The Fountain of Youth

The next phase of our journey began with our arrival in St. Augustine on July 21. It was good to finally make landfall on familiar shores.  After securing temporary quarters in the tiniest of efficiency apartments (balky air conditioning with temperatures of 100 degrees, maybe 300 square feet, WiFi only available in the bedroom while sitting on the bed near the outside balcony... you get the picture), I concentrated my efforts on securing gainful employment. Keeping in mind what had been learned over the past few months I set out to find the ideal situation.

I had only three criteria for my next endeavor. First it should be in an area that I find personally interesting. I narrowed the choices down to two, the wine industry and working in an historical attraction or museum. Second, the job should be minimally or non-stressful. And third, it should afford me enough free time to pursue additional outside interests. In other words, work to live rather than live to work. Believing in the old adage, work at something that you are passionate about and the money will follow, I was willing to start at the bottom.

Having learned to trust in karma, I was neither shocked nor surprised when these two ads appeared on the St. Augustine Craigslist job board within days of our arrival in town:

1) We need history interpreters to guide our guests. If you enjoy People, History and Storytelling then let us know!

• Location: Fountain of Youth Archaeology Park

2) TYPE OF WORK: Full Time Wine Sales Rep

DESCRIPTION: A fast growing Wine Importer/Distributor, representing several award winning wines, is seeking EXPERIENCED Wine Sales Representatives in the St.Augustine area.

Although I did not have the required wine sales experience, I felt that my extensive sales background would enable me to overcome that deficiency. Sure enough I was able to secure an interview with the owner of the small wine import company.  He made me an offer on the spot. I told him I needed to think it over. In reality although I love wine, the job would entail daily travel to Jacksonville, wine tastings after hours, and stressful quotas.

The Fountain of Youth Archaeology Park is a 100 year old historical attraction based on the legend of the discovery by Ponce de Leon. After touring the park, I felt that it would enable me to be immersed in an interesting phase of US and world history. More importantly, everyone I met there was friendly and enthused about what they are doing. Where could it lead? Who knows. That is the beauty of trusting in the future. Opportunities will just appear, if you are open to them. Of course like the peacocks that roam the property, I'm working for peanuts.

Seriously, I have made more people happy in my four days of work here than in thirty years of the corporate world. I enjoy meeting and talking to the visitors, finding out about where they live, and helping make their vacations memorable. Could it be that the Fountain of Youth can make you feel younger even without drinking the water?

Summing It All Up

Like a summer romance, the end of our journey brings with it the sweetest of memories and the realization that this has indeed been a life changing experience. I think about the stoker that waved goodbye to our friends and relatives on that cold and windy Sunday morning in February. Fearful of what lay ahead, I was awake most of the night fretting, and was too nervous to eat the delicious breakfast prepared by my favorite Aunt. There were too many unknowns, too many things to go wrong, too many possibilities to fail. At that point I was only concentrating on the destination- bicycle travel from Florida to Oregon via the Lewis and Clark Trail.

On the first leg from West Palm Beach to St. Augustine I began to trust that providence would be kind and see us through. In a larger sense, the destination was no longer as important as achieving certain goals. What were those goals and were they reached?

• After a 30 year career in corporate sales I needed a change. But to what? I spent a great deal of time thinking about what type of job would be satisfying and make me happy. I have some good ideas now and am excited about what lies ahead in St. Augustine. More details will follow.
• Most people who know me think I am serious and task oriented and do not have time for people. I was not happy with this trait and vowed to loosen up during the trip. I was surprised that a smile and a "Hello" will usually get anyone to chat. This makes me happy.
• Those same people who know me will also say that I am wound too tight. Well, I was. Four months on the road has caused me to slow down, relax, smell the roses. 
• Most of the past 30 years have been spent in New England and Florida. Jana and I wanted to sample other areas of the country to see how they compare. We are excited about relocating to St. Augustine, an area where we have spent many vacations. However as Jim Morrison once said, "The west is the best".
• Jobs are important, but I will now work to live rather than live to work. I have lots of interests and some new ones to try. I have friends and family and a loving wife and daughter.

I am lucky and going forward, I know things will work out.

So You Think You Want A Job In The Hospitality Industry?

Zion National Park in southern Utah is an area of majestic peaks and shear sandstone cliffs. The canyons were named Zion by early settlers; a place for peaceful meditation. Although our visit took place during the busy summer season, we found our hikes to hanging gardens and emerald pools calming to the spirit. However, last Wednesday evening, while sitting on a bench outside Zion Lodge grooving on the pending sunset, we were witness to the following scene:

Older couple walking out of the lodge. The woman is carrying a glass of white wine.
Restaurant worker (so identified by her name badge) tears out of the lodge, her hair on fire.

Restaurant Worker: "Madam! Please wait!"
 
The couple stops and turns around.

Restaurant Worker: "Please, you cannot take the wine out of the restaurant."

Madam: "But I want to take this wine to my room."

Restaurant Worker: "Utah state law prohibits alcohol being taken from a restaurant. You may drink this wine on our outside deck."

Herr: "We do not want to drink on the deck! We want to drink this wine in our room!"

Restaurant Worker: "Sir, please. You must return to the lodge." Herr then grabs wine from Madam, spilling some, and proceeds to begin walking to their room.

