski Center," indicating the winter use of the place. The hostel quarters were in the "ski lodge," a converted barn. Again there was an outhouse rather than an actual bathroom. There were ski posters everywhere, making me wish it were winter for a day and that I had my skis along. There was an old pool table and a hot plate for making hot drinks or soup.

I went a couple miles into Trumansburg to pick up some food but decided to "eat out." I found a bar with a nice soup and sandwich combo and washed it down with a couple beers.

Podunk Cross Country Ski Center / Youth Hostel. October 23, 1985.

Thursday October 24, 1985

I used the hot plate to heat water for oatmeal for breakfast. I was in a hurry to get going because it was gray out again and I wanted to get as many dry miles in as I could. But the drops began to fall as soon as I mounted the bike! Oh well.

My route took me 17 miles south to Odessa, NY and then another 17 southeast to Van Etten. There I got out of the rain for awhile, finding refuge in a small restaurant. They had sandwiches for $2, and if you paid $1 more the all-you-can-eat salad bar came with it. Yeah, baby! If all their customers were cyclists they could not stay in business. I had a very good Reuben and fries and a ton of lettuce salad, macaroni salad, potato salad, and fruit salad.

I had to fix another broken spoke before riding on south, but at least the rain had let up. It was a straight shot down a gorgeous valley lined with bronze and yellow trees to the Pennsylvania state line, another 16 miles south. [A 50-mile day was, for many years, about what seemed comfortable on these trips. First trip I did, in 1981 with my friend Dave, we average 85 a day or something. It was do-able but we were basically exhausted all the time. I had learned it was better to chill out and ride less. Now, 20-30 a day sounds more like it!]

South of Van Etten, NY. October 24, 1985.

At the border the towns of Waverly, NY and Sayre, Pennsylvania were basically one and the same. I found a grocery store. Then I went off to the sleeping spot I'd spied coming into town: the dugout of a softball field! It was soggy out, and the infield was all mud and puddles. There were certainly no softball games going down that day, and for some reason the dugout beckoned to me.

It was a great sleeping spot, quiet and sheltered. Didn't figure I'd have anyone bother me, but I stayed sorta low anyway. Somewhere far away, another dugout was bustling and in the limelight. In St. Louis, Missouri, game 5 of the '85 World Series was underway. Tim McCarver, who calls the games on Fox with Joe Buck these days, was calling his first World Series on TV, alongside Al Michaels and Jim Palmer. I was glad to have a roof, because true to the forecast it rained some more overnight. I was cozy and dry, though, and felt it was kind of fitting to be crashed out in a dugout on a World Series night!

Dry sleeping spot, Waverly, NY. October 24, 1985.

Friday October 25, 1985.

It was a great and sunny day for my first foray into PA. I got myself to the east side of the Susquehanna River (here in it's skinnier upper stretches), where there was much quieter road than the major U.S. highway on the other side. There were ups and downs and nice views of the water. In Towanda, PA, I sat in the sun eating Fig Newtons and bananas. I watched a couple about my age with a small baby and a beat up car and mused about how different their lives were from mine.

Sayre, Pennsylvania railyard. October 25, 1985.

Susquehanna River south of Sayre, Pennsylvania. October 25, 1985.

Near Towanda, Pennsylvania. October 25, 1985.

South of there I had to get on U.S. 220 for about 20 miles because there just weren't any better options. In the town of Dushore, my bike began to feel weird and bouncy. I looked down and saw why: rear tire was soft, squishing flat with every pedal stroke. I'd fixed a pile of broken spokes, but this was the first flat tire of the whole trip! I fixed it quickly and then escaped the traffic back to smaller roads again.

South of Dushore, Pennsylvania. October 25, 1985.

From there I seemed to be climbing pretty steadily. Trees seemed grayer because more leaves had fallen off. I passed through the towns of Mildred and Lopez. Before long I made it to my day's destination, Ricketts Glen State Park. I'd pulled a little more mileage than usual this day, around 60-65 miles.

I set up my tent in the campground. I soon met my neighbor, Norman, an older man (and proud bachelor) from Leesport, PA. He shared some iced tea and really great Keystone Dutch pretzels (the big soft kind) with me. Later I cooked up a batch of Ramen noodles for dinner with a slew of added carrots. After dark I washed dishes and showered at the bathhouse. I then went to the park office to sit in the light and read, but ended up instead talking to Mike the Ranger for about two hours. He was friendly dude with a big beard and horn-rimmed glasses. He had key breakfast advice for the next morning.

Ricketts Glen State Park, Pennsylvania. October 25, 1985.

New England bike trip October 17-18, 1985 - onward to New York!

2010-10-18T20:11:00.018-04:00

On Thursday the 17th, I headed west over Brandon Gap. 'Twas a sweet climb, not as hard as people had told me it'd be. On top I stopped and put a ton of clothes on: sweater, jacket, windpants over lycra tights I was already riding, ear covers, gloves. The descent was long, fun … and cold! The clothes were all worth it.

The road to Brandon Gap, October 17, 1985.

A photo before donning the warm gear!

Brandon Gap, Vermont. October 17, 1985.

This put not far from Middlebury, Vermont, which I was curious to see. But it was out of the way and I was keen to see Fort Ticonderoga, scene of a favorite childhood book about French and British and Indians and fighting and all that stuff 4th grade boys in particular are fond of. So onward west I rode, across beautiful farmland. The views were framed by the Adirondacks ahead of me and the Green Mountains behind me. Sunshine dominated the day.

Looking back at Brandon Gap and the Green Mountains. October 17, 1985.

Near Shoreham, Vermont. October 17, 1985.

There was another fun ferry ride, this time across Lake Champlain to the state of New York. Had to wait for it for a bit. Ate a lunch of peanut butter and English muffins and played with a kitten while I waited. Once I crossed, Fort Ticonderoga was only a short distance away.

Waiting for the Lake Champlain Ferry.

Note cat atop bike! October 17, 1985.

Welcome to NY. October 17, 1985.

Wild Man Mark at Fort Ticonderoga. October 17, 1985.

