Morning all,
Today is my last day at home, after a busy, busy week. I head out tomorrow morning for the High Sierra Mountains, and specifically to attempt a conquest of Mt Whitney, the highest peak in the continental US. <http://maps.google.com/maps?f=q&hl=EN&geocode=&q=Mt+Whitney+Ave,+Fresno,+California,+United+States&sll=46.88448,-113.97536&sspn=0.010823,0.028539&ie=UTF8&cd=1&mpnum=0&ll=36.532812,-118.340607&spn=0.814351,1.826477&t=h&z=10&om=1>
We (Gary, Gill, and Tom) did our last training hike yesterday, a pretty grueling 10 miler, with full pack (~ 45 lbs) over some of the hardest grades in the area. Bopple Hill is a notorious killer, with grades that top 20% in the middle (as opposed to the top, where most hills peak gradewise). After we finished the main hike, we went over to the local ski resort and hiked one of the main alpine ski hills. This just added to the brutality, and forced us into a position where we HAD to go get margaritas following.
Today, our friends from PHL are in town visiting, so we're off to kayak, followed by a BBQ at Casa de Lump. Always something doing on around here!
I'll be off-grid for about 2 weeks now (thru Aug 6), will post the story of the Mt Whitney hike upon my return.
Best to everyone, and see you on the flip side of the mountain.
Lumpy
Sunday, July 22, 2007
Monday, July 16, 2007
16 Tons, and What Do You Get?
Title: An old Erie Canal spiritual (or maybe not, but it sounded good)
TOP LEFT: Break on the riverside
TOP RIGHT: Da Crew (back) Jerry, Gary, Kathy, Peter, Carl: (front) Jan, Scott
MIDDLE: Gary at crest of Mohawk River waterfall
BOTTOM: View from inside Little Falls lock (40+ feet deep)
A couple years back, I came up with another hair-brained idea (a full-time job for me) to kayak the entire length of the Erie Canal in Upstate NY. Many have probably heard of the canal, but don't know that it was the largest public works project in the world at the time of it's construction in the early 1800's. The canal goes from the Hudson River near Albany all the way across Upstate NY, connecting up with Lake Erie in Buffalo. We decided to paddle Eastbound, as we were more likely to have a tailwind, thus cutting the time down some. Plus, the concept of doing a "flight" of locks ending in the Hudson River just seemed too cool to pass up.
We've done a leg or two each of the past few years, except for last year, when the "500 year flood" destroyed a significant portion of the canal from Utica eastward. So, we sat out the year, and we're off and running trying to wrap-up the paddle this summer.
The core group of paddlers are me, Carl, Scott, and Peter solo, and the spousal units (Kathy, Jan, Pam) relaying it. We get some other day paddlers also, Jerry, Tom, etc. along the way as their schedules permit.
This leg was to be from Ilion to around Amsterdam, including the key crossing at Little Falls, so named because, well, because there was a little falls there. Little as in around 40 feet tall that is! Until just recently, Little Falls was the tallest lock in the world; the Panama Canal is a junior model.
Also at Little Falls is Moss Island, a very good climbing spot with unspoiled rock, and great scenery. As we were waiting for one of the downstream locks to reset, we had a half-hour viewing of scores of climbers working the rocks. Jerry, our resident climber, narrated for us what they were doing right, wrong, and who was going to die that day. Better than having Curt Gowdy around!
We planned to do ~ 40-50 miles during this weekend, in what looked to be good conditions (some tailwind, mid 80's, no rain). Aside from the little falls lock, another highlight was to be dinner Saturday night at Beardsley Castle, an old castle that had been converted into a restaurant. Cool place, mediocre food, lousy service. If you're ever by, stop in and have a drink in "the dungeon"...very cool.
Most of the kayak was actually on the Mohawk River, and the destruction from last year's storm was a sight to see. At many of the locks, 4" thick steel railings were bent like plastic straws, at one the entire lock house (like a WWII concrete bunker) was completely swept away, and we came upon huge trees along the river's banks for miles on end. Nature 1; Mankind 0.
At one point we did over 8 miles in 90 minutes, which is basically like having a boat motor on the kayak. The front wake was so powerful that it was kicking up over the bow. Peter decided to try water skiing off the back of Carl's boat, that is until he realized that his newfound vegetarian lifestyle (AKA eat a whole pizza and an ice cream sundae 7 nights a week) had made him the size of Carl's kayak (4 feet around), with the cholesterol rating mirroring Orson Wells. Luckily the Coast Guard was nearby (why does the Coast Guard patrol inland waterways? shouldn't there be a River Guard or something like that) and they were able to pluck Peter, Carl, and Carl's kayak from the River with on of their helicopters. Peter has vowed to go back to eating pepperoni on his pizza as soon as we get back, which should get him back to his fighting weight. There's only room for ONE LUMPY in this world!
Logistically, the crew paddles basically from morning till dinner-time, and the spousal unit who is off-river brings the boat trailer up to rendezvous with us, and runs some errands to kill time (tracking down subs for lunch, antiquing, finding jewelry stores and outlet malls...). In this case it was jan doing most of the trailer logistics, and that was a good thing. At one point she saved us a FORTUNE by going to 4 gas stations to get gas for $3.17. The other stations were outrageous at $3.18. That damned President Cheney and his oil henchman, they're just robbing us blind.
At one point Jan is driving the trailer about, Kathy is behind in another vehicle, and a large white strip of paper goes flying down the road, just missing Kathy's car, and bounding on by. When the two of them stop at the next jewelry store, they realize that it was the FENDER from the trailer that flew by, and they have to go chase it down. That was problematic for the trip home, as a trailer without a fender basically throws up a 20 foot roostertail as soon as it starts raining; which it did all the way home. Man, did we get some one-finger waves from the drivers passing us; it must have been like driving through a waterfall!
