Check out the week seven pictures! Here is the link:
http://transam2010.blogspot.com/
Monday, November 29, 2010
Sunday, November 21, 2010
Saturday's mini post: We Made it!
Full details of our final ride will be posted once the sand settles and we have had time to recover from our celebrations.......which were hearty indeed and involved particularly potent margaritas.
Let the record show that at 3:30 PM on Saturday November 20th, Carl and Peter rolled onto the sand, shed unneccessary gear and dipped their front wheels into the Atlantic Ocean!
The exact spot was St. Augustine Beach, Florida. The blessed event was witnessed by Bill Conway, Gina Tippit, Jeff Fallon, Warren Morris and Liz Tippit, who secretly flew in from Cleveland and surprised us with her presence. Liz brought horns, Hawaiian lais, bunting and champagne. It was quite an event!
Carl and Peter not only dipped their tires in the ocean, but they held their bikes high over their heads in victory. The last ocean water they had been in was the Pacific, 48 days earlier. Huzzah!
So, it is finished. The full details and final stats will follow in due course, but not even this blog can capture what a ride it's been. Thanks for following us, and thanks for caring. God Bless.
Let the record show that at 3:30 PM on Saturday November 20th, Carl and Peter rolled onto the sand, shed unneccessary gear and dipped their front wheels into the Atlantic Ocean!
The exact spot was St. Augustine Beach, Florida. The blessed event was witnessed by Bill Conway, Gina Tippit, Jeff Fallon, Warren Morris and Liz Tippit, who secretly flew in from Cleveland and surprised us with her presence. Liz brought horns, Hawaiian lais, bunting and champagne. It was quite an event!
Carl and Peter not only dipped their tires in the ocean, but they held their bikes high over their heads in victory. The last ocean water they had been in was the Pacific, 48 days earlier. Huzzah!
So, it is finished. The full details and final stats will follow in due course, but not even this blog can capture what a ride it's been. Thanks for following us, and thanks for caring. God Bless.
Friday's Post- We're Gonna Make it!
Today’s guest blogger is Jeff Fallon.
“We may not have a home to call our own, but we’re gonna make it.” Performed admirably by B.B. King
Quote of the day:
“The music helped my riding, but losing the burrito was a real game changer.” Jeff Fallon
Carl and Peter, after six weeks, have settled into a comfortable mode of guidance. They shepherd us across the lands with savvy skill such as is chronicled in Louie Hammer novels. Organized and patient, they wait for the rest of us to “get it.”
Bill leads as you would expect. He rides hard, encourages others and occasionally cajoles free financial advice from Carl. “Buy! Sell! Sell! Buy!”
Gina is too kind to us. Always an encouraging word and an extra effort to make us comfortable. Fresh vegetables and high end cheese await us at every stop.
Warren brought a good set of legs and a better sense of humor. Further, he engineered an upgrade to Sam Adams in our beer cooler. He has certainly carried his weight on the trip.
As for me, I am having the time of my life. A therapy appointment is being scheduled now because I am beginning to regret that we have only one more day of riding!
Yesterday was just a little different from today. After a cold start and a hilly exit from the state capital, we settled into a steady rhythm of mooing at cows, dodging broken armadillos and outrunning red nosed pit bulls. My only real concern came when the turkey vultures decided to fly over us for a period. I was hoping that it was one of the other fellows they thought was about to expire.
Today we left a beautiful spot called high springs and traversed Gainesville courtesy of some incredibly beautiful bike trails. I ruined my record of no flats this morning by recording three in the parking lot. One courtesy of the road and two self inflicted. Peter resolved the situation.
As we left the bike trails and paced ourselves against the trucks pushing 65-70 mph, we worked our way to the world famous Lochloosa Fish Camp. We were greeted by a six foot black snake who didn’t take kindly to having me run over his tail. We were issued the camp’s “flagship” lodge and two premium cabins. These are so special that I was even handed a TV changer with my room key! I was glad we got here early enough that I could figure out how to lock the doors; the dueling banjos are starting to strum!
We may not have a home, but we’re gonna make it! Thanks to the crew, it couldn’t get any better!
“We may not have a home to call our own, but we’re gonna make it.” Performed admirably by B.B. King
Quote of the day:
“The music helped my riding, but losing the burrito was a real game changer.” Jeff Fallon
Carl and Peter, after six weeks, have settled into a comfortable mode of guidance. They shepherd us across the lands with savvy skill such as is chronicled in Louie Hammer novels. Organized and patient, they wait for the rest of us to “get it.”
Bill leads as you would expect. He rides hard, encourages others and occasionally cajoles free financial advice from Carl. “Buy! Sell! Sell! Buy!”
Gina is too kind to us. Always an encouraging word and an extra effort to make us comfortable. Fresh vegetables and high end cheese await us at every stop.
Warren brought a good set of legs and a better sense of humor. Further, he engineered an upgrade to Sam Adams in our beer cooler. He has certainly carried his weight on the trip.
As for me, I am having the time of my life. A therapy appointment is being scheduled now because I am beginning to regret that we have only one more day of riding!
Yesterday was just a little different from today. After a cold start and a hilly exit from the state capital, we settled into a steady rhythm of mooing at cows, dodging broken armadillos and outrunning red nosed pit bulls. My only real concern came when the turkey vultures decided to fly over us for a period. I was hoping that it was one of the other fellows they thought was about to expire.
Today we left a beautiful spot called high springs and traversed Gainesville courtesy of some incredibly beautiful bike trails. I ruined my record of no flats this morning by recording three in the parking lot. One courtesy of the road and two self inflicted. Peter resolved the situation.
As we left the bike trails and paced ourselves against the trucks pushing 65-70 mph, we worked our way to the world famous Lochloosa Fish Camp. We were greeted by a six foot black snake who didn’t take kindly to having me run over his tail. We were issued the camp’s “flagship” lodge and two premium cabins. These are so special that I was even handed a TV changer with my room key! I was glad we got here early enough that I could figure out how to lock the doors; the dueling banjos are starting to strum!
We may not have a home, but we’re gonna make it! Thanks to the crew, it couldn’t get any better!
Friday, November 19, 2010
“I’m a stranger in a strange land.”
Day 46: “I’m a stranger in a strange land.” Look homeward Angel, Thomas Wolfe 1929. Set to music by Leon Russell 1969
Today’s guest blogger is Warren Morris
Day begins somewhere in Florida 7 miles south of Hwy 90 at the Super 8 motel which near as I can tell is best known for its creative suite numbering system. The aches of day 3 are gone and the voice inside my head that says: “Now why did you think bicycling 420 mile across the state of Florida would be a good idea” has disappeared.
We pedaled for 15 miles and then took a break. Then we did this 6 more times. After rest stop 5 the rest of the group visited a famous spring. It had a long name, more than 25 letters. I remember the last 4 were: “chee”. Then we had dinner at the finest diner in High Springs Florida with another group of cyclists. Wow, you meet interesting people when you travel.
Highlights of Day 46: Bicycled past 2 squished snakes, 3 squished raccoons and 14 squished possum. Apparently missed two squished armadillos.
Color Commentary:
Cold start; high 30’s. Not a cloud in the sky. Commandant Conway has us assembled at 7:45am. He runs a tight ship. Horsing around is not permitted. I’m usually the last to arrive, but that is because I’m the only one with 12 pieces of luggage which takes a long time to repack.
Today’s route; 90 miles.
A highpoint of each day is seeing Ms. Vanna and Benny on the horizon at the end of each 15 mile leg, a sign that soon we will rest our weary legs and rear ends and consume mass quantities of block bars, gu packs and water. Ms. Gina drives Ms. Vanna. Aside from being the best looking one in the group, she has elevated the status of the “Vanna Café” from deli fare to haut cuisine. Camembert and fine crackers are now on the lunch table next to the peanut butter and jelly. In addition to her epicurean qualities, Ms. Gina has mastered control of the unwieldy Ms Vanna/Benny behemoth. In just days she is exhibiting trailer maneuvering skills that only people with advanced truck driving degrees can perform. Betsi my dear, I would pay good money to video you backing this rig up a driveway.
Near as I can tell, people in Florida don’t ride bicycles and if they do they’re unaccustomed to seeing people dressed in bicycle outfits and bicycle hats. You get a lot of “What the hell are you doing out heeere on a biiiiiicycle” looks. I do sense an affinity for pick up trucks and swamp music.
Invariably life teaches you lessons. On this trip I’ve learned that dogs love people who bicycle. There appear to be 3 kinds of dogs in Florida, 1) Nice dogs behind fences who bark “Hello, it’s nice to have you in Florida” 2)Mean dogs behind fences who bark “if I could get out of here I’d come and chomp you” and 3) Dogs who wait in the middle of the street for people on bicycles they can come and eat.
I’ve also learned there are 3 kinds of people who drive cars. 1) The group who offers a friendly “toot toot” or smiles and waves as they drive by 2) The group who blasts their horn as they approach from behind and continue as they whiz by, causing you to jump off your bicycle seat and 3) The group that tries to hit you for sport.
Luckily, just about every dog and person we have met was from group 1. What a fabulous adventure this has been.
Today’s guest blogger is Warren Morris
Day begins somewhere in Florida 7 miles south of Hwy 90 at the Super 8 motel which near as I can tell is best known for its creative suite numbering system. The aches of day 3 are gone and the voice inside my head that says: “Now why did you think bicycling 420 mile across the state of Florida would be a good idea” has disappeared.
We pedaled for 15 miles and then took a break. Then we did this 6 more times. After rest stop 5 the rest of the group visited a famous spring. It had a long name, more than 25 letters. I remember the last 4 were: “chee”. Then we had dinner at the finest diner in High Springs Florida with another group of cyclists. Wow, you meet interesting people when you travel.
Highlights of Day 46: Bicycled past 2 squished snakes, 3 squished raccoons and 14 squished possum. Apparently missed two squished armadillos.
Color Commentary:
Cold start; high 30’s. Not a cloud in the sky. Commandant Conway has us assembled at 7:45am. He runs a tight ship. Horsing around is not permitted. I’m usually the last to arrive, but that is because I’m the only one with 12 pieces of luggage which takes a long time to repack.
Today’s route; 90 miles.
A highpoint of each day is seeing Ms. Vanna and Benny on the horizon at the end of each 15 mile leg, a sign that soon we will rest our weary legs and rear ends and consume mass quantities of block bars, gu packs and water. Ms. Gina drives Ms. Vanna. Aside from being the best looking one in the group, she has elevated the status of the “Vanna Café” from deli fare to haut cuisine. Camembert and fine crackers are now on the lunch table next to the peanut butter and jelly. In addition to her epicurean qualities, Ms. Gina has mastered control of the unwieldy Ms Vanna/Benny behemoth. In just days she is exhibiting trailer maneuvering skills that only people with advanced truck driving degrees can perform. Betsi my dear, I would pay good money to video you backing this rig up a driveway.