At the fort, I met another bicyclist--also named Mark. I will just summarize right now that he was One Wacky Dude. Eccentric, generally in a good way. Definitely his own man. Though we had spirited debate about a few differences, I really liked him. He had paid the $5 to see the inside of Fort Ticonderoga and didn't think it was worth it. So I skipped it and was happy with looking in over the fence.

What we had in common was a joy of being on the road, travel by the power of our own legs, living cheap, and paying attention to small details in the nature around us. We had a similar sense of humor, kind of fueled by left-of-center, skeptical-of-mainstream thinking. But wow, he took things to an extreme I couldn't quite wrap my head around.

Let's start with equipment. Me: Panniers bought from a bike shop, bike shorts & helmet & gloves, tent (albeit droopy) and sleeping bag. Fairly conventional T-shirts 'n' "football" style jersey. Wild Man Mark: Instead of panniers, two $5.99 backpacks from K-Mart attached to a cheap rack with bungee cords, with a larger backpack clamped on top. No helmet. An old black pair of pants, big boots (!), weird (at least to me) shirts. Um, and for sleeping, he had a cheap tent that doubled as a sleeping bag. Meaning, he just laid it out on the ground and rolled up in the damn thing. I could never have done it that way but I was sort of tickled that he was doing it. And clearly having a great time every bit as much as me.

Next consider our respective ways of solving the "Where Am I Going To Sleep Tonight?" question. You have already seen (and will see further later) that I was, well, let's say "flexible," about where I'd sleep. But Mr. Mark, his favorite was sneaking into churches to sleep. That might be misrepresenting it a little, but he'd done it. Me, I'd rather ask permission to pitch a tent on someone's property. He objected to this, saying it puts people "on the spot" and also makes them feel as if they're expected to invite you into their home for dinner and such.

I suppose he had a point there to a degree, though I was always careful to make clear that I had food, had a stove, was headed to the store for food, whatever. That is, I literally did not expect anyone to "take me in" -- but without question I was appreciative when people did. Over years of cycle touring in the 80s and early 90s, it happened many times but never once where I felt the host didn't thoroughly enjoy the experience made possible by their spontaneous generosity. Mark, though, summarized his feelings by saying "I'd rather steal a dollar than accept $100." Wow, we were different on this one. Thinking more on it later, I felt like he was comparing things of way unequal comparison. I thought that maybe "steal a dollar vs. accepting $5" might be a more reasonable analogy.

Well anyway. We had enjoyed running into one another and were headed in the same direction. So we saddled up the horses and struck out together toward the town of Lake George, NY, 38 miles south. We were on a newly-paved section of highway 9N, which made for nice smooth riding. The town of Lake George is on the south tip of the loooong lake of the same name, so we were riding alongside the lake for some time. It's a pretty lake, but the whole area was a bit to developed/touristy for either of our tastes.

A view of Lake George, October 17, 1985.

During one stretch, the road left the short and went up... and up... and up... a thing called Tongue Mountain. This was without question the toughest climb of the trip so far. I had no tiny chainring, like is standard on most mountain bikes and many road bikes today. I just had two chainrings, equivalent of the bigger two out of three on today's bikes. On Tongue Mountain, was out of the saddle and standing in the lowest gear I did have for a good two miles. It was very steep, steep enough to even make me think of giving up and walking it! I was close to doing so.... "OK, if the top isn't around three more corners...." You'd go around a corner and look up only to see another... and another. I made it up though. Mark's gears were less-suited to the climb than mine, even, so I got up way in front of him.

After doing all this work, the road plunged right back down to the lake shore a little further south! We got to the town of Bolton Landing as it was starting to get dark. We found a store, bought some good white bread and a couple cans of baked beans. I had some leftover chili mix. There was a picnic table right there next to the store's parking lot. We sat there and I used my stove to heat beans mixed with the chili stuff. Poured that over the bread and feasted. A hail road food! Best tasting stuff anywhere!

Once our bellies were full, we went into the local library to read. Mark was reading a tiny (two inches high) book of Shakespeare. Nice warm place to hang out 'til they closed at 9pm!

Just to experience the way Mark operated, I decided to go ahead and find a sleeping spot his way for one night. What the hell. Sleeping in a church sounded sorta fun. We checked several but not one was unlocked. However, we'd spotted a place under some trees earlier, so we went there and crashed out. No tent for me -- it was dry. Mark rolled up in his :) A ton of stars were out. Not bad!

Next morning, Friday the 18th, we were up at first light. We went back to the same store and picked up some rolls for breakfast. And then off we went to the actual town of Lake George, 10 miles away. I picked up some "General Delivery" mail at the post office there (do they still do that these days?!?). From here my plan was to go west into the heart of the Adirondacks, whereas Mark was going south. We thus said goodbye to one another there, agreeing that we'd enjoyed the brief travel together.

Next comes the hamburger story, one of my favorites for some reason. I was sitting on a park bench by the lake reading my mail and writing some. A couple folks from Boston came up and spoke with me. I assumed they were husband and wife but it turned out they were brother and sister. They were part of a tour bus group that had stopped. They soon had to go hop on the bus. As the left the lady said to me "Well, you look like a nice good clean-cut American boy. Enjoy your trip." I was tickled then and I am still tickled today by this description of me. After all, I had been checking church doors the night before! I just didn't exactly think of myself on those terms. But I took it as a pleasant compliment... if they found me polite and enjoyable to talk to, I was good with that. As if for punctuation, the man was suddenly was waving a five-dollar bill in front of me, sort of pressing it into my hand and not letting me even begin to refuse. The lady looked at me an winked and smiled and said "Now you go have yourself a hamburger or something."

My oh my, I was blown away. The generosity of strangers never ceases to amaze me. This and many other experiences over the years have had a huge influence on me. They really caused me to have a great faith in people, generally. They made me want to treat others with kindness, care, respect. I mean, I think I got that stuff raised up by my Mom (thanks Mom) ... but these types of experiences magnified it.

