Historical Post: 9907 XC bike tour, Vol 2

ABOVE: GILL

Saturday

Dateline: Yuma, AZ. F'n HOT!!!

We decide that Chris, Tom, Jerry and I will start out the morning. I leave fully light configured at 0400, pitch black except for the INS helicopter lights scanning to border. Look like damned UFO’s at this hour. Several times over the next couple of hours either aircraft of land vehicles come down to check us out, and I don’t think that they were looking at our butt’s either. I’m thinking this is how it will end – in an immigration prison with 100’s of Mexicans explaining the microeconomics of NAFTA.

Several good pulls by everyone and suddenly it is about 1000, also known as “The hour of heat death to bikers”. It quickly reaches 115+, and probably 125ish on the roadway. We are cooking big time – everyone’s unhappy, we are really struggling, and the irritations are many – cops stopping us for riding on the interstate, truckers who try to play “good touch – bad touch”, slithering little things jumping across the road, and of course, best of all, Cliff’s truck starting on fire.

Now, in case you were wondering, it really puts a damper on a sag wagon when it is flaming down the highway. Luckily, a trucker had a fire extinguisher, and AAA loves to tow from, oh say 80 miles in the desert back to town. We kiss the truck adios and plow forward. Cliff can drive back in 2 weeks and pickup whatever is left of it.

We’ve now named the RV ‘the big rig” and Gill, she drives the big rig best of all. I think that we will call her “Il rey de rig grande” – the Queen of the BigRig.

The day’s highlights all come early. First, we find the most wonderful breakfast bar, complete with nude waitresses (we’d already been in the desert 6 hours – trust me, they were nude to us).

Then, just as we were rolling out of town, we see a broken down biker on the side of the road. We stop to help, and it turns out he is a homeless person with a broken bike axle. He is towing a small trailer with all of his worldly possessions and only has a dollar to his name. And, best of all, (and I wear this is true), he tells us that he “Plays the piano for jesus”. I tell him that I won’t hold that against him. We take his wheel back into town, buy him a new axle (along with a tire, tube, and water of which he had none) and drive it back out. He’s now dancing on the street – great visual. He literally had no water, it was ~ 105 at that point, and when queried where he was headed, he said “Goin’ to Northern California but I have to stop somewhere first”. Now keep in kind that he’s headed EAST into the desert, has $1, NO WATER, a broken bike, and nothing even remotely approximating a CLUE. If only he had a piano….

We arrive in Tempe at nightfall. Everyone is miserable, dehydrated, tired, hungry, and generally broken. Even Cliff is out of energy. We have a quick cookout, lay in the pool to cool our cores, and literally die on the concrete deck for the evening.

Next up: SUN day!

Historical Post: 9907 XC bike tour, Vol 1

Hi all,

Just so I don't loose it to posterity (or disorganization), and so you have more hemmingway-esque readings to get you through your day, I'm going to put out a few posts recapping our 1999 cross country bike tour. A group of 6 of us did an XC bike relay in 10 days; great memories, and some really funny experiences. Here's volume 1; enjoy!

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DISCLAIMER: In the interest of being me, I will include “reasonable” stories about adult topics. I will try to moderately control the language, unless it is germane to the story line. If this offends you – well, tough shit…

Riders Overview
Cliff Anderson
Cliff lives in Phoenix, and is the classic definition of an engineer. Incredibly wired, tons ‘o energy, excellent biker especially climbing), great analytical mind, and of course, as taught to him by his stint at Kodak – analysis paralysis. He is the trip mapper, having built up a 200 page mapset down to the cracks in the road. He’s compiled elevation, distance, high/low temperatures for every 30ft of the trip. His lovely wife Val will be our host in Tempe overnight.

