The Pilgrim Way A Cyclist’s Guide to Ultralight Touring Neil M Hanson Second Edition
A Guide for Crossing America with Less Than 10 Pounds of Gear A companion guide for Pilgrim Wheels and Pilgrim Spokes
First Print Edition © 2016 by High Prairie Press First Edition © 2015 by Neil M. Hanson © 2016 by High Prairie Press All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, contact the publisher at the address below. HIGH PRAIRIE PRESS 6403 South Hudson Street, Centennial, CO 80121 www.highprairiepress.com
[email protected] Printed in the United States of America Second Edition ISBN 978-0-9826391-8-4 Library of Congress Control Number: 2016905113 Speaking engagements and other author events scheduled through High Prairie Press at
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[email protected] Grateful acknowledgement is made to Joe Kurmaskie for his permission to use his quote from Riding Outside the Lines. Photographs by author and by Dave Geisler, used by permission For Dave Remembering many shared miles of adventure And looking forward to many more And Ted, who taught me to ride in the first place
Introduction1 Song of the Siren3 Minimalism7 Preparation11 Touring Style15 Training23 The Bicycle27 Gear and Provisions31 Fuel35 Wind Happens39 On Riding Alone43 Route47 My Route Details51 Trip Statistics67 Finish Line71 More by Neil M Hanson74
Table of Contents
Introduction Pilgrims are poets who create by taking journeys. Richard R. Niebuhr
icycle touring generally, and trans-American touring specifically, continues to grow in popularity. When I completed my journey across the country in 2012, I labored under the delusion that crossing America on a bicycle was a somewhat unique adventure. After completing the trip and publishing my first book about the journey, Pilgrim Wheels, I came to realize that quite a few people embark on this adventure every year, and the number seems to be growing. This book, The Pilgrim Way, is meant to serve three purposes, each related to this growing phenomenon of people crossing America by bicycle. First, it’s an exploration of the ultralight style of bicycle touring. While some folks think of bicycle touring as an undertaking shrouded in heavy bags strapped to all sides of a bicycle, lumbering along the highway like a packhorse, more and more of us are choosing to travel in a very minimalist fashion, which I review in the following pages. Second, it’s a logistics guide for the traveler who’s in the planning stages for a cross-country trip, and is considering routes. I examine the route I took in great detail, discussing the pros and the cons along the way. Third, and perhaps most importantly, this is a companion guide for the stories I wrote about my pilgrimage across the country. Those books, first Pilgrim Wheels then Pilgrim Spokes, are journey stories, immersing the reader into the journey rather than the logistics of the trip. While cyclists will read those books, the majority of readers are folks who’re looking for the adventure in the story, not the nitty gritty details of how the bike ride happened. While Pilgrim Wheels and Pilgrim Spokes tell the what and why of the journey, this little guidebook tells the how and where of the trip I took. Originally published in early 2015, I’ve revised and expanded this new edition, and given it a new cover to coincide with the release of Pilgrim Spokes. I wanted to highlight the ultralight touring style that evolved and improved for me during the ride, and I wanted this book to stand on its own as a primer for people interested in long-distance touring in general, or trans-America riding in particular. I do hope you’ll read the journey books, Pilgrim Wheels and Pilgrim Spokes. They’re the real story, the real adventure.
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Chapter 1
Song of the Siren So they spoke, sending forth their beautiful voice, and my heart was fain to listen, and I bade my comrades loose me, nodding to them with my brows; but they fell to their oars and rowed on. And presently Perimedes and Eurylochus arose and bound me with yet more bonds and drew them tighter. But when they had rowed past the Sirens, and we could no more hear their voice or their song, then straightway my trusty comrades took away the wax with which I had anointed their ears and loosed me from my bonds. Homer, The Odyssey, Book 12
Like a siren singing from the distant open sea, something about the epic journey pulls at us. It pulls each of us in different ways, I suppose, stronger in some folks than in others, but in one way or another the tug is there. I’ve always felt it strongly. Back in my early 20s, it drew me down to Springer Mountain in Georgia to trek northward up the Appalachian Trail. In my 50s, it drew me and my bicycle across the country, from Monterey in California to Annapolis in Maryland. Keeping our ears tuned to the song through life is a key to happiness. Sometimes in life we’re in a position to listen more closely to the song, and to let it pull us where it needs us to go, and other times we need to bide our time. But hearing the song is key. Continuing to listen to it matters. One of the most well-known quotes from the Tao Te Ching says that a journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step. First steps matter, and they’re not always easy. The time will never be perfect, nor the conditions ideal. Most of us just find a way to set our sights on the journey we want to take, and start taking small steps. We learn as we go, becoming better travelers with each step. Our bicycle doesn’t have to be perfect, nor our route the best possible route. We just need a bicycle that’ll carry us, and a little confidence that we can fix little things that go wrong. We need confidence that our route is probably a good one, and the knowledge that we can find a way to adjust if we need to. In Pilgrim Spokes, I tell the story of Ethan, Justin, and Morgan. Modern-day pilgrims, they were vagabond musicians living in Indiana when they heard the siren calling them on an epic journey to Colorado. They picked up some beater bikes, duct-taped milk cartons on the front, strapped their bags and instruments to the back, and started pedaling west. With zero preparation and dubious equipment, they didn’t even know what routes they’d take. When I met them along the road in western Indiana, I gave them the best advice I could and bid them good-bye and good luck. I’m not sure if Ethan, Justin, and Morgan ever made it to Colorado, but I feel absolutely certain that they had the adventure of a lifetime. I suppose the call is like that sometimes—the adventure you end up having might be just a little different from the one you thought you were pursuing. But maybe it’s the adventure you needed to have. Taking those first steps even when things aren’t yet perfect might help us stay open to discovering an adventure that we need to find. If you’ve even the slightest curiosity about tackling a journey across the country, then I hope this little book helps you put aside fears or uncertainties and start taking those first steps. Maybe an overnight to test the waters, or a few short tours. No matter what those first little steps need to be, I hope this guide helps you to start taking them, heading toward that ultimate voice that calls us—the siren of the epic journey.
Chapter 2
Minimalism My riches consist not in the extent of my possessions but in the fewness of my wants. Joseph Brotherton
n the year between publishing the first edition of this book and the second, I saw an explosion of interest in the concept of minimalist bicycle touring. Also known as lightweight bicycle touring or ultralight bicycle touring, it’s a style that really seems to be catching on among cyclists looking for a touring adventure. When I took my tour across America, I’d never heard these terms and knew nothing about the concept. All I knew was that I had no interest in the expense of a new bicycle that would accommodate the heavy loads commonly associated with cross-country touring, not to mention having a severe disinterest in the notion of schlepping all that gear 3500 miles along the highway and up 125,000 feet of climbing. So I worked on the premise that I wanted to carry the absolute minimum required for my adventure. In my case, this started out at a little over twenty pounds of gear, but by the time I finished the ride, I had it down to eight pounds of gear. I’ve discovered since then there are a number of really good guidebooks out there to help a cyclist learn the essentials of long-distance touring on a bicycle. While promoting Pilgrim Wheels across the country, I talked to many people about these guidebooks and what riders were learning from them. I also met and talked to quite a few folks who were preparing for long-distance trips, and I’ve found that many of the cyclists were interested in learning more about the ultra-lightweight style. These conversations have helped to shape my current view. I’ve come to believe that minimalism in and of itself is not a style but a mindset. That mindset is part of what drives those of us enamored with the ultralight style to tour in a way that’s less cluttered, less encumbered, and more open to the world around us, as we’re less concerned about what we have with us. I used the word essentials a couple of paragraphs ago, and that’s really what it boils down to, isn’t it? What do we consider essential? I can tell you that my viewpoint on this changed over the million-and-a-half pedal strokes I made while I crossed America, as you’ll learn if you read my journey stories in Pilgrim Wheels and Pilgrim Spokes. My evolution has led me to make some changes to this new edition of The Pilgrim Way as well, including a more blatant bias toward the ultralight touring style, toward an intentionally minimalist mindset. If after reading this guidebook, or after reading my journey stories, you find yourself interested in learning more about the ultralight touring style, there are a couple of books that I’ve read recently that talk about ultralight touring and camping with less than twenty pounds of gear. So lightweight touring is possible even if you choose not to stay in hotels, though my ultralight style at eight pounds usually requires that you pull out the credit card at the end of the day. In all cases, please feel free to contact me; I love corresponding with people about the topic. I’m thrilled to see more people getting into the ultralight touring idea, especially when they do it across the country.