Some things crossed my mind. Would my friend Mark have accepted the $5? "I'd rather steal a dollar than accept $100" flashed through my mind. How strange, I'd been with Mark only an hour before! Also, would this couple have treated Mark the same way? That made me think a lot too, because although Mark was clearly a good soul, he might not have looked as "approachable" as I did. Hmmm, how much of how we look is facade? Was I less "clean-cut" than I looked? Was Mark nicer than his unusual clothing might suggest? How much of who we really are is hidden by appearances--for me, for him, for anyone? Fabulous food for thought even 25 years later.

With this making my head spin, I set out westward. It was suddenly windy. And dusty. And as I started to climb a hill, SPROING! Another broken spoke! Dammit. I turned around. This wheel thing was not going to work in the middle of the Adirondacks. So I went south to Glens Falls, a decent-sized town. I had to find a bike shop, again. As I pulled into town, another spoke broke. Once one goes out, others are stressed and more likely to go. Found a small bike shop where the guy quick popped a couple new spokes in and trued up the wheel, no charge. I crossed my fingers and headed to Saratoga Springs, 20 miles further south. Not a very scenic road. I literally did stop and have that hamburger, at some Burger King along the way. One cheery something in the midst of a suddenly dreary mood.

The weather forecast added to the dreariness. Close to 100% chance of rain that night and most of the next day. This sent me running for a motel, willing to spend some bucks but too budget-wary to do the place that was $30 for the night. But eventually I found the Whispering Pines Motor Inn for $18. (Wonder if they are there today....) I dragged my bike into the room and went to a nearby grocery called Price Chopper. Got me some bagels to go with my peanut butter, and some bananas and yogurt for breakfast. I used the pay phone outside to call home. Later I settled in front of the TV in my room to watch the gloomy weather forecast. (I believe it might have even been The Weather Channel, maybe the first time I'd ever seen that. It was sorta new then, I think.)

New England bike trip October 15-16, 1985 - Central Vermont

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October 15, 1985 was another rainy day in central Vermont! Guess I was learning why Vermont is so green…. It was pouring right from the start. There was no option of hanging around the hostel either… it was closed during the day, starting at 9:00am. Luckily, there was another hostel 45 miles south, down route 100 in Rochester, Vermont. I had a reservation even. Knowing I'd be dry at night made it not so bad to just go on an ride in it. I was soaked within a few miles, but as long as I was actively riding I was not cold. In fact, I only stopped once. At the Warren General Store (Warren, Vermont) I found 4 day-old rolls/pastries for $1.20. That plus water was lunch! Didn't stop for long, because I started feeling chilled in my wet clothes.

For those wondering, my gear was generally kept pretty dry but lining my panniers (saddle bags) with multiple plastic bags. Also, tent and sleeping bag were inside a massive thick plastic bag and lashed onto the back of the bike above the rear wheel.

When I set off, the rain had let up and I had a stretch of uphill to do. This got me warmed up quickly. But within minutes it was raining even harder than before! So, when I got to Rochester, I went directly to a laundromat. It was warm in there, and washing all my damp stuff was in order. Great way to kill a little time. It was only 1pm and the nearby hostel didn't open 'til 5pm.

While my wash was running I noticed two loaded bikes across the street! I went across and found their owners in a café, eating fries and drinking hot coffee. Their names were Mark and Jim, two 30-ish guys who'd been doing trips together for about 10 years. They were headed for Boston. But first they were headed to the laundromat--for the same reason as me--and then the hostel. As was Luke the red-poncho'd hitchhiker who was also planning to stay at the hostel. Laundromat on a rainy day = precursor to "social media" for travelers… ?

Mark and Jim, stalwart Midwesterners.

October 15, 1985 in Rochester, Vermont.

Sitting on a bag of peat moss, waiting for my dryer-load to finish.

October 15, 1985 in Rochester, Vermont.

Eventually the crowd moved from the laundromat to the Schoolhouse Hostel. All these dudes plus one more, photographer John from L.A., were staying there. We all ate a big dinner of spaghetti and/or mac & cheese. And then went to the Eagle's Nest bar to drink beer and watch baseball.

Schoolhouse Hostel on a less rainy day!

Rochester, Vermont, October 16, 1985

On October 16 did a "day ride." Instead of moving on with a full load, I left most my stuff in the hostel for the day, and rode my unloaded bike on a big relaxing 45-mile loop. Nice to have a "day off" but still get to explore. And a dry, partly-sunny day was a welcome change!

Near Stockbridge, October 16, 1985

Apples & cows near Barnard, October 16, 1985.

Barnard, Vermont. October 16, 1985.

Bethel Mountain Road, October 16, 1985

Jennie from Philadelphia up on Bethel Mtn Rd.

Bethel Mountain trees..... October 16, 1985.

Back at the hostel later on, it was Ramen noodles with poncho man Luke for dinner, and another trip to the bar for baseball and beer.

New England bike trip October 14, 1985

2010-10-14T14:43:00.016-04:00

I had a couple plates of excellent blueberry pancakes at the Inn for breakfast. Got all my stuff into Marija's car and headed off. She had traveled and worked all over the place for almost 10 years so had a lot of interesting stories to tell. High up on the pass the leaves were all off the trees. Down on the other side of the mountains we enjoyed some hot apple cider at a roadside stand. Then we crossed the Connecticut River (my second crossing of it this trip!) into Vermont. There we stopped and I loaded up the bike. Marija drove of toward friends of hers; I headed west-northwest toward Montpelier.

Marija at Eaton Center VT. October 14, 1985

In Woodsville, Vermont, ready to ride. October 14, 1985.

It was gray but dry, and I found Vermont to be gorgeous. Rolling mountains covered with colored trees and bare branches, with very pretty farms between them in the valleys. Now and then a quaint town. The word "quaint" really was the most appropriate.

Two views west o' Woodsville, October 14, 1985.

I rode through the Groton State Forest on an excellent road with few cars and fabulous trees. There were 10 miles of gentle climbing and then a great 5-mile plunge through farmland to the town of Marshfield. There a bunch of dogs along this last stretch. You'd see 'em hop off the front porch of their houses and start running down toward the road (toward ME!). But with the downhill and a flip of the gearshifter I was able to accelerate and leave each one dissatisfied in the driveway. Ha ha ha ha haaaaaaaa! This was a terrific riding day, the kind I still crave today.