Madam to Herr (in a quiet tone): "We can drink this on the deck."

Herr to Madam (loudly): "I am taking the wine to our room." 

Restaurant Worker: "Well! I have no choice but to report you to a park ranger." Restaurant worker spins around and runs back inside the lodge.

Madam to Restaurant Worker: "I will return the wine glass later. I promise."

Herr walks back to the room trailed 50 feet behind by Madam who is seemingly not happy about drinking her wine in the presence of Herr.

Although no ranger answered the call, I imagine there was no "peaceful meditation" occurring in that room Wednesday night. However, 40 minutes later, Madam returned with the wine glass, and I am happy to report, apologized to Restaurant Worker.

Peace is restored to Zion.

"It's A Hell Of A Place To Lose A Cow"

These words are attributed to Ebenezer Bryce, when asked about the canyon that now bears his name. He and his family stayed just five years, from 1875 to 1880, relocating to southern Arizona due to his wife's bad health. During the five years he lived here, he cleared fields, dug irrigation ditches, constructed a logging road, raised cattle, and with hard work, prospered. So, here's the question. Was he a stoic or just too busy to notice the profound beauty of his home?

Bryce Canyon, land of the hoodoos (rocky promontories that over millions of years have been scoured by wind, water, and ice and transformed into so many chess pieces), is truly a an artist's pallet of color. Iron rich sandstone cake in tan, red and pink, interspersed with the purple of manganese is capped by white concrete icing. Holes in the rocks form arches, bridges and windows that let the cerulean blue sky shine through, a blue so dark and deep that it is hard to tell day from night. White patches of snow, under the greenest of pines and firs, melting in the warm sun, trickling down the hills as clear cold streams. So it is today. So it was in 1875.

Was old Ebenezer too busy to notice? After five years was he inured to the beauty of this place? Or was he just so focused on survival in a harsh climate that food and shelter trumped these considerations? And if he was just a man without feelings, it is too bad. Too, too bad.

We Went For A Walk... Or Was It A Hike?

After leaving the Katy Trail in Missouri, Leonardo has become a reluctant passenger on the back of the car. Out west most of the "back roads" are unpaved and his 1.5" wide tires are not suitable for biking on those types of roads. The paved roads tend to be more heavily trafficed and the distance between towns much greater than back east. So we walk.

Trudging along the trail, I had plenty of time to ponder on some of life's unanswerable questions. For instance, what makes a walk a hike? If you consult a dictionary, and look up "walk" and "hike", you will be as puzzled as I am. Go ahead and look them up. You'll see what I mean. Having been on over a dozen hikes (walks?) in the past three weeks, I have a few thoughts on the subject.

If the trail is paved, is it a walk or a hike? The Rim Trail at the Grand Canyon runs 12 miles from Pipe Creek Vista to Hermits Rest. It offers breathtaking views of the Canyon and connects the lodges for those who wish to walk rather than ride the shuttle buses. All but 3 miles of it is paved and very flat. However, the non-paved portion is rocky and steep in places. Last Tuesday we traversed 8 miles of the Rim Trail including the non-paved portion. The Grand Canyon web site describes it as a hike, and the distance did leave our legs a little sore. But we were never more than a short distance from camera toting, flip-flop wearing tourists. Walk or hike?

If it's not distance that differentiates a walk from a hike, could it be exertion? On three occasions we climbed down the Canyon on very steep trails that eventually lead to the Colorado River. Well placed warning signs cautioned against attempting the trip to the river (15+ mile round trip) in one day due to the heat and the lack of water on the trail. Park Rangers advised carrying one liter of water per person per hour of hiking and suggested wearing sturdy hiking shoes due to the steep rocky terrain. Weighted down with a gallon of water each, our packs filled with food, rain gear, a compass, and a medical kit, imagine our surprise when we were passed by people wearing sandals and carrying only a camera and 1/2 liter bottle of water. What were they thinking? Walk or hike?

Maybe a hike is a challenge and a walk is not? In New Mexico we visited the lava field of McCarty Crater, a volcano that blew 3000 years ago. A one mile trail marked only by cairns (there is no path since the ground is hardened lava) guides the visitor onto the lava field and to the crater itself. A cairn is a pile of rocks that marks the trail. To prevent disorientation, walk from cairn to cairn (and hope that no one has added a cairn off the trail just for fun). After 20 minutes we reached a cairn and for the life of us could not see the next one. Nor could we still see the one behind us which was blocked by sagebrush. The compass that would have shown the way was left in the car since we anticipated a walk and not a hike. Although we knew the general direction of the parking lot that was no more than 1/2 mile away as the crow flies, we are not crows and we needed to force down the panic that was beginning to cloud our judgment.  Hearts pounding as if we had just climbed a 15% grade, the hidden cairn came into view. In less than 10 minutes we were safely ensconced in the car and on our way for our next adventure. Walk or hike?

It seems to me that the difference lies in one's expectations and the degree to which we challenge ourselves. Stay tuned for more hikes to come.

Do You Believe In Ghosts?

I have not given much thought to this subject, and I have certainly never experienced anything remotely paranormal. Many people report to have seen ghosts, and others say they can feel the presence of the dead in a very conscious way. There is an entire industry devoted to "ghost tours" in places like Key West and St. Augustine. So what exactly is a ghost?