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Chapter 3
Preparation Why not seize the pleasure at once? How often is happiness destroyed by preparation, foolish preparation! Jane Austen, Emma
ack in my 20s when I responded to the call of the siren that pulled me to Springer Mountain in Georgia with an overweight pack on my back, I was certain that I was strong and invincible. I could do anything, really. For that matter, I knew pretty much everything as well. Life was so great back then. I miss those days . . . So it was with legs that had spent the previous many months as an overworked college student enrolled in two colleges pursuing a degree in architecture and design, working nearly 40 hours a week, that I decided I was ready to backpack 2000 miles. I suspect I finished finals and spent exactly zero minutes training for the backpacking trip before meeting my friend Scott Stuckey, sticking out our thumbs and headed toward Springer Mountain in Georgia. But those were the good old days, when I was invincible. I could do anything. After a couple of weeks of pushing through days of 15 or 20 miles up and down the steepest portions of the trail, severely distressed and damaged knees gave me a little dose of vulnerability. After schlepping a 60-pound pack, rather than a more practical 40-pound load, I finally surrendered to pain along a dirt road in the Nantahala Mountains, caught a ride in a jeep down to the highway, and stuck my thumb out in a direction that seemed mostly toward home. Three days of hobbling along the highway alone gave me plenty of time to learn to appreciate the flavor of humility. Although I eventually came back to the trail, that incident was my wake-up call to the reality of mortality. It was a hard lesson about how perilous lack of preparation can be. It’s also a wonderful anecdote about the importance of pain and suffering in my life lesson plan. While I’m not proud of the fact that pain seems to be an important component of learning for me, I’ve accepted it. Over the years, I’ve also become quite a connoisseur of the subtleties of humble pie, savoring every bite of the heaping portions I earned. Hitchhiking my way back across the country gave me a lot of time to think about the mistakes I’d made. When I packed my gear, I took everything I thought I might need. This included a heavy-bodied 35 mm camera and three additional lenses. It included far more food than I’d really need. As I recall, it included multiple books. (Back in the olden days, books were clumsy affairs; each book required its own device, made up of heavy paper pages, and they had no backlighting at all. Crazy, right?) The notion of physical training had just never seemed important to me, but my knees screamed this newfound information to me with every step I took. Sure I’d trained for things I considered hard—things like wrestling in high school—but this was just hiking; who needed to train for that? I miss those days of complete knowledge and invincibility. By the time my clock ticked past 50 years, I’d accepted the full weight of breakability. I rode my bike across the country in my late 50s, and while I still made mistakes, they weren’t mistakes that sent me home, nor did they drown out the sweet siren song that called to me. In Pilgrim Spokes, I tell the story of James, a young man I met in Warrensburg, Missouri, who was also riding his bike across the country. He was young and strong, in his 20s, and had decided to answer the call of a cross-country journey when he heard it. The thing is, James didn’t know how to ride a bike. Really. He’d never ridden one in his life. But with the help of his friend, he bought a bike and had it shipped to the west coast. James flew to the west coast where he picked up his bike, pointed it east, and learned to ride. When I met up with James and his friend in the middle of the country, he’d suffered through some painful days of saddle sores and had fallen a couple of times, but he’d become a bike rider, and a pretty darned good one. I don’t know if James and his friend made it all the way across the country as they planned. What I do know is that they made it to Missouri, endured some trials and tribulations, learned a lot, and enjoyed themselves. They reached out for adventure and found it. There’s a balance between recklessly throwing yourself at a potential adventure on the one hand, and beating an adventure into a mundane trip with over preparation on the other hand. We surely have to be open to the adventure that wants to find us, and we each need to find that balance that works well for us at the point we find ourselves in life. In the following sections, I’ll detail what I believe to be the most important aspects of training, packing, and execution to help you get down the road in a way that lets you focus on the joy of the ride. That’s what it’s about: the pure and simple joy of the ride.
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Chapter 4
Touring Style With the heaps of overly specialized gear—gloves, shoes, and biking jerseys—most cyclists realize that every day on the road is Halloween. Plain and simple, it’s wearing a costume each time out of the gate. . . . We’re neon signs, stylistically impaired wonders blinding pedestrians and fooling small children into thinking that the circus has come back to town. Joe “Metal Cowboy” Kurmaskie, Riding Outside the Lines
icycle touring means different things to different folks. In fact, it probably means different things to any one person at different points in his or her life. To some, it’s an adventure that includes panniers front and back, complete self-sufficiency, and camping out in the wild each night. To others, it’s a paid and guided tour, where someone else carries the gear, makes all the reservations, and follows you in a van in case you need anything. If the pure and simple joy of the ride is most important, then it’s important to ask yourself where you’re going to find that joy. We may each find it in different things. In Pilgrim Wheels, I explore the notion of finding joy in many things and in many ways. In the beginning stages of planning a long ride on a bicycle, it’s important to ask that question. Will the joy be in overcoming obstacles, in feeling like you’ve conquered an arduous journey? Will it be in the satisfaction of self-sufficiency, knowing that you carry everything you need on your bike? Will it be in meeting other cyclists on the road, in forging new friendships? For me, it’s about the bike ride. Really, it’s that simple. I love riding my bike, and a bike ride across the country will be far more fun for me if I can keep the trip more about riding, and less about schlepping. While I know I’ll have to face some wind, I want to be smart enough to ride in the direction that gives me the greatest chance of wonderful days with a tailwind rather than grinding days with a headwind. While I know I’ll get rained on, I want to ride during a time of year when I’ll have more days of glorious sunshine and fewer days of rain. I want a ride filled with as much pure and simple joy as I can find, and as little misery as necessary. I want to revel in the feel of a nimble bike beneath me rather than wrestle a stiff and clumsy tank. I want to savor the delight of pounding up a long mountain pass, out of the saddle, pulling every ounce of energy through the bike beneath me, rather than toil up the mountain weighed down by a ponderously heavy collection of stuff. I want to fly down the backside of the mountain, savoring the agility of the living machine that I’m part of, rather than reining in the awkward monstrosity I have to control rather than ride. In short, I want to cherish the ride. But not everybody’s like that. It’s important to think honestly and ahead of time about where the joy will be found. I’ve read many accounts of cross-country riders who didn’t seem to have figured it out before they began their tours. They often ended up with rides that were hybrids of many things, but enjoyment of much less. Trying to find everything often means we miss the most important things. They often didn’t understand the importance of wind, or how much more enjoyable a ride is in good weather. Some say they have a “minimalist” touring style, yet they’re loaded down with heavy touring bikes and panniers packed with stuff. They camp part of the time, and stay in motels part of the time. While I appreciate both styles, I think trying to hybridize them loses a good deal of the beauty of each. Touring heavy has advantages, for sure. By “heavy,” I mean that you’re prepared to make camp, carrying gear that weighs something north of 25 pounds, and generally more like 50–75 pounds. You need a special touring bike built for the heavy loads, and you’re outfitted with panniers—usually front and back. Touring like this lets you experience the flavor of campgrounds along the way. You get to sleep in the great outdoors and have the satisfaction of fixing your own meals. Sure, you’re weighed down with lots of gear, but your bike is designed for it, with heavy construction and lots of low gears. Generally, 50 miles a day is all you’re going to average if you tour heavy. Touring light means you stay in hotels and eat at diners. It means your gear weighs less than 25 pounds, ideally something more like 10–15 pounds. It means you don’t need special touring gear for your bike, or a special touring bike. Touring light means you can plan on riding something like 100 miles a day, assuming you’re in condition for that. Decide whether your preference is heavy touring or light touring, based on nothing but personal preference. Other factors often get used as an excuse, but the reality is that these decision factors are often based more on myth than on reality. The first myth to explore is cost. I know that folks who are fans of heavy touring talk about the fact that it costs less to tour this way. On the surface, this would appear to be true. And if you’re going to do long bicycle tours every year, or at least several of them over your lifetime, I think you might save money. However, if touring turns out to be a one- or two-time thing, I’m not convinced it saves any money at all. When you add in the cost of the gear, including a heavy touring bike, panniers, any camping gear enhancements needed, and the fact that nearly everyone who tours heavy ends up staying in motels some of the time anyway, I suspect that the cost of touring heavy might be as much as or more than the cost of touring light. Here’s an example. Assume the route I took, crossing in 36 days of riding, averaging 100 miles a day. Touring heavy, that’s a 72-day trip averaging 50 miles a day. My ultralight style costs me about $125/day, including meals and hotels. However, I have no additional costs to amortize beyond my normal bike and commuting gear that I use at home. Ignoring all transit costs (which are common to both touring styles), my cost for the trip is about $4500. Also note that this daily average for costs includes the fact that I spent half the time by myself, not splitting the hotel cost with anyone. Now, to take that ride in a more “heavy” style, let’s make the assumption that I only stay in a motel every five days, and eat out only occasionally. Let’s say I’m able to keep my average daily cost down to $40. Even when I’m fixing my own dinner, I had to buy the food, and I have to buy the gas to cook it, etc. I think $40 per day is pretty reasonable for the average cyclist trying to keep things