After a long, tedious leg sunday afternoon we pulled out (of the water, you pig), packed up, and headed home (with a brief stopover in Cooperstown to see the baseball HOF). We've got one more big segment to complete later this summer, and then we'll have made the traverse. Next year we're looking at paddling the entire Hudson River, Albany to the Atlantic Ocean via NYC. That could be a very interesting proposition to say the least.
Paddlemeister Lumpy out...
Patches, I'm Depending On You Son...
TOP LEFT: Gary's incredibly cool patch for scaling Mt Phelps
TOP RIGHT: Bob, AKA "The Nair Hiker" (who wears short shorts?.....) by Indian Peak and Ausable chasm
LEFT: Bob and waitress Margarita discuss the size of Bob's Burrito
After two days of hiking, we spent the entire evening at a great mexican eatery in Saranac Lake. There, we were fortunate to come across Margarita Sanchez de Hidalgo, our new favorite waitress. Margarita had such incredible lines as "I'm from Syracuse you morons", "I'd rather cut off my left ear than be seen out with you" and "If you call me Margarita again I'll dump a plate of jalapenos in your eyes". Bob, forgetting his FCC fetish for a brief moment, fell in love again. Unfortunately, his Visa bouncing, coupled with his pocketful of alimony receipts didn't help his cause. He was however able to get an extra bowl of chips free, so we considered it a moral victory and went home feeling like winners.
The next day we started out with a visit to "The NoonMark Cafe", a local historical diner that Bob had been raving about for days. Of course, it was Bike Week (think hells angels and motorcycles) in Lake George, so we pulled in with our little subaru, and, unfortunately for us, Bob in his "Nair" hiking shorts. Now, I'm not one to embellish any details, but let's just say that when Bob ordered a "big sausage" with his eggs, the biker guys certainly perked up. We barely got the car doors locked before the crew of them caught us. If we wanted that kind of abuse we'd go back and see Margarita!
We did a full day hiking, then stopped back to the NoonMark to have a piece of their world famous pie ("It's all about the pie"). Personally, I think Bob was just after seeing the biker guys again, but anyhow the pie was in fact damned good. I had 3 pieces, Bob 5, and waitress Edna took great care of us.
Two interesting experiences on today's hike: Trail maintenance and Bladder evacuation. We ran across a couple trail maintenance guys deep in the mountain. They had saws and hammers and similar implements, and were cutting down trees left and right. They apparently volunteer for this, and were having the time of their lives; no power tools, just wilderness saws and a passion to cut things down. Bob got a bikini wax from them as long as they had some time to kill; not too shabby a job, and they only went through 3 sawblades.
The other interesting thing was that Bob apparently has the bladder of a 90 year old pregnant woman. He must have pee'd about every 30 minutes, which, actually was good for me as it gave me 5 minutes to catch up on the trail. I'm NOT going to introduce him to kayaking; he'd probably fill up a cockpit (hmm, that's why they call it that...) in an hour out on the lake.
Friday Gill finally arrived, and we finished with an ascent of Cascade Mtn, another stunning peak. When we got up top, soaked to the skin from sweating with sore legs, we came across 2 paraplegics in wheelchairs, having a bottle of chardonnay and some cheese. Guess it's time to start turning up the training....
Tonite, on to the Erie Canal for the next of our kayak weekends.
Tuesday, July 10, 2007
Hi, Peaks!
LEFT: Lumpy and Gill (AKA The Arnold twins) atop Cascade Mountain in ADK'sWell, my summer training regime is off and running (cycling, kayaking, hiking actually) and I can't wait to get back into Non-Lumpy shape again. It's been a long 4 years since I got in shape for Ironman-Florida, and a lot of air travel and business meals in between. It cost me something like 35 lbs, 4o pts of blood pressure, 20 BPS of resting pulse, and 4 sizes of clothes.
After about 3 days of starter training to shock the body back to life, I went on my first excursion. This was to be a double-header; first, a 4 day hike in the Adirondack Mountains High Peaks region (so named because there's something like 40 peaks over 4,000 ft), followed by a 2 day kayak trip on the erie canal. A group of us have been section kayaking the Erie Canal for a couple of years now (more to come on this in the part 2 post from the trip) and this was one of the segments.
I did the hike with two jock friends, Bob from Minneapolis, and Gill from Rochester. Bob is an old friend, former Rochester resident, former business partner, and the inspiration for the GEICO caveman adds. He used to have a mountain-man big red beard, straggly hair, and has a baritone like Grizzly Adams. Now, he's older, thinner, less hairy, still just as loud, and interestingly enough more opinionated on life...good thing as it sure keeps the hike conversation interesting!
Gill is a longtime jock-mate, who has done big events such as the XC bike ride (earlier blog post), numerous bike trips, hike trips, and swim trips. She's a stud-of-studs, and is widely renowned for the size of her feet. If only she were a guy...she vould have an enormous schwanzstucker (Inga, YF).
Bob and I would hike and camp out tue, wed, and thu, then gill would join us for fri. Bob compiled a total ass-kicking workout, which, when we got to the trailhead, we found out that the main trail in was totally washed out. Turns out it was a good thing, because apparently the route he choose went UPHILL! What the hell was he thinking, try pulling this tractor tire that doubles as my waistline UP a HILL! Can't be done.
So, we went with an alternate plan; Mt Phelps, Mt Marcy, and then Mt Cascade. Three solid but not overwhelming peaks. Mt Phelps was a roaring good time, stupid rocks everywhere (who the hell expected rocks on a mountain trail?), good vertical, and damp, dreary weather. On tue night, in our lean-to, adjacent to the French-Canadian chicks (more to come on that one), it dropped to 30 overnight. This from a heat index during the day over 90. So, after you had the good fortune to sweat through your clothes during the day, you froze your butt off at night.
