And it’s done! What a week. 363 – 368! Ithaca to NYC.
It’s been odd, this week more than most, knowing that it’s coming to an end in the coming days. There were moments of About time! excited, and moments of Maybe just one more loop? apprehension. The biking’s been good. Nothing has gone wrong and closing in on the end goal provided an easy way of falling into that dreamed-of zone where cycling becomes effortless. That’s not to say there weren’t crazy climbs, because there was (looking at you Pennsylvania), but with the momentum of a year coming to an end they weren’t enough to cause any delays.
Being in gung-ho mode, necessary to make the end in time, there’s been a lot of saddle time. That’s often lead to nights in the farmland of NY, PA and NJ states, riding at night on the empty roads. It was surprising how remote it can be considering how close it is to the biggest city in the US. One of those nights lead, by coincidence, to a roadside invitation to crash at a lakeside cottage where Marianna and Elizabeth, two Buddhists, were staying. They were awesome, insisted on making some amazing food, and it was an amazing place to chill out when most moments recently had been a bit of a head-spin.
A few days of cycling later, and it was the final day. So close to being done. So close that something was bound to happen. ‘Course it was. I got sloppy and stumbled onto the highway. In parts of North America you’re allowed on the highway, in others you’re not. In New York you’re not. It was a blast – flying down the shoulder, knowing that this was the fastest route, seeing the New York skyline for the first time and realising it was so close.
Oops. The police weren’t happy. Fortunately the officer was hilarious and other than an insistence to get off at the next exit, he wasn’t all that fussed. 90 minutes later I rolled into New York via George Washington Bridge and met my folks. It was like an ultra high definition skype call and amazing to see their faces after so long. And it was the end.
If you’re reading at this point, thank you! The emails and blog comments in the tough parts were a massive motivator, it played a huge role in seeing the trip through to the end. So thank you. And to everyone who donated or helped with a place to crash along the way or agreed to be featured in this project – I’m still blown away by how awesome you all were.
So that’s it. So much has happened that it’s a flurry, but it’s clear this was something special. The one-more-loop-thought has faded (for now) and it’s exciting to think about what happens next. Hopefully you’ll stick around as the blog will now get pretty fun – snippets of unpublished interview, retrospective articles, footage of getting blasted by sprinklers at 3am – but that’ll all start in a couple of weeks – for now I’m off to catch up on a years worth of half-sleep and wonder around the city until the flight home. And if anyone knows where to get the best slice of pizza here do just shout. Because pizza’s great. Thanks!
Just a quick blog post and images before heading forwards on into Saskatchewan. Hope you enjoy the photos.
Road life’s been going pretty well recently. Leaving Edmonton was super built up and was definitely more precarious than arriving, but darting traffic and getting hit by the gusts from passing trucks keeps you on your toes / pushes you along nicely. It didn’t take too long to be out of the city and back in the depths of rural farmland, where the fields begin and are consistent throughout the day – green wherever you look, loads of barley fields and the biggest round hay bails you’ve ever seen. It’s often really similar to riding through the countryside back in the UK but without the hills.
One major positive shift is that it goes dark again, which makes the whole travel part seem a lot more thrilling – obviously it didn’t happen overnight but there’s now a lot of darkness and cooler temperatures from about 8pm. Whilst it means not as much road time, it also means overall quality of sleep and body clock is vastly improved. It’s now possible to be fully recharged after camping rather than just a bit rested, which is awesome and has a big effect throughout the rest of the day. There’s been a lot of stealth camping happening – beside a baseball pitch was probably the best, and now that the stars are on show again the night photography has re-started.
In a rest stop near Ross Creek, at sunset it looked like a perfect night. The sky was an intense red, but the cloud cover was minimal, until about 3 hours later when the mother of thunder and lightning storms began. It lasted maybe two hours, and offered intense rain and the type of lightning where you can’t pin down where it’s coming from, it’s just happening all around you. It was super dramatic with huge flashes of bright white light and shaky rumbles of thunder, but being in a rest stop there was a bunch of lampposts and trees and all that good stuff so it never felt sketchy. I doubt there’s anyone on earth who could sleep through those roars, so I digged into the RadioLab podcasts (check out the episode – ‘Limits’) and hunkered down with a chocolate spread sandwich. Yep. Happy days. Typical view:
I’m just writing this post whilst passing through Lloydminster, on the way east. Down the road is the start of a new province, Saskatchewan – it’s crazy really because it didn’t seem like much time was spent in Alberta compared to everywhere else. Nonetheless, those simple road signs are a great boost and a literal indicator of progress. Onwards to Saskatoon. Intrigued to see what this next province will bring.
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290: Edmonton – Ross Creek
291: Ross Creek – Mannville
292: Mannville – Lloydminster
Straight after getting back from the Stampede Trail, I spent a while in Fairbanks with some sketchy illness. Water-from-the-river related maybe. Whatever it was, it meant a few days of not going anywhere. Other than recovery on the road being an altogether inconvenience, it wasn’t a big deal because the time could also act as an opportunity to get recharged for the final leg of the journey. Fairbanks is the highest point North on this trip, and the final ‘corner’. It was a weird relief to know this was the last turning point, but still whilst looking over the map I couldn’t help but be hit with a wave of anxiety, which is stupid really after coming this far. The biggest leg is yet to come and it’s a really bloody long way back to the East Coast from Alaska. Obviously it all comes together when you set off, bite size pieces and all that, but regardless there was a wave of intimidation in the air – unparalleled since looking down out of the plane window on the way to start this thing.