Having given it some thought, I believe there is another dimension beyond our conscious world and some people have the ability to sense it. We smell. We taste. We see. We feel. And we hear. We all have different abilities. Some of us have the extra sense, and some of us do not. Maybe that sense can be developed. Maybe some of us "feel" the paranormal to make up for a weakness in another area. I'm not sure.

So what brought on these thoughts? Just outside the mountain town of Magdalena, NM is the ghost town of Kelly. Two miles up the hill stands an old silver mine and the remnants of a town of 3000 people that petered out before the end of the 19th century. As we drove the coarsely rutted road I imagined a ghost town like the ones in the movies. You know, the ones with broad streets, tumbleweeds, old hitching posts and saloons. A town of that size would have hotels, merchants, stables, a jail, maybe even a school. What we found was a church that had been recently restored, and on either side of the narrow roadway, the skeletons of adobe structures built 150 years ago. No wide streets. No tumbleweeds. No people. No sound except the "drip-drip-drip" chirp of a brown-headed cow bird that sounded like a slow moving rocky stream. What of the ghosts that the sign said had been "seen" hanging around the town? I did not "feel" anything. Maybe the bird can.

To my knowledge, there are no government programs to contact the dead. But, 20 miles from Magdalena is the National Radio Astronomy Observation Very Large Array. If you saw the movie Contact starring Jodie Foster, you may recognize these radio telescopes. The movie was shot here. Funded by the National Science Foundation, the visitor center details all the wonderful discoveries about the universe that have been accomplished at this facility. No mention about contacting aliens that was the subject of the movie. Some people see UFOs, but no one seems to believe them. Are they out there? Maybe they have already been here and are not coming back.

Preconceived Notions

Kansas is flat.

Flat, flat, flat, flat flat.

Or is it?

We drove over 400 miles from east to west, and OK, most of Kansas is really flat. But not all of it. Had we trusted all that we had heard about Kansas we would have driven through Arkansas. Instead we decided to test conventional wisdom about Kansas' flatness. And we found hills.

The Flint Hills are mainly located in east-central Kansas, between Emporia and Manhattan (Readers-it's map time again). A long, long time ago, Kansas was under a shallow sea. When the seas receded, this area was left with deposits of limestone and shale. Erosion caused hills to form, and fossilized rock known as chert or flint was left behind. Due to the rocky soil, plowing proved an impossibility resulting in cattle ranching becoming the primary industry on the prairie. The beauty of this region is subtle, with emerald colored grassy hills, speckled with stones and rocks that have pushed their way up into the daylight. These green hills stand in relief to the more prevalent brown flatness that surround them.

A hike in the Tallgrass Prairie National Preserve enabled us to spend a few hours admiring the beauty of the Flint Hills. Long before the white man trampled upon the plains, grasses over five feet high covered the prairie from Canada to Texas. A sea of bison from horizon to horizon grazed on the nutrient rich bluestem grasses. Now, this preserve is the last contiguous prairie left. As we walked the trail, I tried to imagine the grasses stretching endlessly. Purple, yellow and red wildflowers poking up from the brown grass provide some contrast to the green hills in the background. The warm, southerly wind passing through the giant cottonwood trees and the bellowing of the grazing cattle provided the only break in the silence.

 After leaving the Flint Hills and driving west past just planted wheat fields and passing through dismal farm towns, we found ourselves in the northwestern part of the state. The elevation gain of 800 feet meant that we were now on the fringe of the high plains. Think Clint Eastwood and tumbleweeds. Rocky outcroppings began to appear, and although the land was still very flat, it began to have the feel of the old west. Towns with broken down houses that the highway and railway abandoned years before provided some break to the monotony.

One hour east of the Colorado border stands a geological marvel called Monument Rocks. Also left over from the receding sea of 80 million years ago, these limestone formations stretch over 70 feet into the clear blue sky. The striations of color that range from bright yellow-brown to very dark gray indicate the many geological events back to prehistoric time. Looking closely we were able to pick out fossils embedded in the rock. Standing away from the monuments one can imagine how the waters rushed through and left the pillars standing as a reminder of our origins.

Kansas flat? Well, yes and no.

On the Katy Trail

Here's a quiz. What state park encompasses less than 10 acres, yet stretches across 80% of an entire state? Give up? It's Katy State Park that runs 225 miles from St. Charles, MO (near St. Louis) to Clinton, MO (near Kansas City). Formerly the rail bed for the Missouri, Kansas and Texas Railroad, it celebrates its 20th anniversary this year as the longest rail trail in the US. Jana and I took off last Thursday, carrying all our gear on Leonardo, for a seven day adventure in the wilds of Missouri.

Two thirds of the Katy Trail follows along side the Missouri River. Traveling east to west, the river was generally to our left and sheer dolomite bluffs were to our right. Since we always do things the hard way, the westerly route was a gradual uphill climb, eventually gaining about 400' of elevation. However with the wind in our face and the spongy, pebbly trail grabbing our tires, it felt like we were pedaling through oatmeal.