Now, back to the French-Canadian chicks (FCC's). Apparently it is well know that, other than Celine Dion, FCC's are the studliest chick on the planet. Bob just kept going on and on about them, and that was in his sleep, with his hand clutching his...well, you get the picture. Anyhow, we're literally just at the trailhead (start of the hike), and these two FCC's come out of the woods. They'd been there for a week, and came out looking like they had been there for 2 minutes. Perfectly coffiered, no sweat (other than the typical french-chick smell), biceps far larger than either of ours, talking that bizzaro FCC lingo "Eh, good day to wag the poodle, eh"..."Eh, we hat tricked that summit, eh", etc. So, Bob being Bob, decides to ask them to marry him, which the laughingly reject. Something about him already having child support and alimony until he's 78 years old. I don't know how they knew about that?
When we finish Phelps and look for a lean-to (basically, a piece of plywood leaned against a tree - just a wonderful piece of lodging that some drunk hiker dreamed up), the only one we could find was adjacent to another couple of FCC's. These were even more imposing, as they were taking turns head-butting trees to knock them over, then breaking the trunks into firewood with their bare hands. As I said, these FCC's are a tough breed. So, in a fit of deja vu, Bob decides to ask them to marry him also. Got to give him credit, he doesn't ever quit. One of them lifts him up, checks out his "puck", and tosses him aside. Now I'm NOT saying his manhood's not solid, just that it wasn't up to FCC spec. Later that evening we heard them mating with a black bear (and the bear was crying out "please for the love of god, let me go"...
The next day we did a part of Marcy peak, as my knee twisted up on a rock and I was having a bad day of it. Not the best start to my training regime. We got back to the lean-to, but when we found out that the FCC's had moved on, we really had no reason to camp anymore. So, we hiked out, and found ourselves a Margarita bar and a cheap lakeside motel.
More to come...day 3 ahead!
Wednesday, July 4, 2007
Yackity-Yak; Don't Kayak Back
Ah, finally figured out how to put more than a single pix on the blog. Good thing I'm an "IT guy"!
Had an awesome kayak last week out on Lake Ontario. For those of you geographically challenged, Ontario is one of the Great Lakes (192 miles x 53 miles), and like all the Great Lakes is subject to "big ass storms" blowing in out of the North (those damned Canadians...). My buds Koz (middle above) and Tom (Right above, AKA "The Soup Attendent", Thursday was "Bald Guy Bisque" day at his restaurant) accompanied me on this trip, some 8 miles over open water, with a storm on the way in, and margaritas, a steel drum band, and a Marisa Tomei look-alike barkeep (left, above) awaiting us dockside at the far end.
We got about 30 minutes out into the lake when the clouds started darkening, and the wind started blowing. No, not blowing, it was tornado-like (you can see the storm sky approaching in the shot at right). The winds kicked up to about 20mph, with gust approaching 30-35mph. When you're in a kayak, the only thing going 20mph nearby should be a barkeep sprinting at you to deliver you your latest margarita. The waves kicked up such that they were breaking over the top of the kayak. Thankfully, Koz had the presence of mind to suggest that we wear our spray skirts (those rubberized articles that go around your body like a giant condom, and then attach over the boat cockpit). If not for the unusual burst of polish wisdom, "The minnow would have been lost; the minnow would have been lost".
Of course, to make life more interesting, the sky darkened about 2 hours earlier than normal, and we had to navigate the Genesee River channel, alongside about 40 sailboats who had just finished their regatta and were racing to get off the lake before the storm hit and ripped their sails to shreds. It's always fun being the smallest vehicle in the area by a factor of 10!
After a few hours of this fun, we finally made it into shore, ordered our margaritas, enjoyed Marisa and the steel drum band, and watch the remaining sail stragglers fight their way in through the storm. As always, we leveraged Tom as our pitty-party to get the best table in the house...."But he's dying, and this could be his last night to enjoy the river view...".
All in all, a great evening out on a great lake!
Question of the day: So, if Republicans don't like cross-dressers, are there any Republican kayakers, since they have to wear a skirt? Always something to ponder...
Till next time, Lumpy out!
Now THAT'S a Faaar!
Hi all,
So, the question of the day is, why do Americans, peace-loving as we are (except for Republicans, of course) celebrate our national birthday with explosions and fires?
We had the good fortune to spend Juy 3rd evening down at our friend's Tom and Heather's cottage on Conesus Lake (one of the 11 Finger Lakes, ~ 8 miles long) for what's known as the "Ring of Fire". An awesome event, to say the least.
Even though I had lived on this lake for 2 years in college (after getting thrown out of the dorms, but that's a story for another day...), I had never experienced the ROF. Basically, about 100,000 people cram the shoreline of the lake, every cottage owner lights a huge (ours exceeded 20 feet high at one point, fueled by 4x4's and plywood sheets from the lumber company- above pic was the fire just starting) bonfire, and at dusk the fireworks start all along the shoreline.
Then, at 10pm on the dot, the real party begins. Every cottage owner lights scores of red highway flares along the shoreline (thus the ROF), and at the North end, the "Mayor of the Lake", a rich cottage owner from Buffalo (of all places!) launches an incredible 45 minute fireworks show. Of all the shows I've seen over the years, this was only second to Cincinnati's (which I understand is top 5 in the nation). Incredible colors, vast booms echoing throughout the lake valley for miles, and the recurring sounds of the revellers "ohhhh....ahhhhh" shouts. There were scores of private planes flying overhead (must be one hell of a sight from the air), and scores if not hundreds of boats out on the lake.
Tonite we head off to our second July 4th extravaganza, over at Long Pond. Unfortunately, the weather is expected to be quite grim, so we may have to just drink margaritas and launch the fireworks in the living room instead...please get your M-80 out of my ass!
Take a moment today for some quiet introspection as what rigors our forefathers endured to make us the free country we are, and think about how you can do your small part to help keep us this way. We're headed through a very difficult maturing timeperiod right now as a country, and we need to find a way to get back to the values that made us a great nation...freedom, inclusiveness, leadership by example, and charity.
More to come...be safe, keep your fingers intact, help make the world a better place, and enjoy blowing things up this evening!
Lumpy
Monday, July 2, 2007
Da Shed....
