Sunday
Awaking to the strains of Chumbawumba’s “I get knocked down…”, our unofficial trip song, I get on the road before sunrise. The fog is as thick as pea soup, and I can’t see more than 20 yards in front of me. It’s a very slow warm-up ride this morning, as it would be life threatening to go much faster. I do see lot’s of animals however – squirrels, cats, bunnies, possums, and elephants – just seeing if you were still reading.
We are taking longer warm-up pulls this morning to see if we can get loosened up from yesterday’s waste of a day. Everyone is feeling wet, tired, and hungry, but we plow forward. Tom is in a much better mood today, I am introspective, writing all morning in the RV, Jerry is Jerry, Chris is having a real bad morning, and Gill saw another man for her along the way (no, just kidding – even she’s given up down here where IQ is far lower than tire pressure).
Chris and I begin working through the logistics of entering a 4 man team in the RAAM – the Race Across AMerica. We work it out that we think we could break 7 days for the ride given the right weather, riding around the clock instead of just daylight hours, an unlimited budget, and leg grafts. Incredible to think that the record is 5 day, 22 hours. They must have been bike gods…
We run across a couple of fellows in an old Ford Maverick with bikes of their own. They’ve been driving around and biking and stopped to hear our story. Good guys, and they tell us about the hills up ahead near Chattanooga. We’re not looking forward to them today – nobody seems to have the leg strength to attack them.
On the road into Chattanooga, we come across a cutout in the Tennessee River that has a swimming area. We all pull off while Tom is riding and get in a swim – awesome scene, surrounded by beautiful mountains, small boars running about, southern women in bikini’s, bright sunshine, and southern women in bikini’s. We decide we really like southern women in bikini’s; Gill says she’ll at least talk southern. She'd wear a bikini, but her feet won't fit through the leg holes.
As we approach the Tennesse River, Tom makes up for us stopping to swim and relax. He get a most awesome suspension bridge over the river, maybe 1-2 miles long, with the most incredible vistas. Hard to believe that such a beautiful scene exists; I’m sure that they use if for postcards. We trade off and Chris takes on the first mountain; the climb’s about two miles long and he attacks it, much like he did in carazozzo. As he approaches the summit, I take the handoff and proceed to have my 2nd favorite ride of the trip, nearly 30 miles downhill, cruising some of the distance at > 45mph. It’s not an incredibly steep hill, but it sure was the longest that I’ve ever ridden. What fun…
I trade off to Jerry who runs the gauntlet through the city. He comes across an audio tape strung across the street and it catches on him; a most funny site, skinny white guy in lycra riding through the slums with about 2 miles of audio tape streaming off the back of him. We were in tears, as were most of the guys hanging on the street. Of course, we didn’t tell Jerry until he finished the ride. As Jerry crossed the town, he attacked another mountain, doing easily his best climb of the trip; a 6-10% grade at times, and he rode it all the way up to Cliff’s dad’s house.
Cliff’s dad’s house is way cool; on the top of the mountain overlooking the city and the river. We get a bunch of pictures, relax for ½ hour, and then start the descent. Although I’m usually the “downhill hog”; Jerry gets this one as he sure deserves it. Of course, it’s a much slower descent and we have to stop at the bike shop at the bottom to buy him new brake pads. Even so, the word “coward” doesn’t enter our minds that often…
Chris makes the catch of the trip in NW Georgia. We are headed down the road at ~ 45mph and he very nonchalantly turns to me (while I'm driving) and says “well, we’re not going to make this bridge”. I bury the brakes and end up about 5 feet from an 10’6” underpass; the RV is 12’6”. Man, what a massive accident it would have been, tearing the RV up like a can of tuna. Chris still has no idea what triggered him to say something; it just happened. I think our guardian angel was watching over us. Thanks Mark…
We end the night in Jasper, a quaint town in NW Georgia (and thank god much unlike the jasper in texas). We track down the last open restaurant in town, a pizza joint, and proceed to devour about 12 pies. Boy, were those folks ever happy that they got to stay around an hour past closing to watch us eat and hear us gaspipe. They all waived to us as we left; well, using part of their hand anyway…
Tuesday, June 26, 2007
Monday, June 25, 2007
Historical Post: 9907 XC bike tour, Vol 9
Saturday
Quote of the day:
Gary: What’s there to do around this here town at night
Wal-Mart cashier: We’ll, we’re open until 6. That’s the big thing in town…
We’re feeling good this morning, with a tailwind and a mostly downhill day ahead. That is to change quickly. First, the bridge across the Mississippi in Memphis was a death trap. We, of course, send Cliff over it and he rides it in his usual fashion, passing trucks, RV's and paddlewheelers. He doesn’t even fall off once. Memphis is characterized by a huge glass pyramid that you see coming over the river – real cool.
Gill hits the first (of many) rainstorm of the day. She takes over the “Ironman” award, riding it out through just a torrential rainstorm. She almost looks pretty when finished, or as pretty as a wet rat could look – maybe glowing is a better term. We take a vote and elect to leave her on the roadside – nobody wants her in the RV… Chris is run off the road twice by "morons passing morons”, which could be a new NBC TV show. This is easily the worst state for drivers that we have been in.
Jerry gets the second rainstorm of the day. This one is just as violent, but also has lightning and our rule was to pull bikers if lighting is near. We bivouac at a Pizza Hut and a Wal-Mart for 2.5 hours – loosing valuable ride time and likely costing us a Monday evening finish. The PH waitress is as dumb as a rock – didn’t know how many pieces in a pizza, didn’t know where there could be soap for the bathrooms, on and on. We pepperoni ourselves silly. We then go hang at the local Wal-Mart, along with half the town, and wait out the lighting.
