Parting is such sweet sorrow

"Parting is such sweet sorrow" has been the major theme for this trip. After my visit with my Kansas family/friends (from here on out I'm going to say frams) I headed into . . .

Baby, it's cold outside

The temperature outside is a chilly, cold 32 (that's 0 centigrade for my European friends) so I'm not anxious to . . .

Perception, Such a Narrow View of Life

See the Elk?There's actually more than one. It's all about perception.

Sunshine streaming in the window, jump out of bed, fling open the window and I'm treated to colors of a beautiful sunrise, so full, so magnificent and to complete the perception, a cool breeze and a cacophony of birds, dogs, and morning sounds. So big, so filling, so complete...well not quite, but, damn, it sure seems like it from a perceptual point of view. And, for the most part, we walk around

Ontological Research

On the side of our little fiberglass bubble we light heartedly placed this little tag to guide is in our travels. It has some noticeable side effects. First, like all little meditations, it brings our attention back to why we are roaming around in this reality. Second, it gets a lot of questions at gas stations and parking lots about "Just what the hell does that mean?" Apparently, 'Ontology' is not in a lot of people's vocabulary and I can find no fault in that.  But it makes

Wagon Spokes

Can you believe that our last bicycle tour was the fall of 2011? Wow! Over 12 years of bicycle touring. The pain, the joy, the conquest of miles over landscapes forever etched into my soul. During our current motorized trips (more on that in just a minute) we constantly drive along or crisscross places we previously cycled. Did I say etched? We remember the moment clearly, as if it were yesterday. We remember the weather, the shade (or lack of), the road surface, the thrill of the downhill, the work of the uphill, and oh, don't forget that nasty headwind or the joy of the tailwind, plus the sighting of something that would have been lost traveling at a greater speed. Yes, it is etched.

We saw a lot. But then there were times we lost out on moments. We missed a play in a town, a carnival, a festival, or a boat ride, to

The art of travel

As our master canoe instructor deftly explained the art of canoeing with the use of a small canoe that he had borrowed from a local garden gnome, I was suddenly struck with a realization that was, at once enlightening and joyous, and yet stirred up an extreme sense of sadness of opportunities lost. As he held the little paddles in his fingers, moving them around in tiny circles as if stirring coffee, I flashed back to my days as a football coach and realized that I had really missed the boat by not using Barbie dolls to demonstrate blocking techniques to those freshmen.

Mastering the Canoe 101

Here we learn how to paddle a wooden dock. OMG, it was soooooo realistic! I mean after a few minutes we were expert canoeists, capable of paddling any canoe that sat 2 and 1/2 feet out of the water and anchored deep in the lake bottom. Bring on the whitewater! And on top of the wonderful life changing instruction I was nostaligically transported back to Miss Higbothom's 5th grade dance class with footprints on the floor and everything.

Okay, okay, so the start was a little slow. Maybe he hadn't quite realized that we were all old enough to be his parents and that he could have actually tried to pass on information in a bit more sophisticated manner (8th or even 9th grade level would have sufficed). Anyway the program was all uphill from there and in the end I give the week an A.

Eagle River turned out to be as beautiful an area as Green Lake was and the week was filled with paddling pristine lakes and rivers, sloshing across floating jelly-like bogs, calling owls, watching bald eagles soar, and meeting interesting people. Our guides were knowledgeable and friendly. Troy and Jill injected humor into the outings. The weather cooperated with pleasant cool days (I'm not really sure yet if they have summer up here).

The original plan was to find a place to leave the truck and trailer for a couple of weeks and cycle-tour Michigan's Upper Peninsula. After a long and serious discussion and reading the entrails of sheep (for clarity of mind), we have decided upon deviation.

"The art of travel is to be able to deviate from one’s plans."

This quote comes from a class B movie (plot quite forgettable) but the message has stayed with us. The Northwoods of Wisconsin have wonderful roads to cycle and plenty, I mean plenty, of water to paddle. Plus, someone has to feed these darn mosquitoes.

What? No Posts?