Gary Austin
Lumpy to those who know and love him, the biggest asshole on the face of the earth for those who don’t . Basically, no middle ground here. Also holds the title for the heaviest rider. For this ride, will go by the name of “Il Campione” (voted on by the other riders – no, really)

Gill Burriack
Gill’s taking a summer off of work to (a) ride or (b) reproduce. Well, anyway she’s turning into quite the rider. She just completed a 10 day bike trip in Utah/Colorado so in the scheme of things she’s probably in the best relative shape of any of us. She also has the widest hips (by a large margin). Her handle for the trip will become “snowbunny”. She brings the feminine element to the trip – no wait, that’s Tom’s role…

Jerry Erb
Nicknamed “Festus”, Jerry’s everything the gunsmoke character was – gosh dag it, dag blang it, that’s there-ins a right big hill up there. We haven’t seen a lot of Jerry over the last few years as he’s been building railroads all over the world – China, Korea, Atlanta. He’s also an engineer (blows the train whistle) and helps us a lot when mechanics don’t work correctly – usually by starting with a piece by piece decomposition of the faulty device, architectural drawings, a metal fatigue analysis.

Tom Gallagher
Likely the most unique in the group (as he’s the only one neutered – oh, never mind, that’s most eunuch), Tom is a great hill climber and holds the team record for most near fatal diseases before the age of 40. Picture the scene – about 105lbs., totally shaved head, earring(s), and a really cute butt – no strike that I was just thinking of something else…..

Chris Williams
Chris is the most worldly of the group, having climbed in Ecuador, and had sex in Conesus (near Rochester), all in the same year. Our major project is to keep him out of the trailer parks where he does most of his “shopping” if you know what I mean…

Friday
And, they’re off. On no, wait, they’re on delta, I guess they’ll sit around for a while in an aluminum tube at 95 degrees while Daryl, Daryl, and Daryl the Kentucky mechanics fix the O ring. Doesn’t much matter that there are no O rings on this jet – it was a term that they were familiar with from that there space thing that blew up.…

So, I arrive in LA over an hour late. I’ve forgotten just how much fun LAX is – a billion people, nobody speaks English, can’t breathe through the smog, and absolutely filthy. Other than that, basically the same as new York…

I track down Chris at the Reno Air terminal where he’s just come from, having checked out the local br, er, ah, gambling establishments. Chris is a welcome site – someone my size with a 100lb+ pack on his back that I incorrectly assume he will be carrying throughout the ride so that someone will be slower than me.

We first call the other 4 in SanDiego, and decide that due to the lateness of the flight, that they would start the first rotation without us and we would real them in later in the afternoon. That of course was before we found out the you are only allowed to drive 20mph for > 2 HOURS in LA, that after spending 1 HOUR+ going the 12 miles to the RV place, and having to relearn Spanish to even get the RV.

Chris and I hit the road and start trying to cut a line to catch the riders. They of course are out on their own excursion as we later find out, having given Cliff the first 2 hour pull and he riding for oh, something like 6 hours before they finally catch up to him. Probably someone else will cover this little dittie.

We FINALLY real them in at 9:00 at night, after a disheartening 8 hour chase. They are trying to make El Centro, near the Mexico/CA border before bedding down. They are quite the site to behold, Gill riding with a fluorescent orange vest, lights everywhere, and the van flashing right behind them. Gill pulls the last leg into El Centro, and rustle up a fleabag motel room to compliment the RV. God, it just doesn’t get any better than this.

Next up: Saturday (duh...)

Home, home without a range...

NOT OURS (thankfully!). Read on...

Hi all,

Well, we've landed (technically driven) back in ROC again, after 11 years away. A lot has changed, of course. Our "edge of suburbia" homestead is now smack in the midst of a housing track, the neighborhood kids that we last saw as babies are now lacrosse superstars, and for 4 straight days now there was sunshine in the sky in ROC. Must be that global warming thing; finally the Reds got something right!

The house is an utter disaster; nothing like stuffing 3 houses worth of "stuff" into a single house. It took us 3 days of hard labor to get the bedroom habitable. We're now on our second day working on the office - if anyone needs a paperclip, just ping me, I have something like 5 BAGS full of them. Must be my equivalent of my dad's comb problem (when he died, we found 4 shoeboxes of combs tucked away in his closet. Although he had nice hair, there wasn't that much of it!). The garage is literally floor to ceiling with boxes and furniture, as is the living room and the basement. We have 5 bedroom sets, 4 dining tables, 3 living room sets, 10 bikes, and clothes in at least 3 distinct size ranges.