247: Fairbanks – Shaw Pond (75 miles)
The ride from Fairbanks followed the Tanana River upstream. Keep going upstream and you don’t have to worry about any other navigation. Simple, if you ignore that following a river upstream inevitably means a lot of hill climbing. The first town you hit is North Pole and it’s not often you find yourself riding down Santa Claus Lane in North Pole. By now the bike started to be getting a bit clunky. It’s gotten easy to spot when certain mechanical problems are imminent, and a skipping chain means a snapped chain is just around the corner. It’s become a twisted challenge now – rather than frustration it’s a game of how long can you make it last? Not very in this case. The repairs have become a game too -how fast can this get sorted? Not very in this case. It was eventually going smoothly though and for the first time, the mountains made an appearance from behind the clouds. Mega.
Ticked a goal at the end of the evening too which was to find a stealth camp spot near somewhere to swim. There have been places that appear great for swimming but have been glacially-fed / freeze-your-privates-off cold (looking at you, British Columbia). Shaw Pond was fairly deserted other than a couple of RV’s parked up for the night and deep. And the water was bearable at last.
250: Delta Jct – Tok Jct (108 miles)
The cycling’s been samey for a while. The odd lake, the occasional roadside moose, but mostly open tundra or tree meadows (a lot of them burnt from the notorious forest fires that hit Alaska each year because of lightning strikes.) Bumped into Javier, a hilarious and infectiously upbeat Argentinian who’s a few days away from finishing an epic 18 month journey from the Ushuaia in South America to the Beaufort Sea in the North of Alaska. From the bottom to the top of the Americas. Hardcore. Clearly 18 months on the road have taken their toll though, because now he wears plastic bags on his feet.
251: Tok Jct – Northway Jct (49 miles)
Other than in sections of Texas and Arizona, the actual cycling between towns has been solo. For the most part, other cyclists have been going the other way. That all changed outside of Tok Junction, when in the space of about half an hour, there ended up being 4 riders from 3 separate parties cycling together the same way.
First up there was Busy from Colorado and Michael (blog) from North Carolina, university pals who are on a month long trip that goes Anchorage > Fairbanks > Whitehorse > Juneau. Like any crowd, or sport, or whatever, a minority of the cyclists you meet can be ‘touring snobs’, who judge your gear and route choices and don’t seem much fun. It’s always a million times more enjoyable riding with those who are in it for light-hearted reasons rather than being 100% focused on the act of cycle touring, so I was so glad to hear after a minute of meeting these lot, “Wahey, another member of the say-no-to-spandex team”.
10 minutes later, there was Wish (or 施暐煦 – his blog here) from Taiwan, who was two days into his trip from Fairbanks to Whitehorse, and then down the West Coast to San Diego. He’d not done a bike trip before and it was easy to relate to his obvious shock of “what am I getting myself into?”. Physically, the first couple of weeks are definitely the sorest, the most intimidating and the time when you learn the most quickly about how it all works.
252: Northway Jct, AK – Beaver Creek, YK (Canada)
The day started off like most, nothing unusual. Just a gentle ride hoping to get into Canada. It was only 45 miles or so away. A couple of hours and it was the same kind of thing as previous days. A plod on quiet roads through Alaskan tundra. Then it suddenly all went downhill, whilst riding uphill.
There haven’t been any serious prolonged injuries on this entire trip so far. There was a bruised metatarsal in Charleston, SC, but with The Body Rehab’s help, it was fixed in a couple of days. There was a brief 24 hours of knee pain in El Paso, TX, but it was gone quickly. Other than that, nothing. Cut back to the hill climb, and a moment where on a downstroke a tweak shot through my right knee. It was fairly obvious something had happened – pedalling uphill brought on a sharp pain and even walking with the bike was a limpfest. It was clear no more riding was going to happen that afternoon so out went the thumb. A hitchhike to the next town, Beaver Creek, to figure out what to do next.
The first car to pass was the one that stopped, an amazing ratio. They didn’t have any room in the car but were towing a Yamaha in a trailer, which had just about enough spare room to stuff my bike in the back and crawl in amongst the motorbike and the pushbike. In between the departure borders of Alaska and the entry into The Yukon is a kind of no-mans land. You’ve left the US, and are in Canada, but you haven’t been officially stamped in. And the roads are TERRIBLE. Forget paved road, this is a mix of dirt, gravel and sand. The crew in the car didn’t seem to mind, so being in the trailer and bouncing up and down as we hit each pothole was like being on a rollercoaster in a theme park. Loved it.
I was soon at Beaver Creek and ended up setting up a really obvious tent site by the side of the road in between a bunch of statues. When you put up a tent whilst you’re kind of knackered, and then wake up and stumble out of the tent to be greeted by this guy WITH A PICKAXE, it definitely wakes you up fast.
253: Beaver Creek – Whitehorse
Camping with an injury in a tiny town in the middle of nowhere when it’s raining is crap, no two ways about it. I woke up still limping and decided it’d be wise to hole up in the nearest town of any size. That was Whitehorse, so out went the thumb again and an hour later a huge RV pulled over. Valerie and Joni, along with 3 tiny dogs, were driving all the way to Olympia, WA and were going right through Whitehorse. As you’d expect if they were willing to drive a stranger for a few hours, they were both super friendly but their time in Alaska had been enough (the constant summer light plays havoc with your head and quality of sleep) and they were were excited to the lower 48 again.
254+ Whitehorse
There’s been a heavy stint of constant rain recently. A couple of nights where it was so intense, that in just the time between getting gear out of the panniers and setting up a camp, everything was soaked. Basically like sleeping in a puddle, so they weren’t the best nights and were more quick rest than proper sleep. The first night in Whitehorse was torrential and ended up being one of the bad stealth camp nights, on the concrete behind a DIY store. Honestly if you’re reading this and plan to do a bike trip in the future, don’t think you need to camp behind home repair stores on the concrete. This was just daft planning and a ‘Urghh, I give up’ late night mentality.