There's something magical that happens when we ride a bike all day. The turning of the pedals mile after mile; the reward of simple pleasures of becoming one with the landscape, butt breaks, food, downhills, scenery, being able to stop to take that breath-taking, awe-inspiring snapshots which all add to philosophical introspection which lead to magical notes. It's amazing that no matter how many years have past and the thousands (literally) pictures we've taken we can always remember the moment the photo was captured. The true ontological observations.

Floor art

Tiled counter

We've been busy. We've done home projects and we have traveled. Pics have a blur as the landscape rushes beside the car. We've used our little camper as a base camp and discovered areas. We went back to Palm Springs this past January to cycle the beauty and watch movies at night at their annual Palm Springs International Film Festival. Movies of note this year: Life of a Fish and the Japanese Wife.

Bosque de Apache Wildlife Refuge

New single kayak

We've hosted close to a dozen cross-country cyclists this spring via Warmshowers.org.  They arrive tired and grateful to have a safe place to bed down for the night as we surprise them with a good meal. We recently hosted a young man who flew to El Paso to start his journey to Canada via the Continental Divide. We recognized the anticipatory energy as he readied for his wheeled trek and we were infected with desire for our own bicycle adventure. While we have been preparing for an upcoming adventure, he just prodded us on.

So we are off Wisconsin with our little Ontological research base to do a little canoeing and then we plan to cycle-tour Michigan's Upper Peninsula.

New paint job

Enjoying a warm winter day in Palm Springs

Death Valley

If you're not getting emails from us, in the left-had column you can now sign up to be notified via email of any updates of our journal. This won't be made public.
--Kamala

Ontologists hit the road

Project Destination

Project Destination

Charley--

 

Missouri slow down

Between some nasty spring weather that make us dig out our cold clothes, dodge some eerie looking thunderstorms,  fight some down right ornery wind, and a nasty eye problem that manages to almost close my right eye, the tiny part of Missouri we had to pass through has been a bit slow in getting through. Our 34-mile trek to Sikeston we make 22 miles of in about 3 hours against a headwind and although we are not defeated, even as it begins to rain. But, we really don’t hesitate to take a fellow’s offer to give us a ride in his truck the last 12 miles.     

 

Decadent indulgences

A few days back, we were told that if we go through Sikeston that we should eat a Lambert’s, a restaurant that is famous for its waiters throwing bread rolls to you from across the room and it’s huge portions.  Now Kamala and I have begun to form correlations with certain foods and the type ride that we will have the next day.  A fatty, juicy cheeseburger with fries will most likely produce hills for example.  No, really, it’s true!  So it was with some trepidation that left our hotel room to walk the mile back to Lamberts. We had been forewarned that we would NOT be able to ride the bike after eating there. How true it was.  It was a huge barn-like place, decorated all country and rustic. The waiters, indeed tossed buns across tables to patrons ready for another roll.  The crowd (on a Tuesday at noon) was loud and happy (a group of old ladies apparently from the funny hat club chowed down with gusto and a group teenage boys vied for each other like opposing football players to catch the tossed rolls sat across from us.)  Our order of catfish was huge.  We got a couple of sides with our fish, but waiters kept coming around with fried okra, macaroni and tomatoes, potatoes and black-eyed peas.  We left stuffed and happy with a big doggy bag--and the warning was right: we wouldn’t have been able to ride. We were also wondering if our indulgence would lead to hills or wind on tomorrow’s ride. Our video inside didn’t take but you ought to take a look at their web site: http://www.throwedrolls.com/

 

A break in the weather   

With one major storm system which held us up for a few days in Missouri and with another due to arrive soon, we opt to turn it up a notch and make a push to get to our final destination of Southern Illinois. 

 

Finally, the Mississippi River lets us across

 

We had intended to go to Memphis, but alas, the two bridges at Memphis forbids bicycle traffic so we would have had to go south 50 or 60 miles to Helena, Arkansas to cross and then come back up on the Mississippi side of the river to Memphis. Anyway you guys in Memphis either lost out or lucked out by our failure to get there and Graceland will have to wait for another day (and that’s a shame, because 1950's Gaudy is one of my favorite styles).