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inexpensive. This $40 per day comes to $2900 over the 72 days I spend on the road. So on the surface, it seems like ultralight touring costs $4500 to cross the country, and more traditional heavyweight touring got the job done for $2900. A $1700 savings, right? But is there any value in those extra 36 days taken off the job? I suspect for most people this more than wipes out the difference, but let’s ignore that for now. What about the extra money for the gear? It’d be pretty hard to find a decent touring bike—one that you’d feel comfortable riding across the country—for less than $1500. And at a minimum, you’ll spend $500 for medium-quality equipment like racks and panniers. Now we’re at $4900 for the heavy style, $400 higher than the ultralight style. And this ignores any cost of additional time off work and assumes that you already own all the camping gear that you need. Of course, if you extend your touring to another trip or two beyond the cross country trip, the per-day costs will go down as the initial cost of equipping yourself for heavy touring will be amortized across more days of touring. But the point is that it takes a lot of touring to make the cost myth hold any water. Do the math ahead of time. Figure your expected daily expense, how often you’ll stay in motels, how many days you’ll need to take off work, how much you’ll spend on equipment, and add it up. Take the cost myth out of the decision-making process, so you can decide how to tour based on what you really want. That’s what’s most important, what the trip is about for you. If it’s about the bicycle ride, and about seeing the countryside, then think seriously about the light option. If the experience of camping is an important part of the trip for you, then tour heavy so you don’t miss that. For me, at this point in my life, it’s all about the joy of riding, getting to know the people along the way, and savoring the places I get to experience. I’ve spent plenty of nights in sleeping bags in my life, and while I enjoyed those experiences, bicycle touring is much better for me when I know the day ends with a warm shower, supper prepared by someone else, and a soft bed. Forty years ago, I had a different perspective. I loved the self-sufficiency of backpacking and the whole “setting up camp” ambiance. Living on a shoestring was part of the adventure. Of course, it was also the only style of adventure I could afford at the time . . . There’s no right or wrong. It’s just what’s right for you at this point in your life. My best advice is to choose one or the other, and don’t make the mistake of trying to hybridize, thus losing much of the real joy you might find in either. I’ve learned quite a lot about minimalism as I’ve quested along the path of less. My perspective was minimalist when I started my tour across the country, and became more so as the trip went along. When I started this adventure, my notion of “light” was 20 pounds or less of gear, excluding water and whatever snacks I had in my pocket. By the time I rolled into Annapolis at the end of the journey, I’d reduced the weight of that gear by half, down to under 10 pounds. Most of the weight was actually parts and tools for possible repairs needed along the way. As a side note, I recently completed a tour in the South with my riding buddy Dave and my son Ian, and I’d learned to trim the gear weight even further. We rode from Baton Rouge up to Natchez, then along the Natchez Trace to Nashville. Of course, riding with three of us made it possible to spread the weight of the tools and equipment across three packs instead of just one or two—a significant consideration. (In the interest of full disclosure, during the trip with my strapping young 30-year-old son Ian, I snuck most of the heavy tools and equipment into his bag. He didn’t even notice . . . ) For me, it’s important to be able to move along at a good pace, something like 100 miles a day, a century. Not that every day needs to be a century, but on average, that’s what I shoot for. It’s a pace that feels good to me. I’d struggle if I were only progressing along at 50 miles a day, because I’d know in the back of my mind that I should really be doing 100-mile days. It would detract from the joy of the ride if I felt like I was making slower progress than I should. There’s no sound logic to this; it’s just me. My pace. My ride. My style.
Chapter 5
Training I came out for exercise, gentle exercise, and to notice the scenery and to botanise. And no sooner do I get on that accursed machine than off I go hammer and tongs; I never look to right or left, never notice a flower, never see a view, get hot, juicy, red—like a grilled chop. . . . Get me on that machine and I have to go. I go scorching along the road, and cursing aloud at myself for doing it. H.G. Wells, The Wheels of Chance
raining, for me, has always been a matter of just riding consistently. For the cross-country tour, I was lucky to have had a nice commute to work that I could do a couple of times a week, 20 miles each way. It let me ride really hard twice a week, morning and evening, 40 miles total each of those days. Then on weekends I’d do longer rides. As spring rolled around, I’d work myself up to 100-mile rides, with the target of spending at least one weekend prior to the ride doing back-to-back 100+ mile rides, one Saturday and one Sunday. I also had, and still have, the advantage of living in the mountains, so my training rides often had significant climbing in them, and I was training at 6000 feet and above. Even if you’ll be riding on flat roads close to sea level, I don’t think enough can be said for the value of conditioning your body to do long and steep climbs as a way of getting into shape. (And the extra red blood cells the altitude gives me didn’t hurt a bit during those first days of the ride.) My riding partner Dave is a big runner, and he says that when you’re training for a marathon, you never actually run a marathon until the race. I think training for long rides is different. If you’re going to plan on riding 100-mile days, then you need to get your body accustomed to 100-mile days. In large part this is due to the fact that your butt needs to be broken in to long days in the saddle, but I think it’s also a matter of your body learning to deal with the significant toll that long days of riding take on it, and being able to recover. My recommendation is that before starting the journey, be able to ride 300-400 miles a week, and be sure that you have at least one weekend where you do back-to-back century rides. A week of recovery before beginning the actual ride is always a good idea. Touring is most fun for me when I can start enjoying it on the first day of riding. If my first several days are spent getting my body broken in to the rigor, then I miss some of the joy those first days have to offer. The older I get, the more work it takes to be sure I don’t miss that early joy in the ride. Now having passed the magic milestone of 60, I suspect it will continue to get harder and harder each year. On my recent Natchez Trace ride, the necessity for training wisely came into focus in a brief conversation I had with Ian. He was 31 and hadn’t quite left that state of invincibility we all achieve briefly in our 20s. As much as I tried to get him to train, he was just never able to squeeze enough time in for the long days, what with the kids and life and all. But as a strong and fit young man, he could ride like an animal for the first 50 miles. (I should also mention that Ian is about six-foot-something tall, with big broad shoulders that move an awful lot of air as he rides. Drafting behind Ian is like riding in the middle of the peloton.) As we rode along the Trace, about day two or three of our 100-mile days, Ian and I were riding along, chatting about this and that. After a pause, Ian said, “Man, I wish I would have taken you up on your advice to get a couple of hundred-mile days in on the bike, Dad. These long days are killing me.” I nodded and smiled, having learned it’s best if your kids never hear those awful words, “I told you so”. A couple of minutes went by as we rode in silence. Then he sighed, and said, “Oh, to be 18 again . . . ” After a brief pause, I looked over at him, and with a small smile, said “Oh, to be 50 again . . . ”
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Chapter 6
The Bicycle When the spirits are low, when the day appears dark, when work becomes monotonous, when hope hardly seems worth having, just mount a bicycle and go out for a spin down the road, without thought on anything but the ride you are taking. Arthur Conan Doyle
iding light as I do, I don’t need any special bicycle or equipment to make my way down the road. I ride the same bike I ride all year round. It’s an Odonata made by Seven Cycles that I’m absolutely in love with. It fits me, and rides like a dream. Why would I want to ride anything else? Jude at Sugar Wheel Works in Portland built my wheels for normal riding, not touring, but that’s fine because they’re just carrying me and a few extra pounds. My riding buddy Dave rides an old Schwinn tank that he loves. He’s upgraded the components over the years, but refuses to upgrade the frame. I think it’s a badge of honor more than anything else—the fact that this old tank made it all the way across the country. He’ll never let it go now. The point is simple: By touring light, there’s no need to upgrade or change your equipment. Just make sure that you feel comfortable with the soundness and reliability of your bike, and start pedaling! I keep aero bars on my bike. Most cyclists find they need to change their hand position every few minutes as they move down the road to stay comfortable, and the aero bars provide one additional position to rotate through. Also, when the nasty headwinds arrive, the aero bars help the rider hide just a little bit from the wind. I have a very lightweight rack behind my seat. It’s the kind that bolts around the seatpost, with a maximum capacity of 25 pounds, which I never approach. Everything I carry fits into a small bag that I strap onto this rack. As for mechanical equipment, this is where most of my gear weight comes from. You never know when a chain might break, or a spoke might snap. And of course, flat tires are absolutely going to happen. On our trip across the country, I popped a spoke once, and Dave broke a chain once. Dave also fell once, bending his derailleur slightly, and it took us quite a few miles and adjustments before we finally got it right. It’s possible that this was actually the major contributing factor to his chain breaking as well. Beyond that, all we had were flats, and not too many of those. Here’s the mechanical gear I carried:
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1 extra tire (foldable) Tire tools 2–6 extra tubes (I didn’t repair tubes unless I got low) Chain section and chain tool Chain lube Extra spokes of all sizes (generally that means 3 sizes) Multi-tool and spoke wrench Though I didn’t carry them, I’ve considered that it might make sense to carry a chain whip and cassette tool as well. The most likely spokes to pop are on the rear drive side, in which case you’d need those tools. Tires are a key factor in any ride. Flats happen, but they’re a pain when they happen often. Over the years I’ve become a huge believer in the Continental Gatorskins. I’m sure other brands have comparable offerings, but this is what I use. I also believe in riding on 25 mm tires; it’s a better ride and I’m convinced I get fewer flats. I’d ride 28 mm if they’d fit on my bike.