It’s really hard to be psyched when it’s so wet. Riding just isn’t enjoyable, much of your gear gets soaked, and compounded tent life is draining. It doesn’t happen all that much, but I’ve opted for a few-day stint in a Whitehorse motel. It’s a few days holed up with an iced knee, a raised leg, a bunch of ibuprofen as per physio instructions, gear drying in the corner and the sound of rain tapping at the window. Busy and Michael arrived yesterday too on their way to Skagway so it’s been nice to know people in town and feast on pizza. Strangely, all it takes to be motivated sometimes is a decent kip and dry gear. The rain is due to leave, and after a few nights here I’m raring to go again, so hopefully the next blog will be more upbeat. The ever fluctuating highs and lows of road life!
Moose, big days and Independence Day. It’s been another wet week, most days providing torrential rain sessions. Not unbearable, but kind of frustrating as Denali is totally invisible in the heavy grey clouds. Quiet week in terms of meeting anyone and filming with them – that’s Alaska though I guess. Hoping to backtrack a little bit and head back into the National Park and to Healy in a day or so on a slightly different mission which could result in material. Rather than post about the rain too much, here’s a few highlights.
235: 20m N of Trapper Creek – Cantwell, AK (80 miles)
Face to face with a moose. Holy smokes. Not many places in the world where you find yourself making eye contact with a moose. 11PM in Cantwell, working up and down Denali highway trying to find a place to setup camp. And there it was, maybe 50 metres away, stumbling across the road with the most unusual walk. It paused. I paused. It moved. I moved. It was awesome in the literal sense of the word.
A few people so far have talked about moose as their primary food source. They say a moose’s meat can last a family a year or more. It’s hard to picture from photographs, but seeing the scale of the animal – it instantly made sense. Still amazed, I couldn’t find a suitable place to camp, so might’ve slept on the floor in a post office. Not sure if that’s strictly allowed but it might have been / was warm, dry and mosquito-free.
236: Cantwell – Healy, AK (40 miles)
It was about 10.30am and I was sat at a table in the corner of a Cantwell gas station. Firing off some emails before setting out for the day. A brief look up every now and then to see whether the drizzle had ceased. Current mileage, zero.
“That your bike outside?” asked Jeff, an Alaskan native cycling from Anchorage to Fairbanks. A super positive guy who was travelling light, on a racing bike and having a friend following him in a van providing support.
“How far have you gone today?”. Nowhere yet, Jeff! How far have you gone?
“I’ve done 77 miles this morning. Been pretty grim on the road though in this weather.”
77 miles and he was only just stopping for breakfast/lunch. As you do. I was inspired by Jeff’s pre-breakfast epic mission and positive mentality, and left eager to hit the road. And minutes later Jeff overtook me, with ease, on his carbon fibre bike with speed bars.
“Have a good ride!”, he shouted back. You too Lance. Sorry I mean Jeff.
237: Healy – Fairbanks, AK (113 miles)
The longest day so far, by a single mile. And certainly the most arduous for a long time. There are days that look ‘big’ on paper but aren’t. One that comes to mind is the stretch from Van Horn – El Paso, TX. It’s basically 106 miles of downhill with minimal pedalling, and it’s over really quickly. Then you get some 50 miles days that take forever because of the terrain. Today was more like the latter – a long and gruelling hilly day.
It’s the height of Alaskan summer, so there’s plenty of light. Really the days can be as long as you like. It was a typical groggy morning waking up on a patch of grass near Healy’s only gas station. I cycled up to the centre of town (it’s a tiny town so ‘centre’ is a loose term). It was only then that the celebrations made sense. 4th of July – the USA’s birthday. There was going to be a bunch of floats driving down the main street at 11am, celebrating the day. Not going to miss this. I wondered over to the street and waited, along with maybe 20 locals lining the side of the street. It wasn’t a big do, amusingly small even – a few horses, a fire engine, someone getting pulled along in a kayak by a bicycle, a gorilla mascot – and it was over in about 5 minutes. A late start but worth the wait to celebrate the 4th. Everyone was happy and got free candyfloss. No one was complaining. Sweets for breakfast? Go on then.
It was a national day off so most people were staying home. Empty roads. The start of the ride was fast. A strong tailwind and mainly downhill for 30 miles. Even on the uphills, the wind would keep you going in top gear. Get in. Then the wind died down, the climbs became consistent, and it started to pour down. It can be alright riding in the rain for a bit. Then it starts to suck. There was maybe an hour or so of heavy rain riding, before cycling through Nenana and finding shelter at the gas station, where these folks all had the same idea.
For a while there was an inpromptu bike party, everyone sitting out the torrential rain. It eased off after a while though, and it was great to ride with Julia and Hannes from Germany who were heading the same way (see their website). Seems like the majority of other cyclists on long trips aren’t from the US and have been drawn by a grass-is-always-greener thirst for a North American adventure. Thinking back, it’s probably a ratio close to 5:1 International / USA.
At this point it had been a long day, but there was still 44 miles or so to go. On one hand knowing how much you have left is a good thing, the countdown keeps you pedalling. “1 mile down. 43 left.” etc. On the other, it just can seem never ending. There were so many times, getting to the top of a hill and seeing another hill coming up. It’s torture. But eventually the climbs turned to downhills, and there was a 3 mile full-speed-ahead blast into town. Nice way to end. I pulled into Fairbanks at 11.15pm, dizzy and drowsy, set up the tent near a community centre and that was that.
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Just throwing this out there – what kind of people sum up America & Canada in your mind? There are no pre-arranged Vague Direction People meetings for a while, so I’d love to hear any thoughts you have as to who might be interesting to feature and talk to about their lifestyle. (For example – a clown, ice hockey coach, gold prospector etc). Love to hear your suggestions if you have them in the comment section below.
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Huge thanks to Best Western Chena River Lodge for their amazing hospitality on a rest day in Fairbanks, what a place! Worth a look if you’re in the area.