Groton State Forest, Vermont. October 14, 1985.

East of Marshfield, Vermont. October 14, 1985.

It got better. Better is spelled B-A-K-E-R-Y, in case you did not know. The Rainbow Sweets Bakery and Café satisfied sweet and savory needs both. I had some kind of corn bread thing with a layer of butter, spinach and spices. And then a big piece of chocolate cake. Yes! Perfect fuel for the 17 miles into Montpelier and beyond to the youth hostel at Waterbury Center.

Rainbow Sweets Bakery, Marshfield, Vermont. October 14, 1985.

Montpelier struck me as very small for a state capitol… no wonder, because even currently the population is estimated at less than 8,000!

Montpelier, Vermont. October 14, 1985.

As always, the hostel stay was a great chance to meet other travelers. Kim from New Jersey was there, a recent high school graduate who'd spent the summer and fall doing volunteer trail-building in the nearby Green Mountains. Arriving later was Grant from Australia, who was hitching and busing around the U.S. looking at graduate schools. Good folks with whom to share spaghetti dinner and swap stories.

New England bike trip October 13, 1985

2010-10-13T08:21:00.002-04:00

Rain rain rain. It kept me in my tent til noon. It stopped for a bit and allowed me to cook up a little hot food, but looked like it could start again any time. I was not feeling to motivated to ride a mountain road under the circumstances, 'specially not late in the day and 'specially having to camp again that night! I stood around indecisive and frustrated. Tried hitchin' again. Nooooo luck this time. Instead I rode back downhill to Conway in hopes of a dry place to sleep. Amazingly I found out about a place 4 miles away with dorm-style accommodations. It was called the Palmer House Inn, and it cost $13 for a night. Deal! They had space, luckily, else I had spied a picnic shelter in a park that I woulda crashed under…

The bunk room also offered a chance to hang up damp stuff to dry. I met a woman from Texas named Marija who was doing the exact same thing. She had been backpacking and also had come running to this dry place! She was headed over the Kanc by car the next day and was happy to carry me and my bike along. I was trying to keep on a bit of a timetable and was a day behind now, so I was happy about this.

No photos taken this soggy day!

New England bike trip October 12, 1985

2010-10-12T07:12:00.006-04:00

The morning started out cold, but it was dry--and I had plenty of warm clothes. I went downhill back to Gorham, then south down the east side of the Presidential Range. Great day of riding with lots of sunshine. Some moderate climbs (e.g. Pinkham Notch) and fun downhills. I bought some maple syrup and mailed it home to Colorado, to be used for Xmas gifts!

'Bout ready to start the day's ride.

Bowman Base Camp near Randolph, NH. October 12, 1985.

Presidential Range in full fall colors!

The sliver of white at right top center is Mt. Washington. October 12, 1985.

North of Conway, New Hampshire. October 12, 1985.

At Conway, New Hampshire I picked up some supplies, then headed off on a back road toward the Kancamagus Highway to find a campsite. Found one at Covered Bridge Campground and cooked me up a buncha chili and ate it w/ dinner rolls. The next day my plan was to ride "the Kanc," a 26-mile road over the White Mountains. That would put me over near Vermont...

Covered Bridge Campground, October 12, 1985.

General retrospective note: I am amused when re-reading my journal from '85 that things keep coming up like "pay phone" and "traveler's cheques". Weird little tidbits that definitely put a date-stamp on the stories. Oh, and the cars that appear in the pictures too…

New England bike trip 1985, part 3

2010-10-09T15:08:00.016-04:00

John and Nellie sent me off in style. I helped Nellie make waffles and we ate them with pure maple syrup. Yum! And John gave me a book of his poetry. I headed off toward New Hampshire, even turning onto an unknown road that wasn't on my map, following my instinct that it would take me the right direction. Eventually it led to a road that was on my map, allowing me to reorient.

Speaking of orienting: I came within 25 miles of Sweden, 37 miles of Mexico, and 94 miles of China that morning. Guess that's what a little lobster protein will do for ya! Actually, these were names of towns in Maine--I dunno why. But it made for an interesting road sign!

Intersection of Maine highways 118, 5, and 35. October 10, 1985.

Road-grade and wind allowed me to ride some semi-large gears (always a pleasure) north up to Bethel, Maine. It was an enjoyable morning, except for another broken spoke. Hoped to find another bike shop in Bethel, but there wasn't one. Hmmmm, now what? Lunch, of course. Over muenster on English muffins and apples, I mulled over the wheel. Decided fixing it was futile, so I rode on westward on the bad wheel, 22 miles to Gorham, New Hampshire.

Maine-New Hampshire state line, on U.S. Highway 2. October 10, 1985.

In Gorham there was a bike shop, a brand new one at that! But the owner said he knew very little about wheels. I suppose he didn't have any new ones, either -- don't remember now. But I sure didn't buy one. I decided to forge on riding the wobbly wheel. I only had about 6 or 7 miles 'til I reached my first youth hostel of the trip, Bowman Base Camp near the tiny town of Randolph, New Hampshire. It was uphill, a modest 400 feet of elevation gain… but the weather was starting to look threatening. Luckily I got to the hostel dry; less than 45 minutes later it was pouring rain. There was a possibility of snow in the forecast. I was only 40 miles or so from Canada (for real!) so I suppose that was no surprise.

Friday October 11th was supposed to be my day to hike up Mt. Washington or one of the other ~6,000 foot mountains of the Presidential Range. It didn't happen though, as all the summits were hidden in clouds. There was no snow at the hostel, around elevation 1,200 feet. But up higher there definitely was. So I elected to deal with my wheel problem.

There was a decent bike shop 40 miles west in Littleton, New Hampshire. I set out hitchhiking again, carrying my busted wheel in hopes of attracting sympathetic rides more easily. First car to come along picked me up! It took me three separate rides to get there, but it didn't take long. The bike shop rebuilt my wheel for a good price. While they were doing it I wrote some postcards on the sunny steps of the post office, bought some groceries, and got a hamburger at a small café. Two more quick rides and I was back at the hostel before 2:00pm.