Chapter 7
Gear and Provisions God made yeast, as well as dough, and loves fermentation just as dearly as he loves vegetation. Ralph Waldo Emerson
e live with so much around us every day that it’s hard for our minds to accept just how little we need to be happy as we roll down the highway. Learning this lesson was a wonderful gift from my journey across the country. I carried enough food to get me to the next convenience store, plus some emergency calories. I started with three water bottles and discovered I only needed three for the early desert crossings. Generally, two water bottles gets me 20–40 miles down the road without a problem. The only clothes I needed to carry were a change of clothes for the end of the day (very light shorts and shirt) and light rain gear. I washed my cycling gear in the sink every night, and things were generally dry by morning. Below is the complete list of the clothes I carried, including what I wore:
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1 pair cycling shorts 1 cycling jersey 1 lightweight shirt for evening 1 lightweight pair of pants and moccasins for evening 1 lightweight rain jacket 1 lightweight windbreaker Cycling gloves, socks, helmet, and shoes I mention shoes last, but they’re far from unimportant. Long days of riding are miserable with shoes that are poorly designed or fitted. I wear D2 Ultra Classics, and can without reservation say they’re the best cycling shoes I’ve ever worn. I recommend a cleat system that spreads the load out as widely as possible. In addition to clothes and mechanical gear, there are a few other things I’ve found to be essential, and a few conveniences I just refuse to give up. Front and back lights (I use a Vis360, which gives me a headlight on the front of my helmet, and a bright blinking light on the back of my helmet. Lots of light, blinking, high, and visible) 1 additional blinking back light 2 insulated water bottles Additional collapsible bladder if there will be desert crossings Garmin (I use two—one to tell me speed, etc., the other as a mapping device) Phone and camera Sunglasses Sunscreen Chamois butter (just in case . . . ) Regarding lights, it is my absolute intention to not ride at night. But stuff happens, and when it does, I don’t want to be without visibility. The Vis360 is lightweight and effective. In addition, I generally start riding before sunrise, and I found that for the first several hours of every day, having the Vis360 blinking away made me feel more visible. For the weight, high-tech blinking lights for visibility are priceless. With regard to navigation, I have two Garmin devices. I use one as my “dashboard,” telling me how fast I’m going, current elevation, grade, etc., and the other as my mapping device. I research the roads I want to ride on, build maps using a tool like Ride with GPS, then download the maps into my mapping Garmin. I can choose to follow the route I have in the Garmin, or I can choose a different route if it strikes my fancy, but I can always see how far I am from my mapped route. I have a very good sense of direction and rarely get lost, so it would be easy to assume I would always be able to find my way. Having a route mapped into the device lets me focus completely on the ride when I want to, and not worry about the route, having done all the worrying in advance. I should mention that on my recent ride with my son down in the South, he just used his iPhone to do everything. It gave him directions, kept track of his miles and route, told him how to find things when we needed them, took all his pictures for him, and even served him books to read at night. Jeez. Kids. Finally, the chamois butter might seem like a silly thing, but if you get saddle sores, that chamois butter will be the most beloved item in your pack. Really.
Chapter 8
Fuel Part of the secret of success in life is to eat what you like and let the food fight it out inside. Mark Twain
t’s a common misconception that riding long days on a bicycle will help a person lose weight. In my experience, it just doesn’t happen. While a long day in the saddle will burn 6000-8000 calories, you need to keep that volume of calories flowing into your system, or you’re going to have problems. You really can’t afford to play with the balance, and starve yourself for calories. (See Chapter 32 of Pilgrim Wheels for a fun story about what happens when calorie intake is insufficient.) The way I look at it, long-distance touring is my excuse to eat chicken fried steak and potatoes every day. Sometimes twice a day. Whatever I weigh when I start a ride is probably about what I’ll weigh at the end of the ride. I’ve learned that the quality of the calories really does matter. Pure sugar isn’t good fuel for me, though it might be for some. I try to fill myself with as much protein as I can in the morning, then look for fruit and nut snacks along the way during the day. Lots of granola bars, bananas, Fig Newtons. Then at supper, more protein with green stuff around it. When it’s hot and I’m working hard on the bike, my stomach gets a little picky. I think a lot of folks are like that. By the time you start on your touring, you’ll already know what does and doesn’t fit well in your stomach on hot days when you’re working hard, and you’ll want to stick to that regimen. There were times in my touring when I avoided caffeine completely, and alcohol generally, because of hydration concerns. That was smart at those times, doing hard days in 100-degree heat. However, beer is also part of my enjoyment of the ride, so there were many evenings when barley and hops were on the menu. It really comes down to balance. Those evenings when I was going to enjoy some serious hammer work the next day, I avoided beer because I knew I’d need every drop of hydration my body could retain for the next day. When I had an easier day coming up, I focused more on the enjoyment of a glass or two of malt beverage the night before.
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Chapter 9
Wind Happens I was born upon the prairie, where the wind blew free, and there was nothing to break the light of the sun. I was born where there were no enclosures, and where everything drew a free breath. The Great Comanche War Chief, Ten Bears
raversing America involves crossing some places where a lot of air moves along the ground—most notably the Great Plains, but there are other areas too. It’s worth thinking about, and worth being aware of, but I’ve come to the conclusion that it shouldn’t generally be too big a factor in making decisions about route or direction. First off, as a cyclist I have to accept the truth that the wind blows against me more than it blows with me. It’s just math. Let’s assume I ride 1000 miles, and for 500 of those miles the wind is in my face, and for 500 of those miles the wind is at my back. For the 500 miles the wind is in my face, I average 12 mph, so I spend 42 hours pedaling into the wind. For the 500 miles the wind is at my back, I average 20 mph, so I spend 25 hours pedaling with the wind. So I rode 1000 miles in 67 hours, and 63% of that time the wind was blowing in my face. Crazy, right? Now you know why it feels like the wind blows in your face more than on your back. The second big thing is the myth that the winds generally blow from west to east across the country. I call it a myth because few of the cross-country cyclists I’ve read about or talked to believe that this assumption was true for them on their ride. Most west-to-east cyclists I’ve talked to say that they were surprised that they didn’t have more tailwind than they did, and they were equally surprised by the vicious crosswinds and headwinds they often encountered. At the same time, the east-to-west cyclists I’ve talked to have often said that they were pleasantly surprised that they didn’t face the wind all the time and were surprised by the tailwinds they did occasionally get, and that the worst winds were generally the crosswinds. My own experience supports this. Sure I had some days of tailwinds and some days of headwinds. My most vicious winds were often blowing across me from the south. Along the west coast in June, when everyone said the wind always blows from the northwest, I had three days of winds out of the south and southwest, generally in my face. Across Kansas I fought 40 mph winds that were generally out of the south, bending a little out of the southeast, for 400 miles. Like the old saying goes, wind happens. (Is that really how it goes?) While it may be statistically slightly more likely that you’ll have tailwinds if you travel west to east, my experience, and the experience of other trans-American cyclists I’ve talked to, suggests that it’s probably a pretty small factor to consider in planning.
