I did something crazy today, something I never thought I would ever need to do…. certainly something I never thought I even should do….
….I ripped the tag off a mattress.
Nah, I just drilled a hole straight into a $200 bicycle part…. I’ll explain.
My new career as a bicycle production technician is weird. One day, every bike that comes to my bench is easy as pie. Except pie is not “easy.” I don’t know, I think that’s weird. Then the next day, I’m stuck on one pickle for eight hours…. at my shop, “pickle” is a term we use somewhat synonymously with your local auto shop’s use of “lemon.” This morning, I had two pickles at once, with three other bikes being brought in at the same time. Thankfully I had a team to rotate through the quick fixes, while I sat and dug into the pickle.
Get ready to be bored to tears with some tech specs. In 1990, the legendary bicycle components manufacturer, Shimano, created the “Shimano Total Integration” gearshift system (labeled “STI” for short…. shoulda thought ahead with that one, guys….). The *ahem* “integrated shifter” as I will only refer to it, combines shifting up and down the gear range, and activates the brakes, all in one slick, ergonomic, intelligent design.
The original integrated shifter vs. today’s competition.
One of the coolest pieces of tech on a standard modern road bicycle, these contraptions operate by the two-way design of a dual-lever system. The inside lever shifts your drivetrain in one direction, while the big lever, going in the same direction, shifts your drivetrain the opposite direction. Both levers retract inwards when pulled from the front, which activates the brakes. The most modern systems are even crazier, opting for wireless shifting, as well as hydraulic fluid lines for the brakes, all while still utilizing virtually the same basic design.
Yes, they’re expensive. The most inexpensive pair come at around $60, while a new Dura Ace R9200 pair or exotic Campagnolo Super Record Italian-style shifter can exceed $700. So you don’t want that stuff to break.
You can’t put this back together. You don’t want this to break.
So today, that stuff broke.
Once in a few blue moons, the shifting cable can snap inside the system. It’s only ever happened to me once in my near 40,000mi of riding experience, and I’ve only ever seen it maybe three times since I’ve been in the shop. Today, a customer came in, with a shifter that was stuck. The head of the shifting cable was lodged way inside the shifter, underneath the plastic housing and cable track. It took us some time to actually find the head, let alone pull it out.
The problem was, we didn’t realize that the head was lodged in there at first. So we fed a new cable through the system, and of course it jammed on us. After 20 minutes, the head was extracted, and problem solved! Pigs started flying, Hell froze over, and every member of government actually agreed on an actual thing!
It’s never that easy. The new cable stayed jammed. This time, due to the way the old cable head put pressure on the cable track, the new cable’s head got stuck on the other side. And this one was impossible to get out. No amount of reverse-feeding was able to get it back through the original opening. I sat there for another half hour, helplessly clawing at the cable head, trying to get enough leverage to pull it free. After I while, I had to talk with the customer once more.
I had a fucking radical-ass idea.
One that would surely put me in bicycle jail forever.
I asked him if I can drill a hole in his $200 shifter. Right there.
The red dot is where I suggested I drill. That metal cylinder is the cable head, for reference.
He asked if it would work.
I said I don’t know.
One of two things was going to happen. Either 1.) The strategically placed hole would alleviate some pressure between the plastic housing and the cable head, similar to how brain surgeons drill into your head to relieve pressure. Then, I would have another leverage point to use a metal pick to pry the cable out. Or 2.) I would break everything.
I took many deep breaths. And I drilled. And I stopped. And I questioned my life choices. And I drilled again. Then I think I shit myself a little. Then I ran through my head the plausible scenario of either getting fired for doing something so exceedingly brainless, or being the mechanic that no one will ever trust again because he apparently thought head-first with a single-celled brain capable of no rational thought whatsoever. Then I drilled one more time.
It’s the type of risk that, if successful, creates a lasting impression in a customer’s mind as the shop that went above and beyond, and thought creatively, to keep a work order within budget. It’s also a risk. If I had just done the stupidest, most no-no thing, that customer is gone forever, and maybe even a few others.
But then I so instinctively SCREAMED “YES!” and scared some small kid who was watching me from the other side of the store. I’m sorry, buddy.
It worked. A two-millimeter-sized burrow caused no structural damage. The shifter continued to work as normal with a new cable. I thanked the customer for his patience and trust, and gave him a free t-shirt.
I still don’t know if it was a stroke of genius or just a stroke. Either way, DO NOT try that at home. Until next time.
For most folks, that might be all it takes to discourage them. Not me. I welcome it. Today’s motto: “It’s worth the wait.”
Fresh off of our successful 2017 tour to the Catskill Mountains of New York, Dan hatched a plan to trek through his turf. You see, Florida is huge, and it’s not a state you want to skim just to say you rode through it, particularly South Florida. So Dan built a route.
559 miles, making sure to hit all the attractions South Florida had to offer.
Meanwhile, I once again revamped my tour setup. At the time, I had three bikes, two of which had seen a full-fledged tour, and one I was not sure would be able to…. Turns out, Florida’s the perfectstate for an endurance road bike to transform into an expedition machine. Not much has changed since its initial purchase. Aside from the regular maintenance, only the wheels, saddle, and color of cable housing are different. Not many bikes are orange these days.
Such a great set-up.
Prep Time:
Without any frame braze-ons, I had to improvise…. okay, I had to buy new equipment. I turned it into a setup you might see in the Trans Am Bike Race. With that, the gear needed to be smaller, so I got a “bivy” style tent, something I refer to as “the coffin.” I got equipment I could ACTUALLY COOK FOOD WITH THIS TIME. I ditched the fenders. She was down to a mere 45lbs, 56lbs including water…. you really can’t go much lower than that without full on credit card-touring.
A glimpse of what self-sufficiency looks like. Shout-out to them froot snakz.
Everything came together beautifully; the planning, the finances, and the final test ride. For the first time in my cycling life, things were right on schedule. With the departure date barreling through time, I found that despite being very ready, I still had a hard time leaving the family.
The Train Ride:
Heading to Miami was a long ways away; 26 hours to be exact, and I wouldn’t even be writing about an otherwise dull train ride weren’t for Joe. Most of you know I’m not exceedingly outgoing, and I don’t think Joe was either. He was heading to Richmond, got on at Philly, and somehow out of nowhere we hit it off. We immediately started talking about cycling, and bonded over my still fractured face. He was a psychologist-turned information technologist, so he understood my profession, yet was well beyond your average nerd…. we talked vintage video games, the best perogies and pizza joints, and what it’s like being a space cadet…. I rarely am able to talk with someone for four hours straight. Thanks, Joe.
The rest of the ride was unimaginative. Someone got thrown off for starting a fight. Big whoop. Soon, I was heading to Dan’s 24th floor apartment in downtown Miami.
THE TOUR:
• • • Day 1: Miami – Lake Worth, 67.9mi
The southeast coast is a cool place to visit. Everyone is beautiful, the weather is beautiful, and the roads are like riding on gold. I was instantly faster than I have ever been touring before. I crave these rides, and it recharges me to pump the old carbon/aluminum workhorse. Normally, we would need to overestimate our arrival times by a few hours. This time, we were just about right on the money, until….
Psssssssssssssss…………..
You know the goddamned sound. But, I thought nothing of it. Despite the roads riding well, there was a ton of shit on the shoulder. Maybe I hit some glass. 10 minutes and we were pedaling again.
The last time I was in Florida, I was an infant, and I don’t remember any of it. What I was told is that I was at my aunt and uncle’s old house in Fort Lauderdale. Well, I thought an actual visit that I would remember was well overdue. Now in Lake Worth, we arrived before 4pm (unheard of, getting to a destination before dark?!?!). They pulled out all the stops: dinner, ice cream, and a drive-by tour of some old guy’s presidential vacation home. It was a huge plus to see their golden, Ginger, still putzing around as cute as ever.
You’re perfect!
Ginger passed a short few months later. She had only the best life, and it was my biggest honor to get to meet her. Rest In Puppyland, darling.
• • • Day 2: Lake Worth – Lake Okeechobee, 77mi
The first day held very bourgeois scenery to say the least, but once we left the coast, hello flatland trailer parks and endless stretches of highway. Our destination was that giant puddle in the middle of Florida. Okeechobee is a 734 square mile lake, with about 140 miles of road circumnavigating it. We got there relatively early, thanks to a nice tailwind. In fact, we did 77 miles in under 5 hours of riding time, which was a pretty good feeling for me.
However, this day was not without its frustrations….
Since I am a ghostly Welshman, any form of sunlight will set me on fire without SPF 500 or higher. I brought some heavy-duty sunscreen, and yet still faced some pretty uncomfortable burns on my ears and calves. What made matters worse was my ultraviolet sleeves were irritating my skin. I started bubbling up on my left upper arm. And, without fail, my dormant eczema was reactivated by the intense sun. I tend to get it in very small areas, but instead of dry splotches, I get bubbles. ♪♫”Tiny bubbles in the wine….”♪♫
The crème de la crème of the day was three flats. You heard me. The first flat occurred in the same exact spot on the tire from yesterday. I dug deep this time, and found the tiniest shard of metal. It was completely embedded in the tire, sticking a mere nanometer into the tube. I tried digging this thing out, but it was so tiny that even needle-nose pliers could not pry it out.
I very literally got the second flat WHILE I WAS CHANGING THE FIRST FLAT. WHAT. Talk about shit luck.
I only had two spare tubes, so I ended up needing to patch holes in the punctured tubes (something I never trust…. I’d much rather have fresh rubber in the tire). By the time I got the third flat, I was just flat-out angry. We were still not at the lake. Bike shops were well out of the way. I had to get creative in my prevention techniques while being extra cautious of roadside debris. It dampened the day, to say the least. But at least things got better when we saw that lake.
This is why we travel. These places are amazing. We all need to really see the world we live in.
Kampgrounds of America. Okeechobee had a nice KOA resort, and after a speedy but frustrating day, it was nice to get a drink, chill in the pool, and hit the billiards. Man, was I craving ice cream, too, but I just couldn’t find any. I spent my first night in the bivy. It was about this time I started to realize I may have sleep apnea (and claustrophobia while sleeping); I woke up multiple times, hardly able to breathe, laying in this muggy tarp coffin. What an experience, my friends.
• • • Day 3: Lake Okeechobee – Lehigh Acres, 83mi
It was a much slower day, and it was a much longer day. Traveling southwest, the wind was no longer at our backs. The trades rule the land in Florida, second only to the blistering heat.