Below the bluffs is a lush verdant forest, thick with wildly twisted vines, and interspersed with purple wildflowers growing in the dappled sunshine. Clear streams running off the bluffs flow into the chocolate colored creeks that meander to the Missouri. The river, swiftly flowing towards its union with the Mississippi, is transporting the flotsam and jetsam of the upper midwest. Whole trees pass by, branches and bark stripped, with just a small root ball to identify it as something that was not cut down by man. Where there is a break in the bluffs, small farms appear, some with cows that graze almost on the trail. At times the river veers to the north and the movement of water is replaced with the monotony of black bottom land not yet showing the soy beans and corn that will soon be planted.

Saturday on the Katy Trail was slightly less peaceful. We left the old German town of Hermann in a light drizzle, and with rain predicted, we knew our planned 50 mile ride to Jefferson City might be a stretch. After lunch the rain began falling more heavily, and as it did, the trail became muddy. Jana later said that the front tire was often sinking halfway up the rim meaning that the tire itself was being abraded by the pea rock that forms the top layer of the trail. The winds began to rage, the temperature dropped into the low 50s, and even with raincoats, we were becoming chilled. Then POW! What seemed to be a gun shot was actually a blown rear tire. Still six miles from the Jefferson City bridge, we had no choice but to change the tire. A farm shed provided just enough cover for the Captain, whose hands were numb from the cold, to make the change (no farmer was home to make us a cup of tea or drive us to Jefferson City). The Stoker was awe struck by the skill and perserverance of the Captain . The blown tire and tube were left in the shed to mark our presence.

Prudence dictated that we abandon the coarse Katy Trail lest we blow another tire. Route 94 runs parallel to the trail so we decided to chance dealing with the car traffic in the wind soaked rain. Visibility was no more than 1/4 mile and the ceiling could not have been more than 100'. Yellow rain slickers, red flashing rear light, and reflectors on our panniers should have provided ample warning to the cars. Yet one driver had the nerve the run along side, roll down the window and complain that we should not be on the road. The Captain later uttered the words that she ought to have said then, "Either give us a ride or shut the h--- up!" Horizontal wind blown rain in our faces, cars to the rear, making no more than five miles per hour, unsure of where we were, the dome of the state capitol shrouded in fog finally came into view. Rather than risk traversing the bridge over the river, we ducked under an awning outside a commercial building and called the bed & breakfast in hopes they could provide a rescue. Within 45 minutes we were safely ensconced and what was at the time a chilling experience was now an adventure worth retelling.

Wednesday,with the trail finally dry and the weather warmer, we enjoyed seeing the greatest variety of wildlife. We had grown used to the cardinals with their shrill call and bright red plumage. Canada Geese, always in pairs, honking on their journey north. Hawks and vultures circling overhead searching for food, the former eying movement, the latter smelling death. Mid-morning we entered an area with trees on both sides of the trail that formed a closed canopy. Suddenly a large bird bolted from a tree, crossed our path, and flew at 3-5 feet of elevation down the canopy, landing in a tree about 50 yards ahead. Is it another hawk? The Captain, who is also the resident ornithologist for this expedition, said no, it is too big. As we approached its perch, it again took flight, and as before, seemed to stay just a little ahead. The Captain got a good look this time- it was a Great Horned Owl. For the next three miles we played tag with a bird that allowed us to get just close enough to admire his fine form, but ever elusive, would not pose for our camera. No picture will ever replace the memory of that glorious bird.

Thursday, our last day on the trail, was the most physically demanding of the trip. From the outset we were buffeted by 25 MPH headwinds with gusts to 35 MPH. This, combined with the steepest uphill grades along the trail's entire length and its coarse surface, made the 40 mile trek seem endless. As we approached Clinton, our final destination, we entered an area between farmland and prairie that afforded no wind break. Staying on the 15 foot wide trail, open on both sides, became almost impossible for the Captain, while the Stoker's legs provided the final push. At the Clinton Trail Head it was hugs and high fives for a job well done.

Land Between the Lakes

Tuesday morning. Still dark out. Tossing and turning in my sleeping bag when began the hammering of a lone woodpecker. As the sky grew lighter, other birds joined the chorus. Geese honking. A great blue heron squawking, announced its entry on the stage. Robins chirping. Cardinals, and other non-crows (a friend once said that birds are either crows or non-crows), created an orchestral blending of sound. Ornithologically challenged, I could not identify many of the individual players, but at sunrise, the symphony reached its crescendo. It was time to rise.

This natural entertainment occurred at a campsite in an area called The Land Between the Lakes. As an exercise, please leave the comfort of your computer and get a map or atlas of Tennessee and Kentucky. Mapquest or Google Maps will do in a pinch, but maps are better because you can see the big picture more clearly. Map in hand? Find Dover, TN which is 60 miles northwest of Nashville, as the crow flies. Now find Grand Rivers, KY. It's 40 miles due north of Dover, TN. See the big green area in between? That's The Land Between the Lakes National Wildlife Area. 400 square miles of wilderness. No towns. No McDonalds. Just trees, fields, paved and gravel country roads for biking, hiking trails, numerous boat ramps for access to the lakes, and pristine camping.