It's been absolutely wonderful to get back cycling again. I've gotten in 4 days now, and have even dropped a couple of pounds. My buddy Tom (AKA The Soup Attendant) has been instrumental in pushing me along (as usual), always cycling 2 feet in front of me while humming show tunes. Jerry (AKA Festus) has also been a great help, riding just behind me on every hill while chanting his mantra "2-1-0, 2-1-0" (my latest weight!!!). That Jerry, always a kidder.

I'm discovering all sorts of interesting things about daytime life, it's very different from the traditional world. First, if you make it into the diner by 3, you get the "Early Bird Special". This is basically soft, bland food, but at a hefty discount...sometimes as low as $.50 off per meal. So, of course, the place is stuffed to the brim with greyhairs...and they don't take kindly to newcomers. Also observed in my cycling wanderings is the scores of soccer moms everywhere; on the roads in their supersize soccer vans, out front of their homes gardening, even at Home Desperate. Having come from a women-dominated industry (health care), I was just used to every female I knew working in the corporate world. Now it seems that there's at least as many living alternative lifestyles - not with the gothic dress and all that - but actually raising kids. Good to see that there's some of that still around.

Our garden, which we left as a bunch of bulbs 11 years ago, has fourished. Given my well known green thumb, I expect that everything will be dead by labor day. We've got huge peonees (sic), wysteria, lillies, and the most charlie-brownesque lilacs you ever saw. I'll post some pics shortly after we get the area weeded and cleaned up.

The big event in the neighborhood was a house that burned down, literally to the foundation. Seems a 15 yr old boy, who told his parents that he was staying over at a friends house, came back home with them, and they decided to "write their name in gasoline on the garage floor and light it". Apparently this doesn't qualify as an einsteinian idea, as it then caught the garage on fire, then the motorcycle gas tank blew up, then the lawn mower, then the grill propane tank...you get the visual. Took down their house, and only the heroic efforts of the local firedogs saved the place next door. Pic leading off above.

Offline for now, back in a bit with some "historical posts" to keep everyone entertained.

Stay safe and happy!

But I’m From SOUTHERN Pennsylvania…

Kathy and I wanted to get a jump on travel in foreign countries; you know, those that don’t speak English as a primary language, they eat rodents and other small wild animals, and they have odd, native dress. So, we went to the Blue Ridge Mountains of Southern Virginia for a long weekend!

Our hosts were Mark “Bless His Heart” and C-Cathy “Yeah Baby” (to distinguish from K-Kathy). Mark is a friend from my business travels, and he and K-Kathy share a common friend in single malts. They’re around our age (slightly older, but they would never admit to it). Mark is a long-term sales guy/entrepreneur, C-Cathy is a dancer, mom (of 2 boys who don’t clean up after themselves), and professional volunteer (stretching clinics for the terminally tight). Why get paid for something when you can do it for free!

Mark is from North Carolina, and C-Cathy from Virginia, both states that Yankees need a passport to visit (which was news to me, but luckily I had mine with me; K-Kathy we dressed in overalls and a straw hat and she snuck over the border).

The Blue Ridge Parkway is one of the great drives in the US…if you’ve never had the good fortune to drive it, try to do so before you die. They were fortunate enough to fall into a phenomenal cabin on the edge of the Parkway. Literally the edge. You can throw a ball from their cabin porch and hit cars driving down the Parkway. Which was basically how we spent Saturday night (see prior reference to single malt scotch); I got me 3 Ford pickups and a Chevy Nova (which I’ve always had a hard on for ever since I owned 2 of them in the 70’s). The cabin was built by freed slaves just before the civil war. It is surrounded by Jurassic Park-like “mountain laurels” (rhododendrons to us Yankees), many of them topping 10 feet high and 20 feet wide. Lovely plumage.