Cape Girardeau, Missouri gave us a really nice bridge to cross with wide shoulders which gave us time to look around as we crossed the big water.  

 

Illinois

 

I would have expected to see these guys in Roswell, not Illinois.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Only 5 miles to go 

Kamala--

 

Arrival

 

A warm day leads our quest in search to quench our thirst with something cold. We secure the bike against the convenient store's wall and take off our armor (helmets, gloves, etc). We sit inside watching our trusted ride and people pass by, curiously glancing at the bike.

"Where are ya'll headed?" came the familiar greeting as we turn our gaze back to reality.

"Well, here!" Charley responds.

"Here? Really? Well, then, where'd ya'll start from then, I guess is the question?"

"El Paso, Texas," I proudly respond.

"Wow! Really? What made you come here?

"Our son, daughter-in-law, and grandkids live here."

"Here? In Carterville?"

"Yeah, we thought that we would get a coke and stall for time to make sure the kids were home from school."

After Missouri held us in its grips for more than enough days we finally saw a window open that last two days with favorable winds to help us change a schedule two-day ride into one and we were finally able to put a close to "Project Destination."

Filled with a sense of accomplishment and anticipation of hugs we get on our bike and complete the last two miles of our trip. We made it! Last day of 57 miles--done! Wow! This was Thursday. So here's the breakdown:

 

• How many miles did we travel? 1,550
• How many days have we been gone? 44 days
• How many rest days did we have? 9 days
• How many flats did we have? Only ONE!
• How was the bike this year? Our ride was smooth thanks to Mark and Brad at Outdoor Adventures in Alamogordo, New Mexico!
• Are there good hearted people left in the world? ABSOLUTELY! While the news would like you to believe otherwise, the world is full of wonderful people!
• What was the number one road kill of the trip? (not by us, but by cars) Possums
• Are we homesick? Yes, it's finally hit and we're ready to return to our family of pets and friends back in El Paso! A deep sense of accomplishment and completion fills our spirits.
• Why do we do it? It's is the ultimate way to travel, become intimate with the landscape, move through areas more slowly so as to discover their secrets and meet people and some other mysterious element that we just haven't figured out how to put into words yet.

 

 

 

 

North Central Texas Observations

We’re still in Texas and Texas is home, but some of these little prairie towns have a surreal, alien feel . We stopped at a restaurant (I should call them bicycle fuel stations), and parked our bike in front of the only window so we would be able to see it as we ate. Since I met Mack, the guy from that rest area who likes to see what happens when he moves a cycle tourist's ride, I now want to see my bike more than ever. Darn! The dining area with the windows was the smoking section! Oh well, food was good. But I watched as a mother and her six-month-old little boy sat, in the smoking section, with auntie at the same table smoking away without a care in the world while she made goo-goo eyes at the baby. The next table over, there sat another smoker. Now, I took my chances with second-hand smoke because it is so rare I share my air with smokers and I could see my bike. But the baby?

We went into a general store in Benjamin, TX. The lady is letting the phone ring because she's expecting a fax and finally decides that it must be a customer and finally answers it. She later explains to a gentleman sitting in the store that it was a neighbor and (you need to do this with a Texas drawl), "He had his wife call us. Finally after the third time, he figured she was doin' sumthun wrong, 'cause he knew we just had to be open. Of course I answered when he called and I had to explain to him that his wife had dialed it right and that I was just waiting for a fax." Another customer enters the store and she asks, “Can I hep ya?” 

Does a burrito by any other name taste better?  As we make our way into the area of North Central Texas we are seeing, more and more that these little tasty delights that we refer to as burritos back in El Paso, being called tacos, sometimes soft tacos, sometimes breakfast tacos.  And yes, they still taste good, not exactly the same, but good. 

An ubiquitous small town Texas icon is the Dairy Queen. In Holliday, TX, a couple of girls tied off their horses at a Dairy Queen while we leaned our metal steed against the wall . Then we all went in and had a burger with all the fixings and a load of fries (maybe not the healthiest of fares, but definitely good and filling).