We faced a dilemma today – I was still in need of fresh tire tubes, and Fort Myers was the closest bike shop. After a long day of the wind in our face, 11 more miles to Fort Myers and 11 miles back was not a fun prospect. That was at best gonna be 2 more hours of riding there, and much less time to recover. Dan decided to find an Airbnb close by, in Lehigh Acres. Still kind of the middle of nowhere, South Florida, but it worked just fine.
Earlier that morning, we faced another dilemma – food. There’s NO food in south central Florida. Luckily, a cyclist turned around to talk to us, and gave us not only a safer route to ride, but a route that actually had food.
The ONLY food we could find today, but it sure was tasty!
After over 100 miles since my last flat, I decided that I would take the potential risk and forgo a bike shop until we passed one along the way.
We passed this scene with no context. Brownie points to whoever can tell me what the hell this is.
We got Domino’s that night (not ice cream). Definitely not good touring nutrition, but between the grease coma and the overall exhaustion, I flat out passed out on the couch for 9 hours. Nice.
• • • Day 4+: Lehigh Acres – Miami, 153.8mi
Yeah, you heard me!
I’ll lay out the events chronologically:
The wind was still tough, and it alternated between a headwind and crosswind. Dan gave a sprint every time a truck blew past us, with the slipstream giving him an extra 1-2mph boost, and the upper hand against my mushy Domino’s-laden body.
This was the real meat and bones of the trip. Our destination was Big Cypress National Preserve, adjacent to Everglades City. Here, one will find the real South Florida. Panther crossings, alligator cages, and airboats. Airplane engine + boat. To paint the best metaphor, if the wild west had wetlands, I’m pretty sure they’d also have airboats. They’re deafening, obnoxious, muddy, and truly American (yet invented by Canadians). Beyond that, I discovered that the fried alligator tasted just like chicken, but way better. Unfortunately, I still couldn’t find any damn ice cream!
Hail ‘Murca!
Now, the law gave us quite a time trying to camp in Big Cypress. Even though it was technically allowed, the land was surrounded by private owners. It took an hour and a half for Dan to convince them to let us camp in that giant puddle called the Everglades.
And after all our tourist endeavors, riding back to the wetlands in the dark, I heard something curious behind me….
A gator? A panther? A wild Daniel?!?!?!?!
It was Dan.
-“So…. hey Dave? How do you feel right now?”
-“(We didn’t go all this way to stay in a hotel, I hope)…. Uh, I feel good, actually…. why?”
-“….Crazy idea…. what do you think if we just ride back to Miami now?”
Hm.
Well…. uhh?….
….Hell, why not.
Before we went any further, we established the parameters:
•Lights and phone need to be fully charged
•Tires need to be pumped and checked
•Food stores need to be nearly full
•Contingency sleeping plan is needed (side of the road it is)
•Keep an eye on traffic and make SURE they can see you
•Keep an eye out for road debris, due to vastly reduced field of vision
•If you see a panther or charging alligator, MOVE. YOUR. ASS.
•Most importantly, STICK TOGETHER. Your riding partner needs to be visible to you at all times.
Everything checked out. All that was left was to find some good music, and ride the same road nonstop (hey, just like every other day).
In fact, everything was going smoothly for quite a while. Dan hit his first century, and I think my fifth, but the first with touring gear. I warned Dan that the last 20 miles tend to be the hardest.
Unfortunately, I was very right.
We stopped at a casino, and while watching the sad sheep lose meaningless currency at 2am, we got sandwiches worse than Domino’s. Still no ice cream.
Those last 20 miles felt familiar to me, but certainly not easier. That feeling when something should be quick and easy but is grueling and downright fucked. I had no energy left. I was sobbing in my granny gear on a flat road, if that says anything. Every inch was now a milestone, but point B never seemed to get closer. Those are, for me, the most memorable moments of these trips; when your body gets shot to hell and all you can do is move forward one pedal stroke at a time…. You get there. That’s all you can do.
A great example of how I felt after all that hubbub.
• • • Day 5: Miami Rest Day, 6.9mi
Well-deserved. Worth it. Why was it worth it? Well, besides the fact that riding 80 miles in addition to 75 and after camping in puddles and facing 80 miles of headwinds and 90 degree heat sounded like garbage…. it was also a fulfilling way to say, “Yeah, I’ve ridden 153 miles before.”
Got to bed just as the sun was rising. A few hours later, we found that there was still work to do. I finally went to that bike shop for new tubes. I got tire liners as well. Sure, they’re slower, but ain’t nothing gonna puncture me anymore. I changed the tires for the last time, and did a little bit of cleaning and cable maintenance. Beyond that, the best plan was to ditch any and all equipment we no longer needed. There were two days left of riding, and one night of camping. I could safely get rid of one external battery pack, cleaning supplies, and the stove. I also left the jar of peanut butter, and added a pair of cargo shorts, which took up just as much space. Maybe five pounds shed.
While five pounds shed touring was not as meaningful as five pounds shed racing, it still helped a tad.
Riding an unloaded bike after days of riding a loaded bike…. it feels…. flimsy.
Last order of business: eat well.
IT WAS WORTH THE WAIT
HOT DAMN, that ice cream was WORTH THE WAIT, LET ME TELL YOU.
• • • Day 6: Miami – Key Largo, 63.2mi
It was exciting to get back out on the road to the Keys. The dream was so tangible. I felt that 63 miles was nothing compared to the day before.
This day was largely uneventful for a long time. We did have a famous smoothie from Robert is Here, and a nice country-style meal with seafood at a random dingy Seafood Farmer’s Market in Florida City.
It was good. Not to die for. In fact the Strava segment getting here was more worth it.
It was here that Dan had a minor mechanical, which could’ve been worse if he didn’t end up fixing the skewer. A fleeting, “Oh, Christ,” moment. Crisis averted.
The scenery was lackluster at best. Florida City didn’t have much charm to it. But, that’s the journey. Not everything can be rainbows and butterflies; that’s what a vacation is, not traveling. That mantra serves an integral purpose in defining the humility of the traveler.
After the 16 mile highway with no shoulder, it was one road, over 100 miles, to our ultimate destination. I had a meager gas station burger, and our key lime pie search was on (none in Key Largo…. I hoped it wouldn’t be as troublesome as the ice cream). We found a good camping spot. In fact, there was a fire pit, and it was right by the ocean. It was perfect. I could have lived there.
Obligatory.
It was only the second time we were setting up camp, and if it weren’t for my sweaty camo body bag, I would have been cool with way more camping.
9:00pm. I saw a car stop outside our little forest…. with flashlights. I nearly threw up at the threatening prospect, and curled up in a ball hoping that the inevitable wasn’t happening:
-“Hello, this is the police.”
Oh, hell….
They informed us that we were technically not allowed to camp there. What is it with Florida and saying you can camp here but also you can’t camp here? I turned on my cool charm (a tail-between-my-legs approach), batting my eyes and such. They asked to verify our I.D.’s, and thank God they let us stay. I truly think they just thought we were nuts and figured we didn’t have space in our panniers for spray paint and malice. We were lucky. I still wanna know who ratted us out, though….
It rained that night, which was decidedly worse than being arrested. I’d rather be handcuffed than experience that soggy coffin bivy, any day.
• • • Day 7: Key Largo – Key West, 107.3mi
It was big day…. again. I was praying we would have that tailwind again.
We did! In fact, the tailwind was SO good that I quickly realized I had a record to crack. I have ALWAYS wanted to attain the elusive 6-hour-century. And after my father told me of his all-time record of a 5:35:00 with 7,500ft of climbing, I was inspired to do better. I did do a 7,656ft century, but it was in 7:27:06. It was fast for me, but I still had a long way to go. Now, 90% of the credit goes to the generous tailwind, but I should give myself a pat on the back for attaining such a good time, especially with a loaded bike, and after 450 miles of riding that week. It was not a true effort, but a good one, and I was proud of myself, nonetheless. There were many moments where I knew it would be close, and miles 85 to 95 were downright abysmal. I had one last burst of energy with some help from Mötley Crüe.
Right at the 100 mile marker, I met an incredible soul. He had a true 80’s touring bike, a relic of the past, complete with rubberized panniers, and no need for sunscreen anymore. We exchanged stories, only for me to find that this man was homeless for the past two-and-a-half years. He sold all his stuff, simply because rent everywhere was too high. Damn. “You don’t realize all the stuff you don’t need.”
It was a sentiment that, despite its sheer simplicity, was well beyond my years of experience, and a sentiment that I held in deep respect.
But also this. Thanks, inflation.
Not too long afterwards….
6:00pm. 559.1 miles. 7 days. And 90 miles to Cuba!
The Southernmost Point in Key West, and a huge tourist attraction. Every cyclist who’s any cyclist that’s been to the Keys has their picture taken here.
Exploring Key West:
The Seashell Motel and Youth Hostel. It was by far the least expensive place to stay in Key West, with many hotels charging $300-$500+ per night. It was good fun, too. I enjoyed the communal atmosphere, but at the same time everyone was good about having time to themselves. The only awful thing was one person in our room was flat-out retching in the bathroom…. like pure scream-vomiting. It was 2:00am. Thank you for that.
We spent the entire first day out at sea. Jet skiing. Parasailing. Water park (in the ocean). And don’t forget, food and booze. I discovered that I was actually quite terrified of snorkeling. I kept accidentally trying to breathe through my nose, and I was afraid I would go down too far and get waterlogged. Maybe next time I’ll grow up. Either way, maybe one day I’ll get a boat! I could have spent the rest of my days growing a long, flowing, salty beard and getting burnt like bacon.
The next day was dedicated to all the tourist stops, but specifically the Hemingway house. The most interesting facts I found were that Ernest was always traveling, cheating, and experiencing drunkenly horrible luck. There were 54 cats on the property, over half of which carried the extra-toe gene. After that freaky pursuit, we went even freakier to the Ripley’s Odditorium. Ripley was one strange fellow, but craved folks even stranger than him. Some notable features were the torso man, the toilet paper wedding dress, and the chastity belt torture device. Runner up was certainly lizard man. Lastly, we celebrated the sunset (almost) at Mallory Square, where street performers put on their best fire-juggling, drum circling, magic performing shows.
I showed this to my fiance.
These guys were so cool!
Hemmingway House.
EPILOGUE:
I spent the whole train ride crafting the video from this trip. It was a great usage of that time, especially considering I completed the whole thing and we STILL weren’t out of Florida. The link is below, after the statistics.