I take the first post storm pull and have a great ride – 22mph for 15 miles. I decide I’ll train on pepperoni from now on. Or maybe it was the Wal-Mart excitement. I also get out of control with the drivers. A woman in a green Saturn (shades of "you know who" for the Rochester folks!), rides behind me blowing her horn for ¾ mile. I’m pleasant of course, calling her a stupid ignorant whore and going on with my ride. She thanks me also. Then I loose my gears again for the 4th time and have to ride the last3 miles with just 3 gears. My bike continues to bedevil me, although now I know the problem and am able to fix it. 2 carloads of Tennessee morons pull adjacent and harass me, calling me a faggot, yelling at me to get off the road, and asking me to have sex with their sister (I explain to them that is Chris's job). And people wonder why I ride with a handgun back home. I wanted to kill them, but alas, poor Yorick, I had no armaments…
We’ve now resorted to using toilets at any shop we go by, as Chris (now named “The Snake” for what will become obvious) has destroyed the RV toilet with a massive burst of excreted manhood. Amazing how your life starts to revolve around bowels and food after a certain stage.
Of course, being July 4th, we’re treated to firecrackers by everyone at every point. Gunpowder should be left to the experts. These Oakies are just in awe of loud noises…
MORE TO COME. THE LAST 3 DAYS….
Quote of the day:
Gary: What’s there to do around this here town at night
Wal-Mart cashier: We’ll, we’re open until 6. That’s the big thing in town…
We’re feeling good this morning, with a tailwind and a mostly downhill day ahead. That is to change quickly. First, the bridge across the Mississippi in Memphis was a death trap. We, of course, send Cliff over it and he rides it in his usual fashion, passing trucks, RV's and paddlewheelers. He doesn’t even fall off once. Memphis is characterized by a huge glass pyramid that you see coming over the river – real cool.
Gill hits the first (of many) rainstorm of the day. She takes over the “Ironman” award, riding it out through just a torrential rainstorm. She almost looks pretty when finished, or as pretty as a wet rat could look – maybe glowing is a better term. We take a vote and elect to leave her on the roadside – nobody wants her in the RV… Chris is run off the road twice by "morons passing morons”, which could be a new NBC TV show. This is easily the worst state for drivers that we have been in.
Jerry gets the second rainstorm of the day. This one is just as violent, but also has lightning and our rule was to pull bikers if lighting is near. We bivouac at a Pizza Hut and a Wal-Mart for 2.5 hours – loosing valuable ride time and likely costing us a Monday evening finish. The PH waitress is as dumb as a rock – didn’t know how many pieces in a pizza, didn’t know where there could be soap for the bathrooms, on and on. We pepperoni ourselves silly. We then go hang at the local Wal-Mart, along with half the town, and wait out the lighting.
I take the first post storm pull and have a great ride – 22mph for 15 miles. I decide I’ll train on pepperoni from now on. Or maybe it was the Wal-Mart excitement. I also get out of control with the drivers. A woman in a green Saturn (shades of "you know who" for the Rochester folks!), rides behind me blowing her horn for ¾ mile. I’m pleasant of course, calling her a stupid ignorant whore and going on with my ride. She thanks me also. Then I loose my gears again for the 4th time and have to ride the last3 miles with just 3 gears. My bike continues to bedevil me, although now I know the problem and am able to fix it. 2 carloads of Tennessee morons pull adjacent and harass me, calling me a faggot, yelling at me to get off the road, and asking me to have sex with their sister (I explain to them that is Chris's job). And people wonder why I ride with a handgun back home. I wanted to kill them, but alas, poor Yorick, I had no armaments…
We’ve now resorted to using toilets at any shop we go by, as Chris (now named “The Snake” for what will become obvious) has destroyed the RV toilet with a massive burst of excreted manhood. Amazing how your life starts to revolve around bowels and food after a certain stage.
Of course, being July 4th, we’re treated to firecrackers by everyone at every point. Gunpowder should be left to the experts. These Oakies are just in awe of loud noises…
MORE TO COME. THE LAST 3 DAYS….
Historical Post: 9907 XC bike tour, Vol 8
Friday
OK, is this going to end soon???
We start off the day an hour or more before daybreak, with cliff at the helm. He is highly motivated and primed from the get go. We have decided that we need to make 300 miles today if we are going to make Savannah on Monday, otherwise it’s Tuesday or Wednesday am. Tom and I are in he chase vehicle. We of course loose him in the first 5 miles again, when we blow a turn and drive off into Mississippi. You do NOT want to be in Mississippi in lycra...
An hour or so later we finally reel him back in - he’s been holding better than 22mph for the entire time and looks like he just came out of a pool, bathed in sweat. We blame snowbunny (Gill) for giving us bad directions.
We decide that the three of us will make the haul all the way up to and through Little Rock, mainly because Tom and I have the most city riding experience and we don’t know what to expect there in terms of traffic, personal risk, etc. It’s ~ 160 miles that we have to bury and we go for it. Along the way we go through Hope, the home town of President (when Hillary lets him be that role) Bill. A pitiful excuse for a town, and we couldn’t even find one “get your picture taken with Bill” stand, or any historical markers. Of course, as expected, every corner we came to had a real ugly woman with real big lips. Now it all makes sense….Chris is devastated...no trailer parks anywhere; he's been waiting for this the whole trip.
Cliff and I stop at a little diner in the metropolis of Prescott, AK to grab breakfast. This easily wins the (a) most pitiful, (b) most repulsive, (c) slowest, (d) worst food, (e) worst service, and (f) scariest locals. Everyone was sittin’ starin’ and pointin’ at us, whisperin’ under their breaths. They’d obviously never seen anyone other than their immediate family (which obviously was everyone in the town), lycra, bikes without baskets, or any vehicle other than a pickup. Scary….we ate quick and scooted back onto the road.