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Chapter 10
On Riding Alone As I make my slow pilgrimage through the world, a certain sense of beautiful mystery seems to gather and grow. A. C. Benson
rode about half the miles of my across-the-country journey by myself, and about half of them with my buddy Dave. Riding alone is probably not for everybody. Some folks enjoy solitude more than others do. Beyond that, there are safety issues. Being alone out on the road makes a person very vulnerable to many dangers. On the issue of solitude, some folks just feel far more comfortable in the company of others than they do when they’re alone. That’s neither good nor bad; it just is. If you’re not comfortable with aloneness, solo riding probably wouldn’t be a good idea. I’m very comfortable being alone. I sometimes hunt by myself, often bike by myself, occasionally fish by myself. I also do these things with other people. While I savor the company of others, I also find great joy in occasional solitude. On this ride, I cherished the solitude of the time I spent alone as much as I delighted in the deep joy of the time with my good friend Dave—just in a different way. I guess that’s the whole in-the-moment thing; enjoying your current state of being, rather than longing for a different state of being. For me, the moments of solitude were truly sweet and wonderful. Without them, this trip wouldn’t have been as meaningful to me. I wouldn’t have seen as much as I did along the way. I wouldn’t have discovered as much of me as I did. And. The many moments of experiencing deep and true friendship with Dave were magical. There are few times when you can learn about and be with a friend in the way you can when you ride your bike across the country together. I’m lucky Dave is a friend in my life, and lucky to have had the moment of riding with him. Regarding safety, I have mixed feelings. I was fortunate on this trip, and encountered no real issues. Well, there were the desert dogs back in California, but in that case, my speed and mobility were my best defense. I admit that after that incident I carried pepper spray with me and kept it handy at my handlebars. Generally, I think folks are good. There are bad apples, and being on a bike by yourself probably makes you more visible and vulnerable to those bad apples. We each need to define what we believe the odds are, and whether the reward is worth the risk. Many good friends implored me to carry a gun on the trip, because of the safety issues. Besides the fact that a gun would add unwanted weight, I wasn’t convinced it would be a positive factor in any altercation. For starters, the laws that restrict gun possession vary widely across the country, and just possessing it could put me at risk for citation or worse. And then there’s the old when-to-use-it argument. I know that folks who favor carrying guns believe there’s a clear line, a point at which using deadly force would be the right thing to do. And I’m positive that there are instances where this happens, where the deadly force line gets crossed at a time and in a circumstance that would let me fill my hand with deadly force and would make it clear to me that the right thing to do is to use that deadly force. This isn’t a rant for or against guns. I own guns and like guns. But I’m not convinced that on my bike ride across the country, the advantages of having deadly force at my fingertips would have outweighed the disadvantages. My experience with human nature leads me to believe that it’s rare that “bad guys” make it clear from the beginning that they’re bad guys. Situations generally evolve, and if they evolve in bad ways the stress goes up, and dropping a weapon of deadly force into a stressful and evolving situation may not always be the best thing to do. It’s a personal decision that we all need to make. I made mine not based on any belief that guns are bad, but on the belief that the disadvantages of having one within easy reach outweighed the advantages. A weapon is something that escalates a disagreement, and escalation generally isn’t the wisest path to take. Dave and I had what we refer to as our “day from hell” in Pennsylvania along US 40. At one point during that day, along a beautiful stretch of road, some yahoo threw a beer bottle out of his truck window and broke it across my back as I rode down a mountain. I felt threatened and attacked, not to mention furious. If I’d had a gun close by, would I have reached for it and emptied it into the back of that red pickup truck? As it happened, I just had a bruise across my back for a few days and a story to tell. If I’d had a gun, who knows how that story might have ended. For every adventure in life, for every morsel of thrill or inspiration or flash or tingle, there’s a risk. While any risk can be mitigated, there’s always a cost to the mitigation. Just look at the ongoing debates in the news today that balance the liberty and security of American citizens. On the one hand we want to be secure, but as we begin to lose liberty and privacy, we find ourselves questioning the value and real need of that security against the cost that comes with it, both in terms of the taxes and debt required to finance additional security, and in terms of the rights we give up to achieve it. Helen Keller said that security is mostly a superstition, that it doesn’t exist in nature. She believed that life is either a grand adventure or nothing at all. I’ll choose grand adventure every time.
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Chapter 11
Route What we call the beginning is often the end. And to make an end is to make a beginning. The end is where we start from. T.S. Elliot
here are organizations out there who provide route suggestions and maps for crossing the country, most notably Adventure Cycling. I considered some of their routes, but opted not to follow them because they didn’t seem to be in tune with what I was looking for in a route: primarily low traffic and a widely varied slice of the country. Their routes are popular, though, and I know many cyclists follow them. I suspect that if you follow their routes, you’ll run into more cross-country cyclists than I did on my route. As cyclists, we each have a scale in our mind that balances traffic volume, shoulder width, safety, and riding pleasure. Some of us are fine riding on an interstate highway since it has a giant shoulder, and all the traffic doesn’t bother us because it’s several feet away and the noise just isn’t a big deal. Others of us prefer a narrow and winding road with low traffic but no shoulder. My balance falls toward the road less traveled. I’m on the bike to experience the ride, and traffic around me distorts and reduces my enjoyment of the world I’m pedaling through. Shoulders are generally full of glass and other debris, so even when a shoulder exists, I find myself trying to stay off the shoulder except when cars are coming. While there are a few small changes I’d make to the route I chose, I think it generally gave me the road less traveled that I was looking for. For much of the journey, my route followed the same route that the RAAM (Race Across America) has been following for several years. I picked up their route in Parker, Arizona, and followed it all the way into Kansas. From there, my route stayed close to theirs, though not always following it exactly. For example, I crossed Missouri on the Katy Trail rather than following the highways of the RAAM. There were several bike trails I was able to experience as I crossed the country, and part of choosing the route I did was to be able to ride on these. The Katy Trail in Missouri is a fantastic one, but I also spent nearly an entire day in Ohio on paved bike trails, and a bike trail in West Virginia saved me from some busy and nasty roads. My final miles into Annapolis were along a wonderful bike trail that dropped me onto a bridge into Annapolis as a gorgeous moon rose over the bay, providing a most beautiful and memorable end to my journey. Bike trails aren’t necessarily easy to find, and it takes some effort to build a route that takes advantage of many of them. Finally, route is to some degree dictated by the season in which you ride. I rode in the western half of the country in the summer, and the eastern half in September. I rode across the Mojave and Sonoran deserts in the hottest part of the summer, and while nothing bad happened, looking back on it I feel both lucky and foolish. It could have been even hotter than it was, and I could have been in real trouble. I wouldn’t take that chance again. The same can be said for riding across Kansas in July. I’m very tolerant of heat, and for anyone who’s not, this western half of the country should be approached with caution in the summer.
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Map Data ©2015 Google, INEGI
Chapter 12
My Route Details I find that the great thing in this world is not so much where we stand as in what direction we are moving: To reach the port of heaven, we must sail sometimes with the wind and sometimes against it— but we must sail, and not drift, nor lie at anchor. Oliver Wendell Holmes
his section describes in detail the route that I took across the country. Note that conditions, availability of supplies, and even the availability of some of the route itself, may have changed since I rode in 2011 and 2012. There were several places where I ran into construction or other issues that I assume were temporary, and I make no mention of those here. You’ll see a few occurrences of “meandering” or “jumping down to” in my descriptions, indicating some variance from the stated or most direct route. As with all aspects of the route, you can choose to be adventurous or to find the quickest way to get from point to point, or something in between. My descriptions below alternate between using “I” and “we”. This is intentional, and reflects the ride at that moment. Recall that there were sections of the ride where I was alone, and sections where I rode with my buddy Dave. The “we” sections obviously refer to those sections of the ride where Dave and I rode together.