After round three, I think I’m getting not too shabby at this gig. I don’t have any plans for trips after this at the moment. My goal is to ride in every state, and conquer three mountains, which I’ll talk about in other blogs. Ultimately, my desire is to learn and experience the world in the absolute best way I know how.
Cycling.
Tour Statistics:
Total Mileage: 559.1mi
Average Daily Mileage: 79.9mi
Longest Day: 153.8mi
Total Riding Time: 41:36:50
Average Daily Riding Time: 5:56:45
Longest Day: 13:18:58
Average Speed: 13.4mph
Top Speed: 41.6mph
Average Watts: 102w
Total Energy Output: 14,767kj
Average Daily Energy Output: 2,110kj
Total Calories Burned: 16,468
Average Daily Calories: 2,352.6
Total Alligators Seen: 88
Total Crocodiles Seen: 1
Total Sharks Seen: 1
Total Bald Eagles Seen: 1
July 2017 brought with it some of the very most important moments in my life. And you know me; I will go chronologically…. so, today’s motto: “Take your time.”
Brace yourselves; this is gonna be a long one.
It was September, 2016. I was in a downright headspin of efflorescent endeavors. I think the first development was the bike. Listen, my Crosstrail (The Beast) did get me through some rough shit. And I’m still not letting go of that baby anytime soon. But it’s not a touring bike. I will write another blog exclusively dedicated to the fine nuances that make a great touring bike, and I’ll likely delve into the construction of my own touring bike there as well. In short, The Beast was too heavy in all the wrong places. The gear ratios were off. The shocks were unnecessary. Perhaps most importantly, it was not field-service friendly. It was time for a change.
Prep Time:
Ask Meaghan; I put a few HUNDRED hours of research into this new bike. It came down to one of two options: buy a tour bike, or build one. Contrary to popular belief, you absolutely do not save money building a bicycle. Buying one was a good option…. but I couldn’t quite find the exact one I wanted. Cyclists are very finicky about this stuff. My closest and most attractive contender was the Surly Disc Trucker. I heard rumblings of it being the best brand for touring cyclists.
Listen…. she’s pretty. but only 95% what I wanted. (I still think about her, though, and what could have been….)
What’s missing? Customization. If I committed to this, it was an immediate $1,500 drop, and any extra customizations would add up quickly. I didn’t want to have spare parts lying around, especially in a 600sq ft apartment…. besides, I thought it would be better to spread this purchase across multiple paychecks instead of one big drop.
I researched frames the most. The bicycle you buy is the frame. The nerves kicked were killing me when I finally clicked “purchase.” All the research paid off, and here was my reward:
Dog not included.
Less well known than the behemoth Surly.
The 2016 Soma Saga DC. Disc/Canti. Talk about versatility. Steel is the best for field maintenance. It’s modernized, but keeps all the perks of what the older tech got right. In fact, I got this the day after the 2016 election, the day it was raining cats and dogs. I took it as a sign that I was about to build my life into something truly beautiful.
It was around the time I made this purchase that I arranged a song. My barbershop quartet, T.H.O.M. (The Harmony of Men) was just getting started. I spent the entire day crafting my first ever barbershop arrangement for a special occasion. I didn’t know when the occasion would happen, but it ended up being a part of this golden trifecta in my life. The song was Elvis’s “Can’t Help Falling in Love.” I went to choir rehearsal that night in a frenzy. “EVERYONE LOOK AT THIS SONG!!”
It was an overtly tough bear of an arrangement, to say the least. It was one of my more ambitious writings, but one I had faith I could teach and my quartet could pull off. I didn’t really plan it this well, but nine months later would be the date that something was born, making it the best day of my life.
No, it wasn’t a baby.
In the rumblings of exhausting rehearsals, and spending the rest of my free time building my blue and purple rig, which I affectionately named “Suicune” (Dave officially welcomes you to the deepest depths of Nerd City), I had even more goings on. I applied for a part-time music gig, and right as I was accepted for the position, my current part-time job offered me a full-time position, something I was gunning for in the past few months. I ended up with three jobs: one full-time, one part-time, and one contracted. I wouldn’t have done it if mom didn’t take care of those tax forms for me (I owe you MANY margaritas).
All the fuss left me with no free time. Every ounce of time outside of my three jobs (and most of my paycheck) was going to optimizing my touring equipment. Waterproofing, weight-reducing, space-saving hacks that would pay off in the long run. I lost track of how many hours I spent on this.
But what about the route? After last year’s death trap of climbs on the first day, Strava’s route builder was not an option. I went simple. Google Maps got us home last year, so I wanted to see how it would fare this time. In a planned 680mi, we would hit the Appalachians hard. I initially clocked in at 1,000mi, but neither of us had enough time off to take that trek. Despite that little snip, I preserved one monster goal: ascend Slide Mountain, the tallest mountain in the Catskill Range of New York.
That wasn’t the scary part. The scary part was that most of the trip was going to be backwoods camping, aside from four housing stays: two with family, one with a friend, and one God knows where in NYC. Otherwise, no bathrooms, no kitchens, and no people. But honestly, if you’re THAT terrified of bears and ticks, pay the $50 a night for a campsite.
The final rig: 78lbs with water. 25% less than last time. Talk about efficiency.
I’m one proud mama. :’)
All the gear I needed. Shout-out to that Pringles can.
Instead of getting cold feet three weeks from launch, I was super-prepped by that time. It was also around that time that two other events occurred. T.HO.M. performed at our first and only competition, where we did my song, followed by “Sir Duke.” It was an interesting performance, but we learned a lot, and we bonded very well. Despite the flop, I knew the song was ready for its intended purpose. We set the date for July 23rd. June 17th, I walked out of the shop…. and ran straight back in because I used the wrong payment option!!! “SHIT.” I saw Michael roll his eyes behind his storefront smile. He reassured me that yes, some folks get this nervous when placing a down payment on an engagement ring.
More to come on that, because it was ALSO at this time that my boss announced her departure from her position. I had yet another big-boy play to make. Do I apply for the Director of Therapeutic Recreation, or do I stay as a Coordinator? These last few months have been all about confidence. I had to plan a backwoods bicycle tour. I had to perform my own arrangement in a perfectionist music competition. I had to walk into Saffian Rudolph…. three times, trying to prove that I was man enough to handle this purchase. Now, do I become a manager? It was all moving SO fast. My heart is pounding just writing about it.
The president of my company proceeded with my job interview the day I had to leave for tour. Talk about cutting it close, Dave.
The Tour:
• • • Pre-Tour Travel: Bussing from Philadelphia, PA – Manhattan, NY: 6.7mi
After a hectic day, with a scary but somewhat okay job interview, a summer party, therapeutic activities with the elderly, I was very glad to have been 100% prepped before I went to work. Dan came over that day, and yes, once again, no one else took the bait of this extraordinary adventure but him. Eventually, we take off, on a long, grueling day. This was honestly the hardest day we had. If you can’t read the sarcasm yet, then buckle up!
It was threatening to rain, and not even on the first real day. I hate rain. I’d rather ride in snow, no question. We only got a small drizzle…. for now.
Bolt Bus became the transportation of choice to NYC. Dan clued me in on the fact that there was absolutely nothing that made the 100mi ride from Philly to NYC worth it. No scenery, no climbs, and no descents. Only garbage and the Mario Kart-style Jersey drivers. For $8, we could get there in two hours, conserve precious time and energy, and decompress from our hectic lives, truly getting ready for this expedition. I called the family. They seemed a bit less worried than last time, I think.
The first lack of prep last-minute shenanigans was the fact that I found a couch-surfer for that night only a few hours prior to boarding the bus. Remember my luck with couch-surfing on the last tour? We were ready to shell out a dumb pretty penny or two for a hotel. Matthew was an incredibly accommodating host, and it was possibly the stars aligning when he told us that he too is a touring cyclist. What. Are. The. Chances?!?!
He did a ride with a similar route to ours, and told us we we-re in for a treat! He went on to appropriately brag about his rides all over the world. Apparently, New Zealand will let you bring your recreational gear at no extra cost, since it is such a recreation-heavy country. I got more jealous by the second. This guy was too cool.
I got permission to tell this suave stranger’s story.
• • • Day 1: Manhattan, NY – Monroe, CT: 74.9mi
The night was a bit cramped. I didn’t realize that I asked a couch-surfer who usually only accepts one guest to accept two. It was the first of many true examples of good-natured humanism at work. In the morning, I botched two servings of scrambled eggs on Matthew’s fancy cast-iron skillet, perhaps foreshadowing my lack of culinary talent. I opted for five packs of fruit snacks, and wanted to waste no time. This time, we woke up early, prepped early, and left early. I soon regretted the 5:00am wake-up call. I tend to get headaches in the morning if I sleep weird, and I got a bad one this time, which was only exacerbated by lack of sleep and early rising.
Matthew showed us many routes out of the city, none of which we took (sorry, bud). We found a fast and relatively clear path, skipping most of the early morning rush. Some might say riding in NYC can be terrifying, but it really wasn’t. Dan and I both have extensive experience riding in Miami and Philadelphia respectively. These guys aren’t downright jackasses like Philly (for the most part). At least NYC drivers know that the cycling culture is huge. It was a breeze compared to some of my bullshit garbage experiences in Philly.
I remember someone saying that you’ll have good weather the rest of the trip if it rains on the first day. Whoever said that is stupid. Do not pass Go. Do not collect $200. It poured for about an hour. We came prepared, and the rain did finally clear up while we passed through this beautiful bay area.
I mean LOOK at that setup.
The whole day was an urban rider’s dream. We made pretty good time around town, relatively skimming the East Coast. It was hot enough to start gulping down water. Here I was with five water bottle cages and a CamelBak, but then again, Dan had SEVEN (and a CamelBak). I was close to bringing two more bottles attached to my saddle, but opted out last-minute. Dan had the extra set-up, but those cheap cages ended up costing us a trip to the bike shop.
It’s never fun.
We still got to our first stop a few hours before dusk. I was very happy to see my Uncle Jim and Aunt Mary greeting us with wide open arms. They’re just like us: music-loving, bicycle-loving aficionados. This was by far our most luxurious stop. We had a quick dive in the pool, which is just the best recovery for a cyclist. Afterwards, a quick tune-up was needed after all that rain grime from the morning (did I mention I hate the rain?). That night, dinner was a meat and cheese plate, steak, veggies, beer, and chocolate cake. It was without a doubt that they were in fact trying to sabotage our trip and keep us planted in Connecticut. It was a fantastic night.