We arrived on a glorious Blue Ridge day; fog so dense that we couldn’t even see the groundhogs that we were crossing the highway. So dense, that it took us 5 passes by the cabin’s driveway before we actually saw it. So dense, that the local black bears couldn’t even find the woods to shit in. That’s dense.

Given the fog, we decided to make a far (that would be “fire” in English) in the 1840 era farpace and Mark cooked us an incredible dinner. The highlight was undoubtedly the blackened corn muffins. Those southerners, they can blacken anything. We talked the night away over books, politics, houses, and which wood burns the hottest such that you could actually melt iron. Turns out its hickory, in case anyone is interested. The farplace room got so hot that the couch actually started smoking, and C-Cathy’s copy of Stretching for Idiots caught far.

Saturday we began the day with a drive around the parkway, and then a hike at Rocky Knob Park. Apparently “knob” is Southern for “Cow Pie”. We saw more cow pies than rocks. Hundreds and hundreds of cow pies. Maybe thousands. Well, that’s one pair of hiking boots that won’t come out of the bag for a while. We then went for a drive around the area, only to find out that Mark has the most interesting habit of slamming on the brakes and yelling “Turkey” whenever he saw anything resembling a living being. Turkeys, possums, bear, even butterflies. Apparently some sort of fowl childhood trauma…

After hiking we went winery hopping. I never thought of Appalachia as big wine country, but the wines (especially the whites) were surprisingly good. At one winery we ran into a southern daily double; a fleet of 10 Model T’s pulled up, and the “wine nazi”. Apparently not all the Nazis went to Paraguay after the war; one settled in East Bluefoot VA. She was frightening…punk hair, no facial movement, and kept humming Deutschland Uber Alles. When the Model T crew came into the winery she told them (and I quote) “I’m sorry, you need to call ahead of you want to do a tasting with a group”. Keep in mind that there was the 4 of us and two lesbians from Ithaca NY (and if you though we were lost…) in the winery at the time. I thought that the car guys were going to cry as they moped back to their cars and drove away.

We wrapped up the weekend in typical Southern fashion…Sunday breakfast at the diner. We went to the world famous LakeView diner. And, yes, there is no lake within miles, and the view is the back of the $20/night motel next door. Lots of visitors there for some reason. Nothing, I mean nothing beats a plateful of buckwheat pancakes, grits, ground-hugging animal sausage, real maple syrup, and pecan pie. And that was just my plate. We wrapped the weekend with Mark and I singing the immortal Johnny Cash’s “Ring of Far” while driving down the parkway, behind a fleet of Model T’s. A wonderful Southern weekend; we’re now ready for whatever the third world has to throw at us!

Live every day to the fullest
Lumpy

Winding Down at Work

Well, I just did what is probably my last work User Group (a rendezvous of a few hundred people). It was a maudlin time for me, saying goodbye for now to many a business acquaintance and often time personal friend that I've made along the way. Folks like JoeT who survived the Upstate winter and immediately moved to TX. DomS, a mountain of a man with a heart of gold. Dom could earn much more $$$ in other places, but he has a mission to help out the needy with his nursing skills, and does a great job of it. And, one of my favorites, ClarenceD "HipHop", the coolest middle-age (that's what those of us there call everyone "around" 50!) southern doc on the planet. I never felt sooo white as when dancing with Clarence out on the dance floor; he puts Heather Mills to shame :-) I'll miss them all, and wish them the very best of luck as they move forward in financial and personal happiness. Warm-up that Memphis BBQ Clarence, I'll be down next spring.

Adios Amigos!!!

And They're Off!

Well, day one of the next part of our lives. Kathy and I have both resigned from our jobs in Philly (PHL), and we're beginning to prep the Rochester (ROC) shack to move in our "road kit" alongside our "home kit". A few months at home getting back in shape, learning new languages, and putting together travel plans, and we're off in September to "see the world!"

I'll be building a shed in a few weeks. For those who know of my skills with power tools, this is the paraplegic equivalent of an amish barn raising. If it stays up long enough, I'll take some pictures and post them; should be good for a laugh :-)