I’m sick most of the morning, probably from the Mexican food the night before. Tough to ride when you’re stomach’s making more noises than the cannons in the civil war. Speaking of which, they really don’t know that it ended down here. Lots of confederate flags in pickup windows, flying from houses, and painted on walls. Someone ought to inform them…not going to be us however, not dressed like this.
On the way to Little Rock, the road we’re on ends at an interstate – no warning, just tertiary road then freeway onramp. We backtrack a bit and find a 200+ year old bridge over a bayou that Tom rides. It was scary – we’re unsure that it will even support a bike much less the van, and unlikely the RV. Then, we run across my personal vote for most moronic highway architecture. This road routes people down a 2 way freeway frontage road with yield signs facing the freeway exits which have no traffic control at all. Incredible – cars going 40-50 with cars coming off the freeway at 70+ head on. Brakes squealing everywhere, and the scene repeated itself 6 TIMES over the next 2 miles. This stretch has GOT to lead the nation in car accidents.
Little Rock was a dump of a town, two skyscrapers, and an ugly riverfront. Bill should be proud of his legacy there. We plow through and switch teams a few miles past at a most scary shopping center. First, they’ve got a store actually called “Jesus loves you”. It’s out of business, so I’m pretty happy. Tom hits the drug store, which has beer, some drugs, and toasters – and that’s it. Two people are arguing about whether they have to speak with each other – he even looses it. A huge southern black guy asks me what I’m doing in these here parts. I tell him, and he’s amazed, wanting to hear lots more. He tells his mother (about 100 years old) at the bus stop about the trip, and comes back over to ask even more questions. He leaves me with a “god will bless me” and goes on his way. Interesting dialog….
I outrun the sag into East Little Rock, and my stop point turns out to be another shopping center in a really bad part of town. As I pull in, about 20 really drunk black guys come meandering over to me. "Boy, you's in the wrong part of town". I resort to my time-proven line "Hey, can I grab a beer from you, I'm freakin' thirsty". Well, they hand over a beer, and we spend the next 20 minutes talking about what a skinny, lycra-clad, Yankee, white boy is doing in these parts. We end up bonding, and having a great time. Around the bend comes the group in the sag, and they pull up thinking "Oh my god, what has Lumpy done this time?". Turns out the black guys don't want to see us go, and we end up drinking beers with them for another hour or so. All in all, a great afternoon in Arkansas!
We blow through the evening, and grab a motel in Forrest City, a truck stop of a place along the interstate. The motel has everything we need – a pool, an air conditioner, and a woman with no teeth. Tom and I go out to the pool and there’s this couple and their son – now this is Arkansas at it’s best. The boyfriend is teaching the kid to swim – come here boy or I’ll throw you in the water, boy, get wet boy, go get me a beer boy. This kid did not have a name – just “boy”. The mother comes into the pool with (a) a ratty bikini bottom halfway down her cheesy butt crack, a loose tank top with no swim suit underneath, a cig with about 2 inches of ashes, a bottle of beer, and no teeth – no, Tom corrected me on that, she did have two teeth on her left side. She too yelled at boy to “go get my cigarettes”, “go get me a beer”, and “go find my teeth (ok, so I made that one up!)”. An absolutely scary threesome. Chris meets her around back later that evening.
We grab a late night dinner at the Bonanza (cheepo chain steak joint) – emptying the salad bar and Cliff eats 2 steaks. They definitely loose money on us.
OK, is this going to end soon???
We start off the day an hour or more before daybreak, with cliff at the helm. He is highly motivated and primed from the get go. We have decided that we need to make 300 miles today if we are going to make Savannah on Monday, otherwise it’s Tuesday or Wednesday am. Tom and I are in he chase vehicle. We of course loose him in the first 5 miles again, when we blow a turn and drive off into Mississippi. You do NOT want to be in Mississippi in lycra...
An hour or so later we finally reel him back in - he’s been holding better than 22mph for the entire time and looks like he just came out of a pool, bathed in sweat. We blame snowbunny (Gill) for giving us bad directions.
We decide that the three of us will make the haul all the way up to and through Little Rock, mainly because Tom and I have the most city riding experience and we don’t know what to expect there in terms of traffic, personal risk, etc. It’s ~ 160 miles that we have to bury and we go for it. Along the way we go through Hope, the home town of President (when Hillary lets him be that role) Bill. A pitiful excuse for a town, and we couldn’t even find one “get your picture taken with Bill” stand, or any historical markers. Of course, as expected, every corner we came to had a real ugly woman with real big lips. Now it all makes sense….Chris is devastated...no trailer parks anywhere; he's been waiting for this the whole trip.
Cliff and I stop at a little diner in the metropolis of Prescott, AK to grab breakfast. This easily wins the (a) most pitiful, (b) most repulsive, (c) slowest, (d) worst food, (e) worst service, and (f) scariest locals. Everyone was sittin’ starin’ and pointin’ at us, whisperin’ under their breaths. They’d obviously never seen anyone other than their immediate family (which obviously was everyone in the town), lycra, bikes without baskets, or any vehicle other than a pickup. Scary….we ate quick and scooted back onto the road.
I’m sick most of the morning, probably from the Mexican food the night before. Tough to ride when you’re stomach’s making more noises than the cannons in the civil war. Speaking of which, they really don’t know that it ended down here. Lots of confederate flags in pickup windows, flying from houses, and painted on walls. Someone ought to inform them…not going to be us however, not dressed like this.