• • • Day 2: Monroe, CT – Nepaug St. Forest, CT: 48.4mi
If you thought dinner was luxurious….
I’m pretty sure we had every single option on your standard breakfast menu in front of us. Seriously though, not a problem for me.
We had a comfortable ride planned ahead of us. It was my genius at work. Each day was meant to alternate in distance and overall difficulty. 48 miles is nothing to sneeze at, but with our experience it was going to be very doable. So we left a bit later than usual. It was very nice catching up with family.
Uncle Jim, and Bernie, the master of disaster!
After a full belly and a full heart, we moseyed out into the wild, the real wild this time. Our destination was the first of many planned backwoods camping sites. Connecticut only needed some paperwork to be filled out, and then any state forest was fair game. Some states like New York were surprisingly even less logistical (just be 150ft from water and have at it).
Sounds easy, right? It wasn’t.
We found a sick singletrack trail that was pretty fun, but on loaded bikes not quite meant for trail-riding, we had to be careful. Take a note that this was yet another foreshadowing moment.
Google Maps has some minor flaws, but one of the more glaring issues is lack of accurate elevation readings. Every foot matters when lugging 78lbs of steel. 48 miles turned into rolling hills that were way bigger than the ones I was used to. We slowed down quite a bit, exhausted, and I smelled some déjà vu. You know me; I was not willing to give in to the aches and pains just yet.
What made matters even worse was that my expensive leather Sella Anatomica saddle lost all its tension, caving in on itself. I had to do the whole rest of the trip with a bowed saddle, sitting on the steel rails below it. Goodbye to my chance of having children, I guess.
Right on cue was a sorely needed moment of pure joy. Riding in July, the Tour de France was taking place at the same time as us. I was a little bummed that I was missing most of the stages, but a real highlight came at the edge of Nepaug St. Forest. We stopped for dinner and ice cream (it’s funny how you can find ice cream in the absolute middle of nowhere up north). A whole bunch of kids were there, and they were uncannily excited to see us pull up. “Oh my God, I saw you on T.V.!!!!!” It was such honest innocence thinking that we were from the Tour de France, and even more flattering when they asked us for our autographs! It’s funny how life can screw with your head so much, but all it takes is one genuine moment of joy to make an impact.
We really needed this morale boost, because the next few hours were rough.
What backwoods camping doesn’t have is paved roads. It’s truly meant for experienced hikers, and any cyclist attempting it should be well-prepared. All we had was a vague map to tell us where we were allowed to camp. It took a long while to figure things out, and Dan and I were clearly frustrated. I did my best to optimize this year’s ride, but of course there were blunders. This particular one just came at a bad time.
The “path” we rode to get to our campsite was by far the scariest ride I’ve ever done. The rolling hilly trail was aptly named “Satan’s Kingdom.” No joke. This bitch lived up to it’s name. I sported 32mm hybrid road tires, crafted for speed, not tech. The path ahead was big chunks of very loose gravel. It rained again, too, so there was barely any existence of grip. Satan’s Kingdom was only two miles in length, but two miles was a tall order now.
I truly thought I was gonna face-plant on the ascents and downright crash on the descents. I held onto those bars for dear life. A downhill of loose, wet gravel, on a 78lb wind sail of a bike with skinny tires is never something I ever want to experience again.
But hey, Dan had a grand old time. 2″ thick tires on a flat-bar bike made it a piece of cake.
But then we came up to something neither of our bikes could climb: the hiking trail. The trail to the permitted camping area was over a half mile long. Tell me what you think was tougher: Satan’s Kingdom, or a fully loaded bike hike?
After what seemed like nearly an hour, we settled on this spot:
Once you get there, it’s not so bad.
This was downright draining. But after that, there was a lot of housekeeping. First thing’s first, set up the tent. Second, laundry. I brought a wash bag to do laundry, which took an hour with the hike down to the river and back. Even changing into dry clothes took a while, but we definitely wanted to make sure we were cool but covered, since tick season was in full, ravenous force. Soon came pitch black night, and we needed to eat after those draining hikes. Dinner was weird and cramped inside my larger tent, featuring no steak, only snacks. No more steak for a while, boys! After that, we “learned” how to hang the food. This was frustrating to say the least, especially at night, and we didn’t even do it right. It’s was a true “FUCK IT” moment.
• • • Day 3: Nepaug St. Forest, CT – Erving St. Forest, MA: 81.2mi
We sorely needed more sleep. But you thought yesterday was a long day. Just wait.
I woke up before sunrise, and started packing immediately. Anything I didn’t need for breakfast was already in the bags. By the crack of dawn, I was ready to cook! I was very determined to build a fire so I could say that I did it! I was inspired and ready to go, especially since I was hungry as hell.
Listen carefully: Building. A. Fire. Is. Very. Difficult.
Method: hole in the ground, sticks, spark fire starter. I’ve watched enough survival shows to know that it was a downright bitch of a task. Don’t forget, the sticks were soaking wet, so there was seriously no hope at all. Dan had a chimney method with a fire canister, and while it was still painfully difficult, he eventually got it to work. Meanwhile, I had a pathetic breakfast. At least my solar charger was getting a lot of time charging my electronics.
It was about 8:30am by the time we got down the hiking trail. Going down was honestly not much easier than going up. In fact, it’s even harder when someone forgets something. Dan was missing his rain cover to keep his panniers dry. Guess who was hiking back up, being the only one with the shoes for it…. I can laugh about it now, but in the moment I had already fucking had it with this trip.
An hour later (I ran, which was hardly a good idea), we were back on track. But frankly, we left very late. 81 miles on a hot and hilly day would have been best served by racking up as many miles as possible in the early hours. Unfortunately, we just didn’t really have a choice. The good news was at least our next campsite was going to be an actual campground this time.
The MVP of the day was this janky hole-in-the-wall pizza place. I hail from what is unofficially known to be the pizza capital of the world, Northeast PA. Don’t believe me? Go there, and don’t talk shit until you tried it. I won’t hear it. We have the best pizza.
Family Pizza in Westfield, MA. Worth a shout-out here. Westfield, you are lucky people.
But this place took even me by surprise, so much so that I took a little extra with me and saved it for the whole rest of the day. It was almost just as good for dinner that night!
By this time, it was hot as hell outside, and we weren’t even halfway there. We spent a lot of time resting, but sometimes you just can’t get away without taking a long break.
Time for a quick interlude here: A few weeks earlier, I had talked to not only my quartet, but my best friend, my family, and Meaghan’s family. I had a BIG plan for the proposal. I spent as much time thinking about it as I had this tour! In short, I needed everyone there on July 23rd. Well…. now that was proving to be a bit problematic. Despite all the prep, I got the dreaded text, “I don’t think I’ll be able to make it.” It was probably the last thing I need to hear at that point. And I get it; we’re all human, and it’s honestly kind of funny now. But the whole “it’s funny NOW” theme keeps happening; it was NOT funny then. After all this physical and mental challenge, try throwing this wrench into the picture. I think I said something like, “Well, you’re going to have to find a way to make it work.” This day was just kicking my ass in every way imaginable, and I was on a very short fuse.
We took another long break. Well, it was actually a nap. I had a 45-minute rest in a random Massachusetts town, ready to plant there for the night. I think we still had 20 miles to go.
To finish off our grueling day was an 800ft climb, a mountaintop finish! Now THAT was hard.
Your mind can play tricks on you, and despite me painting a pretty gritty picture here, things weren’t terrible. It was definitely not the worst day, but I think Dan was starting to lose faith. Something kept telling him that this trip was harder than last year. I reminded him that at least this time we weren’t in very serious pain, actually had a legitimate route, and weren’t seriously considering quitting outright.
At least, that’s what I kept telling myself. We got to the campsite by dark. With no light left, we didn’t even bother checking in with the front desk. It was a quick rush to eat dinner, do laundry, set up camp, and get as much rest as possible. I gotta say, the second day of camping in a row was just downright uncomfortable, especially with two difficult days back-to-back. We may have been more efficient this time around, but that hardly made it any easier.
• • • Day 4: Erving St. Forest, MA – Wilmington, VT: 45.6mi
Our millennial asses had no cell service, and with the daily Facebook updates temporarily halted, it made people worry.
Don’t worry, we were just trying to build fires again.
This lasted for 10 seconds. Welcome to the real Hell’s Kitchen.
A good start to the morning was a sweet descent down the 800ft hill we climbed earlier. It made me feel like a good cyclist, going fast and furious like that!
In fact, after climbing out of that pit of a forest, we did kind of feel like good cyclists. We had a decent pace for a while, and I somehow even broke the speed limit. Sammy Hagar was screaming at me, but yes I did drive 55!
A familiar proposition rung beside me again. But this time, I had no doubt in my mind that we deserved it. Grout Pond, our weird destination in Vermont, was 60 miles away. Dan proposed to cut a few miles and head closer to our ultimate destination. After a quick refuel at Wal-Mart, and an even better lunch in Brattleboro, we settled on a motel in Wilmington, VT, a total day of 45 miles. Not bad.
Let me back up for a second. Brattleboro is a remarkable charmer right on the border next to New Hampshire. Without a doubt, we found another touring cyclist there. He communicated through ASL and text, and I thought it was great to be reminded that we’re not the only crazy bikepackers out there! Brattleboro also makes a mean burger, something that goes down easy on these trips.
I WANT ALL OF YOU TO LOOK AT IT!
Remember when we met that pathetic asshole of an old man last year? The one who called my job worthless? I’m happy to say that we met another man, Steve, who reminded me of him, but only in looks. Otherwise, this guy was the polar opposite: a lovely soul, like-minded, and full of spunk! Dan had another stop at a bike shop to get some fun gear, and I chatted away with this complete stranger. He convinced me that I would probably enjoy living in Vermont! He reminded me that getting out of your bubble will ultimately only help you and allow you to really appreciate the world around you.
Burrows Sports. They have a good mantra.
This day was looking fine! It was only 19 miles to the motel, and it was still pretty early!
I’m glad we thought that. Because the next 19 miles was just us riding up one giant middle fucking finger.
I checked the elevation gain afterwards to see what the hell was going on. Neither of us had ever experienced this in our lives before, but what felt like a relatively flat road was literally sucking the energy out from under us. I kept telling myself it was the dreaded false flat, which it was, but that shouldn’t have mattered since we really were feeling energized today.