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Day 1 — Monterey, CA to Carmel, CA — 8 Miles From the airport, I crossed Highway 68, following Olmsted Road. This became Monhollan Road, ending at Aquajito Road. Left on Aquajito Road. When I came to Highway 1, I followed it into Carmel. I stayed at The Green Lantern B&B in downtown Carmel.
Day 2 — Carmel, CA to Lucia, CA — 52 Miles Very simple day. Highway 1, or as some say in California, “the 1.” Highway One has long been a favorite of cyclists, and it was beautiful. I was lucky in that the road was washed out a few miles south of Lucia, so the traffic was only local traffic. If you’re considering the ride, be aware that the traffic could be very heavy, and there was generally very little or no shoulder at all. During the heavy tourist season I suspect this is not a safe road to ride.
Day 3 — Lucia, CA to Paso Robles, CA — 78 Miles Leaving Lucia Lodge, I headed south on Highway 1 for 4 miles, then turned left on Nacimiento-Fergusson Road, although locally they just called this Nacimiento Road. Note that this was a very steep climb for the first few miles, though the road was beautiful and had almost no traffic. After 15 or 16 miles, the road entered a military reservation; I’m told that at times you’re required to show ID and passport to pass the gate. I rode about 9 miles on the military reservation (very deserted—I saw only a couple of vehicles the whole time), then turned right on Mission Road. for about 5 miles, then turned right on G14 as I left the military reservation. At Lockwood, water and supplies were available (the first of the day). I turned right to stay on G14. From Lockwood to Paso Robles was about 38 miles on G14, which was called Godfrey Road and Nacimiento Lake Road. About 10 or 15 miles after leaving Lockwood, there were supplies available at a little place called The Bee Rock. NOTE: The only reason I took this route was because Highway 1 down the coast was closed due to landslides just a few miles south of Lucia. My preferred route would have taken me down to Santa Maria, then across Highway 166 to Cuddy Valley Road, and along Cuddy Valley Road up to Frazier Park. That route would have missed Paso Robles completely, but would have added a couple of other nice little towns.
Day 4 — Paso Robles, CA to Frazier Park, CA — 151 Miles I wound through side streets to get to Creston Road running southwest out of town. Creston Road became La Panza Road when it crossed Highway 41. At about 23 miles out of Paso Robles, I continued east on Highway 58. After about 54 miles on Highway 58, I turned right on Highway 33, also called the West Side Highway, as it ran along the west side of Bakersfield. After about 36 miles on this really awful highway (I hitched a ride to avoid the treachery) that included a long grade up from Maricopa, I turned left on Highway 95. Highway 95 was also called Cuddy Valley Road. It was narrow and curvy with lots of hills, but the traffic was relatively light. It was about 41 miles along Highway 95 into Frazier Park, where the trip ended for the day. Note that after leaving Paso Robles at the start of the day, it was about 76 miles to Highway 33, and another 15 miles after turning right onto 33 to get to a convenience store in Taft. There was nowhere in-between to re-supply. I had hoped there would be something in the little “town” on the north side of Soda Lake, but there wasn’t. At Highway 33, turning left instead of right would bring you to a little bar and store after about a mile at the bottom of the hill, in case you needed supplies and were willing to add a couple of miles to the day. All in all, this was a very long day with dangerously long gaps between supply points.
Day 5 — Frazier Park, CA to Victorville, CA — 113 Miles I followed Peace Valley Road south for about 3 miles to Gorman, crossed left under the Interstate, turned right on Gorman Post Road. After 5 miles, I turned left onto Highway 138. After 36 miles, I turned right on Sierra Highway on the north side of Lancaster. Note that I got lucky on Highway 138, as the traffic wasn’t that bad. I’m not sure it’s always a good road to cycle on. I followed Sierra Highway south to Avenue J, left on Avenue J to 90th St E, right on 90th St E to Avenue O, left on Avenue O to 240th St, right on 240th St, then left on Avenue P or El Mirage Road. (Note that I’m not sure I followed the safest or best route through the Lancaster/Palmdale area; I’d research this a little more next time.) Approaching Adelanto, I wound south and east using Koala Road, Chamberlaine Way, and Bellflower Street, arriving at Palmdale Road (Highway 18.) I followed Palmdale Road east, then got on the frontage road that runs along the east side of Interstate 15, and road south to my hotel close to Bear Valley Road.
Day 6 — Victorville, CA to Twentynine Palms, CA — 90 Miles I followed Bear Valley Road east to Highway 18. I suspect Bear Valley Road could be busy at times, but I rode it on a Saturday morning, so it wasn’t too bad. I stayed on Highway 18 to Lucerne Valley where there was a convenience store. I filled up on supplies there, then followed Highway 247 east and south to get to Highway 62. It was a little over 45 miles, and the last third of it got pretty dangerous for a cyclist. I avoided the last couple of miles of Highway 247 by taking Buena Vista Dr east, then Yucca Mesa Road south to finally arrive at Highway 62. In looking at the map, I
believe I could have cut east off of Highway 62 earlier, and would try that next time. The last 18 miles or so for the day along Highway 62 had fairly heavy traffic, but there was a good shoulder.
Day 7 — Twentynine Palms, CA to Parker, AZ — 113 Miles I followed Highway 62 east to Parker, AZ. It was about 115 miles, and once I left Twentynine Palms, the first drop of water or supplies came at 95 miles, at a little convenience store when I crossed US 95 at Vidal Junction. I would warn potential cyclists to prepare well and wisely, as this is not a day on a bicycle to be taken lightly. All in all, however, this was one of the most wonderful days of bike riding in my life. Highway 62 had almost zero traffic on the day I rode. While there was no shoulder, the sparse traffic I encountered gave me the road. At the junction with Highway 177, traffic picked up significantly.
Day 8 — Parker, AZ to Congress, AZ — 110 Miles Another very dangerous desert day that required careful preparation. I followed Highway 95 south for about 12 miles, then stayed straight onto Highway 72 when Highway 95 turned right. At about 26 miles in for the day, supplies were available at Bouse. I followed Highway 72 to US 60 and turned left on US 60. Note that from Bouse it was 30 miles before the next supplies were available at Salome. From Salome it was another 30 miles along US 60 east to the next supplies, in Aguila. I continued on US 60, then turned left onto Highway 71 just east of Aguila. From Aguila to the next supplies at Congress was 25 miles. I really can’t stress enough that this is a dangerous day in a desert that can turn deadly in a hurry.
Day 9 — Congress, AZ to Sedona, AZ — 107 Miles After about 10 miles of climbing out of the desert along Highway 89 from Congress, supplies were available in Yarnell. I stayed on Highway 89, reaching Prescott just a little shy of 45 miles into the day. Supplies were sparse but available along the route, which was hilly and twisting. Locals advised me I should have taken Kirkland Road through Kirkland and Skull Valley, which would have avoided the climbing and twisting roads, though it would also have added about 7 miles to the ride. I liked the roads I was on, though, and I’m not sure I would follow that advice even next time. I followed Highway 69 out of Prescott, which was very busy, then turned left on Robert Road, which took me up to Highway 89A, which I followed east and north into the mountains. Note that it was a little over 30 miles from Prescott to Jerome on the other side of a steep mountain pass, so I loaded up on plenty of water before leaving Prescott. From Jerome to Sedona was just shy of 30 miles along Highway 89A, and the first several miles had several places to fill up on water or supplies.
Day 10 — Sedona, AZ to Tuba City, AZ — 106 Miles From Sedona to Flagstaff along Highway 89A was about 25 or 30 miles, with one very steep and curvy section of switchbacks as I left Sedona. From Flagstaff to Cameron north along US 89 was a little shy of 50 miles, with one convenience store we found open about halfway along. At Cameron, supplies were available. From Cameron it was about 14 miles north on US 89 to US 160, where we turned right, then another 10 miles into Tuba City.
Day 11 — Tuba City, AZ to Kayenta, AZ — 75 Miles From here to Medicine Lodge, Kansas, we essentially stayed on US 160. Tuba City to Kayenta was a little over 70 miles. We were able to find a couple of convenience stores along the way to resupply. The road was generally good pavement, with a small shoulder, though the shoulder often had glass or other debris making it hard to use. Traffic was usually light to moderate, and with the exception of RVs, drivers were generally courteous.