On the way to Little Rock, the road we’re on ends at an interstate – no warning, just tertiary road then freeway onramp. We backtrack a bit and find a 200+ year old bridge over a bayou that Tom rides. It was scary – we’re unsure that it will even support a bike much less the van, and unlikely the RV. Then, we run across my personal vote for most moronic highway architecture. This road routes people down a 2 way freeway frontage road with yield signs facing the freeway exits which have no traffic control at all. Incredible – cars going 40-50 with cars coming off the freeway at 70+ head on. Brakes squealing everywhere, and the scene repeated itself 6 TIMES over the next 2 miles. This stretch has GOT to lead the nation in car accidents.
Little Rock was a dump of a town, two skyscrapers, and an ugly riverfront. Bill should be proud of his legacy there. We plow through and switch teams a few miles past at a most scary shopping center. First, they’ve got a store actually called “Jesus loves you”. It’s out of business, so I’m pretty happy. Tom hits the drug store, which has beer, some drugs, and toasters – and that’s it. Two people are arguing about whether they have to speak with each other – he even looses it. A huge southern black guy asks me what I’m doing in these here parts. I tell him, and he’s amazed, wanting to hear lots more. He tells his mother (about 100 years old) at the bus stop about the trip, and comes back over to ask even more questions. He leaves me with a “god will bless me” and goes on his way. Interesting dialog….
I outrun the sag into East Little Rock, and my stop point turns out to be another shopping center in a really bad part of town. As I pull in, about 20 really drunk black guys come meandering over to me. "Boy, you's in the wrong part of town". I resort to my time-proven line "Hey, can I grab a beer from you, I'm freakin' thirsty". Well, they hand over a beer, and we spend the next 20 minutes talking about what a skinny, lycra-clad, Yankee, white boy is doing in these parts. We end up bonding, and having a great time. Around the bend comes the group in the sag, and they pull up thinking "Oh my god, what has Lumpy done this time?". Turns out the black guys don't want to see us go, and we end up drinking beers with them for another hour or so. All in all, a great afternoon in Arkansas!
We blow through the evening, and grab a motel in Forrest City, a truck stop of a place along the interstate. The motel has everything we need – a pool, an air conditioner, and a woman with no teeth. Tom and I go out to the pool and there’s this couple and their son – now this is Arkansas at it’s best. The boyfriend is teaching the kid to swim – come here boy or I’ll throw you in the water, boy, get wet boy, go get me a beer boy. This kid did not have a name – just “boy”. The mother comes into the pool with (a) a ratty bikini bottom halfway down her cheesy butt crack, a loose tank top with no swim suit underneath, a cig with about 2 inches of ashes, a bottle of beer, and no teeth – no, Tom corrected me on that, she did have two teeth on her left side. She too yelled at boy to “go get my cigarettes”, “go get me a beer”, and “go find my teeth (ok, so I made that one up!)”. An absolutely scary threesome. Chris meets her around back later that evening.
We grab a late night dinner at the Bonanza (cheepo chain steak joint) – emptying the salad bar and Cliff eats 2 steaks. They definitely loose money on us.
Historical Post: 9907 XC bike tour, Vol 7
The saga continues...damn, is Texas big....
Thursday
We hookup with Cliff and Jerry near McKinney. Cliff has our first “moron” incident of the trip – some redneck throws a beer can at him from a pickup truck – this at 0800 – probably just got off the late shift stocking shelves at Wal-Mart. It misses and no harm done, but cliff wasn’t attired with the appropriate response armament – a .357 with teflon bullets. The moron gets away scott free.
It’s another HOT day in Texas, and we continue with more of the same- oil derricks, cows, vast prairie, and DOGS. More dogs than you can imagine. I drive Cliff and Jerry into McKinney for some R&R and laundry services at Pat/Len’s house, and then we reel the group back in a few hours later. Our goal for the day is Texarcana, because we want to get out of Texas and into the “real world” of Arkansas. God, what were we thinking…
We finally end route 380 in Greenville, TX. The road has been very, very, good to us all, taking us from western New Mexico to eastern Texas. The rest of today is rather uneventful, and we end at state line road splitting Texas and Arkansas (hence Texarkana, for those geographically challenged). We are all famished, having made the whole day’s run without a food stop, driving hard for time. We walk over to a Mexican restaurant and proceed to destroy the place, over $4,000 in tamales, tacos, tostados, and other T words. We are very tired, and only the moron setting the new bass fishing record at 0300 disrupts our sleep.
One of my favorite stories from the trip thus far occurs. We go into the restaurant for dinner, and the cutest little Texarcana-nite seats us, and takes our drink orders. But then, another waitress brings us our margaritas. We're puzzled by this, so, we ask the cute waitress, "Hey, we've got something to ask you". She replies (True story!), "Yeah, I know, I get asked all the time...we DO wear shoes here nowadays". Needless to say, we're in tears on the floor.
Thursday
We hookup with Cliff and Jerry near McKinney. Cliff has our first “moron” incident of the trip – some redneck throws a beer can at him from a pickup truck – this at 0800 – probably just got off the late shift stocking shelves at Wal-Mart. It misses and no harm done, but cliff wasn’t attired with the appropriate response armament – a .357 with teflon bullets. The moron gets away scott free.
It’s another HOT day in Texas, and we continue with more of the same- oil derricks, cows, vast prairie, and DOGS. More dogs than you can imagine. I drive Cliff and Jerry into McKinney for some R&R and laundry services at Pat/Len’s house, and then we reel the group back in a few hours later. Our goal for the day is Texarcana, because we want to get out of Texas and into the “real world” of Arkansas. God, what were we thinking…
We finally end route 380 in Greenville, TX. The road has been very, very, good to us all, taking us from western New Mexico to eastern Texas. The rest of today is rather uneventful, and we end at state line road splitting Texas and Arkansas (hence Texarkana, for those geographically challenged). We are all famished, having made the whole day’s run without a food stop, driving hard for time. We walk over to a Mexican restaurant and proceed to destroy the place, over $4,000 in tamales, tacos, tostados, and other T words. We are very tired, and only the moron setting the new bass fishing record at 0300 disrupts our sleep.