Readers, back to your maps. You will see that The Land Between the Lakes (LBL) is, as the name suggests, surrounded by two lakes, Barkley and Kentucky. However, they are really the Cumberland and Tennessee Rivers respectively. Both rivers flow north so the dams that created the lakes are both in Grand Rivers, KY. The dams were built in the 1930's to provide flood control and hydroelectric power. Fortunately, The LBL was purchased by the federal government and is managed by local volunteers, who have worked hard to maintain this unspoiled nirvana. It is lucky that the area is strictly maintained because just north of Grand Rivers is a gravel strip mine that is as hideous as the LBL is beautiful. Oh, the contrasts of human existence.

Tuesday night. The camp fire has been reduced to ashes still smoldering, giving up their last remnants of smokey heat. The cloudless sky, stars glowing, a gentle breeze creates a chill. A coyote howls, "Good night".

Phase Two- Day One

No, this is not the first day since we restarted the trip by car. It is actually Day Ten. But it is the first that I can say was truly enjoyable due to the rehabilitation of my back and right leg. Jana has nursed me back to health and two long walks on the Shiloh battlefield (12 miles total) has helped get the kinks worked out. Today we biked the Shiloh car tour (10 miles), and I can say with gusto, " The stoker is back!"

The advantage of traveling by car rather than by bicycle is that we can truly be spontaneous. After a real southern lunch in Adamsville, TN (smothered chicken, corn, lima beans, fried okra, corn bread) we set off for the next destination. Our plan was to make it to Dover, TN site of another famous Civil War battle, Fort Donelson. We set off on TN Route 22 heading north. However, once underway, a peak at the map showed that if we changed course and went southeast, we could visit the Natural Bridge of Tennessee, and get back on the Natchez Trace Parkway. So off we went.

Well we turned onto US Route 64 and where the Natural Bridge was supposed to be was road construction. Could they have wiped out a natural wonder to widen the road? Or did they decide they could not compete with the Natural Bridge of Alabama, and so closed it out of shame? We will never know.

The Natchez Trace is a national treasure. Along its 444 two lane miles, from Nashville to Natchez, is a sampling of the history of our country. We have seen Indian Mounds that are relics of a civilization that existed 500-2000 years ago, and remnants of a more recent Chickasaw Village. The Old Trace was an Indian trading route that was later used by settlers traveling from Tennessee to the Mississippi River. There are still places where the old path is visible and cleared so that we can truly walk in the footsteps of history.

Today's stops included a 19th century iron ore mine and pig iron forge and ironworks. A little further up the road is the place where Meriwether Lewis met his unfortunate demise. After completing his expedition with William Clark, President Jefferson named him to be governor of the southern portion of the Louisiana Territory. Unfortunately, Lewis suffered from a mental disorder, perhaps depression, and his final years were a frustrating race to publish his expedition journals before the darkness set in permanently. Lewis lost that battle and eventually committed suicide in a home along the Natchez Trace.

Before calling it a day, we stopped at a lake in a Wildlife Refuge along the Trace. Who would expect to find an Amish man and boy (perhaps his son or grandson) fishing on the banks of a lake so far from any town or community?

Instead of landing in Dover for the night, we have discovered an unusual community called Hohenwald ("high forest" in German). The town was settled by Swiss and German immigrants.  A few years ago, this town of perhaps 4000 residents, decided to go green, really green. There is quite a bit of expertise here in the areas of green farming, gardening, home building, and energy conservation. They are even developing a town currency to encourage barter and buying locally. We will explore the area further tomorrow. So far we are very impressed by the beauty and history we have found in Tennessee.

Pain

I'm feeling much better now, but last week I spent four of the worst days of my life from a strained back that led to a nasty case of sciatica. Laying in bed during one sleepless night, I found myself thinking of ways to describe what I was feeling:

• Agony
• White-hot
• Stabbing
• Throbbing
• Pulsating
• Endless
• Helpless

As the days wore on, I was able to compare what I was feeling from one day to the next. Better? Worse? The same? I could say without reservation that it was the worst pain I had ever felt on a continuous basis. However, there is no way anyone else can know the extent of the pain. To my knowledge, there is no "pain scale". Why? They have invented a measure of the heat from spicy peppers. It is called the Scoville scale. You can look up the difference between habaneros and jalapenos. But no "pain scale". Why not create one so we can know once and for all if sciatica is more painful than child birth. Or does it fit somewhere between finger nail removal and catching a hand in a car door? Things you think about at 3:00 AM.

Finally I went to a doctor and got pain pills. He gave me a non-refillable prescription since I was not his continuing patient. The first thing I thought of as I was gently falling asleep was, how to get a refill. What story will I need to tell the doctor in the next town? Will I become addicted? Since I didn't know what was wrong with me, I did not know how to get better. I was very scared.

Tomorrow it will be two weeks since the injury. I can't describe it in a way that will let you feel what I felt. But I can tell you that if the pain at its peak was a 10, it is now a 1. Relief is sweet.

The Stoker Blew a Tire

In preparation for the trip we accumulated spare parts and tools to fix Leonardo if we have a breakdown. We have several tubes, a spare tire, CO2 cartridges and a pump, all necessary to get us back on the road if we get a flat. So far, so good. No flats. We bought the best tires possible and at the end of each day we check the tread and remove any shards of glass that might have become embedded. Jana has been very adept at avoiding glass in the road and I walk ahead when we are off the bike to locate and remove any lurking booby traps.

