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.

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.

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.

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

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

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.

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 26^th 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!!!