One of my favorite stories from the trip thus far occurs. We go into the restaurant for dinner, and the cutest little Texarcana-nite seats us, and takes our drink orders. But then, another waitress brings us our margaritas. We're puzzled by this, so, we ask the cute waitress, "Hey, we've got something to ask you". She replies (True story!), "Yeah, I know, I get asked all the time...we DO wear shoes here nowadays". Needless to say, we're in tears on the floor.
Historical Post: 9907 XC bike tour, Vol 6
LEFT: Jerry Erb (on a colder day than we encountered in Texas!)
And now, on with excerpt #6 from the forthcoming book – The USA on 3 butt boils a day
Wednesday
We awake again before sunrise and get Chris ready to ride. He’s going to take the early shift today, go visit his brother in Dallas for ~ 12 hours, then reel us back in. A farmer stops by (don’t these guys ever sleep?), and wants to hear our story. His parting words – “Don’t let the cowboys get you…” I am very concerned about dramatic foreshadowing.
Cliff, Jerry, and I man the RV and get ready to head up to Post, TX for breakfast. Just before we leave, Joe the innkeeper comes out to check on us, and asks why we are leaving so early. We explain to him that we have to reel in the other riders. “Oh, too bad” Joe says, "I just got done talking to the local paper (The Tekula Tattler?), and the TV station up in the big city (Lubbock – about 100 people or so). They want to interview our newest celebrities”. Even though it personally kills me to pass on media coverage, we beg off and get on the road. Good to see though that Texans are now using the written word!
We stop at a little breakfast place in Post. We are the only ones in the place not wearing cowboy hats, cowboy boots, levi’s, a 4 day growth of facial hair, smelling like cows, - you get the drill. The waitress serves everyone in the place before us – seems they’re big on the locals here. I talk to some guy in the crapper who’s interested in “What are you boys doin’ out there…”. Seems he rides also – has a 3 speeder that he sometimes rides out to the barn. We bond…meanwhile Chris procures "services" from one of the local waitresses.
Our goal for the day is to get to our friend’s (Len and Pat) in Dallas. They just moved there after 16 years in Rochester, and it’s a big transition for them. We plan to “ride like the wind” today.
Unfortunately, we ride “into the wind” for nearly 16 hours; relentless, in your face, non-stop wind. As it gets later in the day, it becomes obvious that we will miss our first days end goal. We fall ~ 40 miles short of Dallas – disappointing but we gave it a good go. We did get a chance to see some huge ranches/farms along the way, sometimes seeing dozens of cowboys out on horses, or what seemed like thousands of cattle. Also, oil wells everywhere, looking like hungry grasshoppers out feeding. The only sound you hear is the screech of the oil derricks and the sound of the wind – awesome.
Tom, Gill, and Chris stop in Throckmorton to get supplies and run into the “real cowboys”. EVERYONE in the store, the town, down to the field workers have on their cowboy hats, wranglers, cowboy shirts, smell like cows, oh, how the story continues. We decide to roll in cowshit before we head back out on the road, just so we get the local flavor. Cliff buys a cowshit mocha latte…
With Gill navigating yet again, the group gets lost on the way to Aspermonte – the ½ way point. She "Drives the Big Rig" fantastic; it's that direction thing that causes her the problem.
Wednesday
We awake again before sunrise and get Chris ready to ride. He’s going to take the early shift today, go visit his brother in Dallas for ~ 12 hours, then reel us back in. A farmer stops by (don’t these guys ever sleep?), and wants to hear our story. His parting words – “Don’t let the cowboys get you…” I am very concerned about dramatic foreshadowing.
Cliff, Jerry, and I man the RV and get ready to head up to Post, TX for breakfast. Just before we leave, Joe the innkeeper comes out to check on us, and asks why we are leaving so early. We explain to him that we have to reel in the other riders. “Oh, too bad” Joe says, "I just got done talking to the local paper (The Tekula Tattler?), and the TV station up in the big city (Lubbock – about 100 people or so). They want to interview our newest celebrities”. Even though it personally kills me to pass on media coverage, we beg off and get on the road. Good to see though that Texans are now using the written word!
We stop at a little breakfast place in Post. We are the only ones in the place not wearing cowboy hats, cowboy boots, levi’s, a 4 day growth of facial hair, smelling like cows, - you get the drill. The waitress serves everyone in the place before us – seems they’re big on the locals here. I talk to some guy in the crapper who’s interested in “What are you boys doin’ out there…”. Seems he rides also – has a 3 speeder that he sometimes rides out to the barn. We bond…meanwhile Chris procures "services" from one of the local waitresses.
Our goal for the day is to get to our friend’s (Len and Pat) in Dallas. They just moved there after 16 years in Rochester, and it’s a big transition for them. We plan to “ride like the wind” today.
Unfortunately, we ride “into the wind” for nearly 16 hours; relentless, in your face, non-stop wind. As it gets later in the day, it becomes obvious that we will miss our first days end goal. We fall ~ 40 miles short of Dallas – disappointing but we gave it a good go. We did get a chance to see some huge ranches/farms along the way, sometimes seeing dozens of cowboys out on horses, or what seemed like thousands of cattle. Also, oil wells everywhere, looking like hungry grasshoppers out feeding. The only sound you hear is the screech of the oil derricks and the sound of the wind – awesome.
Tom, Gill, and Chris stop in Throckmorton to get supplies and run into the “real cowboys”. EVERYONE in the store, the town, down to the field workers have on their cowboy hats, wranglers, cowboy shirts, smell like cows, oh, how the story continues. We decide to roll in cowshit before we head back out on the road, just so we get the local flavor. Cliff buys a cowshit mocha latte…
With Gill navigating yet again, the group gets lost on the way to Aspermonte – the ½ way point. She "Drives the Big Rig" fantastic; it's that direction thing that causes her the problem.