Hope you enjoyed that historical post of our XC bike ride. And now for something completely different...
Back to the current time.
MAJOR WORLD CHANGING EVENT: The Shed Arrives!!!!!
After 4 weeks of being barely able to walk around the house (garage, basement, yard..), our shed has finally arrived. It's a beauty, basically a Mini-Me of the house. Neighbors keep coming by to look at it, and word is that the Town is looking at rezoning the street so that they can use it for low-income housing. Well, there goes the neighborhood!
We procured (that's a big "people who still work" word) the shed from "The Amish Outfitters". We saw their add on TV, went to the Internet to review their products, used the Phone to see what their hours were, Charged the shed using a credit card, and, well you get the drift. They were about as Amish as I am, but they made a hell of a shed. All 2x4 construction, vinal siding, windows, 4x4 base. Way better than those "English" sheds that I looked at at Home Desperate and Lowes.
We ordered a 12x16 shed, which for those of you uneducated in shed-speak, is about the size of the Trump Towers. The highlight was undoubtably the installation process. The shed delivery guys brought the shed over "fully assembled" on the back of a flatbed. Now, while that's cool in and of itself (big trucks with buildings on them driving down a residential street), it pales with watching them drive a 12 foot wide shed into a 10 foot wide space between the houses. After about 2 hours of "I'm sure it will fit THIS way...", he finally decided to drive it in at full throttle, figuring that the momentum would carry it into the back yard; along with the adjacent trees, the gutters on our garage, and birds who were unfortunate enough to be flying nearby. At this point, the shed was making it's own weather.
As improbable as it seems, the laws of physics were apparently suspended for that small instant, and the shed went straight through the inter-house space. Of course, the truck had significant momentum built up, and it ran right over my lilac trees, which I've nursed since they were seedlings!!! The driver gets out, (and I swear this is true), picks up the broken-off-at-the-root lilac tree, holds it vertical, and says "well, I think if you just tape this on it will grow back"! Thus the reason that he's delivering sheds for a living; that college thing was not for him.
So, we now have the opportunity to have a habital space before July is over. Very exciting. Next up is two weeks of contractors; bath remodels, wood floor installation, appliance fix's, window replacements, driveway sealers....Basically our South America trip is now off the table due to the amount of savings we have to spend to get the house back up to snuff. 11 years away with no mainenance is a loooong time.
Till next post...Lumpy
Historical Post: Wrap-Up Quotables and Such
We sat down at ride's end over a few (OK, quite a few) Margaritas and reviewed the ride. Here's some Quotables and such from all the riders.
Why’d you do the trip?
Gary
Turning 40 and loves these big group events
Gill
Unemployed anyway, and there might be some men out west (I’m paraphrasing here!)
Chris
Beat joining a diet program. Besides, “You (Gary) volunteered me for it…”
Cliff
Wanted to drive coast-to-coast, but this seemed like a better option to see the US
Jerry
Kinda was wondering what the old carps (our swim team) were up to. Also thought he’d be considered a good orator in new mexico…
Tom
Wanted to work on his tan, and liked the concept of 2 weeks in an RV with stanky guys. I think the chain gang somehow factored into this also, but he’s not saying…
Favorite Moment
Gary
The end of the day going into Carazozzo. First we run into the amazing Apache folks doing the 400 mile relay run. Then, Chris rides the most magnificent pull up the mountain overlooking Carazozzo. At the top we get the otherworldly view of the valley, 50-75 miles across, with only the few lights of Carrazozzo down in the valley. Then, the Apache’s flashing their lights and tooting their horns and cheering for Chris as he road into town in the black of night. Kind of a warrior cheering on a warrior type of moment. A memory that will live with me forever.
Gill
First time of night riding through PlasterCity (the gypsum coated bunnies glowing in the dark running across the road while Gill was on her first night ride), and Chris’s ride into corazozzo.
Chris
The “Sagebrush Ranch” in Reno. Technically not part of the ride, but definitely the best experience of the trip for Chris.
Cliff
He didn’t have a specific moment, but we did every time Cliff spoke…
Jerry
What ride, honk, honk? (a la Harpo Marx)
Tom
The “I play the piano for Jesus” guy in Yuma. Left for dead on the highway, broken bike axle, $1 to his name, no water, 115+ heat. Tom’s just loves the human interest stuff.
Most Memorable Pull
Gary
The one in New Mexico through the stone quarry area. I had a ~ 30 mile ride, averaging nearly 27mph, including a 50+mph downhill for ~ 6 miles, through a town at full spin, and past 3 tremendous rock quarries. One of the funnest rides of my life.
Gill
The rain ride. Gill had never riden in that kind of rain before, and it was so incredibly refreshing after 9 days in the heat that she just kept on going. Although it was a close run between her and chris, this ride won her the “wet T-shirt” award of the ride.
Chris
Hands down, the ride into Carazozzo with the apache’s. He had tears streaming down his face when he finished, and could only liken it to riding through the Arc de Triumph at the end of the Tour de France.
Cliff
The pre-dawn ride leaving Corazozzo. It was pitch black, a million stars out, with the sun rising brilliant orange in the foreground, Cliff basically climbing for some 30 miles, with barely 3 cars passing him the whole time. He said that it was the most solitude ride of his life.
Jerry
Salt river canyon climb. Miles of 6% out of the saddle climbing, with the sun beating down, and the weather getting cooler mile by mile.
Tom
The apache stretch of the desert, pre-Corazozzo. Tom was riding along, passing an apache runner every ½ mile or so waiting for his/her turn to run. Blistering heat, no perspective on anything, and nothing even resembling civilization for miles and miles.
Favorite Personality
Gary
The “I play the piano for Jesus” guy in Yuma. I have a special affinity for god’s people…
Gill
Joe, the innkeeper at “Echo 87” motel in west texas. A kindly old gentleman, with a rye sense of humour.
Chris
The waitress at the Safire restaurant. “The huevos racheros are huge; I only eat them on a special occasion!”.