Near as I can tell, people in Florida don’t ride bicycles and if they do they’re unaccustomed to seeing people dressed in bicycle outfits and bicycle hats. You get a lot of “What the hell are you doing out heeere on a biiiiiicycle” looks. I do sense an affinity for pick up trucks and swamp music.
Invariably life teaches you lessons. On this trip I’ve learned that dogs love people who bicycle. There appear to be 3 kinds of dogs in Florida, 1) Nice dogs behind fences who bark “Hello, it’s nice to have you in Florida” 2)Mean dogs behind fences who bark “if I could get out of here I’d come and chomp you” and 3) Dogs who wait in the middle of the street for people on bicycles they can come and eat.
I’ve also learned there are 3 kinds of people who drive cars. 1) The group who offers a friendly “toot toot” or smiles and waves as they drive by 2) The group who blasts their horn as they approach from behind and continue as they whiz by, causing you to jump off your bicycle seat and 3) The group that tries to hit you for sport.
Luckily, just about every dog and person we have met was from group 1. What a fabulous adventure this has been.
Thursday, November 18, 2010
Special Post: Dogfights over American Soil
(This is a special blog. Please scroll down to read the daily blogs by our guest authors.)
“Are you a dog person or a cat person?” This topic always comes up over drinks on long trips. Most of our riders these past seven weeks have been dog people; only Charles Breer joined me as an unabashed cat person. Must run in the family, as I think the cats far outnumber the dogs among my relatives. The twin facts that Charles Breer prefers cats over dogs and has cycled more miles than the rest of us combined are, in my opinion, related.
How any long distance cyclist can be a dog person rather than a cat person baffles me. As individuals there may be a few nice dogs, but as a species they are hell bent on tormenting cyclists. Cats, on the other hand, treat cyclists with deference and respect. No cat has ever dashed from its yard, yowling at the top of its lungs, teeth barred, claws extended, intent on sinking its fangs into my unprotected flesh. With dogs this is a daily occurrence. I rest my case.
So then, what is a cyclist to do when the inevitable unprovoked assault by a dog takes place? It has been a frequent source of discussion due to the sheer number of dogs who have taken great interest in disrupting our passage through their neighborhood. As a public service I pass along the various strategies and tactics favored by our TRANSAM riders.
Charles Breer outruns them. Seeing that Charles is sometimes called upon to substitute when the mechanical rabbit is broken at the Minneapolis greyhound track, his strategy does not have universal application. But my dog detecting sixth sense is now so fine tuned after seven weeks of riding, that I can often get a jump the moment a dog rises from its lair to commence the chase.
“You don’t have to out run the dogs”, comments Jeff Fallon. “You just have to be able to pedal faster than the folks you are cycling with.” Please keep Jeff’s strategy in mind next time you find yourself riding next to him on a lonely stretch of country road.
Michael Novak relies on his charm to beguile the canine population. Whenever he sees a dog, he whistles to it and calls it to his side. This is most disconcerting to me when I have almost slipped unnoticed past a Rottweiler only to have Michael whistle him up. Michael also pedals faster than me.
Scott Emerson is a traditionalist. His six foot four frame is a deterrent in itself, but he relies on grabbing his bike pump from its holder and brandishing it at any dog who dares approach. This method requires that you both have a bike pump handy and that you can extract it from underneath your legs without wrecking.
Carl Tippit, like the experienced pilot he is, relies on situational awareness. He sizes up the speed of the dog, the angle of approach and his chance of outrunning his foe. He then either sprints past them, makes evasive maneuvers, or, taking a page from Michael’s book, he stops, dismounts and pets them on the head. After seeing Carl stop and pet a German Shepherd who was barring his path, we call him the Dog Whisperer.
Chris Hitchcock uses a clever strategy. Just as the dog is about to rip out a piece of his hamstring, he commands, “Stay!” Apparently most dogs know this command and obey long enough for him to escape their clutches. I think I’ll try this myself. Except I’ll yell, “Sic him!” Especially if I’m riding with Jeff or Michael.
I will end with a final caution: never underestimate your canine foe. My closest call to being mauled came from a fluffy toy poodle wearing a pink coat. Another close call came from a pack of ferocious west Texas hounds caged inside a chain link fence. Wish I had known about the hole in the fence. They most certainly did.
“Are you a dog person or a cat person?” This topic always comes up over drinks on long trips. Most of our riders these past seven weeks have been dog people; only Charles Breer joined me as an unabashed cat person. Must run in the family, as I think the cats far outnumber the dogs among my relatives. The twin facts that Charles Breer prefers cats over dogs and has cycled more miles than the rest of us combined are, in my opinion, related.
How any long distance cyclist can be a dog person rather than a cat person baffles me. As individuals there may be a few nice dogs, but as a species they are hell bent on tormenting cyclists. Cats, on the other hand, treat cyclists with deference and respect. No cat has ever dashed from its yard, yowling at the top of its lungs, teeth barred, claws extended, intent on sinking its fangs into my unprotected flesh. With dogs this is a daily occurrence. I rest my case.
So then, what is a cyclist to do when the inevitable unprovoked assault by a dog takes place? It has been a frequent source of discussion due to the sheer number of dogs who have taken great interest in disrupting our passage through their neighborhood. As a public service I pass along the various strategies and tactics favored by our TRANSAM riders.
Charles Breer outruns them. Seeing that Charles is sometimes called upon to substitute when the mechanical rabbit is broken at the Minneapolis greyhound track, his strategy does not have universal application. But my dog detecting sixth sense is now so fine tuned after seven weeks of riding, that I can often get a jump the moment a dog rises from its lair to commence the chase.
“You don’t have to out run the dogs”, comments Jeff Fallon. “You just have to be able to pedal faster than the folks you are cycling with.” Please keep Jeff’s strategy in mind next time you find yourself riding next to him on a lonely stretch of country road.
Michael Novak relies on his charm to beguile the canine population. Whenever he sees a dog, he whistles to it and calls it to his side. This is most disconcerting to me when I have almost slipped unnoticed past a Rottweiler only to have Michael whistle him up. Michael also pedals faster than me.
Scott Emerson is a traditionalist. His six foot four frame is a deterrent in itself, but he relies on grabbing his bike pump from its holder and brandishing it at any dog who dares approach. This method requires that you both have a bike pump handy and that you can extract it from underneath your legs without wrecking.
Carl Tippit, like the experienced pilot he is, relies on situational awareness. He sizes up the speed of the dog, the angle of approach and his chance of outrunning his foe. He then either sprints past them, makes evasive maneuvers, or, taking a page from Michael’s book, he stops, dismounts and pets them on the head. After seeing Carl stop and pet a German Shepherd who was barring his path, we call him the Dog Whisperer.
Chris Hitchcock uses a clever strategy. Just as the dog is about to rip out a piece of his hamstring, he commands, “Stay!” Apparently most dogs know this command and obey long enough for him to escape their clutches. I think I’ll try this myself. Except I’ll yell, “Sic him!” Especially if I’m riding with Jeff or Michael.
I will end with a final caution: never underestimate your canine foe. My closest call to being mauled came from a fluffy toy poodle wearing a pink coat. Another close call came from a pack of ferocious west Texas hounds caged inside a chain link fence. Wish I had known about the hole in the fence. They most certainly did.
Wednesday, November 17, 2010
Easy Ridin'
Today's guest blogger is Gina Tippit
Gina here, at the end of day 3 this final week of the cross-country bike trek. It was a great day today - the weather was in the mid-seventies, the hills were minimal, the road conditions were excellent, there were not too many vehicles on the road, the wind let up early - perfect. Of course, I was driving - the bikers may have a different take on the day! Easy Ridin'.
The gang rode a total of 85 miles today, through the towns of Woodville, Wacissa, Waukeenah, Monticello, Greenville, to our final destination of Madison, Florida. The guys started with a nice 10 mile bike trail south of Tallahassee, and then traveled the back roads of Florida, with varying degrees of hills and headwinds. As Carl passed through Greenville, he detoured past the Ray Charles Memorial which was located in a small city park - apparently Ray Charles spent his formative years in Greenville.
We ate a relatively quick dinner this evening at the local Mexican restaurant, El Carrisal. 'Tis a dry county, so there were no margaritas flowing this evening, much to the dismay of the gang. Fortunately, Corona beer with lime was available and that sufficed. We retired early to get ready for day 4 of the final week.
The gang rode a total of 85 miles today, through the towns of Woodville, Wacissa, Waukeenah, Monticello, Greenville, to our final destination of Madison, Florida. The guys started with a nice 10 mile bike trail south of Tallahassee, and then traveled the back roads of Florida, with varying degrees of hills and headwinds. As Carl passed through Greenville, he detoured past the Ray Charles Memorial which was located in a small city park - apparently Ray Charles spent his formative years in Greenville.
We ate a relatively quick dinner this evening at the local Mexican restaurant, El Carrisal. 'Tis a dry county, so there were no margaritas flowing this evening, much to the dismay of the gang. Fortunately, Corona beer with lime was available and that sufficed. We retired early to get ready for day 4 of the final week.
Tuesday, November 16, 2010
Warren Peace in the Florida Panhandle
Today’s guest blogger is Bill Conway
As a group we dodged the weather bullet today as the forecasted heavy rain, thunderstorms and possible tornados went by to the East. However, one of our group took a bullet for the team so to speak as Warren Morris was knocked to the ground by a car driven by an unknown local Redneck as we were leaving the town of Quincy, FL. Look for the write-up in your copy of the “Quincy Times”, as a reporter showed up almost as fast as the EMS. Fortunately Warren suffered only a bruised ego and scrapes on his left arm and side. This was compensated for by the attention of a cute EMS intern who treated him. Warren’s bike was somewhat more abused and needed a triage by Carl, Jeff and at least three Tallahassee bike shops to resuscitate it. Fortunately there was a miraculous cure by 5:30 PM. Meanwhile, Warren bought his concerned fellow travelers beers at a Tallahassee watering hole.
This is the first such incident experienced during Carl and Peter’s journey and we were all relieved that it wasn’t more serious. Warren is raring to go, especially after the fantastic seafood dinner we had at ”Barnacle Bills” in the company of Lawrence, a US Coast Guardsman who Peter met in the Courtyard by Marriott hot tub as the rest of us were cheering Warren up over the beers he bought. We heard from him that after some messed up PR he feels that BP has done a good job in the recovery and in working with the government agencies.