Chris’s younger brother who lives in Dallas is going to pickup Chris en route today. This turns out to be quite the adventure as Chris has no clue where he is, his brother doesn’t even have a map and knows nothing about the Dallas area, usually spending most of his time scouring trailer parks (no wait, that’s Chris – sorry). They’re talking about rockbottom and bottomrockers and rockcrushers. It’s quite an entertaining conversation. They finally hookup on the road to Dallas (SR 380 for those of you keeping score). We put cliff and Jerry on the road for the last pull (~ 3 hours) and gill, tom, and I drive ahead to Len and pat’s for the evening.
We have a great 6 hour R&R at Len/Pat’s. They have just bought a beautiful house, with a pool and outdoor Jacuzzi. We spend close to two hours just soaking, lowering our core temp, and drinking cerveza. Oh, and laundry – the most repulsive laundry in history. Cowshit everwhere...
Monday, June 18, 2007
Historical Post: 9907 XC bike tour, Vol 5
LEFT: Chris, at rest in his natural habitat (a diner near a trailer park)
Hi all,
Back from the ADK and kayaking. Thought for continuity's sake I would finish up the XC bike story, and then move on to the recent trips. So, on with Volume 5 of the story...
DATELINE: Tuesday
Cliff gets up before dawn and attacks the climb out of the valley. He rides nearly 2 hours before the sag finally reins him in. What a stud. We make some exchanges and pull into Roswell (of alien fame). It’s a most curious city – alien billboards, alien postcards, alien yo-yo’s and more moron tourists than you can imagine. After our most wonder experience with the Apache’s the night prior, it’s disheartening to see the level of trailer trash here today. Chris however is very excited for his mating prospects…
Tom’s new nickname is “The Alien” after 5 people in Roswell stopped him and wanted his autograph. 3 also gave him donations to his chemo fund (Ed Note: he's clean shaven at this point of the trip after 130 degree heat in AZ).
Our first order of business is to go see “Louie”. Louie owns the small engine repair shop in Roswell, and we’ve blown our RV generator. Not a big deal unless you want light or A/C when it’s 115 degrees out. Louie is quite the character – looks kinda like Chico of Chico and the Man fame. He and Cliff begin to bond, talk motors and such, and we all get frightened. I go in to meet the neighbors, and have a lovely conversation with David, one of Louie’s assistants. Seems Dave’s not a four stroker yet if you catch my drift. Dave and the other ask about our trip, and Dave offers me $100 to go to Nashville. I tell him that we’re not going that far north, but he keeps forcing the offer. I ask him does he want souvenirs from dollyland of something. “No,” Dave says, “my brother lives up there and I’ll give you $100 if you go KICK HIS ASS!”. I offer to take $50 if I can just run him over with the RV, and Louie’s 70 year old mom thinks that’s an acceptable solution. Louie gets the RV fixed, and we’re back on our way.
As we’re riding down the highway, after just crossing into Texas, there’s a semi driving at us in our lane. After a few light flashes and beeps, we have to move almost all the way onto the shoulder to avoid him running us over. I guess it was “just his road”. Thus, our introduction to Texas drivers, and their introduction to spandex.
Tom and Cliff are executing an exchange when a truckload of cows come by. They start mooing at something (we think Tom’s butt), and Cliff jumps about 10 ft. I guess they don’t get many cows down in Phoenix.
We also have a chance to execute our attack dog plan. A dog takes a bead on Jerry while he’s out, and starts running him down. We in turn accelerate the chase vehicle directly at the dog and lay on the horn, chasing him into the field. The dog turns and runs like crazy, scared for his life. He’ll never attack another cyclist again. We get to replay the scene and refine our technique several more times that evening.
Cliff again wins the quote of the day with this exchange. It’s an uphill and the winds has picked up at an exchange point, and Cliff asks if we can just “drag him behind the vehicle”. I offer to do so. I guess cliffie hasn’t been reading the news lately. We ARE in Texas after all, and approaching Jasper (Ed Note: Some redneck morons had dragged some poor black guy to death behind their pickup truck the month prior. Hopefully they're dead now, and a horrible death at that. Rednecks are frightening)
While executing our last exchange for the evening, a Texas sheriff swings up as oh, say, 160mph. He gets out, dons his cowboy hat, and is at least as big as Hoss on Bonanza. Despite his imposing appearance, he is as nice as can be, and wishes us well on our trip. I make a bunch of New Mexico jokes, and he’s in our corner – seems everyone needs someone to look down upon. We ask him about the next town for dinner, and he tells us “I don’t know much about tekula, never actually been there”. This is the NEXT TOWN that we’re talking about, like 10 miles away. Probably the mayors son. Nicest guy however, just didn't get out much.
We finish the night in Tekula, Indian for either “bad water” or “shithole of a town”. The place stinks of sulfur, the one motel (6 rooms) is all sold out to Mexican farm laborers, a diary queen that closed at 8:00 is the only restaurant, and the place looks like the Bronx. We do however meet “Joe”, the old innkeeper who takes pity on us and gives us the use of his own shower to clean up. We swap stories with him for a while – he’s quite entertaining. He’s owned this motel for 30 years, and has watched the town die. His wife is in the hospital with a broken hip, and it’s too far for him to drive very frequently. When asked what the town has, he point upward and after thinking says “well, we have a water tower up over yonder..”. Very funny guy, but very sad in a way. A dying guy in a dying town.