I should have realized this, but the roads up north are built differently. They’re more porous, meant to quickly absorb the precipitation and create more friction to make traveling safer, especially in the winter months. I get it, but boy does that mean shit for a cyclist on a hot summer day! 19 miles took exactly four hours, and it would have taken longer if we didn’t have two forgiving descents at the end. It was a gradual climb from 200ft to 2,000ft. Not to mention those bullshit roads eventually turned into straight-up dirt and gravel! I couldn’t believe how unyielding this ride was becoming. When a runner was beating our sorry selves up a hill, it truly felt like it was game over.
Is Dan crying? Cause I am.
Let’s not forget that in between the few towns in Vermont, there was absolutely no cell reception. I couldn’t even check to see if there was a faster route, but there’s definitely wasn’t. There’s only one “road” in Vermont, so good luck.
It’s nice when you don’t even pedal down a hill, and just let the struggle wisp off of you. But honestly, even the downhills felt sluggish due to those roads. We descended into Wilmington, a popular stop for winter athletes. Our stop was the Viking Motel, an oddball spectacle that cost twice the price just because it had some medieval decorations lying around. Thanks, Obama.
A bed. Thank God. Thanks, Obama.
• • • Day 5: Wilmington, VT – West Stockbridge, MA: 58.1mi
It rained again last night. Hey, at least we missed it! Right?
….right?
It’s a slow time, but a good time.
Our first stop of the day was Dot’s Famous Restaurant in Wilmington. I don’t quite remember what I ate, but I know I ate like trash and liked it. It seemed a bit too early to be slobbering down sugar-covered treats, which I’m sure helped slow me down a bit. Chugging through the molasses roads of the North for a few miles was nothing new. What WAS new was the first time Google Maps legitimately created a barrier between what it was displaying and what was actually presented to us.
Sleepy Hollow Road. The long road out of Vermont. The only road out of Vermont.
Only nine people have recorded the Sleepy Hollow segment on Strava. In fact I’m surprised that anyone was crazy enough to tackle this climb. For my stat nerds: 654ft of climbing, 6.7% average grade, and 1.8mi long. It took 52 hellish minutes.
One small detail. The rain. This was a sandy dirt road, and with the fresh rain, it became this eviscerated mess that blended more with the mountain than the actual hiking paths around it. I’ve never experienced quicksand, but if I were to guess, it would have felt something like that. The video I took perfectly captures two of the many times I just sunk into the road. It was wild. The few people we passed on the way were wide-eyed, head-shaking, open-mouthed spectators, probably more ready to see Sasquatch than us trying to tackle this mess.
It was one of the nastiest climbs I’ve ever done, but the reward was absolutely worth it. Many miles followed of the most incredible descending out of Vermont. Clocking in at a maximum 48mph, I felt the struggle of the day was gone, and I don’t mean that I simply thought that, but this time it was actually the case! We stopped in Adams, MA. You can easily miss it, but thank God we didn’t! After debating on where to eat, we settled on the Red Carpet Restaurant. While writing this, I had THE HARDEST time trying to find the name of the place, and the only reason I found it was because Google Maps stored my restaurant searches for that day. It goes without saying, we took beautiful pictures of the food:
It was so good that I ate it all before I could get the picture. It was a pulled-pork Reuben with cranberry sauce and fries. #1 Reuben in my book.
Mouthwatering. Look at that sandwich.
This was a pretty chill day. So chill that by the end, it almost felt like a rest day. Dan wanted a true recovery by staying in a motel again. I said, “As long as you can add the extra six mile climb tomorrow, then that’s fine.”
We stopped in West Stockbridge, a true rat’s nest of a town.
• • • Day 6: West Stockbridge, MA – Slide Mountain, NY: 85.2mi
We were pretty well-rested at this point. We left early enough, and got right to climbing. Another 600ft out of the gate! At least this time it was paved! Honestly, for a while this day was a good cruise. We had some more descending to do, all the way down to the Hudson. It was around this time that we really started to see the charm of New York drivers. I distinctly remember three drivers taunting us. Not like we weren’t on the huge shoulder of the road or anything. I can already imagine them probably thinking we were “gay spandex clowns only good for target practice.” You get that a lot as a cyclist, and it really makes me wonder why so many people get on the road and think about actually killing other people. You’re all adults; please stop. Thankfully, we never had an incident of any kind, but this shit scares me more than the bears.
After crossing the Hudson, we saw it for the first time in person. This was Slide Mountain. You could tell which one was Slide. There were no sharp edges that define many powerhouse mountains. What it had instead was unfathomable mounds of earth that crest to the clouds. Slide Mountain was the mother of all mountains.
And yes, somewhere along the river was Woodstock, the real town of Woodstock. I actually didn’t realize that it was THE Woodstock until after we left, so I missed out on taking pictures. But just imagine your own colorful psychedelic swirls running around in this blog.
There we go. HELL YEAH, BABY!
Somewhere around this time we got shadowed by a very violent thunderstorm. Anyone from Upstate NY will tell you it rains all the time. Lightning was literally everywhere, and the irrational fear of getting a bucket of water poured on my head in the bathtub as a small child reignited, as I saw no discernible airspace between the plastering heavy rain drops. It poured fucking hard. This was the next half hour of our lives. We took shelter under a tree, and not a single particle of our gear was dry anymore.
The storm did eventually clear, but this was where the most physically demanding days of the tour officially began. The forests and Vermont were very tough, but all of it combined was no match. At the base of the mountain was Phoenicia, a 300-person town. They had one barbecue joint, but I made the executive decision to keep pedaling until we found something closer to our campsite….
A few miles into the base of the mountain, I tried searching for some food online, only to find that my phone had no service at all. The smart bet may have been to turn back, but with daylight slipping away, and another false-flat, energy-zapping road ahead, it seemed like sooner or later SOMETHING should have come up. With 25 miles still to go, we just had to keep pushing.
I had a fleeting moment of cell reception that gave me no good answers. I think the worst part was that we were there on a Wednesday, and that whole area apparently closes on Tuesdays and Wednesdays. There were seriously no restaurants open. Hell, THERE WERE NO RESTAURANTS. This was all turning into a horrible mistake. We kept pushing ourselves into the red, slowly depleting our snack stores, which at least helped reduce some bike weight. We eventually moseyed to Cold Spring Lodge and Cabins in the “town” of Oliverea (I’m pretty sure 10 people live there). The lodge owner gave us an expensive pricetag to spend the night (listen, I’m still not THAT desperate), but ended up giving us a very good layout of the mountain area, including the private lands vs. state lands, and the closest restaurant onwards. Too bad the closest one on our path was 45 miles away. He mentioned some German family a few miles up that might cook us dinner, but I wasn’t really counting on that. Further up we went.
It was only another 5 miles, but it was forever. An hour later, now dusk, we finally found the state land we could camp in. Another half-mile of boulder-ridden trail brought us to a barely open brush that we called home for the night. This was the Big Indian Wilderness. Once again, I had an extremely vague map to go on, and nothing else. Our campsite was probably illegal (too close to water and too close to the foot trail), but it just didn’t matter at this point. Food mattered. Sleep mattered. Tomorrow, we had plans.
It was tough going on snacks the whole night. We both got so tired and so sleepy that neither of us hung the food afterwards. Very rookie move, and if we were ever going to see a bear, it was gonna be then. It was another moment of many that, somehow, in some way, we were being watched over. And not by the bears. Whew.
• • • Day 7: Slide Mountain, NY – Forest City, PA: 89.6mi
I think we went to bed by 10:00pm, and woke up at 4:00am. This was the earliest rise by far, but we had a lot to do! I had a vision in my mind: at over 3,000ft, atop the most gorgeous overlook, raise my bike above my head during the sunrise, championing the mountain. I had to be real and leave the bike at camp, and I’m glad I wasn’t crazy enough to take it with me.
At 4:30am, we set off to hike 1.5 miles up the trail.
This was taken on the way back down, since it was lighter. But still, the picture does not do justice to how steep this climb was.
The trail was soaked. It made climbing very difficult. Furthermore, me being the genius that I am, I wanted to keep my treaded cycling shoes as free from muck and mud as possible. I knew it would make the trip back home easier, but that meant I had to hike in my water shoes. You know, those weird fabric things that are hardly better than socks.
We had a vague idea of where we were going: up. Every now and then, there was a trail marker, but they stopped once we got to the top of the mountain. Just because we were at the top doesn’t mean we found the fabled overlook just yet. Instead, we found the actual places where we were supposed to camp, complete with actual built fire pits. But seriously, that would have been impossible to get all the way up there with our gear.
We found one cheeky little spot that kind of looked scenic, but it was underwhelming to say the least. No, not after all this trouble.
Dan did take a mighty-fine pose, though.
There HAD to be more. We weren’t going back down until we found it. In fact, we separated for a good 20 minutes, which would normally be a bad idea in the outlandish wilderness. But to be honest, I’m glad we did split, because Dan ran back to find me, and tried to retrace his footsteps to what he found.
Slide Mountain overlook. 3,200ft. 6:30am. Now that’s more like it.
Folks, this is what happens when you follow a dream. For a long while, all the brute pain, gross stink, and mental fatigue was completely gone, heralded by a Superman-like shout, shortly followed by very happy tears. This is what it’s all about. You tell me if it was worth it, but I saw it and experience it myself. We did it the hard way, but we did it the right way.
Oddly enough, I had 4G LTE at the top! I gave my family and friends a quick update, and then really took some more time to appreciate this. Not many people can say they’ve done something quite like this.
I’m not often very proud of myself. I struggle with a variety of insecurities, and some very real depression. Sometimes, I just don’t give myself the praise I deserve. Maybe that’s why I do what I do. Maybe that’s really what pushes me to the top of these mountains. Because let me tell you, I was very proud of myself that morning.
Another 1.5 miles back down, and once again, going down was no easier than going up. I did take enough time at the top, but I was eager to get riding again, as we had a blistering 120 mile day ahead of us. I built the route that way, expecting to camp at the top of the mountain and descend straight into PA. It didn’t quite work out that way, but there was still a very real descent ahead of us. In no time, we were back on the road, ready to go home.
Brunch was a long ways away from the middle of nowhere we found ourselves in. But it went by quickly considering the only place to go was down. But honestly, that descent was not too invigorating. It was more gradual, and with those infamous absorbent roads, it felt like we had to try to descend, still fighting gravity just enough to be annoying. It wasn’t quite what I pictured, but I didn’t really have room to complain.