There was still daylight a'plenty… so I got to hike after all. I sort of alternated between running and walking, up the trail toward the summit of Mt. Adams.

Lower section of the Mt. Adams trail. October 11, 1985.

It was 4.5 miles to the top. I never consider going all the way up, since it was late and there were still clouds covering the summit. I went about 3 miles up, high enough to get some good views (and photos!).

About 2 miles up the trail...

Three views from high on the trail...

New England bike trip 1985, part 2

2010-10-09T09:06:00.013-04:00

On Tues October 8, 1985 I awoke to a dew-soaked tent, unlike anything I'd ever seen in the arid country of my upbringing. I left the docks and rocks and lobster cages of the Maine coast behind. My plan was to go north off Bailey Island to Brunswick, then north and west, beyond the town of Auburn.

While in Brunswick, I had to get to a bike shop because I'd been having trouble with spokes breaking on my rear wheel. One broke back in Connecticut, and two more the day before on Bailey Island. I knew how to replace them, and had done so, the previous day borrowing a huge wrench from a Goodyear place to get my freewheel off. But a fourth spoke broke as I set off for the day. I was frustrated (that's an understatement) and uttered a few words of disgust (!). Decided it would be best to hitchhike the 15 miles up to Brunswick, rather than risk destroying my wheel further. A dude with a pickup truck kindly hauled me into town to the Yankee Pedaler bike shop. I learned a lot from the proprietor, Lorraine, about wheels and spokes. Re-reading my journal, I clearly didn't know some basic stuff… She offered the options of fixing/true-ing the existing wheel best she could vs. buying a whole new wheel. I went the cheap route (fix it), figuring I'd find other bike shops later if needed.

North of Brunswick, Maine. October 8, 1985.

(By the way: All these photos can be viewed in bigger size Right Here )

Near Auburn, Maine. October 8, 1985.

Eventually I was on the road again, enjoying the sunshine while cruising along beside the Androscoggin River. Bought some apples at a roadside stand, and had my picture taken beside a huge pile of pumpkins.

Auburn, Maine. October 8, 1985.

Worry-free wheel for now?

West of Auburn, I turned off Highway 121 and pedaled through the town of Oxford. Soon after, I turned left and labored my way up Scribner Hill Road. There I found my kind and lovely hosts for the next two nights, John and Nellie -- the grandparents of a college friend & teammate. I found John in front of their farmhouse, in the bushes picking grapes. "Hello, hello! We know about you!" said Nellie.

Their granddaughter had written them a letter asking if could stay with them, and it had arrived only a day before! How 22 of us to leave it all to the last minute and just expect it to work out! Yet they welcomed me with open arms, happy to have me -- as I'd been assured they would. As a parent of an almost-college-age daughter myself now, I have already seen friends' kids go off to college. And I'll tell ya what, I'd love to have them over any time. I aspire to the John and Nellie attitude of genuine welcoming, and hope I'll be able to pull it off even on short notice :)

Scribner Hill Road, near Otisfield, Maine. October 8, 1985.

John and Nellie, my hosts at Scribner Hill Farm. October 8, 1985.

John, a retired English professor, toured me around the house and helped lug my stuff up to "my room." We put my bike out in the barn, behind big sliding wooden doors. They sat me down for "a little luncheon," and afterwards took me on a walk higher up the road. There we had a view of Mt. Washington, barely visible in hazy clouds, 60 or so miles away in New Hampshire. A nephew came by, out on an afternoon run (I think that's him in the picture above).

Nellie later cooked an amazing dinner of roast beef, potatoes, and mixed zucchini and tomatoes. We watched baseball playoffs on TV, Toronto Blues Jays vs. Kansas City Royals.

I spent Wednesday October 9 with John and Nellie. They wanted me to stay, and I thought maybe I could help out around the house.

John cooked up eggs and bacon in the morning. Being 22 and the engine for my bicycle, I ate cereal as well. (It amazes me how much I used eat in those days, especially on a bike trip. My buddy Dave & I once polished off an entire loaf of bread with peanut butter and jelly, all in one sitting, fueling our travels across Nebraska. I believe we drank a quart of milk each, too.)

Nellie went to their church to work on some projects, while John and I ran errands. We went to a hardware store to pick up some weather stripping to winterize their windows. And having explained my lobster strike-out the day before, we went to a market that sold live lobsters. We picked out three, and they boiled 'em up right there. We refrigerated them 'til dinner time. I helped John haul their woodburning stove from the stove to the house, in pieces because it was iron and big and heavy! We installed it for the coming winter's heating. I was glad to be able to assist with this, given their generosity.

We picked up Nellie and went to have a look at their "camp," a cabin on nearby Thompson Lake. We watched loons, skipped rocks on the placid water, and sat in the rocking chairs on the porch. Nice.

Thompson Lake, Maine. October 9, 1985.

For dinner we had cold lobster, along with a cabbage-apple-walnut-mayo salad. I learned all about the techniques of getting at the meat. Nellie's great apple crisp was a fine dessert, and more baseball followed that.

A shot of me and John and three dinner guests. October 9, 1985.

Tomorrow: Bienvenue au New Hampshire!

Bikin' along, getting to know myself, age 22... October 1985

2010-10-07T18:04:00.038-04:00

25 years ago today at this hour I was camping in a droopy old tent, near the coast of Maine. I was traveling on a bicycle, loaded down with everything I'd need for 6 weeks or so, including the possibility of snowy weather. I was no stranger to travel by bicycle. But never before had I traveled alone, and I wasn't yet sure I would like it. I believed I would… but at that point I was basically a little freaked out.

Day-to-day uncertainties, primary among them "Where am I going to sleep tonight?" was part of it. And just sheer alone-ness, something I was not at all used to, having all my life been surrounded by schoolmates, teammates, etc. Just what in the hell was I doing, anyway?