Cliff
Te adorable little blonde waitress in Texarcana. When we asked her if we could ask her a question (about the menu), she replied “Yes, it’s true, we do wear shoes down here soemtimes”. She had us all in stitches, and had the cute thing working for her to boot.
Jerry
Joe again.
Tom
Joe also.
Low Point of the Trip
Gary
The desert finish into Phoenix. I hadn’t eaten anything real for ~ 16 hours, was completely dehydrated, scorched, sick of riding, hating humanity, and needed to sleep. Other than that, just another day on the road.
Gill
The desert when it crossed 110*. She had tons of trouble breathing, and could never get warmed up properly. A very painful stretch.
Chris
The first time he blew out the RV toilet. Not that it pained him so much, but he felt bad for all of us thereafter.
Cliff
The point in the desert ride when he had been out there 3 ½ hours all alone, came over the last meeting point hill, and hot only was nobody there to meet him, but 2 minutes later when we got there, he found out that his truck had burned up and that’s why nobody had caught up to him.
Jerry
What’s a low point?
Tom
Tennessee – the entire state.
Scariest Moment
Gary
The tunnel up the mountain in Arizona. Pitch black, straight uphill, with no lights or perspective. I thought, “This is where I die”.
Gill
The downhill into Plasterville. Pitch black, on an interstate with rumble strips, animals and tire remnants everywhere, 40mph crosswinds, double tractor trailers, and noise rumbling everywhere.
Chris
When the RV toilet started blowing up all over him. He thought 50 gallons of crap was going to come out.
Cliff
The Mississippi bridge into Memphis. 2 lanes, tractor trailers passing him at speed, no shoulder or bail out lane, 100+ feet to the water, and basically nowhere to go.
Jerry
The salt creek downhill. After experiencing his favorite ride (the uphill), he wore out a set of brake pads on the downhill.
Tom
Every time Gary drove the RV, especially on the mountain roads.
Miscellaneous Moments and Awards
Most Grueling Ride
The desert ride through Arizona. Hotest thing any of us had ever experienced.
Most Improved Cyclist
Gillian in a landslide. She was awesome, never tiring, attacking hills. Still a skirt on downhills however…
RV chef award
Gill again for her only matronly event, cooking us up pounds of pasta in the RV at a Texas roadside. Chris wins second for buying the 4 foot piece of jerky in New Mexico.
Most Dramatic Finish
Tom, in Savannah. Bruised and bloody, stopping traffic. Only Tom…
Worst Motel
In Jasper, Georgia, roaches everywhere, truckers going by constantly, no food, minimal phones. What a hole.
Most Monsyllabic Rider
Jerry “Harpo” Erb
Friendliest Drivers
Texas by a longshot (incredibly)
Best Local Chick
The night clerk in Swainsboro, tn.
Best Rancher Butt
The two cowboys in chaps in Roswell. Even the guys looked (and we had to pry Gill off!)
Funniest Daily Event
Chris taping up his nipples so reduce rubbing from his jersey. Second funniest was him removing the tape each day
Best Turnaround
Cliff getting stopped for speeding in Northern AZ, and ending up getting directions from the cop, and stories about how they’re beating those “damned dreadlock people”.
Most Suprising Event
We saw < 10 “real” cyclist throughout the entire trip. Very unexpected.
Best cartographer
Cliff. Scores of maps starting the trip, good reactions to changing road conditions.
Most Suprising Learning Event
Finding out that Cliff had 6 siblings, and that he thought his brother was “weird”. Say it ain’t so, cliffie….
Most Suprising Thing About the Trip
The velocity that we were going at. Everyone brought reading materials, and not one person even finished a magazine or book along the way, or had more than 6 hours of uninterrupted sleep.
Finishing Nicknames
Gary Lumpy (you’d think 600+ miles of biking would have lost some weight)
Gill Ghost bunny/Snowbunny
Chris The Snake
Cliff Roger
Jerry Harpo (honk, honk)
Tom Alien
Special Thank You’s
Val Hunt for dinner and use of her house in Phoenix
Len/Pat in Dallas for dinner and use of their house
Louie for fixing the RV generator so quickly
Joe the innkeeper for letting use his personal shower when his motel was full
Safire restaurant for giving us the best meal of the trip
Cliff’s dad for the view from Lookout Mountain
And last, but not least, the Apache tribe for their support into Corazozzo.
Why’d you do the trip?
Gary
Turning 40 and loves these big group events
Gill
Unemployed anyway, and there might be some men out west (I’m paraphrasing here!)
Chris
Beat joining a diet program. Besides, “You (Gary) volunteered me for it…”
Cliff
Wanted to drive coast-to-coast, but this seemed like a better option to see the US
Jerry
Kinda was wondering what the old carps (our swim team) were up to. Also thought he’d be considered a good orator in new mexico…
Tom
Wanted to work on his tan, and liked the concept of 2 weeks in an RV with stanky guys. I think the chain gang somehow factored into this also, but he’s not saying…
Favorite Moment
Gary
The end of the day going into Carazozzo. First we run into the amazing Apache folks doing the 400 mile relay run. Then, Chris rides the most magnificent pull up the mountain overlooking Carazozzo. At the top we get the otherworldly view of the valley, 50-75 miles across, with only the few lights of Carrazozzo down in the valley. Then, the Apache’s flashing their lights and tooting their horns and cheering for Chris as he road into town in the black of night. Kind of a warrior cheering on a warrior type of moment. A memory that will live with me forever.
Gill
First time of night riding through PlasterCity (the gypsum coated bunnies glowing in the dark running across the road while Gill was on her first night ride), and Chris’s ride into corazozzo.
Chris
The “Sagebrush Ranch” in Reno. Technically not part of the ride, but definitely the best experience of the trip for Chris.
Cliff
He didn’t have a specific moment, but we did every time Cliff spoke…
Jerry
What ride, honk, honk? (a la Harpo Marx)
Tom
The “I play the piano for Jesus” guy in Yuma. Left for dead on the highway, broken bike axle, $1 to his name, no water, 115+ heat. Tom’s just loves the human interest stuff.