“The one talent I think I have more than anything else is persistence. I just won’t give up. So when I was trying to be a director, I put myself 35 thousand dollars in debt, but I was determined that it was going to work out. I wasn’t going to stop until I figured it out. It just was unfathomable.”
Meeting Ruben was something I’d been looking forward to, partly because I dig his work, but also because he questioned the traditional path and carved a unique route to get to where he wanted to be. It takes guts, determination and a belief in what you’re doing to commit so much, financially and otherwise, in chasing where you think you should be, especially when at the time it was such an untested path.
“I used to dub my reel onto VHS, and send it to production companies, and it was expensive to make the tapes, to buy the tapes, to send them to the companies, so I just started putting videos on my website, and this was before Youtube, so I would just host them all. And then I also had a news site on my website, which was kind of like an early blog type thing, where I would, in HTML, type the date and write stuff like ‘this is what I did today’ and ‘this video just fell through’. Just trying to figure out how to make it as a director.”
The final section of California riding ended in Eureka, which is where the mayhem ensued. Not got long to write this so it’s more like a photo timeline.
For the last few weeks there’s been a looming whisper attached to the journey – the Canadian border. Much more time was spent in California than first anticipated so the project was way behind track for a while, and crossing in to Canada would make all visa concerns vanish. Ah.
It means I’ve skipped cycling through Oregon entirely, and most of Washington state too. I don’t mind jumping ahead too much though, as there’s new plans in momentum that will provide much more of an adventure than the original route. So anyway, the looming deadline. The start of May means being in Canada. It just wasn’t going to be possible by cycling. After some googling, the most suitable option from Eureka was the bus. Not just one bus though. It went: Eureka, CA – Oakland, CA – Sacramento, CA – Portland, OR – Seattle, WA. That should have raised alarm bells. And it took an entire millennium (not 100% accurate but that’s how it seemed).
It was a truly awful bus journey – in hindsight I’d have tried hitchhiking instead, or crawling for that matter. Putting a bike on the bus shouldn’t be that complicated – but for whatever reason (Jeremy Jobsworth’s who enjoy making life difficult) the ‘policy’ is a nightmare for bikes, and maybe it was just a bad stroke of luck, but the staff at the terminals were the worst people to deal with. Probably ever, but certainly on this trip.
Anyway after jumping through the most absurd hoops, getting in to a ‘heated discussion’ with a staff member at Sacramento who proclaimed that he ‘ain’t gonna pull no fucking dollars out of his ass’, dismantling the bike, shoddily boxing it up, and sitting down for a 32 hour bus ride, we pulled in to Seattle. And at that exact moment I vowed never to ride the Greyhound ever again. Is that a vent? Because just writing that down felt great.
On a more positive note, Seattle was brilliant. I stayed on Emily and John’s couch for a couple of nights, who live up in the Wallingford area (they also make High Above Designs bags). It was quite a novelty to be able to leave the bike and explore the city on feet, free of the heavy weight for a while and without burden. Also, there’s a neat bike shop called Recycled Cycles who did a stellar job servicing the stead.
Numerous people in Seattle suggested avoiding the mainly-urban mainland route up into Canada, and taking the ferry-hopping San Juan Islands route instead. It was great advice. From Seattle it was a quick hop over to Bainbridge Island and an amazing bivvy overlooking the downtown Seattle skyline.
The ferry hopping and island riding was in some jaw dropping areas. Hopping a couple of states means that the geography has changed significantly, and now it’s very much a snow-topped and serious-looking mountain landscape. It’s the first indication of the remote nature that’s to come over the next couple of months.
After several ferries and some awesome riding, I boarded the ferry which would mark the end of the US section of the trip (for now). Getting on at Friday Harbor on San Juan Island, and docking in Sidney, BC a couple of hours later. I always find border crossings a little intimidating, until that wonderful stamp hits the passport and puts ink on the page. Welcome to Canada, eh! And breathe.
I hung out in Sidney (which is on Vancouver Island, a bit north of Victoria) for a few hours and got the last boat from there to Vancouver proper. Although where it actually drops you off is actually 40 miles from Vancouver. Damn. Maybe being in a new country acted as a catalyst, but at the stealth camp (behind a concrete bollard by the highway – luxurious) this morning I had a sort out of gear and all the unnecessary weight that has accumulated in the pannier bags over the last couple of months. There was loads, so I sent a package to a buddies house back in California, and holy smokes the bike felt great. It was lighter than ever before, and it had just been serviced. It was the best the bike has felt for months. And then two spokes snapped. Of course they did. Is that sods law? Luckily they were both non-drive side so were easy to replace on the fly.
I was lacing the new spokes in a park when a red pickup truck pulled over. It was a local couple from Richmond, Gary and Wendy. “You know you can’t cycle under that tunnel, right? You need to go back to the service station. Bikes are put on a shuttle through the tunnel.”
Several people have mentioned Canadian friendliness and generosity, but I didn’t think it’d happen so fast. Gary and Wendy ended up acting as the shuttle, we piled the bike in to the back, and drove over to their house where I could finish fixing the wheel, do laundry, take a shower, have some lunch, and all that good stuff. The first full day in Canada and the rumors are true.
It’s all go from here. A new section of the adventure begins now, it’s getting wild and that’s super exciting. Eh.
For the last week, I’ve been focusing more on the lifestyle aspect of the project and capturing material, rather than ‘truckin on and watching the signs go by. Some planned stuff was related to specific days in LA, so it’s been fun taking it easy, and taking it all in with that in mind.
The last post was written from Encinitas, where I spent a couple of super rough nights stealth bivvying. For some reason it felt really tense and on edge for both nights, so sleep was pretty minimal, but the ocean does wonders to wake you up after a rubbish night.