You would think my goal of spending $10 per day would be a stress. But really, that wasn't too hard, though that figure included all the food a 22 year old would want to eat, plus "lodging." Anyhoo, on October 7, 1985, the "where will I sleep" question was answered by the good folks at The Viking Bed and Breakfast, who allowed me to pitch my tent out back of their place. See photo below. Believe it or not I still have that ol' tent!

In retrospect I think that was quite generous of them… they'd probably rather I paid for a room. But at that point in my life was not about to spend that sort of money just to sleep. (What til you read some future posts about this trip!).

So I'm going to re-live the trip a bit, in blog form, complete with pictures. Hope you'll come along for the ride! This first post is playing catch-up, because the riding started September 30, 1985... So let me run through some highlights of the first week on the road. I'll try to post daily or close to daily for the next month, trying to stay pretty much "25 years later to the day," til November 8th.

Above: Bailey Island, Maine. October 7, 1985. The bed and breakfast was a few miles up the road from here. Tried to eat my first-ever lobster at nearby Cook's Lobster House, but they were already closed for the season :(

OK, a weird sleeping spot story already. But this is an example that I hoped would happen but didn't: I was looking for an upside-down old fishing boat behind Cook's Lobster House, intending to sleep under it. It had been recommended, you see... two buddies of mine passed through there on bikes earlier in the year and found it to be a cozy sleep spot!!! But the boat was gone by the time I came around.

Bailey Island, Maine. October 7, 1985.

Near Bailey Island, Maine. October 7, 1985.

October 6, 1985 was day I felt most 1) alone, 2) scared, 3) unsure. On that day I took a bus from Worcester, Mass. to Portland, Maine. Sitting there staring out the window of the bus was kinda rough. Somehow I met a jogger as I rode along north of Portland who offered up a backyard for my campsite. Wheeew. Above is a shot of the sunset I took nearby. Falmouth, Maine.

Prior to the bus ride, I'd had the good fortune of staying with friends every night, all the way from Boston to western Connecticut. Above is my college friend Jill, who drove me to the bus. Note the disassembled bike is in a box (which we're leaning on) for the bus trip. Jill, I've lost touch with you for 25 years! If you ever read this please get in touch!

Between Litchfield and Warren, Connecticut. October 4, 1985.

Near Litchfield, Connecticut. October 4, 1985.

It rained all day. I was glad to know I'd be staying with friends that night.

Road food. Wooooo. Check out that filthy water bottle (thanks rain!).

What was I reading? The Monkey Wrench Gang!

Western Connecticut, October 4, 1985.

The above two shots are from the Glastonbury Ferry in central Connecticut. It cost me 25¢ to cross the Connecticut River on it, as a cyclist. Really cool. Oldest continuously operating ferry in the U.S. (since 1655). I was soaking wet (more rain) but having a great time. October 3rd, 1985.

West of Willimantic, Connecticut. Wet, wet, wet. October 3, 1985.

I was amused to learn that liquor stores are called "package stores" in that part of the country. Had never heard that before. Eastern Connecticut, October 2, 1985.

That would be me, standing there in downtown Moosup, Connecticut. October 2, 1985.

Western Rhode Island. October 2, 1985.

Above are two photos from Providence, Rhode Island, October 2, 1985. That's my high school classmate Eric, then a med student at Brown. He is posing behind a pile of branches downed by Hurricane Gloria about five days before. Long Island, Connecticut, and I think Rhode Island took the brunt of that storm.

Day Two of riding. Dighton, Mass., October 1, 1985. No, I didn't wipe out. I think I was fascinated by the sign, as it was unlike any out west where I'd grown up.

Scituate, Mass., morning of October 1, 1985. Had stayed there with another college friend. Hard to believe that this was the first time I'd seen the Atlantic Ocean (that I could remember, anyway).

Loaded up and ready to go! I readied for the trip in Cambridge, Mass., staying with my brother Kirk. That's us outside his dorm room at M.I.T., just before I rode off. September 30, 2010.

Sunrise along the Charles River, Cambridge, Mass. September 30, 2010.

OK, I'm caught up! More blog posts in the coming days with more pics.

Tomorrow: I git me my first lobster!

Big Carnivorous Feast for 9/22/2010

2010-09-23T16:08:00.003-04:00

Nice couple hours of radio yesterday... playlist right here.

The Cookie Lady. Kindness since 1976.

2010-08-03T21:16:00.009-04:00

Last Wednesday afternoon, I had a pleasant "alumni visit" with June Curry, a.k.a. "The Cookie Lady," kindness queen of Afton, Virginia. I say "alumni" because I had visited before -- 25 years earlier! Below see pictures from last week, July 28, 2010, and my previous visit in November 1985.

For those who don't know the true legend of The Cookie Lady, here's the story in brief:

Ms. June grew up and has lived her 90 years in Afton, Virginia. It's a tiny town near the crest of the Blue Ridge, located at a low spot (Rockfish Gap) which thus made it a natural spot to build a road across the mountains. The raiIroad went through an incredible tunnel there starting in 1858. U.S. 250 came later, and I-64 crosses the Blue Ridge there now.

Back in 1976, America's 200th birthday, a group then called BikeCentennial started leading cross-country bicycle tours on their now-famous "TransAm" route. What better way to celebrate the Bicentennial than to get to know the country up-close-'n'-personal on a bicycle, y'know? The TransAm route just happened to go through Afton, VA... just feet from June Curry's front door. At first the bicyclists were a mystery. But not for long. Soon she became their best friend, and they hers. She has been providing water, shelter, and yes COOKIES to cyclists for 34 years now. An entire house, simply called The Bike House, is open for cyclists to spend the night, cook a meal, etc. It's an informal sort of hostel. There are no fees, just donations accepted, and expectations that things remain clean and orderly. Over the years thousands have stayed there or paid a visit. Many of them have sent postcards or other mementos and they adorn the house in a stunning display of love & history to this day. Polaroid photos of each visitor are stored in binders, in chronological order.

For a little more detail, click here for a 2009 newspaper article.