As to the biking today, except for the Warren's mishap it was generally manageable with just a couple of steep hills that I used my seniority to avoid. Jeff continued to have gearing problems which he was able to get fixed at Warren’s bike shop. He is now “all geared up” to go to the Atlantic Ocean. We went through some nice farm and ranch country as well as some nice and not so nice communities. The Panhandle is described as more of the true Florida in history and descendents of settlers rather than Southern Florida where all the Yankees have moved in. I am thoroughly enjoying trying to keep up, but with Gina Tippit’s help I’ve kept things manageable.
As a group we dodged the weather bullet today as the forecasted heavy rain, thunderstorms and possible tornados went by to the East. However, one of our group took a bullet for the team so to speak as Warren Morris was knocked to the ground by a car driven by an unknown local Redneck as we were leaving the town of Quincy, FL. Look for the write-up in your copy of the “Quincy Times”, as a reporter showed up almost as fast as the EMS. Fortunately Warren suffered only a bruised ego and scrapes on his left arm and side. This was compensated for by the attention of a cute EMS intern who treated him. Warren’s bike was somewhat more abused and needed a triage by Carl, Jeff and at least three Tallahassee bike shops to resuscitate it. Fortunately there was a miraculous cure by 5:30 PM. Meanwhile, Warren bought his concerned fellow travelers beers at a Tallahassee watering hole.
This is the first such incident experienced during Carl and Peter’s journey and we were all relieved that it wasn’t more serious. Warren is raring to go, especially after the fantastic seafood dinner we had at ”Barnacle Bills” in the company of Lawrence, a US Coast Guardsman who Peter met in the Courtyard by Marriott hot tub as the rest of us were cheering Warren up over the beers he bought. We heard from him that after some messed up PR he feels that BP has done a good job in the recovery and in working with the government agencies.
As to the biking today, except for the Warren's mishap it was generally manageable with just a couple of steep hills that I used my seniority to avoid. Jeff continued to have gearing problems which he was able to get fixed at Warren’s bike shop. He is now “all geared up” to go to the Atlantic Ocean. We went through some nice farm and ranch country as well as some nice and not so nice communities. The Panhandle is described as more of the true Florida in history and descendents of settlers rather than Southern Florida where all the Yankees have moved in. I am thoroughly enjoying trying to keep up, but with Gina Tippit’s help I’ve kept things manageable.
Monday, November 15, 2010
Out Runnin the Rain
We are back on the road for our final week – Week 7. We began the day in DeFuniak Springs, north of Panama City and east of Pensacola with about 425 miles to go to the Atlantic. Our new team of Warren, Jeff and Bill were eager to get on the road, having been briefed on the weather conditions building behind us. The first real threat of rain we have seen in a couple weeks is upon us. Today’s forecast was for showers in DeFuniak by 4PM. In fact, it was there by 2. With that incentive and fresh legs on our 3 new riders, we skipped town early and made it to our destination a couple of hours before the rain hit. Now we are just hoping the storms keep up their speed through the night and gets ahead of us for tomorrow’s ride. Our new driver and support Captain, Gina, figured out the routine pretty quickly and even received a free lesson in backing up a van with a trailer.
Last week was completely flat-free. A collective 1850 miles by our 5 riders with no mechanical problems or flat tires. We hoped that we would go another week without a problem, but of course, once you begin to think that way, it happens. Jeff began the ride with a strong pace and excitement to get the week underway. By our first break however, he had experienced minor problems with his gear shift, which made his 27 speed bike a 3 speed bike. The good news is that the ride, though there were some minor hills, was relatively flat and the conditions perfect. But minor problems became major problems by lunch where the shifter was not working at all and Jeff had to ride on with essentially the 3 speeds. It was like a throw back to your first bike with the pedal brakes. We are also in northern Florida, which Gina has described as very similar to Central Panama and not just the terrain. There are very few bike shops around and fewer mechanics. Jeff may have to ride it another day until we reach Tallahassee where some parts and mechanics can be found. But to Jeff’s credit, he claimed it a great day anyway and is just glad to be out riding with this group. He said it made it a tougher ride than it should have been but he liked the workout.
So where are we? We are in Marianna, Fl. Population of about 6,000 but it has 3 Dollar General stores. I am beginning to understand why that stock has performed so well- they are everywhere down here. Marianna was first settled in about 1825, built on the Mercantile business. The town center was quaint and had an old time feel to it despite Route 90 blazing through the center. Rt 90 is a major cross-state and cross-country road and on either side of the town are lined chain stores, auto repair, restaurants and various proprietorships selling just about anything. The natural attraction is the Chipola River, a tributary off the Apalachicola River. Supposedly one of the clearest in the State, it attracts lots of fishing for its abundant largemouth bass and redear sunfish.
So we are down to our last set of maps and today we are only 370 miles away from the beach. It has been a great ride which has been made even better with the weekly infusions of new riders and drivers who have delivered fun and enthusiasm. What a ride.
Map to Date:
http://www.mapmyride.com/route/us/ca/san%20diego/125128986051999135
Thanks for following - Carl
Sunday, November 14, 2010
In Transition
We are in transition here in Defuniak Springs, FL. This morning we convened at the Waffle House at 7 AM, forcing waffles and other fried foods down our gullets while bidding adieu to the intrepid week 6 crew of Liz, Walter, Chris and Curt. They have been a joy to have with us; we shall certainly miss their smiling faces and gung ho spirit. I then trundled them off to the spanking new Panama City Airport for their flight home.
Whatever prompted Carl and me to tell folks that it did not matter if they joined us in Panama City or Pensacola is a mystery. The two airports are 110 miles apart. So, having dropped off the week 6 crowd, Vanna and I sped off to pick up the week 7 crowd who were arriving in Pensacola. Bill Conway, Gina Tippit, Warren Morris and Jeff Fallon are riding with us this week to shepherd us across the state of Florida until we are able, next Saturday, to dip our front tires into the Atlantic Ocean. It is hard to believe that we only have one week left in our peripatetic peregrination.
The final ride for week six was a peaceful one which included a section of rail trail, a bucolic ride through quiet back roads and thru sleepy little hamlets with names like Holt, Milligan and Mossy Head. On the rail trail we met a new group of Southern Tier trekkers – Cleon, Paul and Kathy from Fort Collins, CO. The three retirees are in the final stages of a multi-year quest to ride all the perimeters of the USA. The have done the East Coast, the West Coast, the Canadian Border, and now are finishing up the Southern Tier. We rode with them for most of the day and they joined us for dinner in DeFuniak Springs.
Cleon rides a recumbent bike WITH A MOTOR ATTACHED! He had the motor installed this spring when he was rehabilitating from knee surgery and could not pedal very much. Nine months later he is pedaling just fine, but the motor stays on his bike. “The rehabilitation is going much more slowly than I had imagined” he says with a wink. With his electric motor, Cleon reminds me of the road runner in the old cartoons. You will be riding beside him, both pedaling away. Then he will see a car, push a button and rocket forward leaving you in a cloud of dust. Is a motor what the future holds in store for the rest of us?
We had a wonderful group dinner in the historic section of DeFuniak Springs at “ Bogeys “, an elegant yet reasonably priced establishment with images of the great Humphrey adorning the walls. In addition to our new friends, Carl’s sister Chris drove up from Panama City with her friend David. We got a little local color from them on DeFuniak Springs. It is known for its spring fed lake, purportedly one of only two perfectly round natural lakes in the world. It also has a Chautauqua Institute, based on the original in New York State and part of a national movement in the early years of the 20th century. Unfortunately for DeFuniak, the main building was destroyed by a Hurricane in 1975 and although some of the buildings remain, the Institute is only a fond memory.
All too soon, our trip will only be a fond memory. We have just one week and 425 miles left. That’s hard to believe. Then again, that we have been blessed with the opportunity to do this at all is hard to believe. So for one last rendition, we will let the good times roll. On to the Atlantic!
To see the progress of our ride up until November 13th, here is the link:
http://www.mapmyride.com/route/us/ca/san%20diego/622128965175312017
Whatever prompted Carl and me to tell folks that it did not matter if they joined us in Panama City or Pensacola is a mystery. The two airports are 110 miles apart. So, having dropped off the week 6 crowd, Vanna and I sped off to pick up the week 7 crowd who were arriving in Pensacola. Bill Conway, Gina Tippit, Warren Morris and Jeff Fallon are riding with us this week to shepherd us across the state of Florida until we are able, next Saturday, to dip our front tires into the Atlantic Ocean. It is hard to believe that we only have one week left in our peripatetic peregrination.
The final ride for week six was a peaceful one which included a section of rail trail, a bucolic ride through quiet back roads and thru sleepy little hamlets with names like Holt, Milligan and Mossy Head. On the rail trail we met a new group of Southern Tier trekkers – Cleon, Paul and Kathy from Fort Collins, CO. The three retirees are in the final stages of a multi-year quest to ride all the perimeters of the USA. The have done the East Coast, the West Coast, the Canadian Border, and now are finishing up the Southern Tier. We rode with them for most of the day and they joined us for dinner in DeFuniak Springs.
Cleon rides a recumbent bike WITH A MOTOR ATTACHED! He had the motor installed this spring when he was rehabilitating from knee surgery and could not pedal very much. Nine months later he is pedaling just fine, but the motor stays on his bike. “The rehabilitation is going much more slowly than I had imagined” he says with a wink. With his electric motor, Cleon reminds me of the road runner in the old cartoons. You will be riding beside him, both pedaling away. Then he will see a car, push a button and rocket forward leaving you in a cloud of dust. Is a motor what the future holds in store for the rest of us?
We had a wonderful group dinner in the historic section of DeFuniak Springs at “ Bogeys “, an elegant yet reasonably priced establishment with images of the great Humphrey adorning the walls. In addition to our new friends, Carl’s sister Chris drove up from Panama City with her friend David. We got a little local color from them on DeFuniak Springs. It is known for its spring fed lake, purportedly one of only two perfectly round natural lakes in the world. It also has a Chautauqua Institute, based on the original in New York State and part of a national movement in the early years of the 20th century. Unfortunately for DeFuniak, the main building was destroyed by a Hurricane in 1975 and although some of the buildings remain, the Institute is only a fond memory.
All too soon, our trip will only be a fond memory. We have just one week and 425 miles left. That’s hard to believe. Then again, that we have been blessed with the opportunity to do this at all is hard to believe. So for one last rendition, we will let the good times roll. On to the Atlantic!
To see the progress of our ride up until November 13th, here is the link:
http://www.mapmyride.com/route/us/ca/san%20diego/622128965175312017
Friday, November 12, 2010
The Scenic Hills of Pensacola
Today's guest blogger is Curt Johnson, intrepid driver of Vanna these past two weeks.