Much to my chagrin, it was the stoker that had the first blow out. Tuesday and Wednesday this week we logged the highest mileage of any day since we began the trip, 58 and 70 miles respectively. By Wednesday night my quadricep muscles were so tight that it was difficult to walk. I woke up Thursday morning with a throbbing pain that radiated down my right leg from my hip to my toes. Not willing to admit that I overdid it, I hoped that rest and walking would get me back in shape so we could continue on Friday as planned. No way, Jose. After a mainly sleepless night, it was obvious that medical attention would be required.

Interestingly during my long distance running days, it was my quads that were loose and hamstrings that gave me the most trouble. I was never diligent about stretching extensively, and pushed myself into mileage that was unsustainable. Eventually I had to give up racing the longer distances due to repeated hamstring injury. Am I going to repeat that mistake and turn this voyage into a trip filled with searing pain and misery? Will the journey come to a premature conclusion?

Enter Dr. Arnold, a local chiropractor. Unlike Leonardo who has spare parts, I do not. I have only the back and hips that I was born with. Dr. Arnold diagnosed the same problem I had when I was running, a tight right side hip flexor. He gave me an adjustment (oh, did that feel good!), and a new stretch to prevent a re-occurrence. He did not need to give me any additional advice. I will have to be more aware of the limitations of my body and, take more time to stretch after each riding day. Thank you, Dr. Arnold.

Of course the captain has wanted to stop more frequently to see the sites, and the stoker has wanted to add miles to reach "the next destination". The stoker's blown tire has been refilled with air, but the shard of glass is still embedded. Only increased diligence and better habits will prevent another flat.

Thoughts On The Road

A friend asked me what I think about during the many hours of bicycling each day. Here is a sample:

The topography of Florida's panhandle is mainly rolling hills. Rolling hills are easier to bicycle than flat land. You work hard to get up the hill, but you can coast on the downhill, and if the wind is with you, you can get half way up the next hill without pedaling hard. The scenery is repeated over and over-piney woods, cypress and red maple swamps, hardscrabble farms, horses, cattle, goats and pigs.

There are a lot of prisons in Florida and the prisoners work on the roadways. I wonder if road work is considered a punishment or a privilege.

Harley motorcycles are mainly status symbols. We have gone days without seeing any on the panhandle. Come to think of it, we haven't seen any Mercedes or Lexus automobiles either. Mostly Fords and Chevys.

Except for downtown Tallahassee there are lots more Florida Gator fans than Florida State Seminole fans on the panhandle. I know Florida State fills their football stadium for every game. Maybe their fans are shy?

Madison, Monticello, Quincy, Marianna, DeFuniak Springs are the small cities we visited on the panhandle. All are county seats, and each has an impressive county courthouse at the center of downtown. Most of the store fronts are empty now. Each has a florist, drug store, used book store, a cafe or restaurant or two. Lots of churches, and almost as many funeral homes. Surrounding the downtown area is a high end residential neighborhood. Very big old houses. The old money lives there. The Great Recession has been hard on the rest of the town.

Here's a sample of conversation between the captain and the stoker:

Captain: OK pedal. (This tells the stoker to get the bike moving.)
Stoker: Car back. (This tells the captain that there is a car coming up from behind.) Car back. And another. Truck back. Car back.
Captain: Damn, where did this wind come from? (Since we are going east to west, the wind will mainly be in our face.)
Stoker: Why are you not pedaling up this hill? (Sometimes the captain takes advantage.)
Captain: Can I go out? (Sometimes there is debris in the bike lane or shoulder and we need to go into the roadway.)
Stoker: Clear (This means yes.) or No (This means no. The stoker never says "Go" because the captain might confuse it with "No" and we will get flattened. "Clear" means go.)

Captain: I hear a hawk's call. See it there? Is that a red tailed or red shouldered hawk soaring overhead?
Stoker: It is a red tailed hawk. Look how it flashed its tail at us.

That is all.

Warm Showers II

I was amazed by the trust shown by the Warm Showers hosts and thought it could not be surpassed, until this happened:

On the road to Madison, FL, in a steady rain, two very cold and wet tandem riders were passed by a car on US 90. The car stopped by the side of the road and waited for us to catch up. Out of the car popped a statuesque woman with fiery red hair, red lipstick, red toenails. I have to admit that my first thought was, what does this woman want with us? Is she in some kind of trouble? Instead she asked, "Do you have accommodations in Madison?"

Originally from New Zealand, and after a successful career buying and selling real estate in south Florida, she relocated to Madison and purchased a church and manse two blocks from the main drag. After investing a bundle to rehab the buildings, install a professional kitchen, and 19th century furnishings, she opened a B & B, and wedding chapel with reception hall. Love birds from throughout the south flocked to her door to have their nuptials performed in the old town. When she wasn't catering weddings she also provided lodging for bicyclists riding on the Southern Tier bike route between Gainesville and Tallahassee.

Unfortunately, the economic downturn put a hold on expensive destination weddings, and fewer travelers have the inclination to wander the back roads looking for unexpected treasure. We entered the B & B through the reception hall that was packed from corner to corner with old furniture in various states of refurbishment. The tables were piled with china, glasses, silver and other vestiges of the catering business that is no more. Her three cats now call it home.