I should say also that the Appalachian Trail passes nearby, thus backpackers too have made their way on foot to stay at The Bike House. Me, I was just out of college and really sick of school. Just wanted to be on the road and boy did I hit it for several years in there. The first large solo trip I did started in Boston in September 1985. I hit all the New England states (miraculously without getting snowed on...) plus New York, Pennsylvania, Maryland, and Virginia by the time I was done in November. I came down the spectacular Skyline Drive and came to Afton at the south end of it. I was honored to meet Ms. June and stay at The Bike House on one of the last days of my trip.

Yes, I had my picture taken. 3 in fact. On Wednesday I found them! And discovered too that recent visitors have kindly digitized the entire archive and put it online. Check It OUT:

Some polaroid photos from the 1980s that you just might like to

have a look at:
http://www.crazyguyonabike.com/doc/page/?o=RrzKj&page_id=45970&v=vc (dag, who dat fool boy?)

http://www.crazyguyonabike.com/doc/page/?o=RrzKj&page_id=45960&v=yD (4th picture down = my buddy Mark Bradley. He was the first cyclist of 1985 to visit; I was the last...)

http://www.crazyguyonabike.com/doc/page/?o=RrzKj&page_id=45949&v=10G (6th picture down = my brother Eric, the following summer)

So last Wednesday, 25 years later, I found Ms. June at home visiting with two eastbound cyclists who were passing through. She did insist I have a cookie. I sat with her about 2 hours. Fantastic! I am real glad to have had an opportunity to say Thank You. Again.

Also click Right Here for some pics I took last week of the inside of The Bike House. Check out ALL THE STUFF all all over the walls. Really a stunning sight.

Info on June Curry's guest registry and efforts being made to preserve them:

http://www.crazyguyonabike.com/doc/page/?o=RrzKj&page_id=30764&v=29M

Home page:
http://www.crazyguyonabike.com/doc/CookieHouse

All Hail The Cookie Lady!

Big Carnivorous Feast for 7/14/2010

2010-07-18T07:03:00.005-04:00

Waltzed into the station 20 minutes late... longer trip home from outta town than I thought! Thanks to DJ T for coverage. Walked in with no ammo and no weapons. Pulled off a decent show anyway. Playlist here.

Of note this time: Catalyst (1972), and the new Numero comp documenting the forgotten sounds of Lowland Recording Studio in Beaumont TX.

Big Carnivorous Feast for 7/7/2010

2010-07-07T21:06:00.003-04:00

Today's show playlist right here.

Got all random but had a great time. Coupla great requests came in.

To my liking these days: new Teenage Fanclub, reissues of Incredible String Band, new John Prine tribute album.

Also, below, a couple shots of an outdoor gig by Southern Culture on the Skids and The Moaners.

Big Carnivorous Feast, April 28, 2010

2010-05-03T07:12:00.004-04:00

Here's another batch of music for your enjoyment!

This is the show from 4/28 and the playlist / comments are HERE.

Among other things this installment features Pierced Arrows (enjoyed their show in Chapel Hill in March), vintage Kinks and Bobby Bare, and Junior Brown (whose show I missed last week but dag is he worth seein' when you get you a chance).

Wished un buen cumpleaño to Willie Colón, salsa king who just turned 60. Previewed Sharon Jones, who plays Cat's Cradle next Tues! Went all hip-hop for a bit; like the new release from Oddisee a lot.

'Bout all for now. 'Til next time...

Calico Haunts, Dirty Little Heaters, Caltrop

2010-03-02T23:02:00.006-05:00

I just bought three great local records. In order from least to most heaviness they are:

Calico Haunts: "After All." It was released last summer. I have tried to buy it at many local record stores but it's never in stock. Finally bought it at an (ahem) large online retailer b/c the smaller online retailer *also* didn't have it in stock. Stream the entire album for free (and read a good review) HERE. Really a pleasant listen. I've listened many times.

Dirty Little Heaters: "Champions of Imperfection." Just out on new-ish Durham label Churchkey Records. Black Sabbath fronted by

Janis Joplin, if you want a 70s reference point... I love love love this. Stream this whole album free HERE.

Caltrop: "World Class." I am woefully late in picking up this '08 release. Heeeeaaaaavy. Can't find the whole album to stream but you can get the idea at their myspace page. One of these guys, I'm pretty sure, was in my chemistry class back long time ago when I taught high school. Dude, if you happen to read this: Great job in chemistry but the album is even better. I look forward to the next.

Cool links to old radio broadcasts!

2010-02-08T00:07:00.003-05:00

Frank Terry & Gary Mack on KHJ LOS ANGELES, September 7, 1966

K. O. Bailey at KFRC San Francisco December 21st, 1968

Bwana Johnny at KYA San Francisco on June 24th, 1970

Beau Weaver at KFRC San Francisco November 14th, 1973

Dr. Don Rose at KFRC San Francisco August 9th, 1974

Big Carnivorous Feast, January 27, 2010

2010-01-30T11:38:00.005-05:00

Hello! Latest radio playlist and comments 'n' stuff can be seen HERE. Some related links for your entertainment below!

Featured in this episode of the Big Carnivorous Feast: warped 'n' wacky William Tell, hissing fauna delivers a promethean curse, July Flame, Golden Apples, Champagne in Seashells, Gator Bait, deep Ska, Karate Boogaloo from Funkadelphia. Grammy-nomitated Latin jazz! Doc Pomus extravaganza! Terrific South African laid-back jazzy bluesy trippy rock! Fire In My Bones! and more!

Big Carnivorous Feast, January 6, 2010

2010-01-07T13:44:00.008-05:00

Hey hey, 3 hours of radio yesterday. First episode of The BCF of '10. Had a blast as always. Playlist and comments right here!