It was a beautiful morning at the beach home of Mr. and Mrs. James Adams, aptly named “Sittin on the dock of the Bay” on Perdido Bay, which was once known as Lake Perdido. It is important to note here that Lake Perdido was a freshwater lake until five men, who felt that it was the source of a Malaria epidemic, dug through the earthen space separating the lake from Gulf of Mexico waters thus permitting salt water to enter the lake in hopes that the mosquito larvae would perish. Unfortunately, there are still mosquitoes in and around the lake today.
Last evening we were fortunate to have the opportunity to read many stories of the local history of this area from the times of the Indians to more recent times. In the era before DeSoto (about the 1720’s ), Pensacola was known as Panzacola. This area was occupied by the Yamasee Indians among others. We have learned little of the Yamasee, but we have learned a great deal about other Mississippian Indians who met Hernando DeSoto with promises to provision him at their village. But rather like the Greeks, they gave him a Trojan Horse ambush, which left his expedition greatly diminished even though he was victorious.
Moving forward in time, trouble was brewing between the Indians who got along with the settlers and those who did not. The Red Stick Indians preferred to live in the “old way.” Soon Andrew Jackson, with the help of the Indians who lived well with the settlers, came to war over the land. The Red Sticks were defeated and were forced to sign treaties ceding their lands to the United States in 1814, which amounted to 23 million acres or half the state of current Alabama. This situation was early evidence that everything and everyone must evolve. As an old Botany professor once said as he came across a plant growing where he thought it should not be; “Migrate, mutate (evolve) or die.” Jackson’s victories over the Indians propelled him into the Presidency in 1828, shortly after which he signed the Indian Removal Act calling for the all Eastern tribes, friendly to the settlers or not, to move west to what today is Oklahoma. About one fourth of the Indians perished during the winter of 1838-39 as they were marched west. This holocaust of its time was known as the “Trail of Tears.”
We have learned of the French, Indian and Spanish occupation of this area which ended when the Spanish signed the Adams-Onis treaty on July 17, 1821. This formally ceded Florida to the United States. The United States flag with 24 stars replaced the Spanish Flag flying over Florida that day. However, it was not until 1845 that Florida became a state. The United States flag was not to remain long as the Confederate States of America flag flew over Florida from 1861 onwards . After the Civil War, Florida experienced a lumbering boom and Pensacola’s port was lined with ships loading wood for sale abroad. Perdido Bay, also known as Lake Perdido, was used as a log storage area prior to shipment and prior to use by the many sawmills around the lake. The area around the lake was known as Mill View, Florida.
This morning, we leisurely prepared for a short day of cycling to Milton, Florida through the scenic hills of Pensacola and Escambia Bay. We are back on route 90, which was designated “The Old Spanish Trail” in 1915. It connects San Diego with St. Augustine. As we travel through the red clay “scenic” hills of Pensacola, we are reminded of the millions of red bricks used to build Forts Gaines, Morgan and Pickens, which we have seen the last couple of days on the road. It was the clay from these hills that built those forts.
As we traverse these hills our riders renew their excitement about terrain change. They have been spoiled by too much flat terrain. In spite of the hills, our riders enjoyed another great day, even with the challenges of road construction, barrels, pylons, and the occasional beer can thrown in their direction. It is sad to be reminded that there always seem to be unhappy souls who lack good sense.
We arrive at our motel, The Emerald Sands Inn, to learn that the owner prides herself in having the lowest rates anywhere in the area. Her reasoning is most laudable. She claims that there are many, who because of domestic disputes, need rooms and have little funding. In addition, the manager’s daughter’s ex-boyfriend threw a Molotov cocktail into her apartment causing a fire that burned down the entire apartment building. The manager’s daughter and the other burned out families are now living in our motel as well. So, here we are enjoying the manager’s special at $29.00 per room per night. Wow!
I really managed to win the bone-head of the day award today as I locked the van keys into the trailer (Benny) just when I intended to head off to complete a laundry list of errands, not the least of which was to pick the food for lunch. Luckily, the motel maintenance man had a pair of bolt cutters handy so we could cut the lock off and retrieve the keys. I was able to complete my errands just in time for the group to enjoy some cold, liquid refreshment and a great lunch under Vanna’s awning in the parking lot of the motel. Never-the-less, it was a great day in the scenic hills of Pensacola.
It was a beautiful morning at the beach home of Mr. and Mrs. James Adams, aptly named “Sittin on the dock of the Bay” on Perdido Bay, which was once known as Lake Perdido. It is important to note here that Lake Perdido was a freshwater lake until five men, who felt that it was the source of a Malaria epidemic, dug through the earthen space separating the lake from Gulf of Mexico waters thus permitting salt water to enter the lake in hopes that the mosquito larvae would perish. Unfortunately, there are still mosquitoes in and around the lake today.
Last evening we were fortunate to have the opportunity to read many stories of the local history of this area from the times of the Indians to more recent times. In the era before DeSoto (about the 1720’s ), Pensacola was known as Panzacola. This area was occupied by the Yamasee Indians among others. We have learned little of the Yamasee, but we have learned a great deal about other Mississippian Indians who met Hernando DeSoto with promises to provision him at their village. But rather like the Greeks, they gave him a Trojan Horse ambush, which left his expedition greatly diminished even though he was victorious.
Moving forward in time, trouble was brewing between the Indians who got along with the settlers and those who did not. The Red Stick Indians preferred to live in the “old way.” Soon Andrew Jackson, with the help of the Indians who lived well with the settlers, came to war over the land. The Red Sticks were defeated and were forced to sign treaties ceding their lands to the United States in 1814, which amounted to 23 million acres or half the state of current Alabama. This situation was early evidence that everything and everyone must evolve. As an old Botany professor once said as he came across a plant growing where he thought it should not be; “Migrate, mutate (evolve) or die.” Jackson’s victories over the Indians propelled him into the Presidency in 1828, shortly after which he signed the Indian Removal Act calling for the all Eastern tribes, friendly to the settlers or not, to move west to what today is Oklahoma. About one fourth of the Indians perished during the winter of 1838-39 as they were marched west. This holocaust of its time was known as the “Trail of Tears.”
We have learned of the French, Indian and Spanish occupation of this area which ended when the Spanish signed the Adams-Onis treaty on July 17, 1821. This formally ceded Florida to the United States. The United States flag with 24 stars replaced the Spanish Flag flying over Florida that day. However, it was not until 1845 that Florida became a state. The United States flag was not to remain long as the Confederate States of America flag flew over Florida from 1861 onwards . After the Civil War, Florida experienced a lumbering boom and Pensacola’s port was lined with ships loading wood for sale abroad. Perdido Bay, also known as Lake Perdido, was used as a log storage area prior to shipment and prior to use by the many sawmills around the lake. The area around the lake was known as Mill View, Florida.
This morning, we leisurely prepared for a short day of cycling to Milton, Florida through the scenic hills of Pensacola and Escambia Bay. We are back on route 90, which was designated “The Old Spanish Trail” in 1915. It connects San Diego with St. Augustine. As we travel through the red clay “scenic” hills of Pensacola, we are reminded of the millions of red bricks used to build Forts Gaines, Morgan and Pickens, which we have seen the last couple of days on the road. It was the clay from these hills that built those forts.
As we traverse these hills our riders renew their excitement about terrain change. They have been spoiled by too much flat terrain. In spite of the hills, our riders enjoyed another great day, even with the challenges of road construction, barrels, pylons, and the occasional beer can thrown in their direction. It is sad to be reminded that there always seem to be unhappy souls who lack good sense.
We arrive at our motel, The Emerald Sands Inn, to learn that the owner prides herself in having the lowest rates anywhere in the area. Her reasoning is most laudable. She claims that there are many, who because of domestic disputes, need rooms and have little funding. In addition, the manager’s daughter’s ex-boyfriend threw a Molotov cocktail into her apartment causing a fire that burned down the entire apartment building. The manager’s daughter and the other burned out families are now living in our motel as well. So, here we are enjoying the manager’s special at $29.00 per room per night. Wow!
I really managed to win the bone-head of the day award today as I locked the van keys into the trailer (Benny) just when I intended to head off to complete a laundry list of errands, not the least of which was to pick the food for lunch. Luckily, the motel maintenance man had a pair of bolt cutters handy so we could cut the lock off and retrieve the keys. I was able to complete my errands just in time for the group to enjoy some cold, liquid refreshment and a great lunch under Vanna’s awning in the parking lot of the motel. Never-the-less, it was a great day in the scenic hills of Pensacola.
The Red Neck Riviera
Today's guest blogger is Chris Hitchcock
A late start to catch the 9:30am ferry allowed us to catch up on laundry and get in another gourmet breakfast complete with eggs (our way, NOT your way), sausage, Curt’s potatoes AND, are your ready?, garlic toast! Yeah baby, we’ve created a whole new food category. To be honest, I had forgotten the toast from the evening before and as Vanna just doesn’t have a lot of fridge room we opted to cook it. And it was quite good.
Our good ship MV Marissa Mae Nicole was right on time to take us away from Dauphin Island to Fort Morgan. Side note, the road from our casa to the ferry dock is spelled Bienville. It is pronounced Beenvul! The ferry crosses Mobile Bay. It’s a 25 minute run and takes us by numerous natural gas production platforms. They are all over the place as this is the largest natural gas discovery in the lower 48. The wells are 21,000 ft deep. You gotta think natural gas is a comer for transportation! So, Mobile Bay is the site of a critical Civil War, or should we call it the war of Northern Aggression?, naval battle. The larger United States Navy took on a smaller confederate fleet reducing them all to rubble ‘cept for the ironclad Tennessee which stoicly fought on until it too was beyond fighting. The US victory led to the surrender of the two nearby forts in a few days and combined with the surrender of Atlanta, Lincoln’s re-election was never in doubt. As Walter Ginn advised, this battle was the origin of “damn the torpedoes, full speed ahead” which US Admiral Farrigut proclaimed upon entering the battle. Per Ginn, back in the day, torpedoes were actually mines which forced the ships to hug closer to shore and shore batteries. Mind you we’re not sure how Walter knows all this as he was still in school and could not have been in attendance.
Arriving at Fort Morgan, AL, there are still battlements in evidence but all are now nearly fully grown over. Isn’t it amazing the details you see when bicycling at 14 mph! The 21 mile ride out the Fort Morgan Peninsula to Gulf Shores featured a bike path but should you venture this way, opt OUT as the road is newly paved and the path not so much! Vanna was Johnny on the spot, as usual, for our first and only break before lunch. Knowing of Peter’s penchant for historic markers, we came across one which indicated the first Indian village to be visited by the white man. Named Achuse, it was visited by one of DeSoto’s officers in 1539. Normally there are two stops before lunch but as this was a short ride of 54 miles (that’s short??), this was our only stop before Flora-Bama! What is that you ask? Well let me tell you, it’s not normal but it is a place to stop, for a short time. Our dinner waitress described it as the Red Neck Riviera and she knows what she’s talking about as she works there as a bartender two nights a week. Wrecked by Hurricane Ivan back in ’04, the owners haven’t put a nickel back in – and why should they! It’s a gold mine as is. It’s a music mecca with plenty of cold beer (cans only!). Open 365 days a year, they make money every day so why upgrade.