How come if I’m at the zoo and someone says “Hey, look a camel!”, I say “Oh, yeah, cute.” ,but when we’re pedaling through mesquite pastures loaded with multicolored cattle and someone say’s “Hey, look, a camel! Then I get all excited and say “Wow! No shit, a camel? Where’s my camera? Oh, wow, there’s two of them, no three, no five, and look, that one’s playing with a plastic sack.”

Other things seen from the bicycle, "IS THAT A GORILLA?"

I have also noticed that our sense of history increases during the day. You know those historical markers that they stick along the road where some long gone school was built by the pioneers or some community well was dug. Well, at the beginning of the day, these hold little interests for us but as the day gets long and our butts tired, we find ourselves stopping to read almost all of them.  Curious, huh?

I’m getting that usual odd-looking touring cyclist’s tan: helmet straps remain on the face and neck even after the helmet is off. There is a pattern on my face for my glasses. I have both sleeve and short line tan. In addition to these usual markings, I have something new: because we’re traveling west to east, I’m getting a one-sided tan. My right leg and arm (which gets more sun) are darker than my left leg and arm.

Up until yesterday, people have not been too concerned where we've come from, just where we're going. They'll respond, "Texarkana? Well, that's a long way from here." Also, when you read that sentence, do so with a Texas drawl. As of yesterday, we're beginning to get a combination, "Where ya'll goin' and where ya'll from?" They'll arrive at the same conclusion, “That’s a lot of distance.” We stopped at a Family Dollar Store in Crosbyton, an elderly gent drove over to tell us that his son-in-law and daughter have a bike like ours--built for two. "They go all over the place in that thing. They even went to France to ride in front of the tour race they have over there.”

Windmills and rolling plains

Well, here's a classic symbol of the Texas plains, a windmill. And after riding a couple of hundred miles across them, I find them quite appropriate, not only as a survival tool for the farmers and ranchers, but also as a subtle warning for cross-country bicyclists. It's windy out here on the plains! Now, back home in El Paso, we get some pretty impressive sand storms, but all in all, we average less than 12 mph, which is why those big ol’ wind turbines aren’t standing shoulder to shoulder on the Franklin Mountains. Out here on the plains, a LIGHT breeze is 15 to 20 mph and fields of three armed Goliaths are, indeed, beginning to pop up.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m just reporting and not complaining (yet). So far, the wind has been our friend, and by that, I mean it’s been at our back or at the worst, a crosswind, but I’m certainly glad that we’re heading east and not west or south because a light wind of 15 miles per hour in our face would translate out to an agonizing crawl.

“So what if’n I ain’t got a good eductin, Jasus loves me anyway.”

“Now, you tell me, where’s a girl to pee out here?”

These boots were probably made for riding, but one old cowboy wanted to fondly remember those good old boots long after they stopped fitting into the stirrups so he hung them on the fence post to smile at each time he rode past.

Even Charley is amazed at his own juggling skills as he entertains a group of appreciative prairie dogs at free campsite in Crosbytown.

If there are any hills out there on this flat plain, just give us a bike and we will find them.

Kamala lifts a mug of delicious tea after a delicious meal at our “free” (wild camping) campsite on the S. Wichita River. We were serenaded by a family of coyotes howling, appropriately, at a full moon. I suspect they may have been more interested in the turkeys that I heard gobbling from the farm on the other side of the river than the moon.

We’ve now covered 615 miles on our way across North Texas. There have been good times and hard, sometimes all in the same day. The butts are tougher, the muscles stronger and our love and relationship is still intact and prospering. One of the neatest parts of this sort of adventure is sharing it with someone. I’m certainly glad I ended up with someone who is just crazy enough to enjoy this with me.

Blowing winds

It’s really neat how the cycle of life continues. We enjoyed the opportunity to visit with our Nephew, his wife, and their little girl in Roswell. I believe that it was the first time that we really had a conversation with him since he has become an adult. Wasn’t it just yesterday we were visiting his mom and he was only a week old?