She said she assumed we were stopping in Madison due to the weather and that the hotels are out by the interstate, another six miles from the town center. She missed talking to the bicycle travelers who she said always have interesting stories. We were cold, wet, tired and never considered not saying yes. How could we say no to a hot shower, a chance to do laundry, a wonderful fish dinner with white wine, and a bedroom with rich furnishings? Beyond that, was the interesting conversation.

The next chapter of her life will include selling the property and moving back to south Florida to start a new business. Jana and I are also turning a page of our lives. Maybe our paths will cross again some day.

Warm Showers or Get a Gun

As we were planning the trip, more than a few people asked if I intended to carry a weapon; you know, pack heat, get a gun. They feared for our safety, of course, and I deeply appreciate their concern. However it also says a lot about our society.

My personal opinion is that the proliferation of weapons in the United States has led to more violence, not less. Those that feel the need to carry a weapon see threatening situations at every turn. They must mistrust strangers since their assumption is that people are bad, and mean to do them harm. Maybe I am exaggerating a little, but I do not see how we can feel a sense of community with our fellow man, and also be afraid or ready to pull the trigger. There has to be a better way.

This week Jana and I were introduced to the website warmshowers.org, a site that matches bike riders with hosts across the US. After enrolling and providing the necessary personal information (hosts also provide the same information and travelers post comments to rate their experiences) we were able to search for a host who would provide us with a bed, shower and meal. Our host in High Springs, FL told us to let ourselves in to the house since we would arrive early (the door is never locked).  This host has been part of the network for over three years, and has housed dozens of cyclists. The log book in our bedroom even included an entry on Thanksgiving 2008.

Before leaving on this trip I could never have imagined that anyone would invite a stranger into their home. These Warm Shower hosts have a view of the world that most people are good and honest. Because of this high level of trust, their life is made richer due to the people they meet and the experiences they share. In a sense the hosts and travelers have developed a strong sense of community that is founded on trust and respect. Once our journey is complete, Jana and I will become Warm Showers hosts. Beyond that, my feeling of a shared humanity will stay with me forever.

For those who still think we need to be armed, rest assured that I have a new can of pepper spray in case of mean dogs. With all the weight we need to carry, the gun was not an option.

Karma I

Life is a series of coincidences. Or is it?

For most of us, meeting our spouse is the most important of life changing events. For Jana and me, walking into a McDonald's in Monroe, LA, on the same day, at the same time, has led to a 25 year marriage. I was there because I had been on the road and had no food in the house. Jana was there because her hot water heater broke and flooded her apartment. You could say that our daughter Dana owes her life to a faulty hot water heater. But I digress. Were we fated to meet, or was it pure chance?

A few years ago Jana and I read the novel, "The Celestine Prophecy". Reading this book began the process of being more aware of events, choices and happenstances that are presented to us on a daily basis. Sometimes you just have to say "yes" to something that is seemingly incongruous just to see where it leads.

With that as background, what transpired last Wednesday defies belief. As way of introduction, one of the goals of this journey is for me to decide on a future endeavor that will make use of my talents in an atmosphere that will also be fun. Working in a wine store is one such endeavor that might fit the bill. So here is what happened.

Jana and I took the Sunshine Bus from St. Augustine Beach to St. Augustine. We walked around a little, then ate our picnic lunch on a bench outside Castillo San Marcos. After lunch Jana said that she wanted to find Claude's Chocolate Store to get "some dessert". We were searching on the street where Claude's used to be when the chef from one of the restaurants asked what we were looking for. He said that Claude's moved to King Street, and he proceeded to tell us how good the food is in his restaurant and that we should come back for dinner. We said "goodbye" and continued our walk when a young woman caught up with us and began chatting. She is a sales representative for a wine and spirits wholesaler and she suggested that we might want to participate in a wine tasting going on at a wine store down the block. I at first hesitated, but after a few minutes, Jana convinced me that it would be fun. During the tasting I met the owner of the wine store who told me that she has been trying to hire a professional sales person for her shop. Although she hopes to hire someone now, she felt that she might be able to use someone with my skills once our trip concludes.

Coincidence? Or was the wine sales representative on that street at that time to guide me to a destination or outcome? Had we not stopped to talk to the chef, we would not have met her. Had we known Claude's new address, we would not have even been on that street. This trip will afford us the time to follow these paths as they are presented to us. I wonder where they will lead?

Random Thoughts on Bike Week

Do Harley bikers ride with ear plugs? Do their arms get tired holding the gorilla handle bars? Why do some people look good in black leather... and some don't?

Why are motorcycles called "bikes". Bicycles are "bikes". Motorcycles are "cycles". Some motorcycles are tricycles... some have two wheels in front and some have two wheels in back. Are there different names for them?

Harley bikers ride in packs and they are so loud Jana and I cannot hear each other talk. BMWs and Hondas are much quieter and the bikers seem to ride alone. Isn't the whole image of a Harley that it appeals to the rebel in all of us? Now that there are so many Harleys do the other brands better represent individuality?

With temperatures in the 40s, bicycling at 10 miles per hour makes the temperature feel 10 degrees colder. How cold is it on a Harley going 60 miles per hour? Is that why they stop so often for beer?

We stopped to eat at a biker's hang out in Daytona. Two neon yellow windbreakers in a sea of black leather. We felt just a little bit out of place. However, all the bikers we spoke with were friendly and more than a little bit awed by our endeavor. It was thumbs up all around.