Our lunch stop was in the parking lot opposite F-B and Curt again conjured up a magical oasis complete with lawn chairs and a petit smorgasborg to satisfy any gourmand. Wouldn’t you know, some guy comes up and upon seeing Peter’s and my Clydesdale jerseys quickly advises up he’s a true Clydesdale: over 50 yrs, over 250 lbs and an IQ under 50! He was glad to provide the lot for our weary bones and he even said we could use his FEMA trailer. We must have looked wearier than we thought. We told him we looked forward to coming back for the evening’s festivities.
This part of the Coast is chock full of condos, souvenir shops and vacant lots, all for sale. There is no question the sand and beaches are spectacular but we could not help but wonder who and where are the owners and when do they visit? The answer, from a commercial builder I chatted up at F-B; Louisiana, Georgia, Alabama, Florida and Tennessee. Seems everybody loves a good beach. There being plenty of indoor smoking, I enjoyed the music from the outside and clearer air. Note: when I asked the bartender about smoking he said “lite up”. Bars are smoking and this place is all BAR with a hint of food!
A note about the beaches. The story goes when big wind or waves bring beach sand on to the road, the state mandates that it be returned to the beach as the taking of sand for personal or commercial use is strictly verboten! Clearly they take their sand down here very seriously. And so they should. After all, their fine grain sand is the reason for the tourism and remember, not all sand is alike. This stuff is more like bleached flour than sand!
Winding our way to “sitting on the dock at the bay”, our cottage’s name, on Perdido Key, the plethora of bike lanes is greatly appreciated. Bridges were the biggest climbs, most providing vast vistas at their apex. Crossing Mariner’s Cut, the bridge is nicknamed Dolly Parton for the large swale at the top allowing tall ships access to the river. While riding along we heard jets before we saw the Blue Angels doing a practice session. The Navy’s elite fighter pilots at their finest. P&C have now seen them three times over the past six weeks. As the Angels are based in Pensacola, the natives must see the aerial acrobatics all the time but to us plebeans, it was inspiring.
Our cottage, though right on the road is also on Perdido Bay with a terrific view across to Alabama. Originally a freshwater lake known for its freshwater lillies, some clown got the idea to cut a channel to the ocean so now no lilies and no freshwater. FYI – Perdido means “lost”. How someone could say this island was lost is beyond me, it’s a pretty big island! The view from the back of the cottage was postcard perfect and the sunset was stunning. Interestingly, the owners were quite specific about arriving no earlier than 4pm. They were quite serious as the upstairs was getting new floors. The carpenters were there well past 5pm but the beds were put back together in no time. The delay was quite nice as it gave us, make that me, more time to complain about hills, mileage and so on. The advertised mileage of 75 a day had been a concern of mine from the get go but with Vanna, I knocked off 50+ with minimal pain and suffering. Walter, on the other hand, has ridden like a pro. I think his bike computer needs adjustment as he keeps riding and riding!
We knew Flora-Bama was our final destination as it was the kickoff of the 26th annual Frank Brown International Songwriter’s Festival where some of the great country songwriters congregate for a week of Yee-Haw. But, rather than dine by Sysco (frozen or fried) we conjured up Triggers Restaurant, a local seafood joint with fresh Tuna, Grouper and Mahi-Mahi. It was seriously good!
So, it was a long, delightful day full of history, fine friends, ice-cold Coronas at the end of the ride (thanks Curt), incredible scenery (including Liz’s gams), an incredible sunset , beaudaciously fresh seafood and live entertainment at the Red Neck Riviera! A day not soon forgotten.
Alternate Blog
We came, we ferried, we rode, we drank, we ate and we slept, EFI!!!Wednesday, November 10, 2010
Special Blog from the Gulf Coast - "Jesus rose again and so shall we"
“Jesus Rose Again And So shall We”. – Sign posted on a vacant lot in Gulfport MS.
We altered our route the past two days so as to ride along the Gulf coast and see what conditions are like in the communities along the north shore of the Gulf of Mexico. I had expected to be consumed with the cleanup efforts and the state of the beaches. There was some of that – more later. What I was not expecting, was to be overwhelmed by the lingering effects of Hurricane Katrina.
When Katrina hit, the media focused on the devastation in New Orleans. The Mississippi coast got scant attention. Well, the seventeen mile stretch we rode from Bay St. Louis to Biloxi was as blighted as anything I have ever witnessed, and this is five years after the Hurricane.
The house we stayed in last night, in Gulfport, was one of the survivors. It is two blocks off the beach and it was flooded by the 20 foot tidal wave which destroyed all of the beachfront homes in front of it. We were the beneficiaries of a totally new interior and an ocean front view across the vacant lots where houses once blocked the view.
In the seventeen miles we rode along the coast, ninety percent of the ocean front lots contain only foundations. Interestingly, the bulk of the live oak and palm trees survived the tidal wave, but the houses did not. Yes, there has been rebuilding, but it is all by commercial chains. There were more Waffle Houses than private houses along the beach. What has been rebuilt is the schlock: Waffle House, McDonalds, CVS and Wal-Mart. And about a dozen casinos. However, where the private homes once stood it is one great park - oak trees, foundations and an ocean of For Sale signs. The beachfront has not been as vacant since the French were in command of the area.
As far as the oil spill is concerned, we saw numerous cleanup crews making their desultory way up the beach with scoops and bags. The beaches themselves are pristinely white and spotlessly clean. We stopped and spoke to one of the workers, a journeyman laborer from Georgia who had come down in search of work. He told us that there is still a good deal of tar washing up on the beach every day, but the lack of energy amongst the crews indicated that no state of emergency exists.
If you are convinced that Katrina was a once in a hundred year event, if you do not need bank financing and if you can handle the insurance premiums, you can get a million dollar view for a tenth of that. Right on the beach, nothing between you and the Gulf of Mexico but a strip of white sand. And a few tar balls.
We altered our route the past two days so as to ride along the Gulf coast and see what conditions are like in the communities along the north shore of the Gulf of Mexico. I had expected to be consumed with the cleanup efforts and the state of the beaches. There was some of that – more later. What I was not expecting, was to be overwhelmed by the lingering effects of Hurricane Katrina.
When Katrina hit, the media focused on the devastation in New Orleans. The Mississippi coast got scant attention. Well, the seventeen mile stretch we rode from Bay St. Louis to Biloxi was as blighted as anything I have ever witnessed, and this is five years after the Hurricane.
The house we stayed in last night, in Gulfport, was one of the survivors. It is two blocks off the beach and it was flooded by the 20 foot tidal wave which destroyed all of the beachfront homes in front of it. We were the beneficiaries of a totally new interior and an ocean front view across the vacant lots where houses once blocked the view.
In the seventeen miles we rode along the coast, ninety percent of the ocean front lots contain only foundations. Interestingly, the bulk of the live oak and palm trees survived the tidal wave, but the houses did not. Yes, there has been rebuilding, but it is all by commercial chains. There were more Waffle Houses than private houses along the beach. What has been rebuilt is the schlock: Waffle House, McDonalds, CVS and Wal-Mart. And about a dozen casinos. However, where the private homes once stood it is one great park - oak trees, foundations and an ocean of For Sale signs. The beachfront has not been as vacant since the French were in command of the area.
As far as the oil spill is concerned, we saw numerous cleanup crews making their desultory way up the beach with scoops and bags. The beaches themselves are pristinely white and spotlessly clean. We stopped and spoke to one of the workers, a journeyman laborer from Georgia who had come down in search of work. He told us that there is still a good deal of tar washing up on the beach every day, but the lack of energy amongst the crews indicated that no state of emergency exists.
If you are convinced that Katrina was a once in a hundred year event, if you do not need bank financing and if you can handle the insurance premiums, you can get a million dollar view for a tenth of that. Right on the beach, nothing between you and the Gulf of Mexico but a strip of white sand. And a few tar balls.
Sweet Home Alabama
Today’s guest blogger is Walter Ginn
Yes, tonight our home is Dauphin Island, Alabama, across the bay from Mobile, Alabama. You know that you are in Alabama with all of the University of Alabama flags and license plates, as well as a lesser number of Auburn (my father-in-law’s alma mater) flags.
This morning we left our lovely house in Gulfport, Mississippi. The house has been completely rebuilt after Katrina. Although the house is a block away from the Gulf, it has a perfect view of the Gulf because at least 90% of the homes in the first block were destroyed by Katrina and have not been rebuilt. That first block now only consists of concrete foundations. As we rode in and then out of Gulfport, on our right were the beautiful white beaches of the Mississippi coast. However, the cleanup crews continue to comb the beach for tar balls from the Gulf oil spill. One of the very positive economic signs for the area is that we saw a number of shrimp boats heading out last night to catch some wonderful Gulf shrimp.
Today’s ride was a long one (the third straight 78+ mile ride) starting with the Gulf resort towns of Gulfport and Biloxi (both havens for the casinos, many of which were destroyed or heavily damaged by Katrina and some of which are being rebuilt). For the entire first 14 miles of beachfront from Gulfport through Biloxi, the first block of homes are gone and are now being replaced by Waffle Houses and other commercial buildings. After leaving Biloxi, we went over our first of several bay bridges and ended up on a delightful road, called Old Spanish Trails, although there is nothing old, Spanish or trail about the road; however, it was a nice respite from the busy Route 90. After passing through Pascagoula, a large shipbuilding city, we moved back into rural Mississippi (Chris and I saw our first alligator just before meeting the rest of the group at the Alabama state line for lunch). After lunch, we met three delightful young women from Augusta, Maine and Boston who were cycling from Augusta, Maine to New Orleans, camping most of the time. After riding through a good segment of the Alabama bayou country, today’s journey ended with a beautiful ride across the 3.5 mile causeway dropping us on Dauphin Island. We are staying in a beautiful beach home at the far end of the island right on the beach. Appropriately dressed, Curt and Peter intended to take a dip in the Gulf of Mexico until they discovered the water temperature was below their acceptable level.