Then from there:
Day 121: Encinitas to Oceanside, CA (15 miles)
This section of coastline is amazing. I don’t know why, but cycling through forest and even desert becomes very ‘samey’ after a few days, but the ocean just doesn’t lose it’s charm. Weird. Nice ride on friendly roads, totally flat through Carlsbad and into Oceanside. Pulled into the beach at Oceanside as the sun was dropping, and there was a bunch of people out surfing just off the harbour. Being able to walk out along the harbour wall meant you were parallel to the waves, so there was plenty of photo opportunities and it was a unique and way better location when compared to the standard looking-out-from-the-beach.
Stealth bivvy once again, but this one was quite different. It was at the marina on a raised bit of grass, pretty hidden but with a bizarre buzzing noise next to a fence. You could alter the noise with your hands – which sounds weird and is tricky to explain – but by waving your hands you could make a tune. After a while the buzzing stopped and making music wouldn’t work anymore, so a guess is that the fence was electric and got turned off.
Day 122: Oceanside to Dana Point, CA (30 miles)
Sea mist is damp isn’t it? Woke up to a visibility of about 20 metres, a dense wet fog soaking everything in sight, adding to the overall grogginess that life on wheels inherently provides. There was also a really strange noise close by, which ended up being couple of very loud seals hanging out and playing games in the marina much to the audiences appreciation. Those things are WELL LOUD!
Onwards through Pendleton Marine Corps Base, which is the route that avoids the interstate and is pinch-yourself reminiscent of a real life The Expendables. You’re cycling through and suddenly there’s 20 soldiers on exercise walking out of the bushes with camo paint and huge machine guns, hummers flying past to get somewhere urgently, and Black Hawn helicopters overhead. An ace days riding which eventually lead to camping at the Doheny State Beach campsite in an ants nest (again).
Day 123: Dana Point to Sunset Beach, CA (30 miles)
Looking on the map, today would involve going through super affluent areas in Orange County. Often this makes everything tricky. Sometimes security is abound, there’s stuffiness in spades, and it’s like a oversized Range Rover slalom. But there’s also generosity, and in this case a waitress from RJ’s cafe, who epitomises awesome. Finishing breakfast and finding that the bill’s been unexpectedly set as ‘Birthday Meal – Free’? Priceless. (For some reason this blog entry is full of puns.) It was a random act of kindness that put a smile on my face all day, so thanks Marina!
After that it was a quick and easy ride over some rolling hills to Laguna Beach, which provided a close call with, yep, a Range Rover pulling out and a driver who looked far too young to drive. I was pretty keen to make speedy progress from then on so pedalled on through Newport and Huntington Beach, ending up at Sunset Beach, where I spent the next full day prepping for the following days and chatting to Jack from Maine, who was bitten by a Brown Recluse Spider and was hospitalised for a week as they tried to reduce the swelling on his face. Damn.
Day 125: Sunset Beach to Pasadena, CA (38 miles)
Laguna Beach had been busy traffic-wise, but it was nothing compared to Los Angeles, in particular the stretch from Long Beach to Monterey Park. By ‘eck, it’s certainly a driving city and they don’t make it easy for cycling. Stop and start at traffic lights, in and out of buses, keep your wits about you and move your eyes like a madman. What was quite weird was that happened for a good twenty or so miles, and then just stopped. That’s the grid nature of the LA street plan at play I suppose. From then on it was quiet suburbia, and there were even some really nice cycle lanes.
Day 126: Pasadena, CA
Had an amazing day on the set of a new pilot with Ruben Fleischer, director of films such as Gangster Squad and Zombieland (plus some killer shorts), and loads of other talented folks. There’ll be more on this in future posts, but it was a great day with great people. Ruben’s testament to the fact that paths are changing, in large part due to the web – and you don’t need to follow the route that has classically been instilled in us. Moving away from a metaphor, what I mean is he didn’t go to film school. He started making stuff, working his way up from the bottom and was damn persistent. It’s a lesson that anyone can apply to anything. It worked, clearly, because now he directs films with some chap named Gosling in them. I was keen to explore his route and his battles with ‘the struggle’, and his response was super inspiring and took him back to the early days. Here’s a very brief transcript before I get chance to sit down and edit the content from the day.:
“When I was struggling, and I was so stressed and freaking out, and I felt like I was just muscling everything through, everything was through the force of will, and nothing was given to me, I had to fight for every single thing. I was broke and I was, like, just bummed and frustrated, and so ambitious, but it doesn’t happen overnight. So many people that were more veteran than me, were just like ‘Dude, just cherish these moments, because it’s never going to be like this again, and you’re doing cool shit, just appreciate everything that you’re doing in the moment, because whether you make it or not, you’re doing it. You’re trying, you’re having fun, you’re making stuff that you believe in. Cherish it, and try not to get so caught up on the future, and just appreciate the present.’ And that’s a really hard thing to say when you’re so focused on the destination, but it was great advice and I probably didn’t take it. At all. But now looking back, I look back on those times of finding it, and the struggle, so fondly.”
Day 127: Pasadena, CA
Still buzzing from yesterday, today was spent sorting out the next couple of days. To sum up it basically involved coffee and typing (hardly makes for exciting writing). Stayed with the wonderful, and amazingly hospitable Tracy and Arthur in the Pasadena suburbs. They’re avid cyclists and had a lot of stories to tell: from The Great Divide to Japan – their bikes have taken them to loads of places, and there’s loads more on the list. They cook a mean dinner too!
The next two days will be more LA, and then on Wednesday the journey begins to pick up pace once more. How do you cycle again?
Day 83: Sanderson. Rest day and blog catch up. Not much happening in Sanderson.