'Twas the usual grab-bag: Sonic vile mazurka pipe-organ hi-fi fantasy. Thai shadows, Bollywood legends, mighty wurlitzer. 70s Japan rock with tape loops & chants. A dude with "prodigous talent for fusing traditional American song structures with raga influence." How 'bout a guy whose name is short for "emancipation" who could play it all: "ballads, reels, breakdowns, pop songs, children's songs, spirituals, waltzes, foxtrots, one-steps, two-steps, ballin' the jack, heel-and-toe polka, the cakewalk, the Charleston, the buzzard lope, slow drag, hucklebuck, and blues." Chicano protest, Dynamite Masters Blues Quartet, Alternative Tentacles version of Whole Lotta Love, Cleveland hardcore. Folk-rock UK '69. "Pick it, son." Psychedelic Iowa. Bar hoppin' with a daughter of Durham, '76. 9-year-olds from Arkansas! Silver, remix, Brazil gone Madlib w/Mamãoism (see this one too), smokin' Grammy-nominated Latin jazz. Flop & The Fall of the Mopsqueezer! Lost Love. And Loretta. Thanks for tuning in and/or reading this far!

Big Carnivorous Feast for 11/25/2009

2009-12-03T10:02:00.003-05:00

What with my 10th anniversary on WXDU fast approaching, AND holiday eating season underway, my radio show has a new name! Henceforth please enjoy "The Big Carnivorous Feast"!

The name was taken from a hilarious song called "Let's Get Mesolithic" that opened the show on the day before Thankgiving. The playlist is posted HERE along with the usual comments...

Back Up & Push 11/11/2009

2009-11-11T20:56:00.006-05:00

This week's playlist is right here!

I'm continuing to dig the new Big Star box set, and gotta think about springin' for that thing. This CD "Radio" by Exile is one of the coolest mash-ups I've heard in awhile (along with the Ethiopium I played last week...). James Hand is the Best in brand new old-style hardcore honky tonk. Dolly Parton has a new box set (plenty of gems on there amongst the cheeezy). Damn, folks, we even played a bit of opera from Wagner! And plenty o' good new local music.

Rock your face off

2009-10-27T12:30:00.005-04:00

Best ass-shakin', rock your face off song I've heard this year:

C L I C K H E R E, B U C K L E S E A T B E L T

This one is sure to become a permanent part of my listening life. The band is Monotonix, a trio from Tel Aviv. The rest of the album holds a lot of promise too, but this it the one that kills me. If my 224,000-mile 1990 Toyota still had a *functioning* tape deck, I'd be playing loud in the car for the next few months, I'm sure.

Download link above is all kosher (and I woulda said that even if they weren't from Tel Aviv)... they made the track available to the blogosphere.

Sadly I missed their pass through NC a couple weeks back. At left is their tour date poster from up the road in Richmond.

More on the band and the album right here:

http://eastmeetsleft.com/p/2009/09/drag-citys-monotonix-tour-body-language/monotonix

Back Up & Push 08/26/2009

2009-09-03T10:30:00.005-04:00

Greetings everyone. The playlist for my 8/26 show is HERE, complete with comments.

Among other things, the show featured (clockwise from top left) the excellent new Birds of Avalon album (from NC), Agitation Free (Berlin 1972), a fine request for CSNY (1970), a great

Chicago jazz group called Nicole Mitchell's Black Earth Ensemble, Amon Düül II (more Krautrock), and a new archival release collecting the late 20's-early 30's music of North Carolina's own Red Fox Chasers.

Links take you to sound files or video files. Crack a beer and go enjoy!

Beach photo collages

2009-08-31T21:48:00.004-04:00

Welp, way back when I started this bloggoventure, I speculated (see title) that I'd be posting photos.

I gots lots of that to post, but as you can see, my music-mania has been the dominant theme.

Finally here's some photography! These here are two collages I through together of photos I took earlier this month.

On top: Wrightsville Beach, NC. Particular fascination: Robert's Groceries.

On bottom: Carolina Beach, NC. Particular fascination: best donut shop on Earth, Britt's Donuts (since 1938 or something like that).

Kiila: Finnish folky spacy rock

2009-08-29T11:37:00.003-04:00

Really liking this new album from Finnish group Kiila.

Just to give you an idea, one writer sums it up nicely thusly: "Different traditions of folk, psych and pop music intermingle with electronic music and improvisation, tones and sounds."

I hear some overlap with current-day Phila. band Espers and with 1969 Fairport Convention... Others have dropped Vetiver and Incredible String Band onto their comparison lists.

Best listen for yerself. Go to Fonal Records website (Finnish DIY label). Click on either of the songs marked "listen" -- especially my fave, the 8-min.-plus Portaissa. Clicking will take you to the Fonal Jukebox where all manner of other label offerings can be streamed.

Back Up & Push 08/19/2009

2009-08-27T13:10:00.008-04:00

James Luther Dickinson passed away on August 15th. On this week's show, a tribute. See full playlist with comments HERE.

Read more about Dickinson in this excellent blog post, which also links you to a great interview film clip. Wanna be blown away by a resumé? Check out Jim's HERE or HERE.

Back Up & Push 08/12/2009

2009-08-21T11:48:00.014-04:00

Last week's show playlist with

comments is HERE.

Wide variety of stuff featured, as usual. Some new releases I'm especially enjoying: albums from Assemble Head In Sunburst Sound (right)

and Band of Skulls (below b&w),

a great comp of Hungarian rock from before the Iron Curtain came down (um, nice title...),

and a Swedish folky singer named Lisa Isaksson (below right).

It was also great to revisit Yello's 1980 debut.

In the tributes category, I did a belated R.I.P. shout out to John"Marmaduke" Dawson, a leader of the late-60's, early 70's No. Calif. outfit New Riders of the Purple Sage.

I've linked the you to info (with sound samples!), or in Yello's case, to a fantastic YouTube video. Click & enjoy!

Thanks for reading!

Dexateens part 2!

2009-08-15T07:24:00.003-04:00

Over on hearya.com there's a nice live session by the Dexateens (see my earlier post). All tracks available for free download & sound great. Two of my faves from the new album are represented: "Down Low" and "Grandaddy's Mouth." But the others are good too.

I'm happy to see "Grandaddy's Mouth" received highlight treatment from hearya in the form of a video. It's a well-shot in-studio live video, perfect sound. None of the inebriated crowd from the other video I posted last month. Take a look below!

Dexateens - "Grandaddy's Mouth" - HearYa Live Session 5/20/09 from HearYa.com on Vimeo.