Once again, a rainstorm blew through. This time it was Dan that was pulling ahead, somehow incredibly energized by the perfect storm. It took a lot for me to keep up with him! The first 60 miles of this day ended up being pretty easy compared to what we had before.
And what lie ahead.
We weren’t out of the toughest leg just yet. First, New York presented us with a lovely grass road. Yes, this was courtesy of Google Maps, what it thought to be an actual, traversable pathway, ended up being a goddamn field of grass. What a screwfest. But after that, we hit Pennsylvania. Oh, my love-hate relationship with you! Any remianing joy was squashed pretty quickly with unwelcome 14% climbs. It just did not end. Once again, Google Maps failed to mention this to us. The hills were punishing. We weren’t even going to get to our destination until at least 10:00pm now. We somehow made it to mile 79.
I know I tend to push myself hard, but I also know when to quit.
Atop one of the many surprise climbs. I really just took this picture as an excuse to stop riding.
Thankfully, our destination was a quaint third story apartment, home to my absolute lifelong hero: my father. With a calm sense over him, he agreed to pick us up along the way, and drive us to his place. After that tail-between-my-legs phone call, I felt a little bit better about all this. You can’t do life alone. You need your support systems. My father is worth more to me than any scenic overlook. We gave one last push along the rocky O&W Trail, split back onto 171, and as I happened to look to the left, there’s my dad driving alongside me!
The first thing he said was how good our forms looked after all this. It was all a rouse, Dad. A hologram projection. I had no energy left.
The second thing he said was, “Wow, you guys…. definitely smell like something.” It was like a wet dog, but one that rolled in a septic tank. Kind of like my dog!
We smelled like straight trash.
Our hero provided us with Domino’s pizza, ice cream, and a much needed laundry cycle or two. That night, Dan and I slept super well. Tomorrow was going to be the last semi-difficult day. I looked closer at Google Maps to see just what it would be like.
• • • Day 8: Mountain Top, PA – Allentown, PA: 65.5mi
We woke up late. If we really wanted to, we could have afforded a rest day, but I desperately wanted that rest day to be at the end of the tour.
It was Friday, and I was confused by my Dad’s offer to drive us further still. “Don’t you have work?” I’m thinking that he already planned to help us out here beforehand, a very charming and underappreciated trait about him.
Thank God he did, because we were in Pittston PA, trying to get to Mountain Top. Guess where “Mountain” “Top” is. The local cyclists call the one particular climb “The Nail,” because you think you’re at the top, only to find the real upgrade finish that nails you in the fucking head (something like that). We skipped all that junk. He let us off at the top of the Lehigh Gorge Trail, which headed straight into Jim Thorpe. Thank you again for that, seriously.
It was all downhill to Jim Thorpe, a spectacle historic town. Easy peasy.
Hah. Easy peasy. Have you figured out my writing style yet? You guessed it. The next part is horrible.
I have tried to balance this story out with a mix of emotions, culminating into a grand adventure. But this is the moment where I just can’t express that. I lost all my cool this time. This is the true climactic swirling shit-storm, and the absolute most bitter moment in the whole ride. Let me tell you exactly what happened.
The trail was still wet from the last four days of rain. It made the ride feel like the infamous roads of the north. This is a downhill trail, and we weren’t getting anywhere. Despite checking the weather the previous night, it didn’t even matter. Yet another heavy rainstorm developed out of thin air, and turned the trail into straight pudding. It got so bad that our shifting cables quickly became too mucked up to change gears properly. It got so bad that no amount of waterproof clothing kept us dry. It got so bad, that at one point I screamed at Dan for him to catch up so we could get out of this mess. I was fed up with this stupid ride. I rage ate a half-jar of peanut butter all at once, at it made me feel no better afterwards. But seriously, this was a downright disaster. This was a 33 mile trail, and it soured the entire day. I blew my entire fuse, cursing up a storm worse than the storm we were riding in, stopping only to throw rocks at the side of the gorge, trying to tame these terrible feelings. Things were yet again not going as planned, and you know how I get when the world fucks with my plans.
It was a dark moment. Four hours to be exact. The first thing we did after finally exiting the trail was deep clean the bikes. They were mangled. When the tour was over, I spent a whole day trying to recover as many parts as possible and hand washed everything. We spent an hour just to get the shifting back to almost-par, and had some lack-luster pizza to “celebrate.”
Google Maps took the stage once again, and it was finally the last straw. Coming out of Jim Thorpe can be particularly tricky by bicycle. There was one rocky path up a huge mountain. The turnpike was lucky enough to have the tunnel through this mountain. And one other highway rode flat around the mountain. There were no good options, but I knew one thing: we were not taking another mangled trail, UPHILL, at this point.
Our best bet was the highway. It was 6 miles, and definitely an illegal stunt, but it was the only viable option. Maybe the police would give us an escort! Our shifting issues were still not over yet, as Dan had some mechanical of which the details I can’t recall. All I remember is throwing an unfiltered hissy fit.
After all the debacle, Dan was tired, but I was just eager to get to our stopping point. We were going to meet Jessica, an old friend from elementary school. Okay, when I say friend, I mean she was the only kid perceived to be nerdier than me and became one of the only students more picked on than me. In fact, I joined in on the bullying a lot. Not cool, Dave. It was so trashy of me, and I later grew up and apologized. A now friend, she graciously offered up her place in Allentown for us.
I didn’t want to be out too late. It was a straight shot, so I gave Dan the directions and sprinted forward. After the rage-inducing day, harboring all of the deep lows of the tour, I had a breakout moment where I was able to direct all that anger to a healthy and productive place: my bike. I flat-out sailed, with AC/DC and Mötley Crüe fueling my enraged sprint. Take that!
Maybe I didn’t go as fast as I thought, or maybe Dan had the same idea, because he made great time as well. Afterwards, it was great to catch up with Jess, and meet her very sweet and needy dogs, Molly and Gia. Molly would get upset if I stopped petting her. It was what I needed at the end of a horrible day.
• • • Day 9: Allentown, PA – Philadelphia, PA: 67.8mi
We left semi-bright and early, and with no rain in sight, it was actually likely to be a much better day. We saved only enough water and food that we needed, ditched the empty cans of sunscreen, and were never more ready to go home.
Ensnaring. Encapsulating.
Lunch was early, and while it may have been a gastrointestinal mistake to douse ourselves in burritos, Fiesta Habanero in East Greenville, PA was not only a delicious dive, but one of the most beautifully decorated restaurants I’ve ever seen! It was at the top of the hill. It was all downhill from here…. It was another gravel trail, the Perkiomen Trail, which was familiar territory for me. It was part of my very first (horribly difficult) century ride (that’s another blog coming soon). Perkiomen Valley was also one of the most exquisite rivals my high school’s indoor percussion group had.
Just before we hit the trail, I received a very important phone call, and made another few very important calls. I saw the number from Safian & Rudolph, about one week before the big day, calling to tell me the engagement ring was finished, and that it came out beautifully. I called my best man, and also got a reassuring text from my quartet members saying that they are 100% able to attend now. It was all a huge relief. Life was starting to come together again.
The trail was tough in some spots, and Dan had one minor mechanical. My shifting still wasn’t incredible, but I knew it would get me home. The Perkiomen Trail eventually bled into the very familiar Schuylkill Trail. Just before that happened, I got stopped by a group of kids. They were having some sort of car wash fundraiser, and they had SO many questions for me! My favorite moment, though, was my question to them; “Guys, I want you to guess how many miles we did.”
“Oh, 5!”
Sure. 78lbs of gear to go five miles.
Soon, they got to 500. “A little bit more.” “THREE THOUSAND!!!”
….okay a little bit less….
600 was the current mark so far! In all that time, many terrible things did NOT happen. No bears. No ticks. No parts completely breaking. No sickness. Here’s what did happen….
“PSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS….”
12 miles from home. Guess which lucky son of a bitch got the flat!
It didn’t help that due to the angle of my stem and handlebars, after nine days of riding, I just couldn’t feel my hands anymore. It made maintenance a hurdle.
The Schuylkill took us all the way home, same as last year. It felt like meeting up with an old friend. I try not to take that trail too much anymore, in part because I’ve taken it so many times now, but particularly because I want to preserve its special place in my heart as much as possible.
Home sweet home. It’s hard to see the grime, but you can see it best on the rear rack.
Here lies my saddle, completely obliterated by this trip. Here lies my ass as well, which I’ll need to be off for a very long time.
There was no one home to greet us on this Saturday afternoon, so I figured a bunch of pizza and beer was in order. we had a real rest day ahead of us. I remember having a couple slices, half a beer, and then passing out for hours.
Epilogue:
This is probably my favorite tour, despite how bitter some of my words may come across. This was really the first tour where I felt like I accomplished something. 2016 had SO many failures, and it was not smooth sailing in any regard. While I can’t say this one was always smooth sailing either, it was a lot closer to what a tour should be. It was physically demanding, but not too demanding (mostly). It was exploratory. It was adventurous. It was downright wild. My bicycle’s performance was truly incredible. Most importantly, the climb up Slide Mountain, and that 6:00am view of the world was the moment that truly captured my heart for all time.
That Monday, I left work with a new job title in order, “Director of Therapeutic Recreation.” They figured that instead of telling me in an email (I was feverishly checking my email as much as possible!), they would present it as a nice “welcome back” gift.
Only days later, another moment captured my heart. One empty bank account later, the ring was in my pocket. I kept it at my workplace so that Meaghan would have no accidental way of finding it. That weekend, I went to my hometown for my little brother’s annual bowling alley birthday party, and I was the talk of the town almost as much as him. It was really all happening so fast, but I was enjoying every minute of it!
Sunday, July 23rd, 2017. After two months, the members of T.H.O.M. got back together in person. My best friend was here from Texas. My parents, grandma, siblings, and family friends/significant others were here, along with Meaghan’s parents and brother. We found a good spot to hide along a secluded part of the Delaware River Trail. It was the only place I knew that was quiet and secluded enough in all of Philadelphia, and while we didn’t have any memories there, I wanted to create a new one, and have it be one of our special places.
I made my family hide in a bush on a hot summer day.
“Meaghan, let’s go on a date. I found this really good sandwich shop on the Delaware.” Yes, that place actually exists, just in case she was trying to fact-check me. Our Lyft drops us off in an alleyway that somehow did not connect to the trail. I had to quick text Brad and tell him “WE’RE COMING FROM THE OTHER SIDE” while trying to convince Meag and the Lyft that I wasn’t going to murder her in this abandoned backstreet.