Trust

One of the goals of the trip is learning to handle adversity and trusting that everything will turn out OK. The morning of the second day Jana and I came to the conclusion that we are too heavy. Not us, and not Leonardo, but what we packed on Leonardo. Too much of what we are carrying is gear to handle any possible bump in the road. CO2 cartridges to fix a flat... not one or two, but six in case some of them are bad or if we have problems using them. Of course we are also carrying an air pump, so the cartridges are a bit redundant. What if we break a spoke? Before setting out, we took a lesson on replacing a spoke, and are carrying several, just in case. The problem is that the tools necessary to replace a spoke (chain whip, cassette tool, adjustable wrench) weigh about 2 pounds.

Monday morning we pulled into a bike shop in Hobe Sound and made a donation of four CO2 cartridges, spoke changing tools and other assorted stuff that reduced our load by almost 5 pounds. But what if we break a spoke? Since we will never be more than 20 miles from a bike shop, we will lock up Leonardo, remove the wheel, call a taxi and go to town. Trust that assistance will be nearby, rather than struggle with the weight preparing for a negative outcome that may not happen.

This week we have pre-booked all our overnight accommodations. We were concerned that Bike Week in Daytona Beach and this being tourist season in Florida, we might have problems finding places to stay. Beginning Friday night, we will begin trusting that we will always be able to find something... a camp ground, a motel, the floor of a fire station... and that we will not have to spend a night on a park bench or in a cell in the city jail. Stay tuned.

Our Destination

"Goals are loose things, less tied to schedules, more amenable to circumnavigation than destinations, which seem to call for the straightest course possible: the one serves exploration, the other arrival." William Least Heat-Moon

Many of our friends have asked about the planned route for our adventure.  For those who are interested, a map can be found on the blog "Two for the Road". Generally speaking, we will travel on the "Underground Railroad" and "Lewis and Clark" bicycle trails from Mobile, AL to Seaside, OR using additional cycling routes to reach Mobile from our home in Lantana, FL. We plan to visit for a few days in St. Augustine, FL, tour the Shiloh Civil War Battlefield Park in southwestern Tennessee, and travel the Katy Rail Trail across Missouri. That is the extent of our plan. To say that our destination is Seaside, OR or even that we will traverse the US from the southeast to the northwest oversimplifies the more important goals of the trip.

Katherine Russell Rich, author of the book Dreaming in Hindi advocates that when one is facing a rescaling of life, "Don't just do something; sit there". For me, a 30 year career in business is coming to a close. I left a job that I held for eight years, a job that was comfortable, financially rewarding, but lately not emotionally satisfying. It's time for a change. What to do?

In the past I would have looked for another similar job at a different company while still employed at my present job. I have used that strategy five times in the past. This time it just did not feel right. I have reached the stage of life where my work needs to be more rewarding than just bringing home a paycheck. So, I'm going to "just sit there" on the back seat of a blue tandem bicycle as we pedal across the US. The trip will allow ample time to collect my thoughts about what comes next. The interesting people we meet along the way will provide clues about possible future endeavors. And with a belief in karma, a new opportunity will present itself that will set the course for the next 20 years.

So while Seaside, OR is a destination, it is not the goal. The goal is a new direction.

Origins of the trip

You could say that traveling the back roads is in my blood. As a teenager, family trips from Pittsburgh to New York included stretches on the " blue highways" of western and central Pennsylvania. ("Blue Highways" is a best selling book by William Least Heat-Moon about his circumnavigation of the US on the back roads of America. Reading this book in 2008 kick started the urge to see what's out there.)  Mesmerized by the passing towns, imagining life in Nanty Glo and Ebensburg, the agitation of a life in transition was, for a time, soothed.

As an adult, I am drawn to the roads less traveled. Getting off the interstate and finding the parallel routes is much more interesting. Jana and I have used US 1 and A1A to connect St. Augustine with West Palm Beach or US 441 to return from Orlando. The unhurried pace, wondering what lies around the next curve (or outside Florida, over the next hill), is so much more satisfying than the plugged in experience of the interstate. I find that the time flies.

Jana and I began dreaming about this trip while climbing a mountain in Big Sur in 2006. "Let's just quit our jobs and travel around", she said. Well, the time was not right. The economy was booming. We had a daughter still in college, a dog at home, a mortgage, responsibilities that could not be easily shed. But the seeds of freeing ourselves from the "things" that were holding us back were planted. In 2007 Jana biked across the US on a supported tour. I followed her itinerary as she journeyed, and with some assistance from her pictures, realized that there is a lot to see out there.

In 2008 we went to the RV show and looked at Roadtreks and pop-up campers. But it just didn't feel right to us. Some people are born RVers. We even talked to a few at the show and listened to their stories. It's just not for us. I truly believe that to get the most out of this journey, we need to be close to the road and so close to the people that inhabit the towns we will find along the way. The problem was that after falling twice on my bike, the idea of crossing the US on a bicycle caused my stomach to knot right up.

Behold Leonardo, our blue DaVinci tandem. Problem solved. Of course we are a little unconventional. The man is supposed to be the captain and the woman the stoker. But Jana is the better biker, so she's in front. I provide the power, so I'm in back. It works for us. So sit back and join us as together we see "what's out there".