Day 12 — Kayenta, AZ to Towaoc, CO — 108 Miles Continuing on US 160 east, we found supplies at about 40 miles into the day at Mexican Water. Then in another 15 or 20 miles at Red Valley we found a convenience store, and another 15 or 20 miles later at in Teec Nos Pos. The final 30+ miles for the day into Towaoc had no supplies available. Pavement, traffic, and drivers were generally decent as noted on the previous day.
Day 13 — Towaoc, CO to Durango, CO — 57 Miles A short day along US 160, with supplies available in Cortez at about 12 miles, and again at Mancos about 20 miles later.
Day 14 — Durango, CO to Pagosa Springs, CO — 56 Miles US 160 was extremely busy for the first dozen or so miles headed east. Supplies were available at Bayfield about 20 miles into the day, and again at Piedra about 20 miles later. With the exception of the miles close to Durango, traffic was moderate, and drivers were courteous.
Day 15 — Pagosa Springs, CO to Alamosa, CO — 96 Miles Pagosa to South Fork (where the first supplies were available) was a bit over 40 miles, half of it to get to the top to Wolf Creek Pass. From South Fork to Alamosa there was a town every 20 miles or so, and it was mostly flat. The climb up Wolf Creek Pass from the west is one of the nicest climbs you can do on a bicycle. Wide road, good shoulder, beautiful scenery, and a controlled grade.
Day 16 — Alamosa, CO to Walsenburg, CO — 72 Miles Alamosa to Ft Garland was a long flat, followed by a long and relatively gentle uphill, climaxing in a wonderful roll down a long gentle decline into Walsenburg. There were generally stops for water or supplies spaced at about 20 miles.
Transition — Walsenburg, CO to Trinidad, CO Walsenburg to Trinidad involves 30 miles or so of interstate. In my case, these miles were covered by hitching a ride in a car, but I believe it is legal to ride that section of interstate on a bicycle. (Check Colorado law to be sure.) Alternatively, at La Veta we could have taken Highway 12 to avoid Walsenburg and I-25, which would have only added about 15 miles to the total trip. The RAAM follows the La Veta route, and I have heard that there are some dangerous sections, but I’ve never ridden it.
Day 17 — Trinidad, CO to Springfield, CO — 123 Miles We stayed on US 160. Starting at Trinidad there was a 75-mile stretch without supplies or water, so careful planning was required. After that, we found water at Pritchett. Overall, it was a 125-mile stretch of high desert with two stops.
Day 18 — Springfield, CO to Plains, KS — 138 Miles Beginning in Springfield, US 160 generally followed an old railroad line, meaning that you could usually count on supplies every 20 miles or so. About 5 miles or so east of Ulysses in Kansas, we cut off onto Highway 190 through Satanta before joining back up with Highway 160. There were sections of the highway that were so lightly traveled that it felt like a county road, though some sections carried heavier traffic. We found the drivers to be safe and courteous.
Day 19 — Plains, KS to Coldwater, KS — 83 Miles For the first several miles of the day, US 160 followed the route of US 54. It was heavily travelled by big trucks, and while there was a shoulder, it was full of glass and other debris. Once it crossed through Meade, US 160 left US 54 and became a scenic and quiet road, with nearly no traffic. The hills were gentle and rolling, never steep, with great visibility. This was a beautiful section of road. We found water and supplies every 20 to 30 miles.
Day 20 — Coldwater, KS to Wellington, KS — 114 Miles US 160 east from Coldwater may have been one of the most beautiful sections of highway in the country, as it passed through the Medicine Hills of Kansas. Traffic was generally light.
Day 21 — Wellington, KS to Cottonwood Falls, KS — 119 Miles We rode east on US 160 to Winfield, then north on US 77 to El Dorado, where we followed US 54 east for about 4 miles to K-177, then followed K177 north to Cottonwood Falls. US 54 was heavily traveled by large trucks. (Note that a dear friend gave us a ride for a few of these miles through El Dorado. This helped us avoid some treacherous traffic.)
Day 22 — Cottonwood Falls, KS to Ottawa, KS — 94 Miles We rode north on K-177 to Council Grove, then east on US 56 to K-31. I followed K-31 east until it became K-268, then rode on K-68 all the way in to Ottawa.
Day 23 — Ottawa, KS to Warrensburg, MO — 99 Miles I rode east on K-68, then followed Highway 2 to Highway 131. I rode north on 131, then east on 58, and meandered across SW 200th and into Warrensburg. Note that I tried to find a more direct route on this day, and while the route I found was a little more direct, it also put me on several miles of gravel road.
Day 24 — Warrensburg, MO to Hartsburg, MO — 104 Miles I took US 50 east, which was not a good decision. The road was busy and the shoulder was full of debris. It looks like there was a county road (Y) that went right into Sedalia, which I would try next time. In Sedalia, I meandered up to the northeast side of town where I picked up the Katy Trail off E Boonville St. (Note that the Katy Trail is a “rail trail,” following the old Katy railroad right-of-way from Clinton, Missouri to just shy of the Mississippi River north of St Louis.)
Day 25 — Hartsburg, MO to Rhineland, MO — 49 Miles I met good friends in Hartsburg, and had a couple days of easy riding at a leisurely pace along the Katy Trail. Days 25 and 26 reflect that pace. The Katy Trail is a real jewel in the system of rail trails, and is a section of my route that I highly recommend to anyone crossing the country.
Day 26 — Rhineland, MO to Marthasville, MO — 25 Miles Katy Trail—a very easy “rest day” riding the trail with friends.
Day 27 — Marthasville, MO to Alton, IL — 76 Miles I followed the Katy Trail to the very end at Machens, then crossed some railroad tracks and headed north up to Highway 94, which I followed to West Alton in Missouri, then took Highway 67 over the bridge to Alton in Illinois.
Day 28 — Alton, IL to Greenville, IL — 53 Miles I followed the bikeway along the east side of the river for 5 or 6 miles, then Piasa Lane east, Delmar south, Canal Road east, Highway 111 south, and New Poag Road east toward Edwardsville. Somewhere in there I found a bikeway that took me to Edwardsville. On the east side of Edwardsville, I found the Nickel Plate Trail headed east, and took it all the way to Alhambra. Back on the road, I rode Highway 140 into Greenville. I think there must be a better way to get from Alton to the bike trail.
Day 29 — Greenville, IL to Terra Haute, IN — 121 Miles I rode Highway 140 over to Mulberry Grove, then got on County Road 1400N into Vandalia. Note that this road appeared to be the “old 40” and was quite nice. I followed Highway 40 through Effingham and beyond. Approaching Greenup, I cut off the highway at Cumberland Road (which is clearly old 40) and followed it across an old covered bridge. After Marshall, I stayed on the National Road (or Old US 40) into Terre Haute.
Day 30 — Terra Haute, IN to Plainville, IN — 66 Miles I rode east on Wabash Road, which eventually picked up the “US 40” designation again. There were several places where I took parallel side
roads, which were clearly the old 40. I meandered off the road up toward Greencastle to see some old covered bridges. I loved the bridges, and had a great lunch in Greencastle, but ended up on some gravel and a bad highway for a few miles.
Day 31 — Plainville, IN to Richmond, IN — 91 Miles I meandered my way across the south side of Indianapolis on local streets, emerging on the east side of town on E 400 S, which I followed through Carthage and up to Knightstown, where I met up with US 40, which I followed into Richmond.
Day 32 — Richmond, IN to Columbus, OH — 123 Miles We rode on US 40 east for several miles, then jumped down to Lewisburg Western Road, and followed that (through name changes) to Brookville, where we picked up a bike trail toward Dayton, then ended up with several miles of meandering to get to the southeast side of Dayton, where we picked up the Creekside Trail to Xenia, then the Ohio to Erie Trail up to Columbus. The final ten miles or so of the day involved negotiating suburban Columbus roads, and we found the drivers there to be generally rude and not at all friendly to cyclists.
Day 33 — Columbus, OH to St Clairsville, OH — 131 Miles We picked our way east and north from Groveport, eventually joining old US 40 and following it through Cambridge, where we picked up Highway 265 and followed it east through Salesville and Quaker City. We picked up Highway 147 through Barnesville, then north on Highway 149 at Belmont to US 40, which we followed east to St. Clairsville. Note that at Cambridge, there was a very short bike path that followed the road for a few miles, then ended abruptly.