We do our first (of the trip) group dinner, and Chris continues with his video documentary. Gill’s semi-annual maternal instincts rear up, and she blazes though some pasta, cleaning, and, of course, whining. At the trip start, we all choose one state to whine in – we gave Gill Texas by default and she’s certainly running with it today. Big mistake on our part, as we spend roughly 1/3 of the trip crossing Texas. But, Gill's more than capable, and she never misses a day of whining for her segment. We swap stories for ~ an hour, then close up shop for the evening. I drift off to the soft undertones of Jerry’s snoring, an occasional farm implement going by, and my sweat hitting the floor (we’ve suddenly rediscovered wet heat”).
Tomorrow, we make the half way point in aspermonte, likely ~ noon. We’re riding stronger by the day now, and the biggest issue now becomes the weather. We all get a good night’s sleep tonight.
Sunday, June 3, 2007
Off-grid for a week or so
DATELINE: Sunday, June 3rd
Hi all,
I'll be off grid for a week or so, hiking in the Adirondacks, kayaking on the Erie Canal, and visiting the Baseball HOF in Cooperstown. More stories to follow those two trips, I'm sure!!!
Enjoy life, be happy, and only drink good tequila :-)
Lumpy
Hi all,
I'll be off grid for a week or so, hiking in the Adirondacks, kayaking on the Erie Canal, and visiting the Baseball HOF in Cooperstown. More stories to follow those two trips, I'm sure!!!
Enjoy life, be happy, and only drink good tequila :-)
Lumpy
Historical Post: 9907 XC bike tour, Vol 4
Tom (left, with Gill)
Currently a Soup Attendant at a local High School
NOTE: Vol 3 & 4 are reversed chronologically on this post, but you get the drift.
Sunday
Jerry Erb’s “Quote of the Day” – You know, I really should have trained for this…
This was a good day in paradise – 8500 vertical feet of climbing, increasingly dropping temperatures, incredible vistas, and even more nude waitresses.
Gill, Chris, and I start out at daybreak again. We get ~ 50 miles and then the climbing begins – 3500 ft in ~ 20 miles. Pretty rugged, steep uphills followed by short steep downhills. We ride well as a team today, switching off in the mountains frequently, as often as 2-3 miles. I actually have to ride through a mountain tunnel, a rather scary stretch of road – basically pitch black and narrow. The autos are very kind to me however. We close our morning session with me riding an awesome downhill - ~ 8 miles at 50-55mph. I should be able to nail 60 this trip, and could have a viable shot at 70 if road conditions are right. As you may have guessed, “Il Campione”is a master of the downhill….
We trade off and gill takes the helmsman slot. 2 hours, a rapidly overheating engine, our first forest fire, and at least one Indian reservation later, we finally get back on the right road. And they say blondes don’t have a clue – what do they know…
We grab another buffet dinner at JB’s again (our new favorite buffet restaurant), and then pickup the riders ~1700. They are very whipped, having climbed the remaining 4500 vertical feet or so. We plow on through a few more hours, then call it a day. Very heartening to all of us was that as we would stop the “big rig” on the roadside to wait for the cyclist to come by, many people would pull over and make sure that we were ok. Maybe there is some hope for humanity. Or maybe they were just checking out Gill’s butt. Nah, it’s probably the humanity thing.
Cliff meanwhile is getting pulled over by the cops for going 57 in a 55. Only Cliff. The cop checks them all out, and tells them (and I swear again that this is true), that he’s looking for some of those “goddamned dreadlock people ‘cause they got lice in their hair and he wants to give them a good whuppin’. Ah, good to be in the heart of liberalism. Tom of course (being clean shaven) doffs his hat, and launches into “We’re just looking for a nice retreat so that I can recover from my last round of chemo cough, cough, hack, hack. The cop backs off and wishes them well –no ticket for cliff, but he did give Tom a $20 donation towards his medical expenses…
We camp the night in a national forest at 9500+ vertical feet, sounds of wild animals everywhere – Jerry snoring, Cliffs farting, Chris’s slapping noises (whatever those were…)
Jerry Erb’s “Quote of the Day” – You know, I really should have trained for this…
This was a good day in paradise – 8500 vertical feet of climbing, increasingly dropping temperatures, incredible vistas, and even more nude waitresses.
Gill, Chris, and I start out at daybreak again. We get ~ 50 miles and then the climbing begins – 3500 ft in ~ 20 miles. Pretty rugged, steep uphills followed by short steep downhills. We ride well as a team today, switching off in the mountains frequently, as often as 2-3 miles. I actually have to ride through a mountain tunnel, a rather scary stretch of road – basically pitch black and narrow. The autos are very kind to me however. We close our morning session with me riding an awesome downhill - ~ 8 miles at 50-55mph. I should be able to nail 60 this trip, and could have a viable shot at 70 if road conditions are right. As you may have guessed, “Il Campione”is a master of the downhill….
We trade off and gill takes the helmsman slot. 2 hours, a rapidly overheating engine, our first forest fire, and at least one Indian reservation later, we finally get back on the right road. And they say blondes don’t have a clue – what do they know…
We grab another buffet dinner at JB’s again (our new favorite buffet restaurant), and then pickup the riders ~1700. They are very whipped, having climbed the remaining 4500 vertical feet or so. We plow on through a few more hours, then call it a day. Very heartening to all of us was that as we would stop the “big rig” on the roadside to wait for the cyclist to come by, many people would pull over and make sure that we were ok. Maybe there is some hope for humanity. Or maybe they were just checking out Gill’s butt. Nah, it’s probably the humanity thing.