I’m a veteran of several Backroads bike trips where organization and strong support are two foundational principles. On our trip, the organization is provided by Peter Conway and Carl Tippit, and the support is being provided by Curt Johnson, at least for 2 weeks. It is highly unlikely that Backroads could ever out organize Peter and Carl or out support Curt. As a result, the routes each day are meticulously planned, the accommodations are carefully selected for location and cost, no one gets lost, and Curt is ready with a smile, water and lots of goodies every 15 miles.
http://www.mapmyride.com/route/us/ca/san%20diego/197128943453182483
Tuesday, November 9, 2010
Welcome to Mississippi
Today's guest Blogger is Liz Tippit -
Well, it’s day two for Walter, Chris, and me. It’s day 9 for Curt. It’s day 37 for Carl and Peter.
It started out cool and foggy, with everyone ready and raring to go – butt butter and all.
We zigzagged through some major morning traffic, only to find ourselves on a beautiful 22 mile bike trail through the Louisiana low country. We passed bayous, Bubba shrimping boats, and lots of yapping, jumping, long dogs with short legs.
Carl found the incredible route that took us off the scheduled Adventure Cycling Southern Tier Route to the bike trail, called Tammany Trace. It was completely silent, smelled like vanilla, and took us past trees that looked like the woods in the Wizard of Oz. I thought that a screeching flying monkey might jump on our backs, but it didn’t happen. But I have to say, I’ve never seen so much road kill in my life – bodies intact and the heads chewed off.
We left Covington, Louisiana and headed for Gulfport Mississippi. We passed a cemetery halfway through the bike path, and the first headstone Peter saw was one that had “Conway P. Burns” on it. It was pretty weird. He was excited about it.
We crossed into Mississippi around 12:30. That meant Margaritas. – every border crossing. It was a banner day for Walter, as he visited his 50th state today! Mississippi was hanging out there for him, and he did it! That’s HUGE!
I’m finding that a ride in the morning is perfect for me. I made a commitment to myself months ago when I started riding that I would always enjoy it. That means riding until it starts to get painful - about 45 - 50 miles for me and that’s been just fine. I get to hang out with Curt in the van, which is great. It isn’t the legs that are hurting, it’s my shoulders.
Every chance I got today I tried to get online and look at my dogs in the kennel. There’s a video camera on them in the playrooms at the kennel, and I saw them skulking around and acting like weirdos.
Tonight’s dinner was unbelievable!!!!! Chef Chris made scallops, green beans, baked potatoes, and brie. It was great – REALLY great -- and we’re still eating it right now. Curt got a cake that said “Southern Tier” on it -- definitely a hit. Who made the cocktail sauce? Walter! And everyone loved it.
We’re passing lots of tattoo, botox, gold sales, paycheck cashing, and dance places. I’m considering a tattoo of my son’s initials. Carl thinks I’m joking but I’m really not.
I’m really scraping right now trying to find things to say, so I’ll just finish by saying that this is an incredibly wonderful trip, I am blown away by Carl and Peter and all they have accomplished, and how they have arranged to have friends join them along the way. It’s truly a logistical miracle.
Weather has been beautiful, the skies have been blue, everyone has been safe, and God is taking care of everyone along the way. What a gift!
Ps – Carl grew a beard just for me! I LOVE it!!!!!! And his legs look greeeaaatt
Map to date:
http://www.mapmyride.com/route/us/ca/san%20diego/466128934622070903Monday, November 8, 2010
5 is more fun
A couple weeks ago when we had 3 guest riders the amount of activity and humor increased more than 3 fold. Therefore, we looked forward to this week when 3 more guest riders joined us for our 6th week. Chris Hitchcock, Walter Ginn and Liz (my wife) arrived this weekend for the 400 or so miles of Louisiana, Mississippi, Alabama and part of Florida riding. They brought along some better weather, as it actually warmed up to the high 60’s on our first day's crossing of the north shore of Lake Ponchetrain on our way to the Gulf Coast. After much complaining, our “ride to eat man”, Chris, was rewarded with a large lunch after 50 miles of cool, smooth and flat riding. That was later followed up with a great seafood restaurant for dinner. Liz also hit an all time high for a day by crossing 50 miles. The group is lively and fun. 5 is better than 2.
The scenery continues to change west to east. We have moved out of farming country, Louisiana style. Gone are the rice fields and sugar cane, cows and horses. We have even passed the oil refineries strung along the Mississippi, and moved into the America I had almost forgotten – strip malls, fast food, condos and residential developments. There still are some long quiet stretches with forests and a few houses, but more and more we are seeing the urban sprawl take form around the larger cities like Baton Rouge and New Orleans. We have also said goodbye to the chicken fried chicken of Texas and taken up seafood as the main course. Even the convenience stores sell seafood like shrimp, crawfish and gumbo like a Big Gulp.
As I sit here in my 32nd hotel in 38 days writing this, I have tried to remember the amusing names of some of our hotels. Oh, we have stayed in some of America’s finest chains you all know and love but I thought I would share with you some of the more unique places we stayed in the last several weeks: Bay Inn, Jacumba Hot Springs Spa, Brawley Inn, Sheffler’s Motel, Heart Bar Cabin, Fort Hancock Motel, Captain Shepard’s Inn Carriage House, Outback Oasis, Sabinal River Lodge, Hunter House Inn, Blanco County Inn, Plum Creek Lodge, Oak Motel, Coldspring Sunday Houses, Skippers Inn, Hotel Cazan. And over the next 10 days we will be staying in: Gulf Breeze Cottage, Backup Cottage, Sittin on the dock of the Bay, Emerald Sands Inn, High Springs Country Inn, Lochloosa Harbor Fish Camp.
The names are good but the experiences are better. The journey has been amazing from so many perspectives. I thought by now that it might be routine and a bit boring, but everyday has had its own challenges and rewards. Wouldn’t change any of it.
Map to date: http://www.mapmyride.com/route/us/ca/san%20diego/664128927358764647
Thanks for following…Carl
Saturday, November 6, 2010
A sweet and eerie ride
We are now in Baton Rouge, arriving about 2 PM in what seemed like a ghost town. Turns out LSU is playing Alabama at home, so the streets are deserted. It made for a sweet ride into downtown.
Our sunny and cloudless skies continue, although it is still cold. There was a frost overnight and when we started our ride, at noon, it was still only 55 degrees. Carl and I do not have the clothes for this unexpected intrusion of northern weather to the Deep South. The prediction for the upcoming week is continued fair skies with cooler than normal temperatures. Nonetheless, we prefer this to sweltering.
As we only had a 35 mile ride today, we decided to visit an historic plantation in St. Francisville before setting out for Baton Rouge. “Rosedown” was built in 1835 of local cypress and cedar by Daniel and Martha Turnbull at a cost of $13, 109.20. The furnishings for the whole home, which are all still in the house, were custom made in Philadelphia for $900. Any single piece from the house would fetch more than that today.
In its heyday Rosedown was one of the largest cotton plantations in the south, with 3500 acres and over 250 slaves. It survived the civil war largely unscathed, largely due to Martha Turnbull, who reportedly held off Yankee looters by stripping off her clothes and allowing herself to be “surprised” in her knickers. The Yankees apparently would retire in disarray with profuse apologies.
After the war the plantation remained in the family until 1955. It was then bought by an Exxon Oil heiress, Catherine Underwood, who spent $10 million restoring it and opening it to the public. Besides the classic white columned plantation house, there are marvelous formal gardens reminiscent of the Biltmore Estate in Asheville, NC. Martha Turnbull lived until age 95, and supervising the gardens until the day she died.
Speaking of the Civil War, now that we are traversing the Mississippi River and there are historical markers noting engagements. Yesterday, near Morganza, we passed a battlefield commemorating a Confederate victory where 50 Yankees and two cannons were captured. No mention of casualties. Then today we rode past Port Hudson, the last place on the Mississippi to surrender, five days after Vicksburg fell. It withstood a 40 day siege, where the confederates, out of supplies, were forced to eat their mules, their horses and finally subsist on rats. Conditions were not much better for the northern besiegers, who lay in ditches and earthworks, subject to grapeshot and sniper fire from the confederates who held the higher ground. It was a war of attrition, foreshadowing the trenches of World War I. From a history of the siege:
"Port Hudson was the last Confederate stronghold on the Mississippi River and the site of the longest siege in American military history. Located 250 miles downriver of Vicksburg, Port Hudson was necessary to complete the Union's control of the river. Its surrender to federal forces on July 9, 1863, after almost two months of attacks, opened up all of the Mississippi and divided the Confederacy in two.
The siege of Port Hudson affected the Civil War and the men who fought there in a number of ways. The surrender gave the Union control of the Mississippi River, cutting off important states such as Arkansas and Texas. Both sides suffered heavy casualties: about 5,000 Union men were killed or wounded, and an additional 4,000 fell prey to disease or sunstroke; Gardner's Confederate forces suffered around 700 casualties, several hundred of whom died of disease. And on both sides, even many of those who survived found their view of war permanently changed.”
There is a connection between Port Hudson and Rosedown Plantation. Martha Turnbull noted in her diary that a number of her slaves had left the plantation and enlisted in The First Louisiana, the first regiment of freed slaves to fight in the war. Again from the history book:
"African-American regiments from Louisiana who fought at Port Hudson on behalf of the Union were the first black units in the Civil War to engage in large-scale combat against white soldiers. The First Louisiana, made up primarily of free men of color, and the Second and Third Louisiana, composed of both free blacks and former slaves, proved their bravery by making several charges across open fields near Port Hudson. Although the charges failed, their actions laid to rest the attitude prevalent among whites that blacks would not fight. Newspaper accounts of their bravery and military capabilities helped convince northerners to accept black soldiers in the Union army."
Our sweet ride today cruised by the sites of much suffering and death from the past. Pondering this gives me an eerie feeling.
To see the map of our trip thus far, you can open the following link:
http://www.mapmyride.com/ride/united-states/ca/-san-diego/363128901062478140
Our sunny and cloudless skies continue, although it is still cold. There was a frost overnight and when we started our ride, at noon, it was still only 55 degrees. Carl and I do not have the clothes for this unexpected intrusion of northern weather to the Deep South. The prediction for the upcoming week is continued fair skies with cooler than normal temperatures. Nonetheless, we prefer this to sweltering.
As we only had a 35 mile ride today, we decided to visit an historic plantation in St. Francisville before setting out for Baton Rouge. “Rosedown” was built in 1835 of local cypress and cedar by Daniel and Martha Turnbull at a cost of $13, 109.20. The furnishings for the whole home, which are all still in the house, were custom made in Philadelphia for $900. Any single piece from the house would fetch more than that today.
In its heyday Rosedown was one of the largest cotton plantations in the south, with 3500 acres and over 250 slaves. It survived the civil war largely unscathed, largely due to Martha Turnbull, who reportedly held off Yankee looters by stripping off her clothes and allowing herself to be “surprised” in her knickers. The Yankees apparently would retire in disarray with profuse apologies.