Day 34 — St Clairsville, OH to Grantsville, MD — 118 Miles We followed US 40 east into Wheeling in West Virginia, where we picked up a bike path for several miles, which eventually dropped us back off at US 40 east of town. We stayed on US 40 into the town of Washington in Pennsylvania, where we made the mistake of following US 40 from Washington to Grantsville in Maryland. This stretch of US 40 is marked by short and steep climbs and descents all the way, bad traffic, and no shoulder. Note that we SHOULD HAVE followed the route I had pre-mapped, which would have had us leave US 40 in Washington, continuing east to a point where we would have picked up the GAP (Great Allegheny Passage) trail and taken that all the way to Cumberland. We didn’t use the GAP trail, but should have. A highlight of the day was another mistake I made. In West Alexander, we followed the Old National Pike, which put us on gravel for several miles and added miles and time to our day. As it turned out, by making that mistake we ended up being treated to several miles of riding along a beautiful old road through what felt like quintessential Appalachian countryside, dropping us back off on US 40 just before Claysville.
Day 35 — Grantsville, MD to Hagerstown, MD — 94 Miles We rode east on the Old National Pike (or US 40) into Cumberland, then east on Highway 144 to National Pike Road. We followed National Pike Road through the hills, stopping to enjoy the view at Town Hill. We stayed on National Pike Road, which became McFarland Road, then turned right on National Pike Road up and over the hill. This became Highway144 again into Hancock, where we picked up the Western Maryland Rail Trail for several miles before jumping back to US 40 into Hagerstown.
Day 36 — Hagerstown, MD to Annapolis, MD — 98 Miles We followed US 40 and Highway 144 into Ellicott City, then meandering along bike paths and local roads over to the Baltimore Annapolis Bikeway, which took us home into Annapolis.
Chapter 13
Trip Statistics Get your facts first, and then you can distort them as much as you please. Mark Twain quoted by Rudyard Kipling, From Sea to Sea and Other Sketches, Letters of Travel
B
elow is a table describing the nuts and bolts statistics of the ride, day by day, mile by mile. More detail than any of us should want to know, yet we eat it up. D A Y
Begin
End
Miles
Gross Climb (Ft)
Avg Spd mph
Low (F)
High (F)
1 Monterey, CA
Carmel, CA
8
868
10.4
55
66
2 Carmel, CA
Lucia, CA
52
5923
11.4
52
70
3 Lucia, CA
Paso Robles, CA
78
8679
12.0
46
97
4 Paso Robles, CA
Frazier Park, CA
151
5088
10.9
35
82
5 Frazier Park, CA
Victorville, CA
113
1968
14.6
37
92
6 Victorville, CA
Twentynine Palms, CA
90
2251
14.7
52
102
7
Twentynine Palms, CA
Parker, AZ
113
2175
17.8
55
103
8 Parker AZ
Congress, AZ
110
2873
13.8
59
108
9 Congress, AZ
Sedona, AZ
107
8947
11.6
54
109
10Sedona, AZ
Tuba City, AZ
106
2054
15.9
71
95
11Tuba City, AZ
Kayenta, AZ
75
2678
15.3
66
103
12Kayenta, AZ
Towaoc, CO
108
3556
15.7
48
103
13Towaoc, CO
Durango, CO
57
3861
12.3
54
93
14Durango, CO
Pagosa Springs, CO
56
3379
12.9
48
99
15Pagosa Springs, CO
Alamosa, CO
96
4791
13.6
47
98
16Alamosa, CO
Walsenberg, CO
72
2129
15.9
50
101
17Trinidad, CO
Springfield, CO
123
2037
15.2
55
86
18Springfield, CO
Plains, KS
138
505
15.2
63
95
19Plains, KS
Coldwater, KS
83
1778
15.8
68
109
20Coldwater, KS
Wellington, KS
114
1890
15.7
72
99
21Wellington, KS
Cottonwood Falls, KS 119
3166
15.1
75
111
22Cottonwood Falls, KS Ottawa, KS
94
3028
15.2
55
91
23Ottawa, KS
Warrensburg, MO
99
3455
14
64
96
24Warrensburg, MO
Hartsburg, MO
104
1813
14.9
61
70
25Hartsburg, MO
Rhineland, MO
49
1815
15
59
72
26Rhineland, MO
Marthasville, MO
25
249
10
63
72
27Marthasville, MO
Alton, IL
76
761
14.5
68
79
28Alton, IL
Greenville, IL
53
883
15.2
67
72
29Greenville, IL
Terra Haute, IN
121
3829
14.6
39
84
30Terra Haute, IN
Plainville, IN
66
2270
14.7
41
88
31Plainville, IN
Richmond, IN
91
2283
15.4
55
88
32Richmond, IN
Columbus, OH
123
2073
16.6
50
77
33Columbus, OH
St. Clairsville, OH
131
6654
16
55
82
34St. Clairsville, OH
Grantsville, MD
118
11368
12.5
39
81
35Grantsville, MD
Hagerstown, MD
94
7963
12.6
39
84
36Hagerstown, MD
Annapolis, MD
98
5876
13.8
66
95
TOTAL 3311
124916
96
3503
14.2
54
97
AVERAGE
Chapter 14
Finish Line We shall not cease from exploration And the end of all our exploring Will be to arrive where we started And know the place for the first time. T.S. Eliot, Four Quartets
hope this guide has been both informative and enjoyable. I love talking about this stuff, so I encourage you to reach out to me through my website (http://neilhanson.com) or email (
[email protected]) any time. I’d love to see cross-country touring continue to grow in popularity, and anything I can do to help you plan a trip would be a pleasure. There are a number of additional touring books out there with details regarding their style, provisions, and equipment. These would be good for anyone contemplating a long trip, since contrasting equipment and provision lists might be helpful in finding the style you feel most comfortable with. I mentioned before that there are some I’ve read that describe touring and camping, carrying less than 20 pounds total. For more route information, I’d recommend joining the Adventure Cycling Association and tapping into the many resources they make available. While I didn’t follow any of their routes on this trip, I have done so on other trips. The route I took across the country fit my desire for low traffic and a widely varied slice of America, and I’d strongly recommend some version of my route if your requirements are the same. Finally, I’d like you to consider buying the books that tell the real story of my cross-country ride. Pilgrim Wheels is an award-winning exploration of my experiences along the western half of the route, from Monterey on the west coast to Medicine Lodge, Kansas. Pilgrim Spokes is both a thorough exploration of my experiences along the eastern half of the ride and a deeply personal story of transition. In both books, I share the trip in a very personal (and hopefully insightful) way, bringing you along on the journey the best way I know how—with my words. Both books are widely available, and can be purchased directly from me at my website (http://neilhanson.com) or from any bookseller. What Did You Think?
I
Review this book on Amazon Review this book on Goodreads Neil would love your feedback directly:
[email protected] Buy Pilgrim Wheels - The first part of the journey story based on Neil’s cross country trip, from Monterey on the west coast to Medicine Lodge in Kansas. Buy Pilgrim Spokes - The conclusion of the journey story based on Neil’s cross country trip, from Medicine Lodge in Kansas to Annapolis on the east coast. Images and Pictures This eBook version of The Pilgrim Way is published without images to keep digital transmission costs down. The paperback version of the book can be purchased from any bookseller, and is complete with images from the ride across the country. In addition, you can go to my website (neilhanson.com) and see many of the images posted there. About the Author A lifelong cyclist, Neil Hanson’s two-wheeled adventures have taken him across America, along the Natchez Trace and many of the nation’s rail-trails, and throughout northern Italy. Originally from Kansas, Neil currently lives in Colorado, where he navigates his bicycle up and down the inclines of the Rocky Mountains. His books include two deep and introspective journey stories woven around his cross-country trip—Pilgrim Wheels and Pilgrim Spokes—as well as this how-to minimalist-touring guide.
More by Neil M Hanson This book has been a very how to-oriented guide to minimalist bicycle touring. Most of what Neil writes falls into the Creative Nonfiction category. He likes to call it the Art of Truth. It’s reflective storytelling; searching for insight, wrestling with experience for wisdom and perspective. Pilgrim Wheels is a deep exploration of the western half of Neil’s bicycle journey across America. Winner of over a dozen literary awards, including first place in both the Independent Publisher Living Now Book Awards and the National Indie Excellence Awards. Pilgrim Spokes explores the eastern half of Neil’s journey across America, and includes a deeply personal story of transition. Released in May, 2016. Peace at the Edge of Uncertainty is a spiritual story of transition that shares the final days and hours that a man shares with his dying father, and the mystical events that are part of that experience.