Cliff meanwhile is getting pulled over by the cops for going 57 in a 55. Only Cliff. The cop checks them all out, and tells them (and I swear again that this is true), that he’s looking for some of those “goddamned dreadlock people ‘cause they got lice in their hair and he wants to give them a good whuppin’. Ah, good to be in the heart of liberalism. Tom of course (being clean shaven) doffs his hat, and launches into “We’re just looking for a nice retreat so that I can recover from my last round of chemo cough, cough, hack, hack. The cop backs off and wishes them well –no ticket for cliff, but he did give Tom a $20 donation towards his medical expenses…
We camp the night in a national forest at 9500+ vertical feet, sounds of wild animals everywhere – Jerry snoring, Cliffs farting, Chris’s slapping noises (whatever those were…)
Historical Post: 9907 XC bike tour, Vol 3
Lumpy (left, in his much thinner days!)
Monday
Well, the day got off to a wonderful start. First, after watching Cliff tune up the RV engine, then run 8 miles to warm-up, then exfoliate his entire body, the boys (cliff, tom, Jerry) headed back out onto the road. Chris, gill, and I did the real work – cleaning the RV, dumping the sewage tank, filling cliff’s travel bag with shaving cream. Ah, when you’ve got shaving cream, you’ve got life…
We drove up to a town called springerville, a quaint little mining/ranching kinda town where after driving the entire town (2 streets, ~ 1.5 miles), we settled on the Safire restaurant. There were about 50 cop cars in the parking lot, so we figured at a minimum that the place had good donuts. Turns out that they were the same cops doing “dreadlock hunting” the previous night. They all had pictures of Bob Marley with them, and description of what ganja looked like.
Our waitress, sandy I believe, gave us the food lowdown, telling us about the “rather large” pancakes, the huevos rancheros (“I’ll eat a whole one on a real special occasion”), and the damned dreadlock people that they had to food poison the prior evening. We ordered a slab of food, with a ½ huevos rancheros for the table. Well, the HR’s were big enough to feed all of us alone!. Of course we still ate everything in site, but I congratulated Sandy on her ability to put down an entire order. What a woman.
On the way out, a fellow rode in with a messed up looking bike. We said hi, and he launched into how a horse had just jumped his pen and ate his seat. There were actual horse bitemarks on the seat! Now we’ve added horses the ever increasing list of animals to avoid – snakes (especially the jumping ones) bears, elk, dogs, and of course, dreadlockers.
Also on the way out, we got a picture of me with a standup poster of “The Duke” and one of the waitress. The Safire wins the best non-buffet restaurant award up to this point in the ride. We told sandy that if they hold up that we would get them a wall plaque; she promised to have it hung next to “The Duke”.
On the afternoon ride, Gill, who has worked, oh, say 200 triathlons, decides that the base of a 6% hill is the best place to execute a water bottle exchange. In case you were curious, it is in fact impossible to grab a water bottle at 45 mph. You can however provide a fine shower at that speed.
Another run through serious desert terrain for 100+ miles. We go by the trinity site, where the first atomic bomb was set off. The only thing there in the “town” of trinity is a shop that sells rocks from the site. We figure that some local just walks outside every morning, grabs a bunch of rocks, and then sells them as “atomic blast souvenirs” to the first moron tourists who come by that day. We buy 4 bags full. Cliff is doing a chemical and spectral analysis tonight.
While we’re on the subject of it, this “town” thing is getting to me. The “towns” seem to get sparser, and we figure trinity is the most pitiful of them all. Of course, later in the day we come to a town that consists of nothing more than a pay phone under a tree ~ 20 miles (Caprock, TX) from any other building. VERY similar to downtown Rochester on a weeknight..
We switch off the riders in the early afternoon at a small grocery in the middle of nowhere. No wait, it couldn’t have been nowhere because there were state cops and INS agents everywhere. One trooper follows us for ~ 4 miles as we were going 66 in a 65. We decides to let us go, mainly out of pity.
While we’re getting gassed and rider exchanged, a gal comes over and tells us that we’re parked in the middle of the street. God, what were we thinking, who knew that if there was pavement it’s considered a street out here.
Cliff does a bike check (this always frightens us immensely), and blows up Chris’s tire. Some good came out of this though, leading to our Monday quote of the day by Cliff “I don’t know why the tire blew up. It’s rated for 110 and I only put 125 in it”. Here’s a clue Cliffie, it’s 115 degrees…
As we ride through a real town (Socorro) later in the afternoon, I make a quick dash into a bike shop to pickup some supplies. The shop owner asks what we’re doing, and tells us to see if we can hookup with a sorority from Georgia Tech who makes this ride each summer. I’m tremendously excited about the possibilities here. As I’m skipping out the door, he thinks, squares up his face, and says “oh wait, that’s a fraternity that comes through here. Well, maybe they can
We decide to ride into the darkness to keep to our “stretch” schedule. Besides, like what else would we do out here. As we’re headed down the road to Carazozo, we come across an Apache man running all alone in the desert. We offer him some water, and cheer him on. Incredible! And we thought that we had some cohones riding across here. It turns out that he is on a “spiritual run” , and that it’s actually a relay for the whole tribe. As we keep going, we come across runner after runner along the roadside, al waiting for the relay handoff. They are ordered by age, with the young ones (12-14ish) standing alone in the darkness. A most amazing site, and we cheer each one on.
Chris decides to take the final pull into Carazozo. It is an incredible 1500ft climb, in total blackness, to which you crest and look out over the most magnificent valley, with only the lights of Carazozzo visible for probably 50 miles. He buries the downhill into town, we driving alongside and cheering him on, along with each Apache runner along the way. When we get to town, there are some 20 cars facing the roadside filed with Apache’s. They are flashing their light and blowing their horns and everyone is alongside the roadway cheering Chris on. It brings most of us to tears. We grab some food at the quickmart and hit the sack, along with a room at the lovely Carazozzo Inn, beauty salon, and future site of the Carazozzo historical museum. Chris has now earned the yellow jersey (symbolic of the leader of the Tour de Franc for you non-riders).
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