After the war the plantation remained in the family until 1955. It was then bought by an Exxon Oil heiress, Catherine Underwood, who spent $10 million restoring it and opening it to the public. Besides the classic white columned plantation house, there are marvelous formal gardens reminiscent of the Biltmore Estate in Asheville, NC. Martha Turnbull lived until age 95, and supervising the gardens until the day she died.
Speaking of the Civil War, now that we are traversing the Mississippi River and there are historical markers noting engagements. Yesterday, near Morganza, we passed a battlefield commemorating a Confederate victory where 50 Yankees and two cannons were captured. No mention of casualties. Then today we rode past Port Hudson, the last place on the Mississippi to surrender, five days after Vicksburg fell. It withstood a 40 day siege, where the confederates, out of supplies, were forced to eat their mules, their horses and finally subsist on rats. Conditions were not much better for the northern besiegers, who lay in ditches and earthworks, subject to grapeshot and sniper fire from the confederates who held the higher ground. It was a war of attrition, foreshadowing the trenches of World War I. From a history of the siege:
"Port Hudson was the last Confederate stronghold on the Mississippi River and the site of the longest siege in American military history. Located 250 miles downriver of Vicksburg, Port Hudson was necessary to complete the Union's control of the river. Its surrender to federal forces on July 9, 1863, after almost two months of attacks, opened up all of the Mississippi and divided the Confederacy in two.
The siege of Port Hudson affected the Civil War and the men who fought there in a number of ways. The surrender gave the Union control of the Mississippi River, cutting off important states such as Arkansas and Texas. Both sides suffered heavy casualties: about 5,000 Union men were killed or wounded, and an additional 4,000 fell prey to disease or sunstroke; Gardner's Confederate forces suffered around 700 casualties, several hundred of whom died of disease. And on both sides, even many of those who survived found their view of war permanently changed.”
There is a connection between Port Hudson and Rosedown Plantation. Martha Turnbull noted in her diary that a number of her slaves had left the plantation and enlisted in The First Louisiana, the first regiment of freed slaves to fight in the war. Again from the history book:
"African-American regiments from Louisiana who fought at Port Hudson on behalf of the Union were the first black units in the Civil War to engage in large-scale combat against white soldiers. The First Louisiana, made up primarily of free men of color, and the Second and Third Louisiana, composed of both free blacks and former slaves, proved their bravery by making several charges across open fields near Port Hudson. Although the charges failed, their actions laid to rest the attitude prevalent among whites that blacks would not fight. Newspaper accounts of their bravery and military capabilities helped convince northerners to accept black soldiers in the Union army."
Our sweet ride today cruised by the sites of much suffering and death from the past. Pondering this gives me an eerie feeling.
To see the map of our trip thus far, you can open the following link:
http://www.mapmyride.com/ride/united-states/ca/-san-diego/363128901062478140
Friday, November 5, 2010
Fun on the Bayou?
Today's Guest blogger is Curt Johnson
Our route has been carefully developed by the Adventure Cycling organization so that the days are not too long or too taxing for the average accomplished cyclist. After over 2000 miles, Peter and Carl (hereafter to be referred to as the boys) are indeed accomplished cyclists. During this past week they have endured several incarnations of rain, cold, winds up 20 miles per hour and some long riding days of eighty plus miles.
Today was one of those long days. We did our best to get an early start from Mamou since the boys elected to take a different route to avoid the predicted fifteen to twenty mile per hour winds out of the north as much as possible. The plan was a good one, involving the crossing of a very steep, large bridge over the Atchafalaya River and crossing the “Big Muddy” on the New Roads-St. Francisville ferry.
What an amazing country we have! Every day there is a wonderful display of homes, crops, villages, flora and fauna. The “Piney Woods” of East Texas gave way to the rice paddys of Western Louisiana, while those soon gave way to sorghum and most recently sugar cane as we move farther east. To see seemingly endless fields of these various crops has been comforting. It is comforting to see that we have a great agribusiness going in the South and that there are practically no homes growing on five acre plots anywhere. People who live in the South, in the country at least, seem to be easy-going, favoring hunting and fishing and lots of good laughs over mowing lawns and trimming shrubbery. It is interesting to note that the bag limit for deer in Louisiana is six (three bucks and three does) per license. Ohio’s bag limit is one buck. Yet, I have not seen a deer anywhere in our travels thus far though I see them all the time in Ohio.
The boys and I are learning more about Bayou foods. Being able to differentiate between Creole and Cajun is important. Most of the local food we have enjoyed so far has been Cajun. The major difference, we learned, centers around tomatoes. Creole cooking typically uses tomatoes and Carribbean spices. Cajun cooking uses onions, bell peppers, celery and other more common vegetables. Cajun cooking stems from simpler Arcadian roots whereas Creole cooking has a more formal European ancestry. As is the case in most places, recipes differ so a gumbo here is not a gumbo there or everywhere a gumbo.
Even though Peter experienced another flat tire on our trip today, he remained in good spirits and ended the day on a high note. A high note that took us to a wonderful dinner at the Magnolia Café where we enjoyed great traditional Southern seafood and a popular group of musicians playing local favorites as well as their renditions of some popular oldies but goodies. Sadly, we did not hear “Jambalaya, Crawfish pie, file’ gumbo. Son of a gun, havin’ some fun on the Bayou”
Curt Johnson
Map:
http://www.mapmyride.com/route/us/ca/san%20diego/451128901018657185
Thursday, November 4, 2010
Louisiana 1927 by Randy Newman
We are in Evangeline Parish, Louisiana, in the town of Mamou (pronounced Mom –ewe). On my altimeter today we have gone from 3 feet below sea level to 73 feet. No wonder this area is susceptible to hurricanes, as so movingly described in Randy Newman’s song: “Six feet of water in the streets of Evangeline”.
Carl’s perfect record of always dealing with rain in Louisiana was destroyed today; we awoke to the bluest of skies with nary a cloud. The rain of the past two days has been pushed away by a brusque northerly; winds up to 25 mph buffeted us all day as we pushed northeast. The faring (windshield) on my recumbent bike acts like a sail when I have a tail wind, and actually breaks the wind when I have a head wind. But when I fight vigorous cross winds, it is all I can do to avoid being pushed off the road. In the California Mountains I had the same experience with almost 40 mph winds threatening to blow me over the precipice and called for Vanna. Today I hung in there. The worst fate I could meet was being submerged in a rice paddy.
Yes, we are in rice country. As a former farmer I am fascinated to see different crops, and I have never before had a chance to study rice growing practices. I must confess that the Louisiana farmers have me puzzled. When we were in Texas, the cotton crop was mature and being harvested. Here in Louisiana I can find no pattern. Some fields are full of rice waiting to be harvested. Others are plowed under and dry. Still others have been flooded, some of these have rice shoots jutting above the water, and others do not. Maybe rice growing is a never ending cycle. I will try to find out from a local.
Speaking of locals, Curt found another home town café in Oberlin, LA that is the hang out of all the local hunters. Apparently they all emerge from the woods around lunch time to chow down at the local eateries and swap yarns. You know: “Y’all shoulda seen the eight point buck that got away. I think I winged him though. I’m takin the dogs out later and lookin for buzzards circling where he mighta fell. At least I can get the rack.”
The same hunter who related this story told us how to get from Oberlin to Mamou: “Well ya’ll go thru town, stay on the main road for sumpin like aight miles, then turn left at the rice bins. Y’all can’t miss it.” I didn’t want to appear like a complete idiot, so I didn’t tell him that I had no idea what a rice bin looked like. Turns out they are identical to the round corrugated galvanized bins used to hold corn we have in Ohio.
We are taking a break from the usual ½ star motel that has been our staple. We are staying in the Hotel Cazan, a National Register downtown hotel that anchors the just barely hanging on classic main street of Mamou. As far as I can tell, we are the only guests. Once we checked in, the desk clerk left for the day, giving us the security code for the hotel’s front door, which stays locked. He told us to put our bikes in the hotel lobby for safekeeping, as nobody would disturb them. The rooms have all been renovated, and have quite nice furnishings. But there is no such thing as internet, only one electrical plug and one ceiling light per room (no lamps at all). Carls’ room doesn’t even have a window. Curt and I, on the other hand, have six. Once I finish this blog I am looking for a wireless hotspot to send it. It is probably too bad that we are all so dependent on our electricity and internet driven devices.
Down the street from the Hotel Cazan is
Fianlly, today we passed 2000 miles on our trip. Amazing. Only 1000 + to go! To see our route thuis far, open this link in your browser:
http://www.mapmyride.com/route/us/ca/san%20diego/950128891005576265
Carl’s perfect record of always dealing with rain in Louisiana was destroyed today; we awoke to the bluest of skies with nary a cloud. The rain of the past two days has been pushed away by a brusque northerly; winds up to 25 mph buffeted us all day as we pushed northeast. The faring (windshield) on my recumbent bike acts like a sail when I have a tail wind, and actually breaks the wind when I have a head wind. But when I fight vigorous cross winds, it is all I can do to avoid being pushed off the road. In the California Mountains I had the same experience with almost 40 mph winds threatening to blow me over the precipice and called for Vanna. Today I hung in there. The worst fate I could meet was being submerged in a rice paddy.
Yes, we are in rice country. As a former farmer I am fascinated to see different crops, and I have never before had a chance to study rice growing practices. I must confess that the Louisiana farmers have me puzzled. When we were in Texas, the cotton crop was mature and being harvested. Here in Louisiana I can find no pattern. Some fields are full of rice waiting to be harvested. Others are plowed under and dry. Still others have been flooded, some of these have rice shoots jutting above the water, and others do not. Maybe rice growing is a never ending cycle. I will try to find out from a local.
Speaking of locals, Curt found another home town café in Oberlin, LA that is the hang out of all the local hunters. Apparently they all emerge from the woods around lunch time to chow down at the local eateries and swap yarns. You know: “Y’all shoulda seen the eight point buck that got away. I think I winged him though. I’m takin the dogs out later and lookin for buzzards circling where he mighta fell. At least I can get the rack.”
The same hunter who related this story told us how to get from Oberlin to Mamou: “Well ya’ll go thru town, stay on the main road for sumpin like aight miles, then turn left at the rice bins. Y’all can’t miss it.” I didn’t want to appear like a complete idiot, so I didn’t tell him that I had no idea what a rice bin looked like. Turns out they are identical to the round corrugated galvanized bins used to hold corn we have in Ohio.