She was confused seeing my quartet members out on the trail, and for a minute thought they were rehearsing without me! Nah, it was more like, “What are you guys doing here?”
“Well, since we’re all here, Meag I want you to hear a song we’ve been practicing.”
I couldn’t look at her without crying.
I couldn’t sing my solo…. because I was crying.
Now we’re both crying.
What’s that?
Everyone comes together.
I love it dearly, but where’s MY engagement ring?!?!
This was the best moment of my life, and part of this golden trifecta that July 2017 had given me.
I’ll post the video down below. Here are some tour statistics. Thank you to everyone who made this tour possible, my job sustainable, and our engagement magical! Stay beautiful, people, because life is beautiful.
Tour Statistics:
Total Mileage: 623mi
Average Daily Mileage: 69.2mi
Longest Day: 89.6mi
Hiking Mileage: 6mi
Total Elevation Gain: 30,720ft
Average Daily Gain: 3413.3ft
There were many moments in time leading up to the inception of a cycling tour, beginning with my required readings on A Walk Across America and Into the Wild (because I didn’t want to read that Of Mice and Men crap in school), followed by my personal choice, Ghost Rider (read all of these books, please). A common theme intertwining the nonfiction nature expeditions was something like, “it’s no longer a busy, ignorant world, but one more calm than you could ever know.” I wanted that.
There was the drive to become a better cyclist, although I never quite had the tolerance for strict training regimens and nutrition guides. With The Beast newly gifted to me, I began to notice its potential.
I garnered a newfound appreciation for John Denver. And then I saw this picture:
That’s what did it.
Little did I know that was actually Alastair Humphreys. Yet another story worth checking out, and if it’s the only story you read today, read that one.
Prep Time:
I gave myself about nine months of planning, like an actual baby. One of my first thoughts was, “I just need to get out there. Who’s coming with me?” I asked everyone I knew, cyclist or not! In fact, I had about 10 other riders interested in the job. “That sounds awesome! I’d love to try it!” Yeah…. Ten riders dwindled down to one. I was disappointed, to say the least, but now I say those dudes missed out, big time.
Next step, where do we go, how do we get there, and what do we bring? Unpack all of this, will you, and the list becomes discouraging at best. I’ll write another blog that goes well into the details of this. Long story short, I decided the following:
•A good bike. Schwinns and Roadmasters are unacceptable.
•Practice riding long distances. I rode my first two centuries during this time.
•Tools, camping gear, food, water, and weather-resistant bags to put them in.
•Lights and electronics, enough to survive if we’re in a pinch.
•A painstaking time crafting a route with wide shoulders on Strava.
•Checking for churches, fire halls, and large patches of grass to spend our nights.
•Most importantly, the destination: The Shenandoah Valley. A 760 mile journey.
Something like that. I found the details exhausting, and I kept altering little details to try and make everything just perfect. I was down to the last minute buying the right gear, and when the time came, all my gear clocked in at an estimated 100lbs.
This bitch was HEAVY.
Yikes. As the start date inched closer to me, I became stone-cold terrified. Despite being a mildly experienced rider, I was NOT at all an experienced adventurer. One month to the date, and I still couldn’t figure out how to get the route out of Virginia. Just looking at the map of the harrowing Appalachian outlands scared the hell out of me. This was the first moment, of many, where I needed to stick to my guns and trust that this was going to work. Thankfully, my family was nothing but supportive. In fact, my mom sounded more okay with it than the prospect of me riding the MS 150. My dad called and talked as though he would never see me again. Meaghan was sad, and my dog Alfie lay confused as to why he couldn’t come. The guilt was real, but I really wanted this badly.
The night of the tour, in true Spider-Man fashion, Alfie started producing bloody stool. It’s very difficult to tell with a dog why this happens, as there are an overwhelming amount of reasons. One look at his devoured toys proved our theory that he ate string, which can cause severe intestinal issues. I say Spider-Man fashion, because the scene where he has to choose between saving Mary-Jane and the tram car full of children stuck to me as a token ultimatum. I initially considered dropping the whole trip to take care of the dog, but Meaghan helped convince me that I should go, and that Alfie will be fine.
He was. Don’t worry.
A simple call to the vet helped clear up a lot of questions. All he needed was an antibiotic, which he would only take if it was hidden in a full peanut butter sandwich.
The Tour:
• • • Day 1: Philadelphia, PA – Susqhuehannock State Park: 75.7mi
Finally!! Off we go. The rider that survived the lottery of doubts and cancellations: Daniel Lan. A Phi Mu Alpha brother, and an exceedingly detailed human being. The day starts at 5:00am. I felt excited! Wait…. I felt sick. Oh no…. I felt worried. That means I was ready. I took a quick sunscreen marinade, loaded up the bike, and we were off.
33 miles in. No issues so far. In fact, I think we were pushing a little too hard, just gunning for it. Into Delaware, and barely a hill in sight. We come cruising down a corner, make the right turn and….
Listen, for anyone who has ever ridden in the Northeast, you learn quickly how unforgiving the terrain is. Rockland Road, creeping up to a maximum 20% incline. It was a wall, and we got squashed against it. This was the first of Dan’s many leg cramps that day. Every hill for the next 30 miles was horrendous and painful, especially for him (trust me, my pain is just delayed). It was supposed to be a 100 mile day, followed by another 100 mile day. Dan expressed great concern at this now, and I could tell neither of us were going to get through that. I had to start thinking on my feet and figure out how to make the trip shorter. It was a humiliating moment, one of many.
We hit yet another wall at mile 75. The torrential downpour and lightning was an added bonus. I was thinking about laying the tent down somewhere in Susquehannock State Park (legal or not, I didn’t care at this point). In fact, I was so angry, I nearly missed a miracle that happened.
“Ya guys need a place to stay?” I almost ignored him. Hmph! We’re fine. But then he asked again. I looked over, defeated, and unsure of this gesture, looked back to Dan, and said, “Sure, that would be great.” A young kid farming in the field, and he went out of his way to talk to us and bring us to safety. I then met his father, and after a good deal of friendly conversation, he said, “Ya know, my son asked me if he did the right thang, bringin’ you guys in here. I tol him he did the right thang helpin’ someone out here.” We were in good hands.
• • • Day 2: Susquehannock State Park, PA – Baltimore, MD: 63.8mi
We slept in a barn that night, and when I tell people that, it sounds like the makings of a horror film. The ground was rocky, and the smell of cow shit pungent. We were still tired, kind of dreading the day ahead, but slowly got ourselves up. It didn’t really occur to us that repacking the bike would take as long as it ended up taking. I think about two hours later, we were ready to ride again. We heavily thanked the whole family, and I promised myself to keep them anonymous. But I don’t know how we would have fared without them.
We left later than I hoped; I’m used to pedaling out at the crack of dawn, but it was maybe 9:30am when we got back on the road. About 6 miles in, we both discovered how sore we really were. If Dan’s hands weren’t in pain, then they were numb. And my right knee and left hamstring were acting up, badly. All we could do was hope Baltimore had no hills.
Baltimore has hills. So does its neighbor, Towson. We trudged through at snail’s pace, determined to make it work.
The biggest problem was that we had not planned on staying in Baltimore. Keep in mind, this was back when I was in college, and had hardly a penny to my name. I was always too proud to ask for money, and just made it work. I even saved a few bucks, but just ended up not saving enough for this trip. My card was declined earlier that morning for having $12 in my account. Thankfully, Dan was incredibly helpful here. A hotel was crossed off the list. Besides, we didn’t carry all this gear for nothing, right? I hoped I would have some good luck couch surfing, and spent most of the day in this huge vat of anxiety, trying to find us a place to stay. No one was biting. No one.
We got into Baltimore, and stopped by Baltimore Bicycle Works. It was nice talking to some of our kind, and they even gave us a heads-up of a place we could pitch out tents for the night. The cashier, David, said, “There’s this old abandoned skate park a half mile away. You could probably crash there.” SURE! I’m up for anything, man.
Well, we struck out again. This place didn’t even exist anymore, replaced by a school fenced in by barbed wire. After lengthy deliberation and searching, we bit the bullet and found a cheap motel. It was late, and there was too much running around changing plans. What was supposed to be an enjoyable trip was starting to turn into an impossible endeavor. At least the burgers were good. And Baltimore’s a pretty neat city. A little grungy, but hardly any more grungy than Philly.
• • • Day 3: Baltimore, MD – Herndon, VA: 77.1mi
Yep, another rough day ahead of us. Dan was losing faith, fast. He presented what sounded like a pretty nice idea, stopping in Shenandoah, sight-see, and then take a train back home. I almost took the bait…. it was just, I needed this trip to work, all the way. I couldn’t cop out. God, I wouldn’t let myself. But that’s really all I had to keep me going forward.
We didn’t really start riding until almost noon. That’s when I knew Dan was beat. With 77 miles and 100lbs to carry, we were gonna have to do some night riding. Not that night riding is bad, but its economical for the touring cyclist to leave as early as possible. This was our second-longest day in terms of mileage, but definitely our longest in terms of saddle time, at 8.5 hours of riding. Ouch.
My route got pretty screwed when the wildlife refuge we were supposed to ride through was closed. Our only way out was taking the interstate for 2 miles. It didn’t seem exactly legal, but to hell with the rules now.
Getting into D.C. was the only time we experienced some rude drivers, and it was really only one driver. I was pleasantly surprised to see that D.C. had some fantastic interlaced bike lanes. The lanes were in the middle of the street, with many trails branching out for miles beyond city limits. It pretty much led us straight to that dirty apartment everyone talks about….
Circa August, 2016. It was a good time, then.
24 miles still to go. Herndon is my friend Sonya’s town. Her mother, Janice, was very excited to host us. I was hoping we’d get there before dark at 8:00pm, but by then we were hardly out of the city. I think we had about 18 miles to go at that point. To put into perspective how slowly we were going, Strava averaged us at 8.6mph that day; twice as slow as your average amateur roadie. The hills were flat-out killing us, and pushed us way past our threshold. In fact, we both found a second wind at one point. When you’re 110% toasted, there’s always a moment of rejuvenation before the double-down crash. It’s a territory I’ve never quite experienced, and it’s hard to put into words unless you’ve been there.
Finally peeling off the Washington & Old Dominion Trail, at exactly 10:00pm, we were welcomed with open arms. There was a lot of laundry to do, and I had my work cut out for me planning the rest of the trip. I was somehow able to plan a rest day and still get back to work on time, but otherwise I spent a few hours planning where in Shenandoah we would stay, and how to get home from there. I had to forfeit climbing Skyline Drive as deeply as I wanted to, dialing back from those breathtaking heights John Denver sings about.