But it’s verified. If you are a motorist out there, you have absolutely no idea if it is really flat out there. We were told several times that it was flat between Roswell and Artesia--wrong. It is actually a slight uphill all the way. Even I wouldn’t have known it by looking out the car window.

As we spin the pedals round and round, inching our way across the New Mexico countryside, we find ourselves smack-dab in the middle of busy oil patches. One of the ways that you can tell that you’re in oil country (besides those giant robotic insectoids bobbing their heads up and down) is all the work gloves scattered along the side of the road. The popular colors are florescent green and orange with traditional white coming in 3rd, all having seen a hard day’s work. We've taken to calling out, "Green glove," "Orange glove," for simple amusement that helps pass the time. We, of course, had to put one on the back of the bike so that it's waving to people. At first, we had a ‘green glove’ but I, Kamala, thought that might give the go ahead to hit us, so now we have an orange glove. We even washed it!

Going to Lovington was a different trip altogether. We climb for about 35 of the 64 mile day. Halfway here, just a mere mile and a half from topping the caprock, we stop at a rest area, and just as we’re almost stopped, slip in some sand and down the bike goes. While recovering ourselves (actually it was Charley recovering me and the bike), the park caretaker comes over and tells Charley in jest, “I saw you throw that bike on top of her. Y’ll want some coffee?” We spend the next 30 minutes or so in Mack’s office coffee brewing and the conversation flowing. He tells us about this one cross-country cyclist who stopped to use the restroom. Mack got to wondering what would happen if he were to move the man’s bike 10 feet. He said the fellow came out, didn’t see his bike, ran one way in the park, then the other way, then again repeating his back and forth jaunts. Mack stops to chuckle during his tale as he recalls that the cyclist even went back in the bathroom to look for the bike. By that time Mack was feeling guilty for causing so much trauma and came clean and said that he was sorry, he didn’t know that it would give him a heart attack. All I could think of, while I smile and nod, is that is why we never leave the bike alone.

Coffee now in our cups and as we drink we were treated to a joke:
An elderly man went into the hospital. His granddaughter came rushing up to visit and blurted out, “Grandpa, talk like a frog! Talk like a frog!”
The man scratched his head and said, “Huh? What you talking about?”
“Grams says that when you croak she’s goin’ take me to Six Flags! So talk like a frog!”

We bid farewell to Mack and head back out on the road with a wind at our backs. We top the caprock and it is relatively flat. The tailwind is strong. Caffeine is pumping our systems and we are flying. I look down at the speedometer and can’t believe my eyes: 27.7 mph! I take a picture because who, really, is going to believe me? Too soon though, just after that it was 30 mph!

I see a dark front moving across the plains. Soon we are caught up in it at a crosswind. Charley is fighting to keep the bike on the road. It passes and the tailwind is once again at our backs.  We stay an extra day in Lovington as the wind switches around and vows to be our enemy if we ride. As we leave town a mailbox attendant waves, “So long!”

We finally get to camp out at the Brownfield city park. Mack told us about this little gem.
When daybreak comes back around, we know we have some maintenance to do: Thermarest has a small leak and the tent needs a patch were a seam is pulling loose.

Still, a tailwind persists today, good thing too, because we pedal at an incline all the way to Lubbock. Along the way, the English teacher comes out of me when I notice the misspelling on a business sign.

 On the shopping list is a bicycle shop specific item and so we set out for, as Charley calls it, the mouth of the dragon (into downtown traffic of a big city). We normally try to avoid cities, but sometimes it is a necessity. While we are stopped, trying to figure out a route, a lady exiting the bank stops to help us. She says, “Let me see, if I were a cyclist, this is the way I would want to go. . .” She actually picked out bicycle routes through town but I don’t think she knew they were designated routes, just that the roads were safe. Thank you! It even has bicycle lights, like The Netherlands! Thank you! Thank you!

So here we sit an extra day hiding from the wind that is pointed and gusting at 40 mph the wrong way. Tomorrow we have scheduled our departure for yet another run down the road. Stay tuned! Comments are welcome, it lets us know you’re out there.