Day 84: Sanderson to Marathon (55 miles)
Slow morning getting the bike sorted. Had to replace tube as there was a slow puncture. Nice ride through more desert landscapes. Sanderson is actually the ‘Cactus Capital’ of Texas, and there’s definitely a lot’of’em. Awesome sunset to darkness riding. Totally empty road, and insanely clear sky, to the point where it was more fun to ride in the moonlight than turn on any bike lights. Ended up at a campsite just outside Marathon at about 8pm.
Day 85: Marathon.
Woke up run down, knackered and chesty, so ended up just resting. It definitely seems pretty easy to get sick whilst on the road, nutrition is super important. Plus side was that it was SuperBowl Sunday. The town is pretty small, and the local hotel was where the game was being shown, in a room with a massive buffalo stuck to the wall. Despite local help, the rules are still confusing.
Day 86: Marathon to Alpine (31 miles)
Paul Kranendonk from Rotterdam was pulling into the campsite as I was leaving. He’d set off from San Diego and was heading to Jacksonville, FL. It was his 11th day on the road. 11th! Talk about fast progress. But understandable considering he needs to be back at work at the beginning of March! In 2008 he cycled the Great Divide with his wife (together they’ve clocked up a massive amount of cycle touring experience), and it was interesting to hear his perspective on the difference between solo versus team travelling. Also, a few days ago he was chased by 4 massive dogs and had to sprint for 3km to outrun them. Fair play!
After chatting with Paul, and stocking up at the Grocery store, it was getting late (recurring theme?!), so I ended up in Alpine fairly late after more night riding. Big thanks to Sam at the Highland Inn for sorting out a last minute room – nice spot to rest and see the town if you’re passing through!
Day 87: Alpine to US-90 Rest Area (5 miles)
Wasn’t feeling it again, with more chesty sickness, even after an indoor night. Cruised into the historic part of Alpine (which is super nice – all local stores that have gone unchanged for years). Spent a lot of time reading in the park, and didn’t even try leaving the town until 5.30pm. It’s always tricky to be motivated after such a late start. Ended up calling it a day at a rest stop overlooking some incredibly aesthetic hills. Location definitely has a big impact on general psyche, and this one helped to improve the day.
Day 88: US-90 Rest Area to Valentine (57 miles)
Brrr. Cold night so good to see the sun and it’s warmth. In Louisiana, Glen the cyclist had mentioned that the roads in West Texas are a nightmare when it comes to rolling resitance. For a while I’ve not had a clue what he was on about. The roads in West Texas seem exactly the same as the ones in all the other states. But for the first time what he was talking about became clear. The road was made differently, with big pebbles stuck into the surface, which definitely slowed everything down. It didn’t last long though, because literally at the sign that marked entering a new county, the road became smooth again.
It’s been quite strange cycling through the Texas desert. Many of the towns are dilapidated, but every so often a town in the middle of nowhere will be vibrant and bustling. Passing through Marfa was one of those times. Small town but with a lot of quirky people and a heavy art scene. This was on the way in to town, a lotta’ heavy Q’s (if you look carefully the artist has signed it):
Left Marfa, after a brief stop and explore, and pedalled to Valentine (once again a tiny town where almost everything is boarded up and shut down – quite spooky). I was running out of water, so stopped to attempt to scrounge some from the farmers who were in their yard. Kirkby and Maria owned the roadside farm in Valentine, and had hosted cyclists before. They offered the yard as a place to crash, and I jumped at the chance.
“You can sleep in the shipping container if you like? It’ll be warmer than outside.” After the previous night, anything to escape the cold was amazing.
Day 89: Valentine to Allamoore, via Van Horn (50 miles)
Woke up in the shipping container. (That’s probably not a sentence that gets written much.) Thankfully it was still on the farm and not out at sea. That would have been more challenging.
Day started off great, through deserty-farm land, similar to the last few days really. Got quite hot and dusty from about midday though. Ended up running out of water close to Van Horn, which even for only 15 miles wasn’t too pleasant. Usually it’s never a problem, there’s always somewhere to fill up, but this stretch is quite sparse (if you’re going to be cycling this stretch, make sure you carry more than you think you’ll need).
The railway ran next to the road for most of the day, and a regular sight was seeing the Border Patrol driving their 4×4’s on the dirt track next to the tracks, towing tyres. Anyone know what this is about?
Quite a tough section pulling in to Van Horn. Not because of hills or anything like that, but because you can see Van Horn from miles away, shimmering away in the distance. And you know there’s water and all that goodness, if you can just make it to the shimmering city. But it doesn’t seem to get any closer, no matter how hard you pedal. It was like a mirage for a while, quite bizarre. But eventually Van Horn provided an oasis.
Stayed in Van Horn until quite late, just to get out of the heat for a while. From Van Horn, the way to El Paso is via the Interstate (I10), which is the equivalent to the motorway in the UK (i.e. busy and fast). Started this section at about 9PM, after getting kitted out in everything high-vis. To be honest, the shoulder is so wide that it’s probably safer than the other roads, but nonetheless it has an air of intimidation, especially getting on from a junction.
Cycled for an hour or so, and ended up finding a spot in between the interstate and the road that runs parallel to it. Crazy clear sky, which made it a bit more bearable, as the bivvy spot was a patch of dirt in between some concrete traffic blocks, near the railway, outside a factory.
Day 90: Allamoore to El Paso (106 miles)
El Paso was a fair way off, so I thought an early start was in order to arrive on time. Didn’t quite realise how early. In the haze of last night (first time on Interstate, finding a sleeping spot etc), it slipped my mind, even after seeing the great big sign, that I’d crossed into a new time zone (MST). Alarm set for 5AM. But of course my phone was still showing Central time. It meant an unintentional 4AM start. All good really though, it wasn’t the most luxurious sleeping spot anyway. Here’s a video of late Day 89 and early 90 (I hadn’t realised the time zone mistake at this point):
After a few very early, and very dark miles to Sierra Blanca, the sun came up and brought with it a heavy dose of amazing. The longest and fastest downhill of the trip so far. It was top gear for about an hour, full speed ahead. At points you’re going so fast that pedalling doesn’t make a difference, so you can sit back and let gravity do the work. As good as cycling gets. After the initial steepness, it flattened out a little bit but it was never slow. Never a low gear, all the way into El Paso. Without a doubt the most fun riding so far.