Most Memorable Pull
Gary
The one in New Mexico through the stone quarry area. I had a ~ 30 mile ride, averaging nearly 27mph, including a 50+mph downhill for ~ 6 miles, through a town at full spin, and past 3 tremendous rock quarries. One of the funnest rides of my life.
Gill
The rain ride. Gill had never riden in that kind of rain before, and it was so incredibly refreshing after 9 days in the heat that she just kept on going. Although it was a close run between her and chris, this ride won her the “wet T-shirt” award of the ride.
Chris
Hands down, the ride into Carazozzo with the apache’s. He had tears streaming down his face when he finished, and could only liken it to riding through the Arc de Triumph at the end of the Tour de France.
Cliff
The pre-dawn ride leaving Corazozzo. It was pitch black, a million stars out, with the sun rising brilliant orange in the foreground, Cliff basically climbing for some 30 miles, with barely 3 cars passing him the whole time. He said that it was the most solitude ride of his life.
Jerry
Salt river canyon climb. Miles of 6% out of the saddle climbing, with the sun beating down, and the weather getting cooler mile by mile.
Tom
The apache stretch of the desert, pre-Corazozzo. Tom was riding along, passing an apache runner every ½ mile or so waiting for his/her turn to run. Blistering heat, no perspective on anything, and nothing even resembling civilization for miles and miles.
Favorite Personality
Gary
The “I play the piano for Jesus” guy in Yuma. I have a special affinity for god’s people…
Gill
Joe, the innkeeper at “Echo 87” motel in west texas. A kindly old gentleman, with a rye sense of humour.
Chris
The waitress at the Safire restaurant. “The huevos racheros are huge; I only eat them on a special occasion!”.
Cliff
Te adorable little blonde waitress in Texarcana. When we asked her if we could ask her a question (about the menu), she replied “Yes, it’s true, we do wear shoes down here soemtimes”. She had us all in stitches, and had the cute thing working for her to boot.
Jerry
Joe again.
Tom
Joe also.
Low Point of the Trip
Gary
The desert finish into Phoenix. I hadn’t eaten anything real for ~ 16 hours, was completely dehydrated, scorched, sick of riding, hating humanity, and needed to sleep. Other than that, just another day on the road.
Gill
The desert when it crossed 110*. She had tons of trouble breathing, and could never get warmed up properly. A very painful stretch.
Chris
The first time he blew out the RV toilet. Not that it pained him so much, but he felt bad for all of us thereafter.
Cliff
The point in the desert ride when he had been out there 3 ½ hours all alone, came over the last meeting point hill, and hot only was nobody there to meet him, but 2 minutes later when we got there, he found out that his truck had burned up and that’s why nobody had caught up to him.
Jerry
What’s a low point?
Tom
Tennessee – the entire state.
Scariest Moment
Gary
The tunnel up the mountain in Arizona. Pitch black, straight uphill, with no lights or perspective. I thought, “This is where I die”.
Gill
The downhill into Plasterville. Pitch black, on an interstate with rumble strips, animals and tire remnants everywhere, 40mph crosswinds, double tractor trailers, and noise rumbling everywhere.
Chris
When the RV toilet started blowing up all over him. He thought 50 gallons of crap was going to come out.
Cliff
The Mississippi bridge into Memphis. 2 lanes, tractor trailers passing him at speed, no shoulder or bail out lane, 100+ feet to the water, and basically nowhere to go.
Jerry
The salt creek downhill. After experiencing his favorite ride (the uphill), he wore out a set of brake pads on the downhill.
Tom
Every time Gary drove the RV, especially on the mountain roads.
Miscellaneous Moments and Awards
Most Grueling Ride
The desert ride through Arizona. Hotest thing any of us had ever experienced.
Most Improved Cyclist
Gillian in a landslide. She was awesome, never tiring, attacking hills. Still a skirt on downhills however…
RV chef award
Gill again for her only matronly event, cooking us up pounds of pasta in the RV at a Texas roadside. Chris wins second for buying the 4 foot piece of jerky in New Mexico.
Most Dramatic Finish
Tom, in Savannah. Bruised and bloody, stopping traffic. Only Tom…
Worst Motel
In Jasper, Georgia, roaches everywhere, truckers going by constantly, no food, minimal phones. What a hole.
Most Monsyllabic Rider
Jerry “Harpo” Erb
Friendliest Drivers
Texas by a longshot (incredibly)
Best Local Chick
The night clerk in Swainsboro, tn.
Best Rancher Butt
The two cowboys in chaps in Roswell. Even the guys looked (and we had to pry Gill off!)
Funniest Daily Event
Chris taping up his nipples so reduce rubbing from his jersey. Second funniest was him removing the tape each day
Best Turnaround
Cliff getting stopped for speeding in Northern AZ, and ending up getting directions from the cop, and stories about how they’re beating those “damned dreadlock people”.
Most Suprising Event
We saw < 10 “real” cyclist throughout the entire trip. Very unexpected.
Best cartographer
Cliff. Scores of maps starting the trip, good reactions to changing road conditions.
Most Suprising Learning Event
Finding out that Cliff had 6 siblings, and that he thought his brother was “weird”. Say it ain’t so, cliffie….
Most Suprising Thing About the Trip
The velocity that we were going at. Everyone brought reading materials, and not one person even finished a magazine or book along the way, or had more than 6 hours of uninterrupted sleep.
Finishing Nicknames
Gary Lumpy (you’d think 600+ miles of biking would have lost some weight)
Gill Ghost bunny/Snowbunny
Chris The Snake
Cliff Roger
Jerry Harpo (honk, honk)
Tom Alien
Special Thank You’s
Val Hunt for dinner and use of her house in Phoenix
Len/Pat in Dallas for dinner and use of their house
Louie for fixing the RV generator so quickly
Joe the innkeeper for letting use his personal shower when his motel was full
Safire restaurant for giving us the best meal of the trip
Cliff’s dad for the view from Lookout Mountain
And last, but not least, the Apache tribe for their support into Corazozzo.