I cut 190 miles of the trip. It was heartbreaking.
• • • Day 4: Herndon, VA – Front Royal, VA: 62.2mi
Janice made us the breakfast of kings. The thank-you’s are endless.
Dan’s right-hand pinky was completely numb and shaking. Riding six more days like this was not an option. Down the road was Green Lizard Cycling, probably one of my favorite bike shops I’ve ever been to. The goal was to buy ergo-grips. Up to this point, I had no pain in my hands whatsoever (something that would come back to bite me on my tours with drop bars) due to these:
Dan found some similar style grips, but due to his bike being older, they didn’t quite fit on the bars. Some filing would do the trick! Good thing I brought a foot-long metal file. After the file snapped in half, he did manage to install the grips.
It was here I met two people. One was the sweet-hearted cashier, and the other was the crotchety crusty customer. A 70-year-old man who judged my work as a therapist as worthless and useless nonsense. He believed he had all the answers. But hey, maybe I’ll see him again one day in a skilled nursing facility, and I would make sure that my work with him is the most meaningful experience, something he is clearly lacking in his life.
But also fuck off. I do incredible work and I don’t play helpless sheep to the world like you do.
This was our second-“shortest” day, excluding the rest day, but by far the most painful. In fact, I have never had a more painful ride than that day. I had to pedal unevenly because my right knee was tearing up. Goes without saying my ass was killing me. I discovered that a saddle that’s deemed comfortable for eight hours does not necessarily mean it’ll be comfortable for four days. I don’t remember much else from this day other than the overbearing pain.
Forever soon reared its head, and Front Royal, the gateway to Skyline Drive, the entrance to the Blue Ridge Mountains, was upon us. But we hit another snag of bad luck. Two days prior to our arrival, a bear attacked a family while backwoods camping. Their dog didn’t make it, and they heavily restricted access to the mountains without a bevy of essential equipment. Long story short, they didn’t want us camping out there, but they gave us a list of nearby campsites. The closest (a painful five miles), Gooney Creek Campground. We got there late at night, but Pam, the angel in charge, heard our story and let us stop by.
The zenith of the whole trip: I cracked my phone screen. There’s a first time for everything.
Night #2 camping. There were a lot more bugs out this way. It rained for the third time, so our clothes were just forever soaked at this point.
You may be wondering why there are hardly any pictures. That’s because we were both so damn miserable, we hardly thought about the visual documentation. Don’t worry, that’s about to change.
• • • Day 5: Rest Day in Front Royal, VA: 22.9mi
Not needing to necessarily go anywhere today was a true blessing. Especially in this little nook of Shenandoah:
The only wildlife we saw was Dan.
We had no specific plan today. But since we were in the area, we wanted to sight-see a little bit. We were still tired, but this is the destination, and we were feeling rather energized. After some discussion, we had three goals: check out the Skyline Caverns, peruse Front Royal, and attempt to readmit ourselves up Skyline Drive itself. The best part was we did not have to carry more of our gear, just some water and electronics. 100lbs turned into 40lbs, and going from a heavily loaded bike to a rather “weightless” ride, everything feels different. We felt strong. Also a bit wobbly; your arms do SO much work that the steering actually feels incredibly loose. Perspective is important.
Look at that elevation curve!
You would think that after all this suffering, a 1,300ft climb and 23 miles of riding would be out of the question. Bu that recovery ride is key; going at a relaxing pace, there’s something to be said with that four mile climb stretching your legs out. Hell, it’s almost like a massage, seriously. Normally, four miles is a 15-20min ride. This little mountain took us just under an hour (and only 8 minutes to ride down, following the speed limit even). It was not an easy climb by any means, but that feeling I got next made everything worth it:
I cried.
We suffered so much to get here, just to get a glimpse. And even though we weren’t here for long, it was like nothing else seeing our hard work pay off like this. The stories are true; the Blue Ridge Mountains are as beautiful as they say. This was at mile 290.1. Every tenth counts. That’s what got us here. One step at a time.
The Skyline Caverns are 2,000ft below. An unexpected charmer. The tour guide said something about there being rare anthodite crystalline structures here. The lights are just for show. The kids like them, but so do the adults.
It was a day of firsts. Our last first for the day was going to watch the newly released Suicide Squad. How many people can say they’ve watched an anti-hero movie in theaters wearing their cycling outfits?
We both needed this day, badly. The rest of the trip was a piece of cake. Well, kind of.
• • • Day 6: Front Royal, VA – Hagerstown, MD: 75.3mi
What a difference one rest day does to you! It was our second-fastest day, averaging 11.3mph (big numbers for us lumbering dogs). I have to say, this was by far our easiest day. Something changed us. I can’t quite describe it. We felt superhuman.
We took the Confederate war trails out to Hagerstown. I learned that my grandparents got married out there. It’s a small, but interesting town. David from Baltimore Bicycle Works talked it up a little more than what it actually was. He had a knack for doing that.
Not much else to say there! We stayed in a motel again. They asked for our license plates, and didn’t seem to understand why. we. didn’t. have. license. plates.
• • • Day 7: Hagerstown, MD – Spring Grove, PA: 63.1mi
Don’t get too cocky.
The day started with a flat. Not quite sure how, but Dan’s tire got flat overnight. My tires were still nearly completely full (oh, how the tides would turn in future tours). A flat is generally hardly a setback, so we were ready to go quickly.
We met two touring cyclists on this trip. I can’t remember when we met the first guy, but we were eating at some fancy golf club restaurant. This guy toured on singletrack. Nuts. The other guy we met today. He was training with his 70lb rear trailer, and planning to do the Atlantic Coast Bicycle Route: Bar Harbor, Me – Key West, FL: 2,611mi. Super nice people.
This guy was training in the right place, we soon found out, because we were not out of the Blue Ridge Mountains yet! Another gritty climb, this time with nasty bugs and the sting of sweat constantly. The fight was between going fast to outrun the bugs, going slow to avoid fatigue, and stopping to wipe off the sweat. The reward was some paved switchbacks down the face of the mountain. Those downhills are always much too quick.
Once again, we did not know where our beds were going to be. I called up my old friend, Jeremy, who had family in the area. Once again, they welcomed travelers with open arms, like it was just yesterday that we saw them. It’s all truly a humbling experience.
One quick stop in Gettysburg, to the Blue & Gray Bar. I had a Confederate burger, because all of the Union burgers sounded boring. We also paid a visit to Gettysburg Cycling and Fitness, since Dan’s square-tapered crank arms were giving him trouble. Damn that old technology.
Antietam National Battlefield.
We’re getting closer. Finally in Pennsylvania, which turns out to be a behemoth of a state.
• • • Day 8: Spring Grove, PA – Lititz, PA: 45.4mi
I had already pre-arranged a place to stay with a friend. It was a relatively short distance to Laura’s house, the shortest distance so far. I was hoping it would be a “recovery” of sorts.
It was not.
A big chunk of our day was dedicated to the Verizon store. My phone did not enjoy boiling in the sun, and the LG G3 was notorious for heating up to begin with. It was not the kind of problem I wanted to have. I couldn’t really do anything about it for the rest of the trip. My phone’s screen would turn off out of nowhere, and would rarely turn on again unless I reset it. That screen is the map. At least Dan’s phone was working. Now on Google Maps, the directions were shouting at us, and the setback still made life easier than touring cyclists had it even ten years ago.
There weren’t many hills, but the hills we did have felt like molasses. I was incredibly homesick at this point. I think that’s what got me through this deceptively tough day.
When you see Dan….
• • • Day 9: Lititz, PA – Philadelphia, PA: 83.7mi
Yes, 83.7. I did not think going beyond the 80-mile mark was a smart idea, but it was the only idea. There’s no quitting on the last day. We probably could have taken a bus or train most of the way, but I was not interested. Despite being dead-tired, my mind dressed in iron-clad armor, and the determination to ride home was unfaltering. It became a survival tactic. No quitting.
Sometimes I forget how difficult this day actually was, especially at the beginning. I was gradually feeling the effects of dehydration, namely the lack of sweating on such a hot day, and feeling a bit sick. I almost threw up at the top of a particularly nasty hill. And after being painstakingly sore for so long, I realized was starting to push my body past its ultimate limits.
“So what. You’re getting home, dammit. DAMMIT!”
The hills began flattening out, which is my other enemy. I’m not a flats rider. My joints can’t handle the lack of variety, so I struggle big time. Just another straw on my CamelBak. My saving grace was that flats meant Philly. It’s closer than ever now! 27 miles of the Schuylkill Trail. Dan got so excited he started sprinting, calling towards his strengths from living in Miami. Normally, sprinting is my niche, but it was all him today. I still felt the renewed energy, though, and gave it my all. We cracked in at an average of 11.6mph that day. Call it a win.
My dad drove down to meet me and ride with me on the trail, but we actually got back to my house before he even hit Philly! There was a fantastic dim-sum celebration with the family. It was well-deserved. It was unreal. We accomplished a dream that some people remarked, “Why the hell would you want to do that to yourself?” All you guys can keep quiet. I’m damn proud of what we did.
Look what I did.
Epilogue:
“Do what you love.”
I am incredibly lucky to have a supportive family that made sure I followed that mantra, no matter how bat-shit some of these stories sound. There’s an underlying desire I have to travel every state and listen to as many people as I can. I want to experience as much scenery while we still have it. I want to ride my bicycle until the frame shatters into dissolution.
Here’s what I learned on this trip: People will help you if you ask. We can’t make it in this world alone. I had so many last-minute moments where I had no choice but to call for help, and the returns came in spades. It gave me an incredible faith in the greater human connection. Somehow, I think we’re all woven together in this fabric.
I also learned how much stuff you actually don’t need. Even on this trip, there are so many things I should have ditched. It’s inspiring in a way to see people with less get by better than those with more.
I felt like a champion.
Tour Statistics:
Total Mileage: 567.9mi
Average Daily Mileage: 63.1mi
Longest Day: 83.7mi
Total Riding Time: 55:46:28
Average Daily Riding Time: 6:11:52
Longest Day: 8:30:00
Average Speed: 10.2mph
Top Speed: 44.1mph
Average Watts: 174w
Total Energy Output: 33,613kj
Average Daily Energy Output: 3,735kj
Total Calories Burned: 37,879
Average Daily Calories: 4,309
Dave's Cycling Blog 