Ended up cycling some of this stretch with Arvid from Sweden, who’s a Navy officer that sailed into Florida and has a month off the boat. He’s travelling light, on a road bike, and between motels mainly. His month off is coming to an end in 12 days so he’s trying to make as much progress as possible and will fly back to Florida from wherever he ends up.
Got into El Paso around 3pm after taking a couple of long-ish breaks along the way. Lucky enough to be staying for the next couple of nights at the Hyatt El Paso. It’s quite a different setup to the shipping container!
Day 91: El Paso, TX
Catching up on the blog, and chilling out for the day thanks to the wonderful people at the Hyatt (thanks for your incredible hospitality!). Staying here until Sunday morning and then will head for New Mexico. It’s amazing to take a full day off the bike, and not have to worry about keeping a constant eye on kit. Even though it’s been slow, travelling through the desert and not getting much sleep in the process was definitely quite draining. Stoked to recharge. But blimey, Texas in it’s own right has been an amazing ride, full of unforgettable experiences and incredible people.
For anyone cycling the Southern Tier east to west – you can avoid the interstate for miles if you come off at Allamoore. There’s a quiet road that runs in parallel until Sierra Blanca, about 15 metres away from the I10.
Excuse the radio silence for the last few days, the blog has been frozen for longer than intended. But, there’s a story behind it, so let’s dive right in. Quick iPhone photos/video to accompany.
Day 51 – Daphne, AL to Lucedale, MS (56 miles)
Set off from Daphne and after a mellow ride out of town, arrived on the outskirts of Mobile, AL. It’s a really impressive aesthetic city, with some amazing buildings. In contrast to that, just 5 miles further out of the city, it’s a different story entirely. Towns which were obviously thriving just a few years ago, now totally quiet. No people, everything boarded up, abandoned stuff. The recession hit hard.
More night riding, and through the Alabama / Mississippi state line, I ended up at a diner in Lucedale, MS, where there was probably 100 people packed in. It was Sunday night and these were all church-goers who were on their way home from church. It was the 30th December, so it was a celebratory New Years dinner. Here’s just a few of them. Such positive folk.
Day 52 – Lucedale, MS to Wiggins, MS (38 miles)
Groggy morning waking up in another stealth camp. This time in a park. Life of luxury, eh? Up and away early in an attempt to re-jig the body clock. Straight out of Lucedale was amazing. Dense dewey fog hovering above green farmscapes. There was really nothing in between Lucedale and Wiggins other than countryside. No towns, no people, few houses. So it was a simple town-to-town ride, ending in Wiggins, a tiny little town, to see in New Year. The people of Wiggins were really welcoming, and explained that the county was a dry county, and most people leave town for New Year to the coast. So it wasn’t very rock and roll, but there were some fireworks so all’s well that ends well.
Day 53 – Wiggins, MS to Bogalusa, LA (43 miles)
You know when you’re riding your bike and a fly ends up in your mouth? This happened for the majority of the day today.
Another state line, Louisiana. Get in.
It was grey and cloudy. The kind of clouds that you look at and think it might drizzle lightly for a few minutes. And then it did. But it was Louisiana rain. Nature’s power shower, with no let up. I wasn’t prepared for it at all. The waterproofs were stuffed in the panniers, somewhere. Electronics weren’t in their dry bags. So it was a frantic rush to make sure everything was safe from the rain. And then to try and find the waterproofs. I’d not ridden in heavy rain before this, and it was actually really enjoyable.
Ended up camping on the outskirts of Bogalusa, with totally drenched kit. Waking up with clothes that were still wet, and heavy, definitely influenced the following days decision.
Day 54 – Bogalusa, LA to Franklinton, LA (20 miles)
The last few days have been really hilly. Moving inland, away from the coast, the game is starting to change: rain, headwind and hills. It’s making a big difference, and after the wheel incident, I’m focused on shedding as much unnecessary weight as possible. So first on the ticklist was to visit a post office and ship a bunch of stuff on to California. For now the focus is on light. What a difference it made. The first few miles out of Bogalusa were like riding a new bike with a slightly higher average speed. Unfortunately, sending the stuff on had taken a long time, so it was a late start.
After an hour of cycling, it rained again. Heavy rain, just like yesterday. This time wasn’t as horrible; jackets and waterproofs were at the ready. But going through Franklinton, there were loads of obvious spots to set up camp. An early finish to a late start.
Day 55 – Franklinton, LA to Baton Rouge, LA (73 miles)
Cycling is a funny game. After nearly two months of riding, it’s less physical, far more mental. You can tell at the start of the day whether it’s going to be a big day.
Today started this way. The Sat Nav showed that I had 106 miles remaining (to New Roads, LA.) As that number decreases, there’s no way you’re stopping. Not until it’s reached zero. That is unless something happens that stops you. “Failing to prepare is preparing to fail.” It’s true, you know, that well known saying. So after several hours of going for it, the bike lighter than ever, hip-hop music blasting in my ears, huge wide shoulders through inspiring Louisiana countryside, there was a very strange clicking noise, and it was obvious something wasn’t right.
The clicking turned out to be a piece of wire that had gone straight through the rear tyre and punctured the tube. It’s not been a good run lately, but no worries, it’s only a puncture. That’s what the toolkit’s for.