Historical Post: XC Bike Ride Vol 12
Land's End!!
Dateline: Tuesday, East Georgia
Tuesday
The finish is in site! But first, it’s kill a dog for jesus day! I get attacked by 3 on my first ride, chris gets a couple more, cliff get’s one, and in a special moment, jerry almost kills himself getting away from another one until he realizes that it’s a metal ornamental dog that someone had in their front yard. We were obviously a bit gun shy of dogs by this point. What is it with the South and dogs?
My ride is again fog shrouded, but I have a great ride; I’m feeling very strong, and I ride > 20mph for 25 miles, a very good ride for me. Chris takes over and has a good ride also, then we transition to the other 4 riders while chris and I jump ahead to Savannah and transition vehicles again. They decide to ride 2 up for the remainder; first cliff and tom head out, then gill and jerry, then cliff and tom finish up the ride.
The ride finish was as manic as the rest of the ride. Cliff and Tom were jockying for position as they set a blistering pace into savannah, > 23mph. Chris and I were making a mad run from the airport to catch them, and Gill and Jerry were getting caught at the city traffic lights so frequently that they couldn’t stay ahead of the riders. We finally all caught them with ~ 5 miles to go. The Savannah road system was somewhat confusing, and we were trying hard to figure everything out, direct the riders accordingly, and not get them or us killed by the farm vehicles on the road. What a rush!!!
As we head into main street and the finish, Chris and I jump ahead to setup the filming equipment. We have decided to finish at the Savannah Marriot, on the site of the old lighthouse distinguishing the Savannah River from the Atlantic. It’s where the RAAM finishes, so it’s good enough for us. Chris and I get the video gear setup, and I’m on the radio directing to Jerry. Tom and Cliff climb the Savannah bridge (a beautiful suspension bridge for those of you who have never seen it), and are flying into town. Suddenly, Gill screams out “Oh my god, he’s down” and end the transmission.
I of course figure Cliff has hurt my new bike (which he was riding) and I am terribly concerned. The reality was however that Tom had caught a wheel in the cobbled cracks of main street savannah and upended. He’s lying sprawled in the street, bleeding from his leg, hip, and shoulder, and stopping all traffic flow in the city. Typical dramatic Tom fashion for those of you who know him. Chris and I are meanwhile out of radio contact and dying to know what is going on. Is he alive, dead, run over, or did Cliff just need to stop for food again…
They get Tom up, and he and Cliff come sashaying into the finish, bloody, sweaty, but smiling up a storm. We group touch the lighthouse corner point, and call the ride a wrap. What an incredible feeling 3,000+ miles, 130+ heat, 10,000+ elevation, 50+ dogs, and more nice people than you can imagine. Chris has the quote o the day, as he walks towards the convenient store to get a smoke and says “Hey, I’d ride 3,000 miles for a camel”.
We have a brief ceremony to bury our mojo (good luck charm). It’s a small cloth swatch from one of our biking friends who died a few years ago. We thank him for watching over us, and throw the swatch into the ocean. He took real good care of us on this ride!
Post Ride
We decide to grab a motel right on the river, and drink until we pass out. Seems like a good plan. We hit a small blues bar, drink and eat for a while, lay at the pool and sleep for a while and then head out again for more beer and a marvelous seafood dinner. We end the night with a wonderful visual; drinking margaritas and smoking cigars at an outside bar, singing along with the acoustic guy on “American Pie”. What a great trip.
Dateline: Tuesday, East Georgia
Tuesday
The finish is in site! But first, it’s kill a dog for jesus day! I get attacked by 3 on my first ride, chris gets a couple more, cliff get’s one, and in a special moment, jerry almost kills himself getting away from another one until he realizes that it’s a metal ornamental dog that someone had in their front yard. We were obviously a bit gun shy of dogs by this point. What is it with the South and dogs?
My ride is again fog shrouded, but I have a great ride; I’m feeling very strong, and I ride > 20mph for 25 miles, a very good ride for me. Chris takes over and has a good ride also, then we transition to the other 4 riders while chris and I jump ahead to Savannah and transition vehicles again. They decide to ride 2 up for the remainder; first cliff and tom head out, then gill and jerry, then cliff and tom finish up the ride.
The ride finish was as manic as the rest of the ride. Cliff and Tom were jockying for position as they set a blistering pace into savannah, > 23mph. Chris and I were making a mad run from the airport to catch them, and Gill and Jerry were getting caught at the city traffic lights so frequently that they couldn’t stay ahead of the riders. We finally all caught them with ~ 5 miles to go. The Savannah road system was somewhat confusing, and we were trying hard to figure everything out, direct the riders accordingly, and not get them or us killed by the farm vehicles on the road. What a rush!!!
As we head into main street and the finish, Chris and I jump ahead to setup the filming equipment. We have decided to finish at the Savannah Marriot, on the site of the old lighthouse distinguishing the Savannah River from the Atlantic. It’s where the RAAM finishes, so it’s good enough for us. Chris and I get the video gear setup, and I’m on the radio directing to Jerry. Tom and Cliff climb the Savannah bridge (a beautiful suspension bridge for those of you who have never seen it), and are flying into town. Suddenly, Gill screams out “Oh my god, he’s down” and end the transmission.
I of course figure Cliff has hurt my new bike (which he was riding) and I am terribly concerned. The reality was however that Tom had caught a wheel in the cobbled cracks of main street savannah and upended. He’s lying sprawled in the street, bleeding from his leg, hip, and shoulder, and stopping all traffic flow in the city. Typical dramatic Tom fashion for those of you who know him. Chris and I are meanwhile out of radio contact and dying to know what is going on. Is he alive, dead, run over, or did Cliff just need to stop for food again…
They get Tom up, and he and Cliff come sashaying into the finish, bloody, sweaty, but smiling up a storm. We group touch the lighthouse corner point, and call the ride a wrap. What an incredible feeling 3,000+ miles, 130+ heat, 10,000+ elevation, 50+ dogs, and more nice people than you can imagine. Chris has the quote o the day, as he walks towards the convenient store to get a smoke and says “Hey, I’d ride 3,000 miles for a camel”.