We are taking a break from the usual ½ star motel that has been our staple. We are staying in the Hotel Cazan, a National Register downtown hotel that anchors the just barely hanging on classic main street of Mamou. As far as I can tell, we are the only guests. Once we checked in, the desk clerk left for the day, giving us the security code for the hotel’s front door, which stays locked. He told us to put our bikes in the hotel lobby for safekeeping, as nobody would disturb them. The rooms have all been renovated, and have quite nice furnishings. But there is no such thing as internet, only one electrical plug and one ceiling light per room (no lamps at all). Carls’ room doesn’t even have a window. Curt and I, on the other hand, have six. Once I finish this blog I am looking for a wireless hotspot to send it. It is probably too bad that we are all so dependent on our electricity and internet driven devices.
Down the street from the Hotel Cazan is
Frenchies, a genuinely Cajun restaurant, where we will dine after we attend the pep rally for the Demons, the local High School team. The pep rally is next to our hotel. We can hear the marching band warming up. As Mamou is the self proclaimed
Cajun Music Capital of the worldwe are interested to hear this band.
Fianlly, today we passed 2000 miles on our trip. Amazing. Only 1000 + to go! To see our route thuis far, open this link in your browser:
http://www.mapmyride.com/route/us/ca/san%20diego/950128891005576265
Wednesday, November 3, 2010
Louisiana Rain
Louisiana rain. You could smell it from 40 miles away when we woke up this morning. We knew this day was coming and forecasters were accurate that Wednesday morning, the low would not have moved on and there would be plenty of rain. Because we rode more than originally planned the last 2 days, we only had 60 miles in what looked like a soggy day. As it turned out, the first hour was cold and wet but we slugged our way northeast toward the Louisiana border. Upon reaching the border, the rain had backed off and the temperature was trying to climb. Curt waited for Peter and me at the border knowing that we had spent a lot of time riding through Texas. Texas gave Peter one last small gift in the form of a metal spike, smaller than a needle, but large enough for a flat. As it turns out, so far, Texas is the flattest state – we got more flats in Texas than all the other states combined. We lunched at the local joint in Merryville and noted the change in menus to more shrimp and fish – a big change from TexMex and bar-b-que. Magically, as we came out from lunch the sun greeted us signifying my previous 50 or so visits the state were possibly a fluke – it rained almost every time. We finished our shorter ride just in time for the rain to begin keeping my record intact. Clear weather is forecasted for the rest of the week, so we really think we dodged the worst of it.
Well the terrain didn’t change much over the state lines. There have been more forests than I expected and coincidentally, a lot more logging going on. We have seen a hundred or so huge trucks carrying logs in all directions. It all became clear when we approached De Ridder LA and passed the Boise Cascade paper mill – the largest in the world. De Ridder is one of the larger small towns we have been going through lately, which seems to be more common as we move east. Lots of fast food and regular American staples and fortunately a welding shop which our trailer desperately needed as the bike rack was beginning to wilt. Curt found a guy that could fix it, but of course for cash only. We were told at breakfast this morning not to talk to the folks round here – just keep to ourselves. The most striking, and unfortunate, difference is the sites from hurricane damage. We noticed hundreds of FEMA trailers placed in fields and empty lots – many of them never used. Other badly damaged buildings and houses that will never be restored. We expect to see more of this as we go east and south.
Tonight we are supposed to re-connect with all the other cyclists in Merryville, which we passed through earlier today. The town is doing some special cyclist support dinner trying to establish itself as a regular stop on cross-country rides. We’ll see; everyday is an adventure and this could be interesting. When we were in Merryville for lunch we asked where the center of town was since we could only see their diner and the gas station across the street. She told us she didn’t know there was one.
Thanks for following us….Carl
http://www.mapmyride.com/route/us/ca/san%20diego/142128874620873751
Tuesday, November 2, 2010
The weather is here, wish you were beautiful
Well, rain has finally come our way. Last night we were treated to spectacular lightning displays which lit up the flat East Texas plain. It rained hard all night and the lightning lasted all night too. It was still raining as we loaded the van, but, serendipitously, it stopped and we were able to get our 75 mile bike ride in without much rain at all. Tomorrow we may not be as lucky, for a giant low is stalled over Louisiana, our destination tomorrow night. YES, Louisiana! We are about to leave the Lone Star state at last.
Texas and Texans get a lot of negative press in other regions. I think it is human nature to resent anyone or any institution which is larger than life, so big it can’t be ignored, but so big it can be resented. I know that I was mildly unhappy that we were ‘condemned’ to spend 43% of our entire trip in this state.
Yet Texas has slowly been winning me over. Because it is so large, it is a mistake to lump the landscape, the people, the flora or the fauna into one stereotype. The western desert around El Paso was inhospitable for sure, but the buttes, mesas, old fort towns and steep canyons were certainly dramatic. The hill country was challenging for us cyclists, but full of charming towns like Utopia and La Grange with people right out of Norman Rockwell. East Texas is heavily forested; indeed today we pedaled through part of the Big Thicket National Preserve. This dense forest was so impenetrable that it was not settled until the 1870s; both Indians and settlers gave it a wide berth. However, the Big Thicket was the hiding place of Confederate draft dodgers and deserters during the Civil War – called Jayhawkers. Although the Confederate Army set the Big Thicket on fire to force the men out, 300,000 untouched acres of the Big Thicket have been preserved.
Yes, Texas is a fascinating and attention grabbing place. I will leave with many warm (and dusty) memories of this gigantic state.
We lunched in the town of Kountze at an Almost Famous (so they advertise) diner called Mama Jacks. Mama herself was at the register. She was a surprising svelte blond lady, given the rotundity of her clientele. She told me that the restaurant was started by her husband and was originally called Papa Jacks. But seeing he was always leaving Mama to run the place while he was off doing other things, when they moved locations she changed the name – to Mama Jacks. We enjoyed an all you can eat lunch buffet of gumbo, salmon burgers, fried zucchini and your choice of six kinds of potatoes and more than six types of fruit cobblers. Whatever wasn’t fried was swimming in gravy. We ate like condemned men due to the cold clammy weather.
Tonight we had another first, Jose’s Pizzaria, a Mexican Italian restaurant. I know, only in Texas. My Shrimp and Chicken Alfredo had a tortilla underneath the noodles. We shared this meal with the Adventure Cycling group we call the five guys. They are on a tight budget – all five rent one hotel room and three sleep on the floor. We will see lots more of the five guys , for they finish in St. Augustine the same day we do on November 21st. We swapped stories of our adventures to date, the tales already getting taller in the retelling.
Texas and Texans get a lot of negative press in other regions. I think it is human nature to resent anyone or any institution which is larger than life, so big it can’t be ignored, but so big it can be resented. I know that I was mildly unhappy that we were ‘condemned’ to spend 43% of our entire trip in this state.
Yet Texas has slowly been winning me over. Because it is so large, it is a mistake to lump the landscape, the people, the flora or the fauna into one stereotype. The western desert around El Paso was inhospitable for sure, but the buttes, mesas, old fort towns and steep canyons were certainly dramatic. The hill country was challenging for us cyclists, but full of charming towns like Utopia and La Grange with people right out of Norman Rockwell. East Texas is heavily forested; indeed today we pedaled through part of the Big Thicket National Preserve. This dense forest was so impenetrable that it was not settled until the 1870s; both Indians and settlers gave it a wide berth. However, the Big Thicket was the hiding place of Confederate draft dodgers and deserters during the Civil War – called Jayhawkers. Although the Confederate Army set the Big Thicket on fire to force the men out, 300,000 untouched acres of the Big Thicket have been preserved.
Yes, Texas is a fascinating and attention grabbing place. I will leave with many warm (and dusty) memories of this gigantic state.
We lunched in the town of Kountze at an Almost Famous (so they advertise) diner called Mama Jacks. Mama herself was at the register. She was a surprising svelte blond lady, given the rotundity of her clientele. She told me that the restaurant was started by her husband and was originally called Papa Jacks. But seeing he was always leaving Mama to run the place while he was off doing other things, when they moved locations she changed the name – to Mama Jacks. We enjoyed an all you can eat lunch buffet of gumbo, salmon burgers, fried zucchini and your choice of six kinds of potatoes and more than six types of fruit cobblers. Whatever wasn’t fried was swimming in gravy. We ate like condemned men due to the cold clammy weather.
Tonight we had another first, Jose’s Pizzaria, a Mexican Italian restaurant. I know, only in Texas. My Shrimp and Chicken Alfredo had a tortilla underneath the noodles. We shared this meal with the Adventure Cycling group we call the five guys. They are on a tight budget – all five rent one hotel room and three sleep on the floor. We will see lots more of the five guys , for they finish in St. Augustine the same day we do on November 21st. We swapped stories of our adventures to date, the tales already getting taller in the retelling.
Monday, November 1, 2010
Where are we?
We began week 5 with an early eastern departure today, mostly to get a head start on possible rain. But as the morning rolled on, so did the clouds and we got another perfect day in eastern Texas. Nice rolling hills with long straight-aways lead us by some nice ranches gave but eventually gave way to the Sam Houston National Forest, which was very quiet and beautiful. It surrounded Lake Conroe, which extends 20 miles south and is a big recreation lake. We are starting to see more and more water now with rivers, ponds and lakes every few miles. With a smaller crew this week, our stops were shorter and with a great tailwind (I know the Week 4 team wonders where that was), Peter and I decided to tack on some extra mileage and still finish early. It was another great day on the road ending in Coldspring Texas. Curt did great job on his first day manning the support van and has brought along another sense of humor and will be a great addition to the team. The day’s highlight was finding another cross country group – this group of 5 from Pennsylvania and Virginia has a daily rotation of drivers so 4 ride while 1 drives the support van on their trek across America. They are staying at the same hotel as we are and it has been fun to compare notes. Moe and more we are finding groups of cyclists riding across the U.S.
So where are we? Through Saturday, we have covered 1775 miles from San Diego. Our group of riders has put in over 5500 total miles:
Peter 1,775
Carl 1,775
Scott 444
Dan 263
Michael 443
Charles 533
Sam 300
Total 5,533
Our safety record has been perfect with no incidents. We have had 9 flats so far and climbed over 47,000 feet with a similar descent – we began at sea level in San Diego, climbed to over 5,000 feet in the California mountains, down below sea level in the desert, back up to 8,000 feet in New Mexico and down again steadily through Texas to about 300 feet MSL in Navasota. We have been through over 50 ghost towns and countless others with populations from 77 to over 35,000. The ride has been incredibly enlightening. We have seen about 10 Dairy Queens so far – not nearly enough.
We know some of you followers like to see the map updates and apologize they aren’t always available. Good internet connections are required to update the map and then provide the link. Our luck at some hotels/towns is spotty keep checking back.
Thanks for following…..Carl
Map to date :
http://www.mapmyride.com/route/us/ca/san%20diego/816128865169989989
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