The bicycle pump is usually in my camera bag. That’s where it’s been for the last 55 days. So why was it not there? After a confusing few minutes, emptying all the pannier bags in search of the pump, it was nowhere to be found. Well that sucks, must have lost it along the way. With no way to fix the puncture, I walked to the lights in the distance, which turned out to be a gas station. If you use Schrader valve inner tubes, gas stations are a dream sight. There’s almost always an air pump outside. And there was at this one, too. Happy days, problem solved! Nope, I’m using Presta valves. After unsuccessful attempts at trying to bodge the air pump, it wasn’t going anywhere. Time to call it a day.
A mile or so down the road (in the suburbs of Baton Rouge now) there was a huge playing field / methodist church garden. Prime camping spot. I set up the tent, off the road and out of sight, ready to be away early, get the tyre fixed and hopefully make at least a little bit of progress. It’s been a slow few days after all. Unfortunately, the police were doing routine patrols. And of course this stealth camp site was on their list. American police are quite intimidating, but there’s nothing like cycling to provide a little common ground. After explaining the situation, the policeman made a very cycle-specific joke.
“That’s what you get when you use Presta valves!” Fair play, officer. Turns out he was a cyclist and would turn a blind eye to the stealth camp.
“But be careful. That side of the road is the crime hotspot of Baton Rouge. You should be fine here, but just over there is where the highest homicide rate in the city is.”
Moral of the story? I’m not too sure, but it’s probably something to do with carrying a bike pump.
Day 56 – Baton Rouge, LA to… TBC
It’s day 56 now, and I’m quickly piecing together this post on the outskirts of Baton Rouge. The bike still has a puncture, but the bike shop isn’t too far away, so hopefully not for much longer.
With the holidays upon us & people spending time with their families, the video interviews etc are hard-to-come-by at the moment, but will resume as soon as possible. Here’s another mainly cycling update (images quickly taken from iPhone):
Day 42 – Crawfordville (0 miles)
Ended up having another day off (in the same place as the previous update) to recover from a bout of chesty illness. It was amazing to spend some recovery time catching up on sleep and having shelter indoors.
Day 43 – Crawfordville to Blountstown, FL (55 miles)
Two consecutive days off, and at the tail end of illness. And a corker of a day.
A late start from The Inn at Wildwood, I didn’t get going until 12.15. When you have the opportunity of a decent nights kip,the check out time becomes your go-time. Quick stop for some breakfast and supplies in Crawfordville and time to properly get moving.
As far as the riding, if it had happened at the start of the trip, it’d be exciting. Wonderful long roads through the woods. The truth is though, that I’ve spent days and days on ‘wonderful long roads through the woods’ so I’m looking forward to a change of scenery. No complaints though, it was easy riding, perfect opportunity to plug in to an audio book (Catch 22) and zone out. A moderate headwind and the first of the hills, but none significant. The bike’s bottom bracket is making some horrible crunching noises – don’t think it has a lot of life left in it. Crunch.
Today brought with it another trip-first; a new time-zone. The move from Eastern Standard Time (EST) to Central Standard Time (CST), which it will be for a while now, up until close to El Paso, TX. Such seemingly small signs of progress are great mental boosts.
Scariest moment of the day, without any question, was the bridge between Bristol and Blountstown. Jeez. I’m sure in daylight it’s fine. But at night (it was around 7pm), it’s daunting. There’s no shoulder, the cars are moving fast and there’s a shockingly low wall blocking a huge drop into the river below. I stood at the Bristol end of the bridge for about 5 minutes, just looking at the cars going past and seeing if there were any tricks to the crossing. Really it would be a case of becoming as bright and lit-up as possible and fully sprinting to the other side when there was a decent gap between cars. Bike, don’t screw up now. Nothing like a bit of adrenaline to get your legs spinning fast. Once on the bridge, there was no turning back, but thankfully like most daunting things in the moment it wasn’t too bad. Luckily there weren’t too many cars to deal with, and the lights obviously worked, so good times.
Ended the day at perhaps the nicest stealth camp spot so far, just behind a local Methodist church in the town centre of Blountstown. It didn’t appear all that nice whilst pitching, but in the morning it turned out to be a beautiful riverside spot. A good omen for a new day perhaps?
Day 44 – Bountstown to Fort Walton Beach (102 miles)
Today’s the day. After yesterdays late start, today I was on the road by 9am and raring to go, definitely over the worst of the illness.
In the morning, I’d had the thought that as long as body doesn’t say otherwise, I was going to try to cycle for 12 hours, with minimal breaks. I know it’s not about the mileage, but if the landscape today is similar to that of yesterday, and the holidays are here, so people are spending time with their families, it seems like a perfect time to get the miles in. Plus, day 5’s total of 81 miles hadn’t been topped yet, and it had been over a month, so it would be an interesting experiment.
Pedal pedal pedal. Through the woods. By 3pm – 50 miles. Into light headwind and minimal rolling hills. 4.20pm – 62 miles. Nightfall. Lights On. 9pm – 85 miles. Coffee break and escape from the saddle. 11pm – 102 miles.
Great to finally do a triple-figure day, especially before the hills and winds get too bad (a few people have mentioned travelling from East to West in Texas is going to be awful?!). Although how on earth people like Mark Beaumont manage to do 100+ miles consecutively for months is crazy.
Ended the day, once again stealth camped behind a church, this time in Fort Walton Beach, FL.
Day 45 – 46 – Fort Walton Beach
Christmas Eve and Christmas Day! No cycling here.
Woke up in the tent to the sound of battering rain. Seems to do that a lot in Florida. And sat it out until it became less-heavy at around midday. Christmas Eve meant time to get a motel.
I’m writing this late on Christmas day (day 46) and have spent the day Skypeing the fam back in Blighty, exploring the gulf coast round Fort Walton and eating obscene amounts of food. Tomorrow it begins again.
Seems like a long time ago crossing the GA / FL state line, but now the end of the panhandle is here it means the next report will be from a new state. Happy holidays!