We have a brief ceremony to bury our mojo (good luck charm). It’s a small cloth swatch from one of our biking friends who died a few years ago. We thank him for watching over us, and throw the swatch into the ocean. He took real good care of us on this ride!
Post Ride
We decide to grab a motel right on the river, and drink until we pass out. Seems like a good plan. We hit a small blues bar, drink and eat for a while, lay at the pool and sleep for a while and then head out again for more beer and a marvelous seafood dinner. We end the night with a wonderful visual; drinking margaritas and smoking cigars at an outside bar, singing along with the acoustic guy on “American Pie”. What a great trip.
Historical Post: XC Bike Ride Vol 11
Monday
Dateline: North Georgia
Today is transition day. Chris and I have to drive the RV to Marietta (by Atlanta), drop it off, get a rental car, and reel back in the crew. It’s not something we’re looking forward to, and we’re concerned that the foursome will get beat up badly by the hills and weather (it’s still 98+ degrees air temp and very high "Southern" humidity).
First, we have to dump the RV tanks; not a pleasant experience. We find an old cemetary, drive to the back and get ready to dump. As we look out, we realize that we’re up on a hill 50 yards from the local sheriff’s office, and they’re in the middle of shift change. We quickly say a prayer for our departed comrades and drive on to another dump site (which shall remain nameless due to EPA regulations).
Cliff meanwhile is having some graveyard fun of his own; basically the same as us on a smaller scale, and without the sheriff’s. Seems like graveyards are our new favorite hangout. Tom is taking his pull, and everytime he crests a hill, Jerry is doing “the batdance” (for those of you who remember the TV show). I understand even the drivers were pulling over in stitches. Tom also has one of his favorite experiences. He rides by a Georgia prison chain gang, in his skimpy swim suit, earing, and open tank top. The legcuffed prisoners go nuts, hooting and hollering, whistling, and throwing kisses. Tom, thank god, has the sense not to stop and make friends. North Georgia is not the place the reenact “shawshank”.
The riders also come across numerous signs that they’re in the deep south; confederate flags everywhere (especially on pickup trucks), a “jefferson davis for president” sign on the side of a house (at least 6’x10’), and the what will become famous “Beef; you’re having it for dinner tonight”. We tell beef stories most of the day.
We get to Marietta, and as could be expected, the RV place no longer exists. After an hour or more of searching, we call LA and find out that, Oh well, it still exists, but they’ve moved it to the other side of town and oh, they forgot to tell us that in LA. What a great outfit! I work them to get a $300 rebate on the RV due to all of our problems – blown generator, no cab air, no air of any sort through the desert, broken headlight, and on and on. Chris and I spend the money at the nudie bar, and debate whether or not to even rejoin the others.
Cliff again has the quote of the day, as at the end of the day we are in this little shit town, and we are seeking a place to eat. We see a small bar, and send Cliff in to check it out. It’s full of total rednecks, there’s no food in sight, and the bar comes to a complete standstill when Cliff walks in and says “Hey, do any of you guys know where there’s a microbrewery in town?”. He just missed the world 100m record running out of the bar back to the van. We of course locked the doors on him
Dateline: North Georgia
Today is transition day. Chris and I have to drive the RV to Marietta (by Atlanta), drop it off, get a rental car, and reel back in the crew. It’s not something we’re looking forward to, and we’re concerned that the foursome will get beat up badly by the hills and weather (it’s still 98+ degrees air temp and very high "Southern" humidity).
First, we have to dump the RV tanks; not a pleasant experience. We find an old cemetary, drive to the back and get ready to dump. As we look out, we realize that we’re up on a hill 50 yards from the local sheriff’s office, and they’re in the middle of shift change. We quickly say a prayer for our departed comrades and drive on to another dump site (which shall remain nameless due to EPA regulations).
Cliff meanwhile is having some graveyard fun of his own; basically the same as us on a smaller scale, and without the sheriff’s. Seems like graveyards are our new favorite hangout. Tom is taking his pull, and everytime he crests a hill, Jerry is doing “the batdance” (for those of you who remember the TV show). I understand even the drivers were pulling over in stitches. Tom also has one of his favorite experiences. He rides by a Georgia prison chain gang, in his skimpy swim suit, earing, and open tank top. The legcuffed prisoners go nuts, hooting and hollering, whistling, and throwing kisses. Tom, thank god, has the sense not to stop and make friends. North Georgia is not the place the reenact “shawshank”.
The riders also come across numerous signs that they’re in the deep south; confederate flags everywhere (especially on pickup trucks), a “jefferson davis for president” sign on the side of a house (at least 6’x10’), and the what will become famous “Beef; you’re having it for dinner tonight”. We tell beef stories most of the day.
We get to Marietta, and as could be expected, the RV place no longer exists. After an hour or more of searching, we call LA and find out that, Oh well, it still exists, but they’ve moved it to the other side of town and oh, they forgot to tell us that in LA. What a great outfit! I work them to get a $300 rebate on the RV due to all of our problems – blown generator, no cab air, no air of any sort through the desert, broken headlight, and on and on. Chris and I spend the money at the nudie bar, and debate whether or not to even rejoin the others.
Cliff again has the quote of the day, as at the end of the day we are in this little shit town, and we are seeking a place to eat. We see a small bar, and send Cliff in to check it out. It’s full of total rednecks, there’s no food in sight, and the bar comes to a complete standstill when Cliff walks in and says “Hey, do any of you guys know where there’s a microbrewery in town?”. He just missed the world 100m record running out of the bar back to the van. We of course locked the doors on him
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